It made for a fabulous feast in all, plenty enough to feed the encampment, with lots still left over for breakfast. Somehow, amid all the preparation and merriment, Braiden still found the time to buckle down and attempt another stringing of the Heirloom.
With its notches filled with othergoat wool, moongrass filament, and now unicorn hair — the finest, and perhaps the rarest of all the strings on the instrument — the Heirloom was finally complete.
“It’s done,” Bones said, sitting next to him on a couch in the living area, even as the room around them roiled with activity. “It’s finally done.”
Braiden held his breath. No one else seemed to have noticed, too busy with preparing or enjoying the feast, but he knew that he was happiest to have this moment be something small and private between him and his bard friend.
Magic hummed at his fingertips when he touched the varnished wood of the Heirloom, a nearly numbing electric sensation rushing up his hands and arms as he carried the device in both hands.
His mouth fell open in shock as a second frame materialized out of its top, now more closely resembling an actual loom meant for weaving. The frame and its strings extended upward in a ghostly golden projection straight from the base of the Heirloom.
Braiden licked at lips that had gone dry, excited by the possibilities of this enchanted object, yet still somewhat intimidated by what it could really do.
From across the room, he noticed that the demon Valefour was watching them. Valefour raised his cup and winked. Still unsure of himself, but knowing he was happy to have accomplished his part in his grandmother’s journey, Braiden beamed back.
“Here,” he said, handing the Heirloom to Bones. “I have no idea what to do with this. But maybe you do.”
The extended frame of the loom vanished as soon as Bones’s bony, fleshless fingers touched its wooden body. This time, in the same spectral gold as before, the Heirloom sprouted a neck, making it more closely resemble a traditional lute than a lyre.
Bones gasped in amazement, looking up at Braiden as if asking for permission. Braiden nodded back.
He had mostly only heard the more terrifying aspects of Bones’s music before, but the man was a learned musician. Surely instinct and etiquette told him what would be most appropriate for the occasion.
A sensation as warm as honey thrilled through Braiden’s body as soon as Bones strummed the first few notes on the Heirloom. Sweet music drifted throughout the elven cottage, enough that the buzz of activity suddenly silenced as everyone turned to the skeleton to listen.
Braiden clasped his hands, watching as Bones opened his mouth to sing, his voice high and fluid, accompanying the silky sweetness of the Heirloom. Something warm slid down the edge of Braiden’s cheek — he hadn’t realized he was crying.
And just as quickly as Bones had surprised everyone with his mastery of music, he suddenly launched into an energetic tune, the strumming of his fingers a little more frantic, the meaning behind his lyrics more risqué — something about an ancient Hyberidian woman, a feline fancier with a missing cat who refused to marry her suitor because he couldn’t find her pussy.
No one seemed the wiser, dancing along to Bones’s song. And just like that, the elven cottage feast had turned into a mini music festival. They danced and dined the evening away.
That night, demons, humans, elf, burrowfolk, and walking skeleton alike went to bed with full hearts and straining stomachs.
It must have been hours later when Braiden woke up, not quite as fully rested as he’d hoped to be, but at least he’d caught enough sleep to carry on with their journey.
His mind was still heavy with thoughts of what obstacles still lay ahead. Well, one obstacle in particular: a huge, locked gate. And somehow, he was supposed to be its key.
He peeled himself away from the still-snoring Augustin, a warm and tempting presence under the sheets, but Braiden knew that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep again. No sense dozing in the dark. He got dressed and crept carefully out of the bedroom.
He clicked the door shut behind him, standing in stunned silence when he found himself facing the banister on the second level of the elven manor. That was right — he’d somehow forgotten that the cottage had created a new bedroom for the two of them up here.
He tiptoed along the pristine floorboards — not a single squeak as he stepped — then navigated the grand staircase down to the foyer.
Everyone in the house was fast asleep, the long tables still heaving with food, though thankfully, much of it appeared to have been covered or responsibly stored for later use.
Braiden liked that about his friends, and knew he liked it about the demons, too. This deep in the dungeon, they needed to preserve all the resources they could get.
He found the Heirloom nestled lovingly on a throw blanket, placed on a coffee table in the living area. As chaotic a creatureas Bones could be, he still understood the value of protecting the tools of his trade.
Braiden smiled and gathered up the bundle with all the tenderness of lifting a newborn baby. He made his way toward the front door, unsure of what he was doing, only knowing that he needed some time alone — away from the others, away from the house, though not too far.
He emerged in the burning meadow, only a few paces away from the campfire. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he found Elder Bahul still asleep by the fire.
The ground around him was littered with an array of empty plates and cups, like offerings to a sleeping deity on his treasure-chest altar. Braiden must not have noticed it, but Elder Bahul surely must have participated in the festivities.
He shrugged and sat himself down outside one of the empty tents. He didn’t want to wake up the elder, much less wake up any of the others.
He ran his fingers along the varnished frame of the Heirloom, thrilling when it responded with a tingle of magic, racing all the way up his hands to his shoulders.
