Serendipity (or Calamity)

To one who would have me take a vow of poverty,

To one who would have me take a vow of poverty,

Horror, you know not what you ask. Revoke the tax? Tis denial of my nature—agony to bear. How can one claim rulership o'er her demesne if she does not partake of it? If men would live within my sight, they and their fortunes shall be mine to pluck. I am no taxman or petty criminal. I am the devouring inferno—the gaping maw of ruin. Upon my brow rests a thorny crown unmovable. Civilization is my orchard. In leaving its bounty to ripen and decay, rivals and scavengers may be drawn to the stench. By your advice, I should be condemned to madness by the swollen fruit of forbidden gardens. Yet, I am that wretched soul cursed to guard them. Surely, there is some course less hideous.

Regardless, I am loath to let this piddling disagreement come between us. Your second suggestion is quite appealing. The townsfolk have ne'er witnessed the true measure of my strength, employed to their benefit. A demonstration is overdue; they shall finally behold the glorious might of their benefactor. Already, the mind teems with such delicious possibilities. My gratitude for the spark from which they sprung.

In reading your dream of the Ketze Sonata, I am also led to entertain another, nigh outlandish, thought. Dreams are slippery, ephemeral imps, but, if you are able, pray further describe the elf with wild, windswept hair. How was he clothed? What of his features—the curve of his nose and the cleft of his chin? Had he scars or pockmarks? I recall a narrative quite similar to this vision—the performance, the embrace, the parties involved. It could well be coincidence, but I should like to make certain.

Tis, additionally, gratifying that you recognize the stupendous value of my instruments, formerly Ludall Toveht's. Even my tasteless sister would salivate at the prospect of obtaining them, yet she cannot appreciate the nuanced flavour of true profundity. Nay, she envisions only gold, readily bled by men who grasp at the gleaming debris of the ages. Your enthusiasm is sincere—the fervid blossom of reverence. In this same vein, I sought the quartet, estranged by bitter circumstance. At last, my tenacity and meticulous action were rewarded. At last, the instruments were reunited.

Their recovery was no simple task, for time had flung them far and wide amid the murk of thievery and forgery. Twas known that each bore the composer's seal upon its neck and, beside, initials carved by his own hand. Like your Emberceuse, the first violin and cello hail from Waterdeep, produced by renowned luthier, Jan Garnerus. The viola is the handiwork of enigmatic and elusive Satyr, Vaelyse. The second violin—perhaps the finest of the four—emerged from the Neverwinter workshop of revered master, Nilua Amai. Passed from Prince Lichslayer to Ludall Tovhet, these were auctioned independently following his death. Resolute, I poured o'er thousands of records sourced to the composer, his contemporaries, and additional relevant individuals.

After myriad false leads, I succeeded in locating the viola. A young bard—foolhardy lad—had recently inherited it from his father. Twas a short-lived affair. At his campsite, the boy was discovered by a roving band of goblins who slaughtered him and looted his corpse—quite messily, I might add. Upon arrival, I found his boots by separate trees, feet still attached. The creeping hedgeborn knaves responsible mistook his instrument for firewood, laying it unceremoniously atop their mouldy stack. Two particularly creative little cockwarts had removed the pegs and inserted them into their nostrils. Appalled, I rescued the viola and thrust the goblins upon the fire in its stead.

Eleven years thereafter, I concluded that the Garnerus violin and cello had survived together, entombed beside an affluent Athkatlan collector. I could not see wherefore the eternal silence of a man should entail eternal silence for his strings. An instrument need not die so long as musicians live to play. Thus, I lifted them from dusty darkness that their voices might be liberated. I may have liberated a smattering of other trinkets as well.