Few people can describe the kind of magic effect that good art and music have on them, and fewer still can tap into it.
From her position in the tavern’s corner, Zisia had a view of each person coming or going. Her fingers idly plucked a powerlute, weaving an easy song throughout the room.
Zisia had always been able to pick what kind of tune would resonate with a person. So when she saw the beginnings of a fight break out across the tavern, her song changed its flow to surge a call to action through the nearby guards.
The melody wound through the room, nudging each person to play their part like gears in a machine until the disruption had settled and folk resumed their drinks. It wasn’t showy, but Zisia was just warming up.
