Ditties for a Distraught Deity

[Pavel Vesely]

Lyre held close to his chest, and a crude picture of the Faerie Ring left by his archery gear, Pav took a deep breath to steel himself as he crossed the threshold, leaving the inn behind. The citadel in view, the Halfling veered a slight left to pass, bound toward that sacred site, scathed by sacrilege. It was close enough to the inn, and to his ramshackle little shanty, that he could flee if he had to, but he'd made up his mind. Homesick, struggling to adjust, and seeking new purpose, Vesely reflected on his travels as he trod toward the mound that helped to shield the Ring from the elements. It wasn't much, and would likely go unnoticed by all, and yet, closing his eyes in thought as he brought his instrument forth, the shorn-handed Halfling brought a fingertip to the strings, venting both his worries about dear old Egg, about ma, Auntie and Vera, and his sorrow toward what this place had gone through, its meaning to town, a Faerie's pained fury. Airing out his soul through a somber melody that rang softly through the surrounding wood, Pav maintained an eerie focus as he plucked the strings, a silent prayer issuing through his mind.

"O, venerable Lord Faerie, my heart goes out to you in this grim hour, even if I am far from your most devout of children. I've nishta to offer in terms of material, and so, I ask that you consider this, and my continued performances each a piece of my soul. May every note, every thought, every feeling reach you. Thoughts of home, and of my own weakness weigh heavy on my mind, and so, as I play, I beseech you: I seek your guidance that I might break through this haze and find my act in this circus called Holdfast.
Venerable One,
I ask for your guiding hand
To show me the way."