The Wilting Ballad

1

Two years later

On the low-level alley of Ozkogul on a corner suitable for thieves, beggars, and vagabonds, a sullen entertained crowd was listening to a melancholy tone sung by an old dark man wearing a red turban. Baronn pulled the reins of his brown dirt-stained horse and it halted, he pats her neck and listens, amusement spread across his face.

"... House of Bathory now sigh,

For they knew the ending is nigh,

Lady Bathory wept and watched her child slept.

Awaiting patiently for frosty snow moon,

Falling to crush them on darkest known noon,

Icy fog colds them,

Whilst shadows of old hold them,

Lord Bathory was blind,

Wanting to find,

His wife and his bones-broken child,

Or so they reviled.

He clawed and crawled over the carcass of Zarrcus,

They called him Harkness,

One who brings hardness,

To all those ill-fated and those that he hated.

He practices blood magic they say,

He brings endless tragic they say,

Twisting the mind to do as he wills,

Hands clean always for every blood he spills,

Lord Bathory know not better,

Eyes darken, sword in hand, he clawed to get her,

Lord Bathory tries resist,

Lady Bathory cries desist,

In grief, Lord Bathory cuts his wrist,

House Bathory ceased to exist."

Applause followed as the song reaches its end. The turban-wearing minstrel bows to his crowd, and wipes his cheeks with a piece of cloth given to him by a woman standing beside him who had dark hair and brown eyes. Baronn noticed and knew, the man's showmanship was of the highest quality.

Baronn clapped the loudest, not taking his eyes off the minstrel. A breeze that stinks of underground sewer flowed his shoulder-length curly black hair sideways, he watches with his eyes that were not his father's or mother's but his grandfather's, a deep mahogany red that was rare as the heart carved-out men. He wore a half-sleeve blue velvet suit that was made of the finest Lyorenbatra leather with dark brown boots.

He waited until the crowds parted to approach the red turban minstrel named Xarabia, who he now noticed was wearing a Star Shīza robe, "Bold." murmured Baron surreptitiously. After being accused of eradicating Jeroszlim along with its occupants, the order known as Shīza was hunted like a child born with leaf eyes by the Shan Empire. Some clever enough abandoned traditions of the Shīza and hid on a sight noticeable but unnoticeable, though most were executed.

"I can notice the reds of that eye from the top pillar of Tereciouth, with even thick foamy clouds to cloud the sight of this old man, Baronn Shan." Said Xarabia, his smile, and a voice could've been enough to make a stern maiden swoon, his eyes clear as the lost undisturbed pond of Vlorqilex.

Baronn curled a sly smile, "Xarabia Eveningstar." He said, his voice a curious snow peak mountain avalanche erupt ready. They locked eyes, the sun was up above but the brick houses surrounding have blocked them from light and its warmness, he waited until the last of the crowds parted and continued, "I trust you know what blasphemous song that was, for some. I know those, 'some', and I also know how much they'd enjoy killing you... should they heard it sung, especially by a man of your... status. But then again, I also know that you, sir minstrel Shīza, are very good at killing them."