Notice of Salutations

'He's definitely a ranger.'

Maya kept her thoughts to herself as they approached the cloaked man. She tugged on Athalos' hand so he wouldn't get lost and frankly, she was cautious. She was apprehensive of strangers in any world, cloaked ones even more so. She felt lucky that the blind man was an exception to the rule and found comfort that he was at her side.

"I wonder who wishes to see us!" said Athalos with much excitement as a child. He had a skip to his step. "Think he'll buy us some chips? Maybe a whole chicken?"

Maya sighed. Little comfort, she painstakingly corrected her thoughts.

Tailing behind Frina, who walked tall and with the slow grace of an idle horse in a meadow, Maya and Athalos finally reached the clouded corner where a lone candle flickered on the center of the table. She waved the smoke away to little effect.

The cloaked man took a drag from his long mahogany pipe, which upon closer inspection, had an inscription etched in time-worn gold along the pipe's shaft. He set the pipe down on the ashtray and a line of steady smoke rose from the pipe's chamber. His long slender fingers reached for the edges of his black hood.

Seeing such flawless and smooth hands, Maya thought it was ill-assumed to think he was a ranger. She guessed again with guilty elation, 'Maybe he's a wizard?'

The man leaned in, elbows on the table, and unraveled his face; A small shrub of a ginger beard on his chin's tip entered the candlelight first. With his porcelain-smooth skin on his unfolded face, he was a dwarf unlike any Maya ever knew or had seen.

"I just hope it isn't a dwarf." Athalos leaned on his staff with a dumb smile. "Those fellows are grumpy and stingy- Oof!"

Maya bore her elbow into Athalos' stomach. The hit was stronger than she wanted for she was wee pissed that she didn't guess correctly. She discreetly leaned back just to make sure, to see under the table. And when she saw that the sole of his boots weren't anywhere close to the floor but hung like chopped branches of a tree at the edge of his seat, she doubted no more that he was a dwarf.

"Ye must be wonderin'..." The dwarf caressed his ginger braided ponytail, shaved head at the sides, over his shoulder. His bourbon eyes trailed slowly across the table until he shot them at Maya when he spoke again. Whether it was the candle's effect or other unreasonable explanation, his eyes seemed to sparkle. "...How come this dwarf is so damn pretty?"

"N-no! Uh- Actually, yes?" Maya didn't know the right response if there was any.

"Heh." The dwarf smuggly snorted as Frina nodded faithfully with closed eyes. He refilled his mug with a pitcher of ale. "It ain't so'cery as most skincare ignorants flatter me with. Milk baths, a mighty concoction of youth. Bathed in 'em at least five times a week. If ye skip a day, pay yer tab on the next week. Simple as that."

As the dwarf was about to drink, he noticed Frina raised an eyebrow at him. He grunted and groaned as he set the mug down.

Maya thought that they looked like a mother scolding her child.

Graff scoffed then continued in a tone which taxed him to speak, "I've been- allegedly been accused that the spotless and envied fairness of me skin could be unjustly blamed for never working in a mine or even seeing battle. Ye happy now, Frina?! Find it fun to poke at one's grandeur?!"

"Go on." Frina flicked her hair. She thought nothing of the little outburst at the end.

The dwarf muttered with resentment, "Frina, the ungrateful here, thought our partnership needed a little fixin'. We're practicin' this vile thing called transparency."

"Good." Frina, cross-armed and pleased, nodded.

"I swear sometimes I need to climb a ladder just to remind this walking cloud to- Bah!" The dwarf shrugged the thought away with a wave of his arm and the still trail of smoke from the pipe briefly bended. He gestured, with his soft and supple hand, to the empty chairs by the table. "Take a seat, will ye? My neck's hurtin' like a heart broken twice. Ye all are tall enough already as it is."

Maya took the offer. She then moved the chair next to her behind Athalos just before his rear sat on nothing. Settled, she turned to the dwarf with a lost look. A chance meeting such as this was beyond her comfort zone.

The dwarf quickly acknowledged Maya's expression before she could ask anything. He cleared his throat and spoke in a deep rubbled voice, "The name's Graffodil Ironensteelstone. My friends, and future friends like yerself, call me Graff. And no, I believe stone is never worth the theft."

"I run and steal…" recited Maya softly. She wiped her face with her palm and shook her head. She dreaded what other family trees she would encounter in the future. She decided it would be better for the conversation to ignore it and thought she'd get right to introductions. "Maya Mordeaux. Mister Graff… Why are we here?"

Graff rummaged within his moss-green vest and procured a rolled parchment. He moved the platters of food aside and spread it open on the table. He couldn't quite reach the other end but to everyone's surprise, Frina assisted by casually planting a dagger on the parchment's end. He cautiously nodded in thanks then brought everyone's attention to the parchment's contents.

"I call it a notice of salutations!" Graff spoke proudly of it as if it were his own child, not that he had one. He pointed to the rough sketch in the middle of an unknown tall handsome man who bowed and presented Frina with wide outstretched arms like the unveiling of an attraction or a magician's 'ta-da!'. In fact, the very words were written beneath them, right beside the crossed out words 'fus-ro'.

"Who's the man beside Frina?" asked Maya.

"That Lady Maya is an appeal to the masses." Graff held a finger to his temple. "It's this new thing called marketing! Sword on a neck, who wants to see a dwarf?! Well, I think I'm the only dwarf who wouldn't shatter a mirror at me sight! Hah!"

Frina rolled her eyes and muttered, "More like an appeal to himself."

"How lovely. I've heard imagination is a very healthy exercise." Athalos commented.

Maya took note of the sarcasm in Athalos' voice and read aloud the sloppy handwriting amidst the splatters on ink. "Graffodil's Troupe. A collection of the Ghala's finest female songstresses and bards and… jesters? Why's this crossed out?"

Frina shot a sharp glance at Graff who had clearly not done his duties. She cleared her throat then eloquently spoke, "We had a jester once. Sadly, she was more infuriating than funny. When she involuntarily took leave, that one actually made it to a kingdom's court."

"And that was the last of her. That king, bless his ears, heard that fool's mouth. Believe me, that king did us all a favor by lopping her head off her neck." Graff raised his mug to the king. He clapped his hands and turned towards Maya with a resurged bravado. "Enough about past misendeavours! What happened in this tavern tonight was nothin' short of magical! I've travelled across Dernham and none simmered my ears other than an infection in me lobes!"

Frina shot him a dark glare.

"T-Thank you?" Maya wasn't sure if it was a compliment. She eyed Athalos who giddily tapped his staff twice on the floor.

Graff cleared his throat and continued, "I, Graffodil Ironensteelstone, propose a fortuitous partnership! I'll be yer manager- though there's this title of producer that's kickin' quick these days, its appeal escapes me. Under my short wing, I'll make sure that people- small or tall or even those whose mothers wouldn't dare call fair- will hear ye feisty voice that thunders even the slumbering chambers of the gods!"

A slow clap broke the momentum of Graff's sales pitch. It was Athalos. He shook his head in dismay, "I thought I could. I really thought in my pure generous heart that I could."

"Athalos?—"

"Who knew dwarves grew itchy fingers? Don't let this dwarf commit a crime, my lady." Athalos chortled and shook his head. He placed a thumb on his heart. "It is I, Athalos Wallington, who will be Lady Maya's manager!"

"Wha— I am anything but!" defended Graff. He pounded his forearm on the table. "While our troupe is a little past birth, ye best believe we are our a legitimate production! Can ye even fill out the permits?!"

"Seems you are ignorant of a disability's strength and resourcefulness. You forget the unseeing's irresistible charm for generosity. Perks." Athalos smirked. He clenched his fist above his chest. "I won't let Lady Maya's peculiar spite-driven talents be wasted on someone who pales at towering tree stumps! Ever see a rare bird then never once again?!"

"Never had the experience…" the dwarf nonchalantly replied. He leaned in across the table, as much as he could, and whispered, "...But I'd wager you've never had the opportunity either."

"Oh no thee didn't." Athalos slammed the table. He stood up and held an open hand around his mouth like a barker for a newspaper. He spoke in a way that he wasn't really addressing anyone. Also, Athalos had an odd habit of speaking in formal tongue whenever something ticked him off. "Doth this little dwarf want a fight? Will he aim for thy knees?"

Talks broke down.

Graff tossed his cloak, unknowingly at Frina's face. He jumped on the table and armed himself with a wooden plate. He tried to break it on the table for jagged edges but it was dulled by fine craftsmanship. He groaned and took the salad fork on his other hand. He mocked Athalos, "Ye better have enough arrows in that quiver this time, wolf-fighter!"

Athalos eventually removed his bow across his body but he didn't get an arrow. For his other weapon of choice, he went with the staff, or long tree branch. Dual-wielding both, he planned for wide sweeps to maximize his coverage of the area. With this strategy in mind, he knew he was bound to hit something at that corner table. "Ohoho! Doth thee wish to hear part of a song unsung?"

"Gentlemen! Please!" shouted Maya as she sprung from her seat. Before what could've possibly been the saddest fight in that tavern's history, Maya held Athalos' shoulder down and upon seeing Maya's decisive action, Frina placed a firm hand over Graff's head to prevent his advance on the table.

The two squared off from the table's distance but eventually retreated to their seats. Graff glared with a fighting spirit forged in any of dwarven blood. Athalos returned the favor though he glared at the wall above the dwarf with his arms slung on the staff that rested above his shoulders.

"Bah!" Graff lit a piece of straw grass on the candle then took a drag from his pipe.

Maya needed to think. So much was happening and too fast. She still hadn't gotten over the high of her performance but she couldn't let that consume her. She was aware of the importance of this decision at that table.

Graff's proposition was as appealing as eating whatever was left in the fridge. She didn't like having no options. With only herself and a borrowed hat of coins, she felt cornered by the proposal's timing. She didn't know anything about the world of Ghala and she was never presented an opportunity like this in her life back on Earth.

As for Athalos as her manager, she foresaw the troubles that would present itself in the future. She wasn't even sure if he knew anything about the idol or songstress business. However, whether it was gratitude to her savior or something else, she felt that he was the one person in this strange land that she could trust.

And then an idea hit her and she grinned at the thought. She knew what she wanted. She placed her arms over the table and folded her hands under her chin. Her blue eyes shimmered like a lake on fire from the candle's light.

Maya spoke with an unplanned menace in her voice, "I have a few conditions."