The first memory he could remember was the screaming. Then the light would sift in bright oranges and reds only dampened by rubble scattering the wreckage. Hazed images of people wielding swords and axes rushing after cloaked figures.
One caught up with a hooded string folk. The sword plunged through it's chest causing a empty twang to echo out. Red spurted out of the newfound hole in their chest, staining their thread-like white hair a crimson he'd never seen before. The man ripped the sword out and rushed after another cloaked figure.
"Mo-ma!" The little child called out, his voice a rattling wheeze. What was going on? Was that person okay? Where was his mother?
Again he called for her but nobody responded. Another booming blast echoed beside him, why did he feel so numb?
"For the rebellion!" Shouted a percussion folk as he slammed his hammer like hands into the skull of one of brass folk.
Despite the chaos of the fight- one of which the cloaked people seemed to be loosing- he was still more focused on the strange disappearance of his mother.
Careful not to draw the fighter's attention, he crawled over the broken ground towards the house next to the "leaking" string folk. The smoke stung his lungs and tore at his eyes making them water.
When he got near, the child paused. The person was so close and so inhumanly still. He reached out tentatively and lightly shoved her.
Her arms just fell limp to her side.
A photo rolled out of the woman's pocket. In it was the lady and a small girl-probably her daughter- pulling their hair taunt and plucking it like a harp.
They looked so happy together.
Another echoing blast sent him scrambling away. Ash and a crater was all that was left of the string folk.
When he got to the ruined house it was empty, but relatively safe. Momma said this was their safe spot. Whenever something bad had happened they would go here. That was the plan. That was always the plan.
A faint rustle came from just beyond the broken wall of the house causing the child to slink back into the darker corners of the room. With a soft speed a cloaked figure entered the room.
Doon dounn
Dunnnnnn
derrnnnnnnnn
Dooooon Doooon
Dunnn.
The notes rang out clear in the room, a familiar tune.
"Mo-ma?"
The person turned around, thus revealing her face. It seemed to be made of several small pipes that would move and shift to form expressions. Her copper hair slipped out from inside her hood as she bent down to the child.
"Mo-ma!" the child squealed happily, small plumes of hot air escaping from his own pipes that sprouted from his neck.
"Shush Treble-" Momma clamped her copper hand over his mouth, noticing the child would not shut up. A few silent moments punctuated by screams of pain, yells of delight and thundering steps. Only when the steps became faint did Momma take her hand off.
"You gotta' learn to be quiet- like me." Momma hissed, although her face seemed more worried than anything. The child just cocked his head to the side.
PFFFFFFFT? His pipes squeaked. PiFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTT!
His mother stood up, tucking her hair back into her hood. Her bright amber eyes seemed a bit duller as she murmured, "You aren't going to learn quick enough." She then went to leave, but the child got up and ran to her side.
"No, Treble-Stay here, I'll come back for you latter," She signed in Thieves' Cant. Obediently, Treble went back to the corner.
And he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
As the sun began to set and all that was left of the fires where angry embers he finally understood. She wasn't going to come back.
Careful not to be seen by any of the brass folk, Treble made his way out of the ruined house once more. Once pristine streets where now littered with blood and bodies that'd never move again. Thankfully, it seemed like the Brass folk had left by now- no reason to be so cautious.
It was just a few turns before he reached the docks. The ships where gone, as he began to expect from the battle- everything getting destroyed. From here he could figure out a plan though.
He could wait for a merchant ship to arrive, but who knows if the people on board would be friendly or not- or how long it would take for one to come so close to a fight with Brass folk. He could go north, but with that brought rumors of wars between a large portion of the string folk against the brass folk. Treble didn't know if he could stand wading through another war zone.
His best option was to start heading along the coast to the Woodland State, there was no wars going on there. His stomach squirmed and growled. Maybe before he left, finding some food would be nice.
Reverence in every action, he began to check what was left of homes and merchant shops for scraps left by the Brass Folk. After a few hours of scavenging he managed to come up with enough food for a few days- once he'd filled his belly for the rest of the day. He'd even managed to find a few gold coins under cabinets and just underneath large rocks. It was time to leave now.
"Heeeyyyyyyyyyyy! Organ kid!" Came a large shout behind him. With a quick kick Treble sent a rock into his hand. Whipping around, rock inches from the person's face, he found another kid. They were definitively a woodwind, with them being a recorder, just with arms and legs added on. "Please don't hurt me." The woodwind gave a nervous chuckle. Treble lowered the rock, but not before lightly tapping it against the others' head. DouufffttTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT! The other kid squeaked.
PFFFFFFTTT! Treble replied, a chaotic smirk spreading across his face. They would Recorder a lot of memories together he decided. Whether they were silent in them or loud as thunder raking across the skies was yet to be determined.
"So what's your name? Mine's Tim, Tim Phoe." Tim asked, lightly whistling.
"Treble... Clef." He murmmered, still wary of the woodwind child.
They then began walking, the next stop Woodwind State.
