Red Thunder
Two Thousand Club
Djen Vajebünd
Nostalgic memory is a powerful force, powerful enough to push away the vague worries of the future and the pressing fears of the present. Powerful enough, even, to cover over the negative memories of the past, if only for a small time. Within the warm comfort of nostalgia, the world seems perhaps a little less disturbed.
He honestly didn't feel like talking to anyone. Didn't feel like being around people, for who was to say whether...It was in the next person he greeted. No, Djen would certainly have preferred to head home to his little cabin on the far side of town and to take comfort in its shabby ill-kept solitude. And yet his feet began taking him off his path. Too tired from his emotional encounter with the Order, he followed.
Djen had often played at the tavern before leaving eight years ago, and the songs that sprang from his lute and his throat were loved well-enough. If he were honest with himself, it had been one of his favorite places to just be. Idris (long time daughter of the tavern owner who had inherited it just before he left), it seemed to him, had always been kind to the young man, though whether it was in gratitude for the music, the regular company, or for some other reason, and he'd always felt welcomed by both her and her father. So, as he rounded to last corner and approached the tavern, seeing her as she re-entered her establishment brought a sense of peace that he's not felt in some eight years, since the last time he'd been here and said goodbye to his fans and his hostess. Gripping the familiar handle with a shadow of a smile on his face, he pulled open the door and stepped inside.
It didn't seem as though the inside had much changed: the furniture sat in much the same place it had been, the hearth crackled merrily with a bright fire, and a few patrons sat comfortably around, creating with their quiet talk a gentle buzz in the air. To the bard it felt like coming home. So, keeping his head down, Djen stepped over to what in years past was his usual table by the window and sat, eyes closed. He inhaled deeply, smiling a bit more deeply at the wholesome smells, and pulling his lute from off his back, strummed a contended cord.
@Kal
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