Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 267 - 247: Rat King (5000 words)
I never liked Lokarot, even though it was my hometown.
I lived in a noble family in Lokarot with my parents and an older sister. Being the only boy in the family, I had started learning how to be a noble from a very young age. I performed well in my etiquette lessons, but my physical training, such as horseback riding, was mediocre at best. I loved the arts, the chirping of birds perched on the eaves, and the sound of a gentle breeze sweeping past the threshold.
But Lokarot had no music; it was like a stodgy old man, solemn and stubborn. The people here were the same, caring more about tangible profits and the taste on their tongues than the profound emotions that touch the soul. There were no artists in Lokarot.
Yet, I was born different. I learned everything about art from the books at home and the tales of traveling merchants. Just hearing their simplistic descriptions of music captivated me. I felt I was naturally an artist.
I began to run away from my tutor’s lessons, sketching what I imagined music to be on paper, not even knowing how many notes there were, creating only absurd and comical fantasies in my hands.
Lokarot was like a desert for my soul, where I endured thirst and a growing yearning.
One day, things changed.
That day, as usual, I stood on top of a haystack outside Lokarot, gazing at the slowly approaching carriage in the distance. What kind of traveler would emerge from behind the curtains, and what stories would they bring? Thinking of this, my spirits lifted. I danced a few steps on the haystack with an improvised choreography, but due to an unsteady balance, I fell down. Covered in straw, my gaze left the verdant distance and focused on what was in front of me.
A stranger, from a foreign land, appeared before my eyes. He wore faded and tattered clothes, which made him look even thinner, with messy hair and beard resembling a mischievous spirit that might burrow for potatoes in the fields, as told in stories. The bright eyes set in his dirty face were just like mine, startled by the sudden encounter.
Despite his odd appearance, one shouldn’t judge by the exterior alone. He removed a ridiculous flower-like hat from his head and, with a gentlemanly grace that surpassed his appearance, bowed to me. I thought to myself that he was a man with stories as I returned the gesture.
Mr. Inlet was a piper. In the subsequent idle chat, I came to know his profession, a man who traveled with his music. When he pulled out the beautiful flute from his worn pocket, I was almost faint with excitement. I had passionately desired a musical instrument, but when I tried to make one myself, not understanding its principles, I ended up with some sticks. I begged Mr. Inlet to teach me how to play and about true art. He didn’t respond immediately but instead put the flute to his lips and played a simple tune in front of me.
That was the first thing I heard that was truly worthy of being called music. I indulged in the beautiful melody like a baby nourished. Inlet became my teacher, as he said, a child who loved music so passionately would also be favored by the light of Apollo.
Inlet rejected my invitation, choosing an inn in Lokarot as his residence; he wanted to play his flute and see more people enjoying the expression of music, desiring more praise.
Such praise for music would certainly not be found in Lokarot. This was why not long after, I visited him in the inn’s stables. The reality’s setbacks did not diminish Inlet’s dedication to his dream. He refused my invitation and continued stubbornly to present music to the people of Lokarot, even if it meant living in the foul-smelling stables.
He was an artist and a good teacher. Our shared pursuit of art made us close friends, and under his tutelage, I became the first piper born in Lokarot.
My and Inlet’s quest for music brought us happy times. For two years, Inlet stubbornly remained in the darkest corners of the city, playing his music with his instrument. The indifference of people’s hearts can destroy all determination; our insignificant pursuits were like grains of sand in a desert against the harsh reality.
Inlet gave up after two years, having found not a single admirer in Lokarot apart from me. Two years of destitution, he survived only with my aid.
"I have failed, but it is not a flaw in the art; it is my flaw, I alone could not move them with my skills," Inlet’s voice carried an indescribable dejection. Then he looked at me, his eyes once again sparkled. "My friend, I have something for you."
Inlet stood on the haystack where we first met, playing another tune toward Lokarot in the glow of the setting sun, a special tune. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶
Though it was a familiar melody, the same instrument, the same man, it exhibited a different sound.
It was a sensation I can’t describe, I felt a tremble from deep within, the melody carried an incredible magic. That night, the residents of Lokarot danced unknown dances, flocked to the side of the haystack, opened their arms, laughing as they praised Inlet. They showed humility to the man they once mockingly called "Manure Man."
