Prompt 2: Sway

 "Down winding road and darkened wood,

Nestled in trees,

Doth stand a lonely manor house

Can you feel the frigid breeze?

For when the moon departs,

Specters walk the halls.

Pray you keep away,

When lonesome darkness falls."

-

Their chocobo had been restless for what had seemed to be the last few malms. Now the beasts' sense of unease had reached a fevered pitch. Their yellow feathers ruffled the longer they traveled down the dreary path, mostly dirt with few patches of cobblestone peppered in. Beaks clicked, wings fluttered, and at times their mounts refused to move at all.

"Think we'll have to leave 'em here," the roegadyn said, climbing down from his mount and turning to tie it to a tree.

Frieda did the same, pulling her bow and harp from their perches on the bird's bags.

"Is there far left to walk?" she asked, trying to peer further down the road only to be denied by its numerous twisting bends.

"Nay," the roegadyn replied, trudging on down the path. "Be there in a couple minutes."

Harp and bow slung across her back, the elezen followed in step behind the roegadyn. His name, as he had abruptly told her in the middle of their initial meeting, was Quiet Breeze. She recalled thinking it was tame for the wild looking man who had asked to speak with her after a song. His long hair was peppered with grey in it, and his beard had likely not received any sort of decent trim for some time.

His demeanor had not matched with such a gruff appearance. Even now, trudging down this aged trail, his footsteps were soft and light. The movements of his head as he double checked his surroundings was swift and clean.

"You never mentioned exactly what it is you wanted to do, sir Breeze," she said, trying to spark up the conversation again.

"I do believe I did, miss Morrow." His brow furrowed as though he was uncertain of that. "I wish to commission you for a song."

"Well yes, but you didn't specify anything further," she added meekly.

They rounded yet another bend, bringing a wrought iron gate into fence. Frieda stopped in her tracks, while the roegadyn continued on. Beyond the gate sat a large manor, that looked to be in the process of being swallowed by Eorzea itself. The entire house sagged, creating a wave effect to the wood. Windows had broken inward, sections of the roof had vanished, and the entire structure was one strong wind from blowing entirely inward.

-

"In younger times,

In timid woods,

A gentle couple's love,

Did bud inside that grand estate

As blessed from gods above.

To feast and dance

The night away,

Came neighbors near and far,

Enthralled by the grand duet,

Of the pair of beaming stars."

-

Quiet Breeze approached the gate, producing an aged ring of keys, and slowly flipped through it. Frieda watched him fiddle with the keys, stumbling with them, and trying a few more than once. Eventually he managed to open the gate, and stepped inside. They crossed the decaying grass in silence, Frieda in quiet observation, Quiet Breeze in mourning.

Picturing the grounds in their grander state was an easy feat for Frieda. To see the paths complete, the fountains flowing, and the hedges finely trimmed must have been a luxurious sight. The path they walked was wide, perfect for a carriage to be pulled, of course by only the most illustriously bred chocobos. Those that were not beasts of burden, but instead signs of prestige.

A once grand staircase worked its way up to a large open door. Once again the key ring emerged from the roegadyn's jacket pocket, and once again he fiddled and fussed with them. Throwing the door open with a sorrowful creak, he entered into the sagging foyer.

-

"Until a night of darkest moon,

Did foulest souls descend,

Upon that gloried place,

Whose guests would meet their end.

Gold and jewels were their demand,

Sharpened blades did swing,

A herd pressed through the hallowed halls,

Which echoed hollow screams."

-

She stood at the precipice of the darkened foyer, arms drawing around herself. What light found its way through the door served to illuminate an ancient scene. Numerous expensive tables and chairs lined the halls, framed around a formerly grand staircase that lead up to the second floor. Silver and gold platters and wares lined every table, their metallic sheen stolen by the layers of dust that the years had covered them in.

The old man found a turned over chair, brushed a few years of dust from it, and took a seat. He looked at the bard expectantly, motioning her in. With a few hesitant steps, she allowed herself to enter the desecrated place.

Spreading his arms dramatically, a motion he had practiced since devising his plan, the roegadyn turned to Frieda. "This is what I would like to commission."

Frieda took in the room once more, before her gaze settled on the man. "I don't understand."

He produced a handkerchief and wiped at his nose, "I can't claim to understand it either. But what I do know is this, miss Morrow. My lord and lady did meet their end in this house, many years ago. And they have not been allowed to rest since."

Her eyes went wide with fright as her mind gripped those words. Ghosts or spirits had never been part of the bargain she had entered. She shuddered backing away again, "I still do not understand what part you wish me to play in anything."

His large hand flew up, halting her for a moment. With even greater hesitation, she drew herself back into the foyer. "It is not truly you I seek, miss Morrow. But adventurers. And yet I have never been able to draw them in myself." She nodded slowly, prompting him to continue. "But what draws in those with a sense of adventure more than the thought of being framed in legend by the song of a bard? What would pull one to this place faster than a slot to be filled in song?"

She felt herself nodding, understanding.

-

"Forever moored in mournful place,

Chained at very soul,

Still stands a couple,

Hands locked in horror's pull.

For a set of those, brave of heart,

To enter their domain,

And slay their cruel facsimile,

Else ever they'll remain."

Her hands continued across the harp strings to sustain the note, voice drawn out for effect. When finally she released the note, she bowed her head dramatically, and laid her harp upon her lap. The inn was silent for a moment, before breaking into applause.

Smiling, Frieda stood and bowed, eyes scanning the crowd. She let out a sigh of relief as she walked off stage, noting a party at the back. A serious looking man was nudging his cohort, and pointing towards the notes he had made in his journal. Said cohort was nodding thoughtfully, before producing a map. Taking in a deep breath, Frieda found her way back to her seat near the wall.

The scent of adventure lingered in the air.