The World of Layonara

Character Development => Development Journals and Discussion => Topic started by: RollinsCat on November 05, 2009, 12:10:20 PM

Title: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 05, 2009, 12:10:20 PM
Hi no Tama.  Won Jack Lantern from Lord Fortrand in Octlar.

Once, years before even the children of Voltrex in the audience were laid for the first time into tehir mother's arms, there was a bog, a little bog, skirting the shores near a port city far, far away.

The legends spoke of a chest fully as long as a man and twice as wide full of stolen diamonds and emeralds, deep in the center of this little bog. A clever raider had supposedly stolen these gems from the dark elves of the Deep and buried them in the bog while under pursuit so he could get them when the commotion died down.

But that unnamed pirate of old never returned for them; at least, he was never seen or heard from again.

What that pirate didn't know?  That everyone avoided this place.  The bog trembled, shook as a sleeping man does when he's having a nightmare; little tremors, hither and thither.  The ground would feel solid as wood, make a confident tap-tap under one's boots, until it suddenly would give way, dousing one into the stinking muck, and sucking at boots, feet and legs as if it didn't want to let go.  And the bog was haunted -- haunted by the spirits of every man, woman, and child that had ever been sucked beneath the slimy surface.

Time passed, and by and by locals started speaking of a globe of light moving over the marshy ground and hearing a thready voice singing on bleak, dark nights in the haunted bog.  They spoke of a song of treasure untold...

"Come see my treasure, come over here...buried 'neath the quaking earth...glimmer, glitter, sparkle, shimmer...free me and it's yours...

Search beneath, down, under...deep they came and deep you plunder...rich beyond your wildest dreams...free me and it's yours..."

Well.  Word of this song got around town, spreading like only a rumor -- or a bad rash -- can.  Most sane folks continued to avoid the area.  Fear of spirits and the evil they can say and do is strong, and for good reason.

But.  There is always a but, isn't there? But, there were two men who were skeptical, desperate, and poor enough to start planning liberation of the captive gems.  They acquired shovels, rope, gaffes, prying bars, staves, planks, and lanterns and one chill winter night, under the black blanket of a new moon, they set off to lay claim to the reputed treasure.

It was not a long trek, but the walk left them numb with cold.  

The battered sand road that ran parallel to the beach seemed normal enough; but as they drew closer to the bog, icy tendrils of wind like cold little breaths came at them, whispering down their cloaks and around their gloves.

After quite a time, lugging all their equipment, they reached the marshy area.  The two men immediately began to lay a path to the center with the planks.  When they reached the center of the bog, and only then, did they hear the singing.

"Seekers, brave, here you are, but only one will leave...riches great but greed is greater, one sets to deceive...who will win the prize, my seekers?  Who will set me free?...And who will bleed in this wet grave, to join the rotting debris?"

Nervous though they were, still the desire for wealth without work won the day.  Giving each other suspicious glances, they set to probing for the chest.  The moment the gaffe dipped into the slime and muck, the song continued, and from behind them there was light...

"Who wishes to see someone dying, who wishes to sees someone dead?  Who has even now, a heavy wood bough, to crack over someone's ripe head?"

The men stopped, turned, and stared at each other.  One had the wooden-handled gaffe; the other held a wooden stave.  Behind them, a circular light about the size of a fist was darting back and forth.

But the men didn't seem to notice.

The men held up their weapons, eyes locked together.  Again the thin, reedy whisper...

"Only one can live, but two want riches...who will strike first?  Whose weapon twitches?"

The man holding the staff swung, but the gaffe hit first - dead center in the other man's chest.  The man with the staff flew back into the mire, sinking ever so slowly as the light flared and throbbed.

The man with the gaffe turned and sunk deep in the center, sparing not a moment to look at his still-breathing former friend dying by degrees behind him.  His eyes gleamed, and still he did not seem to notice the light.  His gaffe hooked something -- he tugged, eager, leaning forward to hook whatever heavy object he'd found.

But the object was heavy -- and in his blind desire, he fell into the muck.  Struggling to hold the gaffe and his treasure, kicking and reaching for something solid, his panicked eyes finally alighted on the aura of light --

"Take hold now, grab on, and preserved you'll be -- reach for the light, reach for me..."

He thrust up his hand, but as his fingers touched the nimbus, he screamed, for the light now seemed to suck on his fingertips with a vampiric force.  His eyes sunk back, his teeth rattled, and slowly the light shifted color -- the white lifting, dissipating, while a sickly yellow crept in.

And as the white light faded into the coal dark sky, one last song was heard...

"You preserved and I am free and bound no more because of greed...you now guard a treasure clutch of gems and baubles you may not touch..."

And the last sound heard was of soft, mad laughter drifting on the swamp breezes.

The light remained, frantically dashing about, here, there, stopping to buzz over the dead companion, then returning to the single arm still reaching out of the bog water, fingers reaching skyward in a supplicating plea....

But the bodies sank, both of them.  And children in the town of my birth know to stay away from that bog...and to keep avarice and greed from their hearts, so not to be seduced by the song of evil.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 05, 2009, 12:15:40 PM
In honor of Bear Island and many brave souls. Nov.

This day beneath the rolling hills
Before my light-seared eyes
The ground awash in bloody kills
We march forth to the prize

Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee

Pressing on through fur and claw
Bearing wounds aplenty
We battle on with firm-set jaw
Five and ten and twenty

Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee

Bugbears fierce with gleaming tooth
Gather by their altar
Holding forth our hard-won truth
Still we do not falter

Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee

We drag our dead and battle out
Victory at hand
Ahead a shout and falls our scout
We make our final stand

Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee

One last battle by the door
My companions falling round me
My clothing soaked in battle gore
With battle-horn sounding east

Flee your ground, get out alive
Before they gather more
Flee your ground, get out alive
So we'll live to the shore!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 05, 2009, 12:16:46 PM
Work in progress.  For Jaelle.

Night sky, bright sky, sunlight, wind and rain,
Piano deep and harp-strings sweet to play away the pain,
   Two winding round in notes so clear
   Lost in what we both find dear
Singing we need not be lonely again, my dear, we need not be lonely again

Whole notes, soul notes, dancing into night
Lives of secrets, bound in song, confessions doth invite
    Here is truth before our ears
    Letting trust belay our fears
Singing there is peace here beside the fire's light, my friend, there is peace here beside the fire's light

Heart of storms, heart of love, both seen through eyes anew
I've wandered through this world alone and never had a clue
   Let me help you when the darkness patters
   Let me help you when your life's in tatters
Singing I will always be here for you, dear friend, I will always be here for you
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 05, 2009, 12:31:36 PM
Work in progress.  Lullaby for A.  Added verse.

Sleep my angel sleep in peace
Quiet through the night
Sleep my angel wrapped in fleece
Quiet through the night
Even now night is resting
Snug inside your cradle nesting
Long way off is dawn's bright cresting
Quiet through the night

Sleep my storm child
Quiet through the night
Sleep my storm child
Quiet through the night
Lightning flash on window pane
To the tune of tapping rain
Windsong's thrum your sweet refrain
Quiet through the night
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 08, 2009, 03:11:42 PM
For Zira.

Twas in a summer's afternoon
Rolling onto eve
We met by fountain's gentle whispers
My heart upon my sleeve

Come, you said, with sparkling eyes,
Seeing me naive
I leapt to sing the world with you
And so we made to leave

You spoke of wonders across the seas
Passionately I did believe
Forest, lake and mountains grand -
Your words did not deceive

But in our time of roses, dear
My heart began to grieve
Your devotion crystal clear
To Toran-loving reave

Yet now mine eyes and heart take wing
When caring round us weave
Knowing that I can know you
What our friendship can achieve
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 09, 2009, 09:23:21 AM
Song of the Phoenix for Leringard Arms.  Fundraiser.

Ash blow cross fire-scarred floor
Wood glow orange around the door
Blackened drawn like curtains fore
Rise to Arms again

Ghosts move past in shambling gate
Looking, picking, box and crate
Blackened books and burnt estate
Rise to Arms again

Timber bathed cinders warm
Memories echo wood and form
Words spoke of lives and love transform
Rise to Arms again

When sun brings gentle touch to cheek
We together rebuild, unique
The living shell comfort bespeak
Rise to Arms again

So lay a hand, drop a True
Lift a plank or join the crew
Donate body, coin or brew!
Let's Rise the Arms again!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 11, 2009, 02:19:02 PM
Bad day.  Slept in.  Write Mother for Randy Stuffigans.

Whisper round the madness
Doors and windows staring hard
One hundred arms to grab and pull
Plucking shard by shard

Whisper round the halls at midnight
Asking WHO IS THERE
Little feet tap little beat
But the house holds empty air

Whisper down the alley-way
Laughing tears to calm me
I'm alright yes I'm alright
Dying by degree

Games are for children then
And how does one reassemble?
Puzzles meant for little hands
Bleeding edges tremble

Whisper of a man who feels
Here's a song of falling
An image trapped in broken mirror
One-hundred shards come calling
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 12, 2009, 10:07:40 AM
Woke up hung-over.  Wonder why I write so well when I'm sick.

Another night of wine and song and woman warm and willing
Another day of marching on to sing about the killing
Another evening drinking spent to ward away the chilling
And what more is there, but this I fear, to life and all its living

I've had enough of silken touch and words whispered so sweetly
I've had enough of sultry glance and finger crooked discreetly
I've had enough of wine and ale and losing myself completely
There is more than this, dying on a kiss, to life and all its living

I will seek out words of wisdom and I will search for mirth
I will walk a different path and sing upon the earth
I will listen to my Muse and make good on my worth
There'll be more than quips and wine-stained lips, to life and all its living
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 13, 2009, 04:02:33 PM
Sung for the children at the Tower.  Ilsare help us all.

There is gold in warm and caring hands
A home in arms embracing
Silks and velvets in giving hearts
Who knows what we are facing

This day you don't suffer as only one
This blanket of pain is shared
We all have lost and understand
Being alone, and hurt, and scared

Take my hand, sing with me
Or hold the one beside you
Today we face the world as one
Together we will see this through


Sung for evacuees.  First time singing in a week.  Throat hurts.  Need honey tea.

Life and pain lay twain in twain and joy's a fleeting mistress
At mercy we to air and sea and nature's fickle caresses
But with resolve we march to solve the problems surge before us
We'll take what's thrown and through it shone and turn it into progress

This is our city
This is our home
This is where our songs we blend
This is our city
This is our home
Together family, together friends
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 16, 2009, 01:52:21 PM
For Elaine.  May her father never find out.

Dance well my sweet gazelle
Legato legs a spinning
Dance long upon my song
For night's only beginning

I play my passion like a bow
Aiming for your heartstrings
My violin and I begin
To play your feet to wings

Sheen, a sweat, you're dancing yet
Shedding that which binds you
Past laments and good intents
Melt with skin's debut

Melody flows from bow to hands
Bodies sing staccato
Fast colle' and son file'
Soaring to vibrato

Twilight dawn I sneak you gone
To those who guard your honor
Return to wait, anticipate
When light's dusk brings an encore
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 17, 2009, 12:59:00 PM
Ballard of the Pies.  For Zira's contest.


What bubbles here upon the sill, steaming gently in the chill?
Rubarb pie to tartly thrill and promise rumbling stomachs fill.

Yet to my nose does waft to tease, nestled twixt a doughy breeze,
And with a candied wink appease, golden apple topped with cheese.

But wait!  Like summer orchard spectre, comes the smell of godly nectar,
Drifting on a sugared zephyr toward peach-filled pie I change my vector.

Still en route to peachy bliss I stop dead in tracks -- what smell is this?
A cloud of sensual blueberry kiss and I forget that peach exists!

Left of peach and to my right, latticed cherries sweetly delight,
A taste the heavens to excite, under blanket doughy white.

Each pie exerts a siren's call and I am pulled from stall to stall,
To each honeyed smell I am in thrall; I confess I have to try them all!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 18, 2009, 12:35:11 PM
Candle glow forgives you and I'm bored to tears again
Waiting for the waves to hit the shore
Every time I land here after self recrimination
Wishing I was a hero but drowning in mundane

You smiled and sat beside me
We shared a drink or three
Each hiding to a degree

It didn't take much, no, it didn't take much
To convince me
Another pretty face
To convince me...

You said you were from money, I believed you were
It's okay, I lied too
Just to spend a night with you

But here we are in morning light
Without a truth to bind us
Empty bottles and ashes on the floor
And nothing more than this to hold us every single night
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 19, 2009, 12:47:39 PM
A ray of hope.  A Golden Elf.  A hand to hold.  And I'm out of booze.

Wake and rise, stretch and pray
We've lived to see another day
And while we mourn we still can say:
We are here, here we are, here we stay.

Backs to work, children play
Livestock graze and chickens stray
Manure and sweat our new bouquet
We are here, here we are, here we stay.

Hitch the cart and haul away the city's disarray
Like a courted maiden she reveals more everyday
Peeling off the sea's debris the better to display
We are here, here we are, here we stay

Bunched together we in a storm induced soiree
Our city holding tightly to the hopes that guide our way
But yesterday, tomorrow, and certainly today:
We are here.  Here we are.  Here we stay.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 20, 2009, 10:00:34 AM
Elaine brought me some dwarven firewater.  And I wrote a poem to Zari.

I really won't ever learn, will I?

Will you hold my hands and dance
Where day and night don't follow
Will you spin on song-light heart
Where excess words ring hollow?

Will you walk with me a while
Into my darker places
Will you lead me past your veils
Into your sunlight spaces?

This isn't high prose, Zari dear
It's meant only to amuse you
But an invitation, that it is -
One I hope that you'll pursue
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 20, 2009, 05:37:59 PM
Sung at the Scamp's Tent.  Nothing says party like a Shadonite.

Some new lyrics, two lines from a dwarf in a bar.  Dwarves...do that?  The logistics raise the hair on my arms.  Good line, though.

Give me please an honest tease
A wanton maid of pleasure
Highborn ladies simp and fawn
But their love's bought with treasure

Give me dancers, gypsies, maids of night who don't need True to love them
I'll not be swayed by moneyed ways and cold hearts born to condemn

Give me swaying hips and lush red lips and eyes that sparkle knowing
At midnights bliss it's not a goodbye kiss that I want them to be blowing


A choice between a maiden green
Or a woman full and busty?
No choice at all, I'll take my call
From those whose eyes are lusty!

Give me dancers, gypsies, maids of night whose bodies are their own
A dowry chest and wedding nest leaves me no room to roam

Whatever sot said a lady's not if she enjoys freely sharing
Has put a hex on the fairer sex who is every bit as daring


Virgin maids for marrying
Want feathered beds of roses
But a dancing girl can get her fill
On grassy knolls of posies

Give me dancers, gypsies, maids of night, at love they're simply better
On nature's bed we'll play at wed with no rings to form a fetter

Ladies fair can take their share of those who wish a wedding
But I'll keep time with ladies fine who prefer passionate bedding
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 23, 2009, 04:56:13 PM
Grandfather's story, for the upcoming contest.  Work in progress.

Are the gloves cheating?  I must remember to ask.


We have a story to tell of love, Alexander and I.  This tale is from not so long ago.  Sixty-six years to be exact.  This story is about love, but it is also about the Goddess of Love and Inspiration.  You may think of Her as a warm and fuzzy thing that She rules the heart.  But perhaps also you know Her, and the way She touches those She resides in.  As a dear friend has told me, Ilsare is not an easy Goddess to follow.  To worship, yes, and to love, yes.  But to follow Her means to follow your own heart and whatever lurks inside it.

The story begins, not with a woman, but a man.  He was a tall man for a Huangjin native, with skin dark from a life outdoors for he earned his living shaping clay.  Most would call him an artisan, but he would not have agreed.  He was above all practical.  Yes, he made vessels of clay that were outstandingly crafted, but this was a living, a trade, not an indulgent expression.  Yes, he could draw, but only to sketch the design of the pots and dishes and urns that earned him his keep.  Yes, he could paint, but this was to avoid having to pay someone to make fliers and signs.

There were many who told him he was touched by Ilsare, but he scoffed.  An emptyheaded elven Goddess who ruled the heart?  He could imagine nothing less like him, and nothing he was less likely to worship.  Yes, she might inspire him, as they said.  But inspiration was a far cry from devotion and love was a distraction.  

As I said; practical.

One evening as dusk seeped color from the clay he shaped, the man carefully wrapped unused clay in wet cloth and packed it away.  He walked from the wheel in his rear yard toward his modest home.  And stopped short, foot hovering over the first step, for he heard music, beautiful music, yearning...a single violin with a voice as sweet as a nightingale, calling into the darkness for someone to understand.

(Andrew here; write mother for score)

The music shook him and he spun around, trying to see where it came from, but the evening wind took the notes and bounced them off the homes and flat spaces along the road so they came from everywhere, and nowhere.

He went inside but remained unsettled.  He decided to paint, intent on a new flier for his work, but he could not stop humming the tune the wind had brought him.

And when his rough hands dipped brush into pot, and came to the easel he faced, it was not pottery that they painted.  It was a woman, with red streaks in her dark hair, eyes both brown and green, and dark skin made darker by the sun.  Her face was not that of a classic beauty, with her too-strong chin and thick eyebrows.  But to his eyes, she was beautiful, as enticing and aloof as the tune he murmured to himself.  He shook himself and tried to start on his flier.  But the music played endlessly in his head, urging him when he stopped, and so he painted her until she was done.

Weeks passed, and the song did not return.  His equilibrium recovered; he tucked away the woman's face and painted his flier, and shaped his clay.  His friends laughed at his story, telling him he needed to take a wife and soon, and that Ilsare was no longer touching him but actively tapping him on the shoulder, but he waved his hand and ignored them.

Until the very next night when the music came again, riding a gentle rain and singing with the patter of the drops.

(Alex)

He was undone, pacing and fighting the urge to draw her.  He could see her, in the music!  Her face, brows drawn together in concentration, full lips tracing a smile of longing as she played, the way the candlelight highlighted her cheek and long-lashed eyes...

When finally he succumbed, he attacked the canvas with a passion that frightened him, until, drained, he looked at the woman's face and wondered what madness propelled his hands and whether he could stand against it any longer.

(Alex)

He made up his mind.  The music obliged, calling to him in the clear dusk air of the next evening.  He tucked up the second picture into oiled cloth and followed the song, tracking it as it pulled on his heart, and found himself gazing on a very small cottage tucked into the rear yard of an old cart shop only a few blocks from his home.  Among broken wheels and planks of wood warped by rain and sun the music echoed, now light and airy, now deeper and darker, as if it were the only sound in the universe.

He stood, transfixed with desire -- and fear.  But finally, with shaky words of courage to himself, he stepped to the door and knocked.

That moment etched itself into his mind forever, that single moment when she answered.  Her brow and cheeks, touched by the tallows in the candelabra; her lips, full, the color of a new rose; her eyes, brown and green flecked.  She stepped back, shocked, trembling.  

"You..." was all she said.  And he saw then that she looked at him as if she knew him, although he was sure he'd never seen her on the street.  She picked up from a table her delicate violin, oak with rosewood inlays, and played.   Standing that close, the song pierced through his soul.  In that moment he knew why.  The song she played was his, somehow, and by the look of sudden desperation in her eyes he know it had been driving her to the edge of her sanity as her face had been him.  He slipped the cloth from his painting and held it up as the music faded.  

(Get painting from mother.  Portal near Hlint.)

She stared into his eyes, seeing him and so much more; he looked back, with an understanding that caused his heart to ache from the weight of emotion.  And he knew that in the moment when she'd opened the door, he had opened one as well, giving his heart to the elven Goddess whose caress he had fought so long and the woman She led him to.

That man was my grandfather, Liang Reid.  He and grandmother Rose remained married for fifty-two years, and died within three hours of each other.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 24, 2009, 12:43:33 PM
A single grave of letters deep
Chiseled soldier rows, marching in eternal sleep
Forming simple lines of prose

Standing still in valley low
Though worn from rains, cracked through by snow,
And bearing weathered stains

Weight of years and emotions spent
Etched from stone and joyful love, aching tears and merriment,
Forever read to those above:

A moment flares and then it's gone
Each ache and joy a shining bead, strung from birth to final dawn
And marking moments of our need


The valley in my heart holds this
Wisdom earned by pain, shaping daily my abyss
A simple life's refrain
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 25, 2009, 08:57:00 AM
For the children.  Sometimes the simplest songs are best.

Gather, listen, children dear
I'll sing to you a story of fear
A little boy and a little girl
Lost their home in a storm's fierce whirl

The storm it hit with no warning gave
And brought with it a killing wave
The children ran, their parents too
Ran as if death itself pursue

And came to rest on farmer's field
Alone and hurt, wounds needing healed
But they remembered well their parent's word
And, finding others, they made a herd

This little girl and little boy
Were left with nothing, not a single toy
But they pulled together others scared
Gathered close, the children shared

The dread, the pain, the loss and tears
Confusion in the face of fears
Of losing more, who'll care for me?
Where is daddy, where is mommy?

Held together frightened all
Huddled, shaking, crying, small
But close they stayed and found a glow
In friends that would not let them go

Men and women came to assist
Fed them, warmed them, wounds they kissed
Families reuninted, some
And others found new loving home

And this our promise made anew
We will all take care of you
You have each other and hands that love
And the watchful eyes of the Gods above
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 25, 2009, 01:21:55 PM
Orc killing tune taught and translated to me by Grolf Bladeswarper and half a keg.  I sacrifice my liver in the name of my art!

Urrzhazht, urrzhazht, urrzhazht rurzh
Lazhzi' waurhk' kur ponururto kazkath!
Urrzhazht, urrzhazht, ur'h ponaztath az rhnurzh
Kur 'azhgathk k'al k'aah waazkath!

Urrzhazht, pohurk'ahth, urrzhazht kur
Urrzia lurha arkur k'a pohaazzi'!
Urrzhazht pohurk'ahth, ponururt zhann wanurzh
Kann hat zha thkazar k'a poaazzi'!

Urrzhazht zh'ana k'a pourtaath thkazzig
Ziazhgark rhazolark wahurl k'aah pourra!
Urrzhazht rhhaththark k'a azkkazzig
'rkan zha haazzi' k'aah k'hurra!

Urrzhazht, pohurk'ahth, zi'aawa az'aazt
K'a poazkkna tharkth ur'h ponururt!
Urrzhazht, pohurk'ahth, zinaazga 'ath 'aazt
Azrt naazga ak ar k'a l't!


Onward, onward, onward now
March forth to bloody gates!
Onward, onward, our blades a plow
To harvest them their fates!

Onward, brothers, onward go
Once more into the breach!
Onward brothers, blood will flow
Till red we stain the beach!

Onward while the bodies stack
Carving payment from their bone!
Onward pressing the attack
Until we reach their throne!

Onward, brothers, chief ahead
The battle sings our blood!
Onward, brothers, cleave his head
And leave it in the mud!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 28, 2009, 09:23:45 PM
Brine to cover brittle skin and salted cross the shore
Men and woman standing in an uneasy rapport
Their fate set hard and jaws and teeth in face of what before
A task unfinished by the furies churn the ocean more

Tempest in a teacup
What’s a wave to me?
Standing on the edge of death and waving merrily
Chaos is a mantle
A gaily waving stole
I’ll chorus with the clouds and rain under which I stroll


Ten and nine were all that stood storm and city in between
Strangers, friends and lovers mixed in fear inspired mein
Rang gaily as with festival the music started in
Singing back rebellion on the snarling howling wind

Tempest in a teacup
What’s a wave to me?
Playing to a tsunami’s face and then go home for tea
Chaos is a mantle
A gaily waving stole
I’ll fiddle down the waves and then I’ll sing the waters whole


A skeleton of lives fled east awaiting epitaph
And each life left to spite the storm set foot upon the path
Soaked inside the typhoon gale of Lady Doom’s own bath
The ten and nine began to fight against the tempest wrath

Tempest in a teacup
What’s a wave to me?
Cleave the waves to pieces under magic revery
Chaos is a mantle
A gaily waving stole
Heartsong in the shrieking winds and give up all control


Bluster screaming bloody rage tears words from waiting ear
A gypsy lady with her bells sings quiet in a sphere
And concentrate to form a wedge to cleave the waters clear
At once together wills in synch with faces set austere

Tempest in a teacup
What’s a wave to me?
Minds as one and braces done by those with sturdy feet
Chaos is a mantle
A gaily waving stole
Music in the magic holding fast to simple goal


A mountain range of water march across the churning sea
The motley crew stood fast although shaking at the knee
One heartbeat passed too quickly of an odd quiet reprieve
And the wave crashed down upon them as a thousand ton banshee

Tempest in a teacup
What’s a wave to me?
Swept aside as rubble by a squalling rush of glee
Chaos is a mantle
A gaily waving stole
But live we rise to soldier on in keeping our parole


Lightning flashes traced the sky and magic rent the air
Foot by foot the wave was chipped before it hit the square
Rendered less to spend itself against their fervent prayer
And wash them down across the town in rushing current tear

Tempest in a teacup
What’s a wave to me?
My jaunty affect in repose shook by the storm’s decree
Chaos is a mantle
A gaily waving stole
But chaos always knows its own and always takes its toll


One down among them bleeding fast while still they fight the storm
Another frozen to the sight of Lady Doom’s transform
Music plays down shrilling winds that blend now to perform
The ocean stills to screams of pain in one whose blood runs warm

Tempest in a teacup
What’s a wave to me?
Music soothe the savage storm to dying by degree
Chaos is a mantle
A gaily waving stole
The price was paid to stay the waves but who has lost their soul
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 29, 2009, 06:15:07 PM
Zari is teaching me elven songs for my collection.  This one she says is a lullabye her mother sang.

Filfa sela, wel'an aey nyma.
Filfa sela, wma aeym aaala.
Malaan aeym irailw nycelaa ane sa irailman,
laelam ane tyilman,
filfa eo sela.

Ceananca ela amiral aey tycila,
wel'an aey selw amirilan aniraa laila.
Caan anirelaa aaala latyilmnca illw lairela,
laelam il anailm,
filfa eo sela.

Eo aniraa nlaam laamaaan ceananca aey
aniraa'w alw yty ceelelv aey aname.
Ilcc eo anirelaa tyaetyca amire lanyecw aey
amirilan aniraa'w veela quylaan oem anira meviran ane irecw aey.

Omes aeym irailw weaml ane aeym aneala,
aey'ma lean synyir, veewlalala nleamla.
Fyan aey'ma lae tymanyeeyla ane sa,
laamaaan illa nyill fa,
filfa eo sela.

Eo aniraa nlaam laamaaan ceananca aey,
aniraa'w alw yty ceelelv aey anee.
Ilcc anirelaa lailsa tyaetyca amire lanyecw aey,
amirilan aniraa'w veela quylaan oem anira meviran ane irecw aey.

Omes aeym irailw weaml ane aeym aneala
aey'ma lean synyir, veewlalala nleamla.
Fyan aey'ma lae tymanyeeyla ane sa,
laamaaan illa nyill fa,
filfa eo sela.
Filfa eo sela

Baby mine, don't you cry.
Baby mine, dry your eyes.
Rest your head close to my heart,
Never to part,
Baby of mine.

Little one when you play,
Don't you mind what they say.
Let those eyes sparkle and shine,
Never a tear,
Baby of mine.

If they knew sweet little you
They'd end up loving you too
All of those people who scold you
What they'd give just for the right to hold you.

From your head down to your toes,
You're not much, goodness knows.
But you're so precious to me,
Sweet as can be,
Baby of mine.

If they knew sweet little you,
They'd end up loving you too.
All those same people who scold you,
What they'd give just for the right to hold you.

From your head down to your toes
You're not much, goodness knows.
But you're so precious to me,
Sweet as can be,
Baby of mine.
Baby of mine
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 30, 2009, 11:18:28 AM
Zari wrote this herself.

Aeym aaala lairela cena anira ceviran eo anira layl
Aeym nelalaala aloecw sa illw cailela sa ylwela
E anilna aeym irillw irama, illw eym laam ceoa favyl
Eym wila amecc fa laeel amiral aey illw E ilma ela

Ela ceoa oemaelam
Ela ceoa anevaaniram
Aeym ceviran illw sa ceviran nyesfelaw

Ela irailman maqueenyelv
Ela laelv ela eleenyelv
Eym ceela leam oemaelam alanamelaw

E ceen ane aeym laseca ane maillalayma sa eo anesemmeam
E nleam anirilan aey ceela sa oem aanamleana
E nleam anirilan ane irecw aey amecc tyillala ilamila ilcc laemmeam
Illw cailela sa ameanir tyailnya illw laamaleana

Ela ceoa oemaelam
Ela ceoa anevaaniram
aeym ceviran illw sa ceviran nyesfelaw

Ela irailman maqueenyelv
Ela laelv ela eleenyelv
Eym ceela leam oemaelam alanamelaw

Translates to:

Your eyes shine like the light of the sun
Your kisses enfold me and leave me undone
I take your hand here, and our new life begun
Our day will be soon when you and I are one

One life forever
One life together
your light and my light combined

One heart rejoicing
One song is voicing
Our love now forever entwined

I look to your smile to reassure me of tomorrow
I know that you love me for eternity
I know that to hold you will pass away all sorrow
And leave me with peace and serenity

One life forever
One life together
your light and my light combined

One heart rejoicing
One song is voicing
Our love now forever entwined
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 30, 2009, 01:15:27 PM
Alex and I playing to a beach sunrise after Jaelle left.

Xeenites.  Why did it have to be Xeenites?


Three ladies fair to rule me
Three ladies own my heart
Three ladies carve their names in me
Three ladies are my art

The first is one who shaped my mind
Warm in her embrace
From her I formed and met the world
From her I learned my place

The second holds my soul's desires
My secret whispered spaces
Inspiration freely shared
And any saving graces

The third is where my heart will go
A tempest midnight sky
Her melody inside my Song
Played from the cyclone's eye

Three ladies fair to rule me
Three ladies own my heart
Three ladies carve their names in me
These ladies are my art
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 30, 2009, 09:27:08 PM
Night Sky's song after waking.


There is beauty in the tempest
There is madness in the storm
There is rapture in my chaos
As I watch the maelstrom form

There is music in the hurricane
I hear it as she sings
And wonder at the melody
And questions that it brings

Who can stand the suffering?
Who can stand the pain?
Who among the faithful
Can endure the freezing rain?

Who will bear the burdening?
Who will pay the price?
Who will walk the darkest road
And melt a heart of ice?

Knocking, pounding at the door
Who will let her in?
Who can hear the cries of pain
That howl amidst the din?

Banging, railing at the gate
Who will let her out?
Who can stand the siren wail
When she begins to shout?

Hold fast to the wreckage
And stare straight into the wave
That brings death and black destruction
And the things I should not crave

Thunder sound the battle charge
And lightning show my way
Lady Chaos guide me
As I charge into the fray

There is beauty in the suffering
There is magic in the storm
There is madness in my rapture
As I watch the maelstrom form

There is music in the howling winds
And chaos in my heart
I revel in the tempest's wrath
And gladly play my part

Wailing, crying in the wind
Who will hear her plea?
Who can find it in their heart
To set the siren free?

Tossing, turning in the night
I hear the banshee scream
But which dark path will come to pass,
The nightmare or the dream?

What disturbs my reverie?
What phantom haunts my sleep?
What sea witch boldly wears my face
And lurks within the deep?

What shall be the sacrifice?
What will be the cost
To tread the brink and make the link
And find the one who's lost?

I feel the pull upon my heart
of lifeblood given free
The undertow of drops that flow
Into a northern sea

I feel the pull upon my soul
I watch in reverie
With gnashing teeth, the clash beneath
Almoran's restless sea
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 30, 2009, 10:06:41 PM
Preliminary song for Buddy from my research.  109 Hempstead.

Not high art but I think he'll like it.

Revisions after discussion with Symphony.


Pay the price to enter here
A city once deserving
No more laughter in these streets
The Brooding One we're serving

Sign right here, that's good, that's right
You're safe within our gaze
Watching, always watching you
An ear to every phrase

A law on who to worship
A law on how to speak
A law on how the law will work
A law to keep you weak

Under boot-heel of our lord
Your freedom sold for peace
Choice and action hung to dry
Like slaughtered golden geese

Bow your head at morn and night
Don't ask too many questions
Don't bring your gods both fair and just
Worship at our discretion

A law to keep out magic
A law to tax you dry
A law to strip your defenses
A law to keep you tied

Forgotten, now, who he once was?
General to a Bloodstone
Who tried to take the world by force
And carve his bloody throne?

A leopard doesn't change his spots
Nor dictator to a statesman
Keep this close to mind my friends
What came round can come again


Second.


Whisper down the wind
The shining jewel of Dregar
Living as an open scar
But no one says a word

Whisper down the wind
Law at such a handsome price
Ruled by a heart of ice
But no one says a word

Whisper down the wind
Ghosts of living everywhere
Shuffling cross the tidy square
But no one says a word

Whisper down the wind
Another public banishing
Another quiet vanishing
But no one says a word

All the trappings of a life but choice and self-decision
All the peace a man could want so long as you obey
The memory of the disappeared is met with indecision
Don't speak too loud don't draw their eye least you to go away

Whisper down the wind
Obedience and haunting fear
Fate decided for you here
But no one says a word...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 03, 2009, 11:25:46 AM
*letters placed inside, with some draft responses*

Andrew,

I didn't get a chance to talk to you before you met my sister. I am thrilled you seem to get along as you are both fabulous people. However, if I am right about you.. you both have your issues too.

If I may offer a bit of advice. My sister has had something happen in the past, to which I am not even sure what happened, but I do know that it left her terrified of people possessing her. Never think of her as a possession. Even if you date for months, give her time and help her through her problems, have fun, go out, date exclusively even.. but be very careful how you word things when it comes to claiming her and whatever you do... she is terrified of marriage.

You have been warned, try not to screw it up too bad.

Zira (*a heart drawn around her name*)



Andrew,

You have not been wrapped up in yourself, at times the life of an adventurer can get busy. As for paying attention to my sister, well you should. She deserves it. I would love to sit down and have a chat about our lives sometime, but Argos schedule is unpredictable. I will extend this invite to him, but do not know that our meeting would be anytime soon if we waited for him. Just let me know when suits you.

Zira *heart drawn around her name*



Andrew,

This letter may be a little unorganized, but as usual I'm working with my heart and saying what my heart feels and haven't stopped to put it in a specific order. I am writing this letter because I am concerned for you. You may think this is about Zari, but it really isn't. I don't want you with her and the reasons for that should be apparent by the end of this letter. With that said, I worry about your faith. From the interaction I have had with you, you don't appear to love yourself. If you don't at the very least love yourself, how could you love another? If you can't love another, where dos Ilsare stand in your life? Obviously not in the loved category. Additionally, you sleep with any female that passes in front of you. If your heart isn't available to yourself, then it isn't available others and that makes your actions about gratification of yourself and others and not about finding or expressing love. I will point out that sounds more Xeenite than Ilsarian.

You are a wonderful bard and I am sure Ilsare is pleased with that. However, you need to learn to love yourself so that your heart is available for others (including Ilsare) or you are not really the Ilsarian you claim to be. Ilsare is about pretty things and music and art and all of those wonderful things, but she is also in large part about love. I am worried about you my friend in faith. Sit down, evaluation yourself. Fix it or seek help to fix it. Help can always be found at the temple or the friends you haven't alienated yet.

You also need to evaluation anyone influencing your decisions right now and make sure they have your best interests and Ilsare's best interests at heart. If someone is reinforcing these negative behaviors of self destruction/loathing and lack of love, you need to cut them from your life.

Your music is supposed to be a reflection of your soul, but your soul is shaky right now.. You revile your soul. What is this doing to your music? You need to get back on track so you can be loved how Ilsare loves you.

I want to restate something from above, I do not want it to be misinterpreted that I think you need to limit yourself to only one person in the bedroom. If Ilsare blesses you with multiple lovers (and I use the term lovers intentionally), then that is wonderful to have more people to love and be loved by. I think you need to be emotionally available and able to fall in love and sleep with the people you choose to sleep with out of positive emotions as opposed to habit or lust. They call it making love for a reason. It is all the more special to share a bed when love is involved.

You once said to Argos something about finding a warm willing bed to sleep in. Does that sound Ilsarian to you or Xeenite? Not to mention MANNERS!, but that is another subject for another time. You say you love women, but you treat them as an object because you are unwilling to open your heart to anyone including yourself. I repeat.. Stop to evaluate your life and ask for help if needed. We are here. If I am not the person who makes you comfortable to talk, then there are lots of other Ilsarians around, find one. Work this out. Come back to someplace that Ilsare can love you and you her.

Alazira
Priestess of Ilsare



To:
Alzira
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Zira. I appreciate your concern. Much of what you say makes sense. However, I don't share your concern about my relationship with our Muse. In fact, events at the temple have led me to strongly think that I'm on the right track to something I pursue with all my heart.

If your offer of a confident is also that of friendship still, I accept. If not, I am saddened but I accept that as well, although I would not rule out Ilsare crossing our paths again.

I love myself Alzira. I just have trouble accepting certain parts of me, and that is something I work on daily with our Lady. And yes, I do come off as a Xeenite quite often and for good reason. You may ask your sister about that sometime and I give her permission to explain to you.

As for your concerns about us being together, I would gently remind you that it was something you supported, even encouraged. And, I would also point out, Zari made her wishes quite clear from the start and I adhered to them. What happened with her heart I cannot control any more than you can. But you, priestess of love, should know that Ilsare takes care of her own and your sister has found a peace with herself in all of this. You've seen it and so have I.

I will make one bid for your friendship, because you have been a lady worth knowing. I have never lied to you. I have never done anything, knowingly, to bring harm to your or yours. And I have not taken advantage of you or your family. If my personal demons are offensive enough that you no longer wish to know me, I will retreat without another word. All I ask is that you think on it and let me know.

Andrew



Andrew,

You took a letter that was wholey about you and turned it into a letter about myself and my family. What I said was in earnest concern for you.

As for my family, you are right... I did think you and my sister were good at the time and hold no ill will towards you for my sister. Heck, she still loves parts of you and I don't believe holds you ill will either. The letter had nothing to do with Zari other than timing and instead was meant to point out to you where I believe you should be searching your heart and searching your actions.

Try re-reading the letter with a heart meant to look at it yourself as opposed to shading it with extra meaning of my family.

Zira


Andrew,
I don't think you understood me very well. I'm still me. I'm still the same Zari that I was when I first met you. I still want the same things. The difference is, I realize that even though I do love you (and yes, I do) I don't think that YOU love you. I'm not going to do you or me any favors by hanging around and trying to convince you that the part of you that I see, the part that you showed me a couple times, actually exists. I am not pushing you away, nor am I angry with you. I'm not upset with you because you are incapable of loving me. If I was, I would be going against everything I believe in. I will never try to force you to love me, nor will I try to convince you that you should. I know you don't. I've always known that you don't.

Apparently Ilsare likes you because she gifted you with natural beauty and a song to make my knees weak. You act as if I am saying goodbye to you for forever, when really all I'm doing is giving you what you have said that you wanted. Space. You have someone or something else that occupies you and you do not need me to take up your time. And frankly, I've realized that I should not sit around waiting for your letters to arrive. When they do, I'm happy. I will read them. I will enjoy them. But my life cannot revolve around you anymore than it can revolve around someone that I did not love in the past. If I do that, then I am then doing to myself what those others wanted me to do for them. Again, still in the name of love. My heart is and will remain open for you, Andrew. But my life will not shut down to wait for your visits or your kind words or your soft kisses and gentle touch. I never wanted to become a slave to love. For too long I have been, whether it was because someone literally wanted me as a slave to their love or because I enslaved myself into a life of fear of love.

You told me that your greatest fear is yourself. Of the dark past that you have, and of the desires that you posess that continuously threaten to control or be the death of you. I can't tell you how to get over that, but you really need to. Just get over it. And when you can do that, then maybe you'll learn something. I don't know what your something will be, but it'll be for you. You say you have trouble playing your song. Your song is there. I've heard it. I've felt it. It's your Song I fell in love with. Not the one that you play, but the one you try to hide from yourself. I saw it. I saw the greatness in you that you are afraid to let out.

I told you I never meant to fall in love with you. I didn't. I can't say I don't know why I do love you because that would be a lie. I do know why I love you. But you don't. You have absolutely no idea why I love you. I'm not going to tell you either. Maybe someday you'll care enough to figure it out. But I realized that my deepest and greatest fear that I told you, you simply perpetuated that fear. I realized that the night of the storytelling. There I was, dressed to the nines, in the dress that you told me that made me even more attractive than if I had worn nothing at all. And you were so self-concerned that you couldn't even bring yourself to sit by me. It was then that I knew that love you or not, I'm simply a conquest to you. I'm simply a warm bed and a willing body. That's not love, Andrew. I may not be one who wants to settle down with just one person, but I do at least know that I want to be with people that bring me joy, and that I hope to bring joy and passion and light to their lives as well. Even if it's just once. Even if I will never see them again.

I'm not angry with you, and sure, we can be friends. But if you want to be friends with me, you will be friends with me. I will not simply be your friend. You'll have to prove to me you know how to be my friend. I know you can be my lover. I've seen it. I've done it. I've been there. I loved. You pleased. There's a difference. I hope someday that you learn the difference. It took me fifty years to learn that. I hope for your sake it doesn't take so long.

Love,
~Zarianna



Zari.  I don't love you because you said you didn't believe in it.  I don't love you because you are more than a little crazy, and not a good crazy.  I don't love you because you're vapid and vain.  Scratch the vain - I'm vain.  But you can only see the world only as a reflection of yourself, and then accuse me of the same?  I don't love you because you claim to hear in me what I have only ever heard once.  I think, when I can play my soul to music, I'll know before you do.  Seeing as how I'd be playing it.  And all.

Most of all I don't love you because my heart is filled with three others; my mother, who would not like you, my Muse, and the woman you hate.

Really, really better not send this.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 03, 2009, 06:54:38 PM
*tucked inside, folded carefully, the envelope attached to the inside of a page so it won't be lost*

Arioso

Stars and song I love that.  Arioso.

Arioso,

I have wondered long over whether or not I should pen this letter--I do not like to interfere or offer advice unsolicited, nor would I want you to think this letter in any way indicates doubt in your strength of self. I have no doubts, not in you. However, I have come to the conclusion it is better to have words you do not need than to have want of them, and me to have stayed my hand in hesitation.

I will not presume to know your heart or mind, but I wonder if you are nervous to immerse yourself once again into your past. Xeen's sharp and heady pleasures can certainly be just that--immersive--and it is easy to embrace that warm fog and linger there, indefinitely. (I am reminded as I write this of another warm fog that tempts one to linger--remind me, when you return, to tell you of Araus, bear lord of the northern isle, and his sanctuary, guarded by just such a mist. I think you will especially appreciate his companion, and will show you the epic I am working on when you return.) I know also that you have your own tumultuous history with Xeen and her followers, and if you were anxious about treading the same ground you found unsteady once, I would not call you a coward, but only a man possessing at least a modicum of common sense.

Let me say also this, though. It is more comfortable to imagine we have demons within us because it is a more heroic and romantic image, to see ourselves grappling with these dark monsters and shadows, fighting them and beating them down. Less romantic but truer, I think, is the admission that there are no such things, at least not within our own selves. Only hungers, wants, desires, obsessions, compulsions, addictions, all part of us and inseparable in the end--we repress these with the same fervor we would a demon, because these are the things that can overpower our will, which we cling to like shipwrecked sailors in a storm of passions. We dissociate, because it is painfully uncomfortable to stare these primal wants and needs in the face, knowing how society may abhor them, and say yes, yes, this is a part of me too. It is our nature to not like to stare too long into our own shadows. And yet at least for me, it is in the dark of night that most of my music and poetry is born.

It is your journey, love, and I will not presume to know its steps better than you. I will not tell you what dose of this medicine will cure your ills, only what effect it might have. It is for you to choose what is necessary, and what is desired. That said, if I have done my work right, one vial will be a spark of light in the darkness, the single candle in the lighthouse that the sailor must use to navigate the waters and guide himself home. Two vials is the autumn day where the fog lies thickly between you and your goal, but the pale sun cuts through the mist, and though you wander you shall not be lost. Three vials, well, if I have done my job rightly, and you have need enough of it, three vials shall be a shield, and mist and fog may only swirl at your feet, but leave your head perfectly clear. Or such is my intent, though I have had to guess a little on the dosage--it is hard to test such things on normal men, and then factor in also the extra handspan that leaves the crick in your neck when you bend your head too long to me in our embraces.

I worry for you, but I think it is a good worry, and one that comes from the desire to protect what is dear to us rather than the desire to protect that which is weak. I do not think you are weak, arioso. Even so--and know that I write this with a smile--I shall be put out if I have to come all the way to your fair island to tempt you away again with my siren song, so that you may explore the whole world and every corner of your heart with the days you have been given. (If gentle persuasion fails, I could always find your mother I suppose ...!) In all seriousness, though, love, you will be fine. And I say this with the confidence of a sailor who has spent many years navigating uncertain waters. I know the compass of your own heart is unfaltering, but if it is not too presumptuous to say, I hope you think also on the memory of our own nocturne, and as sailors have done for many years, trust the night sky will guide you home if you do indeed lose your way.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 03, 2009, 08:36:27 PM
*the letter is written on heavy ivory parchment with the heading "Reid Pottery - Potter's Lane - Huangjin, William and Margret, Proprietors"*

Leviran Lana

I have read your letter perhaps too many times for the parchment's own good. I understand what you say, though I hope you will forgive a singer of songs his romantic notions. Here I am smiling because it does come across more...heroic? somehow? to struggle against a demon than to admit you're an addict and really like to be high.

But you and I are of a mind when it comes to accepting it. That is something that my Lady and I have been discussing, lately. Strange, Alzira has been chastising me incessantly about my "Xeenish" tendencies. I wonder when Xeen and my Muse stopped being allies in her mind? In many ways they are mirror images of each other, with their fluid natures connecting them; one of needs, the other of wants, with the dividing line and definition up to each of us as to which is which. You knew when I said it, I'm sure, that it was never Xeenites I was afraid of, only my own willpower or lack thereof along this thin line.

It was this train of thought sparked by your letter, and a moment at the Breath of the Muse, and the loving reception of my family that is giving me strength right now. I will save my experience at my faith's most breathtaking collection for a day when we can sit together, but I will tell you this - it is good to be home. I was not intending to return for any length, but in my heart I knew I needed to. To return a painting I used in my story at storytelling night; to sit and talk with my mother and to give my father the rapier match he's been rather much anticipating (it was a draw, which gives me great satisfaction); and to see my brother, and his daughter Opal, who is now six years old of pure delight. She wishes to dance and sing, and has developed a little girl crush on me since yesterday which has of course wrapped me firmly around her finger. I have played for her on demand and sung her every song I know and she still wants more and yet my joy increases each time I provide.

My father is sending a package separately to you. When I arrived, my mother was finishing a glass goblet base and my father had shaped the cup. My mother works as well in glass as she does in clay; my father never had the skill for glass, although he has talents in clay that make men weep. I asked if they would allow me to purchase this one goblet for you, because I was struck by how perfect a representation...they would not take a True, of course, and were delighted that I wished something of theirs to send. My father will be sending it in my stead as I'll be at the temple or temples for as long as it takes. It is more than a representation of you; it is, to me, the perfect image of how my parents love, and how they fit together. So perhaps a little piece of the puzzle that is me? Or does that strike as too much ego?

Something from this visit: I have decided I must find Bella. She was always small for me, Alex fits me much better. But she is family and I think, part of the key to my Song. I learned on her (she fit much better when I was a child) and my Grandmother Rose would hold her under my chin and help me feel my way around the strings while Bella patiently sung a much nicer sound than my little fingers should have been able to produce. I miss her, but more, I want her safe in someone's loving hands. I wonder, do you think Aislin would like to learn?

Which brings me to now. I am preparing for a temple party, although my welcome was not as warm as I'd hoped - only Alex's deeply entertaining voice is getting me in. The ladies acknowledged my letter and gave me the homecoming any red-blooded man could ask for, but my abrupt leavetaking all those years ago and my long absence did not endear me to the head priestess. Hopefully I can establish my bona-fides once I am within Xeen's holy space. So, I have no information yet, but I will have at least an opportunity to get it.

I am nervous, of course. I have your preparations close at hand. Yet I will not try to reduce my experience, willpower or no. I believe, with my Goddess, my family, my friends (remind me to tell you of Annwyl Cadi), and my Night Sky to guide me home, I will come away from this stronger. Woozy, but stronger. And, Muse and Lady of the Seas willing, I will find out something that will be of use to you.

And I'd better. I got actual chills when you threatened to send my mother after me. She would do it, you know - march right into that temple and drag my out by my ear.

I hope that image leaves you laughing, Night Sky. I will write soon.


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 07, 2009, 09:44:11 PM
Andrew,
You made Zira the judge. Trust in her judgement. I wasn't the judge, and you wouldn't want to hear what I would've said anyways. Sometimes simple is better than long. Sometimes you should just take what you get and be satisfied with it. Next time if you want to judge, then judge.
And no, I don't think it had anything to do with Jaelle's donation or lack thereof. I'm sure she donated plenty. Zira simply chose the one she liked the best. At least I would assume so because that's the way Zira is. She's blunt and she's honest. You know this. You know her.

Love,
Zari


I seem to have touched a nerve.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 07, 2009, 09:55:51 PM
To:
Annwyl Cadi
Care of Calise
Temple to Ilsare
Hlint
Mistone

Milady Cadi, I hope this finds you well. Let's get the ugly out of the way: I managed the previous day's sobriety, but today in my travels to obtain more information I fell headfirst into a pipe. Not mine, a shared venture with another musician. I had no paper or place to write, or I would have.

That admission aside, I wanted your opinion and still do. Will you read this and give me an honest account? Yours will be the first eyes to view. I hope to use this in the future but I'm not sure if it's too long, or the ending trite. Ah, the paranoia of...whatever it was he shared with me. Not something I've used before. But the paranoia remains the same.

I'm rambling, and I apologize. Without ado:

Four Ladies met a summer's evening high atop the world
Seated round a slab of marble in chairs of vines tight curled
Moons and stars around them in a cosmic cotillion twirled
And from below the gentle breezes round their ankles swirled

The Lady first wore heartsong red in a clinging sheath
Lightning in a cloudy veil formed the second's wreath
The third enrobed in magic glow from toes to sparkling teeth
The forth was draped in purple gauze with nothing underneath

Upon the table onyx black a pack of cards was spread
From the others wolfish grins and "deal" was all they said
Three to each the table round dealt the Lady Red
And with a snap she flipped the top card over on its head

The Lady Magic set the stakes as she poured the wine
"Something from the each of us that makes us so divine"
The others thought a moment then nodded in a line
And drew from themselves something of their own godly design

The first condensed the feeling of a long adoring stare
The second molded lightning from the storm around her hair
The third an orb of magic haze from her mantle flair
The forth a trembling pleasure of the flesh so warm and bare

Lady Red gave Purple Drape a calm and measured eye
"No cheating this time" said she sotto voice, whispered to imply
"It's only cheating if you catch me" Purple purred in sultry deep reply
And winked across the table at her laughing Storm ally

"Bet" grinned the Lady left of Red and in the pot her stake
"See" the others said in turn and threw in their own take
A moment's pause while of the wine each Lady did partake
And round the table two more cards the full hand then to make

To win the pot one Lady need be first to take two rounds
Lady Magic stood pat on pairs and to her went first crown
Lady Storm saw four in row and then she doubled down
But second win was Purple Drape with staves in hand abound

Round the table against all odds each Lady won a turn
The next round dealt from Lady Storm was cause for their concern
Each hand picked up with eyes alight from an inner burn
To win the prizes heaped in the pot and from the others learn

Cards aloft the Ladies' gazes went around the table
Each looking for advantage in whatever she was able
A twitch, a blink, a quiver, a gesture slight unstable
To let them know the other had a bluff that they could label

Never on the earth or stars was game more cutthroat played
The cards slapped round the table in a percussive parade
Were Black Hound in the deal he'd have found himself afraid
At the dagger-sharp attention to the game these Ladies paid

Lady Magic held her cards and then declined to draw
Amusement flickered cross her face and then a look of awe
And with a tiny, tiny twitching of her magic-glowing jaw
She laid the hand down flat upon the table's inky maw

Lady Purple took a sip of wine and drew another card
Crossing her legs slowly, leaning back and smiling hard
Her hooded gaze the others turned quickly to regard
And her cards she held tightly with her fingers spread to guard

Lady Red discarded two and drew from the table's pack
Then she sat up leisurely, arching out her back
Upon the marble table top her cards hit with a smack
And piled with slender fingers into neatly waiting stack

Lady Storm sat waiting with her face a tempest scowl
Drumming fingers sounding like a summer thunder's growl
Passing on the draw as her eyes went upon the prowl
As on the table her cards were spread and then she gave a howl

Clubs she had and five all told were taunting their position
Lady Magic threw in her hand and with it her submission
Purple Drape with a mighty grin laid down her ammunition
Three and two of bells had she and Storm's eyes blazed in recognition

Lady Red then arched a smile and flipped cards one by one
Ace-King-Queen-Jack-ten of hearts and the others came undone
"Cheater!" cried the other three when it was clear that she had won
With a flippant grin she raked in the stakes and said "Can't prove it done".


Yours in the Muse


Andrew




Andrew Reid,
c/o The Tower Academy,
Port Hempstead, Brelin Kingdom

Sweet Andrew,

I am heartsick that your travels have bought you, once again, into harms way, viz your old problems. Part of me is impelled to deride you for slipping back and part of me aches, all too well, with understanding.

I know, dear friend, what it is to be slaved to one's fears and suspect that your descent back into old habits has more to do with a deep doubting of yourself than with current circumstance. Each of us has doubts and fears but, through our Faith and the good offices of those close to us, we can indeed surmount them.

You asked before about how I came to be who I am today. For now, I will say only this: I spent a whole, young life afraid of where my heart might lead me. And yet, through the benelvolent hand of our Lady of Dreams, I was saved from myself.

Our Lady Muse has blessed you, Andrew; you have a wonderful way with words and music. If nothing else, please have faith in those talents. Despite what you may think now, She guides all of us,

~ Annwyl

P.S. I loved your verse, and no, I do not think it too long nor the ending trite. The images (and metaphors) of our Lady, Mist, Lucinda, and Xeen gambling at stakes are captivating. We will speak more, when next we meet. ~ A.

P.P.S. Please know that Cadi is not my surname; I have none. One day, I shall explain. ~ A.




It's the way that you force to look in a mirror
It's the way that you touch me to know that you're here
It's the way that you tell me what I need to hear
And it hurts but the truth always does

I'm always looking for one good excuse
And I'm always a good one for cooking my goose
And I know that quite often I'm really no use
And it hurts but the truth always does

But standing beside you in thick and in thin
Watching you dance to my deep violin
Its love, but not love that this heart can win
And it hurts but the truth always does
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 09, 2009, 12:52:34 PM
Gypsy Belle's song, in common and halfling.  Remember to play the end as fast as possible.  Get mandolin?

One night when the mists came down,
A fiddler lost his way...
And as the twilight held the wood,
He began to play, to play, he began to play...

Who should appear around him,
But the queen and her fairy court?
She and her riders gathered 'round,
And laughed at all the sport, the sport, they laughed at all the sport...

Queen Morningdew bid him play a tune,
While they wildly rode through the wood...
Oh, and don't you know Billy,
You'd better make it good it good, you'd better make it good...

He put his bow to fiddle,
With a bow to nobility...
His strings fair burned apace,
And they danced to it with glee with glee, they danced to it with glee...

Oh listen to your mother son,
Don't give her cause to grieve,
For if you seek the fairy wine,
Your life will end this eve, this eve, your life will end this eve...

One boon would the queen grant him,
In gratitude for his song...
But Billy only wished one thing,
He wanted to come along, along, once let him come along...

"Take me with you, fairy queen,"
Pleaded Billy the fiddler lad...
"Such wonders I have never seen,
"It will fair drive me mad, me mad, it will fair drive me mad..."

They galloped through the fading mists,
That melted with the sun,
Rode home to stars and play the on-
-ly rule to have your fun, your fun, harm none and have your fun...

The pixies tugged at his hair,
The naiads sang a sweet refrain,
The queen held wine from her own hand,
But he knew he must abstain, abstain, he knew he must abstain...

He'd listened to his mother well,
wouldn't give her cause to grieve
For if he drank the fairy wine
He could never leave, nay leave, he could never leave

But so lovely was the ruler,
So enticing the sound of lutes,
He thought there would no harm be found,
In tasting of the fruits, the fruits, in tasting of the fruits...

The whole realm paused as he took a taste,
And the queen laughed in delight!
He ate and felt compelled to dance,
He danced all through the night, the night, he danced all through the night...

Yet twilight is unending,
In the chaotic fairy realm...
Fast or slow time cannot decide,
And the years they ne'er o'erwhelm, o'erwhelm, the years never o'erwhelm...

He became the queen's consort,
And she taught the auld fey's tongue;
He danced centuries away,
And remained ever young, so young, he stayed ever young

Should've listened to your mother son,
Not given her cause to grieve
For now you've tasted twilight fruit,
And you shall never leave, nay leave, you shall never leave...

Should've listened to your mother son,
not given her cause to grieve
For now you've tasted twilight fruit
And you shall never leave, nay leave, you shall never leave...

And you shall never leave, nay leave, you shall never leave...

You shall never leave...




Yri ruknd znir dni lumdm seli tyzr,
E wuttcih cymd num zea...
Ert em dni dzucuknd nict dni zyyt,
Ni piker dy bcea, dy bcea, ni piker dy bcea...

Zny mnyoct ebbieh ehyort nul,
Pod dni xoiir ert nih weuha syohd?
Mni ert nih hutihm kednihit 'hyort,
Ert ceoknit ed ecc dni mbyhd, dni mbyhd, dnia ceoknit ed ecc dni mbyhd...

Xoiir Lyhrurktiz put nul bcea e dori,
Znuci dnia zuctca hyti dnhyokn dni zyyt...
Yn, ert tyr'd ayo gryz Pucca,
Ayo't piddih legi ud kyyt ud kyyt, ayo't piddih legi ud kyyt...

Ni bod num pyz dy wuttci,
Zudn e pyz dy rypucuda...
Num mdhurkm weuh pohrit ebesi,
Ert dnia tersit dy ud zudn kcii zudn kcii, dnia tersit dy ud zudn kcii...

Yn cumdir dy ayoh lydnih myr,
Tyr'd kufi nih seomi dy khuifi,
Wyh uw ayo miig dni weuha zuri,
Ayoh cuwi zucc irt dnum ifi, dnum ifi, ayoh cuwi zucc irt dnum ifi...

Yri pyyr zyoct dni xoiir kherd nul,
Ur khedudoti wyh num myrk...
Pod Pucca yrca zumnit yri dnurk,
Ni zerdit dy syli ecyrk, ecyrk, yrsi cid nul syli ecyrk...

"Degi li zudn ayo, weuha xoiir,"
Bcietit Pucca dni wuttcih cet...
"Mosn zyrtihm U nefi rifih miir,
"Ud zucc weuh thufi li let, li let, ud zucc weuh thufi li let..."

Dnia keccybit dnhyokn dni weturk lumdm,
Dned licdit zudn dni mor,
Hyti nyli dy mdehm ert bcea dni yr-
-ca hoci dy nefi ayoh wor, ayoh wor, nehl ryri ert nefi ayoh wor...

Dni buquim dokkit ed num neuh,
Dni reuetm merk e mziid hiwheur,
Dni xoiir nict zuri whyl nih yzr nert,
Pod ni griz ni lomd epmdeur, epmdeur, ni griz ni lomd epmdeur...

Ni't cumdirit dy num lydnih zicc,
zyoctr'd kufi nih seomi dy khuifi
Wyh uw ni therg dni weuha zuri
Ni syoct rifih ciefi, rea ciefi, ni syoct rifih ciefi

Pod my cyfica zem dni hocih,
My irdusurk dni myort yw codim,
Ni dnyoknd dnihi zyoct ry nehl pi wyort,
Ur demdurk yw dni whoudm, dni whoudm, ur demdurk yw dni whoudm...

Dni znyci hiecl beomit em ni dyyg e demdi,
Ert dni xoiir ceoknit ur ticuknd!
Ni edi ert wicd sylbiccit dy tersi,
Ni tersit ecc dnhyokn dni ruknd, dni ruknd, ni tersit ecc dnhyokn dni ruknd...

Aid dzucuknd um orirturk,
Ur dni sneydus weuha hiecl...
Wemd yh mcyz duli serryd tisuti,
Ert dni aiehm dnia ri'ih y'ihznicl, y'ihznicl, dni aiehm rifih y'ihznicl...

Ni piseli dni xoiir'm syrmyhd,
Ert mni deoknd dni eoct wia'm dyrkoi;
Ni tersit sirdohuim ezea,
Ert hileurit ifih ayork, my ayork, ni mdeait ifih ayork

Mnyoct'fi cumdirit dy ayoh lydnih myr,
Ryd kufir nih seomi dy khuifi
Wyh ryz ayo'fi demdit dzucuknd whoud,
Ert ayo mnecc rifih ciefi, rea ciefi, ayo mnecc rifih ciefi...

Mnyoct'fi cumdirit dy ayoh lydnih myr,
ryd kufir nih seomi dy khuifi
Wyh ryz ayo'fi demdit dzucuknd whoud
Ert ayo mnecc rifih ciefi, rea ciefi, ayo mnecc rifih ciefi...

Ert ayo mnecc rifih ciefi, rea ciefi, ayo mnecc rifih ciefi...

Ayo mnecc rifih ciefi...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 10, 2009, 01:47:40 PM
To:
Jaelle
Care of Tower Academy
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hempstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Ceela.  Leviran Lana.


What I didn't want to know you put in front of me
Places that I feared to tread you put under my feet
Pain and rapture, salt and blood and blazing body heat

The notes I feared to make my Song complete

I'll keep your secrets
I understand
You're wrapped around your fear but take my hand
I know the shame of wanting more and wondering who you really are...
I'll keep your secrets, I understand

A touch across the barriers of hair and flesh and bone
You stand inside my naked needs, already at home
Leaving me no place to hide from what I've always known

The pain that keeps us standing on our own

I'll keep your secrets
I understand
We're way beyond what either of us planned
That nameless thirst that drives us on, far past our comfort zone...
I'll keep your secrets, I understand

Our difference is capacity, absorbing the surreal
Dissolving edges in until you don't know what is real
Sensation far beyond the flip of pain and pleasure's seal

The burning need to push ourselves to feel

I'll keep your secrets
I understand
I will be there by your side at your command

When life is drowning you
Waves are pounding you
And no one gives you a d*mn

I'll keep your secrets, I understand



Still shaking after last night.


Arioso

*A musical score is included.  It is written for two stringed instruments, and as she reads it she will recognize elements of her Song as well as some of his*
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 11, 2009, 12:24:11 PM
Something I wrote to play on Belle, work in progress.  


Dawn warms the dusty air and I'm awake again
Staring at the timber ceiling beams
And my body's here, in this quiet room
And my mind's tangled in your dreams

Leviran Lana, what have you done to me
I'm shattered by this need
Guilty of addiction to you and I don't know how to plead

I pace and sing and play my guitar
Trying to shake you off
But there's nothing that I would not give now
To feel your mind's sweet touch

Leviran Lana, what have you done to me
I'm shattered by this need
Guilty of addiction to you and I don't know how to plead



Muse, Heartsong, help me, this is love way beyond what I know it to be.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 11, 2009, 11:34:16 PM
Muse, I hope he wasn't kidding about the bodyguard.

Folks round Rael say crime’s too high
What’s the reason, you ask 'em why
Magic and religion, they reply
And we need a new way of livin’

Got a problem with Tor-an-ites
Got a problem with Xeen-e-ites
Got a problem with Lu-cin-dites
And we want a new way of livin’

So it’s alright, yeah it’s alright
Alright to give up being free
Who needs decisions anyway?
Go on, tell me what to say!
I’ll let that dwarf own me!

But who you going to blame for all those ills?
Them wizards with their magic skills?
The cleric with his prayer of wills?
Do you need a new way of livin’?

Got a problem with speaking out
Don’t know what magic is about
It’s easier, then, to live without
And lay down for this new way of livin’

So it’s alright, yeah it’s alright
Say it’s alright to keep my mouth shut
Who needs choice anyway?
I don’t got time to think today!
I’ll let the dwarf do it for me!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 13, 2009, 10:25:34 AM
Stars and song, Muse.  Point taken.  But how to get to Dregar now?

Maybe Night Sky can teach me some illusion...


Here's a little song about a bard named Willie
Worked round south Dregar, pretending he was me
(I hear he can't sing as well, you know?)
Took a job in town and went to see what he could see
Got stopped by Prantz guards and frisked from head to knee

How secure's a government when little songs get banned there
How safe's a land where a man can't speak his mind
How can you trust bureaucracy that censors every word there
Deciding what to tell you, and when to keep you blind

Well, the guards went through his every tiny little thing
Looking for my name in that brutish waypoint sting
He asked if he could get to his paid bardic fling
And found out that in Prantz a man must register to sing!

How secure's a government when little songs get banned there
How safe's a land where a man can't speak his mind
How can you trust bureaucracy that censors every word there
Deciding what to tell you, and when to keep you blind

That bard performed this story in a bar that we both frequent
I had to laugh, it was the best story I'd ever heard him tell
But thinking bout it later it isn't really funny
They'll arrest you for making music, and stick you in a cell

How secure's a government when little songs get banned there
How safe's a land where a man can't speak his mind
How can you trust bureaucracy that censors every word there
Deciding what to tell you, and when to keep you bliiiiiind...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 14, 2009, 10:24:51 AM
Modified.  The Fable Song (Bigger Fish).

A fox came to town one day, looking for a job there
He went straight to the chicken pen and handed them his card
"I'm strong and quick and have big teeth, the better to defend you!"
And the chickens, they were lazy, and they made him their guard

A bullfrog hopped by and saw the situation
He looked at the chickens and said "Are you guys nuts?"
"Foxes eat chickens, in case you have forgotten"
But the chickens didn't want to care and sat upon their butts

So what do you think happened?

No more chickens in the coup, my friend
No more chickens in the coup
It's no great mystery, they forgot their history -
No more chickens in the coup

The fox he left a grinning, picking feathers from his teeth
Strutted to the river to cross the other side
A scorpion was waiting cause the current it was strong here
And stopped the fox and said politely "May I get a ride?"

The fox he resisted, he remembered the old stories
But the scorpion was persistent, and promised to behave
So the fox let the scorpion up on to his back then
And jumped into the river, to swim across the waves

So, what do you think happened?

One dead fox in the river, my friend
One dead fox in the stream
He believed a heartfelt lie and took the insect for a ride
One dead fox in the stream

You don't give a scorpion a ride across a river
You don't let a fox stand guard upon your hens
You're better off running your own personal affairs here
And you'd better think carefully when picking your new friends
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 16, 2009, 08:29:41 PM
Played something on piano tonight I have not sung in so very long.  I think I wrote this when I nine or ten...


Pigs in the field and chickens in the coup
Mama in the kitchen, cooking up the soup
Father in the barn carving wood into a hoop
And brother's in the hay

Me on my fiddle, hiding from my chores
Don't want to sweep the floors
I hate to mend the doors
Me on my fiddle, hiding from my chores, making music all the day

Mama's at the wheel working on a pot
Father's lugging clay back and forth a lot
Brother's at the kiln, getting the coals hot
While I sit and sway

Me on my fiddle, hiding from the clay
I hate to work that way
I'd rather sit and play
Me on my fiddle, hiding from the clay, making music all the day
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 16, 2009, 10:17:08 PM
For the people of Prantz.

How long has it been since the city fell quiet
How long has it been since you had a voice
How long has it been that your fears walked beside you
Whispering you have no choice

Far too long
That's a fact
Far too long to be cowed
Far too long now you've waited and wondered
Your hopes and dreams wrecked and plundered
But we have not forgotten you

Outside your walls his influence stains
But you have the power to keep it contained
There are people around you who want to break free now
There are people whose hope has remained

Take a look
A look around
You're still in charge
It's a simple matter of perspective
You have the power of collective
And we have not forgotten you

Planning and passion are heading to you
But you have keep up your end too
Don't give up, don't break inside, don't lose your pride
Together we'll see this through

So bide your time
Take a breath
And know this is true
We have not forgotten you
We have -not- forgotten you...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 18, 2009, 06:00:58 PM
Updating for Caerwyn - remove scorpion.

Two versions?

A fox came to Lor one day, looking for a job there
He went straight to the chicken pen and handed them his card
"I'm strong and quick and have big teeth, the better to defend you!"
And the chickens, they were lazy, and they made him their guard

Sixteen chickens in the coup, my friend
Sixteen chickens in the coup
They took him at his word and made him constable of the herd
Sixteen chickens in the coup

A bullfrog hopped by and saw the situation
He looked at the chickens and said "Are you guys nuts?"
"Foxes eat chickens, in case you have forgotten"
But the chickens didn't want to care and sat upon their butts

Ten chickens in the coup, my friend
Ten chickens in the coup
Where did the others go – do we really want to know?
Ten chickens in the coup

The fox he was efficient and serious at his work
And the chickens were quite safe in their cozy little coup
But the coup kept getting bigger and the chickens started counting
And realized that they were down to just a couple few

So, what do you think happened?

No more chickens in the coup, my friend
No more chickens in the coup
It's no great mystery, they forgot their history -
No more chickens in the coup

The message here is a simple one and easy to divine
Don't let foxes guard your hens unless you want them to dine
You're better off fully in charge of all your kith and kine
And keep your city true to your own unique design
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 21, 2009, 09:18:28 AM
*writing is hasty, the italic script cramped and slanting*

For Elohanna, written as I sit listening to the warmth and conversation that builds the new foundation of the Leringard Arms.


The willow speaks
And I ignore
Your eyes are fixed far past the shore
And I can’t bear what is in store
While wind the willow sings

We had our summer
Had our fall
And here we are in winter’s thrall
You can no longer hear my call
While the willow sings

You said you would not leave me while the spring had leaves upon the tree While summer sun warmed our hearts together

You said we’d be as one as long as we had home and hearth belong
And now I stand alone in this cold weather...

With you in arms
We walk the beach
Tears are freezing on my cheeks
Knowing you are far from reach
While the willow sings

I ask the willow leave me be and set you near the snow-capped tree and with aching breath I set you free...and still the willow sings....
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 23, 2009, 09:05:20 PM
For Keppli and the other halflings I enjoy the company of so very much.  Translation pending.

Evil at each twist and turn
Foes to take what we have earned
And so for battle I march stern...
Because I fight for pie!

I fight for pie!
I fight for pie!
I fight for pie, because there is no better ally

You might think it flighty
You might think it trite
But for most things stressful in this world
A pie can make it right –

I fight for pie!
I fight for pie!
I fight for pie and yes I know the reason why!

Hostility is off the chart
Civility seems a dying art
But a slice with tea sets us apart!
That’s why I fight for pie!

Brutes, bandits and hordes we’ll beat
We’ll secure our homes for safe retreat
A comfy place for us to eat
Another slice of pie!

I fight for pie!

*a letter taped to this page*

Andrew Reid
Twin Dragons Inn
137 Leringard
Leringard
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone

**You hear a few screams in the corridor and some cups and such breaking as they fall on the floor. Opening the door to see what's going on, a particularly large wolf stands (about eight feet long), its amber eyes glowing, and a scroll between its teeth. It drops it at your feet with a bark then scampers off as a maid comes back weilding a frying pan*

Heh, nice to hear from you Andy, I thought your song was pretty catchy. Knowing me and my kin we wouldn't take this seiously at all, in fact we'd probably laugh heartily then buy you an ale! But instead I've got to translating your song, I hope you're happy with a new song addition to your collection... Here goes...


Ifuc ed iesn dzumd ert dohr
Wyim dy degi zned zi nefi iehrit
Ert my wyh peddci U lehsn mdihr...
Piseomi U wuknd wyh bui!

U wuknd wyh bui!
U wuknd wyh bui!
U wuknd wyh bui, piseomi dnihi um ry piddih ecca

Ayo luknd dnurg ud wcuknda
Ayo luknd dnurg ud dhudi
Pod wyh lymd dnurkm mdhimmwoc ur dnum zyhct
E bui ser legi ud huknd –

U wuknd wyh bui!
U wuknd wyh bui!
U wuknd wyh bui ert aim U gryz dni hiemyr zna!

Nymducuda um yww dni snehd
Sufucuda miilm e taurk ehd
Pod e mcusi zudn die midm om ebehd!
Dned’m zna U wuknd wyh bui!

Phodim, pertudm ert nyhtim zi’cc pied
Zi’cc misohi yoh nylim wyh mewi hidhied
E sylwa bcesi wyh om dy ied
Erydnih mcusi yw bui!

U wuknd wyh bui!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 24, 2009, 10:44:43 AM
*taped inside*

Andrew,

It needs to be said, that Rael grows his food underground. The light source he uses is magical and he has special grains. This magical light source requires something to keep glowing. It is people. It sucks the life force out of people in order to generate light.

How do I know this you may ask? Well sadly I helped him get the seeds. It was during the great darkness when the sun did not shine. A call went out for some help delivery some items. A bunch of us adventurers came to that call.

To make a long story short we got the seeds from some where in Alindor. Where they had the magical light source being used. The thing is their light source did not require people to keep going.

Anyway we ended up getting the seeds to Dregar and into the hands of a gnome. The Gnome then told us that Rael was sending criminals to be used to keep the light sources going.

We all know how easy it is to be labeled a criminal by Rael. This is one of the hardest things for me to admit to. That I helped Rael.

Now that help has made him one of the most powerful people in the world. He was able to keep everyone feed during the darkness including his armies.

The reason I want this known now,iIs because Port Hempstead is now taking food from Rael. Food made from the lives of innocent people. They need to know they are being cannibals when the eat that food.

Buddy




Must write song.  Songs.  Ugh - Muse!  That is really sick...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 29, 2009, 02:37:05 PM
Time to tour.

Sober five months.

Bad judgment from a bottle and I’m alone again
Laughter raining from the stars above
The world don’t have enough regret to heal the trust that I upset
Sorry can’t build a road back to the house of love

We all know what sorry’s worth
We all know what it can’t do
We all know it’s never enough
But it’s all we ever have for you


A lesson learned about who owns me wasn’t worth the losing
But I’ll keep the queen of hearts in my hand
Put the queen of cups back on the shelf and maybe I’ll forgive myself
Or at least get my head clear to understand

We all know what sorry’s worth
We all know what it can’t do
We all know it’s never enough
But it’s all we ever have for you


Pages inked of things we wished we had and hadn’t done
Art shaped from the clay of morning after
Courage from a glassy kiss becomes all the moments that exist
With no thought to any more hereafters

I know what sorry’s really worth
I know what it won’t do
I know that it is not enough
But it’s all I have for you
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 31, 2009, 01:52:54 PM
Dwarven Army Song - take one.  Thanks to several well-sloshed mates around Corsain.


Drink drink drink drink

Drank drank drank drank

Drunk drunk drunk drunk....

I was drunk last night
I was drunk the night before,
And I'm gonna get drunk tonight
Like I never been drunk before

For when I'm drunk
I'm as happy as can be
For I am a member
Of the Dwarven Army

And the Dwarven Army
Is the best family
The best of family
That ever you did see

With the highland dwarves
And the lowland dwarves
And the underground dwarves
And some other  dwarves!

Sing Glorious!
Victorious!
One keg of beer for the all of us!
Sing glory be that there are no more of us
For one of us can drink it all alone!

Pass the beer, pass the beer, to the rear of the line!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 04, 2010, 10:25:52 PM
What is the price of light
What can society bear
Where is the line drawn
In civilized sand...

What if I told you
The food that you’re eating now
Came from the light
Of a condemned dying man?

What if I told you
The new Lord of Weyland’s lands
Uses Prantz criminals
To light his Deep lands?

Would you be horrified?
Would you turn face aside?
Would you find joy in the ironic twist?

What about the disappeared
Voices that we’ll never hear
Silent bloody echoes from those who resist?

Evil wears benevolence
A glittering disguise
His mask cloaks the violence
The desperate moments of defense
Souls of people iron tense
With unspoken goodbyes

The Law cannot protect you there
They may judge you good and fair
But in the end its Rael’s lair
And his whim is what’s right

What is the price of light
Life used to power it
What is the price of light
Heartbeat and breath transmit
What is the price of light
Ignorance a permit
To harvest a life...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 05, 2010, 02:17:53 PM
Not a great day.  Laid in bed with Randy Stuffigans and Belle.  Alex still not talking to me.


Writing for my coin and goods and feeling like a w hore
And now I wonder what this is all for
Sure my clothes now look quite nice but who cares what they see
Nothing left for the soul and body lying on the floor

What do I do to get back to the peace I knew
Before caring and loving gave me pause
Is it wrong when a man sells his soul
Even if he believes the cause

I miss the conversation, her temper and her touch
Every minute I sit and write for pay
Another might soon take her place but it will never be her face
Just someone to get me through the day

I wish that I could become my Song to ride the world winds
I wish I could become my melodies
I want to feel my bones vibrate, want to dissolve into my fate
I want to be a Song upon the breeze
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 05, 2010, 08:57:54 PM
For Elly.

Should I, or shouldn't I?

Will she forgive me?  Elves take too  long to decide things.  I don't have a hundred years, by the Muse.


We are the Al’Noth outlaws
Monsters with so many different flaws
Heroes who earn such warm applause

What we are is what they choose to see

We do what others fear to do
We watch what others fear to view
We twist and bend the weave’s taboo

What we are is what they wish to be

We are the saviors of the world
Pariahs, fools and mages all of us
We dance the palm of magic’s hand
Masters, slaves and sages, all at once

We move the magic of the spheres
We see what’s more than it appears
Power stretching thousands of our years

What we do will change your history

We stop the world with a word
We make sure that we are heard
We shape the unreal and absurd

What we do keeps our souls free

We are the story witch
What they scare their children with
We are creatures of imagination
We live the dusty books
We bask in the awed looks
We fight and bend to temptation

We are magic...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 07, 2010, 10:31:43 AM
Dusk but I don't know
I don't have a window
It's only the feeling of quiet that speaks

The great room is sleeping
Night's tea is steeping
I haven't stepped out of the this room in a week

I can't feel my heart
I can't feel my head
And I have nothing and no one to blame
I can't feel my hands
I can't feel at all
I'm just a still life inside my own frame

If I could remember
That spark, that ember
The reasons I put myself here in this place

If I could forget
The sweetness and sweat
If I could accept life as a disgrace

But I can't let it go
And I can't keep it near
It's more than regret and it's more than my fear
Why now, after so long
Without the urge
Why does the need once again re-emerge?

I'm more than this, less than this, stronger and weaker
I can't escape myself least I too be lost
To that which defines me I'm losing the battle
Walking the fog and be damned the cost

But it can't mean nothing
It can't be for naught
This lady I lost, this pain that I've brought
I'm caught in the cycle of eternal guessing
And this is my life, there isn't a second
For me
For me
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 08, 2010, 02:50:10 PM
My Dear Song Bird,
 
 Please Let my words be of comfort to you, as much as your song is to my heart. I am sorry that it has taken so long for me to write back, as I understand how waiting for word from one that you love can tear at your soul deeply with each passing moment.
 
 I crave for the moments we are together, whether it is to be as only friends or more, I will not push what is happening away. I will not deny how I feel. I will not deny that I love you as much as I love Omer, even if it is in different ways. You both hold my heart and that is something that I can not deny. I could not have forseen anything like this happening but I will not let go of such a feeling in my heart that aches for the feeling of belonging.
 
 You are right my heart will always belong to Omer, as yours will to the love of your life, but to be so distant from such a comforting feeling of their arms around us, has seen us become what can not be describe as friends. It is so much more. As if our souls have bonded in the wake of their absence. Yes it is confusing for us both but it simply is something neither of us can let go of.
 
 I do not go into our relationship without an understanding that should she walk back into your life or that of Omer walking back into my own that our hearts may feel as if torn in two direction. I want you to understand I would not hold your love for her against you and I would understand. I will understand and my heart will always.
 
 I will be your shelter, so long as you will promise me should your lady love return and again take your heart so devotedly into her embrace as you deserve, you will not turn away from what will be a most beautiful friendship.
 
 I was not so sure it was possible until I met you that love could exist between more than one soul at a time but you are right. It can and in your hands I place my heart for as long as you wish.
 
 Your song inspires and awakens meaning in the Al'noth, it breathes truth and light within. I hope to see you again soon so that I may hear it sung from your own lips.
 
 ~Elly




To:
Elohanna Min A'Litae
Care of the Tower Academy
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hempstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Angel. I enjoyed waking to you watching me, and our morning together. I'm sorry about my cooking, and the burnt toast and that stuff I called tea. I applaud your bravery in the face of my breakfast!

I confess to being very mixed up, as I feel you must be, about what we're doing. Or very carefully not doing. My heart still belongs to another, and so does yours. And yet - you soothe me. You feel like shelter, when I need that so much. And I know what stirs in my chest is more than a pat on your hand, or a chaste hug in times of need.

Time was, I would jump into your embrace and not look back. And I still want to - stars and song, I want to. But, I have to be honest. If she were to walk back into my life, I could not resist her any more than I can resist breathing. I wouldn't even want to. I think it might be the same for you and your Omar, yes?

So...do we offer each other shelter, with that caveat? Do we accept that there might be need to share our hearts, each of us? I can, and will, but you may not be as comfortable with that. I would lean back with a cheery smile and say we're "just friends" but...I felt you next to me, in the night, and I'm only glad you were spooning my back and not the other way around or I'd have been a great deal more embarassed than just my usual morning issues and your giggling about tents.

I put it before you and in your slender hands. I have room in my heart, Elly. Neither of us know what the future holds, but if holding each other makes that uncertainty easier...


Here is your song, I'm finally happy with it. Let me know what you think.

*the song "Al'Noth Outlaws" is attached on a separate parchment"*



Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 10, 2010, 07:14:59 PM
A battle song that came to me today.  Ragnar is insane - the good kind of crazy.  Sometimes he reminds me of my brother.

We walk among the trees with our heads high
We are ready to protect, to fight and die
That which we do, will bring great pain to you
But we march
We march
For our gods, our country, our life

Lay down your sword and stand down your army
Terms can be met and we will peacefully leave
But fight, yes fight, and we will conquer you
And we march
We march
For our gods, our country, our life

Metal, flesh, tooth and claw
Backs to backs against the wall
Spells and prayers and bardic song
You should have let us pass

We stand as your survivors stack your dead
Our swords drawn and bloodied and red
And we pray, we pray, your life will start anew
As we march
We march
Home to our gods, our country, our life
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 11, 2010, 01:13:27 PM
*A musical score is attached to the pages here, not in Andrew's hand but rather a precise, calligraphic elven hand and midnight blue ink.  The score is for a single violin, thunderous, angry, clearly written by someone whose connection to the music is far deeper than any mere musician or composer.  It appears to be part of a larger score.  The pages are attached with great care, although a few notes are blurred and the paper puckered in small droplet size circles.*
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 11, 2010, 03:46:58 PM
It's high past time
For some stories to be told

It's high past time
For the silence to grow old

For those who died, and those who will, and those who sit and wait
It's high past time
That the truth unfold

Do we have the guts to stand and admit something's wrong
Peace is bought on the backs of those who can never hear this song
Evil is as evil does and it does what it wants to do
And it's high past time
We do something too

It's a hard, hard lie
Pretending to be kind

It's hard, hard lie
That justice wasn't blind

For the son and daughter of a King murdered by Rael's hand
It's a hard, hard lie
From a cold, cold mind

For slaves just wanting to be free from hunger's knife
For people who want to speak the truth about their life
For the ones who died to fuel the light down in the Deeps below
It's high past time
It's high past time
It's high past time
For the world to know
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 19, 2010, 12:37:25 PM
My Dearest Song Bird,
 
 It means Daughter of the Light, My name that is. Elohanna Min A'Litae. It is a very old and ancient tongue of my people, but it is my name translated to common. When I first came to Mistone, I made a point of pridefully speaking my name in full but over the century since I have been on Mistone, it has been shortened to Elly or Hanna lovingly by those I treasure as friends. So I hold no ill will to being called Elly or Hanna, but I still hold pride that I am the last of my family as my own children have taken up the name of their father to which I hold no regrets.
 
 He is a wonderful man and his family has accepted me as part of their own. Though they are saddened that we are no longer together, as it breaks with many of our peoples traditions, and has broken many peoples hearts, my own included. They understand that I must also follow my heart.
 
 As you already know, sun elf's especially of our homeland, are very prideful people, very protective over the Al'noth, devoted to keeping histories and works of art safe and sacred. While our people are a very beautiful people it comes at a price of arrogance, something that I simply can not abide. I do not believe that any race is greater than another, not because of intelligence or wisdom, nor strength and pride, nor song and dance.
 
 It is grace and forgiveness that will survive the world of Layonara long after the strong become weak. It is the compassion of the weak that will help save the strong when they fall.
 
 My parents were not strong people physically, as their strength resided in their heart, their compassion and their ability to give their lives so that others could survive, so that our history would not be forgotten.
 
 My father's name is Elwe Lissesul an artisan himself, a sculpture, and archer. It is through him I learned my basic understanding of the bow, and why today I still carry one close to me for use should the occasion arise that I need it.
 
 My mother was a beautiful and enchanting woman, Enelya Sirfalas. She made the most exquisite of clothing, and captured life in such fascinating detail in paintings of her own. She was a woman of such radiating beauty not from only her physical appearance but from her heart within full of love and compassion.
 
 I have never really spoken to anyone of my parents, until now. I have mentioned them more in passing but they are worth remembering and cherishing. They are still very much apart of me, Andrew as I imagine your family will be, for better or worse.
 
 I know that I disappoint my own people as I can not hold to their beliefs that other races should be looked down upon. It is a blessing to know that some of my kin are now working in cooperation with others to help build up Ovdear, and finally understand that all races are worthy.
 
 So many things I thought would never happen when I stepped outside of Saida, things that I have come to accept but in my time, have changed drastically. Saida most of all opening to all races again to allow visitors. The sun now shines brightly in the sky again, despite Rhizome, the wisest of all Heirophant saying that it would never happen.
 
 I have learned many things and the most important recently, is that I cherish and embrace your love for all that it is worth. I hold your songs close to my heart and find myself humming them while I write, where I walk. I have found that you were right, that there simply is more than one person that it is possible for us to love.
 
 I also have found that I worry a lot more now, for you, your safety and where your head is lying. I treasure you so much Andrew and I am sorry that I have been drawn so far away. I hope to be returning soon.
 
 I love you very much Andrew and I long to hold you gently in my arms and gently brush your beautiful locks of soft hair away from your face as we look into each others eyes. I miss you. I pray that Aeridin keeps you safe and light shines within your heart, and that you keep a song for me.
 
 Always your Angel
 ~Elohanna Min A'Litae



Angel.

I know you've been busy with the Academy, and so I write to hopefully give you a moment's read and a smile.

You have asked me about my history and so for the first time I will write it all down, and give you full disclosure on the man who sings for you.

My family is primarily from Huangjin with a few exceptions, one being my paternal grandmother Rose. She migrated from the Kingdom of Erilyn on Alindor, a small town girl looking for a better life and who wanted to help here on Tilmar. So she told me, anyway - she didn't talk about her birth home very often. I remember her as being so tall, tall as the sky, taller than Grandfather Liang even with her boots on, with her fading red hair always catching the light and making a halo around her face while she taught me to play Bella.
Yes, a romantic vision, but she was a remarkable lady. I still do the ritual of honor to ancestors when I am home, for her and for Grandfather. She and Grandfather fell in love just as in the story - they told me that tale when I was a boy.

My maternal grandfather Akio has passed and I never knew him. My maternal grandmother is still alive, and I call her Gramma at her request. Her given name is Chihiro Mai. She is a traditional Huangjin lady; demure, quiet, subservient. Everything my mother is not, so I know what mother's personal rebellion was in her younger years. I think that is what allows my mother and I to understand each other sometimes. She remembers...not fitting in. My mother's name is Nana Margret, but she goes by Margret. Nana is a traditional name Huangjin name but she's never liked it. She says it makes her sound like a goat.

My father is William Reid. You might wonder about the names given in my birth home, but there has been a fad of "exotic" names here for some time, and William is considered "exotic" (as is Andrew, and Margret) to my people. Odd, eh? As for Reid, that is one of the other influxes of blood from off the island. All I know is that the family name is over four hundred years old, Corman Reid was very tall and blonde, and he was supposed to have come from Dregar. Actually, if my interpretation is right, he escaped from Dregar, so it would seem I have more color in my past that the family would like to admit. It wasn't until his influence was two generations gone that the geneology was kept as it should have been so I don't know more than that. I think this might have been on purpose.

Let's see - I have a sister, as I told you, and a brother, and a niece, and an Aunt Holly who is my mother's sister and is much like Gramma. I told you how my brother Shuichi has made a hobby of resenting me, and how he's taking up the family pottery business that great-Grandfather Kin started. Shuichi (his "exotic" name is Robert which is never used unless I call him Bobby which will always start a fight, so I do it often - we're both still children I think!) is married to Miyu, and they have one daughter that I have told you of, my niece Opal Mai. I don't see much of Miyu, she is also a traditional woman of my culture. The few times I've been able to talk with her - always in the kitchen, as cooking is her art - she has shown a fantastically dry sense of humor though. I hope Opal gets a dose of that as she's already got a gift for making people laugh at not quite seven years old.

My sister -- again, I told you. She does not speak to us. She is married to her society man, and her plebian family and drunken sot of a brother are a stain on her upward mobility. I know what pain this causes my mother. I think I write mother so often to try to dull that. I'm not sure how Aya got to be that way or if it is just the variability of human nature. I know this sounds naive but how can you turn away from your parents, so long as they were not abusive? Our parents treated us fair, taught us, and stood by us as we grew. The very second Aya was able to break away, legal marrying age without parent's assistance being fifteen, she did. That's why I don't talk about her. I don't write her either and I doubt she'd look at the letters if I did. I guess it still hurts a little, upon reading that.

So that's my family. I mentioned growing up singing, learning violin at eight from Grandmother Rose, and being adept at avoiding work throughout my childhood. I shirked whenever I could, chores, lessons, all of it. I learned when I was interested. I read books or played Bella, and I got into mild trouble once and a while but otherwise I was a polite child I'm told. Polite and lazy. I came to Ilsare at eight as well, and this I will tell you in speech because the printed word is not enough.

I mentioned Xeen to you before, but here is a more detailed look at how the Purple Lady has played my life. When I was a teenager I had no idea what I wanted to do and I was at the mercy of the feelings that boys have before turning men. Wait -- I'm still at the mercy of those feelings...

I met a pair of young women one fine summer day while I was out playing Bella and strolling the square. They flirted, I flirted, they invited me to come back and play for them privately -- I went, of course. Things happened, and my horizons were expanded. They seemed to enjoy me much as a sated cat enjoys a mouse, and I continued to be entertainment for them for about a year and a half. To a boy my age their attention was such an astounding gift -- I daresay I was quite cocky then, knowing what I did that others did not or could only pretend to boast about.

A month before my sixteenth birthday the ladies took me to a party in a temple. Xeen's temple. I will skip the details of the next few years, but when I had finally shaken the temple's influence for good I was a full-blown alcoholic and a drug addict. Perhaps just "addict" is a better word. I should also mention discovering -- here I hesitate, because this is very personal; not that I don't trust you but you may find this distasteful -- that I enjoy a certain amount of pain mixed with pleasure. I have to tell you that. It's not required for intimacy but it is...exciting, to me. I suppose my pain threshold is a little higher than it should be. Perhaps that's just the way I'm made?

I managed even as an addict. I played concerts, private engagements, and on a few occasions the Clamshell. It has always been shocking to me, especially after having formal education, how mediocre I really am. There are violinists that are so much better than I -- I think the alcohol helped me forget that. I was never first chair. I was good enough to make money to eat and cloth myself, but I lived in my family home, not on my own.

I told you why I left Huangjin; my assumed nuptials and my escaping of it. Love is another thing I'm constantly learning. I know familial love. But Eros, one of the defining tenants of my Heartsong, has been a failing for me. The one I lost began that lesson as no one else has. And I have learned, Elly, that there are things that cannot be forgiven. I hope to not make such mistakes with you. That I am an addict will never change, but my choice to follow that path has, and the consequences that follow I will avoid. Like making drunken decisions that air private things that result in painful betrayal. That sort of thing. I don't promise to be perfect. But now that you know the worst of me -- addict, enjoys pain, has made a tome's worth of bad decisions -- rest assured I will give you the best of me as well.

This has gotten rather long hasn't it?

I'll wrap up now and say simply that I hope we see each again soon.

Love,

Your Songbird
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 20, 2010, 07:27:56 AM
*Two scrolls are attached inside the book.  The first appears completely blank with the exception of an ink stain where the score would start, and several hesitation marks, as if someone paused there for a long time trying to figure out how to get something down before finally giving up.  

On the next pages is a score, written in calligraphic elven hand and midnight blue ink, and primarily for flute.  It plays like a song of the wind over the sea, of a light breeze traveling everywhere and dancing over the waves.  It is scored for stringed instruments as well, that play the waves and the sea and measure out a driving three beat counter to the dancing, twisting four beat melody that floats above it.

All the pages are pressed into the songbook with no wrinkles, spaced with meticulous care.  They appear to be part of the paper unless once runs a finger along the edge.

There is but one page left in the book.  Written on the back of the page in neat italic script is the number I, the initials AWR, and a thin bar line next to a thick one.  The book is closed, and visible from the top nearly a quarter of the three-inch-thick tome's pages are missing, cut neatly from the spine.  It is set aside, the leather cover stroked just once.

A new book is brought out - brother to the one now lying on the oak desktop.  It is placed on the heavy wood stand, opened to the first page.  Large hands dip a quill in an ink pot that has been sitting long enough to acquire a little inky black moat, and a G-clef is precisely inscribed on the first line of the first page.  The quill is set down on the lip of the stand, waiting, and then the sound of a violin starts to swirl inside the small room.*
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 20, 2010, 04:54:52 PM
*The music is finished, a score written for violin with a drum accompaniment.  There are words, but they are only visible, as the score is, as a shadow on the page underneath.  That first page is sliced in one even stroke from the book and set to dry.  In candlelight, the imprint of the words flicker on and off the second page, here and gone, fickle as a spoiled maiden.*

One last time to sing
One last time to play
One last musical caress before the end of day

One last gentle stroke
One last lingered note
One last soaring etude to take the mind away

Questions unanswered for lack of a face
Sound without words taking its place
Love from these hands that has never stopped flowing
Taking the form of melodic embrace

I play the part of wind
I play the part of sea
I play her anger that tears the strings deep inside of me

I play to understand
I play to feel her pain
I play to bring it to my core and imprint it on my brain

There was the once and there is the now
The music remains through trust's bitter death
Reaching and wishing but it's not enough
Move forward, move on, but this song's on my breath -

One last time to touch
One last time to feel
One last time to let her know my love was very real
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 21, 2010, 02:11:14 PM
Once upon a time ago there was a cozy little village
Nestled tight by woods well hidden from life's pillage
And in that town of families lived a young lady and a lad
Who mixed like oil and water and drove each other mad
Mad
They drove each other mad

Johnny was a steadfast boy who farmed his father's land
Becky was a milkmaid and a real firebrand
They fought whenever they crossed paths and swore they'd never love
Swore on their graves and families and to the gods above
Above
Swore to the gods above

Well, Johnny came to want a wife and asked the village sage
What he had to do to find his true love to engage
The sage was in a trickster mood and a lover of a stunt
And so he told young Johnny to go set at trap to hunt, to hunt-
Go set a trap to hunt

Johnny pondered this advice and then he said "Why not?"
It can't do any worse than the luck I already got!
He went down to the river with wire, rope and knife
And set a lasso under leaves to catch himself a wife
Wife
To catch himself a wife
 
Becky came for water on that sunny summer day
Wandering to the river and daydreaming all the way
She paid scant attention to where she dainty step
And she walked straight into his trap
Trap
She walked into his trap
 
Johnny came a-running when he heard commotion there
A screaming and cursing loud enough to curdle summer air
It was not the wife he thought he sought who sat upon the grass
But Becky with a bucket and she was one angry lass
Lass
She was one angry lass
 
With a blush he pulled from her leg the clever wire noose
And was promptly rewarded with a foot to his caboose
He stumbled fast away, bottom bruised and face aghast
And she howled at him YOU ROTTEN BAST-oh, I cant say it!
She yelled a whole bunch!
 
Angry and embarassed he sought to make amends to the maid
And tried to explain his mission and the trap that he had laid
To his surprise she turned and stared, her invective sudden stopped
She giggled, then again, then laughed until she dropped
Dropped
She laughed until she dropped

His face went hot then looked did he and saw with open eyes
What he'd tried to do that day and then to his surprise
He started chuckling too as the daytime fade away
And they sat together laughing in the evening's coming shade
Shade
They laughed under the shade

The two who never could be nice were suddenly set to talking
And back to town they went with both together walking
The townsfolk were agog at the sight of them at peace
But the sage, he smiled and spoke to himself "The wonders never cease
Cease
The wonders never cease"

Now love's a many-splendored thing as history provides
Not a full year later Johnny took Becky as his bride
It seems you should be careful about swearing to the gods
For the gods are always listening and they control the odds
Odds
They always have the odds!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 22, 2010, 09:58:58 AM
*A letter is dropped on the oak desk, large hands tapping the surface and sometimes rubbing a knot along the front edge.  A candle is moved closer, and the letter picked up - the dark-skinned man moves it to the flame, the edge catching -

Then he stops.  His almond shaped eyes reflect the candlelight as a mad glitter and he move the letter away from the fire and sets it down on the desk, patting out the burnt corner.

He begins to fold.  Over, over again, a corner, another...he folds, turns, and folds again, only to mutter curses in his ancestor's tongue and start again.  And again.  His concentration is complete, the fingers smoothing then opening then folding and smoothing again, the restarts smearing the ink and crinkling the paper until the words are blurred to illegibility.

He sits back, the paper folded now into a long torso with four legs.  His fingers run over the protruding knot on the desk, back and forth, back and forth, oil and ink occasionally jerking his fingers to a stop on the otherwise frictionless wood.

He might have dozed off, or been dreaming awake.  He isn't sure.  A firm, warm tenor voice from his childhood leaves dreamy echos inside his head as he snaps back erect and grabs the rumpled paper.  It is smoothed flat as much as it can be then folded again - this time, three new folds, then the body, then six more quick twists and the body has a head as well as legs.  A long piece is flipped out of the center, forming a tail.

He taps the tail and the center crease tents, pulling the head back in a soundless roar.  Grinning to himself, he picks up the blue-stained tiger and tosses it up to a shelf over his chests.  It lands on it's feet.

He chuckles and wipes clean his fingers, picks up his violin and walks out the door.*
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 24, 2010, 03:10:09 PM
*the following is written in a graceful flowing script**

Andrew,

Iracce my friend, it is my hope that this letter finds you well and in good health.  I am thinking back to our conversation while we were in Haven mines, and with that in mind, it would be a pleasure to show you some of the fighting style I have learned to use with a rapier.  If you are willing, of course, and have the time with which to indulge me in this.

Perhaps we might start by meeting in the arena in Vehl, as it is well suited to any practice of arms.  Also, it happily boasts a well stocked bar in the building, as believe me I have discovered that any such training can result in a most powerful thirst, which is the bane of any warrior.  If you're agreeable, send me word and we'll find a time to get started.

Although, I hope to leave you with a thought to already start you on your path, as it is one of the most valuable lessons I have learned.  The oft most valuable skills in a fight are those of observation and thought.  Many will tell you it is strength and speed which will prevail, and true enough they will, but they are nothing without direction.  So observe your opponent as they engage you, and let your thought direct you best as to how to avoid their blows, and to place your own strikes.

Until next we meet, may the light grace your path.

~Damon Silverdawn~



Damon;

Iracee, and I was glad to see your letter. I have trained with the rapier on and off since I was twelve, but until the last few years I have not taken it seriously. Until the last few years, I have not had to; it was a lover I enjoyed and left, eschewing commitment for a moment of frenzied love, then walking away when the ardor cooled. Now I have the desire to make more of the motion than a thrust and repeat; I'm done flirting with the rapier, it is time to commit.

Your skills were astounding, it was as watching a work of art - indeed I think the rapier lends itself to that analogy on many levels, from the movements of a conductor's baton to those of a painter in a moment of passionate focus. Thus my torrid love affair with the instrument, and my wide-eyed viewing of your skills.

I take your tip to heart and I will gladly submit to your teachings. The Arena will work for me. I can be there most any day (evenings I tend to play the taverns, a man has to pay the rent). Would the beginning of the coming week work for you?

May the Heartsong keep your swordarm inspired,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 27, 2010, 10:46:10 AM
Emwonk, Euchloe, and Destiny.  Could yesterday have been any more interesting?

A silver-eyed lady
A brush with my fate
Or just another crazy streetside debate

A pawn or a jester
A bigger fool I
To walk up and look right into her eyes?

Sing, willow, sing
It's not for us to know
Sing willow sing
I'm moving with the flow

You get a little tired sometimes of all the world knowing
It's an odd transparency, this gorilla in the room
Game pieces shuffled round thinking we know where we're going
Playing out someone else's scenes in our fleshy life costume

Sing, willow, sing
It's not for us to know
Sing willow sing
I'm moving with the flow

And still here I wonder
And wait for my turn
And think that it's strange I have no concern

Maybe I'll be here -- but
Maybe I won't
Maybe I'll sink and maybe I'll float

Destiny beckons me
Then she walks away
With a promise that tingles of "until, someday"

Sing, willow, sing...



Andrew Reid
137 Leringard
Leringard
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone

Dear Andrew,

First I must offer my most sincere apologies. As you may imagine the waves from the tsunamis have reverberated the subtle and not so subtle movements in Mistone. Here at the Breath of the Muse it has been... Let us simply say, difficult months and years. Amidst the hustle and bustle much of the correspondence was unfortunately filtered by priority and in such times, well I am sure you understand.

Let me ease your mind first, Mr. Whenissy is safe and sound, though perhaps the latter is an understatement for such a man! After the initial tidal onslaught he, along with many members of the Resonance of Being took it upon themselves to aid those most in need and Mr. Whenissy himself who had more pull than others saw fit to use such weight within the courts that would listen.

He has now returned and things have calmed just enough for us to be given some time to sort the discord such calamities brought into our lives. He oversees the reconstruction of the Resonance of Being and is quite eager to (as often he is) to hear from those interested in his fate and that of his and Hers. Feel free to show him this letter if it aids you, however if I recall you from our short meeting then he most certainly wont be needing it.

Heartsong's Blessing,
Euchloe Summerleaf
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 27, 2010, 01:32:18 PM
Dear Andrew,
 
 I am firstly very sorry that I have taken so long to send you a copy of the application for the Tower Academy, please take comfort that I did not forget but have been rather occupied.
 
 I have attached a copy of the application though it is very generic it still applies to you in your personal field of study.
 
 Secondly I wish to remind you just how much I love you and do hope to see you again soon. Again I will be around the Tower Academy a great deal over the next few weeks.
 
 ~Elohanna Min A'Litae
 Headmistress, Tower Academy of Port Hempstead
 
 
 Tower Academy Teacher Candidate Application

Please respond to each of the questions below and return your application to the Tower Academy, Municipal District, Port Hempstead. We appreciate your interest in our organization and look forward to hearing from you.

 
[/B][/SIZE]
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 28, 2010, 09:34:27 AM
*a copy is jammed inside the book*

Tower Academy Teacher Candidate Application

Please respond to each of the questions below and return your application to the Tower Academy, Municipal District, Port Hempstead. We appreciate your interest in our organization and look forward to hearing from you.

What is your area of expertise?

Theory of music and how it relates to the Al'Noth, and practical applications thereof; using sound as a focus for the shaping of magical effects; and the inspirational effects of music on the sentient mind.


How long have you been studying in your current profession?

Thirty-four years playing violin, study in earnest of magical application for five years.


Do you prefer field or class, instruction?

I prefer a balance. Class instruction for the theory, and field instruction (in the form of concerts and impromptu performances, or more intimate studies with smaller groups) for emperical observation of effect.


Do you have other areas of study that you would be willing to teach if the need arises?

I can teach basic fencing and how to play piano, harp, violin, cello, mandolin, and guitar. I will be learning to play wind instruments for additional flexibility.


Do you have a preferred size of class?

No.


Why do you seek to teach here?

The Tower Academy seeks to open the possibilities of magic and to bring a fresh truth to perceptions of the art. This is important in our world of closed minds and inflexible fears. I wish to contribute to that changing of opinion, that breaking of molds.

Using magic through song appears to be under-represented in the curriculum. And, teaching others to propagate the art and spread song pleases me.


What do you hope to accomplish as a teacher here at the Tower Academy?

To guide other passionate individuals to the joy of song and magic. To teach music, and to those students that have the desire or the gift, to open their minds to thier potential. And to enjoy listening to them when they have found their inner Song.


Do you prefer one on one instruction or group instruction?

Either.


What dress do you prefer for students, yourself?

I have no preference. Whatever is comfortable.


How do you prefer to be addressed?

Andrew is fine. Mr. Reid if they insist on formality.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 28, 2010, 12:17:01 PM
*notes from the road scribbled in his traveling songbook. appears to have been added at intervals rather than in one sitting.*

Ripples in the pond - the structure affected by our presence.

Repetition and cadence - good enough is not good enough.  The drone of the voice to enforce that structure.

Harmony versus unison, and Muse, she's beautiful sitting like that.  She is thousands of miles away.  A statue of moonlight and night sky.

Structure, discipline - humming?  There was no song, no extraneous talk.

It felt like a construction.  A matrix.  So rigid.  Their personal harmony the sounds of the hammers and the rhythm of the tools, but there is very little dissonance and no outside notes.

Except us, those days.

*musical notation - a few lines written for guitar, with a mechanical repetitiveness*

Destroying and re-working.  Creating the density with the motions.

Their resonance and the way they work the clay - the vibrations from the massaging, as Hammer Birch called it.  My mother calls it kneading or mixing.  Kitchen terms.  I miss her noodles.

Cross-association...is that complexity?  Or distraction?  I call it art.

Kneading and aiming for that perfection.  A goal in thier heart and head applied to making a dense, perfect mold with no bubbles and no surface imperfections.  Transferring that through the motions.  

I wonder if she's hurt me if I tried to hold her?   - I thought it and it's premeditated now.  Stop second guessing yourself Tashe.  Just bloody do it.

The song.  The ripples from that act all the way to now, destroying what was built.  More than cause and effect, can it be rebuilt?  Positive harmonic resonance?

Resonance.  What is the resonance of being, she asked.  Heartsong, I said.  Beyond Ilsare, she said - life.  Messy, chaotic life.  I'd like to get messy and chaotic right now.

Or Current.  Who is Ezlab anyway?  I must remember to ask Gypsy Belle.

Resonance as a canonical structure is weaker than the resonance hybrid.  Where the hell did I learn that.  Was that in Sharpy's theory class?  Must have been.  Natural frequency keeps coming to mind as well.

What else. Matrix - medium - interconnected materials.  Source (voice) through medium to receptor (ear).

Emotions focus the sound we make.  The motions we use to express. The frequency of vibration.

*some musical notation is written here in a variety of speeds and with notes on amplification.  one finished piece is included that is written with strong emotional tones, calling for strident playing*

I wonder that the human ear has parts called the hammer and the anvil.  Striking.

Coming back to the music.  The way he spoke - the timing to match the work.  That's sticking with me as are his words.  A form of resonance.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 01, 2010, 12:40:04 PM
Play for Angel's Guild.  Work in progress.

Updated for Ben's death -- Muse, I hope they do this.


Angel's Guild Members (in order of appearance):

Andrew - Narrator
Alazira -- Self
Layl -- Self
Alatriel -- Self
Kyle -- Self
Ferrit -- Self
Kyle -- Ben
Andrew - Hedessa
Alatriel -- Ferrit
Amgine -- Layl (musical instruments)
Layl -- Elohanna (scribing)
Ferrit -- Jako (smelting, weapons crafting, alchemy, armor crafting)

Customers (in order of appearance):

Hedessa -- Tailoring Customer
Daniel -- Instrument Customer
Alazira -- Infusing Customer
Elohanna -- Scribing Customer
Tod -- Metals Customer


Narrator: Behind the scenes at the Angel Guild Play...

Alazira: So now what do we do.

Layl: I don't know.  He was the lead straight man.

Alazira: We could pay homage...

Alatriel: Homage?  What, we go out and act grumpy at the audience?

Alazira: Well we have to do SOMETHING.

Layl: Dress someone up.  Kyle can do it.

Alatrial: Fine.  You humans all look alike anyway.  But no "homage" -- I want it to be a roast!

Alazira: I think he'd have liked that more anyway. *looks at Kyle*

Alatriel: *looks at Kyle*

Layl: *looks at Kyle*

Kyle:  No.  No no no no.  No!  Absolutely not.  No way, forget it, not going to happen...

Ferrit: *wife voice* Kyle.

Kyle: NO.  His pants always chafe!

Alatrial: *looks at Kyle, blinking*

Alzira: *looks at Kyle, blinking*

Layl: *looks at Kyle, blinking*

Kyle: *blushes*

Ferrit: Shh!  Just put on the clothes or I'll make you play Essa.

Kyle: Yes dear.


Narrator: The scene opens in the new shop.  Ben is tidying the counter top.

Kyle: *in Ben's too-tight pants and shirt* Well, here we are, in the new shop, ready for business.  *polishes the counter with a crooked grin, glancing at the front door from time to time*

Kyle: Yup.  The place looks great.  Anytime now.  *continues to polish*

Narrator: Time passes...

Kyle: Blast.  We need a hook.  HEDESSA!

Andrew: *sashays out, swaying his narrow hips* Yes, Benji?

Kyle: Can you go out and drum up someone business?  You know, use your *finger quotes* people skills? *goes back to polishing the countertop and fussing with the inventory chests*

Andrew: *bats his eyes and in a husky voice*  Of course, handsome. *sashays outside the shop, then swiftly tacks up a sign that says "FREE BEER INSIDE".* All done!

Kyle: Um...*watches Essa sway past with some concern*

Hedessa: *takes a look at the sign*  Oh, free beer!  *walks inside*

Kyle: *gruffly* Hey, lady.  Welcome to the Angels Guild Adventurer Outfitters, how can I help you?

Hedessa: Dwarven Stout, please.  In a frosted glass.  A BIG frosted glass!

Kyle: This is the Angels Guild, not a bar.

Hedessa: But the sign said --

Kyle: What sign?  This isn't a bar!

Hedessa: *patiently*  The one outside, with FREE BEER in big block letters?

Kyle: ESSA!

Andrew: *high pitched giggle from the back room*

Hedessa: So, no beer?

Kyle: *sighs*  No ma'am.

Hedessa: And you do what, here, again?

Kyle: We are the Angels Guild Adventurer Outfitters -- we outfit all your advent...

Hedessa: *waves an impatient hand* Yes, Yes.  I could use a new dress then.

Kyle: That we can help you with.  FERRIT!

Alatrial: *sneaks up behind Ben, appearing suddenly* Yes?

Kyle: AGH! Don't DO that!

Alatrial: *smiles*

Kyle: The lady wants a new dress.

Alatrial: Of course.  This way.  *they exit to back room*

Kyle: *moves to take down the beer sign*

Daniel: *walks in* Ah, my good man!  A mug of beer and quickly, I'm parched!

Kyle: We're not a bar.  This is the Adventure Outfitters --

Daniel: But the sign --

Kyle: *grits his teeth through his crooked grin*  We are a crafting guild.  Ignore the sign.  Please.

Daniel: Ah. Pity.

Kyle: Is there something else I can help you with?

Daniel: A glass of Black Hills Chablis, perhaps?

Kyle: *forces his crooked grin* We're not a bar...

Daniel: Well...do you make guitars?

Kyle: *turns abruptly and bellows*  LAYL!

Amgine: *bounces out with a wink* Yes, Ben?
 
Kyle: The man wants an instrument.

Amgine: Oh, fun!  Come on sugar, let's get you strung up...

Daniel: I like the sound of that! *winks at the audience and goes into the back room with Amgine*

Kyle: *moves to take down the sign again*

Alazira: *strides in* A dwarven stout, and make it snappy!

Kyle: *smacks his forehead*  We are not a bar.  This is the Angels Guild, Adventure -

Alazira: Tower Malt?

Kyle: Not. A. Bar.

Alazira: Silver Buckle Gin, then! *bright smile*

Kyle: We are NOT A BAR.  I don't serve alcohol here!  No beer! *getting upset*

Alazira: No beer?

Kyle: No beer.

Alazira: I'll just have some Xeenite wine then.

Kyle: BLAST IT!  *begins to babble to himself*

Alazira: And a raise dead scroll.

Kyle: *pivots and bellows*  ELLY!

Layl: *moves out with gentle grace*  Yes, Ben?

Kyle: The lady wants a raise dead scroll.

Layl: *a sunny smile* That will take a little while...would you care for a glass of wine while you wait?

Alazira: *shoots a smug look at "Ben"*  Don't mind if I do!  *follows "Elly" into the back room*

Kyle: *moves to take down the sign yet again*

Elohanna: *barges in, all hustle* Hey, hello, wow, it's hot out there.

Kyle: Yes it is.  *moves toward door*

Elohanna: Hey, hey, my beer?

Kyle: No beer.  Adventuring gear.  We outfit Adventurers.  WE. DO. NOT. SERVE. BEER.

Elohanna: Ohh.  How about a wand then?   I can stir my beer with it!

Kyle: *bellows*  ESSA!

Andrew: *sways out* Yes, Benji?  

Kyle: *glares at her*  A rod for the lady.

Andrew: Isn't that your job, sugar? *giggles and takes Elly into the back room*

Kyle: *dives for the door, and trips over Tod*

Tod: Ah, excuse me, I'd like a --

Kyle:  WE HAVE NO FREE BEER!  NO STOUT, NO ALE, NO BEER!  Nothing but adventuring gear!  No liquor!  No wine!  No booze of any kind!  WE'RE THE ANGELS GUILD! NOT A BAR! *panting, face red*

Tod:  Um.  I wanted some armor?

Kyle: *standing, embarassed* Oh, well, then.  JAKO!

Ferrit: *comes out silent, and waits*

Tod: Here, it's all on this order. *hands over a piece of paper*

Ferrit: *takes the paper and starts to leave*

Tod: Oh, and a short sword! *hands over a piece of paper*

Kyle: JAKO!

Ferrit: *returns and takes the paper, then turns to leave*

Tod: Oh, oh!  And I have some platinum that needs smelting to ingots!  *hands over a clearly heavy box*

Kyle: JAKO!

Ferrit: *returns and takes the box, turns, then hesitates*

Tod: Let's see...*pats his vest, then shakes his head*

Ferrit: *hesitates one moment more, then starts to leave*

Tod: Oh!  *snaps his fingers and pulls another scrap from a vest pocket* And some good healing potions --

Kyle: JAKO!

Ferrit: *turns around again, fists full of paper and box under his arm, and walks, very slowly and deliberately back to Kyle. Reaches out slowly, takes the paper from his hand in a quick snapping motion, returns his hand slowly, tucks the paper with the others, then waits, drumming his fingers*

Tod:  That's all! *bright smile*

Ferrit: *waits, fingers drumming*

Tod: Really.  That's all.

Ferrit: *eyes him suspiciously for a moment*

Tod: *another bright smile*

Ferrit: *turns to leave*

Tod:  Oh, wait -- what's this? *takes out a piece of paper*

Ferrit: *turns ever so slowly*

Tod: Ah, just an old grocery list.  Don't suppose you can help a fellow with apples and cheese, can you? *smiles*

Ferrit: *rolls his eyes, turns on one heel and marches out*

Kyle: We'll get it done.  Oh -- would you take down that sign by the door on your way out?

Tod: Be happy to! *leaves, grabbing the sign as he goes, then walks back in*  Hey -- says here free beer?  *takes out a mug and slaps it on the counter*

Kyle: *begins to weep*

*curtain close*

Narrator: Just another day of business at the Angels Guild, Adventure Outfitters...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 03, 2010, 12:06:03 PM
For Amgine and Ami.

She's the warmest snow you'll ever meet
Hair an avalanche of light
The weight of years carved in her heart
Yet graceful as a hawk in flight

A simple thing
A quiet look
One moment's breath
Is all it took

He's the counter to her pale
A weathered sword in banding
Bound to her by blood and years
He's her understanding

Her voice, his smile
A planted seed
Time and joy
A growing need

Each a chord in their life's song
Children of their fate
The Heartsong smiles on love like this
The gift of the soul mate
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 03, 2010, 12:42:05 PM
The Farmer's Daughter (a request)

Neddy was a travelling man selling goods across Mistone
Handsome with a silver tongue and feet most prone to roam
Hawking tinker's wares he'd drive from farm to distant farm
Chatting up the ladies and dazzling them with his charm

On these farms young maidens toiled, ladies of the till
Bored to tears with tending crops and looking for a thrill
Along came Neddy tall and lean with worldly news and flirting
Girls would swoon and fathers frown at his dimpled smile diverting

Neddy!
Neddy!
Rugged and handsome was Neddy!

Now you've heard all about these daughters of the farming men
Sun-kissed glow and cornflower eyes with bodies made for sin
Neddy plowed though them one by one to teach the facts of life
And if a farmboy'd taught them once he'd gladly teach them twice

Neddy never stayed too long least one become attached
What other maid might wait ahead with flowers to be snatched?
Before he left he always promised love and his protecting
The girls would wait, expecting him and often times...expecting

Maidens!
Maidens!
He taught birds and bees to the maidens!

Neddy he grew arrogant and cocky to a fault
Until one day his rutting spree came to a grinding halt
Maria was not the fairest maid he had ever viewed
But she had an air about her that kept his eyes flat glued

Built for pleasure not for speed her curves were dangerous
Her eyes were black as roofing pitch, her movements languorous
He put on his most beguiling face and went to get her name
She just laughed and told him he was preceded by his fame

Maria!
Maria!
He could not stop watching Mariaaaaa...

He could not say what it was that kept him round that house
He only knew he could not leave until he made her his spouse
Never before had a woman wound so deep inside his head
And left him begging for her hand before he'd felt her bed!

Maria would canoodle some and maybe let him steal a kiss
But never more than that and he was begging for her bliss
He even started tilling soil to earn her father's favor
Working hard all day long so her lips he could savor

Maria!
Maria!
Was he being delayed by Maria?

Two months passed and down the road came sounds of stomping feet
A score of farmers with pregnant daughters marching down the street
Maria stroked Neddy's rugged cheek and smiled at his fear
Whispered "Time to be a man and face your actions, dear".

Neddy turned to run but those pitch-black eyes bespelled him
Maria had him frozen still until the farmers held him
They cleaned his purse of every coin, each bit and shining True
Then took his clothes and cart and goods and his old mule too

Neddy!
Neddy!
Bankrupt and naked was Neddy!

Maria whispered once again and then she turned him loose
But rather than the next farm down the daughter to seduce
He turned his feet (to his dismay) back toward the road he'd came
Returning to the first he'd taught and therefore brought to shame

One by one Ned makes the rounds to each lady he made gravid
Changing diapers, doing chores and apologizing avid
Compelled to make amends and stay clear of lustful heaven
This lothario (reformed!) is now father of eleven!

Maria!
Maria!
You'd better not mess with Mariaaaa...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 03, 2010, 03:03:27 PM
Dear Andrew,

I pray this letter finds you well. I hope that my little friend did not startle you. His name is "Chess". I named him that becasue he likes Chestnuts so much.

I have asked for Feawen's hand in marriage, and she accepted with excitement!

Although we have not set a formal date yet..

We would like to ask you, If you would play at the wedding for us? We both consider you a good friend and would love to hear your song as we bind our love into one on that special day of ours?

Chess will wait for you to complete your reply, then tie it back to his neck and he will know where to find me.

May Folian watch over you my friend.

Shadowleaf....




Leaf my friend;

I would be honored to compose and play for you and Feawen.  I will need to sit with you, learn more of your stories - although I seem to recall when you met (or close to it).  A rose from a friend...

Let's plan to meet soon so I can let this rumble around and form music fitting to you both.

And - congratulations.  Ilsare smiles on you, as do I.

Also, Chess is very inquisitive and has already found my stash of hard cheese and nuts.  He's rummaging as I write, a more joyous squirrel I have never seen.

Your friend,


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 05, 2010, 12:33:45 PM
For a little girl.

Little girls are made of sugar and spice
But their daddies are not always so nice
Her heart pounds
Where is he, her protector in life
Leaving the child all alone?

A gilt box of thorns
Stroked every day
Sticky with blood
But the sting goes away
The sting goes away...

She builds it to armor, this anger and pain
And no one will ever hurt her again
Her heart pounds
A caged bird behind walls painted in ice
Wings beating hard on the stone

A gilt box of thorns
Stroked every day
Coated with gore
It gets easier each day
Easier each day...

Will she open the box?
Listen once more?
Hear his voice calling her, calling her...
Or keep the box shut
Wrapped in ribbons of skin
A red and white bow keeps the agony in

Who is she now, this little sweet maid
A dragon's heart or a purple nightshade
Her heart pounds
A child's hand resting lightly on thorns
While the woman presses down to the bone
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 09, 2010, 07:03:57 AM
Aunlyn

I hope this missive finds you well, intact, and free.

I am in need of a speaker of dark elf. I am hoping you can assist. I was offered a slave the other day in Wayfare, by that orc Haj. I made the mistake of involving the guards because I thought an orc slaver might be considered a bad thing, and was only just able to convince the guard to not kill the slave instead, who happens to be a dark elf male.

I have stayed his execution pending his story on why he's here. I am hoping you will step in, if only to translate - no being should be a slave. Dark elf, human, troll - no being should be a slave.

Also, if they let Haj go - well. Let's say I could use some help with that as well.

Andrew, the redcoat bard




Andrew,

As far as the day this letter is sent goes, I am well and intact. Free, on the other hand, is hardly the case as your situation should inform you of how we are treated on the surface, even former slaves.

I will happily be your translator, and will also offer my council and protest should this man face a lynch mob. Most of our people are evil indeed, but I owe it to circumstance to do what I can in this situation.

In short, I will help.

Best,
Aunlyn
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 09, 2010, 04:05:43 PM
Iracce is hello

Tyeilla is piano

Tylailaa is please  (thyi sound is common p)

Sylaeny is music

Selyaan is minuet

Eleecel is violin

Feam is bow

My love is Sa laelv  (s with a vibration is common m)

Laanmecc is a casual stroll

Lacaaty is sleep  (l or la for s?)

Veelan is "going to" as intent rather than location

Ils is am

E is I (eah, light h)

E ameycw cena ane silna tycila (I would like to make a play)

Anirllan Aey is goodbye

Ilwinaky? is Andrew?
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 12, 2010, 04:43:09 PM
Elly is gone for now and I honestly don't know why I'm writing this or why I can't finish it.  I want to write for Night Sky.

Is there a note, a song or chord
That connects to she who lives ignored
Is there a way to reach the one inside you?
Would it sound like this
A tiny kiss
A booming voice
A church rejoice
Would it echo round the room or just be whispered?

It wasn't much, she spared a glance
Something told me take a chance
But faith and proof are uneasy bedfellows
Slabs of cold and angry stone
Is there anybody home
A need, a want
An echoed haunt
A dream of love left crumpled in a corner?

You won't shut me out but you won't let me in
A limbo of constant coincidence
I won't walk away but I won't force your hand
And so we keep sharing this oddly timed dance
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 14, 2010, 11:55:53 AM
Ben's dead?

I sung this to Elly yesterday...she says Lana would want to hear it.  I'm not so sure.  Written from Elly's words.

I walked the floor, waiting here
And found that you would come no more
And now I’m standing in deafening silence

The statues lining the hallway walls
Audience to my screams and calls
Echoing friends who shared your glib defiance

Adventure called and you were there
Which leaves me now alone and scared
Watched by friends of stone and painted plaster

Was it worth the trip to end up as art
Worth the loss and the dearly depart
For one last trip, one last bloody disaster?
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 14, 2010, 02:27:11 PM
For Fehriel, may he never negotiate another surrender again, and Talia who seems sweet.  Wedding song, last minute.

And Daphne - I mean Lili.

Two hearts to one as the old saying goes
But wasn’t it always so?
He saw you on that rainy day, not so very long ago
Hair stuck to skin and soaked to within but the look that they shared in the midst of that din
Warmed the cold away
Warmed the cold away

A prince of wolves in fur headdress
A star mage healer with magic’s bless
Rain and her voice
The look in his eyes
While storm clouds passed overhead

Love isn’t an instant
No matter what the bards say
It wasn’t a week and it wasn’t a day
But a seedling in love’s sun and watered with time and the vines of together took root to climb
Twining to today
Twining to today

It’s the feeling when you find your God
The dawning of a new day’s sun
The moment when you wake fully
The making of two to one
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 16, 2010, 09:09:34 AM
Master Songsinger,

A year or so back, an event occurred which goes some distance towards shedding light on the true 'priorities' of the constabulary in Leringard. I think the common man should be made aware of these, in an artful way of course.

I, along with several others whom you may know (notably a priestess of the Mistress of Pleasure and your landlady's son), occasioned on a situation: a sailor had been hanging about the docks for weeks, continually drunk and railing his sad tale, over and over. According to a local barmaid, he told of how his ship had been sunk by 'fiery eyed monsters' that 'fell out of the sky' and how he alone had survived.

In any event, this sailor, Francis (apparently too inebriated to be of any further use that night), was placed in the care of a Chalbadi, proprietor of the Leaky Keg Inn, ostensibly to sleep off his latest drunk. While we were waiting for the opportunity to speak with a re-sobered Francis, we were met by a local businessman unknown to us, one Guy Poul, who said he could arrange a meeting with Francis, despite what we'd been told of the sailor's condition.

All convivial, we dined with this Poul at the Leaky Keg and were subsequently led though the back alleys of Leringard to our supposed meeting. Instead of our finding Francis however, we were attacked by a contingent of Drach Garra. A hard fight ensued, one of our own was slain, and one of the enemy escaped.

Those of us still standing split to pursue two different ends: finding and confronting this Guy Poul and chasing down the remaining Drach Garra. When the search for the last of the Dracha Garra came up empty, we contacted one of the Blackwatch on patrol, who a) had heard nothing of the Drach Garra or our battle (which was neither quick nor quiet) in the streets of Leringard and b) was less than interested in pusuing a Drach Garra soldier, running loose through the city. In fact, he and others of the Blackwatch seemed more concerned that we not harm this Guy Poul, whom we had cornered quite near to where you reside. Poul was subsequently taken into 'custody' before we could ask the very pointed questions we each had. We, on the other hand, were brusquely directed to disperse.

We all found it disturbing that the Blackwatch seemed more interested in protecting this 'local businessman' than investigating the presence of soldiers of the Dragon Stealers Cult within the city's walls. This, in my view, transcends incompetence and points to collusion, though I can't substantiate that as yet. I'd think the general populace might find all this properly disturbing as well. Perhaps your sharp pen can find some way to bring this to the public ear?

Let me know,

~ C. A.

P.S. The morning after the incident, Francis had disappeared without a trace, before he also could be questioned.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 16, 2010, 03:11:03 PM
Master Andrew:

I recall your person, and have encountered some of your work. I will tell you what I know. Name a time and place within the next ten days, and I will be there.

Wicked watch over the fatherless and the widow,
~Steel.





Steel.

My name is Andrew Reid. We met once, when Jaelle rode the lightning with her Kenku friend - I was the tall skinny human clutching potions and watching wide-eyed from the sidelines.

I have a request for information. One of my benefactors has asked for a song regarding the current state of the Blackwatch.  Having attended your execution (although by accident - it's not something I take dates to, you understand) - I feel you have more than a passing familiarity with this organization.

I was hoping, rather fervently, that you would share some of what you know to be true, that my song or songs will be accurate in revealing problems that would inspire a common man to look closer.  I'm not asking for any specifics of your situation, although I would certainly not refuse to hear them.  I am hoping to gain a more well-rounded view of what the state of the Blackwatch is, and how it relates to the Queen and also a certain businessman who seems to enjoy their protection.

I would meet in person if you wished or gladly receive a letter as well - and if you are unwilling to share such, a note to let me know to look elsewhere would be most appreciated.

With anticipation,

Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 18, 2010, 04:23:09 PM
(sung)

Necessity, necessity -- it's simple necessity
The watch in black that stood up during war
Necessity, necessity, protection as necessity
But what do we now need this black watch for?

(chanted)

Absolute power corrupts
Absolute power corrupts
Absolute power corrupts ...true

(sung)

Efficiency, efficiency -- it's just savage efficiency
They keep the peace with the backs of their hands
Efficiency, efficiency, that's what it's called -- efficiency!
As measured by their club-backed commands

(chanted)

They protect and they serve
They protect and they serve
They protect and they serve...who?

(sung)

Brutality, brutality -- it's become brutality
The common man can't speak his mind from fear
Brutality, brutality, arm-twisting brutality
It gets a little worse ev-er-y year

(chanted)

A thug in a uniform is still a thug and he don't care a whit about yours
With no one to answer to, no to stop him he'll soon be kicking in doors

When folks disappear the watch doesn't care and the gone are quickly forgotten
They cover the rears of their unsavory peers and it's clear that something is rotten

(sung)

Accountability, accountability, we need accountability
To keep their power in check day to day
Accountability, accountability, is there any accountability?
Who watches the watchmen anyway?

(chanted)

Who watches the Blackwatch...
Who watches the Blackwatch...
Who watches the Blackwatch...you?
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 19, 2010, 10:04:14 PM
*a translation is added, re-written in neat italic script*

My Dearest Andrew, My Treasured Songbird and Symphony.

Recently we have lost and far from each other in only presense, but not in heart. At least I pray not in heart and not in treasured vibrations of the Heartsong.

I truly miss you and hope that you know that I have not grown far away from you, that I still practice with all my heart each precious piece of music that you have brought into my heart.

Your soul speaks to me not only when you hold me close but through each precious chord that surrounds me with an understanding that no other could ever realize. You mean the world to me treasured symphony. And I hope you never forget.

Your Minuet Always,

Elohanna Min A'Litae


Sa Wailmalaan Andrew, Sa Anmaillaymaw Laelvfemw illw Laastyirela.

 Manyalanca ama irilela celaan illw oilm omes ailnyir eaniram el elca tymalaallaa, fyan lean el irailman. Ilan caillaan E tymila lean el irailman illw lean el anmaillaymaw elefmilaneella eo anira Irailmanlaelv.

 E anmyca selala aey illw iretya anirilan aey nleam anirilan E irilela lean vmeaml oilm ilamila omes aey, anirilan E laanecc tymilnyanenya ameanir ilcc sa irailman ailnyir tymanyeeyla tyeanya eo sylaeny anirilan aey irilela fmeyviran elane sa irailman.

 Aeym laeyc latyailnla ane sa lean elca amiral aey irecw sa nycelaa fyan anirmeyvir ailnyir tymanyeeyla nyiremw anirilan laymmeylwla sa ameanir ill ylwamlaanillwelv anirilan le eaniram nyeycw aelam mailceja. Aey saill anira amemcw ane sa anmaillaymaw laastyirela. Illw E iretya aey laelam oemvaan.

 Aeym Selyaan Ilcamilala,
 Elohanna Min A'Litae
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 20, 2010, 03:51:04 PM
A time to sing
A time to play
A time to share remembrances before the end of day

A time to understand
A time for tears to fall
A time to laugh and mourn and all the good times recall

Questions unanswered for lack of his face
Stories and eulogies taking its place
Support from hearts that never stops flowing
Losses wrapped in familial embrace

He was her land
She was his sea
I play for them both and for all that mourn with me

She was his melody
He her muse, her mate
Together a symphony far beyond what either could create

We stand with our heads down through dearly departs
Combined, so much more than the sum of our parts
He's never far gone when you look at each other
Move forward, move on with Ben safe in your hearts

A time to touch
A time to feel
A time to let him know your love was very real
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 21, 2010, 07:20:50 PM
Master Reid,

Your song and your memory of Ben have given me great comfort. Thank you. I'm enclosing the song we used as our wedding vows. Please feel free to use it if you like.

Sincerely,
Lana Poetr

Ben:
Oh, the summer time is coming, and the trees are a blooming.
And the wild mountain thyme, grows round the blooming heather!

Ben Chorus:
Will ye go lassie, will ye go? And We'll all go together!
To pick wild mountain thyme all the around the blooming heather.
Will ye go lassie will ye go?

Ben:
I will build my love a bower, upon the side of that mountain.
I will build my love a bower, by the clear and crystal fountain!

Lana Chorus
*sings* I will go, laddie, I will go. And We'll all go together!
*sings* To pick wild mountain thyme all the around the blooming heather.
*sings* Will ye go laddie will ye go?

Ben:
We will bide in that bower, by the clear and crystal fountain!
And all around the bower, I'll pile flowers from the mountain!

Ben Chorus
I will go, lassie, I will go. And We'll all go together!
To pick wild mountain thyme all the around the blooming heather.
We will go, lassie, we will go.

Lana
*sings* Oh, the autumn-time is comin', And the leaves are gently falling,
*sings* Where the wild mountain thyme Grows around the blooming heather

Lana Chorus
*sings* Will ye go laddie, will ye go? And We'll all go together!
*sings* To pick wild mountain thyme all the around the blooming heather.
*sings* Will ye go laddie will ye go?

Ben
Oh, the winter-time is comin', and the snow will be fallin',
And the blossoms o' the summer, Will soon wither on the mountain

Ben Chorus
Will ye go lassie, will ye go? And We'll all go together!
To pick wild mountain thyme all the around the blooming heather.
Will ye go lassie will ye go?

Both:
*sings* Still we'll bide in that bower, by the clear and crystal fountain,
*sings* 'Til our bones feed the flowers, on the side of that mountain.

Both Chorus
*sings* We will go, always, we will go. And We'll all go together!
*sings* To pick wild mountain thyme all the around the blooming heather.
*sings* We will go, always, we will go.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 23, 2010, 10:13:10 AM
I'll be looking for your services soon. I'm investigating the candidates for the Lor elections. Once we find the ones we like. I'll be asking for you to do what you do best on their behalf. Of course as the Muse inspires you.

Buddy
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 24, 2010, 09:57:36 AM
My Beloved and Treasured Symphony,
 
I am smiling as I read your letter My Treasured Symphony. Because I never meant for my language to be a puzzle to solve but an understanding you grasped with your heart, as you do the Heartsong. So do not worry that I am upset at you for doing so. Let my words put you at ease and I love you for more than just your willingness to learn my language. I love you because you listen to me.  It has been to long since I have held you and the warmth of your breath against my body as we hold each other.
 
I would never give up the time the Tower takes in my life, when I can see the happiness in each of my students faces as they grasp their first understanding of the Al'noth and realize that in that understanding they have let go of their fears and opened themselves to a world so much beyond even my own imagining.
 
My Love and My Heart are always with you, as you know even better than I, the Heartsong's melody sings softly for the both of and wills us in its own way to fit where we are meant to be, when we are meant to be there. I wish to truly hear of all of your adventures and I feel that after this auction that we will finally have the opportunity to have more time to spend together. My Heart is always yours and always with you. Please be sure to tell me of all of your adventure as I wish to understand all the pieces of my love and what adventures you have found yourself in.
 

Andrew, my treasure there is simply nothing about you that I would ever laugh at, rather I will always laugh with you as you touch my heart in so many ways that I hold you as the most precious person in my life. I am glad though that you have had a chance to speak and understand your lady and what made you love her to begin with, though it sounds as if your feelings for her have changed in some small way?

 
Please let me know when we see each other again as I wish to understand. I also have discovered recently that there was a source of scrying attempted in my own house in Fort Llast, you will have to remind me to tell you what has happened to as I rather not go into the details, other than in person.
 
I can tell you honestly that most of my own kind have always been arrogant, and very few have ever shown the capacity to be different. I admit that there are parts of me that used to feel that I could not ever love a human, and so I would close myself off to such a possibility. I have lost out on great friends as a result and sadly those who have tried have long since left this mortal world in pursuits to serve their gods.
 
I believe that there are two reasons for why this happens, one is simply an understanding that because humans are such a young race some of our race have grown complacent that they will only be in our life for a short period of time, and that the time is inconsequential to the bigger picture.
 
However I feel that, ever pebble no matter how long they are in our lives, matters to the greater picture and the Heartsong continues as it will because every single person matters. Every human, orc, goblin, kobold, elf are part of the bigger tapestry of life. Each race has its own arrogance though, I just wish to not fit into that predictable mold called elf.  I have learned more from humans as an honest people than I have my own race and I treasure greatly the lessons learned.  The rule though is sadly what you believe it to be. The exceptions are myself and your lady. Hold tight to the exceptions as they will touch your heart in most unexpected ways because we do not close our minds to the possibilities and shelter our lives away in some small portion of the world but we are willing to share ourselves with you.
 
I am very familiar with Lady Gala, as she is also a member of the Angels guild and I consider her a sister and friend. I am happy to hear you are able and willing to share you talents with the hospital as there is no greater gift than song that can be given to any. I am very proud of you Andrew, and I love that you are so willing to learn all you can about any aspect of the Heartsong. You have an amazing heart that I only fall more and more in love with when I hear about the undertakings you have perused. Please do not stop! I hope to see you soon and hope to also be near Krandor and Fort Llast again in the next few days.
 

I am also happy to hear that your parents have had success with their pottery barn and that I can hopefully soon have a chance to peruse their wares. I could use some new flower pots for the house, and though it seems a long way to travel, I believe it would be worth it.

 
It seems as though Aya truly needs an understanding brother to be close to her and Congratulations on being an UNCLE! Even if you have your own paths set before you, I am sure that the thought of being an Uncle has to tickle you. You are dearly blessed with your family and the chance to know the differences and embrace them anyway as you have.
 
I miss you Andrew and I wish to have you in my arms. I wish to hold you until you grow tired of me. I wish to listen to the softness of your heartbeat. I hope to see you soon my Treasured Symphony.
 
~Elly



To: Elohanna Min A'Litae
c/o the Tower Academy
Municipal District
Port Hempstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

My Minuet -

I'm sorry, I'm sorry - I had to cheat.  I had your beautiful letter translated.  I think that it will help me more than scratching my head over certain conjugations and cursing (in Tilmarese) the complexity of your tongue.

Pardon me while I pause to ponder the complexity of your tongue...it has indeed been far too long since we have seen each other in a comfortably private situation!

I understand your time constraints and the demands the Tower makes of you, and rest assured my feelings have not changed, Minu.  You are part of my song, more than you know.  Remind me to tell you of experiences I've had in Wayfare recently and how your quiet beliefs influenced the results.  We don't need to spend all our time together for me to love you.  Others can wander in and out of our lives, but your place with me is always there when you wish it, and mine with you.

That said, let me catch you up with what I've been doing since last we were together.  I have lately been on a listening exercise, wandering and absorbing the Heartsong wherever I find it.  Listening to the Heartsong of the natural world, so very quiet and simple; the song of the city; the song of battle; the song of the slow towns and rowdy bars.  It has been enlightening and contributed to my music greatly.  I have also been setting myself up for possible trouble, which excites me far more than it should.  I will speak more of this to you in person.

I sat for a while the other day and spoke to she whom holds a piece of my heart still; our conversation more the talks of days before her fire took me than after.  I was reminded, repeatedly, of what drew me to her, and that very same thing that is such a difference between us.  I think, looking back, some of those feelings may have been an undercurrent to my action that drove us apart, alcohol or no.  You do not affect me the same way; I don't feel like a child around you, always being questioned and gently laughed at as if I were amusing but inconsequential.  For this, I thank you.

And yet I cannot imagine not knowing her, not taking her opinion.  She seemed confused that I would be content with being content.  While I think that this measure of peace is merely another bridge in my song - there will be highs and lows soon enough.  Soon enough indeed, as alluded to above.

It's odd, Elly.  Elves as a whole tend to look at humans one way, as a bunch of loose arrowheads, utterly predicatable only in how unpredicable we are and deeply annoying in our lack of forethought.  And we humans, as a whole, do the same - elves are stuffy and condescending at best, decide things far too slowly, and look down on the rest of us for what reason?  And then there is you, and her, and I think to myself "but they're not like that".  Who is the rule and who is the exception?  I've been coming to face my own racism lately and it's an icy splash of water, let me tell you.

What else?  Ah!  Do you know the lady Gala, now the head of the Krandor Hospital?  I have been working on making instruments to donate there (and am proud to say I can make a halfway decent hickory mandolin now), and I will be spending time there, using the Heartsong to ease pains and learning about the healing side of the Resonance of Being.  This I am quite excited about and if you can find me in none of my usual haunts, check there.

My parents have opened up their new pottery barn with some success.  And, miracle of miracles, Aya has gotten in contact with mother.  It seems her powerful husband, an advisor to the Kagi, has had a fall from grace over a dalliance with someone's daughter.  And while I will not name names I laughed myself to the floor when I got mother's letter - I myself "knew" that daughter when she was quite a bit younger!  I am smiling even now, because I know exactly how persistant she can be.  Aya's husband never had a chance.  I can only wonder, additionally, who paid this lady to ruin him?  But, the end result is mother gets her daughter back, and I, for now, can speak of my whole family.  Aya is pregnant also.  I'm not sure if she will leave her husband but the fall from power certainly has tempered her ego, to which I can only say: good.

Write to me, Minu - tell me what you've been doing, thinking.  Better yet, write me to tell me when we can meet and have another piano and elvish lesson.  I do miss you.

Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 24, 2010, 11:02:29 AM
It's election time in Lor
The hopefuls line the floor
Flints and Jaks and Orebashers
It's election time in Lor

Lor the free, Lor the proud,
Our glorious city Lor!

It's election time in Lor
What will you vote for?
Independence, or do you want
Rael inside your door

Lor the free, Lor the proud,
Our glorious city Lor!

Even before the days of Raklin
We've been standing strong
From Galerights to Svendowskis
It's to Lor that we belong!

Lor the free, Lor the proud,
Our glorious city Lor!

So vote most carefully
Listen closely to each plea
Don't let footstomping decide for you
Your vote will keep you free!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 24, 2010, 02:08:11 PM
Arioso,

I saw your posting in the inn today. Someone had torn one down and left it on the table. If you are in need of an illusionist in the future, Mist and Muse willing, I will help you with your play.

Let us hope the storm passes soon, and such an avenue for play is open to us.





Night Sky

I am indeed in need of assistance, although I prevaricate as to the reason (mostly - I have two plays written, and lack only actors).

Willie the Bard is about to do some shows.

I have used his name a few too many times than I think is comfortable without substance, and so the venerable and not-as-talented-as-Andrew Willie shall be singing in a few prominent locations.  I will need all the help I can muster to not look like me; the poor singing I think I can handle on my own.

I would of course prefer your assistance above anyone else's in this sensitive matter, Mist and Muse willing.  If there is even a single thing I can do to assist you in the meantime, I am at your disposal.

Perhaps when your skies clear you'd like to be in a play as well?  I think you'd enjoy being Lord Pale...


Arioso
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 24, 2010, 03:50:14 PM
*scribbled*

In a dark dark street
On a dark dark night...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 25, 2010, 03:23:46 PM
Heard a little story of a seaman bit ago
Sailing to the docks of Leringard
He washed ashore and promptly jumped right back into the drink
With a tale of fire-eyed monsters falling hard

(We've seen odder things, yah?)
(Oh yeah -- his name was Francis)

Francis spread his tale of woe to any open ears
Hoping someone else had seen the beasts
Ended up in the Leaky Keg to sleep off two week's drunk
Before his liver landed him with the priests

(Poor fella was beside himself)
(Prolly didn't smell too good by now, either)

It was to this inn my informants made their way
To see Francis regarding his ordeal
But poor Francis wasn't there to speak and they found instead
A businessman who offered them a meal

(Guy Poul -- ever heard of him?)
(Me neither)

Our friends became suspicious the longer dinner ran
Spoke their need to talk to Francis soon
Guy offered to guide them to the man who they still sought
Through twisting alleys by the light of moon

(The back alleys of Leringard?)
(Can you see where this is going?)

Francis gone the group were beset by Dracha Garra
Battling long into the misty night
Those dragon-stealing cultists took their best shot at our heroes
Until one upped and scampered from the fight

(Dracha Garra -- I get shivers just saying that name.)
(Fiery-eyed monsters -- draaaagons, maybe?)

Our friends searched the high and low looking for the cultist
But he'd found a darn good place to hide
So they went on to the Blackwatch to ask for their assistance
And found themselves being taken for a ride

(Them Blackwatch don't do nothing but for themselves, ya know)
(Buncha thugs iffn you ask me)

The Blackwatch didn't care about cultists in the city
But they sure did care about that Guy Poul
Our heroes were "encouraged" to forget what they had seen there
And left without a word by the watch that makes the calls

(Wonder who they're protecting, hmm?)

An' that's the story or my name ain't Willie the Bard!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 04, 2010, 01:54:51 PM
Muse save me from myself
Muse protect us waywards
Muse lay me down to sleep
With sweet and sober chords


Just One.

I'm burning up inside
All senses opened wide
Wrestling the desire to fight this fire with fire
I'm burning, burning up inside

Funny how things fade a few years down the line
Just one sip won't hurt
Just one sip
Just one...

There's a wire in my brain
I trip it now and then
The smell of corn mash or the clink of iced glass
I'm burning, burning up again

Funny what you'll justify after all this damned time
Just one sip won't hurt
Just one sip
Just one...

I'm restless at best, reckless at worst
A drunk, a liar, a cheat
I want what I want when I want it right now
High on my merry conceit

I'm burning up inside
I've thrown away my pride
High and dry in the ocean but drowning in the heat
I'm burning, burning up inside
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 09, 2010, 11:41:24 AM
Buddy wants me to learn to sail.  I kiss my sobriety wholly goodbye, then.  But maybe this is a chance to find Bella?  


Sailing off from Leringard
Hauling wood and timber
Sailing from my girlie's heart
I'm sure gonna miss her

Heave and ho the rigging mates
Heave and ho the tiller
Heave and ho and hold the lines
This storm wind's a killer

Ocean's swelling angry now
Waves over the gunwhale
Hike the sides and shout your prayers
We don't lose our mainsail

Heave and ho the rigging mates
Heave and ho the tiller
Heave and ho and hold the lines
This storm wind's a killer

Winds are dying and we're not
Bless the Lady Doom
Winds are dying ship's afloat
We'll be in port soon

Heave and ho the cargo mates
Heave and ho the lumber
Heave and ho and clear the hold
So we can get some slumber




I met a lass on the shores of Fort Vehl
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin
Her face wasn't much but her coastline was swell
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin

This lass had a beam that could suck a man in
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin
Her luff was a flappin' so I asked for some trim
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin

Whiskey, ale vodka and gin
I'll drink any one with a song and a grin
I'm a fair man till I'm lookin' for sin
With my whiskey, ale vodka and gin

She took offense and flatly refused
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin
Till I offered my bottle of fine dwarven booze
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin

Twenty sips later she was ready to sail
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin
So I dropped my plank and offered my rail
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin

Whiskey, ale vodka and gin
You ain't much to look at till I get some in
I'm a fair man till I'm lookin' for sin
With my whiskey, ale vodka and gin

She climbed aboard and I started to strafe
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin
But my line wasn't set right and started to chafe
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin

I reset my line and was soon nearly through
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin
She hadn't reached port so she stopped with "heave to"!
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin

Whiskey, ale vodka and gin
Drinkin' one each will make your ship spin
I'm a fair man till I'm lookin' for sin
With my whiskey, ale vodka and gin

She came hard about till her bow was her stern
And hoisted my boom with a shake and a turn
Then brought us to dock while yelling LAND HO
Pulled down her skirts and disembarked with a glow

I ain't seen that lady since I sailed for Lor
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin
But you know if I do I'll be askin' for more!
Whiskey, ale, vodka and gin

Whiskey, ale vodka and gin
Drunk from a bottle, a mug or a tin
I'm a fair man till I'm lookin' for sin
With my whiskey, ale vodka and gin!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 15, 2010, 10:43:34 PM
For Annwyl and Ysgraine.

As much as it hurts me to write it.


Born into a house of love but outside looking in
Watching love wither caring hands slowly from within
The dancer grows to understand that love destroys the heart
But then...but then --

Born into a womb of frozen earth and icy hills
Trained and set aside to fill another's place and wills
The shaman grows to understand that love's just a distraction
But then...but then --

A turn, a bump, a clumsy touch
That moment when our lips brushed
An accident of fate in a second, in a rush
And then...and then --

That spark that heralds passion needs a name all of its own
A fanfare silent as a tingle that sings "you're not alone"
Together we have built a house of trust gained from the other
And this day we are making it our home
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 22, 2010, 11:21:25 AM
My Dearest Symphony,
 
 I have made it here to the temple in North Point and found myself lovingly embraced in the arms of my brothers and sisters. I had feared their judgement and that they would turn me away but such was not the case.
 
 Father Leidanos and Brother Tarmaren, as well was Sister Wina have allowed to me to stay to help in the halls those that I may be able to while I await word of where I am to be assigned. There is a chance that I may be assigned in Krandor but I will go where the aid is needed most.
 
 I am certain that for once in my life I have truly been called down the path I was meant to be on. I truly have a chance to make a difference. These hands were made for My Caring Light to work his will through me. I have no doubt.
 
 Since I have come through the doors I have seen things that would tear at your heart My Love, and my own. It was not until I watched my brothers and sisters here that I truly understand how much courage and love fills each an every one of them. The compassion within them to comfort and aid the sick and to stand by the dying when their last breath is taken. It is heart wrenching but also so rewarding.
 
 While so many look harshly on them for their gentle ways, I can only look upon them with the deepest respect and admiration and pray that in time His Healing Light also shines within me.
 
 ~Minu
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 25, 2010, 01:01:53 PM
I hear the Blackwatch saved orphans from harm
Bout time you all had a moment of pride
It's a start, it's a start -- one you can build off of
And it's getting' on time to decide

One right don't fix a thousand wrongs
But one step can lead to the next
I'll break the silence -- they're thugs, yours or not
And you can start writin' the rest

The good news I'm singin' is this ain't Prantz, not yet
You can still speak your mind -- mostly
But folks do disappear when they talk inconvenient truth
And that ain't no accident if you think closely

Who runs this town? Who is the Law?
Who stands behind the curtain of secrets and bribes?
It's your right to know
It's your town, it's your show
Those kids are one payment on far too many broken lives

The watch's there to keep order but whose order they keeping
They ain't taking orders from the mayor or Queen
Ask who they're helpin' and ask who they're not
And that's a good place to begin

One right don't fix a thousand wrongs
But one step can lead to the next
I'll say it out loud -- they're thugs, yours or not
And you can start writin' the rest

So think what's I'm sayin' and think round the box
And talk to each other fore the secrets turn to lies
A town guard should be something you can depend on
And not an object of fear or surprise
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 26, 2010, 11:07:06 AM
That Marcus - I need to sing with him more often.

Another hangover.  Annwyl is disappointed.  I feel rotten.

But - new songs for Willie, courtesy of Marcus and a bottle of whiskey.

Keyhole in the Door

I had just come home and I took a room
I was all settled down to recline
When I saw a delectable maid go by
To the room next door to mine
Like a bold adventurer then
I set out to explore
And I took up my position by
The keyhole on the door

The keyhole in the door
My boys, the keyhole in the door
I took up my position
By the keyhole in the door

She first took off her slippers
Her dainty feet to show
And then she took her knickers off
And revealed her so-and-so
And when she stretched out on her bed
I couldn't stand no more
It was one, two, three, I turned the key
In the keyhole in the door

The keyhole in the door
My boys, the keyhole in the door
It was one, two, three, I turned the key
In the keyhole in the door

She didn't say a single word
But she took me in her arms
And pretty soon I was much engaged
In charting all her charms
But just in case some other sailor
Might see the sights I saw
I hung my trousers right above
The keyhole in the door

The keyhole in the door
My boys, the keyhole in the door
I hung my trousers right above
The keyhole in the door

That night I rode in glorious style
And other things besides
And on her rocking seas, my boys
I had such lovely rides
But when I woke next morning, boys
My instrument was sore
As if I had been using it
On the keyhole in the door!

The keyhole in the door
My boys, the keyhole in the door
As if I had been using it
On the keyhole in the door

Be warned by this, young sailormen
And listen unto me
What I caught then, no fishermen
Have ever caught at sea
Beware the pox, the hidden rocks
That lie in wait ashore
It's safer far to bend your spar
In the keyhole in the door

The keyhole in the door
My boys, the keyhole in the door
It's safer far to bend your spar
In the keyhole in the door!

After half a bottle neither one of us could come up for a name for this one.

A toast to noble lady
In cheer she tips her glass
And when her cup is empty
She flashes us her -
 
Assassins in the courtyard
They'll have to catch him quick
He's out to find a lady
And stick her with his -
 
Dicker with the merchants
And haggle over stock
Be sure its by the arm length
Not measured by his
 
Cocktails after dinner -
And songs sung by a bard!
Advances from a comely lass
Are sure to make him -
 
Hardened in the oven
His tankard is the best
He spun it on his potter's wheel
And shaped it like -
 
Abreast the men stand ready
Their weapons poised for war
They're dreaming of last evening
How they spent it with the -
 
Hoarse a man lies dying
A little death in bead
He thinks no way is better
His wife gives him good -
 
Heading to a party
She's happy to have stayed
For the rumour down in Leringard
Is that everyone gets -
 
Laid out on the table
Fair trimmings and a roast
Good gentles stand together
I'd like to give a toast!

To Leringard!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 31, 2010, 07:25:48 AM
Anthemusa

I wanted to let you know Willie's concert went off very well. I hope to tell the story in person, the better to hear you laugh - and as such, I have another request of your time should you have it to give.

I need to learn some of your art of disguise. I understand your skill has been honed for decades longer than I've been alive. But if I could learn and reliably reproduce even a tiny fraction of your talent, it would help me greatly with where I seem to be going. Illusion I already understand somewhat, conceptually at least. But makeup? Well, you saw my attempt at a Willie face.

I hope your time is such that you can entertain a teaching role. I promise to be a very good student and bring an apple for you each lesson and you are welcome to spank me if I even try to goof off in class.

Arioso
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 01, 2010, 12:58:20 PM
*Andrew sits on a wooden stool by a stone-topped table, deep in the Rofireinite temple in Fort Vehl.  His cloak is rolled up inside his pack.  His silver heart and clef necklace is in his fingers, zipping back and forth on the silver chain around his neck.

He flips another page, a letter.  The quiet is broken by metronomic feet walking past, armored ones by the gentle clanking reverberations.  Then the sound fades down the hall.  He turns the letter over onto the pile he's already read, makes a note in a small ragpaper journal.  His long fingers carefully lift a sheet of thin vellum and smooth it flat.  Dust motes swirl in the sunbeam illuminating the desk.  His eyes never leave the page.

It isn't until those tiny dust dancers are no longer visible in dusk's gloomy bustle that he tucks the journal in a pocket and carefully places all the papers together.  He feels compelled to tuck the pages flush and make sure each scrap and note is in it's place.  Must be something about breathing Rofierinite air - although I'll grant them this, they keep excellent history.  He ties the heavy leather binder shut and slings it under one arm, heading back to the prim-faced woman from whom he obtained it.

Later in his rented room, he lights a few candles and sets out ink and quill, paper and blotter, and his drying sand.  He sits at the cramped writing desk, singing to himself, and begins his ritual of correspondance.*


Greetings, Paladin Brendimeere.

You do not know me; my name is Andrew Reid.  I have been perusing the information regarding the trial of one Saida Rothsford, nee Pepperin, and have found your name mentioned many times as well as letters written by you.

I have of late been a person of interest to Miss Rothsford.  She is a fixture around Port Hempstead, a place I frequent.  My most recent encounter with her resulted in myself being charmed after refusing implied gifts in exchange for...well, I didn't ask.  She attempted to force me to kiss her in public.  Given what I know of her I'm fortunate that I was able to get free of the charm she cast.  I have no doubt that I'd have been held up on rape charges had she been able to complete whatever she had in mind.

I'm sorry to be long-winded, as a singer and storyteller it's in my blood I suppose.  What I am asking for is an audience with you or failing that, information that may help me in dealing with her.  I do not imply murder when I say that - to be clear.  Only that she's a danger and information is my strongest weapon to avoid that danger, and you would appear to have a lot of it.

If you would grace me with some of your time I would be much obliged.  If not, I take letters at 137 Leringard in Leringard, Kingdom of Trelania.

Thank you for reading, sir, and I hope to hear from you.

Sincerely,

Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 01, 2010, 04:50:16 PM
Walking to Vehl.  Dedicated to Willie.

Walking to Vehl I was thinking of you
Singing to the rain with my head in a stew
Too long since I've seen you, I was in a fair funk
Consoling myself with a bottle of brew

Up ahead on the road was a tall thin old man
He moved slow but steady, boots scuffing the sand
I reined in my pace and greeted him kindly
And gave him a glance as I strolled close at hand

His skin thin as parchment, his age clearly showing
His walk was a shuffle but still he kept going
On his back a guitar harp and violin
Each one of them yew and each of them glowing

He turned and looked and my heart skipped three beats
I had a hard time staying up on my feet
His face mirrored mine but for forty odd years
Myself was not someone I expected to meet

The old man just smiled and chuckled a wee
Coughed twice and pulled out some fine old whiskey
He uncorked the bottle with a swift little twist
Took a long drink and then passed it to me

You found me, he said with his rusty old tenor
I wondered if you would, I've been walking forever
Bout time you caught on to things that you've been avoiding
And I'm glad you've figured out you're not all that clever


He reached around slowly, patting his pack
And removed that glowing violin from his back
The bow was a line of pure light in his hands
While his voice - and his eyes -- hit my soul like a tack

You're standing barefoot on the knife's edge of youth
Kid, I've paced cross that floor, I've faced that truth
You've run and you've hidden but it's time for some facts
Take just one moment to think and relax


While he sang we came to fork in the road
Not one I remember nor one any map showed
He stopped then to face me and kept up the song
While I listened in awe with my head fully bowed

He sang to me, Son, you see I'm quite alone
No woman, no children, no place to call home
I play and I sing but there's not a  one
I can cleave to or hold close or call all my own


You're not here just yet -- you've still got time
So think bout your future and not just your next rhyme
I hear it each time your heart aches for love
I'm listening, son, and so's She, up above


No one is making you stop chasing skirts
But let me tell you, being alone really hurts
Remember whose heart you wear on that cloak
And remember this day when we stood here and spoke


He gave one more nod, his grey hair wet with the rain
And turned, moving stiffly, along the right lane
He was soon lost to sight - I stayed rooted in place
Staring down each road again and again

But I'm walking to Vehl now, the path feels new
Pondering the twists and turns we pursue
My step feels lighter though my pack weighs no less
I'm walking to Vehl and thinking of...you
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 04, 2010, 08:56:39 PM
*Two candles are lit in rapid succession.  Ink, paper, quill, blotter and sand are tossed on the table without pause, utterly lacking the sensual enjoyment of preparation normally observed.  The paper is flattened by a pair of shaking hands.  The quill is dipped too deep, blotted too fast.  The penmanship - usually a source of pride - quivers on the page.*



Paladin Brendimeere.

Please disregard my previous letter, if you indeed received it.  All matters have been resolved and I will not need to communicate with you.

Thank you for your indulgence.


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 15, 2010, 03:15:19 PM
You walked around in circles and I followed in a line
The monkeys were the chorus and the elephant kept time
The audience was waiting for the fat lady to sing
Twenty blackbirds in a pie flew on beaten wing
And I was still behind you making lines across the sand
You joined them with your shuffling timed to the beastly band
I didn't want to walk into the lion's waiting den
So I pull the sword from your ivory neck and kill you with my pen

But it's not the day for that talk, my love
It's not the day for that

You took your golden scissors and you cut my heart right out
And served back to me in a sauce of bitter stout
I admit it tasted better than I thought it ever could
But then I'm quite the masochist and you knew that I would
The thorns and daggers in your eyes turned to roses in your mouth
So I turned my line inside your sphere and headed to the south
But you're never really done with me and so you closed the loop
Now I'm trapped inside your nightmare and drinking your noise soup

But it's not the day for that talk, my love
It's not the day for that

I'm weary of the pretense and I'm tired of the show
I want to pick my music up and I really want to go
Never let them see you sweat and never miss a line
Be careful who you star with in the theatre divine
But words of wisdom rolled off me like water on a duck
Now every time I look at you I only feel stuck
Screaming feeds the frenzy and tears have no effect
I should really tell you but I can't be that direct.

And it's never the day for that talk, my love
It's never the day for that
It's never the day for that.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 20, 2010, 02:16:14 PM
*the writing on this short scroll is italic script; the letters are not the usual strong strokes but show signs of a trembling hand*

Minu.  Minuet.

This is my fifth draft and still I can't get it right.  Yes, so long as you'll have me - there, now you can read the rest without wondering.

I was, am, still willing to be a part of your life along with Omer.  I hope for your sake he pulls his skull out of his behind and realizes what he's tossing aside in the name of his pride; but if he doesn't, well, more for me.  Is that too honest?  I hope it made you smile.

Love cannot be forced and love must sometimes be shared.  We both understand this.  If he comes around, or if my other love wishes more someday?  I will never make you choose and I know you won't force the same on me.

I had a lot more to say but I think I'll tell you after we have proper make-up...conversation.  

Love,

Takeshi


P.S. Tiger misses you.  He spent days whining under the bed.




My Dearest Andrew,
 
 Love can not be a forced choice, as I feel it has been made, not by you but by Omer. So I have sent a letter to him, to ask him if he can understand my feelings, and how much I love you and how I am not willing to let that go.
 
 I await to hear word from him, but I wish you to know I do love you, I treasure you, and my heart is always going to be with you. Your Muse has blessed us with an understanding and unbreakable bond, and I feel as if my heart has been forced to make a decision to simply push love away for the sake of another, to choose not only between friends but what I know and embrace as the truth between us both.
 
 I know there was an understanding between us that should the others love return it would be understood, but now that that decision is upon us. I can not simply turn my back on the love we share.
 
 If you truly can should your love appear, please let me know Andrew. Please I ask of you only this that you be honest with me as you always have.
 
 Your Minu so long as you will have me,
 
 ~Elohanna
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 21, 2010, 01:37:52 PM
*the writing of this short note is a neat italic script in black ink*

Jay. Or is it J?  Or Jai, perhaps?  I've never asked.

I have my ear to the ground regarding your request; I've heard a lot of rumbling regarding the orcs in mid-Brelin.  But that's not why I write.

Recently Quantum organized a trip to the Ice Marshes and I went along.  He had heard a rumor that a lich was harboring up that way.  I cannot now (thanks to an untimely demise and copious amounts of ale) remember the exact name he gave but I believe it's your selfsame lich of interest because there just can't be that many of them.  Maleicious?  Marasomething?  Muse, I can't recall.

At any rate the majority of the trip was uneventful, until we were trying to leave.  It was then that a contingent of remarkably powerful undead, including the vampire that was the death of me, popped up like ice daisies.  Decaying ice daisies.

I would give you a full recounting except that I was a thin charred lump of flesh until Elly raised me so I would point you to Quantum for details.  But I felt  you should know; if you're hunting it, it has a presence there.


Andrew




*written on a slip of parchment that appears to have been tightly rolled*


Mechidli, his name is Mechidli.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 21, 2010, 04:32:10 PM
Written after Tyra's endless moaning over my drinking the other night.  

Some of us come here to make with the merry
And some of us laugh with fermented glee;
Some of us flirt with the maids quite contrary
And some of us come here to drink ourselves free

So bring
On
The beer
The ale, the wine and good cheer
Bring out the sloe gin and let's get to dancin' for the sauce can be takin' the blame

Some of us sit here to drown out a sorrow
And some of us sit here with no place to sleep;
Some of us sit here till dawn brings the morrow
And some of us salt our drinks while we weep

But bring
On
The beer
The ale, the wine and good cheer
Bring out the whiskey and let's get to frisky cause we'll be hanged for a fool all the same

Whether here for our woes
Or to sip in repose
We'll get drunk from our head to our toes...soooo....

Bring
On
The beer!



And traded the next day for this gem: I'm dedicating this one to Kurn even though I didn't write it.



Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin
Far across the western ocean I must wander

Where are me boots, me noggin', noggin' boots?
They're all gone for beer and tobacco
The heels are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed
Since first I came ashore with me plunder
For I spent all me dough on the lassies movin' slow
Far across the Western Ocean I must wander

Where is me shirt, my noggin', noggin' shirt?
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
The collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn
And the tail is looking out for better weather

Where is me bed, me noggin' noggin bed
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
Well I lent it my wench, and now the sheets are drenched
And the springs are looking out for better weather

Where is me wench, me noggin' noggin' wench
She's all gone for beer and tobacco
Her  (clap) is all worn out and her (clap) is knocked about
And her (clap) is looking out for better weather

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
I spent all me loot in a house of ill repute
And I think I'll have to go back there tomorrow!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 26, 2010, 02:21:41 PM
Lana;

I can understand your position, Milady.  Love often that way for me; too precious to leave, too large to horde.  As I write a lady I love may be in the arms of a man she thought lost and I will not begrudge her a moment if I know she's happy and I can still have my moments with her.

I thank you for the song and I will be delighted to add it to my songbook.  In return, a song I wrote for Tugs Sunnytoes when he made up the title and challenged me to fill in the rest.  I think you'll enjoy it and I hope you have as much fun singing it as I do.


*a separate scroll contains the words and music to The Farmer's Daughter*


I hope we can continue to share music, Lana.  Perhaps I shall write us a duet to amaze our friends and audiences with?

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew




Andrew,

A copy of the song you liked:

Sailors dance, sailors sing, sailors' hearts will all take wing!
For when those sailors get on shore, they'll find our Essa at th' tavern door.
Drink, sailor, drink. Dance, sailor, dance.
Oh, dance all night till broad daylight, and wake on the floor in the morning light,
While Essa dances on!

Soldiers dance, soldiers sing, soldiers' hearts will all take wing!
For when those soldiers get to town, they'll find our Essa in a stunning gown.
Drink, soldier, drink. Dance, soldier, dance.
Oh, dance all night till broad daylight, and wake on the floor in the morning light,
While Essa dances on!

Old men swoon, young men sing, and their hearts will all take wing!
For when our Essa struts and preens, men 'll fall like flies on the village greens
Drink, old man, drink. Dance, young man, dance.
Oh, dance all night till broad daylight, and wake on the green in the morning light,
While Essa dances on!

Essa is very like you, I think, with a heart big enough for the whole world. She loved my Benjamin dearly though, and I had not the heart to deny her. So, we shared him. I wish that we still could.

Your friend,
Lana
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 27, 2010, 03:55:07 PM
Andrew,

I hope this note finds you well my friend.

I would like to meet you at the Wild Surge Inn sometime in the near future if your schedule will allow it.  As of late, I have been thinking a great deal of my past...my home...and my parents.  I do not believe I have ever told you the entire story of how I came to Mistone some years ago.

Feawen has been helping me cope with the thoughts flowing through my mind these days.  She said that I should talk more about it to our friends.  I consider you a good friend Andrew, and would like to talk about this with you and see if you can offer some insight.

Let me know when the next time you will be in Hlint, and I will make my way to the Wild Surge to meet you.

The Ales are on me!

Your friend,
Shadowleaf
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 28, 2010, 01:16:04 AM
She tapped the letter on the table for the fifth time.  Snapped it open to read it, adjusting the silver frame of her spectacles; a smaller version of her youngest son's, not that he ever wore them.  Or would admit he needed to.

She read aloud in her firm, smoky voice, speaking in old Tilmarian and not in common.  "Mrs. Reid, I am very interested in meeting with you as well as your entire family to discuss a lucrative pottery contract..."

"Put it down, dear.  There is no secret meaning in it."  The thin old man spoke in lightly accented common.  He reached easily above the top cabinet in the kitchen, feeling for the box of tea he kept hidden from his daughter's keen eye and keener taste buds.  "By our Muse, did she find it again?!"

She sat back with a small huff that blew her graying hair away from her face.  "He's in trouble."

"Why do you say that?"  He didn't ask who.

"Why gather all of us?  He's not interested in pottery.  He's not interested in the business.  He has been out rabble-rousing - you should read his letters.  He's politically involved, for the Lady's sake!  And -" She stopped.

"And what?"  He packed leaves into a metal tea ball, tapping the sides precisely.

She changed the subject.  He let it go.  "If we ask him to come, he will.  The question is, should we."  She began to tap the letter on the table again, more firmly, her delicate eyebrows meeting.  He changed his mind.

"And what, dear?"

She hesitated, then tapped the letter one last time and placed it carefully flat.  "He's drinking again."

"WHAT?"  He spun from the counter, making the table in a stride and a half.  "I thought he'd quit!  You told me he'd quit!  Dammit, Margie!"  She sat, silent through his outburst.  He set the hot water down harder than he meant to and his tea cup right after.  "How long?  Is he broke again?  In trouble? I -"

"About a year I think.  He's not sleeping in a gutter yet.  Not that I excuse him."

"A year."  He pushed out a chair with his foot and sunk into it.  The tea ball banged loudly on the flowered china cup.  He stared into the darkening liquid with the expression of a man who had reached the end of his rope long ago but had not figured out how to loosen his grip.  She watched him, the wrinkles around her almond shaped eyes settling into worry, and placed a dark-skinned hand on his calloused one.

"I think..."

"Oba, Oba!  Aunt Aya wants some red ink, she said you'd know where it is!"  A girl streaked in, straight black hair a glossy stole over thin shoulders.  The old woman's face relaxed into a smile.  Her dimples came up suddenly and lent her youth.

"In the sideboard drawer, Opal."  The girl gave her a blank look, following her gesture but not understanding.  The older woman switched to heavily accented common.  "It is in sideboard, there."  She pointed again and the girl flung the drawer open with casual violence, picking up the squat glass bottle with red drips around the seal.  She slammed the drawer shut; both the man and woman winced.

"Thank you Oba!  Kiss!"  And she was gone in an echo of steps that never walked when they could run.  The old woman sighed, squeezing her husband's fingers, and picked up the letter with her left hand.  She resumed reading it in old Tilmarian.

"Please let me know when you might be able to assemble your family for a showing. It is important that they all be able to attend and it will be very much worth your time and theirs."  The letter was slapped flat again.  "All be able to attend?"  She pushed the glasses to the end of her nose, rubbing her eyes.  "Will, I don't know what he's done but I have a bad feeling about this."

"Then don't invite him."  The man's baritone was bitter.  "It's not like he stays put anyway."  

She nodded, still rubbing her eyes.  "I'll write Mr. Locke back.  And if he does come, I want Opal, Miyu, Aya and the baby gone."

"I'm going to try and find him, Margie."  He lifted the cooled tea in both hands.  "I think we should have a talk.  And the boy needs a talking to.  Thirty-five years-"

"Thirty-six."

"Thirty-six years and he still doesn't have control of his drinking?"  The cup scraped silently on white chin stubble.  "Of anything."

She didn't reply.  Pushing herself up, she went to the same sideboard drawer Opal had just slammed and took out ink, quill, paper and a seal before settling herself back at the table and beginning to write.

Dearest Mr. Locke...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 02, 2010, 10:11:50 AM
Alazira.

After the events of the other day, I felt it could not be left to stand.

We don't agree on Love, or Ilsare's interpretation of it.  That's fine.  The Muse allows both of us to worship her and has not seen fit to remove Her love from either of us so I think that speaks volumes on Her views of the situation.

However, as a Priestess of Ilsare I would think that badmouthing someone behind their back would be beneath you.  Most who know me have made up their mind one way or another, and your actions cannot do me much more harm.  But they can - and will - affect how people view you.

Call me out when you will and I'll discuss the matter or agree to disagree, but accord me the respect of allowing me to respond to your recriminations.

And - I speak for the record here - in regards to Melanna, I have done nothing more than show her the respect that I would show any other woman, yourself included.  I think of her fondly.  But I'm not interested in her so you may dispense with the bulldog act when I'm around you both.  Melanna is quite capable of expressing her feelings regarding teasing and frivolity and quite capable of chopping the hands off anyone who chooses to ignore her on that matter.

I sincerely hope that was an isolated incident of whispered ill words and I will act on the assumption that it is until I know differently.  But for the future, speak to me or hold your peace, as is only fair and civilized.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 02, 2010, 11:57:14 AM
Lady Lana Poetr
197 Wayfare
Wayfare
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Milady, I enjoyed our conversation and our long ride home. Singing down the road together, bringing smiles to those that listened was delightful and I was motivated to finish the song I promised. It changed as I wrote it and I'm afraid the Sea Maiden will have to wait - this became a teasing call-back-and-forth between a man and a woman, influenced no doubt by the events that proceeded our lovely talk.

I hope you enjoy it and I welcome suggestions on improving it. I'll be at Alazira's statuary exhibition despite what happened, and perhaps if you are there we can sing it together?

*enclosed is a separate scroll with the words and music to a duet in C minor*


The Sailor Bard Goes Courting

Maiden, maiden, on my ship / Raven hair and cherry lipped / Eyes that matched exact the sea / Your smile so strong and sultry

Sailor, sailor, you try so hard / But I never dally with a bard / You’re much to look at but your heart will stray / And I’ll be replaced inside a day

Maiden, the sailors all notice you / I’m smitten flat, I come to woo / I’ll sing my songs for you, fair maid / My heart laid bare in serenade

Sailor, sailor, with pretty face / It takes more than your warm embrace / I’ll hear your songs but promise naught / Unless I know you’re really caught

Maiden, maiden, I wander, true / But I cannot keep my eyes off you / Give me one chance to prove my worth / To show my goal’s not just your berth

Sailor, sailor, words so sweet / You mean to sweep me off my feet / Tempting, tempting, siren male / And yet you sing to no avail

Maiden, maiden, my head hangs low / But if you insist then I will go / You captured me in just one glance / But your words are clear – no romance

Sailor, sailor, silly boy / You’re much too quick to quit this joy / You should know a woman’s clues / When she wants you quit or to pursue

Maid, our voyage is quite long / Should I sing on or am I wrong? / Give me a hint, a little tip / Will we be together on this trip?

Perhaps and then, perhaps not / You’ll have to put some effort out / Any man can sing and flatter / But one who’s true wins things that matter

Maiden with the angel’s voice / I feel compelled to make a choice / Can’t we take some time, my dear / Enjoy our days in pleasured cheer

Sailor, sailor, winsome man / You bargain 'fore love’s began / A wooing I would most enjoy / But I won’t be played as passion’s toy

Maiden, maiden, this may sound flip / In two week’s time you’ll leave this ship / And I’ll be back upon the sea / Twixt now and then won’t you dally with me?

Sailor, sailor, hither and yon / But for patience you might have won / Bard, I might have dallied although / Now, I guess, you’ll never know...



Yours in the Muse, gentle lady -


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 05, 2010, 10:51:49 PM
My Beloved Symphony,
 

  I have made it here to North Point safely, and I miss you and Tiger very Much. There is so much good to be done here to help those displaced by the storms, as it seems the Sisters of Mercy are already hard at work helping the wounded, and providing what shelter than can, as well as comfort for those who need it most. Many lives have truly been effected by the storms my love. So many lives already lost, and children and husbands, and wives who have lost the one they have bound their lives too. It is difficult not to be effected by the sadness in their eyes, and not feel and understand the pain they must be going through.
 
I do have great news to share with you. Father Leidanos and I have had a chance to talk, though I hope to truly get to know him as time passes as I know he has so much more wisdom he can share with me. He has already shared so much with me in ways that will help me better understand the path I have chosen.
 
I told him of how I came to know My Caring Light, how I had been brought up by my parents to embrace his ways since I was a little girl. How I have known him through the painful times in my life and through the joy I with with those I love.
 
He asked me why I had not sought more formal teachings, and the only reason I had was that Until now I knew that I was not ready to fully embrace the teachings of My Caring Light. I told him that slowly Aeridin has been showing me how this is where I belong, and in his own time showing me and leading me to understand.
 
He asked me what had changed in my life? There have been so many reasons, and so many things change truly. You, Omer, Tiger, the events in the silkwood. The reason for my journey truly began with the Angels and seeing fallen friends immortalized in statues, of seeing needless slaughter of so many hundreds of thousands of creatures trying to exist as we are.
 
He then asked me if I thought devoting my life to Aeridin would change the destruction. I told him I could not change the world but I could try. Truly my Symphony someone has to try! Even Father Leidanos is saddened by the enormity of it all. I want to help Aeridin's cause. I want to be a beacon to do his good work, and mend lives and show everyone what is possible when we believe.
 
As he asked me more questions of what I knew of the faith of Aeridin, he also taught me that while I try to define Aeridin's dogma in terms of black and white, that I was missing that it is not so easy. In trying to follow the letter of My Caring Lights dogma, I was forgetting its spirit. I was forgetting that we need our friends to help us purge evil from this world even though we may not always agree with them or their methods. We need them!
 
Father Leidanos told me what we need to do is embrace the life we have and respect the lives of others through Aeridin's teachings. I had to ask him though how you can protect those you call family and friends when you know in your heart what they are doing is wrong. This is when he assured me that we need those who do not follow Aeridin to still remove the evil of of this world. He reassured me that in their hearts they are all good people, but they are not held to the same respect for life expected of Aeridin's faithful.
 
What is evil and can good become evil? Yes it can. You see in my heart, in the actions of those I love and hold dear, I have seen acts that seem evil to me, they trouble me, as I have seen those we care for take pleasure in the death they cause, and it makes me wonder if we are not becoming more like those we consider evil.
 
We talked of so many things My Symphony, that I did not even feel the cold wind of North Point, I felt warm and embraced speaking with Father Leidanos, and even when he led me back outside to meet my mentor. She is the most beautiful lady My Symphony, I know you would love to meet. Her name is Kerrie Vlassk of the Sisters of Mercy. Even her hands were warm to the touch despite the cold, truly touched by My Healing Light.
 
I have so much to learn from her My Symphony there is so much that I don't even fully understand yet. I don't know how long I will be here, but there is so much good I can do here yet. Sister Kerrie says that sometimes the journey to find the Light of Aeridin can take a long time, and others My Caring Light touches their heart with his blessings almost immediately. I don't mind waiting though as I know that there is a reason in my heart that Aeridin would take his time to show me what I need to see as I am meant to know.
 
 Always Your Minu,
Elly
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 06, 2010, 07:27:13 PM
To: Lady Lana Poetr
197 Wayfare
Wayfare
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Lana, I enjoyed our time as well. I'm gratified to hear that Daniel and Bella seem to have found a less stressful place in their relationship (but not nearly as gratified as they hopefully are...if you'll forgive the pun...).

I have added another stanza and this has inspired me to write something for Ilsare. Odd, all this time - closer to thirty years than twenty - and I've never written a song exclusively for my Heartsong.

I hope you don't mind that I wrote some of the tune. I liked the reserved sound you apply to your your lyrics, and I wrote mine as a hymn for contrast.

Perhaps soon we'll have another chance to sit and talk, perchance to sing?

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew

*enclosed is a musical score putting the tune to written notes and an additional stanza*

Darkness surrounds me, covers me, hides me / Lest light betray me, in darkness I'll bide me / Heart of Beryl, oh, give me your fire / Gems flashing bright I desire

An emerald wink, a diamond kiss
The Deep Mother's eternal bliss
Light from inside crystal and stone
Brighter than that which on surface shone.

Skill in their making, long have I prayed for / For Your Perfection, I'll polish and cut more / Perfect Beryl, you've set me on fire / Gems flashing bright I desire

A ruby heart, a topaz sun
The Deep Mother’s glory done
Chisel and file her hymn and chorus
A thousand points of light before us




Master Andrew Reid
 c/o Twin Dragons Inn
 Leringard, Trelania
 
 Dear Andrew,
 
 Thank you for a most pleasant trip and for your instruction to Daniel.  I think he and Bella are getting along quite well at the moment.
 
 I'm enclosing a copy of the song we were singing, with another verse.  Tag!  I hope to see you soon.
 
 Sincerely,
 
 Lana Poetr
 
Darkness surrounds me, covers me, hides me.  Lest light betray me, in darkness I'll bide me.  Heart of Beryl, oh, give me your fire.  Gems flashing bright I desire.
 
Skill in their making, long have I prayed for.  For Your Perfection, I'll polish and cut more.  Perfect Beryl, you've set me on fire.  Gems flashing bright I desire.

An emerald wink, a diamond kiss - the Deep Mother's eternal bliss - light from inside crystal and stone, better than that which on surface shone.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 09, 2010, 10:44:12 PM
Ellis?

Really?

What the hells?

Is it Ilsare, or me, or her?
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 11, 2010, 11:05:41 AM
Milady Argali;

I am in Lor on business and I've heard you've been scouring the waterfront for sailors and captains.

I'm a fair hand on a boat, having been learning on the many voyages I make. I've been told I could be a third mate now on tall ships. I'd like to discuss what you have in mind and how I can help, should you desire it.

I'll be in Lor for the week, staying at the Twins Watch Inn. I'd be pleased to have an audience with you. Leave word at the front desk.


Andrew Reid



*a note is left at the Twins Watch Inn addressed to Andrew Reid*

[INDENT]Mister Andrew,

Argali is looking for the instructors to be teaching the cadets the small boat craft and the introduction to the general sailory.

If you are available, she will see you this evening to discuss further.

~Argali Trueaxe
[/INDENT]



He moves down the waterfront, eyes roving and hands shaking restlessly on their own. He keeps them clasped behind his back, a pose of arrogent self-confidence he despises but it's necessary at the moment. Gulls shriek overhead as two fishing trawlers, great wooden bellies stuffed with flopping future meals, are pulled toward the docks by a web of ropes. The wooden walkway is nearly empty.

Trash fish left to rot by the fisherfolk form a macabre mosaic along the weathered, gull-splattered wood. He's getting close, according to the young man who - young man. When did they start looking so young?

He's getting close to the landmark where they agreed to meet, the Mermaid. Formerly the prow of a massive ship, she was recovered after said vessel sunk in quiet indignity while in harbor during a storm. Now the Mermaid marks a long, lonely strech of dock and bears her slow decay with stoic pride, sword intact and aloft after forty-seven years of vigilence.

The copper curls he's come to recognize flash from the opposite direction, catching light from a window lamp with color as sudden as the opening of a forge then fading into the dusk again. He leans against the Mermaid's tail and waits, listening to her footsteps; purposeful, not too swift, not too slow, each step a marvel in mobile efficiency. Or so it sounds to him. He dips into a formal bow as she approaches. Vorax be damned; she's a lady and one who's done a hell of a lot more than I have to stop the mushroom.

"Milady, thank you for taking time to meet me. I'm at your disposal. What is it you need me to do?"

A sudden, piercing rain forces a relocation to the Twin Watch Inn's tender warmth; she is not inclined to small talk and neither is he as they hurry through the early fall downpour.  The inn's dusty leaded windows glow like a mother's arms and he holds a thick mahogany door open for her.  The iron ring handle clanks once as he releases it, any echo absorbed by the rain.  

He shivers, half from cold and half from the smell of hops and malt in the small bar room. Years of cigars and fine brewing has left an incense that summons his senses but the dwarven lady's offer of ale is gently refused; the pain is too fresh, as are the tremors.

"Grape juice would be fine, Milady. Thank you."

They settle at a small round table near the hearth. He leaves off his cloak blazoned with the Muse's symbol and wears his darker outfit; she in her usual armor is liquid gold in the fire's light.

"Zo, thank you for yourr letterr of the interest, and forr coming to see herr. As herr letterr iz zaying, she iz looking forr the instrructorrs to be teaching to groups of the unskilled people the fundamentals of the boat craft. She was thinking of starting with the moderate sized rowing boat that would be holding about eight orr zo, and teaching them all they need to know to eventually be able to take it out into the open waters with confidence, and travel along the coastline. Zis would be the weekly... Mmm... maybe fortnightly lessons.

"Zis will be the addition to the Beacon Tower cadet trraining. Given that Lorr is zurrounded by the coast on the thrree zides, it zeemed apprropriate, no?"

Argali stops talking to take a mouthful of ale, giving him time to think on what she has just said, and perhaps ask any questions. He folds his hands tightly but she's already noticed the shaking; she says nothing, yet, about it.

"Appropriate indeed, and I am eager to help; my small craft is limited compared to my large ship experience, but I've spent time in them and can certainly teach the basics." He lowers his voice, running a finger around the glass's rim. "I think, seeing as how I have an...antagonistic rapport with Rael, being on his soil I should probably take some precautions, if the lady doesn't mind. Andrew Reid will leave for Leringard; James Standish will return to help teach. I'm not well-known here so a minimal disguise should do." He smiles at that, stroking his currently hairless chin. "Will this be a problem for you, Milady?"

Argali smiles.  "No no, iz fine. Zo, how have you been antagonising the Underr Dog? Orr he, you?"  She looks to Andrew with interest.

"Ah, well - still writing, of course..." His voice is low, pitched for her ears only. "I've been feeding my work to other bards, one other in particular, who don't mind the publicity; cleaning up my image a bit. I'll sing for you when we're not in such mixed company." He pauses, still playing with the almost-full juice glass. "I had this - " He pulls out a dagger of iron with some adamantium decoration and a small mushroom stamped on the hilt - "thrown at my head a while ago. I guess Rael still loves me." Half a grin and he gives the dagger to her to examine.

"I'll be in town until I can speak to Marshall Tomyris, then I'll leave and double back as James. I do have some practical questions as well; how many cadets? Is there some reasonably private living space I can request? James, you see, is not musical and therefore it would not be good to find the upstanding only child of deceased West Gate parents noodling around on a violin, but Andrew will need that as a release. Hence..." He smiles, finally taking a sip. "...the need for privacy. I'll assume that quiet rowing and night sailing are to be on the teaching list as well?"

Argali examines the dagger with some interest before handing it back.  "Mmm... She will brring the whole trroop down for the inaugurral zession.  They can lend the hand with any cleaning of the boat that is requirred and you can make the very basic introduction to boating.  At the end Argali will ask for those who would like to learrn zis crraft to be ztepping forwarrd.  She reckons therre should be enough to fill one boat, though most of the cadets arre the kin, and may be the bit reluctant to be learrning the waterrborne skills.  If zis iz the case, Argali will volunteer to be taking parrt and be leading by example.  And if therre iz too many, we will have the next grroup ready when the firrst group arre completing the courrze, no?

"She does not intend forr zis to be taking all orr even the most of yourr time.  The cadets arre the regular civilians durring the day, learrning the skills durring theirr off hourrs.  Zis iz the way forr them to be imprroving themzelves and perrhaps opening the doorr forr the opportunity laterr on.

"Mmm... Regarrding the accommodation.  Argali generrally stays in the inn when she iz in Lor.  Therre iz the hall wherre we have been holding the cadet zessions.  It iz mostly unused durring the day.  You might be able to use one of the ztorrage rooms if it iz to yourr zuiting.

"The quiet rowing and night zailing we will keep forr the morre advanced courrse, no?"  She grins.  "Forr now, she iz happy when you arre getting them all pulling on the oarrrs at the zame time."

He chuckles and his smile shows every dimple.  "Milady, you have an instructor. Mister Standish will return inside a month's time to start."  He lifts his glass to tap her mug, then leans back in the chair.  "Now, Milady, if you are not too pressed for time - would you favor me with a little of who Argali is?  I'm ashamed to say I've never taken the time to hear your story."

Argali smiles and toasts Andrew with her ale. She flushes somewhat at his last request.  "Umm... Argali iz the kin, frrom the Hills of Taur'en on the Alindorr," she says proudly.

"She helps wherre she can."  She nods, as if in agreement with her own words.  She gives the impression that she is not being guarded or deliberately unforthcoming, but that she speaks genuinely if somewhat simplistically of herself.  

Perhaps a few specific questions might unravel a few threads from this otherwise carefully wound ball of travels and experience?

"I suppose the question most of interest is what motivated you to be here, helping to draw the line in the sand?"  He shifts, crossing his legs and focusing on her.  "I have powerful respect for what you, Marshall Tomyris, and Lady Swann are doing.  What got you involved?  What moment was the tipping point, between sad head-shakes from a distance...and action?"

Argali smiles at his question.  "Mmm... iz larrgely because she iz finding there iz no line drrawn in the zand.  People arre forrgetting he iz the ussurrper, the invaderr.  They have forrgotten the fight."  She lowers her voice and speaks closely to him in a somewhat hoarse whisper.

"They think they arre at peace."  Her eyes narrow at the weight of her remark.

He inclines his head and brings it up slowly, meeting her narrowed gaze.  His voice is still aimed only for her to hear.  "I began when someone heard me singing and asked me to write some songs against Rael.  I did some research, which allowed me to meet some remarkable people.  I came to realize that there is more, so much more, going on than we understand - and that his facade of peace is as flimsy as a drunk's morals when the bottle is empty."  He flinches even as he makes the analogy.

"I write my little songs but it's not enough.  I have to do more.  Touring from the safety of Mistone isn't going to stop him."  He sits back and finishes the juice, setting the glass down with a quiet thump.  "James will choose one or two willing cadets to train up to his level.  They can act as teachers eventually.  Then...I will be able to help with other things; I meant for James to originally enter the Rael navy incognito but this is a good way to establish him."  He pauses, shaking his head.

"Even asking you questions I still end up talking about myself.  Such a narcissist."  The last sentence spoken to himself.  He shifts and uncrosses his legs, looking at Argali again.  "Perhaps this is getting to close to the lady's age but - are you a Dragoncalled?"

Argali nods at his remark about training teachers.  She grins at his question last question, and flushes slightly, despite herself.  "No, no. She does not begin herr zearrch to become the Defender until zome twenty yearrs afterr the fall of the Ozlo."  She frowns to herself briefly as she recalls the loss of a great hero.  "He sets the example, no? The warr may have been won, but therre arre ztill the battles to be fought."

"More than we can even know, it seems.  The Mushroom..." He jerks his head vaguely north.  "The Drach Gararra..."  A head shake.  He leans forward, elbows on the table, and focuses on her, or tries to in the low light.  A glance around the room and he blushes as he takes out a small wooden case.  A quick thumb opens it and he removes a pair of silver spectacles.

"I normally don't wear these, my hearing makes up for my eyes.  I hope this doesn't defer your confidence but I can't see you very well right now."  His smile is rueful and he sets the lenses on his face; they fit well and pick up flashes of firelight against his dark skin.

"It comes down to, do what you can.  One step at a time - one action, one deed.  Here your one action has snowballed into many, into your cadets."  He smiles at her.  "And your line in the sand.  I think that's worth a smile from Ozlo."

Argali nods at Andrew's 'one action, one deed' remark, and grins a little self-consciously to herself when he mentions a smile from Ozlo. She sinks back into her chair, taking a thoughtful sup from her ale mug.

"Milady, I am taking to my bed soon. I wanted to say - "  He pauses, taking the glasses off and putting them in the case, stalling.

"I want to say thank you.  I am...I feel like this is a purpose.  And I intend to hand you back the best-trained rowers I can.  Perhaps even sailors, Muse willing."  He stands, reaching for her hand.

She smiles back over her ale, rising to give her hand.  "Argali iz happy to help."

He takes it, bowing low to brush his lips across the back.  "I will see you soon, then, Milady.  Oh - and let's keep this to older cadets and adults who are refreshing their skills initially.  My curriculum for teaching adults and young adults is of course different from that for teaching children."

Andrew releases her hand, straightening from the bow and smiling as he walks to the stairs.  Faintly over the rumble of voices and clinking of glasses comes his voice, in song...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 13, 2010, 02:45:26 PM
*the italic script is shaky, the letters jagged*

To: Healer Elohanna Minuet
c/o Temple to Aeridin
North Point
Boyer Kingdom
Dregar

Minu, love - I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write you.  I've only just gotten back the ability to write and the patience to sit.  I've put the bottle away again, hoping (as I always do) that it's for good this time.

It nearly killed me, Minu.  It gets worse every time and I wanted to die from the tremors and the delirium; my Muse and a friend kept me alive.  I'm not going to build up false hopes about permanent sobriety except to say, if I start drinking in the future, I will never stop again until it kills me.  I cannot spend another week as a screaming wreck unable to get off the floor.

Tiger is in Alton's hands and I've traveled to Lor to meet with Marshal Tomyris on business.  Some things have come up and I'll likely be returning periodically in the future; I'll tell you more of that when we meet.  I'll come to North Point as soon as I've finished here.  I think your company and the company of your fellows will be of comfort while I dry the last few years from my system, and if I can lend help in some way, all the better.

I'll see you soon.

Love,


Andrew



My Beloved,

I would nothing more than for you to come and help. It would be a blessing to see you here and know that Ilsare is searching for answers as well. I hope to see you soon.

Always Your Minu,
Elly
 


Minu -
 
I heard rumors of North Point's troubles and as I seem to have time on my hands, would you like my assistance?
 
I will be there, say the word.
 
 
 Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 20, 2010, 11:46:43 AM
Forgot I wrote this, right after Omer came back and Minu left to figure things out.

I think I was very drunk at the time.  No, I'm sure I was.  Best not mention that.


The sun went down this afternoon
Didn't think it would be this soon
My life is running sand over glass
I thought I'd have that long
 
Would it have helped if I was less of me
Keeping my hands to myself
Would it have helped if I wasn't a drunk
Had left all my booze on the shelf
 
I only want what's best for you
I'm fine with it
Fine with him
Just fine
Really

My sun went down this afternoon
I didn't think he'd be this soon
Contingencies of thin spun glass
I thought I could be strong

I only want what's best for you
I'm fine with it
Fine with him
Just fine

Not really




Minu, love.

I'm still working in Lor - thank you for the additional spells, I will be back and forth here quite a bit. Things are going very well and I'm enjoying my class far more than I thought possible.

I was digging through my songbook and found something I wrote for you right after our discussion about Omer. I thought you might be interested in (now, a safe distance away from the pain) what I was really thinking after you left.

*enclosed is the above song, scored for violin, modified for piano - the tune slow and bittersweet*

Tell me how things in North Point are going, and I'll fill you in on my class when I see you in person.

Love,


Andrew



My Beloved Symphony

I would do anything I can to protect you, and keep you safe. There are more spells that should find you there safely with Lianna.

I believe you are a natural teacher and you have a gift of understanding that makes people comfortable around you, I know you bring comfort to me when I am out of sorts, and I can only imagine that, that same sense of understanding shines through to your students when you can tell they are afraid of the water or taking that first step to learn something new.

I know you are doing what you love and you are doing very well. It has not been easy here in North Point, walking by the site of.. I just can't bring myself to say it. I want so much to bring back those lost but I know also that I can't. My heart breaks for them and for our world that so many precious souls have been taken so horribly.

Truly there is not one in the temple who is not impacted deeply and the tears cling to their eyes as their hearts are broken. It has become more peaceful here though, or maybe it is just the grief heavy on the hearts of all here. There are not the short tempers flairing anymore but a sorrow that lingers in the air, even worse in some ways.

I am truly sorry for the pain I cause you Andrew. I felt as though my own heart was breaking twice over when I knew I might loose you. I never want to break your heart. I never want to see your tears fall, not because of me. I want to be the one to help ease your pain. I want to be your Minu, your Angel always. I am also glad to know that Tiger is being taken care of while we are gone and that he is in safe hands. I miss you both so much and I miss though sound of your heart beating and the feeling of your breath on my neck while you hold me.


Loving and Missing you Always
~Elly
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 20, 2010, 02:27:44 PM
Siren's Song

Who keeps this lowly third mate burning
What keeps me at this porthole yearning
Whose song rings around me sharp and bright
Her face a vision slowly turning
 
A gaze like the ocean, a voice of the sea, her touch an untamed wave was the undoing of me...
 
The melody rips me up inside
An acid bath to my pride
Humming it to myself over and again
A hymn, a penance, a love denied
 
Who keeps this third mate locked in need
Head and heart and body agreed
Is the question then need from want
Or what do to should I succeed?

A voyage of trust, a ship in uncharted seas, mapping her waters was the undoing of me...

You can never tell the dangerous ones
The sirens song doesn't leave for question
Introspection or seize the day or live out life in quiet obsession
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 24, 2010, 12:20:19 PM
Mister Reid,

It is good to hear from you once again. It is hard to say for certain what I will be doing so far in advance but I would certainly enjoy a good discussion.

Some of the things you are describing in your last letter are very interesting. There is another you might contact if your schedule allows. She is an associate of mine and she may be able to make some suggestions for you. She has a special gift with the Heartsong, a special understanding of it, and it may well be mutually beneficial.

Seek out Katrien Hommel in Port Hemstead if you are able. You should be able to call on her at The Foundation house. It's hard to miss and anyone should be able to give you directions. I may well be there to introduce you both but if not let her know I sent you. Show her this letter if you feel so inclined.

Walk in Inspiration,
Edgar Whinessy




To: Edgar Whinessy
c/o The Resonance of Being
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hemstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Conductor Whinessy, hello.

It has been some time since I've written and some longer time since I've seen you. I understand you've been busy and I can certainly appreciate that.

I'm in need of some guidance, however. I've been listening to the Heartsong for a number of years; it never ceases to amaze and calm me. I've noted that there are times when I can...I'm not sure how to describe this. Manipulate it? Project through it? Be pulled into it, pull it through me?

It. I say that for convienience but I mean Her. And suddenly the word "manipulate" seems a poor choice but I'm not sure how else to describe it.

An example; on two occasions I was able to soothe a pained soul with music. This in itself isn't ground-breaking, I'm doing the same thing in my association with Krandor Hospital. But during those two times, I could feel something more, the music reaching beyond me. I am hoping you can explain what I think I did so I can do it again as it brought a greater peace to situations than music can usually effect.

While I'm not looking to become a healer, this augmenting, channeling, whatever it is also has powerfully affected me. I'd like to learn what else can be done, and how it can be done more consistantly, whether it be a performance or healing or just working to bring consensus in disparate group.

I feel as if I'm standing at a crossroad gate. I am asking you to help me open it.

I will be tied up for some time between activities on Dregar and my work in Krandor Hospital so perhaps in a few month's time we can meet?

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 25, 2010, 09:23:21 AM
Milady Hommel;

I'll introduce myself in the hopes you remember me. My name is Andrew Reid and we've met once before, long ago in the Breath of the Muse. You repaired my violin, Alexander, whom had taken severe damage during the second tsumani wave.

Having joined the Resonance of Being some years back, I've been off listening to the Heartsong and testing the ways I can hear it and even affect it (or allow it to affect me; this is as yet unclear to me). I have contacted Conductor Edgar Whinessy in Port Hempstead and he referred me to you as a source of information and even tutelage in such things. I can produce the letter for verification if needed.

I understand you are a busy woman, but I would be honored for a bit of your time. I have reached a point where my desire to learn about the Heartsong and Her mysteries outstrips my ability to improvise.

I can be reached in care of 137 Leringard, the Twin Dragons Inn in Leringard, or the Krandor Hospital in Krandor. Letters to either location will reach me.

I hope to sit with you soon Milady, to talk and perhaps to play. I can only imagine what our combined music might sound like - and I'd like to remedy that.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 29, 2010, 11:49:27 AM
Dutchess...I must find out more.

I have not been that pinned down since...

Muse, I'm in trouble.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 30, 2010, 08:28:31 AM
Andrew,

Thank you for the note. I have met this woman who called herself the Duchess in the past and while troublesome, I have found no cause to suspect her of illegal activities. I will be watching her more closely henceforth.

However; I'm afraid without further proof or more solid information there is little the authorities can do. One group or another is always plotting in this fashion and it is of no little surprise dark elves would not be about the same. My best advice to you would be to avoid the company of dark elves whenever possible my friend and therefore keep your head intact.

Protector Daniel



Daniel.

I need to report this to someone and when I think of Law, I think of you so -

I was in the company of a dark elf woman recently in Dalanthar; I had purchased an instrument from her some years back. She gave her name as Dutchess, which I truly wish I had remembered having heard in a negative context in Vehl while doing an investigation but I forgot that bit while we passed the time. Hindsight as it turns out really is the pits.

While in the company of said woman, another dark elf detained her and began to ask questions. Apparently she thought I was Dutchess's slave so I played the part to gain information. The woman gave her name as Drez'la Zo'corum of the House of Zo'corum; Dutchess mentioned hearing about that house in the course of conversation.

A summary of what I heard is thus: this Drez'la wishes to plant young dark elves as spies, acting in an "innocent" capacity to infiltrate we who walk under the sun. They would come off as trustworthy rejects from their own society. An army would then slowly be gathered for some unnamed objective. The number of spies given was twelve as I heard it.

Drez'la mentioned a post box in Arnax and told Dutchess to send information there; also a contact (I was unable to ascertain if this contact was in Dalanthar or just the northern part of Dregar) named Hayden. No description of Hayden was forthcoming.

Dutchess agreed to this and seemed enamored of the plan. It was at that point that they switched to the dark elf speech but I've been a listener long enough to know that it was about me; specifically what to do with me. Which became "club the slave over the head with a really big flail", not the ending I had hoped for but probably the one I deserved. I can only assume Dutchess didn't know I was stonebound (although she might have, and won't that be interesting). I'm certain the other dark elf woman didn't know that.

Anyway. The information is in your hands and I am at your disposal to give you any more that I can when next we meet.

Give everyone in the house my greetings and Lana a kiss for me?


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 30, 2010, 09:00:47 PM
Homecoming.

Crickets came through the open window; somewhere in the house Miyu sang to Opal and Vanessa while his mother swept a floor.  Aya's harp wandered in to mix with the evening sounds, her longing playing through so strong it made his own heart ache.  He could hear Shuichi and his father stacking wood for the kiln.

"Rest today, we work tomorrow."  His father knew better than to argue with Margaret when she had that look and their children and children's children had fled after supper to enjoy a little free time before the next day.  Mr. Locke's contract was huge, one of the largest ever for Reid Pottery and Andrew had already helped wrap and stack the clay he'd be throwing in the morning.  He smiled in the unlit room, his hands cupping to a gentle U and fingers rolling up and down over an imagined bowl.  He stopped to watch his hands as if they were a stranger to him as they flicked and moved over the air.  I wonder if there's a way to make music on clay?  And why haven't I forgotten this stuff by now?

The bittersweet harp strings faded to a low strumming, almost a dirge.  Aya hated it here.  Hated it, and was preparing to leave.  Whomever was tutoring her had her chomping at the bit to see the world.  He had talked to her, tried to convince her, reasoned with her, offered to teach her, begged her to stay, for her daughter.  "I've known too many people with distant or missing parents.  It makes a difference." But even Vanessa was not enough to keep her there, as her family had been no hindrance when she left to marry as a teen.  She was still Aya, still stubborn, more than him; still wild at heart, bound only by her gender in a society that didn't reward it and her child. And my brother is giving her all the excuse she needs to leave.  However much Miyu and Shuichi were excellent parents, Vanessa would know.  She was old enough to remember the mother who'd left.  He felt a clenching in his chest for the girl and whispered a promise to his Grandmother as he lay there.  The harp stilled.

They were looking to him to stop her.  His mother had taken him aside, his father.  He didn't know how to tell them.  She was going to go, it was only a matter of time.  She'd had her fill of being an artisan's daughter and her magic was strong, astoundingly so for having come late in life.  He'd taken for granted that his song was touched with the magic of the Heartsong, and she'd never even done more than give lip service to Ilsare before.  And yet he heard it, felt it, from the harp she'd learned sometime in her existence in the gilded cage of high society wifedom, heard her chords touch him deeper than his ears, seen her conjure a spell from her sound.  He had seen the passion in her eyes when she spoke of being a part of bigger things.  She was going to leave and the best he could do was offer to be there.

A sharp rap as a rock skimmed the windowsill.  Oh, yes, and this. Muse, my Lady, my Love, if you are listening, let me be at peace with this.  Please.  He rolled from the narrow bed, made sure the door to the room was locked, and folded himself over the sill.  His branch was gone, the tree that lent him so much freedom as a child still growing outside his window of the old house.  The new house had no such escape and he had to jump down the half-story.  She was waiting on the ground.

"They're gone inside, let's go."  She pulled her hood over that ridiculous dyed blonde hair.  He hated it, but so did his father and that's all the reason she needed to keep it that way.

"Aya, are you sure."

"Don't back out on me now.  Don't you dare -- and quit trying to change my mind!"  

He backed up and held his hands out as her voice raised.  "Okay, shhh, let's go.  Do you know the way?"  She nodded curtly and they padded off, down the hill, past the pond and beyond the barn to the street.

She was silent until halfway.  "I smelled those cigars.  You had better not let mother catch you, she's already caught father twice."  

His grin flashed and faded.  "I'll risk it.  Muse, Aya, do you know what it means to be able to stand and talk to him without him finding something to be angry about?  At least if we're both courting trouble he's not going to lecture."

She nodded and fell silent for another few steps, then -- "Did you really quit drinking?"

"For good."  

"He wants to believe you still."

"Do you?"

Her steps slowed.  "I think I want to.  Which means I don't not care anymore."

A sad smile and he touched her arm.  "For good.  I promise."

She only shook her head, changing the subject and picking up the pace.  "Is it going to hurt?"

"Well, if it works, no, and if it doesn't..."  His stomach curled hard and he felt a flop sweat coming.

"It'll work.  It worked for you."  He said nothing.  "How old were you again?"

"Eleven."

She thought on that as they neared the town center.  The cobbled streets were cold and nearly empty, only a few party-goers and a guard out walking.  The stone arched ahead, pitted and rounded by time, weather, war and Muse knew how many hands.  They stopped at the base and stood.

Two minutes.  Three.  "Were you afraid?"

"Yes."  He had been.  Terrified, actually, but more afraid of losing the bet and powerfully curious at the same time.  If I'd known then what an aphrodisiac gambling with fear and curiosity would become...maybe I'd have been a potter.

"What...do I do?"  

He was frantic inside, picturing himself bringing her body home, trying to explain.  It would be useless to lie.  His mother could always tell his big ones.  "Touch it, and when you feel the magic pull you, let it.  Don't resist, just let it."

She knelt and placed her hands on the stone, shivering with more than cold.  "If you're already bound can you touch it with me?"  He dropped to his knees beside her and wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders, singing a prayer.  The stone was as resolute as ever but Aya gasped and her head flew up.  He held her tighter while she shook and felt his jaw start to ache from being clenched.  It was over vanishingly fast, although he knew how long it would seem to her.  His jaw relaxed a tiny fraction when she fell back; she looked at him with a breathy laugh.  "Is it done?"

"You tell me."  She smiled, her laughter the sound of a bird with the cage door left open.  She grabbed him, squeezing him in a bear hug as relief and anticipation vibrated the Heartsong around him.

"Let's go home."  The sudden determination studding her voice made him freeze.  He put a large hand on each of her arms and stared until she met his eyes.

"Promise me, Aya.  If you leave...when you leave...come find me first.  I will help you."  A choppy nod.  He let his look burn into her for a few seconds longer then let her go, helping her up.  "Okay, let's go home."




For OsX.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 08, 2010, 08:13:54 AM
Minu.

I'm sorry - very, very sorry.  I tried, I really did.  We met in Hlint by the fountain near the shrine.  I thought the setting might remind us of our shared love for you and inspire us to find a way to ease this cold war we've entered into.

Discussions did not go well.  He was hostile, to say the least; I kept digging to find the problem.  He finally turned to look at me and began to call me what I believe are a number of very bad words in elvish, describing me as a destroyer of households and accusing me of seducing you only to sate my lust, and now I'm going to destroy Lana's house and her family is his family and how can I live with myself...he went on and on.

I told him I had offered to step aside and that is not what you want.  That was ignored.  He spoke of how I only wish to seduce for my own rampant needs.  I could have mentioned that I have not lain with another woman since we fell in love but it would have come out feeble I think, me protesting too much, and I doubt he'd believe me in any case.

I reminded him that when you and I met he was gone with no indication he'd be returning, leaving you waiting and alone.  I believe I brought this point up several times, with increasing intensity, as the discussion moved south of civil.  He never acknowledged the point or deigned to discuss it.  It was as if he had done no wrong and it was entirely my idea to seduce a woman spoken for.  

And yes, that made me angry.  Before things got ugly he spoke of you as a "innocent".  Of how caring you are; agreed.  Of your capacity to love and your gentle soul; agreed.  But innocent and - here is what aroused my ire - easily swayed by a handsome bard with a song?  By my Lady and your Caring Light, you are not some dewy-eyed maid just out of her parent's house.  Nor are you a woman who falls into swoons at pretty words, nor are you someone who requires seduction.  I see you as Elohanna, a woman who ran an Academy, who stands firm in the face of ignorance and hurt, who has found her calling in the road less traveled in the name of her god despite knowing how difficult that road is.

A woman who has been a wife, a lover, a mother; who was not seduced, by me or anyone else, and who can choose what she wants.  That he could see you in that way angered me.  I don't love delicate little flowers who bend in whatever wind is blowing; Muse, if I wanted that, there are several continents full of those women to pick from.  I love a woman who knows her mind, who acts on her own convictions, and who often makes things complicated for me.  Because a woman who isn't challenging isn't interesting.  You would say the same of the men in your life, I'm sure.

I recall at that point telling him that he didn't love you, he apparently felt he owned you, and he was not worthy to stand on Ilsare's holy ground.  Perhaps that came out a bit strong.  I'm quite certain now that being near Her shrine - and the two temple archers nearby - were all that kept him from demanding satisfaction right there and then.  I left too angry to continue the conversation and that is where it currently sits.

I know this letter will be upsetting to you, love.  I know you had hoped, as had I, that some truce could be reached.  I'm not sure of the next steps now.  I love you and by the Muse I will not abandon you to make my life less complicated; you are my sun.  You refused my offer to untangle the knots around your heart, for which I was secretly very glad, but as he and I are not going to share gracefully it seems, another tactic must be called for.

You asked what I would have you do, that night on the couch.  A fair question in light of these developments.  You are going to have to decide, when both of us are around, whom you wish to spend time with, knowing the other will probably remove themselves from the situation.  

I will not come by the Academy unannounced or unrequested, now.  That's his territory and it would go badly for me.  Nor will I come to the house in Llast as my impression is he's living there.

I'm sickened it comes to this.  Perhaps greater men would see past themselves and put the lady first.  I wanted to.  I still do.  But I don't hold out much hope that it will be allowed to happen here.

With all that, I remain your Symphony, for as long as you shall have me.  And if you decide that the pain is not worth the pleasure of my company, I will honor that decision too.  Some see it the coward's way to not fight for the one they love.  But fighting with Omer hurts your soul; dueling him or worse would be an unspeakable insult.  And so let them think me a coward so long as I know I'm doing right by you.

To end on a happy note, Tyr'riel is doing well and Tyra appears to be as well.  Motherhood is softening her hard edges a bit - I even got her to sing the other day.  I will be taking part-time residence in the tower to help with childcare, so you can find me there or in Leringard.  And thank you, love, for your kind offer of assistance in renovating the tower.  I'm trying to secure more financing; Tyra and I will be in hock for a while but the boy needs a safe home, after all.  

I hope to see you soon, Minu.


Takeshi
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 10, 2010, 12:25:22 AM
They'd gone to bed late. He'd been working on something distinctly Tilmarian, using eighth and sixteenth notes on his violin and of all things a gong which had Tyra in fits when he let Ty bang it. But he'd put the instruments onto a makeshift shelf and finally, after some conversation - becoming easier, over the last few weeks - and a light supper, he went to his cot and she to her canopy with her bedmates sheathed and in easy reach. Ty was snuggled into his crib, one Andrew had bought in Port Hempstead that was large enough and tall enough to keep the now-crawling boy captive at night.

He lay in loose cotton sleeping pants and hummed the same tune that had consumed three of his days. He couldn't find the right notes to make it move him. It sounded fine, it was a nice piece of traditional Tilmarian symphony - albeit minus the actual orchestra - but it wasn't right yet. He hummed and his long fingers moved over strings by muscle memory. Sleep teased but would not take him completely; Ty's slight shifts and Tyra's gentle snoring finally helped ease his eyes shut.

She woke when he began to moan, her hand on a sword before her eyes fully opened. The sound was not sensual nor pain but fear - deep fear. She used the sword to flick a canopy layer aside saw him lying as if in rictus, arms straight at his sides and fists clenched. He did not move except for tremors and the moaning, his breathing labored. He wrenched suddenly as his body trying to turn left at the waist while his bowstring-tight legs remaining straight.

His breathing became harsher still and his head was turned to the left as far as he could crane it. The muscles in his shoulders, arms and chest were corded; his stomach flickered, quakes shivering along faintly visible rectus abdominus.

His chest froze, remained frozen, and he did not breathe. His stomach clenched now too; it looked as if one tap would snap him in half, and seconds later he did, sitting up with frightening speed and dragging in a ragged breath. He was sweating, gasping, rubbing his throat and trying to swallow, and his hands shook as hard as the day after he'd quit drinking...and then someone was touching him, piercing the film of the dream and returning sensation to his skin.

"Andrew... Andrew!"  Tyra grabbed him by the shoulders. "What's wrong?  You alright?" She brought her hands to his, holding them as they shook.  She scooted around to get a look at him, a rare look of empathy on her face as she searched Andrew's for some hint as to what was bothering him.

Andrew's eyes were wide and still seeing residual dreamworld. Her sleep-cooled fingers were the only thing connecting him to the room, to waking, to himself. He looked down at her hands on his then flung them open and pulled Tyra into an embrace. It wasn't passion, or at least not the kind that was painted for naughty amusement; it was need, need for connection and sensation and to not be dreaming any longer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and stayed there, breathing her in to force something else away.

How long he held on to her it was hard to say. Time passes differently in a dark room in the middle of the night when only a few orange embers and the sound of a sleeping child provide landmarks in the steam of minutes and hours. Finally, however, his shaking stilled and he swallowed yet again. He began to recite the dream in a hoarse shadow of his voice.

When he finished speaking he pulled his head from her neck, shifting as he became aware she was more or less in his lap on the narrow cot, and loosened his embrace with a flush. "I'm sorry I woke you, blossom. I'm not getting any more sleep tonight, I'll go into the other room..."
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 13, 2010, 08:27:44 AM
A place to hang my hat and head
The truth unvarnished, my pride bled
Love and passion and tears shed
I need shelter

Was there anybody home
A need, a want
An echoed haunt
A dream of love left crumpled in a corner...

But no, the inner child's dead
The armor pierced, the dream fled
Nothing more than surface read
She wants shelter

Not another body warm but not a thing to say
Not another night without hello, how was your day
I need a mind to tangle mine
Challenge
Soothe
Allay...
I need shelter

I need a mind
I need a voice
Ideas -- Trust -- A heart -- A choice
I need shelter
I need shelter
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 13, 2010, 08:07:30 PM
He sat cross-legged on his bed in Leringard with his violin near.  Muse, he'd missed his bed.  The cot in the tower, too narrow and too short as always, had left him snappish from poor sleep.  He wanted to sleep but Aya would not stay long; even now she shifted in the chair by his desk, watching him with a kind of sick fascination.

He continued to pack the pipe.  The dreamroot was where he'd left it in the lower drawer and thank the Muse it had been dry enough not to mold.  He spared a glance at Aya; she shifted again but her eyes never left him as he crumbled and packed in a long-remembered ritual.

"Will it stink?"  Her voice was sharp.  She didn't want to be here, see this.

"Not really, the smoke is kind of sweet."

"Why can't you just have some wine then?  Just a glass.  That should relax you for this dream you're so obsessed about."  He looked at her from under his eyebrows, thumb still in the pipe's bowl.  

"No alcohol.  None.  Not ever again.  I can't stress that enough, sister."

"Fine."  She turned in the chair and began leafing through his desk, disrupting a very fine layer of dust as she picked up sheet after sheet of his music.  "You haven't been home in a while."

He took advantage of her turned back to light the pipe.  He dreaded her watching him for reasons he could not explain - this was something he'd lost a taste for sharing, almost lost a taste for completely.  It had been three months since he'd sat, alone, and let his mind go completely in a haze of smoke.  Somehow having her watch made his skin prick.  But he had to get back into that dream.

"Just...if things go badly, try to rouse me.  I'm probably making a big deal of nothing, Muse, I hope.  And Aya?  Thanks."

"Whatever..."  Her inflection was exactly like Tyra's at that moment.  She was still facing away and he sat praying she would not turn around while he inhaled and held the smoke as long as he could.  He put the delta into his head.  Turned himself to face it, imagining the pain in his shoulders.  He didn't count how many times he inhaled, he didn't listen to his surroundings, he didn't anchor himself to place or time.  His mind wandered...Tyra...what to do - she'd never be what he needed and he'd never be what she wanted and yet.  Why had he wanted to be Ty's father?

He tried to force his mind back to the dream, but he felt the disconnectedness he'd so often craved before.  Jaelle.  Minu.  Rael.  Tyr'riel.  Mother, father...Aya.  He almost opened his eyes, then took a deep breath and put the pipe down.  He never knew what was enough and what was too much, that was his problem.  Never a nice balance with him.  Never a middle ground.  Three routes...why not the middle?  Three routes.  The delta.  The heads...the music...he focused on that, mind both wakeful and artificially relaxed, malleable.  The music.  The notation.  Each note in the air...he picked up the violin.

...........

The smoke lingered in the air, the violin remaining unplayed until it slipped from his sleep-loosened grip.  He lay back on the bed, fighting the urge to slumber but far too high to put up much of a fight.  Aya sniffed and made a half-hearted face.  She watched him, as he'd asked her to, with increasing boredom.  Time slowed, seemed to pass slower with each moment.  The bed looked comfortable if her giant lug of a brother wasn't taking up most of the middle.  The chair was comfortable though, she could sleep right here.  He was fine.  Much ado about nothing.  As usual.

He is lying in silt.  He does not know how he got here.  He stands, brushing at his clothes and shaking off the caked sand out of his hair and off his coat.  He does not know where he is.

It's beautiful.  Trees and grass sway as dancers in a rhythmic breeze while the birds sing the melody and the river add percussive burbling, multiplied where it splits into three...routes?  He's at ease here, he smiles, forgets the silt still on his coat.  "So much like before," he whispers to himself in a voice not wholly his own.  "How can I keep it this way?"

He turns and takes one step.  He didn't mean to do that.  He didn't want to do that.  His foot acts on its own and a tiny voice, he's not sure how much of it his, yells.  "NO! Muse, NO!  Why?  Why did I do that?!!"

Darkness more sudden than the curtain at the end of a performance; instantaneous.  He feels cold inside.  It's wrong, again. it's wrong...the water around him suspended in air, grass bent under some wind-swept fist never to bounce back, no song, no whistling breeze, no sound at all except a ringing in his ears.  The sound of shattered glass that never stops breaking.  He wants it to stop, more than last time.  He wants to stick fingers in his ears and wiggle them until the whine pops and sound rushes in.  He cannot move.  His blood feels cold.  He cannot feel his heart.  His panic isn't a voice but thoughts he only sense, cannot hear - he can hear nothing..."No heart, no sound, no song, it is gone!! What have I done!?"

He would flinch if he could but he can't.  He knows it's coming and it does, the twisting, the grinding, the turning.  He is in someone else's hands.  They want him to see something.  He will see it, whether he wants to or not.  Shoulder blades rubbing the other bones in his back, the crushing sensation that has no feeling, only a distanced knowledge that it should hurt.  Pressure.

He is facing the river delta, again.  It is frozen, again.  The stony rattling, again.  The echo.  The baby's head from the sand, opening to let the larger head rise...the heads shutting.  The rattling, grinding sound starting and stopping with their movements.  Turning toward him.  He wants to scream, the horror is multiplied almost beyond his sanity.  It's Tyr'riel, deadened eyes on him and Tyra's head squatting on top.  Flesh and bone pressed together.  Silence.  He stares in agony as fresh as the night he first had the dream.

He hears but it is no relief this time.  The jaws screetching as un-oiled hinges, the bolts - the scream.  He can't stop the noise, he can't run away, he can't stop looking at the heads.  The ink pours again from their mouths, his son's, his son's mother's, and he sees the music scrolling across the air.  He can't concentrate, he can't read it - the pressure of the scream in his ears feels like a blister ready to pop, and then there is blood running down his neck.

"MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! MAKEITSTOP! MUSE! Save your humble servant from this agony!"


He caught his breath, face twisting and body tensing.  Aya jolted from her relaxed doze.  His body was taut, his muscles corded under increasing tension,  but he remained unmoving.  She began to count; his chest did not rise.  His face tightened into a rictus mask.  Perhaps it was the smoke, but time seemed to pass slower and his skin greyed.  She ran the few steps from the chair to the bed.  A delicate hand, calloused from her iron mace's handle, pressed to his neck; a slowing heartbeat.  An ear finely tuned to hear nuaces in sound, turned over his mouth; no breath.  She put both hands on him and began to bounce him on the bed as they had when they were children.  "No no no no no, please, don't die, you can't die. Wake up Andrew, WAKE UP!"

He moved as if he was a board.  His entire body bounced; there was no flex, and panic blurred her passing of time.  It may have been one minute or ten before he finally gasped, an oxygen-starved dreamer breaking the surface of consciousness.  For several minutes he was mute, trying only on filling his lungs again and again, staring at her with wild, unfocused, fear-filled eyes.  His body let go of the tension and he became a trembling heap, moaning with real pain when he tried to put his arms around his familial lifeline.

He began to recite the dream to her in a fuzzy voice.  He stuck his fingers in his ears, over and over, wiggling and popping them while he spoke.  He didn't ask if she wanted to hear it, he only started talking, reminding himself of every detail and breaking into quiet tears as he described Ty and Tyra's face.  "Aya...I'm not sure it's my dream, or at least I think someone wants me to see it.  Is the Lady of Dreams trying to tell me something?  Have I strayed from Her?"
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 15, 2010, 01:00:20 PM
Women.  Insane.  All of them.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 17, 2010, 02:36:17 PM
Songman,

Seems like Jetta would make an excellent Dread Blade, not like that means anything good, though. Dread Blades have a charming knack for being untrustworthy in general, if dependable. Keep an eye on her. And try to make sure she doesn't poke her nose in my business, especially by trying to spy on us or by working for some crook in Co'rys. I don't want to have to erase her from history.

Harduach? Doesn't sound familiar, but I know the Arms used to be stewarded by a skald called Hardagh. He was a Mistie and married to, or whatever they'd call it, to the Bard of Leringard Kali, another Misty and fortune teller who also ran the Arms a while back. Steel would know more about them, because I've never seen them around the Arms. Or you could also pick my father's brain.

I'll be staying at the Tower, as usual. Don't be gone too long.

Nightshade



Blossom.

Autumn took Ty for a walk and she knows I'm headed out by the time she returns. I'm due in Lor (I still need to talk to you about that).

I'm in need of some information in the mean time, however. First - Jetta is more mercenary than even I guessed and we'd do well not to trust her. Her youth and inexperience are the only things holding her back from being truly dangerous and time has a funny way of fixing that. I caught her flat-footed in two lies, one atop the other, and she's been selling information about me.

I didn't sleep with her so stop making that face.

I was able to coax out of her that the person behind the information collection is a Haudrach or Hadrag or something like that. She did not give a description. Do you know of anyone by that name? It teases the back of my recollection but won't go any further so I turn to you, my Nightshade, in hopes you can satisfy this intellectual itch.

If you do know who it is, don't confront them, as I'd like to play along and see what's going on. Practice that tight-lipped discretion I so often lament and we can discuss it when I return.

Also, I found a cobbler who can make thigh-high boots. Sure you won't wear a pair? Just around the tower?

Annoyingly yours,


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 22, 2010, 04:40:56 PM
A little something for Willie to sing.  How to get Tyra on board with a concert tour?

Hearts and flowers loves songs never tell it straight
Books all end with happy ever after with your mate
But one or ten or twenty when you're bored with what's on your plate
I can't do that, baby
I can't do that

I ain't faithful
I don't commit
I'm too wild at heart to even think of it
Before things get crazy and the flesh begins to hit
I ain't faithful
I don't commit

You wonder what your man got up to when he's gone a lot?
Ain't just business, baby, or at least not the kind you thought
You can sit around hand-wringin' and bein' all distraught
Or we can do that, baby
We can do that

What's wrong with lovin' someone who'd holdin' another hand
It don't mean I'm the cad they say
Loyalty and affection don't need a wedding ring
Being faithful is far deeper than "never stray..."

You want the fantasy, sugar, then you gotta look elsewhere
If you want white picket fences and a daily love declared
But if you want some passion and a wild love affair
Well, I can do that, babe
I can do that

I ain't faithful
I don't commit
I'm too wild at heart to even think of it
Before things get crazy and the flesh begins to hit
I ain't faithful
I don't commit
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 27, 2010, 09:59:14 PM
*something is written here then scribbled out, then re-written and scribbled out, then finally - *

Thank you, my Muse.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 28, 2010, 12:33:54 PM
At a farm in the hills on the outskirts of Lor, a small dwarven figure sits mesmerized on a corral fence, watching as a small sea of horses flow past one another within the confines of the fencing.  At the center of this current, a large gray stallion prances back and forth, creating new eddies each time he changes direction.

For the moment, the words of her human companion, who would be sure to turn heads of his own with his well clipped beard and tight pony tail, are lost to her.

With the approach of two human females, the sound of their familiar banter brings the dwarf's attention reluctantly back.  They are contrasts, one in heavy armor bearing a substantial blade, the other lightly dressed with the finest of weapons; both full of poise.

"Hello!" Argali beamed like a child at gift-giving to Angela and Sasha.  "They are the magnificent, no?"  

The horses continued to roll past one another at the far end of the corral.

"Zis iz Misterr 'James Standish'," her emphasis for the benefit of the current company.  Remembering herself, she makes the introductions.  "Misterr Standish, zis iz the Counzillorr Swann of the Lor Diet, and Marshal Tomyris, commander of the forrces of Lor.  She turns back to Angela and Sasha.  "It iz by the efforrts of the Misterr Standish that we arre now having the beginnings of the cavalry.  Mmm... We will now be needing the help of the horrse talkerrs to be making the horrses rideable, no?"  She seemed to add the last remark to a mental list of things to do.

James straightens as the ladies approach, giving a military-proper bow to each.  He smiles his customary closed-lip smile but there is a sparkle, a burbling joy, glowing from inside his nearly black eyes.  A high-necked black top with white frog closures is snug on his lean chest; plain black pants vanish at the knees into well-made leather and metal half-greaves.

"Councilor Swann, Marshal Tomyris, a pleasure to finally meet you."  His baritone is clipped by a precise Corsainian accent and he puts one hand over his heart as he addresses them.  "Captain Trueaxe requested I make a report to you in person about how we came into the possession of these animals."

He steps a few feet left of Argali so the Marshal and Councilor can stand between them and get a good view of the horses.  He allows a few moment's silence, hands behind his back and posture at parade rest, while they look the animals over.

"I was keeping my ear open for possibilities since the good Captain here expressed a desire for cavalry grade horses."  He hand opens briefly toward Argali.  "While in the process, I heard a story about a pirate, Silver the Lucky.  This was just a sailor's tale about the 'pirate that got away', but the sailor did know that this pirate was also a horse trainer with a passion for the animals."

He pauses and looks over the corral, his eyes following the huge stallion at the heart of the herd.  He rests one hand on the fence.  "I followed the story around the docks and was finally told by an old salt that I'd find Silver in Audira.  I obtained the services of a scout and traveled there, thinking to try and bargain for some well-trained animals.  As I am no longer a naval captain, arresting the man for past crimes was out of the question.  But a sum of True for a legitimate pursuit, I thought, might make him less inclined to rob for his gold.  Or it was worth the attempt if I could also get good horses out of it."

He remains James, despite his and Argali's discussion over revealing to Sasha and Angela the truth about his identity.  He knows they know and yet his accent, his posture, his choice of words remain that of a former Rohdem naval captain now retired.  He does this deliberately, so they can assess the difference between this man and the easygoing, flirtatious, talkative bard they have both already met.  So they can judge his competence.

"My scout, an elf who goes by Shadowleaf, was invaluable and very skilled.  We arrived at Audira without a scratch and without having to raise commotion through a fight.  We combed the city looking for the man and found none such by the name until a young woman directed us to a recent grave; it seems Silver had passed from our mortal coil before I could attempt to dissuade him of his ignoble career."

His voice rises and falls in emphasis, the cadence of the experienced storyteller although he's trying not to be.  From deep inside an inner ear joins his outer ones to listen to the Heartsong and tailor the story, heightening emotional highs, deepening lows.  He cannot help it.

"The headstone was engraved, which is unusual; most pirates do not want their graves marked least their mortal remains are disturbed by the angry and vengeful.  But his was and said only this: 'Here lies Silver, pirate, horse trainer of Vanavar.  May his horse forever roam free'."

He turns toward them, running a thumb over his silken black mustache a few times.  "I am not a man given to haring off on wild adventures."  This is stated plainly and with a quiet sincerity that is completely at odds with the gleeful sparkle in his eyes.  He lets the irony soak in for a few moments.  "But I do know that a trained animal let free might attract a herd, or be attracted to one.  My scout was willing and so I paid our passage to North Hampton where we provisioned and started searching.

"On the plains past the haven of the city we were waylaid by bandits and Shadowleaf was killed. He is stonebound and so was waiting when I staggered, bleeding, back into the gates of the city.  We decided then to look for reinforcements."  He reaches to stroke his mustache and beard again, then forces his hand down and resumes a parade rest.

"Deliar smiled upon us and a young woman, human but with some elven blood by the delicate bones of her face and the tips of her ears, arrived from Audira.  She called herself Annwyl; she is a fighter of great competence and we were able to recruit her.  Let me add here that she refused all compensation that I offered but she did ask that her name be mentioned to you, Captain Trueaxe; she has been keeping an eye on Lor's activities and wishes to contribute. I believe..."  He chances a full, dimpled smile to the women "...that I can find her again should you wish to speak with her."

The smile is smoothed away from his naval captain's face.  "Our combined efforts got us as far as the cliffs toward the southern part of the island but we had to return when we found a powerful drake in residence along the path.  We returned to North Hampton to rest and reprovision, and Annwyl sent messages to friends of her to come aid us.  We settled in to wait.  During that time I was able to learn much about Silver the Lucky, including that his mistress, not the man's wife, was the one who released his horse and paid for the headstone.  That is a story for another time, though.

"Annwyl's friends arrived; one Argos Stargazer, who sends regards to you, Captain."  He gives Argali a short bow on the man's behalf.  "A young woman named Rory, who did not give a last name, but without her tracking and animal skills we would not have succeeded; and young woman with a flair for sword work who called herself Dot.

"After introductions and their valid concern about my abilities -- I am, after all, only a sailor at heart and not terribly skilled in sword play -- we set out.  I will spare you the details save we fought group after group of bandits and thieves and other scum until we came to a camp of the most difficult concentration of highwaymen yet.  The stallion was some distance from them with the herd nearby.

"Rory charmed the animal and we brought him back to North Hampton.  The rest of his herd followed and we captured most of them.  I compensated those who assisted, and paid for the transport of the animals back here. And here we are."

He smiles at them again, close-lipped, and looks over the herd.  "These are a gift for Lor. I only ask one thing; that they all be given plenty of room to run when they are not being trained.  Especially the stallion.  That is a request from Rory, who seemed very close to the animal while we were making the long trek back."

He looks back at the three women and gives another formal Corsain bow.  "That is my report, Marshal, Councilor.  What questions or suggestions might you have of me?"

Sasha blinks after James finishes his lengthy report then covers her mouth with her hands to conceal a grin.  She coughs as if clearing her throat and glances askance at both Argali and Angela before turning back to James.

"You have done an outstanding job young man, you have the thanks of the city.  These are good horses, they will make fine light cavalry.  We still need to acquire suitable mounts for a heavy infantry force.  I think they will be an elite force.  We might be able to convince people in the city to sponsor them in order to cover some of the costs.  They won't be cheap but any army relies heavily on Heavy Cavalry to break up opposing enemy forces.  If..and I mean if, we ever have to face certain dwarves on the battle field from up north, we will regret never having had heavy cavalry of that I can assure you.  Especially since that will give us an advantage over them.  If ever things come to that..."

Angela smiles and nods to James after he finished his report, then whispers quietly out of the side of her mouth to Argali and Sasha.  "Remind me never to ask for a full report from that one."

She clears her throat.  "My personal thanks as well as that of our city, Sasha is correct, you've done an outstanding job and Lor may now see its first cavalry since it was founded because of you."  She turns her attention back to Argali and Sasha.  "I will leave the breaking of the horses in your capable hands Sasha, however once the ground training is finished I suggest that we take the army of Prantz up on their offer to train with them."

Argali bristles almost audibly upon hearing; Angela grins slightly at the sour expression.  

"Two reasons for that, first off then they have the experience we lack in training them and second and the most important reason.  Not long ago Sasha said not to plan out of fear for if the dog will bite or not, I agree to that.  That doesn't mean we should lie down and expose our neck either, but if the cavalry should sometime in the future end up having to protect Lor from the dog.  Then wouldn't we be better off with first-hand knowledge of their tactics and equipment?"

Argali stares a deep, penetrating stare, not believing her ears.  "It zeems too many people arre thinking they can lie down with the dogs and not be waking up with the fleas.  Or the maiden lying in the zame bed with the lecher and keeping herr virtue.

"You arre miztaken if you arre thinking you can be zending the neophyte riderrs to be learrning frrom the enemy and not be indoctrinated by theirr instrruction, coerced into theirr way of thinking, becoming parrt of them.  You would have to be zending the zeasoned riderrs forr zuch a task, and Lorr has none.  Do not be risking the newly forrmed bud to the bitter cold of the winter's breath.

"If Sasha needs the help, Argali will find the horrse talker to be making the horrses fit forr the riding, without the brreaking of anything."  Subconsciously, her feet have shifted to be squarely planted into the ground.  "As for the making the cavalry, Argali will find the alternative forr that, too."  She looks briefly to James before meeting Angela and Sasha's eyes again.

James moves in a bit and lowers his voice, pitching it for the ears of the ladies present only.

"There are two that I know whom we could contact, Captain Trueaxe.  One is Ysgraine Ursis, a woman with a talent for animals who has helped me with my own horse.  And another, although I'd suggest you keep her in a separate room from Ysgraine -" A brief, bitter smile "- is my sister, Aya Reid.  She owned many horses before her circumstances changed.  Either is a good start to riding.  This won't solve the battle training issue but it can get horses and riders comfortable with each other in the meantime."  He strokes a thumb over his upper lip.

"I can contact either woman for you if you wish.  And I will work on finding cavalry trainers for you as well."  He favors Sasha and Angela with a slight smile and amused eyes.  "I trust that was brief enough?"

Sasha turns to James.  "I have the knowledge but alas not the time. I remember this Ygraine as somewhat flighty and unreliable.  If worse comes to worse I can call in a few favours I think from Hilm.  Perhaps convince the Master of Horse to take a holiday for a while in Lor."

Glancing to Angela, Argali nods at Sasha's remark, and then addresses Andrew.  "Mmm... Perrhaps zis Rory would alzo be interrested in making the horrzes ridable, particularrly him."  She looks back to the large grey still kicking up dust.  "Mmm... Therre is morre than enough worrk forr all thrree horrze talkerrs, no?  They may even be able to learrn frrom each otherr."

Sasha muses for a moment.  "I don't know this person...what are their credentials and recommendations?"

James addresses Angela and Sasha, again pitching his voice for them and Argali alone.  "Rory is a lady Andrew has known for some time, although James only just met her.  I believe Argos Stargazer is a close friend of hers; she is not flighty but very levelheaded, but there is the question as to whether she'd want to train a warhorse.  I will find out.  I will withdraw the suggestion of my sister on that thought as she's not war-minded.  I still think Ysgraine would be a good choice but I'll leave that to you to decide."

He leans in a little.  "I agree with Argali regarding sending a fledgling cavalry to train with Prantz.  However, a compromise - if intelligence is what you want - is to send a select group, the most loyal to Lor?  Perhaps this elite force you spoke of, when the destriers are obtained?"

Sasha suddenly looks sternly at James.  "This isn't a game or some fun training some horses.  This is a deadly serious business here.  We sit on a precipice of danger.  Men and woman will lose their lives if these horses are not trained suitably for war.  Make no mistake about that.  So...friends and family who 'might' be alright are not good enough.  We need the best to train these animals for exactly what they will be needed for."  Her icey blue eyes and crisp commanding tone brook no argument.

He stiffens and his face smooths to neutral. His baritone is firm when he speaks. "It was not my intent to play games, Milady. I do know what is at stake; that is why I'm here. But it has been mentioned to me that Lor could use more involvement from those with the abilities and wherewithal to bolster it, and so I make suggestions to that end."

Argali frowns somewhat.  "Mmm... She was hoping that the use of the horrze talkerrs would make forr the betterr rezults than the otherr methods of 'brreaking horrze in'. Once horrze iz rideable, then it can begin the trraining forr the cavalrry, hopefully with the inztrructorr frrom Hilm. Rememberr, trraining the cavalrry iz as much about trraining the riderr as iz trraining the horrze. We arre ztarrting frrom the beginning in both.

"Alzo, be awarre, ourr firrst attempts arre likely to prroduce the zo-called 'light' cavalrry. As we arre getting the morre experrience, then, hopefully, we arre producing the medium cavalrry. And, then, one day, we prroduce the heavy cavalrry forr Lorr.

"Iz somewhat ironic that Lorr iz founded by the famous horrze riding twins, and yet we arre having to be ztarrting frrom the scratch to be making the cavalrry."

Angela plays with a lock of hair listening to the arguments both from Argali's ranting towards Prantz and to the ideas to who to train the horses.  She turns first to James to address his idea.

"So one thing at a time, Rory is welcome to aid in the training as well as any other druid you can dig up.  However make it clear to them that their going to train war horses not riding horses, that means the horse must be willing to leap over a spear wall and get close to armored men fighting not to mention they must be trained to not run from magic unleashed.  If their heart isn't for that then we will have no use for them."

She can't help but to smile slightly as she turns her head towards Argali.

"As for lying with the dogs then yourself said it, we have no experience people, we have no experienced trainers either.  Our people need to learn and I'm fully aware of the risk of them forming bonds, that being said then our force is still small and that means we can pick people with strong loyalty.  People that are unlikely to break but still smart enough to see the advantage of learning the traits of Prantzs cavalry.  If you want to then compare it to battle, is a soldier better of studying under a necromancer for a short time to gain basic knowledge?  Does the mere knowledge means he turned evil?  I would say yes to the first and no to the second.  Some might be lost but it is a risk we have to take, and on top of their training with Prantz then I plan on sending them off to Fenrir's Academy after.  Since it's finished we might as well make use of it, and if anyone can beat love of Rael out of a group of recruits it's Fenrir."

Argali gives Angela a dubious look.  "Mmm... Yourr analogy iz not correct. You arre not zending them to fit against the necromancerr, but with him.  And iz not blood chilling, repluzive death worrker, but warrior who looks like them and zounds like them whom they arre having to learrn frrom.  The opportunity forr bonding iz much, much grreaterr.

"We arre at the forrmative stage.  We cannot risk the 'losing the zome' without casting the pall overr all the furrtherr efforrts.  Therre arre other cavalries, better cavalries to learrn frrom.  Hilm forr the instance.  Zend them to Masterr Fenrrir firrst.  He will instill into them what it iz to be the prroperr warrior.  Iz bud we arre trrying to grrow.  The bud forr Lor.  It needs to be prrotected."

Angela sighs deeply, having stared at the horses for some time.  "Trust me, the irony isn't lost on me.  If Lor had kept an active army and cavalry then maybe the situation today would have looked different.

"Ah well, no use crying over split milk as mother always used to say.  Druids, trainers from Hlim or anywhere else we can dig them up, let's go for the best.  Same with the men; let's put more though the basic training than we have horses to, make it a privilege to join and give them the chance to earn it among their peers.

"All members of the army, the beacons and the guards will be giving the chance to attend basic training at Fenrir's Academy, like with the beacon then lets rotate between the different orders and keep Lor safe while we breed the best soldiers in Layonara.  Hmm...on that note, I want to make a small elite unit so pick the best from the army and I'll arrange for them to receive more intensive training from the academy.

She speaks briskly.  "To sum up.  Find trainers, but appoint a commander for them someone with experience in warhorses, he or she can pick the best from the others and hopefully create a deeper bound between our riders and their horses.  A rotation plan for the troops; let's get everyone through a basic training at the academy.  Pick out an elite unit to receive extensive training at the academy."

A brief pause, then; "As a little side note to that then be on the look out for people showing talent towards manipulation the Al'Noth, if possible then I would like to train casters to support the army.  Either with Spellgard or the Arcane Alliance in Hempstead...hmm or I'll ask Alantha and Storold."

She taps her chin, considering if she remember everything.  "One last thing, I agree on that the cavalry will be fragile and they will need to harden.  But once their basic training is over they will be send to train with Raels troops as well.  The opportunity is simply to great to ignore."

Sasha surveys the horses with a critical eye for a time then nods finally.  "Sounds good. Lets get it happening."  She turns to James.  "Well done Master Standish, Captain."  She nods to Argali and bows politely to Angela.  "Councilor, if you will excuse me I need to see about the company finishing the construction of the stables."
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 28, 2010, 11:49:19 PM
*A reply comes some time later.  It is written on rather ordinary parchment in an iridescent, deep blue ink, and the hand seems hurried but legible*

Andrew,

It is good to hear from you, and we were glad to meet you in Krandor these weeks prior. It sounds as if things are going well for you.

It pleases us both that you are finding such enthusiasm in your pursuit. It sounds as if your efforts are bearing fruit and it is always a treat to meet one with such avid interest and dedicated pursuit with regards to Magic.

Should your travels take you near Krandor, we would welcome a visit and perhaps more talk of Illusion over a meal.  Until then, continue to practice and seek your balance. Your focus will help you hold your illusions, but the most convincing and vivid results will be a matter of memory and imagination.  Find what works for you, and work to improve that.

In Magic and Balance,
Connor and Anna




*in neat italic script, black ink on fine paper*

Connor and Anna
147 Krandor
Krandor
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Milord, Milady.  I cannot thank you enough for the instruction that you offered me.  I have practiced each night since we sat around that table trading stories; simple shapes, as you suggested, with an emphasis on focusing and maintaining.

It is focus that remains the issue.  I'm not sure how much you know about me but I have a lengthy past with substance use and abuse.  The use part I still indulge in, most infrequently now, but the abuse I have corked forever.  Or so I fervently hope and work to make true one day at a time.

It remains though that I'm not untouched, or so I suspect, from what seemed like harmless frivolity decades ago and thus sitting still for long periods trying to focus in a way to make things appear is most difficult.  Even now I was just practicing with a cube and felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to sit and write, one I obeyed without thinking.  It never crossed my mind until just now that behavior is not helping my practice.

Forgive the ramble, I am going somewhere with this.

While traveling home recently I happened across a mutual friend of ours, Miss Jaelle, and she was happy to give me a lesson as well.  She was able to lift some of the burden of concentration from me as we sat and this gave my imagination free rein to create.  What an experience, to make a moving picture, to really paint with magic as my canvas!  I was enthralled and so I will continue to work on visual illusions and I do hope you and your lady will consider continuing to teach me.  I accept my grasp of visual illusion will never be that of a master but it is far too useful, and far too fun, to give up.

However (my point coming up here) after our flight of fancy with the magic Jaelle had a good question for me.  Why did I start this way?  Meaning, why did I begin with visual illusions?  A very good question indeed.  I have never been visual aside from the occasional bout of drawing fervor.  In fact, I don't see that well; age isn't helping matters and I use spectacles more often than not these days.

I could only tell her that since most of the illusions I've experienced are visual, nothing else occurred to me.  However, since she mentioned it, and despite our exhaustion at having spent so much time on the making of magic, I immediately pressed into attempting the illusion of sound.

I was able to do so and much quicker than anything I'd tried previously.  In fact the music was so easy to "hear" in my mind - it's how I think anyway - that I was able to illusion a little piece of violin right away.  I'm not sure how to describe it.  It wasn't illusion to me, or it didn't seem like it, more an extension of my mind...although the sound was ghostly and not at all like a real instrument, and my focus wasn't any better, only the ease of my execution.

Regardless, you cannot imagine my excitement.  What worlds have just opened up to me?  What vistas of sound, if I can aspire to make music with myself?  By the Muse I'm getting tingly just writing this.  I have added music to my practice and have tried both illusions at the same time but that is beyond me at the moment.

Being able to make sounds with my magic, however.  I am thrilled and eagerly awaiting my next lesson.  I hope it will be with the two of you.


Yours in the Muse,



Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 29, 2010, 12:37:06 PM
To: Edgar Whinessy
c/o The Resonance of Being
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hemstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Conductor Whinessy, hello again!  I hope this letter finds you well.  I have been caught up in teaching for some time and have been unable to visit but I hope we can sit and discuss the transferrence of knowledge sometime; I have much to learn, as an instructor.

I am sad to report no response from Lady Hommel.  I have written but the good woman appears to be on an extended absence, to my great loss.  I will continue to hope that she returns home but in the meantime, I wish to share some new developments in sound I've experienced.

First, my experiments in manipulating the Heartsong have remained sporadically successful.  I am still unsure of what I'm doing, if anything, and I cannot reproduce the effect consistently.

What I can do - I hadn't thought about this consciously until rather recently - is listen to the Heartsong as I perform or otherwise use my voice, and moderate my expression to the emotional feedback.  It gives me a slight edge at times beyond reading the vocal and body language clues of my audience and I've come to rely on it, sometimes in preference to my flesh and blood ears.  Certainly more than what my eyes tell me.

So that remains an area for improvement.  Something new has captivated my attentions recently however and I'd like your opinions on it.

I have wanted to learn illusion for some time and have had the astounding luck of finding not one but three teachers.  I have been dabbling in visual illusion, which is enjoyable, but on the advice of one of my teachers I have begun to apply my methods (which involve singing the spells anyway) to illusionary sound.

It's amazing to me, to make sound without opening my lips, without picking up an instrument or even moving my hand.  Well, that's not entirely true, I do have to sing the spell and move my fingers.  Still - it is the most exciting thing since I joined the Resonance.

I have spent every night practicing these new arts and that practice has brought with it questions, many of them, some of which I will need to go to Spellgard to find answers for and some I wish to pose to you.  For example; an illusionary picture, say a vase, is illusion because if you wave a hand through it, it does not "exist".  But is verification by the senses a form of proof of existence?  It can be argued that since the object cannot affect its surroundings, it is illusion, but then again illusions can kill - I have seen it, lived it, died to it - and that is, in my view, an effect.

With these sounds I am "illusioning" the same question applies only more so.  Sound hits our ears and causes vibrations that we hear.  Most sounds work in this way (I am allowing differences for those sounds that are so high or deep that they are "heard" through the skin and organs more than the ears).  If I am singing a spell and focusing my concentration into movements of my fingers, and I hear the strings of my violin, am I hearing it?  Am I focusing air into vibrations by force of will, or is it something else entirely?  And does the Resonance have any equipment or specialists in this area?

I'm interested in this greatly and all the possibilities it offers.  I believe it is an area of research I'd like to pursue within the Resonance if it is something that has room for discovery.  Can illusionary sound affect the Heartsong?  I would think that it can, if it creates an emotional state in the listener.

Many questions, those are but a few.  I hope my excitment shines through and I hope to discuss this as an avenue for research.  I look forward to your response, Conductor, and our next meeting.

Also, sir.  Forgive me if this sounds strange but have any others of us who live in harmony with the Heartsong experienced disturbing dreams, perhaps involving horrid sounds such as screaming interspaced with total and complete silence?  If your time is such that you cannot respond to my postulations above, even a short note regarding the dream question would be greatly appreciated.

Yours in our Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 30, 2010, 03:59:46 PM
A Lady stood beside a bed, a boy there fast asleep
Brushed a hand across his cheek while he was dreaming deep
From Her loving touch was born a song inside his soul
A sound
A joy
Wrapped around his world

He heard the world
From a wooden framed window
He heard the world
A child's heart aglow
He heard the world
Passion's ringing melody
He heard the world and he would never be the same

The child was pulled to manhood inside a god's eyeblink
And given by Ilsare a muse to drive him to the brink
From that storm of love music twined around his soul
A song
A siren
Set fire to his world

He heard the world
From a stone tower window
He heard the world
Life's ebb and flow
He heard the world
Emotion's crescendo
He heard the world and he would never be the same

This gift that he'd been chasing
This song inside of him
The things he'd heard and wished he could express
His Lady led him to the path
That broke the barnyard door
And set him free to hear the Heartsong's bless

Now that man can hear the world just by listening
The sweetness of his Lady's voice every time he starts to sing
From a child searching for the chorus of his soul
That sound
That joy
Is the center of his world

He hears the world
The voice of his Goddess
He hears the world
The joys and the distress
He hears the world
The song of experience
He hears the world, and he will never be the same
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 06, 2010, 12:29:33 PM
Deer Andrew,

You said I should write a letter to you for praktise. I will write a bout sum of the things I have dun lately. I have maid sum new cloeths. You seamed to like the set you saw. I have been trying to maik sum new lethers too. It takes lots of salt to kuer skins and maik lether. Asids and oyls too. It is kosting me lots of Tru to learn but I thinck it will be wurth it in the long run. I hoep you are doing well and that you enjoyed my letter? Thanck you for teeching me to read and write.

With love,

Jetta Ravenlock




*A letter is returned, hers re-written and left on the bed in his guest room.  All spelling has been corrected and a separate letter enclosed as well.*

Deer Dear Andrew,
 
 You said I should write a letter to you for praktise practice.  I will write a bout about sum some of the things I have dun done lately.  I have maid made sum some new cloeths clothes.  You seamed seemed to like the set you saw.  I have been trying to maik make sum some new lethers leathers too.  It takes lots of salt to kuer cure skins and maik  make lether leather.  Asids Acids and oyls oils too.  It is kosting costing me lots of Tru True to learn but I thinck think it will be wurth worth it in the long run.  I hoep hope you are doing well and that you enjoyed my letter?  Thanck Thank you for teeching teaching me to read and write.
 
 With love,
 
 Jetta Ravenlock


*in block italic, carefully written*


Dear Rook,

I am pleased, deeply so, to read your letter.  I see you've been reading your book on punctuation!  I understood everything you wrote, and I have offered some corrections above and will put some definitions below.

I think it is time we found you a dictionary; I believe I can locate one from a local gentleman who is a scribe and runs a bibliotheque near town center.

And yes, I liked your dress a lot.  Rather too much, I think, as I am committed to not abusing our friendship or taking advantage.  Rest assured I'll try to keep my eyes in my head and my jaw off the floor.

Tailoring is an expensive profession to be sure, I've only gotten good enough to design and make a few things but nothing like what I prefer wearing.  I'm glad you find it satisfying; I've always enjoyed the motions, sewing often reminds me of using a conductor's wand or a rapier.

I'm going to introduce some new ways to understand sentences and words; nouns, pronouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, and prepositions.

Noun - a person, place or thing.  Jetta is a noun (a person); Leringard is a noun (a place); letter is a noun (a thing).

Verb - any word that indicates an action.  Run, walk, dance, and sing are verbs.

Pronoun - this replaces a noun in a sentence to make it less repetitive.  In your letter you wrote "It is costing me a lot of True."  I understood that what you meant was "Tailoring is costing Jetta a lot of True" but "it" replaced "tailoring" and "me" replaced "Jetta".  These are pronouns.  You, it, she, and he are other examples.

Adjective - this adds information to a noun or pronoun.  "The big house" or "the pretty dress" - big and pretty are adjectives.

Adverb - this adds information to an adjective, verb, or another adverb but never a noun.  So "I moved slowly" and "Her dancing was fast and sensual" - slowly explains how I moved, and both fast and sensual explain how she danced.

Let's look at some of your letter:

"I (pronoun) have made (verb) some new (adjective) clothes (noun)."  

Have and some we'll get into later.  I don't expect you to apply all this now, but it's there for when you need it.

I will keep the letter you sent as a present to myself for being allowed to assist you in your introduction to the written word.

Some definitions:

sum = the total portion of an item  (I have the sum of True you asked for, I need the sum of those apples)
some = any portion of an item (I have some apples, but not all of them)

maid = a person hired to assist with househould chores or cleaning (I hired a maid to help clean the house)
made = to create; to make (I made a new dress)

seam = a place where two pieces of cloth are joined (My vest split at the seam)
seem = appearing to be (it seemed red, I seem to be burned)

I know this is a lot and we'll go over it next lesson.  

Muse inspire you,


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 06, 2010, 01:11:11 PM
He sat by the giant fireplace in the Twin Dragons, cross-legged and naked from the waist up.  The great room was empty.  Tyr'riel was asleep near him, wrapped in a blanket with a smile playing on his young face; he loved that smile, that warm, well-fed, happy little boy smile.  Since they'd moved from the tower he'd seen that smile a lot more, or so he thought.  Tyra disagreed but then she usually did.

Another look at the small miracle nestled into the plushness of Tyrian's magically comfortable rug and he turned to clear his head.  Deep breathing, gentle motions to move him closer to his body and away from the cerebral.  Memories pulled to the fore of times past, drugs taken, visions and voices imagined.  

He didn't bother trying to conjure images this time, only sounds.  He worked on breathing out the song and moving his fingers as if he were speaking with his hands -- easily done, he spoke with his hands most of the time anyway.  He forced his eyes open when they would have closed.  From deep in his throat, a rumbling purr he'd picked up, he didn't know where.  Perhaps it was the smoking.

A snarling growl made him jump, right next to his ear; a tearing sound from the throat of an angry beast and he looked around as Merlin and Tiger both started to bark.  Ty woke with a cranky whine.  He picked the boy up and held him close, craning his head for the source of the noise.  His glasses were back in his room...everything was slightly fuzzy.  The Heartsong gave up nothing but he and the dog's combined alarm and Ty's irritation at being woken.

The room remained quiet but for the fire and his son, now awake and intent on remaining so even if he had to battle the Sandman hand to hand.  And I just got him down, too...  He put Ty on the rug and listened again; hearing nothing, he attached the little runner line he'd made to a loop on the boy's pants.  She'll kill me if she catches me doing THIS again.  But at least he didn't have to walk behind the child, stooped over with an aching back.  Ty took his freedom and toddled off to the couch in a race to climb up and promptly fall down. How did I live to be three?  Poor mother, if I was anything like this.

Ty safely contained to a ten-foot radius, he began again.  Dredging from memory, feeling his body move, he breathed the song of illusion.

The snarl again -- he did jump this time, rolling across the rug to his son while Tiger ran to the fireplace ready to attack.  He looked under the couch, behind the chairs...

Tiger kept looking at him.  He blinked, then let his fussing son go and sat.  Focused.  Moved.

Snarled.

The sound was more real than he thought he could make but it was him, his illusion.  Not what he expected and not what he'd been thinking of either.  Or....was it?  The story-telling night was coming up and he, as a resident of the Twin Dragons, had an obligation to host.  But he'd not written anything yet.  It was weighing on him, not having time to write.  His music and his stories were suffering.

Okay, a snarl, a growl.  Dragons.  Where have I heard that? He thought of dragons, of the great water serpents swimming in his people's legends.  The dragons of the island were not the huge winged beasts of most of Layonara; they were sleek, eel-like, wingless and at home in the ocean that was never far from the residents of Tilmar.

It came to him in a rush, the memory of her voice.  Not Grandmother Rose but his mother's mother.  She was special in a grandmotherly way but never someone he spent a lot of time thinking about; still alive, and always a quiet woman.  But she had been the one to tell him of Kushiri and his betrayal and blood on the clay.

Kushiri -- yes, that story.  That would be what he told.  And for the first time, he'd use illusion to accentuate it.  Not pictures, but sound.  A glance to Ty who was trying to gnaw on Tiger's tail, never quite catching it, and he began to practice the illusions again with renewed passion.  The snarl, the sound of water rushing, the growl of the crocodile...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 08, 2010, 06:56:27 AM
Ygraine of the Ursus Clan & Annwyl Cadi
request the pleasure of your company
at the occassion of their wedding on Jenra 23, 1468 at 12 o'clock.

A reception will be held following the ceremony.

The wedding and reception will take place on a private island in the Sea of Mists.
A ferry will be provided from the the city of Lor, in the Rael Kingdom.
[/COLOR][/FONT]
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 10, 2010, 11:54:57 AM
He was one week back from Huangjin, still carrying the warmth of his family's love with him.  Have a child and all sins are forgiven.  He was not displeased.  He'd never felt closer to Shiuchi and even his father had backed down, smoking cigars with him in idle talk of fatherhood and women.  He'd helped paint some of the Locke order, nearly ready for shipping, and thrown pots for another order with Ty on his lap.  Ty had loved watching his father shape the wet clay and clapped as he'd worked.  His mother made congee every night.  He'd enjoyed his stay.

But tonight.  He checked Ty's skin again; slippery and soft as an eel's but not peeling and the child did not appear in pain.  He could not believe Tyra.  He could not believe she'd left the boy- ALONE - in her room to come talk to him.  She knew Autumn had been out doing some hunting!  She knew that and had left Ty by himself!  

He checked the boy every ten minutes, muttering the entire time.  Ty slept, having had a busy night since they'd rushed back to the Arms to find him covered in Tyra's special medicine.  Untended, he'd climbed from the crib to her dressing table and then to the floor, plucking the bright green vial from the washbasin and bringing it with him.  He'd glowed like some mutant plant-child when they'd found him.

Muse, at least he didn't drink any.  They'd made sure of that.  Even Autumn, who put up with Tyra with a patience he envied, was angry.  "But I left him alseep!"  his son's mother had protested.  

"Did you really think he'd stay that way?"  Autumn's sarcasm was scathing, shutting Tyra up, and he smiled at that memory.  A good fit, that elf.

Ty was showing no ill effects and he stood by the crib, thinking of his family.  Tyra, Tyr'riel, Autumn.  All of them his.  Oddly, disfunctionally, lovingly his.  He smiled.

Having spent an hour in the bath with Ty trying to get all traces of Tyra's medicine off of him, he changed his bedding.  No good to be that clean and have old sheets.  One last check of the boy and he lay down.  There was time for some private activities to relax him - it had been a while since he'd seen Minu or his Night Sky and he was horny - and then to sleep, with nothing more on his mind than the fading glow of self-pleasure and a moment's wonder if Enzo had brought pie to the Dragons' kitchen yet.

It drifted in much like the last two had.  Pleasant, soothing beginnings.  Nature.  Peace.  He lingered there for longer then times previous.  He sat and looked up at the trees, listened to the bird calls.  There were other things too, living and near.  He could Hear them as well, in his dream.  Worms, rabbits, snakes, somewhere out there a predator of some kind lurked, but only in the calm state of existing...

As he sat in the lush greenery, lulled into a complete acceptance of fixing whatever had been wrong...changing whatever path was leading him away from all of that serenity... it happened again.

Crushed.  He was being crushed down his spine and into the earth, as of he were some kind wick being pressed out for the night.  The sounds were gone.  Everything was gone.  What in Ilsare's name was taking all the sound from him?!  Why did it keep happening?

There was no air, no temperature, no sensation of feeling anything.  There was only sight and the sensation of impending, utter doom.  His head began to twist of its own accord, forced by some outside pressure.  There it was again... the grating, screeching horrible dragging sound of stone on stone.  Heads birthed more heads, there were two, then three, then four... it just kept happening until they stretched beyond his ability to see.

Blissfully, the agony ceased, but in his heart he knew it wasn't over.  He knew the next sound would hurt worse, he knew it would make him want to carve out some of the best parts of himself just to make it stop.

Stone on stone, screeching as the mouths opened.  He tried to brace himself. Muse, he tried, but when the grating sound stopped the next sound came with almost mocking finality.  The horrible screaming.  It stabbed at him, hurt his ears.  The sound took only moments to draw blood.  His mind ached.  And this time...this time his heart began to... to swell... to ache...todosomethingthatwasn'tright!  He wanted to tear himself apart, to silence the sound, stop the agony that was taking him.

"MAKE IT STOP!"

The ink filled the air, notes, staves, bars, rests, key registers, all jumbled in the air making no sense of anything.  It enveloped him.

"MAKE IT STOP!"

Muse, he thought he might die there that way.  There wasn't even a spare moment for "why," only agony....


Something pierced his dream, something worse than the screaming, or something that hit him in the right place.  He could still hear screaming but it pulled him up, away...

It was Ty, crying in fear, and he pushed the dream away and stumbled to the crib.  He scooped up his son and held him close, skin to skin, soothing him, cooing, cuddling.  The boy took several minutes to calm and fell back asleep easily.  He turned back to the bed and sat on the edge with his head in his hands.

He had to get back into the dream again, soon.  Aya would not babysit this time.  He had to take care of Ty for a few weeks until Tyra's medicine came...then...

Jetta waited for the screaming to stop, with minor agitation, and then went back to sleep. The next time she saw Andrew alone the next morning she nonchalantly asked him about the occurrence.

"So, what was all that shouting about last night? Child keeping you awake? Sure your'e cut out to be a father?"
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 12, 2010, 10:10:07 AM
To: Katrien Hommel
108 Port Hempstead Docks
Port Hempstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Milady Hommel;

I wanted to say that enjoyed our talk, despite feeling no small guilt in knowing your discomfort due to your injuries.  I hope you will consider speaking with me again as I would love to discuss the nature of another area I'm interested in, illusionary sound.

I would write more appropriate small-talk but you may appreciate me getting right to the point.  Have you, or any other of those you know who are close to the Heartsong, had difficult dreams lately?  Perhaps with unnatural silence alternating with horrible, discordant noise?  

This is not a plea for more information about your  knowledge of the Heartsong, but only an inquiry to see if events I am experiencing have a broader spread.  It has had a deleterious effect on my sleep and I'm caught between wanting it to be something non-specific to me and hoping that no one else has experienced such dreams.

I hope to hear from you soon, Milady.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 13, 2010, 09:38:25 AM
*inside the songbook is a sketch, cut from his traveling journal.  It is a staircase, drawn as if the artist were sitting on a stair looking over a low stone railing.  The number of and shape of bricks from the artist's perspective are carefully reproduced, as is the gently pointed oval archway in the distance.  There are some calculations on number of king's feet from staircase to archway wall assuming standard sized steps and a slightly-larger-than-human-sized archway.

Next to the archway is drawn an urn-like brazier on the wall and a notation - "green" - and just past that to the right, the wall turns and fades to darkness.  The wall is made of two shades of stone and the location of the darker stone is noted.

Underneath are some thoughts in neat italic script.*

Jay -- Order of the Ram
Jetta, Hardragh -- Gork?

Mechidli
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 14, 2010, 12:41:56 PM
Heard from sailor in Leringard bar; good voice, good performance.  Modified.

Twas Frias morn when we set sail
And we were not far from land
When the captain, he spied a lovely mermaid
With a comb and glass in her hand

O the ocean's waves will roll, roll
And the stormy winds will blow, blow
While we poor sailors go skipping to the top
And the landlubbers lie down below, below
And the landlubbers lie down below

And up spoke the captain of our gallant ship
And a well-spoken man was he
"I have me a wife in Hempstead by the sea
And tonight she a widow will be"

And up spoke the cookie of our gallant ship
And a red hot cookie was he
Saying "I care much more for my pots and my pans
Than I do for the bottom of the sea"

Then up spoke the cabinboy, of our gallant ship
And a nasty little lad was he
"I'm not quite sure I can spell "mermaid" sir
But I'm going to the bottom of the sea"

O the ocean's waves will roll, roll
And the stormy winds will blow, blow
While we poor sailors scramble to the top
Trying not to lie down below (below, below)
Trying not to lie down below

Then three times around went our gallant ship
And three times around went she
Three times around went our gallant ship
And she sank to the bottom of the sea

O the ocean's waves did roll, roll
And the stormy winds did blow, blow
While we poor sailors went slipping from the top
And we all lie quiet down below, below
And we all lie quiet down below
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 14, 2010, 03:13:03 PM
The dreamroot wore off, finally, although he was still a little loopy. Maybe he hadn't been tired enough; more likely he'd been too tired. The dream had remained out of reach.

Slumped in a chair with a cigar and a book he didn't end up wanting to read, he let his mind wander. His favorite place, that chair. It sat to the right of Tyrian's huge fireplace and was tall-backed and deep, supporting his long thighs and torso in a way most chairs sullenly refused to. Also it was a shade of burgandy that he liked. And crushed velvet, which he also liked. He thought about making a coat in that material as his fingers idly stroked the fabric.

It took a few moments to dawn on him; peace. The dreams had him on the ragged edge, James was due in Lor in a week's time, and he missed Minu and Jaelle fiercely. Still, sitting there in the late night hush, with the feeling of velvet under his fingertips and the fire's song popping in his ears, he felt peace.

Delta peace?

He started thinking about when he'd felt it before, that contentment. Not often enough; he'd always been restless. But one night reading a picture book to his son while Tyra played with his hair came to mind. Hearing the world, the Heartsong, as a child, then again after a night with Jaelle, and again in the presence of Edgar and Jaelle and Emwonk, and now...well, every time. That he could hear it at all always felt right.

The first time he tucked Bella under his chin and heard the violin sing for him. When he'd found her again, lying under a pile of re-stolen items in a mercenary captain's chest...

Other times. Playing guitar with his brother by candlelight. Moments with Tyr'riel, many of them. The first time Ty had called him Dada. Every little duet they sang together. Taking walks with Ty and Tiger, watching boy and dog discover the world together.

Listening to Minu's emotions shine as bright as any sun when she was accepted as a healer of Aeridin.

The day Jaelle had taken him back into her arms.

Playing Bella.

Music.

It always came back to that. He knocked the tip off the cigar and lay it aside. The custom case, more beautiful for all the nicks and scuffs that spoke of loving use, released its captive to his waiting hands.

How was he going to play that peace? He put the bow to the strings, fussed with the tuning a bit while he thought. And then abandoned thinking - he thought too much. He moved the bow across the strings and picked a memory at random, the first thing to flash into his mind, which had wound all the way back to reading Ty the book he'd written and illustrated for him. That whole day had been peace and rightness; the creation of the book, Ty's excitement at every page, Tyra slowly pulling his hair between her fingers. That they'd kissed after that and for a little while felt together, not just in proximity.

With a long breath he let go and tried to put that feeling, that day, to music.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 14, 2010, 04:10:33 PM
Spun silver on a windowsill
Orn's breath hanging white and still
Birds huddle from windy chill
Inside an old oak tree

Oak branches brush the ivy vine
Round the old house which they twine
And drape over the lintel, mine
Winter's green marquee

Beneath vine stands an ashwood door
Facing tree with sawn rapport
Closed to what had come before
But opening, for me

Leaves blow in across the boards
Hushed refrain from paper chords
Spinning forth and heading towards...
Nothing, that I can see

Steps echo off the empty walls
Up the stairs and down the halls
With the leaves the sound recalls
Memories of thee

When voices filled the paneled room
When laughter mixed with sweet perfume
When daylight sought to night presume
Wine-lightened feet a dance resume...

Garbed in cheer and bright costume...

...but silence now is all I hear
Cloaked in anger, clasped with fear
Never one more "sorry, dear"
Or tearful heartbreak plea

Now it's only me

And the house

And the tree
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 19, 2010, 09:47:52 PM
My Dearest Andrew,
 
 I am sorry to send you a note as I am, but it is necessary for your safety. I am urgently in need of your aid, and can not go into the specifics here in this letter. If you can meet me at My Healing Lights temple as soon as possible. We must talk.
 
 With My Love and Healing Lights Blessings always,
 ~Elohanna
Title: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 04, 2010, 10:59:59 PM
A dollop of runny aloe hit Bella and he cursed, carefully wiping it off the varnish.  The bandage around his wrist had come loose again.  There was no way to keep it tight while he played and his annoyance only deepened.  Ty was recovering from his own episodic illness - Thank Ilsare it's going to clear up eventually! - and was sleeping on his new little bed under the tent Andrew had built by draping a sheet over the two chests that flanked it.

It had been a long few weeks.  No relief, no sex, no physical contact without layers of clothing between; itching and discomfort and self-imposed hermitage, and since he had Ty and Tyra was checking on him regularly, not even a cigar to relax his mind.  Only his instruments and his imagination and the challenge of a new contest.  He had an idea what to write for Lor but as yet had not been able to focus so he'd played, for hours sometimes, trying to steady his mind and calm his soul.  It wasn't working.

Ty had been better since they agreed to stop giving him so many sweets; he wasn't bouncing as much anyway, and seemed to understand he'd be sick on and off for a while.  And I need to talk to Tyra about Autumn - making her officially Tyr'riel's godmother, since there was no one else he trusted more to raise the boy should something happen to both of them - but overall, his family was okay.  He'd had no new dreams and Tyra was being affectionate.  She'd even been openly cuddly with him in front of Daniel and Gurnorhn.  It was a long road for her but each little discovery brought them quiet joy.  If she keeps this up...He wasn't ready to finish that thought and put the bow to Bella's strings instead, playing without thinking.

Once again he tried to drop himself into the calm of his music, to find some shelter from the itching and horniness and addictions.  Even his desire for a drink had flared back up like an unexpected rash on his heart.  He'd confessed this to Tyra with genuine fear.  He didn't want to drink again.  Not ever.  And he didn't trust himself to see that resolve through.  He didn't ask for help often but this time, he'd said, he needed her.  Don't let me fool myself again, blossom.  I think I can handle it and I can't...

He played until his shoulders hurt and then a little more.
Title: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 04, 2010, 10:59:59 PM
It was pouring outside.  The thick temple walls muffled most of it but he could hear it running from shingles and dripping from eaves. It was chilly in the room as well, the damp chilly that only comes when it rains.

He sat at the desk, listening, trying his very hardest not to scratch.  This will kill you.  He forced himself away from the sweet healer's voice and to the paper in front of him.  He shouldn't have to write this.  He shouldn't.  She'd come.

taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap...

The quill was righted and dipped before his rationalization caught up.  He didn't trust her.  Minu was right about her again - she'd lied by omission before.  Why, exactly, had he had sex with her?  Trust was basic to any relationship and she didn't trust him and he didn't trust her.  He finished the second letter.

Autumn.

I have sent Tyra a letter requesting all of you here at the Aeridinite temple in North Point. She may well throw a fit, and decide not to come.

I asked her to please send you and Ty if she decides to stay and that his pox might be more deadly than we were told.

You know her. If she decides to keep both herself and Tyr'riel there, please, for the love of the child if nothing else, bring him here. I will reimburse all travel expenses and they have a room here.

I might be dying from my skin disease. It is some kind of body defense thing. If she won't come, please, please bring him yourself and don't tell her until you're gone and on your way. I have no idea how she's going to react. If she is reasonable, then come with them if you can.

Looking forward to you both here,


Andrew


Another envelope folded.  Well, if there was an advantage to using a pixy as a courier, it was that she'd know whom to give which letter to.  He threw the quill down just to hear it hit the table and set the letters on the edge, stood with a shrill scraping of the chair, and paced.

All I did was try to love someone who is incredibly difficult to love and incredibly grumpy unless she's completely alone with me.  All I did was TRY TO LOVE, Ilsare!  Is this a test?  I promised Steel I'd be there in Rael, when it is time, and here I am a captive in a hospital.  For love, or for sex, or for something.

Too many things, too much, and that voice, over and over...kill you, kill you...not a heroic death, facing down the cult and Rael's bullies in battle; no, just a slow flaky degradation until he was a pile of skin on the floor.  Would the bindstones save him?  Would he just die, over and over, until the Soul Mother was full?  Would Ilsare still take him to Her?

Footsteps outside the door.  He froze, listening again, singing to himself a moment to boost his hearing.  Gentle steps, light, in flat shoes.  Minu.  The steps paused and he remained a rabbit in the brush, not wanting her to hear him, not wanting to be caught so utterly frazzled.  A few heartbeats and the steps went on down the hall.

Oh, wouldn't that be great, if she did come and Minu was here.  Well, too bad.  He wasn't going to turn his back on his Sun even if she wasn't the "right" race.  Minu had been there, she'd listened, she'd dropped what she was doing to stand with him even knowing how he might have ended up here.  Tyra might not even show up.

Another dozen things ran across his mind and made the headache he was developing worse.  Ty - the healer's concern - Rael - Lor - Marcus, Rurik, his students, Argali, the contest, "never seen a case this far advanced"...how long since he'd written anything decent, his parents - should he tell them?

He stopped.  His stomach was set to boil over.  His head was splitting now, well and truly.  He felt tears burning, and had a bizarre, detached moment.  I am really not good at being sick.

Her case caught his eye, nicked and burnished with the friction of years in his pack.  The light from the candle sconces played across the pebbled leather, shimmying in cracks and flickering dully across worn spots.  Bella's bed, her palace, her velvet-lined coffin.  He picked it up and thumbed the locks.

The violin's rosewood patina was as warm as his grandmother's embrace.  He felt another choking spasm of pain.  Even now, decades later, her loss would sneak up on him and leave his heart constricted in the iron grip of her absence.  But he could honor her and maybe, just maybe, find a little peace.  This was not to be scribbled down between bow strokes.  This was not for posterity.  He needed to play for now, for this aching, and for Ilsare to please Her so that She would keep an eye on him here in the house of Her ally.

He rested the bow lightly on the strings, not tuning them first, just pulling and listening.  He used his most delicate touch and heard from his instrument the sound of a small thing in pain - fitting.  If the Resonance would have no time for him, if his child's mother was a woman he could not trust, if Sulterio's minions were falling into bed with the Green Dragon Cult and the world was on the brink of subjugation once again, if he was dying in a cold stone room...at least he could do this.

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the worries and nagging doubts and fears, and he played.
Title: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 09, 2010, 12:17:47 PM
//This is to journal my side of the "Dragon Plague/Cure" issue that has recently happened.  There are two options to making my side of the story heard, and I think in light of the events on the public server and the various threads that already had an effect on the mood of the Team, a private chronicle is warranted.  I do not wish to leave anyone in the Team thinking I am difficult to work with or will bite them if I'm not happy.  I think I've been part of enough quests and impromptus that it should go without saying, but as I have not been asked my opinion of things I can't be sure.  I would appreciate it if a gm would post a link to this in Andrew's character profile so that all views are taken into consideration.



I am skipping mention of my character development request because aside from expressing in pm a frustration at the time it was taking (after having fair warning, and I accept responsibility for not getting an accurate idea of what a "long wait" might actually entail) it appears to me to be separate from the rest of the situation and Rowana confirmed this:

   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            your two separate CDQs (essentially)
         
      

.  for the record, I did ask for only one and wasn't out to take up this much of anyone's time.  I have had two previous chardevs and neither were a problem for the gms in question.



From my point of view:



Shiff's character had an illness.  She told Andrew what it was, and that she was told it was not contagious.  Upon further delving, it came out that Tyra was given that information from an NPC: she was not contagious "to her kind".  She needed special medication to control it which was sent to her from afar so that (to my understanding) the character could continue to play the game.  medications that needed to be roleplayed as well as the condition itself, but the character would not be able to infect humans and would still be able to log in and play: fair enough.  A reasonable balance between consequence and fun.



Shiff had a flight of fancy one night during rp between Tyra, Autumn, and Andrew; he didn't mention what it would be until Tyra rp'd finding Ty playing with her medicine.  Writing about this in the private thread led to a side series with some excellent gming and roleplay from all involved, a trip to Blackford Castle.  They were told by

   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            an important personage also there under strict guard
         
      

that it was an elven kind of chicken pox and the child's illness would cycle but he'd grow out of it and it would not kill him.  Fair enough - easy to roleplay, good for a future pc's development.  We accepted this, wrote about it, and moved on.



Andrew eventually had relations with Tyra after many ig years of buildup and roleplay.  Again, at no point did it cross my mind that this would have consequences - it is not a stupid act (unwise perhaps, but not egregiously stupid).  He was assured he'd not get infected and some fun rp built up to it (the actual event was only alluded to in writing because I don't cyber even if the server allowed it and that goes double for doing so with Shiff.).



Andrew became ill.  I jumped into the rp, thinking that it was a good scare - a little morality play.  He went to the Aeridinites and I fully expected it to be a Halloween-style "BOO" and the skin condition to be unrelated since, well, he can't be infected by Tyra.



During the first session with Elohanna, it came out that he would die of his condition.  Ok - more serious than I thought, but I was still on board, since a life-threatening illness should have priority in game for resolution.  He wrote to Tyra and Autumn and we set up a second session.



At that session it came out that Tyra had somehow infected him.  At this point, I was stunned - all of the rp was predicated on her NOT BEING CONTAGIOUS.  If either of them had known, it would have never happened.  But, Tyra's character was able to move about, and surely the now three-year-long cure quest would wrap up soon.  Tyr'riel also, as it turned out, was much more ill than the important elven woman (at least I assume that is who she was) led us to believe.  So, an NPC misleads Tyra into thinking she's not contagious and a second NPC misunderstands the dangers to their child.  Very odd, but again - onward.  We'll play this out, it can't be long for a cure.  And, I figured we'd get on the quest, contribute, be a part of it.



Not quite.  First, we were told that the medicines from Erilyn would now only come through the temple in North Point.  Ok, fine - we'll come pick them up.   No, we had to report for treatment.  Tyra had to rp being the temple for one week of every three, and Andrew for one of every four (three on one off I think).  This means that my character is now able to travel exactly one and a half weeks from North Point before he has to return.  All other in game locations are now off limits to him if he is to play without consequence to himself and others.  This was in direct opposition to what Tyra had been offered previously and it seemed punitive from my side of the keyboard.



Here is where I made a mistake, and I have apologized for it.  I will apologize again.  I am sorry I did not stop us right there and say "hey, this isn't going to work for me, my character is now basically stuck in either North Point or Spellgard until his portal money runs out".  I should have stepped up and discussed a compromise at that point, since - and this is something I am going to emphasize - YOU GUYS WRITE THIS.  There is no reason it cannot change, none at all.  It's all in you heads.  There is nothing that can't be adjusted for gm convenience and nothing that can't be re-written on the fly to account for playstyle and gm/player satisfaction.  Isn't that what an impromptu is all about?  Flexibility, adjustment, balanced challenge and fun?



I was concerned because my character has a long-standing arc in Lor, something that began way back when I was a newbie of I think level six?  And Masterjack gave me my first job.  (thanks for that MJ, a good bit of Andrew's encouragement as a songwriter I owe to you stepping in and sponsoring him).



I expressed concern about the limitations and (I do not have a log, so I will paraphrase as I remember it) was told that I would not be able to get to Lor and back and still get regular treatment.  I asked about doing a final wrap-up for Lor and during that initial session was told they'd work with me.



When Dezza announced the upcoming Lor quest, the following exchange took place:




   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            

               Originally Posted by RollinsCat
               
            

            
upon hearing of Rael's movement toward Lor, Andrew is going to run, not walk, to Sister Moonriver.



he'll explain his involvment in keeping Lor from being taken over and his concern that Lor is about to be "saved from the dark elves" whether they want to be or not - and whether there are in fact any dark elves attacking the surface or not.  he'll ask if can take some medicine "to go", as he feels he can be of assistance in this matter, or if she does not trust him to apply it is there someone near Lor she trusts enough to do it while he's there.  he's adamant - he needs to go and help.



//this is something Andrew's been involved in since just after I first joined the server, via Beli/Buddy/Masterjack.  I am hoping we can work something out that Andrew can attend any events relating to Rael's march on Lor and Steel's Triple S initiative.  how do you want to handle this?

         
      


   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            

               Originally Posted by Rowana
               
            

            
Sister Moonriver will be understandably concerned about Andrew doing anything that might worsen his condition. She cannot send medicine in advance with neither herself nor to someone in Lor. The medicine, as she mentioned, takes animal blood but that animal has to be drained of it's blood with a certain freshness and it is being drained in Voltrex. The animal is rare additionally. She simply doesn't have enough to make any kind of supply for him or Tyra.



He's not a prisoner there at the temple but she can't supply the medicine he'll need to be away for an extended period of time. She goes over with him the risks of his decision (worsening of his condition, possible death if it advances quickly for any reason, potential spread from contact if he's injured greatly and someone else tends to his wounds, etc, etc). She leaves the decision up to him, however.

         
      

They can ship the lotion from Voltrex/Erilyn to North Point but not to Lor for one treatment maybe?  really?



This was a turning point in my attitude toward this "second character quest".  There was little movement on the one I had requested, although I was given guidance on Heartsong rp and completed a retcon of misconceptions and I am grateful for that.  But to give up the Lor activities and the response to a "last call" in Lor was disheartening, especially as I was under the impression that some flexibility would be extended.



We tried to get the characters involved in the "cure quest" only to be flat-out refused by a furious and disgusted Jennara.  With that avenue closed, Andrew tried the Steel side, going to meet Fisterion (an amazing little quest that I completely enjoyed, more so cause I lived) and found out what was happening there.  there are things that Andrew can side with Steel on, but I had to really think about whether his character would want to be involved in that and the answer was no - he's a good person.  Greater good or not, Corathites and Ilsare do not mix.  I can justify a bard wanting to see his first dragon, and why not the King?  but not associating with that kind of evil, regardless of the intent.  So that was out.



pms were sent back and forth as I asked for guidance on this and other Heartsong things, trying to jump-start my original chardev quest.  I was increasingly unhappy with my character's current status and having to refuse groups and social interaction on other continents in favor of him sitting in North Point.  I asked specifically about doing something toward a cure on my own on two occasions, and got responses that I felt were contradictory:




   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            Andrew is spread thin like not enough butter on toast. He needs to focus himself and figure out how he can best direct his efforts for whatever path he wants to work. Is his goal in life really to understand and become adept with the Heartsong? It doesn't seem to be his priority.
         
      

and




   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            Anyway, so how it relates to your character, clearly if you are going to play it true to RP it leaves your character idle somewhat. I don't think it lessens your ability to do things but perhaps I have a different perspective there. If I were you, I'd arrange player events. There are people happy to attend those when they can and it exposes you (ah, no pun intended) to new folks. These are sometimes (okay, a lot of times) better at WL development then going a-huntin' anyway.



Perhaps Andrew gets involved with temple fund raising given his condition. Perhaps he wants to connect with other adventurer parents. Perhaps he does the storyteller's night thing. It's clear to me that his character needs the interaction to some degree and one way to cope is to have more interaction to a lesser degree to fill that void. Additionally, you could set up more "appointments" with Connor and Anna, or perhaps Katrien, or Jaelle or other folks Andrew is involved with. I think most of us are more then willing. In all of this is the opportunity to gather information about a potential cure for his condition, I might add.



Lastly, and clearly, there is the option to go out as if business is usual and run the risk there. Andrew isn't trapped, we didn't want him to be trapped because we knew it was likely to be some time before he would be able to run freely. We tried to balance it between realistic RP and unconsequential RP. We are willing to work with you if you are willing to work with us. No one wants to leach the fun out of the game for you.
         
      

I wasn't trapped, but I was expected to be idle if I was to play true to form, and work on getting people to come to him when their schedules allowed.  I have no problem throwing events, I have no problem with sit-and-chat rp.  Done both and I'm fine with both.  But here a discussion of playstyles would have been helpful, instead of later.  Milt posted an excellent breakdown of different player styles and I see myself as one-third of each: bashy/adventure, rp/social, and world-changing/event.  really just depends on the day and what's going on.  The events leading to now restricted and forced a change of my playstyle, leading to me not wanting to log on at all.  



Changing circumstances of a player's character is good.  Changing the way the player is allowed to play is not so good.



from the above, I was spread too thin, and now here is one more thing that I have to do to save my character - my other choice being to pretend nothing is happening until my character is perm'd for me - as well as giving up things I had already invested in.  Despite the sympathetic and helpful tone of the pm, I have to say that at this point it was starting to feel forced.  "Here is what we want you to do, and if you do not, you will die".  I am sure that was not the intent.  I'm certain that the gms felt that I would be someone who might take an interest in this whole arc and have fun with it.  But they didn't take into account my playstyle, and what confinement would mean for both me as a player and my character.



I tried to go on as if nothing were wrong but I had to rp a dying man, and I won't lie - it was not fun.  From my last pm to Rowana (from that point forward her inbox was full and would not accept any more pms I sent):




   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            I doubly do not enjoy having to rp a terminally ill character. I have seen terminal illness close up - I'm sure you have too. It's not pretty. It's not joyful. It's not something I wish to force myself to go through. To some, perhaps, a huge opportunity for character expansion and exploration and growth; to me, memories that blur the line between game time and real time in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
         
      

I came to this server amazed at the depth, the stories, the talent.  I had nothing but faith in the Team, enjoying all that was thrown my way - I've been in many quests and impromptus and loved it all.  But there does come times when a player is confronted with something that they don't enjoy.  So many ways it could have been fixed:  Andrew's condition was something else entirely, and things carried on.  Thier meds were tweaked to prevent contagion, and they could come pick them up rather than being tethered to the temple.  it could have cleared up on it's own as they are not dragons.  It could have been resolved without a retcon.



and finally:




   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            In this case it is necessary because frankly the most important thing in a relationship is trust. Clearly both players had no trust in me or where events were taking their characters. After the way events played out I have no trust that the players/characters will not revert back to previous grievences and make additional headaches for myself and other team members over the same material. Its better its gone and all parties can move.
         
      

This was from Minerva.  this was the first pm I received from her in all this time.  The rest of the pm details things that have changed going back to way before Andrew had any involvement in this and I won't repeat them as I'm sure they're in my dossier.



I trust the Team.  I won't let this stop my trust, and I hope this incident will not cause the Team to mistrust me as a player.  but I have to say that I have to trust that the Team will listen when I say "I have a problem here" and work to resolve it.  I pushed back when my enjoyment level dropped and here we are.  I put forth two pm olive branches to say, ok, let's fix this - find a way to get them out of North Point and back into the day-to-day, or wrap up the illness, or whatever.  to me this seems so simple.  Let's fix it and move on, it didn't work for you but we don't have to scrap the rp, let's just resolve or adjust.  It really is just that simple because this is just a game, in the end.



Regarding my threads, I have retconned to an illness that mimics a more serious one, so the threat of death remains until the real underlying cause is found.  Everything remains the same otherwise, including a nasty bout of chicken pox for Ty.



all references to Sister Moonriver, anything that specifically named the disease, references to Tyra's medicine, and the elven portion of the chicken pox are gone.  Andrew will still have his dance with death and a recovery.  Expect much writing on that.




   
Quote:

   
   
      
   
   

         
            If you have any questions regarding the editing or direction of information please ask for clarification. If other players ask about events please direct them to Rowana or myself to avoid miscommunication.
         
      

It is my intention to let people know if they ask that it wasn't the dragon plague after all, the Team and myself had a misunderstanding, and they can request further information from Rowana or Minerva.  I am not about to go out slandering anyone's name over this - the errors were compound ON ALL SIDES and you know what?  it happens.  Sometimes people are a good fit in one way (rp with Anna and Katrien) and a bad fit in others (the alternate chardev and said resolution).  It happens.  No harm, no foul, let's move forward.





Andy
Title: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: Leanthar on September 09, 2010, 04:46:21 PM
Right... I think this has gone on long enough folks. This is ludicrious beyond the point of being outrageous. Enough is enough. I am sick and tired of seeing a few in the community destroy the fun and enjoyment for others in the community and for the team. Stop this non-sense right now!!

 

 You are twisting the facts and you darn well know it, you are the one that is making the illness what it is, not the team. You are retconeed completly because you and Shiff became far too much to deal with (time, attitude, manners, you name it and I could keep going) that it was not worth it for the team, the community or you the players.

 

 I am going to share a PM and then I will bring this private if you desire but you called us out and I am going to respond with this. What a complete waste of time this has been for everyone involved.....I will say this though, I am not going to waste much of my time on it as I have seen the attitude (and other things) displayed in this one and other threads (of which you know what I speak).

 

 ***This is from a PM to you and Shiff***

 

 Originally Posted by minerva

 Retconning player infection with varient a of the plague



Trya passed her con check at inhaling the spores of thru the gas. They never established a retroviral type infection in her lymphatics.



Tyra was not confined to the lower level guest chambers of the Temple of Rofirein. She therefore had no visitors there and any journal entries should be removed. If the player does not want to remove them then Tyra was incarcerated for some public offense and the entries adjusted to reflect that.



Tyra was never aboard the Mew's Gull and never met or interacted. She has no personal knowledge of the Erilyn Barons or their family. The player has no knowledge of the properties of the powder or bath oil provided to her there.



The character has no skin lesions secondary to any varient a plague infection.



The player has no knowledge of the underground tunnel complex in Erilyn.



The character has never met Baroness Imjam, nor any of her court or staff. Samples of her blood are not in the possession of the those NPCs working toward the cure.



Deliveries were never made by anyone associated with the cure to Tyra's tower or the Twin Dragon or the Leningard Arms. No messages were passed.



The characters son (real or adopted) never contracted a form of pox only found on Voltrex. The character has no reason to reseach such an ailment

or make contact with those who might know it well.



The characters of Andrew and Tyra were never in the wards of Blackford castle when there was an important personage also there under strict guard



Given that the character Tyra was never infected, the character Andrew also was not infected with a milder mutated version of the plague. He too has no skin lesion from said varient.



The characters never went to North Point for investigation of a possible plague infection and therefore have no knowledge of the Sisters of Rebirth (or Moonriver's) involvement in the NPC cure group.



They may if they wish RP taking the child there for investigation of a illness and reconfigue their role play to some other illness that was cure able within reason of the game. This was not and never was the plague.





If you have any questions regarding the editing or direction of information please ask for clarification. If other players ask about events please direct them to Rowana or myself to avoid miscommunication



What I have to say about the retcon. I don't like doing them. I have 3 characters that have lost 1/2or more of their story to retcons when Storm left.





In this case it is necessary because frankly the most important thing in a relationship is trust. Clearly both players had no trust in me or where events were taking their characters. After the way events played out I have no trust that the players/characters will not revert back to previous grievences and make additional headaches for myself and other team members over the same material. Its better its gone and all parties can move.



You could rewite CDT entries to reflect some mundane illness(es) if that makes it less burdensome or in the case of private journal - place a note for GMs to disregard certain events.

A copy of this will be placed in each character's profile so GMs may have easy retrieval of information.





Minerva
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 24, 2010, 07:56:23 PM
Pressure on his bladder woke him. He shifted and tried to push it off and stopped as his hands rolled across a limb. This was not a limb, a leg, he knew. It was not short, not slender and light. It was long and maybe a little more muscled than his own. He struggled to wake his brain up - who was that, where was he, what the hells -

Oh.

Oh, yeah.

Oh Muse...

He was not in his bed. His back was almost to the edge of the small rope-suspended mattress and she was tucked in by the wall, still asleep. Which was odd, considering. She'd always been a hair trigger sleeper before.

Or maybe he was just that good. One could hope.

Watching her sleep brought back sounds, sensations, feelings and fresh desire mixed with the inevitable response to his bladder. Always before, the curtains had been closed. Always. And now, to see her relaxed - really relaxed, the lines of her face smoothed by slumber - it was something he tried to paint in his mind. Something he didn't want to forget because only the Muse knew if he'd ever see it again. He stroked the clean, soft hair that he'd washed the previous evening. Stroked the skin that had so desperately needed scrubbing, a scrubbing she'd let him perform. While she took her clothes off in the bath piece by piece.

Her head turned slowly toward the wall, but he could hear her breathing becoming more shallow and rapid. A look behind him showed Ty sleeping solidly in his crib...he'd outgrow it soon, they'd have to get him a bed...

She made a soft sound and flipped on her side, almost knocking him off. He snuggled in close. Right behind her. He had no idea what would happen when she woke up. If it was disorienting for him, he could only imagine what she might do and he was glad her swords were across the room right now. He was the second. Ever. And the first hadn't counted, not in his mind, not a man who takes what he wants as barter with no thought to the woman's needs. She wouldn't have any idea what another body was doing in her bed and he resigned himself to being knocked to the floor in the moments before she fully woke.

He'd enjoy each moment before she did, though. She wasn't unpretty after all. It was the expressions, the attitude, not the face. He leaned to look closer at the strong chin, the wide bottom lip - it could be pouty and sensual, if she tried - and the cheeks that swept up to the brow. Not a beautiful woman but she could be a handsome one and that wasn't an insult. If she only knew.

Echoes, while she swam the long dark sea to wakefulness. When he'd found out about the price she'd paid to discover an assassin's identity. Why had he said "I wanted to be your first"? It had just popped out of his mouth. And her response had been equally spontaneous - "I wanted you to be my only".

Tenderness that surprised him, things whispered. A moment of bitterness - "I'm just a fifty year old leper with an attitude, Andrew"...her armor against the years alone.  Armor he would not let her hide behind any more.

He ran his fingers over her muscled neck, dips and swells earned by hard work on the pell and scars earned by harder fighting.  Down one arm - still feminine, biceps, triceps and all.  Over more sensitive areas, across the stomach, her hips.  Briefly, over the jagged scar that ran from her clavicle to the base of her spine.  He'd not heard the story of that one, had no idea it existed until last night.  He traced her like a storybook and wondered what would come, when she woke, when she realized.

Wondered if she'd ever again remember she was a woman the way she had just hours ago.

She stirred, finally, as the need for food and a toilet pulled her the last few feet to waking. He leaned in as soon as her eyes fluttered and whispered into her ear.

"Good morning blossom."
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 24, 2010, 07:57:11 PM
The chair was as comfortable as he remembered and he thought to steal it right then, spirit it away somehow back to North Point. He'd leave Tyrian compensation - he could buy new, but nothing would replace this chair, this cushion that conformed to his hips and rear as a well-cared-for mistress.

Tiger was at his feet; overcast skies made the room dark and the fire burned hot against the December chill. He had a cigar, and it was a good one. He'd paid a lot for that box. He smoked them less often, one or two a day at most, skipping some days altogether. He tried to make them last. It was almost a ritual now. Snipping the end, lighting - this time he used a candle from the side table. The first few puffs and clouds of smoke, the bitter-sharp heat in his throat and lungs, giving way to an almost sugary aftertaste on his tongue. It was like...smoking alcohol. Smoking booze. That is exactly what it's like.

It was a poor thing, to try to take this away from a man. But Tyra had respected him and left his the cigars alone lately. Two deep inhalations later, the itching sensation along the back of his neck eased and his tensions with it. Tiger snored and the sound sucked his remaining worry away. Bella was close, her case on the table, but he felt no urge beyond sitting there and smoking. Blowing little smoke wreaths and watching them drift, ghostlike, to the ceiling. He'd missed this so much. He had to return soon to care of Ty but - gods he'd needed this.

He smoked to the nub and placed it in the ash-bowl. He meant to write some music, he really did, he should pick up Bella right now...perhaps write about the fire, it sounded very fire-like, snapping and crackling...he'd never written a song to Tiger, he could do...that...

...

A sound registered and he blinked his eyes open with groggy impatience. Footsteps, trying to be quiet? The dog? What time was it? "Tiger?"

"I can be." The voice, a sweet and tender contralto. He sat up.

"Minu." A smile rushed to his face, her effect on him immediate - hope, unburdening. Tiger sat up and whuffed at the elven woman. "Hello, love. Caught us napping."

Elohanna gave Andrew a smile and bent to Tiger instead, letting her lover sit a moment. The dog pushed his head into Elly's hand, almost petting himself, then - knowing her an easy mark - rolled over and presented one-hundred and five pounds of muscular Rottweiler for tummy scratches. "Hello, fellow! It's good to see you too, Tiger." She looked up at Andrew. "I see, our beds at the temple are not as comfy as your chair?" A teasing smile.

"I missed my chair." He sounded petulant and he knew it. He wiggled his rear deeper into the wonderfully resilient and forgiving padding. "It fits me." She only smiled and knelt to give Tiger a gentle tummy rub; Andrew's boot cuff was thwapped repeatedly as the dog's right hind leg and tail went into spasms of doggie joy. "Alton's taking good care of him." He considered joining her on the carpet but a cloud of lethargy had him in an iron grip and he stayed seated, body relaxed and cupped by burgundy velvet. She studied him a minute with eyes that had rapidly taken on a healer's sharp appraisal.

"I am glad to see you comfortable. I worry about you, Andrew."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm...hanging on. I have some plans in the works. Tyra's not happy about it but - "

"What kind of plans are you thinking of?" Her voice was light but he knew her better than that.

"Just - some alternate research into a cure. Sit, if you have time?" He patted the white wingback chair next to his.

A little head shake and she sat down by Tiger, still rubbing his stomach. The dog was leaving a drool train on Tyrian's inches-thick rug. "I have been helping the Sisters translate notes." Andrew made a noncommittal murmur. Tiger rolled away from him and toward Elly without remorse and snuggled next to her. He grinned at the dog.

"I see. Opportunist." Tiger did not deign a response and Andrew's grin shifted to a small, almost sad smile as Elly's hood was pushed down by enthusiastic puppy love. "I wish I could help you more, but I can't read or write elven at all."

She put a hand on his knee. "You can help us by listening to our advice, Andrew."

"I have been." Her look was exquisitely patronizing, an artful mask of bright attentive agreement. He slumped in the chair. "Mostly." She let out a little snort, an affectation Tyra seemed to have infected them all with, and went back to lavishing affection on their dog. He cleared his throat, his palms suddenly sweaty. "Have you, um, thought about what I said?"

Whether she misunderstood accidentally or on purpose he could not tell. "We are so worried that what you have may spread to others and there is not enough known of this illness..."

He let his intent slide. No, you chickened out again, Tashe. "I have not spread it to anyone else. I think we have a good idea of the method of transmission now. I can promise I spread it to no one. I haven't even - " He stopped there. He'd told her that already. His voice shifted, a touch of bitterness coloring the mellow tenor. "Well, let's just say, things are well in hand."

She smiled. "I know." She knows. "I know you wouldn't. You have such a sweet heart inside you."

"I'm only glad beyond speaking that you and Ty didn't get it. Gods, Elly, I can't tell you how glad I am. I was suspicious of the scratching from the start - for once I listened to myself, instead of convincing myself it was something harmless. If I had infected anyone I don't know that I could live with myself..."

"They was concerned that I had been exposed. They was relieved I could continue to help, and truthfully, I feel better knowing I have some involvement." Tiger snored again with her small hands still running his flanks. Andrew felt a completely irrational flicker of jealousy toward the dog.

"I do too. I trust you, Minu. Absolutely and completely and without hesitation, I trust you."

"You can trust my Sisters too Andrew. But I am glad you trust me without worry."

He reached for his necklace charm, forgetting. His hand touched bare neck and he dropped it to his lap. "I trust her - but I trust you more."

"Andrew?" Her head tilted, eyes on the empty spot below the swell of his larynx. "Where is your necklace?"

He looked down, itching suddenly. "In a drawer, at the moment."

"Why?"

He shifted, trying not to scratch. "I have been...doubting things, lately." She remained silent, her lips drawing down a tick and her eyes heavy on him. "I grew up believing this was who I was, who I was bound to. I've never asked myself otherwise."

She broke in, rare for her. "What do you mean, who you are and bound to?"

"My whole family is Ilsarian, as yours was Aeridinite, yes? You grew up inside it. Did you ever question?"

The silence was long, and her smile slow and tinged with more years than he could really imagine. "Yes I did."

"I never have. I mean, the time with Xeen - yes, that was bad, but I never converted. I thought Ilsare would forgive me everything, that I managed to please Her enough..." He should tell the truth about those years in Xeen's house - that he had enjoyed every minute and only regretted leaving an alcoholic.

"If not Ilsare, who?"

He shook himself from a particularly sensual memory, one that he'd rehashed a few times to keep himself sane. "I don't know, maybe no one. Or maybe I need a break, I don't know." He could not stop repeating himself - even thinking it made his stomach twist. "I don't know. My heart is hurting like it never has, and I just don't know."

Her tone was both exasperated and kind. "Oh, my love. She is your heartsong. She is your inspiration. She has taught you that love has no bounds and when it is true."

"I tried to create a family and got sick - my son is sick, for a very long time - call me naive but isn't a god supposed to help with these things?" Full-on bitter. He sounded like Tyra. Gods, he sounded just like her. He softened his voice. "I don't feel anything when I pray. I just feel angry and empty and fearful." He waved a hand; his stomach was cramping. "I don't want to talk about it."

She cut through his misery with a sharpness he did not expect. "Andrew, trust me when I say I understand how you feel. You need to talk about it, you can't just dismiss it."

"You do?" Quietly. "I would not have expected that. You are - a rock, an anchor. You've felt this way?" A long minute, her fingers tracing the brindle patterns on Tiger's hide, before she spoke.

"I lost my twins, two precious children I never got to know. I almost found myself considering life as a vampire." Another long pause. "I am not a rock. But I know in my heart that Aeridin is with me each step I take regardless of how I have doubts through trials in my life. This is a trial for you, Andrew, and you will endure and you will survive and you will not be alone one moment." A pointed look at his charm-free neck.

He sat back, absorbing, running his thumb over his upper lip. "I remember you telling me about the vampire thing - but not the children."

"I was pregnant, and taken captive at the time. It was so much that I could not handle it. I miscarried them." After all this time, it came out matter-of-fact. He gave her a sudden gentle look.

"I can see why you'd have a crisis. I'd lose it, I know it."

"Andrew, I almost did. I withdrew and the only one able to reach me was Krys. He is the one who taught me that every moment is to be cherished because it doesn't belong to us, we belong to the moment." She leaned forward, holding his eyes with hers, the intensity behind them a white hot flame. "We are meant to be part of something that is beyond our control, and we can either wallow in self pity or embrace each experience and moment for the gift that it is. It's a chance to learn and grow in our faith."

A heartbeat, leaning forward, unable to break her gaze. "Something beyond our control. I always thought I was free to chance and whim until now. Now all I want to do is control..."

Again, sharpness, slicing his tendency to hear what he wished to hear. "You can't though. You have to let go of control and just accept this is a moment, and it will pass."

"I don't want to pass with it! I don't want my son to pass. I don't want Tyra to pass, pain in my rear that she is." She smiled and sat up straighter.

"You won't pass. Ty and Tyra. You are all too stubborn." This earned a slight smile from him and he sat back.

"Why do you put up with me?"

"Because I love you. Isn't that obvious?" Again, matter-of-fact. How many years now? How many? Seven, eight? And he still loved her, was still happy to see her, still excited by her. Had, indirectly (chicken), asked her to marry him. He rested an elbow on the chair arm and his chin on that hand, mouth on his knuckles. Let the minutes pass as examined her. His eyes warmed, radiating love almost tangibly, before he spoke.

"It is. I wonder what I did to be so lucky. Sometimes - it's like Ilsare is tapping me on the head, then pointing at you."

Her smile was wicked. "I think she is slapping you silly but you are just so thick-skulled that you feel it as a tapping."

He laughed. It came out rusty - it had been a while since he'd laughed like that, and then he laughed again, a release he hadn't expected. "I think you're right." Tiger whuffed at the sudden noise and put his head in Elly's lap. Her smile was bright at Andrew's laughter, and she hugged the rottweiler and rubbed his belly again.

"It is such a beautiful sound to hear him laughing, isn't it Tiger?" The dog snorted, unimpressed at the interruption of his nap, and rolled over for the belly rub. Andrew stretched his leg out and rubbed the dog's haunches with his boot.

"I've made so many mistakes, love. Tyra being one of them. I don't know what I'm going to do about that but I do know this - I would marry you." Better. Not "Will you marry me", but better.

"It's not about whether you are sick Andrew. It never was. It never is." He cocked his head at her. "Marriage isn't about just the good things. Krys reminded me when we... lost our children that it wasn't just about my own pain, it was about the fact we had both just lost two precious children and we both were suffering." He nodded, not quite understanding. She sighed. "I want to wrap my arms around you, Andrew, and hold you close, but I know that if I do it would be without restraint and then I would not be able to help you."

He should have wondered if that was a yes or a no, but two words stopped him. Without restraint. He knew what that meant and he wanted it. WANTED it. His hands shook and he clamped down on months of sensation denied. "I wish you could too, love."

If she saw his reaction, or sensed it, she didn't say. "I settle for the gentle closeness I can give you by taking care of you."

"Maybe you're not a rock but - Tyra asks for so much, and gives little back, and Ty is a child. I'm not used to being a lifeline, and especially now when I'm on the brink. I can't even put in words what it means to me - you are an anchor, you are my Sun." She smiled, but his worry worked past his romantic words. "I have to keep strong for them, although Tyra's noticed me pulling away."

"I want to be the warmth in your life as long as you will allow me." Her smile was soft but firmed with her next words. "Tyra has to make her own choices. She has to let go of her past so she can move on in her life."

He nodded. "I told her that the other night. We had a long talk. I was much less kind than before." That earned a warmer smile.

"You are wise, my love."

He scoffed, openly. "When it's other people’s problems, sure." A thumb over his upper lip again. He considered using on of his scrolls - he really wanted to feel hair under his fingertips. "But whether she'll listen? She wanted to know why we were not - loving, anymore. I told her it was because we don't have love. Just sex and Ty. I tried to tell her about us, you and I - the connection, the trust. The way we anticipate each other. Support." A soft smile for her. "Forgiveness." She returned the smile. "I'm not sure she got it."

"I am not sure that anyone other than you and I will ever understand it." She paused, her lips curling up in a tiny smile that made her cupid's bow almost irresistible. "I kind of like that its sort of like our little secret."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but his mind was still on Tyra. "But that kind of connection is essential for love. Love isn't sex, or I'd be a Xeenite right now."

"You know what I think?"

"What do you think." She started to open her mouth and he grinned. "Wait -" She shut her mouth with a click and he stretched his hands toward her, eyes closed, then brought one back to his forehead and scrunched his face up in concentration. "You think, that I'm over-thinking things and worrying too much." He opened one eye and looked at her.

She tried to sound suspicious past her giggles. "Have you been practicing divination?" He grinned again, and she continued, more serious. "You have been searching for something special, and all this time Ilsare has been guiding you. She has been whispering in your ear, as Aeridin has been in my own." He tapped an ear reflexively and she gave him a smug smile. "It does help if you clean them out occasionally. Sometimes you listen, sometimes you don't. But you can't deny the gifts she has blessed you with."

A tiny head shake from him.

"You love Ty, and it’s a completely different love for you as a gift from Her to understand."

He nodded, looking at his hands. She didn't let up.

"She gives you love even for Tyra, who can be very difficult. And then she gives you love for Me, who can do no wrong." She winked at him, and he could think of only one word to follow that.

"Amen." Her expression was that of a benevolent goddess, and he laughed again, but she wasn't finished.

"She gives you love for the music of friendship between you and Lana too." Her eyes were boring into his again, kind but unrelenting. He rubbed his face, hard.

"So you think I should put the necklace back on and stop being sulky and morose?"

"I do. I have never been more sure about it." He took a deep breath. Sat up. Stood. She smiled. "You will feel much better if you do."

He waved a hand in surrender, half joking and half with nervous relief, and started toward his room. "I'll be right back." Elly rubbed Tiger's belly then lay down on the carpet with him, pressing her head against the big dog's side and belly and letting her head rise and fall with his breathing. Tiger put a front paw on her nose and sprawled. She took hold of the paw and lifted it off her face with a giggle; Andrew returned, re-seating himself with royal majesty.

"I'm going to steal this chair." He stretched his legs toward them and let the charm fall from his hand, holding the silver chain loosely in his palm.

She laughed at him. "I don't think anyone else could sit it in. It has a perfect impression of your tush."

"And it is a perfect impression, because it's a perfect tush." His sniffed, nose high.

"Amen!" More giggles. He smiled, but his focus was on the silver heart and the silver clef suspended inside, studded with a single perfect emerald. She propped up on one arm. "Would you like a bit of help putting it back on, my love?"

He dangled it from his fingers for a scant moment, then let out a breath and slid it on, working it over his broad nose. He shook his head at Elly. "I've worn this for thirty-one years. I sometimes forget it's not a part of my skin."

She smiled, and he smiled, reaching up to hold the charm and run it back and forth, back and forth, along the silver chain...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 27, 2010, 10:58:38 AM
Lor was quiet today.  The initial shock seemed to have worn off; so far, the armies had not overrun the city.  People, needing to hold to something concrete, put out their wares on tables and hauled boxes to and from ships and measured for dresses and loitered near doorways.

Just another day, if it were not for the pall as grey as a Sulterio-worshipper's skin hanging in the air.

He did not sing today.  He was sung out, his throat raw.  Honey tea and some rest had given him his speaking voice back but even that he used sparingly.  No, today was Bella's day, he and his grandmother's violin - his violin - wandering, playing, listening.  The weather was mild, the sun less heavy on the skin, and he opened his shirt to the sea breezes as he walked.

Today was a day for making people feel good.  As he strolled, stopping here and there to entertain one, three, a dozen if they had the time for a song, he had flashbacks; to Huangjin and years spent doing...just this.  To Mariner's Hold, Fort of Kings, Kartherien, Port Hempstead, Leringard; to Dalanthar, Hurm, Hlint, Krandor...even Brennuth far up in the mountains, the dwarves hooting and stomping to his anti-Rael songs, and as far south as Spellgard, although he'd only played there twice that he could recall.  To every little town between here and nowhere on each continent that his feet had trod, either to whip people up or calm them down or pry a laugh from their work-hardened faces.

His whole life could be written from those footsteps and the notes that lingered in their wake.

The question he rarely asked himself was why.  Meeting Edgar and joining the Resonance had nudged that question forward, and he'd felt it bubble up time and again - why did it matter when he had an effect on someone, when his music made some difference - either to himself, burrowing into the sound to escape as surely as he'd have picked up a bottle years previous, or to someone else, displaced for a moment from their reality to hear something beautiful.

Why?  And did there have to be a reason?

It was on his mind today.  If he had a higher purpose, a greater goal, it had so far eluded him.  He had dreams and he thought sometimes they were the same thing, but that was wishing; what he wanted, and what Ilsare wanted for him did not necessarily have anything to do with one another.  He finally, at forty, understood that.

He stopped his musings to play for a family waiting to board a ship.  He would always stop for children, delighting in their delight, absorbing their uncloistered joy.  This family was a vision of starched-collar perfection under the mild sun, the father in hose and a tunic of a bottle-green raw silk, the mother wigged and powdered in her blue velvet gates of hell.  The children too were dressed in finery but smudges and hastily mended rips spoke to normal childhood play and their smiles said it was not punished.  He played some children's songs, watching the children's enjoyment spread to the adults as some magical infection of joy.

How does this work?  How do I do this?

It seemed more than just the music.  He pondered that as he moved on, waving away their offer of coin with a grin.  Similar to how smiling at someone often brought a smile, or yawning would bring a yawn.  The power of suggestion rippling in the Heartsong, maybe.  Which means it started with him.

Which meant, he had to start with him.  He'd played for himself increasingly often and found it helpful when he carried the music to others, but he never really tried to suggest anything to himself.  He wouldn't listen anyway.  Ah, a joke, but only just - he'd never been good at admonishing himself into anything, although he could calm himself in the music.  As the sun drifted toward the horizon he kept up his walking, and playing, and thinking.

He did another round of Lor patriotism mixed with bawdy fun at the Inn's tavern that evening, but did not linger into the wee hours as he'd done nights previous.  Instead, in his room with the badly silvered mirror and the squeaky rope bed, he sat cross-legged and played.  Not to lose himself, this time, or escape - but to find himself.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 30, 2010, 12:27:50 AM
Art of my people
There is a sparseness to it
That I cannot grasp
 
Interval spaces
Time to breathe between the lines
I don't stop talking

I would dance than sit
When Huangjin calls me be still
Stomp my feet on pine

Sing to the silence
Ask it questions, who are you?
I am not a monk.

And yet - always yet
The interval is stronger
Than the chords and notes

That which is not heard
Defining the vibrations
Carving sound from noise

I must carve myself
Into sound - I, interval
I put down the quill.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 07, 2010, 08:13:20 PM
Mylord Andrew

I have contacted the Mayors and the Marshal with your information, if you can provide any evidence then I suggest you deliver that to Marshal Sasha.

I am attempting to push some demands through in order to get the current leader of the office removed. Time will tell if I succeed or not.

Please keep me in the loop, for the time being I'm sadly tried on hands and legs and most stay away, this doesn't mean that Lor has left my heart or that I am giving up.


Angela Swann



*sent to Stort via bird*

Milady Angela

Things have gone from bad to worse here in Lor.  Now, the Office of Rael Affairs is sending out persons undercover to goad citizens into speaking ill of Rael so they can be arrested!

I cannot tell you how sick this makes me.  We are now more at risk from our own governance than we are from Rael, who only has to sit and wait, chuckling.

I was rebuked when I tried to get involved with the Office, to the end of trying to influence policy, so with that option currently closed, I call with hat in hand on your expertise.  I am hopeful you kept your thumb on the pulse of Lor both visible and not while on the Diet...is there anyone that you could arrange to contact me, knowing that privacy is now more important than ever, about more covert actions?  The Lor anthems wear thin and there is not much more I can do publicly.

I also wanted to throw an idea at you as you have a status I most certainly do not.  Sedera, Boyer, and Liwich seem happy to stay out of the way at the moment.  I had entertained a dream of bringing them together united against Rael's advancement on the continent (and you may entertain your own ideas on what I was smoking at the time and would probably be right) but realistically, I am a citizen of Trelania and the guy you throw beer bottles at when you don't like the key my song is in.

Not exactly a symbol of peace and hope.

You and your colleagues, however...it may remain a pipe dream on my part but it does seem like the only way to stop him from taking everything, eventually.

I will keep trying here until the bitter end and pray I don't end up in jail before the sound of deep dwarf boots hit the cobblestones.  If you have any suggestions on what else I might do or whom else I might speak to, I am more than willing.

Yours in a Free Lor,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 17, 2010, 01:51:54 PM
Silver chimes counted out the witching hour from some distant hallway.  He rolled to his side and bumped Minu -- she stirred in her reverie, shifting against him.  In a moment he was awake and felt a crystalline edge of clarity despite having been asleep since only half-ten.  He flipped quietly to his back and lay unmoving.  The room was painted in the shades of a single waning candle and scented with sandalwood, tobacco and passion, and his eyes strained to watch the ceiling as the weak taper made dancing oddities of common objects.

The room.  In the Breath of the Muse, toward the back, with a window; similar to the one he'd occupied years before when he'd accompanied Zira and Zari on their journey here.  It was decorated much the same as last time with a piano, instrument stands, music stands, chairs, a gong casting a wobbling black sphere across the arched plaster; and during this stay, a strange but appealing contrast of ornate Voltrexian curves and Huangjin simplicity.  Vines grew down otherwise bare walls and wound toward straw mats that covered the floor.  A low table of teak held vases painted with scenes from elven history and an explosion of scribed parchments and note-covered staff paper, ink pots, charcoals, and quills.  Two wrought iron candelabras branched upward in swirls and curves that highlighted the plain rectangle of the long platform bed.  Long enough that his feet did not hang off the end; he'd stared at their hostess with frank amazement on first glance in the room, and she returned only a knowing smile.  Both he and Minu had felt a shiver of unwinding as soon as they'd walked in.  It was perfect.

The shadows were fusing, here a slice of lighter black, there a flicker of a shape against the dark blob of ceiling, until finally the candle gave out with a sharp, tiny hiss.  Even then the darkness was not complete.  Ausir leaked around the paper shade and allowed gray tones to suffuse the air.  For once, his poor eyesight was an advantage, at least aesthetically; the grayness faded to black in fuzzy tidal waves and made the whole room flow as a Yoshida masterpiece.

He clung to small sounds and judged variations of gray and black in an effort to stay afloat in the stream of minutes and hours.  He listened to Minu's breathing and watched the room fall pitch black as a cloud covered Ausir, only to return to murky gray perhaps a minute later.  Or two.  Or three...scenes from the week drifted in fits and starts across his consciousness and each time remembered a little differently - how much the mind is a play from opening to closing night, each performance holding a theme but with tiny variations within.  Minu in the vast kitchens of Ilsare's largest temple and her rampant delight at the array of herbs, spices, flours, meats, cheeses, fruits and vegetables...walking through the galleries together, discussing the objects d'art and their reactions to them...dancing together, looking faintly ridiculous at six-foot-six and four-foot-nine respectively, and not caring.

The low table was briefly visible with a swelling of moonlight and he remembered sitting across from Minu as she scribed with some exotic ink or another and smelled sweet and savory and a little of flour.  He played Bella for inspiration or relaxation, putting the violin down occasionally to wander to the piano to work out accompaniment or kneel at the teak table to watch her.  It was the longest they'd spent together in solitary actions, she immersing herself in her favorite hobbies, he in his.  To someone observing it would have seemed platonic but for little evidences; the bed in a perpetual state of muss, clothing flung in odd places as if discarded in a hurry.  A rather startling pile of sheets needing washing.

This holiday had given him a gift he'd never expected on top of everything else.  He'd found a kindred soul, an older violinist named Keaton Phelps.  He ended up following the man around like a puppy.  A forty-year-old puppy.

The very first time he'd heard Keaton play he'd been humbled.  Oh, he had skill and talent.  He'd been schooled in how to play his instrument, first by his grandmother, and then by a succession of tutors culminating in a stint at the Sato music school.  And he'd nearly been kicked out, not for lack of ability but for lack of discipline.  Of course he'd been well on his way to alcoholism by then, not that it was an excuse.  His lessons were something his parents had struggled to afford -- and he'd been a lazy sod and resented most of his teachers, most especially Master Hyogo.  And despite coasting on talent to avoid work, he'd spent decades being cocky about his ability, enjoying the occasional awe in people's eyes at his playing.  He'd earned it, no?

But Keaton.   He felt itching shame at the base of his neck as well as the same awe he'd seen in others, and more than a touch of envy.  The man's phrasing...rubato, dynamics, articulation, pitch...all of it on a plain oak violin, was far and away the best he'd ever heard.  The spaces between notes, the tangible movement of the song, the violin speaking as clearly as any human voice.  His own music felt noisy and excessive by comparison, a chattering of washer women at market.  And Keaton did not have a drop of magic in him.

Every day since the first he'd spent some time with the older man -- six of the seven he and Minu had before they departed.  For once he did not whip out Bella and try for a violin duet, or play his own songs looking for opinion.  He listened.  He watched.  He asked questions about technique and the use of silence with enthusiasm he'd never shown in Sato's school.  He took what he learned back to the room, and practiced.  Musical minimalism, the art of saying more with less.  Something he was pretty lousy at but with time...and practice...

It had been a good holiday so far.  A friend made, a happy lover...learning...he'd written about the tsunami too...after shooing Zir -- Min --?  Zira, no, that was the last time.  Today he'd shown Keaton his illusionary sound spells and they'd debated the nature of illusion while Keaton played.  Minu had spent some time at the blanking wall, resting her mind.  He'd taken Alex to the statue room...wait, that was last time...

His mind was turning to velvet and he fell back asleep as soon as he decided it was a good idea.

......

...Alexander is once again settled under his chin, resting on his left shoulder as a guardian angel might.  He plays, fervently, looking for something but still learning what the tempest has impressed on his friend.  The sound is deeper now at the low end and the repair to the bridge has left a slight wobble in the middle range, but not unpleasant.  And at the top range, new strings taken from the woman Katrien's violin add a sweetly feminine sound, one that gives the impression of two instruments at times.

He plays, building the seeking tune and enjoying the acoustics of the room.  But what he searches for isn't there.  

He suddenly picks up Alex, throws the door open in his haste, and walks directly to the room where the statue of Ilsare stands.  He perches on the alcove over the water and they begin to play.  He draws on the laughter of the women he's entertained, the crowds he's pleased.  The many little deaths he's contributed to over years of loving, the pain of bad decisions and worse nights, of waking empty inside searching for a bottle, of living with what he's done and people left behind when his fancy moved on.

He plays until he's sweating, and finally lays Alex down. He stares at the statue with his right hand pressed into the hollow below his breastbone and lets the tears come. He hears his voice, but it is miles away..."Not this time, friend. Maybe we need Bella to help us?  But close, very close..."


Bella.  He sat up in the dark with no idea how long he'd been asleep but -- Bella!  Sliding from the bed, he snatched pajama pants from the back of a chair and padded to where the violin slept in her black pebbled leather case.  He tugged the pants on, took the violin and left, closing the door with the barest click.

The hallways to the inner sanctuary were hauntingly familiar.  He was walking in his dream, but with Bella, not Alexander.  There was an echo to his steps that brought Grandmother Rose to mind.  She'd always had a long stride.  The thought of her next to him made him smile.

Maybe it was the tired, but it felt like he was there before he started, as if the hallways had shrunk toward him until carved double doors nearly smacked him in the face.  Bare feet registered the sudden warmth of rugs; his skin rippled in the cooler air of the marble-block sanctuary, and he saw his Lady in stone at the top of the far ramp.  Voices, too, speaking elven; a man and a woman.  It felt like each of his senses were disconnected, nothing quite in tandem.

A young and handsome male elf peered from a space behind the ramp and there was a giggle.  The young man tugged on a milk-white hand and a pretty young elf slipped out.  They did not speak in common and so whatever they said was lost on him, but smiles indicated they were not holding a grudge at their canoodling being interrupted.  He didn't wait for them to get fully out the sanctuary doors.  Taking the ramp at a lope he knelt in front of the pool, looking up at the statue of Ilsare in a bizarre flashback.  Here he'd been, right here, and played his heart out when he thought he was looking for "his" song.  Years later, he'd found Hers, instead.  And spent years after that trying to hear Her, affect others through Her, calm himself with Her.

And here he was.  Here She was.  Here Bella was.  He didn't give himself time to think but opened the case, kneeling lower.  He still wasn't centered -- smell, touch, hearing, and sight all felt a fraction of a second off-key.  Despite that, a rush of fluttery, tingling warmth spread from his core, excitement -- anticipation -- a strong sense of having come in a circle.  Bella fit under his chin in a way no other violin could.  It was not until he put the bow to her strings that he came back into focus, his senses merging, snapping together.

A letting go in one whoosh of breath and he put the bow to the strings of Bella, his violin, his grandmother's violin.  Their violin.

Breathing, not playing.  Bringing himself back to calm, shaking off half-remembered dreams.  His eyes were closed.  Fleetingly he imagined the smell of flowers, felt the compassion and infinite patience of the beautiful marble statue above him and the Goddess it represented.  Not yet, he'd imagined her saying - had he imagined it? - Soon, though, soon...

And when his heart and breathing was slowed, the fluttering in his midsection sitting calmly on a branch with a gentle beat of wings, he turned inward and began to play.

//for Carillon
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 17, 2010, 02:51:14 PM
She glides away with a grace he'll never master and a beauty that is as foreign as it is enticing.  The price of humanity, to be at best a source of amusement for the longer-lived races.  But she is not unkind, before she takes her leave for "business on Voltrex" - bemused, definitely, flattered - possibly?  Her parting words, "You would not like my real face in the morning..." and her wink left him with a smile, refused or not.  Ah well - always worth a try.

Conversation with the High Druid's entourage goes well and they request a copy of his notes from the proceedings to augment their own scribing.  He'll do that tomorrow - tonight, he has a mission.  

He starts with the same entourage, casually asking about the members of Lister Tremaine's group - for his records, of course.  They do not know, they say, but the Queen's retinue might.  He moves to the message runners and herald's assistants.  They always know a great deal more than most people would expect.  This time, though, there is disappointment, the woman being a mystery to them except for her seeming dominance noted by a few.  As Aerimor said - the mouth is never the leader.  

He keeps chatting, speaking now to a herald in the Queen's service who has some bardic talent.  They compare notes on bits of musical lore and he tries to work his way around to the topic of the Kuhl entourage.  The herald mentions that one of Gruffydd fen Hywell's assistants has a boy taken ill and who currently under the care of the druids. Aha! He spends a few minutes more in conversation, finally taking his leave and strolling to where the child - well, young man, nearing adulthood actually - is being treated.

His offer of entertainment is initially refused and he bows and moves to leave.  There is a clear, young and agitated male voice inside the shelter of the hollowed tree's trunk and he waits - moments later, a harried healer gestures him back in.  The boy is bored, angry at being stuck in a tree while the action carries on outside.  He offers entertainment and distraction and recounts the action of the meeting as if reciting a battle, complete with illusionary sounds and some visuals, amusing the young master.  The father comes in at the tail end of his story and listens from the entrance.

More than he'd hoped for from his kindness; an invitation to fen Hywell's dinner party that night.  Sans Queen, but perhaps that is just as well.  He takes his leave of the boy and father and makes haste to his tent to wash up and put on fresh, pressed clothes.

.......

Druids and other nature's protectors are up before dawn.  He pulls the blanket over his head and tries to hide from the noise.  The party went late and he's exhausted.  But, his mission is complete and someone who is doubtless up by now awaits his results.

After another washing-up he ambles cheerfully out of his tent, spotting Aerimor in contemplation, or so he assumes.  The elf is as still as a Rakasha.  He approaches.  

"Well, Y'ogoldrania shot me down..."

"Indeed, you are neither an elf nor a dragon."

"...but she was at least flattered and a little amused, I think. So close - maybe next time! Such a lovely woman, such grace, such...err...you don't care about that, do you."

"You are most correct."

He coughs, then again, clearing cigar from his lungs. "Right. So, after I offered the druids a less colorful account of the proceedings than I originally scribed, I did some discreet questioning and a lot of smoozing, and managed to wrangle an invitation to a private dinner Gruffydd held last night. Quite the host! Dinner was druid-style, as you would expect - oh, I guess you know all about that - I've eaten raw fish before but never raw deer, although I have to say with thin slicing and the spices it was most delicious. I wasn't as fond of the salad though, I couldn't identify half of...and again, I sense you do not care."

The elf remains quiet, eyes impassive upon Andrew through the entire account, before speaking.  "Once again, you are correct."

He lets out a short laugh, mostly at himself, and goes on.  "Over the course of the evening, Gruffydd and I chatted, and I was able to find out a few things. One, he loves dwarven spirits, which turned out to be good for us."

"Indeed."  The slightest hint of tone to suggest this will not end up a waste of the elf's time.

"After his fourth glass - do you know how hard it was to resist his offers to try it?"  The elf shakes his head slightly once.  

"It smelled like heaven, fifteen year old, single-malt heaven...for me though, it always ends in hell. But I digress. We ended up speaking about the woman with the eyepatch."

"Very good."

"He told me that according to his intelligence, her name is Cyn Chen - she's the head of the Drach Tesak, which makes her the head of Kuhl's spy network and 'internal police', and just about anything else underhanded you can think of. He might have been exaggerating in his revelry - he's most cheered by the Council's decision, seemed to me - and he said he had no concrete proof, but the description fits. You'd think someone that nefarious would look a little less the part, don't you? I mean, the clothing, the eyepatch..."

The elf listens through this part with with no outward changes of posture or expression. When he briefly stops, the elf speaks a touch less tersely; he's sure the elf is speaking to him and not aloud to himself.  "Very good, as I surmised.  And now we know her upon sight."

He opens his mouth to expound.  The elf holds up one furry paw.  "Anything of importance remaining to be said?"

"Only that he's certain she played a significant part in preparing for the final take-over of Kuhl and had a great hand in the disappearing of citizens loyal to the previous Queen. A most disreputable woman, then, and I won't pretend I'm not a little glad I didn't end up calling her out. Not someone I want to bump into one dark night! I hope this is useful to you?"

The elf inclines his head slightly to him.  "Thank you Andrew, your time was well spent. If you will excuse me, I must speak with the High Druidesses present before they depart."

"And I need to re-copy my notes, so I'll be in my tent if you require anything of me. Good morning."  He does a short, fifteen-degree bow and retreats to a makeshift desk in the tent to begin re-copying.  The elf returns the gesture, bowing slightly more than he did.

"Nature's blessing upon you and us all."  The elf turns and heads off.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 25, 2010, 06:32:43 PM
To:
Master Damon Silverdawn
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Iracce, Damon!

Your letter is timely as I am closing in on the purchase price.  If you wish to discuss this as a loan, or to have a hand in running things, please let me know.  I laugh as I write this, because I have no earthly business trying to run a drinking establishment - but hopefully, with dreams and a lot of elbow grease, this can become a center for art and artists.  A little bit of Huangjin, far from home.

It goes without saying that you and Zira will have your own suite when you visit!

Speaking of which, please tell your lady to reinforce the warding on your home.  Twice, if necessary.  I'm quite sure Razerium will be doing the same when he returns.  I was in Fort Vehl to talk to an investor when a mist rolled in, bringing death with it in the form of powerful creatures.  I haven't a decent comparison to anything that walks Layonara right now, except to say if you merge the worst aspects of a cockroach and a lobster and chop off three-quarters of the legs, you're getting close.

Be wary my friend.  If the mists come, keep the children inside and the wards up.  They clawed through the roof of the One-Eyed Harpy to get to us.

Your friend and student,


Andrew





Dear Andrew,

Iracce my friend, word on the streets has it that you might be looking to purchase the inn in Mariners Hold, if I am able to help, you have but to ask.  Alas I cannot fund the whole purchase price, but I could certainly pitch in about 50,000 trues if you have need of it.

Regards,

~Damon~
Title: Giants, Part I.
Post by: RollinsCat on November 17, 2010, 11:10:08 AM
Day Two.

Waking was pure hell.  His ribs, shoulder and chest all converged in a throbbing cacophony; he had a headache and his mouth was dry.  He wanted a cigar.  He needed a cigar.  He had no cigars, and his teeth itched.  The intelligent giant of yesterday was gone, replaced with a suspicious hulk boring him with hostile eyes.  Breakfast was stale bread and salted meat with a light green sheen.  In the middle of a wash of self-pity he turned inward to sing a prayer -- there was always something to be thankful for. Thank you Ilsare for the songs to cleanse disease and poison...

The excitement of what he'd been asked to do had not been completely beaten out of him, however, and he made some notes in his journal, sketching the room he was in for posterity.  He sketched the giants, too; they were superficially very similar and he tried to capture their deep scowls.  

Sketching.  Drawings.  The tip of the charcoal tapped the paper, and his still-aching left arm reached for the silver heart and clef around his neck, zipping it back and forth on its chain.  He didn't speak the language, but maybe...tugging open the drawstring of his pack, he fished out a rod of oak intended for a violin's bow and walked to the closest guard.  The guard's spear snapped up as he approached.  There was an uneasy moment; he wondered how exactly much damage the giant thought he could do with a dowel two feet long?  The sudden foolishness of it made him grin.  He stopped inside the spear's reach, moving deliberately, and used a booted foot to scatter dust and dirt into a sort of palette.  The giant watched, brows knitted, frowning.

Now what. He had a means to communicate and no idea what he wanted to say.  So he drew, in the dirt with the tip of the rod, a rough picture of fire in a brazier near his bedroll area.  After a moment's though he drew the brazier by Gruntaar's chair, and an arrow to the location by the bedroll.  The farther giant stood to look and his guards conferred.  He listened -- the words were basso gibberish, but the inflections and tones he could try to interpret.  The door guard left after a short grunt and he was prodded back to his corner by the tip of a spear.

He drowsed and prayed until what felt like midday, feeling uninspired to do much else while he healed.  Sometime around when his stomach started growling the shaman he'd seen with Gruntaar walked in, far quieter than he expected; his door guard was right behind carrying a stone brazier with hot coals and a bowl of...something grey.  Muse, please, don't let that be lunch.  

The brazier was set near him and the bowl as well.  The soupy grey morass looked like week-old laundry water and smelled like Shiff's socks -- there was a reason he let the old man wear those crusty, clawed boots inside.  Oh Gods, there was a spoon in it -- a silver spoon no less.  He paled and tried to work up a weak smile but the shaman seemed more interested in him than whether he ate.  The giant came close, standing only four or five feet away so he had to crane his neck all the way back to look him in the eye; a limb of a forefinger pointed between them, and the shaman waited.

Here we go. He began to hum, feeling the giant for vibrations for the Al'Noth that he knew.  He felt a strong tug but it was not familiar, not scales and intervals and steps, but something wilder and without a pattern he recognized -- sorcery, perhaps?  Stars and bloody song, how do I draw that?  He took stab, drawing musical notation and putting an arrow to his feet; and then drawing wild lines ending in fire, and an arrow to the giant's feet.  A snappish grunt and the shaman looked at him, waving his fingers around in what must have seemed a mystical manner.  He ended up trying to teach a very simple version of the light song -- just three notes, by the Muse -- but the shaman could not inflect the sounds properly in any fashion and left angry.  

He pushed the soup toward his guard, who squinted supiciously at the largess but finished it in one quick swallow, and rationed himself another bit of bread.  Two more giants came in, adult males with deeply hostile expressions, waiting to be examined.  It looked to be a very long day.  With a final whisper-sung prayer he walked over and began his search for bardic magic again.
Title: Giants, Part II.
Post by: RollinsCat on November 18, 2010, 10:23:51 AM
Day Twenty-Nine

One glance in the shallow bowl confirmed it.  He looked bad.  Worse for the panic rising in him, because after a month he still hadn't found a single candidate and Gruntaar's patience was wearing thin.

He swirled the stale water and his reflection rippled and shook.  Good, he didn't want to see.  He was paler than normal and his skin was dry and dull, natural oils stripped away by the damned sand baths he had to take.  His hair was greasy and hung lank across his shoulders.  He was losing weight he could not afford to lose.

There was no way to know if he would find anyone to teach.  A few of the adult giants had a flow of Al'Noth -- sorcery, and one with the potential to be a wizard perhaps -- but not one had magic he knew, close to sorcery but flowing through music.  A flashback...sitting in a hall, listening to a guest speaker discussing the fine line between somatic spellcasting and the channeling of magic through sound.  He wished he'd paid attention to that lecture.

His guards changed again and Hurk thumped into the chamber.  He relaxed and nodded and the giant nodded back, sitting with his back to a wall.  Hurk wasn't too bad; he was noticeably brighter than the rest.  He'd play "what is this", trading the names of things in giant for common, and speak slowly so that the inflections of the giant's language could be listened to and imitated.  He'd given up his name -- before then, he'd just been "Fred" -- and called Andrew by name now as well, although it came out Ahn-drooow.  Hurk was also less inclined to jab at him or, Ilsare forbid, pick him up in a crushing grip and stare at him.  That had been without a doubt the worst moment to date and he swore right then, while a beady-eyed giant poked him hard enough to bruise bones and moved his arms and legs about, that no girl-child of his would ever own a doll.  Should he be lucky enough to ever father one.

Fathering children...gods he was horny -- and he missed his boy.  It felt a little icky thinking about both at the same time.  Minu continually starred in his fantasies but there was no possible way to relive himself of that tension, not with an alert guard watching him every second.  He missed her fiercely with as close as they'd become.  Her laugh, her eternal optimism, the way she made him feel like he could do anything.  When he thought of her, he always saw the sun.

Ty was an ache of a different kind and he sang under his breath to ease it.  It almost worked.  He'd left for a month before, but not usually for much longer.  Moments he treasured ticked like points on a slate board -- teaching Ty rapier, reading with him, playing guitar together, making weird faces at each other to drive Tyra crazy -- and not knowing when he'd see his child again hurt more than his bruised flesh.  He sang again, opening himself to his voice, listening to the Heartsong and trying to both soothe himself and find his place in it.  That didn't work well and he settled for his calming songs and some deep breathing.  Which was a lot easier now that he was not smoking.  He hated admitting that.  And still there was a divot in his heart where uncertainty and amae and longing for the laughter of his child had pooled, eroding his optimism one missed memory at a time.

Tomorrow would be thirty days of not feeling the warmth of the sun; having been almost completely alone, even though he was guarded constantly; not having a proper bath, or hugging his boy, or touching anyone he cared about.  Almost thirty days of eating bitter cactus, fried stinging nettle, roasted snake meat -- which, thank the Muse, wasn't all that bad -- and rat or mouse when there were no snakes.  Thirty days of no cigars and no sex.  The slashes on the wall lined up neatly, representing his best guess since he had no marker of time anymore but when he slept and woke.  

Thirty days.
Title: Giants, Part III.
Post by: RollinsCat on November 19, 2010, 10:53:36 AM
Day Fifty-Three (give or take)

The sounds of shuffling feet punctured his self-soothing song and he listened.  More candidates.  He'd better stand.

Yep.

It was hard to get off the bedroll anymore.  He was looking up at hungry.  An errant push had left him nursing a twisted ankle.  His chalk-dry skin prickled, everywhere, from sand-baths and his treatment was getting rougher every day as each giant was examined and found lacking in magic he could teach; even Hurk was quiet around him now.  He was a pariah - a flaky, unkempt pariah.

Younger giants were herded into the room.  He'd tested so many and Muse only knew where they all came from.  The tribe was a lot larger than what one saw in the first two levels and he wasn't allowed to leave Gruntaar's throne room, even now, to wander and see how deep the caverns went.  He heard the others sometimes; high pitched voices and the yelling and laughter of children drifted the halls.  But he'd never been shown where.  They had to be deep or the tribes would never survive ore and mineral hungry adventurers.

He cinched cut-off pants over his concave stomach, the legs of said pants having been sacrificed strip by strip to maintain what cleanliness was possible, and stood.  It was not the reflexive straightening of months ago but a process.  Knees first.  One foot out, hands on the thigh, brace; push forward and bring the back leg up.  Gods he was tired.

"{Good ground.}"  The children, six in all and roughly equivalent to human teenagers, looked at him as he greeted them in their language.  He'd learned a few words -- he spoke giant like a baby, but it was better than nothing.   He still had to draw or pantomime to get a point across.  

He crossed to the middle of the room, moving with economy rather than his normal loose, long stride, and studied them.  They ranged from seven to around nine feet tall, four males and two females, both the girls with hair.  He'd wondered why all the males seemed to be bald but his attempts to ask in pictures had either been misunderstood or ignored...a head shake and he refocused.  "{Stop.}."  He walked to the beginning of the line.  It was a formality now.  He'd done this so many times.

The first boy had nothing.  It was to be expected.  He moved to the next in the line, a girl barely half a foot taller than him.  How many more kids did they have?  What happened when it ended?  Pointless to dwell.  He sang, reaching out ...the response was so sudden, so there, that for a long second his mind locked up.  He felt a chime, a vibration that rang through him...sucking in his breath he looked at her flat, puzzled face with a rush of elation that threatened to lift him onto his toes.  He motioned her behind him, breathing fast and heart pounding.  She gave him a choppy nod and moved.  Gruntaar, watching the proceedings with dark and protective eyes as he had been since first exposing the offspring of his tribe to a human, sat back in surprise.  All eyes were on the girl and the skinny human male.  He took his necklace in hand and sang a prayer right there.  He almost cried.

Two more with nothing but his mind was still on the female -- could he teach her?  He had to.  How long would it take?  Thank the Muse he had one, at least.  The relief was light and song in his veins against a glacier of ugly thoughts that even his daily-practiced self-soothing or self-elation couldn't stop.  His mind was wandering and he tried to sing himself back into focus but he couldn't, so he moved on.  The next one in line; second to last, the tallest and oldest of the six.  The rush of stepped vibrations was a chorus and his sense of doom receeded even further.  He waved the boy over to where the girl stood, and tested the last.  Nothing, but it didn't matter now.  He wore his first real smile in a month as he turned to the young giant prospects, eyes bright with eight weeks of searching rewarded, unable to speak.  The wild mix of emotions confused them and they shifted from foot to foot waiting to see why they of every other member of their tribe had been chosen.

He took a few breaths, letting them out in a soft hum for himself.  Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but he was getting better at it.  The young giantess seemed to be listening closely to him.  He spoke first to the male as he'd noticed this was customary.  

"{Sing?}"  The boy giant shook his head.  He turned to the girl and she shook her head as well, anticipating the question, but he stepped closer and held one hand out, crooking it to his ear, then pointing to her.  She stopped figiting and focused.  Three simple notes, sung just so, held here, clipped there, and light spun from his fingertips.  She had watched his lips as well as listened with the same attentive brow-knitting Hurk often showed.  He nodded to her.

Her voice was completely untrained -- but.  The potential was there, at least in her ability to mimic and that was a good sign.  She got more right than wrong but her focus shifted over his shoulder and he spared a look behind to see the room fast becoming crowded with openly curious or disbelieving giants.  He'd learned another word he knew he would be repeating a lot and turned back to her.  "{More.}"

She repeated the notes still watching the crowd behind him.  He took a chance, moving to her side and putting his hand on her arm to turn her.  "{More.}"  He repeated the notes, making her look him in the eyes.  She glanced at her tribal leader and at his imperious nod, sang -- obediently and without passion or determination.  When the magic did not come, she did not seem surprised.  

She didn't believe.  She had the voice, the magic - but she didn't believe.  He'd already figured out the magic the shamans passed down was like tribal lore; spells from father to son, memorized by rote, chosen for practicality and hammered in by repetition.  There was little finess or art to their magic and females were not taught it.  And here she was, a female, trying to do something she knew could not be done.  He had to make her believe...if she could do it, the boy would fall in line.  He didn't have the language to give her a pep talk so he held a finger up and sang the first note, then made her repeat it.  Then the second, and the third, each time with an encouraging smile and repeated urging with hands and expressions to dip into the sound.  He sang in chorus with her, raising their voices together so she could feel the right pitch, and sang a few minutes of back-and-forth scales as a game.  She smiled and started to relax.

The miracle flaring of light didn't happen as it would in a dramatic carnival play.  Attention shifted elsewhere as they sang, over and over, for nearly ten minutes.  When light encased her hand, only three giants noticed, but it was the right three; the shaman, Gruntaar, and the other potential student.  She stared at the dim glow around her fingers, too stunned to do anything but turn the hand over and back, while he sagged with another wash of relief and a twinge of pride.  "{Good.}"  She only nodded and kept looking at her hand.  Gruntaar sat back in the stone chair and gave him an appraising look, then pointed to the boy.  A murmer started as the girl held up her lit hand -- he didn't have time to pay attention, nor did he notice the sighs of disappointment when the glow faded seconds later.  

The boy straightened and tried to sing the notes before he'd made any gesture.  The young giant's voice was abysmal; it cracked from a child's pitch to a low baritone and that made him smile.  Giants go through puberty.  That makes me feel a little better for some reason.  Shaking the thought aside he got a drum by his bedroll and brought it to the boy, showing him how to create the same tones on stretched skin as the girl had with her voice.  This time the giants in the room - there must have been thirty, now -- paid attention.  

It took considerably longer.  The boy was not as bright as the girl.  After thirty-odd minutes of practice, constantly adjusting how hard the drum was tapped and for how long and trying to prevent the boy's slow slide into frustration, the instrument flashed in an eye-searing blaze of light.  Stars and song!  He hadn't expected that -- not a light spell, but a flare spell.  And strong, the giants were all rubbing their eyes and his vision was full of wavering spots.  His student let out a whoop and looked at Gruntaar, who for the first time seemed satisfied.  Not impressed, but satisfied.  It will do.  I'll call them...Tiny and Tina until I know their names.  

The bruises and aches slipped to the back of his mind.  Thinking of Tyr'riel still felt like a hole in his heart -- but he was finally going to be able to teach what he'd agreed to teach, and he did not make such promises lightly.  He thought, perhaps, that his necklace felt a little warmer on his chest right then.
Title: Giants, Part IV.
Post by: RollinsCat on November 23, 2010, 09:35:03 AM
Day Seventy-Something

"{More}".

"{No more! I am tired!}"

"{More...}"  Cajoling, pleading.  He will not let me stop.  He will not let me rest.  I am tired and I HATE HIM.

Still, she sang, rimming herself in a fairy fire of light.  The human smiled at her as if it she were doing it for him and not for her Chief.  "Very good."

Whatever 'vahri gud' means. She wanted to go watch Bamock fighting.  "{I am done!}"  Of course he didn't understand, the sunstroked little weakling.  He took his stick and wrote more of his stupid symbols.  She could not hit him; her Chief said so, after the last time.  But she didn't have to look.

"Tina, please.  Go over these with me again."  Silence.  "{I ask.}"  More silence.  The human sat.  He sat a lot.  He was skinny and weak and stupid -- he refused to eat the cave lichen soup that would make him stronger and was wasting because of it.  Stupid, sunstroked noisy human.  Did he think the tribe lived on meat?

But he was singing again and she hated him more for how much she liked the sound.  She couldn't do the things he could do.  She was going to be Bamock's childbearer.  The Chief said so, to make the magic between them stronger, he said.  Their children would have the song magic and she would teach them.  But she would never learn as much as Bamock and she would never sing in battle.

"{I ask?}"  The human -- Hurk and Bamock called him by name, she would not -- was pleading again.  She should ignore him further but the Chief would get angry.  He wanted this and she must obey.  Face set, she spun as sharply as she could to look at the symbols drawn on lines in the sand.

He made sounds for them all but she already had her own names.  "Dee."  The male fat symbol.  She sang the sound for it.  "Eee".  The snake symbol.  "Eff."  The scimitar symbol.  "Gee."  The scorpion symbol -- she liked that sound, held it a moment.  "Aye".  She thought it looked weary, bending over itself and called it the tired symbol.  "Bee."  The female fat symbol.  "Cee."  The moon symbol, her other favorite, and back to fat, snake, scimitar and scorpion again.  And again, and again with her drawing and singing them, and again.  She hated him.

"That's enough for today."  His high-pitched, squeaky talk annoyed her until he lowered his voice and spoke properly.  "{Stop.}"  That was all she needed and with a seething look she left the room.  
___________

Gruntaar chuckled.  He should be angry at the girl -- but she was fiery and that was good for what he wanted.  The human Andro had work ahead of him with her.  Bamock was much easier to teach.  The boy was eager to be a battle drummer, something unheard of in his tribe in many generations of families; it would bring him accolades and position and their children would be powerful, fire willing.  His gaze went to Andro, lying on his cloth and waving his fingers around to making songs without noise.

He wanted more from the human of course.  So far all the youngsters could do was make light and his shaman and shaman's son could do that.  But they could also sing and drum, and from that came a power that had previously faded to stories.  From thier song came more accurate strikes and more damage.  Andro had sung, right after the initial discovery of the children's power, to show them what they might do someday.  He recalled the quiet, a heartbeat or two's worth, while the tribal warriors felt the power surging in them - and then an explosion of fistfights and wrestling as each clansman tested the limits of the song's power.  It was chaos, glorious with the smell of heat and blood, fire and fury.  When the song finally faded more than a few bones were broken and the tribe was behind the little human's teachings fully.  That he could sing their bones and flesh together was just one more reason.

Still, he'd be glad when the human was finally gone.  He never stopped singing and had started talking to himself as well.  The chieftan found himself with a headache most days.


____________

It was Bamock's turn.  The boy came in flushed and bleeding from a cut by his left eye, 'Tina' right behind with a now-pleased smile.  He finished his snake and nettles; where was he going to find snake in the Mariner's Hold marketplace?  Could Minu cook snake?  For a moment he subcumbed to fantasy.  Minu in something short and white, feeding him pies and roasts and congee with honey... He was still horny but fantasies of wild lovemaking had faded to more urgent imaginings of him, in a bath, being soaped up while he ate his fill.  He had to laugh.

He swished his fingers in a water basin and wiped them on his chest.  There was no more fabric to use, he was down to a loincloth just as the giants usually wore, saving the remaining scraps of his clothes -- minus the coat, hoods and gloves, those he would not destroy -- for more dire emergencies.  Bamock hoisted a newly-made drum and began to tap so he stood, knowing that he'd be passing out from exhaustion after the boy's lesson.  Gruntaar would not set limits on how long he taught; if Bamock wanted to practice until the next morning, well, he'd better be ready to stay up all night.  Or day.  He didn't know anymore...

"{Good ground, Bamock}".

"{Good ground, Androo.  I practiced.}"  He picked out the greeting, his name, and a first-person pronoun.  The other word was lost on him so he nodded.  The boy was easy -- he wanted the power, worked hard to learn it, but always by rote.  The girl was smart enough to learn scales, pitches and notes, but had no desire.  Muse he had to find a way to get through to her.  Her magic was not perhaps as strong, but her potential was greater.

"{Androo?}"  

He shook himself and forced a smile, gesturing for Bamock to play.  The boy went through the drumming for light and flare, both times creating a strong glow.  His flare song was fierce and everyone in the room shaded their eyes.  

"Very good!"  His student puffed up.  He gave up a huge grin -- the boy's enthusiasm and pride were infectious.  "Now..."  He took up a smaller drum, "smaller" in this case meaning as large as a chu-daiko, and tapped out the simplest healing cantrip he knew.  They'd practiced it for a few days.  It was time to test, and maybe goad 'Tina' into trying a little harder.

Bamock repeated the tappings in a slow rhythm, but he urged the boy to drum faster -- healing spells needed to be swift.  Again and again he pushed for speed, challenging the boy to pound it out.  It would not work if the tempo was too slow.  The sudden urgency caught the attention of every giant in the room and he upped the timing once more -- Bamock stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, intent and beating as fast as he could, until he stopped with wide open eyes and held up a hand.  The faint glow around the hand was the warm gold of Aeridin's sun, flickering off the flesh as rays.  

"Touch your eye, quickly!"  Of course the kid gave him a baffled look; he thrust his drum aside and slid forward, pushing the boy's hand to his face and singing to let the magic go.  Bamock sat with a glowing hand on his bruised eye and he felt a twist of frustration.  He took Bamock's other hand and hit the drum with it, praying he'd get close to the right note.  Both hands struck the drum and if it was him or the giant who released the spell he could not tell.  The magic encased the cut and vanished; the cut vanished as well and the room breathed a collective sigh as Gruntaar let out a few loud claps.  The sudden movement had worn him out.  He sat down hard, half a foot from his student, with a fiercely satisfied look; one he let 'Tina' see. Hope that fixes your little red wagon, princess.

It had the desired effect and he thanked Ilsare in a whispered prayer.  Both giants practiced with him, working on the tempo and notes to bring forth this smallest of healing lights.  Gruntaar sent a female to get something as the lesson was winding down; she returned as his students were leaving and he was stretched out on his bedroll, mind blank from lack of food and poor sleep.  He'd felt that a lot lately and wondered if it was a form of meditation, something he'd found nearly impossible without the help of drugs.  But here, always tired and with nothing to distract him, he could lie down and think of...nothing.  Nothing at all.  Except for that smell...what was it?...he forced himself to sit and was presented with a bowl of stew that smelled so good for a moment he could not place it, he could only stare at the chunks of beige-pink meat and salivate.  He took the bowl with wolfish urgency and snatched some of the steaming muscle tissue in two fingers, stuffing it into his mouth.  

Oh gods, it was pork.  Wild pig by the gaminess of it, Muse only knew how they'd gotten it, but it was pork, seasoned with desert herbs and cooked with chunks of heart of palm.  He hunched over the bowl as if he were defending it from a pack and continued to eat with his fingers, each bite as good as his first time in bed with a woman.  Failing to finish it all, he covered the bowl, stuck it near enough a brazier to keep it warm, and fell immediately asleep.

It was a good day.
Title: Giants, Part V.
Post by: RollinsCat on November 30, 2010, 05:19:08 PM
Day Ninety-Seven

Singing woke me yesterday.  I believe it was not morning when I was stirred by a chorus of deep and drunken voices.  I've not seen the sun in ninty-seven days, give or take a week; but I still think it was closer to evening if only because celebrations usually happen later in a day.

Both my guards were missing and I had a fierce urge to run to the surface.  More than any other time since coming here, I wanted to leave.  But, I made a promise, and so instead I bathed as I could and continued to cut a dress made for a matronly woman into something approaching a tunic.  It is cream and white silk with lace everywhere that I am ripping off to use for cleaning myself.  I don't know why they took so long giving me clothes, or where they came from, or to whom they may have belonged.  I only know that since the day of the first healing cantrip -- which I feel quite guilty over as I now think it was my hand that released the magic -- they've treated me better.

The clothes they gave me came in two small travel wardrobes which I have been using for seating since.  There were no personal items in either box; I checked, desperate for something to connect me to humanity again.  I did find a pair of pants made for a short, round man.  With my belt they hang just past my knees, blousing but roomy.  There were some shirts, also for a short round man, the pair of which do not extend far enough for me to tuck at the waist and that stink of pomade and sweat.  Perhaps the former owner had not done laundry before his possessions were re-assigned, I do not know, but they have been set aside.  I don't even want to use them for cleaning the smell is so strong.

In the chests I also found two dresses for a larger woman and these I cut into tunics, wearing the blue one as I write and the white one nearly ready.  Removed of feminine artifact and with darts pulled out to hang straight, they make passable garb.  I am grateful I am no longer required to parade around in that strip of fabric I was left with -- I do not like to see myself these days.  It is all easier to swallow, pun intended, if I'm covered.

I reflected on this while singing to myself, in a louder voice that I use when I am under guard; my voice seems to annoy them and so I hum or sing under my breath, usually.  I find it humbling.  It's not a reaction I'm used to -- not as much annoying as almost painful for them.  Hurk once indicated I sound like a bit like a bug.  But with the room empty I indulged my voice and wished I was holding Bella, whose existence I have kept secret, and Minu as well, and that I could sit and listen to Tyr'riel talk about the things that little boys like to talk about.  My chest ached with the ever-widening hole of seclusion and the singing was only marginally helpful.  I had my eyes closed and my child in mind when I decided that sitting in an empty room was pointless.  After all this time, they probably would not kill me; so I left and began to wander.

The caverns taper down and I followed the noise, curious as to what a giant celebration would look like.  I could hear booming laughter, laying a trail as sure as heavy feet on muddy ground.  The chamber I found (I remind myself that this was the first time I'd left Gruntaar's throne room since arriving) was huge and hewn, not natural.  Giant stew pots were everywhere, as were kegs as large as some halfling homes and more female giants than I've ever laid eyes on before.  I saw Gruntaar presiding over a drinking contest not fifteen feet from me; two of my guards in a wrestling match with a ring of their kin egging them on; and flirting, giant-style.  This I was most interested in, being a cleric of my Lady in a bard's body.  It seems to involve bravado for the younger males, any sign of interest in the female, and permission from a glaring father.  So, not that much different from us.  

Hurk was there in a playful shoving and poking match with a lady giant who was holding her own despite his size.  I noted that he was with her, as he is with me, gentle; or as gentle as a giant gets, which is to say not very.  It did reinforce something I've noticed about myself, however, namely that I've stopped thinking of many of these people as giants and think of them instead as...people.  Hurk, the giant giant who is easygoing like the best of men, unruffled by small things, and blessed with curiousity enough to learn a few words of common (and one of Tilmarian, it makes me smile to say).  Bamock, eager but not so bright.  He'll be a fine drummer but I'll need to come back and teach him every song he learns.  He's not going to be like "Tina".  She was not at the party, but unseen as I was in the lee of a bolder I took a few moments to think of what she's taught me.

It's not that the giants are so savage that they can't learn, far from it.  It is simply that like dwarves (I must remember to never say this in front of one) they have used their strength for so long that they've lost the history of magic in their culture.  Magic became something handed down to specific individuals or used against them when someone wanted something they had.  Some giants seem to hate it, in fact -- my impression that the tribe was fully behind Gruntaar's decision has been challenged since.  I have come to appreciate the bold step this chieftan made given the resistance he's encountered and have found respect for him as well.  Yes, they all cheered when healing light shone -- but their memories of Grannoch are not so far gone as those of wizards and sorcerers.  He had the vision to ask for that which has been long lost to his people and I find I can't refuse.  It does make me wonder if giants exist that use the Al'Noth freely.  I must ask Gurnorhn if I ever get out of here.

I digress.  It came to pass, enlightenment courtesy of Hurk once again -- I believe I will miss him -- that "Tina's" grandmother is a magic hater.  Both Tina's parents were slaughtered in a silver raid by adventurers so I wonder that she tolerates me at all.  Since that revelation I have tried different ways to soften her, with mixed success.  Fighting through racial prejudice is difficult enough.  Add in a personal loss and it comes down to her obedience to her Chief and my willingness to take abuse.  Fortunately for all of them, after twenty-five odd years of loving women, I've become a grand master of that skill.

Having mulled through that, I let it go and watched the party.  I would have observed and slipped back to my wide open cage no one the wiser but for a sharp pair of female eyes.  She came up behind me, engrossed as I was in some tableau involving two males and a female, and poked me in the back.  I don't mind saying I nearly wet myself.  She was not hostile however; merely very drunk and feeling playful, and obviously aware of who I was.  She invited me via hand gestures to come over to a gaggle of younger females and in a moment of "why not" I accepted, hoping that a good reason for being here would pop into my head if I were challenged.

From here, it gets harder to be honest.  I am not proud of what I must force myself to write.

I used drawings and gestures and my few words to communicate what I could, mostly "hello" and "I am Andrew".  They gave me their names and I remember Brunshil and Harga.  Harga was the frisky lady who took me from my hiding spot.  She was also the one who pressed the smallest container she could find -- embarrassingly, a cup carved for a giant child's playset -- into my hands, filled with whatever they were drinking.

Maybe it was the depression I'd been fighting.  Maybe it was weakness, or pain, or a need to pour something into that hole in my heart, but I drank.  I didn't even question.  I didn't say to myself "Andrew, you are an alcoholic.  You should think before you drink."  I tipped up the wooden vessel -- almost a bucket, for me -- and swilled down the contents until I could not hold any more.  

Maybe, having thought on that, I wanted to die.

The liquid was fermented cactus juice and something else that reminded me of the grey soup they keep trying to foist on me.  I wish now, of course, that I had thrown it up, although that would not have made for good relations.  Instead I put the bucket down, having taken in over a quarter of it, and proceeded to sing for them.  I have worked on stretching into my lower ranges since the discovery of how my voice sounds to giant ears and was able to brush E2.  I thought I was singing rather well for being so far outside my comfortable range.

Five minutes later, I thought I was in an opera.  The juice came on like a bolder downhill.  I was having trouble keeping my feet and felt as tall as any of the giants in the room despite it; the ladies seemed quite amused.  Harga, having shown herself unafraid to lay hands on me, helped me stay upright while I continued to sing some operatic piece.  I can only imagine how I must have sounded.  I was far too drunk to make any judgement.

Drunk; I was drunk.  Years of sobriety washed away in a child's toy.  I wish I could lie to myself but I can't.  Perhaps in all the lies I've told that is my one saving grace.  I want to say it was awful, that I felt crushing guilt, that I didn't enjoy it -- all lies.  I staggered around that room and felt fantastic, my body responding with decades of practice to the intrusion of demon alcohol.  The only regret I could formulate was the lack of a heavy burn to the booze.  Maybe it's because of the cactus juice?  Regardless, I became something of a hit before my guards caught on to my presence.  I recall Harga being quite adamant that I not be removed and I had acquired a small crowd of giants who were finding my impairment very funny.  That they should talk, everyone in that room was three sheets to the wind.  

The guards summoned Gruntaar and he stood many long minutes looking at me.  I felt a bit as if my own father were scrutinizing me on a night I snuck home late.  Come to think of it, that was most nights.  After an intolerably long time, he began to laugh, and I laughed with him.  I began some inane pantomime about boy meets girl using Harga as a prop.  She found it so funny she half fell over on me, and I ended up on the floor laughing, and then it was just a party until...I almost wrote dawn.  Until whenever.  I stayed drunk the entire time and it is truly a wonder I didn't die given my current weight and health.  

Today I woke to a crushing headache and no recollection as to how I got back to my bedroll.  I have not been hung over in a decade.  Even before I quit drinking, I was past the hangovers, which was part of my deepening worry over my addiction.  I spent the morning clinging to my Heartsong, singing to myself, drawing in all the calm I could muster for I kept breaking out in tears.  Not for no reason of course -- I thought myself stronger than this.  I have spent my life playing the buffoon and taking all measure of verbal sparring with my cheek turned.  I do not know what I am capable of unless it involves self-destruction; I have a child, and I feel I have let him down with this although he may never know about last night.

And there, I just set myself to tears again.  I am angry, miserable in this place without anyone to talk to, and the hole only got bigger last night; the alcohol filled it but upon draining it was eroded with my regret on top of missing everyone.  I sing, right now, looking for something in my voice that will soothe me, tell me it's alright, and like Tina I do not believe that it's possible.

I am spending the day in prayer.  My students have not arrived and whatever that celebration was for, it has made these caverns tomb-quiet as we all shake off the effects of the party.  I have but one question for myself and my Lady, my Goddess, today:  Can I do more with my life than kill myself?


Andrew William Takeshi Reid

Somewhere in Sedera  1472
Title: Giants, part VI.
Post by: RollinsCat on December 02, 2010, 01:01:48 PM
Day One-Hundred and Fifty-Four; Stars, and Song

Gruntaar escorted him most of the way to the surface.  A group of giants followed behind, out of sight but he could hear them talking.  The Chief gave him the honor of himself as guard.  After all this time he understood the significance.  They spoke as the giant walked and he jogged to keep up, and he was proud he'd learned enough to respond even if he sounded like an infant.

"{Not much magic, but you tried.  You did not leave.}"  He got a few words, enough to catch the gist.

"{I back.}"  He hoped Gruntaar made sense of that -- the Chief grunted and nodded.

"{I'll think on it.  You talk to Big Rock if you want to come back.  Don't try to find us.}"  Gruntaar's voice was level and firm.  He caught Big Rock's name, and the word talk, and a hint of some warning -- okay, so Big Rock would be the contact again.

"{Gurnorhn?}"  Another grunt, and a so-so gesture.  Well, he'd try to bring his big friend anyway.  At least he's have someone to talk to.  Talk at, more likely, but someone that understood him.  He started, in his deepest voice, to discuss the students.  He wasn't sure if Gruntaar spoke common but he seemed to know a lot more than he let on.  "Tchal learns very quickly and I think she's taken an interest, finally -- thank the Muse! -- in her studies.  Bamock, well...Tchal or myself will have to teach him new songs, he practices hard but he's not going to create his own spells.  They both have the songs for light and flare committed to heart and Bamock is nearly there on the healing cantrip -- Tchal knows it.  I chose to drill it into them rather than push new material, I thought it best they be very confident before we move forward.  Who knows, if you keep on Tchal she might write her own little cantrips -- she understands some of the theory."

"Mm."  Gruntaar listened.  He hoped the giant chief was faking him and understood common.  

"Don't let Bamock stop practicing the healing cantrip.  Make him use it.  Make him use it on every scratch and bump in the tribe.  He likes to slow the tempo then wonders why it doesn't work."  The Chief looked at him without a response.  "{Bamock drum...}" He tapped out the cantrip for healing on his pack "{...more.}"  Gruntaar nodded and moved in front of him, blocking the passage.  He stopped with a prickling in the back of his neck.  They were close to the surface, he could feel it in the warm and dry air and he wanted light on his skin, he wanted to see the sun.  Five months underground.  He wanted to see the sun.  NOW.  Instead, they stood there while he shifted from foot to foot, singing for himself, until the other group caught up.  Hurk was with the six lagging guards, grinning at his former "guest" and holding a large sack with his usual unusual care.  He lay the sack down and another, empty one, and gave the filled sack a minute nudge with his finger.  It looked like there was a body in it.  His throat started to close.  They valued their privacy here, had he misjudged?  Was this a fast trip to Mariner's Hold with a stop on the Soul Mother lunch wagon as a snack?  

When she crawled out, he froze.  Of all the things -- had she been there all along, in the caves? -- the dresses, were they...but no, they could not have been.  He stared and his mind danced off on a tangent.  Both dresses had been for a larger woman, likely older as the style was something a matron might favor.  This woman was slender, thin but in much better condition than he -- an athletic build, narrow hips and a small chest, she could not be the owner of the garments that now served as his tunics.  He saw that her hands and legs were tied with perhaps two feet of rope between, so she could walk and attend to herself but not run.  She looked terrified although the terror was directed more at the other giants than Hurk.  So he'd guarded her too.  He was going to miss the big guy.  

As his mind spun she saw him and her eyes went wide.  Large, liquid forest green eyes, blazing with fear from a face as tanned and dark as his own and framed in a wild tangle of black hair.  They stared at each other in silence and he felt she was struggling for mental traction as well.  He began to hum for them, grabbing the Heartsong as an anchor, and took another look.  Her clothing seemed intact although dirtied; a bright, multi-colored skirt such as Sederan women wear and a white cotton lace-up blouse.  Her hair was matted but her skin, her cocoa brown skin, was smooth and unblemished.  She was dirty and shaking and beautiful, gorgeous in a way that was rapidly approaching embarrassing, he should say something...how long had --

"Hello?  Do you talk?  Did they hurt you?"  A sweet, husky voice finished the job that his body was trying to start.  He tugged the front of the tunic, he hoped casually, farther away from him.

"I -- yeah.  Um..."  Way to go, Tashe, you suave greaseball.  He cleared his throat.  "Andrew Reid, Milady, at your service for as much help as I can offer..."  He bowed to her and she looked confused.

"You're a captive too?  How long have you been here?"  Her eyes were latched on to his.  He felt like the center of her universe at that moment.

"No, not exactly...I, um, volunteered."  She stared, and Gruntaar stepped beside them.

"{A present.  You worked hard.}"  He didn't understand, opened his hands in question.  Hurk chuckled.

"Androow, gift."  Hurk pointed to her with a knowing smile and seemed to enjoy his flush in a conspiratorial way.  

"She's not something you throw in a bag and hand over like lagniappe!"  Even as he spoke, he was nodding.  Of course he wanted her.  Stars and song, he wanted her...

"Take."  The giant gave one quick nod and he nodded back with a touch of horror that he'd seem too eager.  He'd take her straight to her family of course -- right home, no funny business.  He fixed her with an intense look.  

"Are there any more captives?  Were you with anyone when you were taken?"  He was speaking too fast.  No children, please, Ilsare...

"No -- I've never seen any others, they kept me down with the women but by myself."  She looked miserable and he understood, deeply, why.

"How did you end up here?  How long...?"

She took in a breath; the giants around them started to shift, not following the language.  "I was on a caravan to Audira.  We had camped for the night at an oasis and I went for a walk and they -- they just took me!"  Fear, anger and outrage colored her voice.  "They snatched me up, threw me in a sack, and brought me here!"  Hurk smiled at him again. Oh, my Muse...a gift?!

"Milady, I will do everything in my power to get you home.  This I promise."  He choked a little imagining what she'd felt, knowing what she'd endured, and awash in misplaced guilt over his role in her kidnapping.  He held his hands out to her.

She started toward him but a giant hand blocked her.  The bags were flumfed impatiently.  "Not again, please..."  Her whispered plea was ignored, the sack opened and held in front of her.  One of his door guards held the other sack in front of him.  

"We have to get in or they'll stuff us in!"  She spoke with a rising note of panic.

"Why?"  He set his pack inside the bag and half-hopped in, settling on the bottom in a crouch and relaxing as his weight was lifted and the sack's top closed in a huge fist.  The bag was roomy and made of a loose burlap weave.  Plenty of air.  In fact, it didn't feel so bad not to be walking...

"I don't know!"  Sharply pitched, she sounded as if she was going to start crying.  He spoke through the fabric.

"Alright."  He switched, unconsciously, to his performer's voice.  Muse, it felt good to be speaking to someone.  "They're not going to kill us.  I've spent the last, um, five months?  As their guest, helping them with something.  It was my time to leave so it seems they're going to release you with me."  A muffled murmer from somewhere behind him, and he continued, projecting to her all the rational calm he could.  "They don't seem interested in the hostilities that have been going on this way, except to be nervous about repercussions visited on them, and their Chief is a smart one.  So don't worry...ahh, what is your name, Milady?"

No responses to his smooth patter, but a second later:  "Thalia."

"A pleasure to meet you, Thalia."  It was a good thing she could not see him right now.  He felt heat and warmth, and sunlight kissed his skin through the weave in the bag.  A few tears squeezed through his tight shut lids.  "I'd shake hands, but -- well."

She let out a sudden, nervous laugh.  "Why were you there?"

"Just a matter they needed help with.  I needed something they had, and so we bartered goods for time.  A reasonable bunch, really."  He sounded so confident, so glib.  He'd just been in hell.  He'd gotten drunk in hell.  No more since the party -- and he had not "attended" any more gatherings, as he was not left unguarded again -- but once was enough.  Two months it had taken to regain the confidence to consider returning to his home. Which, as it happens, is a tavern.

"You'll help me?"  Softly with the right note of desperation.  He could feel his white armor buckling on.

"I will."  She said no more after that and neither did he.  He was lying half against a giant's back, cradled in the grain-scented burlap and fell to drowsing.  He had no idea how long they rode like that, and didn't much care.  He was going home.
_____________

They were left on a road, in full daylight, given a direction to walk and a few days ration of snake meat, nettles and water.  The shaman cast some protections on them, they were warned not to follow, and the giants left.  He watched Hurk and Gruntaar until they were out of sight.  It felt surreal to be under the sun.  He cut her bonds free with Sister's Claw, the iron knife Annwyl had given him to signify him a full Battle Sister.  He kept the rope in case.  They walked for a while, talking little.  She was in good shape, hungry but not yet too thin; he felt dizzy and was effectively blind.  It was more exercise than he'd had in months.  She ended up leading him, taking his hand so he could keep fabric wrapped over his eyes although her eyesight was not much better after what turned out to be a little more than a month in captivity.  

They kept her for him, for that long.  A month.  He was angry and oddly touched.  Gruntaar was going to let him leave, a month ago, but seemed to want him to stay.  Why he had he didn't know.  He should have left then.  She'd have only been a captive for a couple days, but he didn't know she was there and...well, he wanted to impress them, to be invited back.  To do something for Ilsare that perhaps had not been done before, bringing the gift of magic song to a tribe of giants.  Ego?  Clerical devotion?  Temporary insanity?  With a shake he let it go and forced himself to the present.  Her hand was soft and the sun was a glorious thing although he knew he was starting to burn despite the elemental protections.  With a quick wave he dismissed the ones the giant had cast and used his own more powerful song on them instead.  

She began to speak of home after the second hour of walking.  Her father was a merchant.  Her mother was dead.  She was late to be married and was under pressure to wed before she was too old.  Her father, dealing in purchase and sales, had moved to Prantz because Sedera was insufficiently protective of its businessmen. He was a fan of Lord Rael and the "peace and prosperity" he'd brought to the region, she noted quietly.  She wasn't so sure it was worth it.  She'd come to Sedera to visit family in the Camel City, had a lovely time, been introduced to a few men looking for wives, left -- and was kidnapped.  It was not terrible, she said; the giants had not mistreated her.  It was the not knowing why or for how long.  He murmured agreement and did not share what he suspected.

They walked into the evening, sharing food.  He felt a surge of gallantry and offered her more than he took.  Stupid, but he had the prejudices of his birth home stamped all over him.  It was a relief when the sun sank below the horizon and he could remove the fabric and look around.  He talked of his inn, of his son, of his music, of Minu and Ilsare.  She wanted to hear him play, begged him, but he was not feeling musical -- he was exhausted and could only focus on one foot in front of the other.

Ausir peeked out and the silver light looked good on her.  He was barely conscious and she kept drifting to the right, off the road, in a trance from the long day.  There was something ahead, to the left -- "Trees."  He began to point.  She jumped when he spoke, stopped walking and turned.  He stepped up to see how she was and she leaned into him for support, pushing them both back, he was falling and didn't have the strength or reflexes to stop...they landed in a heap on the road, her on top, blinking as she woke fully on impact.  His mouth went off well before his brain.

"I like dinner and a play first."

Thalia started laughing.  She didn't move but lay on him and giggled with a touch of sleep-deprived mania.  He grinned, but was enjoying the contact too much to do anything else.  He considered falling asleep there, with her as his blanket.  That brought a reaction he should have been well beyond and so he rolled, stood, helped her up.  "Let's see what those trees are -- we need a safe place to sleep."  She nodded and they moved off the road, he in front with a song of stunning ready.

An oasis, bless the Muse.  Not just an oasis, the oasis she'd been kidnapped from.  She recognized the tree pattern.  He only saw water, clean clear water, and with no thought at all stripped off his pants and blue silk tunic and waded in.  Oasis!  A bath!  It was small, spring-fed and only chest deep to him in the center but it felt like mother's womb.  The water was skin warm and he dunked himself again and again, working sand and sweat from...everywhere.

Something touched him and he turned to see her, also naked, washing.  He'd forgotten she was there, so blissful was the sensation of being clean.  He had no soap for his hair but at least he'd gotten the sand off his scalp.  Her hair was long and just as thick as his so he made a spinning motion with his fingers, putting his hands in her hair to work water through it.  With a sigh, she let him and together they untangled as much as they could.

Climbing out should have been embarrassing.  They were both too tired to care.  She took a look at him, up and down, then smiled.  "You need to eat more.  Please."  As kind a critique as he could expect.  He looked her over too.  She was no stranger to work; her arms and shoulders suggested heavy lifting, probably her father's merchandise.  Her legs said she'd run a lot in her past and her flat, smooth stomach didn't speak to any children.  He would have stared longer, wanted to, but a brisk night wind peeled the day's warmth from them in a layer of fine sand.  "This is the desert, Andrew.  It's going to get very cold soon."  She pointed to his pack.  "Do you have any blankets?  I had nothing when they took me but my clothes."

A head shake.  "I left my bedroll behind, it was foul.  I have -- oh, Muse, only some hoods, some gloves -- my coat."  He pulled the red velvet coat out, Bella wrapped up inside.  The violin case he set on the pack and the coat he wrapped around Thalia.

"We'll improvise.  When I was little, my brother and I got lost in the desert."  He waited for elaboration but she only picked up her skirt, shook the sand off, and laid it out flat.  It was huge, larger than it looked, volumes of fabric pleats that spread out enough for two people to lie on.  Her smile was regretful.  "It is not clean but it will keep us warmer than the sand..."

She lay down and he followed, and they pulled the red coat over them.  Her blouse and his tunic and pants were soaking wet, hanging from a makeshift line of the rope that had bound her, so they lay together and tried to keep warm as the temperature dropped.  She pointed to a constellation.

"Her eyes.  Katia watches us tonight."

"Good, maybe she'll keep the wildlife away."  He was feeling practical.  And cold.  She flipped so she could face him.

"Where are Ilsare's stars?"  

He looked up, past Demilo -- there She was, left of Utyar.  "There, Her Heart.  There -- just above my finger."  They pressed close so she could sight up his outstretched arm.  "She's got an eye on us too."  He smiled and she leaned back, inside his arms now.

"Why do you follow her?"  

He started to speak, shut his mouth.  There was no easy answer to that question.  There was no one reason.  His family?  Partly.  His love of music, and the inspiration She brought him?  A lot.  That he felt Her when he sang, and wanted to know more of Her and feel Her in his voice?  A very lot.  He wanted to understand love.  That too.  But it was late and words felt simple to such a weighty question, so he shifted her gently to the side, making sure she had the coat over her, and picked up his violin case.  Without preamble he took Bella out.

He had not held her in five months.  She slipped under his chin in a caress of rosewood and when he touched the strings she was still in tune.  Merely singing thank you in his head was not enough and he started to play with need, not for the woman to his left but for the constellation and the Goddess it represented.  Bella sounded joyful and immediately he was released.  It was...reconnection.  He played, eyes closed and humming to raise his spirits further, wanting this moment to swallow him whole.  Bella's sweet sound rolled over dunes and across the quiet spring water, up into the sky and all around them in a madly passionate love song to his Muse.  He played past his exhaustion and past the depression that had been slowly driving him mad, past everything, listening to himself and to the Heartsong of the sand sea.  

When he finally stopped, and remembered she was there, he was shaking.  He didn't look at her right away.  That was a lot of revelation, more of him than he meant to share, but it was done now.  He put Bella in her case and secured her back in his pack and settled back to look once more at the diamond-studded ceiling of the world.  A soft but chilly hand slid across his chest.  He shivered at the touch.  The hand moved, as his so often did when he was feeling close to someone -- light, silken strokes, the thrill of contact.  He didn't stop her and felt an electric buzz everywhere her hand had been.  She turned toward him and finally he looked into her oasis eyes, seeing in them a woman profoundly affected by his music.  As soon as his face was to hers she kissed him, or he kissed her -- it was so mutual as to be indistinguishable who started it.  His hands moved onto her and at some point he realized he'd lost the seam between them.  Her brown skin so close in color to his own, their bodies so tight together that he felt they were one person making love under the stars, and it was the most passionate prayer they could offer.
_____________

We parted in Orc's Watch, having taken a caravan there from Audira.  I wish I could say that we spent many nights of bliss together but the reality was that she was going home, and I was as well.  We were almost refused entrance to Audira, being so worn and filthy-looking when we arrived, but a small bribe got us in, and from there we rested and took passage south.  We kept each other company and slept in separate rooms; thank the Muse I had more than enough gold to pay for clothes, soaps, good food.

I learned much of her; how her father believes in no god, but she quietly favors a few, Katia being one; about her brother, missing for many years and presumed lost in the desert.  About her hopes and dreams, and I shared mine as well.  It was something we felt safe sharing, both of us shaken by how much we'd given to each other that night in the desert.  I told her what I had been doing with the giants.  That I had two students and was trying to teach not only magical song but something of Ilsare to them as well, although I was careful how much proselytizing I did.  I gave her my address in Mariner's Hold and asked her to visit.  I made her repeat it until she laughingly assured me she had committed it to memory.  I did not ask for hers.

We had one more kiss in Orc's Watch before she boarded a carriage to Prantz.  There was a truth in that kiss that haunts me still -- if Minu were not so deeply a part of me, I might have begged Thalia to come back and marry me.  I still do not understand love or why my heart can't stop with just one person, or if my Muse intends for it to.  I know that I felt bittersweet longing and loss then, and watched her go with unshed tears locking my jaw too tight to speak.

Was it worth it?  As the saying goes, only time will tell.  I am on a ship from Lor, having seen my Captain and assured her I will be gathering a crew for her as soon as the Inn renovations are complete.  I have adapted to speaking and playing and flirting again and my mind has turned forward to Minu and Ty and the Buckle and the things I have to to.

But I have a new song, one I only sing to myself, and it involves stars and violins and a black-haired desert gypsy, and it always makes me cry.


AWTR

On the Sea of Mists, 1473




//for Lance, hopefully to be continued
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 05, 2010, 03:19:17 PM
He woke slowly to pains from his right hand and side, pins and needles and the icy tight feeling of skin that wasn't there anymore.  After a moment, detached numbness and dry mouth added themselves to the tally.  And...scents.  Ones he knew all too well.

She wasn't beside him but she lingered on him and on the bed.  He didn't recall getting from his favorite chair to here, or much of what happened afterward; only glimpses, fading as soon as his mind turned to look.  Touching and fuzziness, urging, intensity, loss of control.  Release.  He blinked away sleep, lifted his head to look around, let it fall back with a thump.

Wrecked, that was the only word for his condition last night.  She'd been much less affected -- but then, she had not been drugged, twice; kicked unconscious; and pricked with two doses of spider poison.  Something in what Franco's ex-gang used on him with must have reacted with whatever was in that tea she'd made.

He tried to recall their conversation.  In his chair, yes...her massaging him...kissing his back -- blast the weak spots -- and her warm hands.  She asked and he lied about the torture, said it was a case of mistaken identity.  Which was mostly true; only that it was intended was left out.  Then the tea, the touching, the sensation of velvet skin...her kisses...movement and need...and nothing.  He didn't remember any conversation after they hit the bed.  A quiet song sung to Ilsare for that; he'd been operating from the stem of his brain.  He might have said anything, if he'd been talking.

He rolled and that was poor idea.  Whatever had been in that tea was only muddying his thoughts now and no longer helping the pain.  He rolled back as the cotton sheets stuck to his wound.  The spots where the spider poison had been injected into his fingers were still tingling most unpleasantly and there was necrosis of the skin around the pinpricks.  The songs he'd sung to keep himself calm came back as he examined the little blackened circles and he hummed without realizing.  He'd wanted to know what he was made of, after all -- he felt a slight calming, a minute clearing, as he sang and thought.  

He was stronger than he'd given himself credit for.  Or, to be fair and honest, Ilsare was kinder to him than he deserved.  The sound of his own voice had kept him calm, enough that his body was able to fend off poison instead of subcumbing to the panic and fear that would hasten the poison's effects.  After the stronger dose was injected, listening to himself sing had kept his head straight enough that he'd remembered the song to neutralize poison.  The Heartsong had lent him strength to bear the fear-filled uncertainty, although only a fraction of what he could have endured, he knew.  He held up his fingers, staring at them and sweating at how close he'd come to losing one.

Resolve is hard enough when the mind is sharp and strong.  His mind was congee at that moment.  But he lay on passion-stained bedsheets and made a promise to himself.  He would resume his illusionary sound studies.  He would practice, daily -- if he was ever to lose a finger, or a hand, the music would not stop.  He'd practice playing Bella with fingers tied, just in case.  The music could not be allowed to stop.  When he died, hopefully surrounded by family and friends, it was all he could take with him.

He'd have to get up and find Franco, maybe some breakfast.  He had explaining to do if his mentor had seen or heard the evening's activities.  He was not looking forward to the ribbing and Minu's face was clear in his mind, his heart constricted with guilt.  Again.  I have to tell her, again.  Forgive me, my Muse.

There was a cotton field in his mouth and he wobbled as he stood.  Rose-hip tea, that's what he'd call it.  No more.  That was a place he could not go.  No more Rose-hip tea.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 09, 2010, 01:42:15 PM
Connor;

I am tied to the Silver Buckle as the tavern is torn apart around my ears, but if you can stand the noise and the sounds of colorful dwarven curses (one of my benefactors insisted on hiring kin) I would like to meet here.

I would greatly appreciate you speaking to the specialist directly as soon as your schedule allows, the better to assist our friend the Captain with this most vexing side effect.  

I will be here along with Minu trying to keep the ale kegs full in the middle of three work teams of dwarves.  You don't need to worry about not finding me for some time.

As a side note, having taken up brewing out of sheer necessity, I find that my lingering desire for alcohol has dissipated.  It's much less romantic when you are the one sweating over the kettle, and whomever named "wort" gave it a far nicer sounding moniker than the liquid actually deserves.  

Yours in the Muse and dust and dwarven invective,


Andrew



Andrew,

I will relay what I know, should it help the dwarven Captain in question, though I suspect my knowledge of the event may fall short of your hopes. I suspect I know of the specialist of whom you speak, so I may share my observations directly as well.

In deference to the difference in our respective talents, perhaps it is you who should choose the time and place. I will await your reply.

In Magic,
Connor





Milord and Milady

I was recently - yesterday, in fact - in the company of a dwarven Captain we know while she had her right hand looked at by a specialist at Blackford Castle.  One of the questions posed was what magic was used when the injury occurred, from that claw trap on the door you were opening.  I offered to make contact with you for her as both song was used by our departed wind friend and your formidable skills as well - and she may be busy with her cure soon.  She does not understand the magic, also, and in that I offered my assistance.

If your schedule allows, would you meet with me to give me an idea of what was done before the door was unlocked properly, that the specialists can better treat the injury?  And to partake of a lesson, if you don't mind.  

If this is feasible, let me know a time and place.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 14, 2010, 11:15:33 PM
Carefully written in the journal is a song in orc and common, along with a green-shaded sketch of what is an oddly attractive female orc - as orcs go.

Ao's Orcish war chant

Nohahakk hogr u ogoh'nrakk
Ghhakrnoh uog u ogoh' gak
Nro boubho tu. Nro boubho ooh
Nrag ag rrhan ro'ho nu po

Guro tu ogoh' kur hakt nrok
Kognauk rr' nrag ag uh gok
Hagok happukg zhohagot oknhhaahg
Haho nro hoghng u uh rhagu

Ro haho rurhakk nrakkg u rhah
Rhato p' Kutg gu nro' zuht rak
Uhzg rgn rrhan ro'ho nu tu
knah uh o'og ku hukkoh goo



Translated:

Tearing flesh of everything
Slaughter foes of every sin
The people do. The people feel
This is what we're to be

Some do every now and then
Question why this is our ken
Riven ribbons cleaved entrails
Are the results of our havok

We are howling things of war
Made by Gods so they could win
Orcs must what we're to do
Until our eyes no longer see
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 23, 2010, 12:19:03 PM
He sang to her from the other side of the gate.  They'd talked as long as she dared be away - it was only her voice that had kept the guards from scurrying him on.  Tomorrow would be a difficult day and he promised her he'd be there, even though he knew he had to leave for Lor soon.  But he would be there tomorrow.  

She asked to hear her song again and he concentrated more the second time around.  Dug deep into the reservoir of her sunshine he'd banked, opened himself to the Heartsong as fully as he knew how.  He sang with bright days and happy futures wrapped around every loving word and listened to his own voice.  Incrementally his mood lifted.  She was alive, he was alive, Ty was alive.  There was a solution and they would find it.  His voice raised and the warm tenor carried over the gates and to a few extra ears beyond - he listened and imagined himself sharing with Minu a warm blanket of music as bright as her smile in the morning, the two of them, wrapped up together.  He could not see her to know if she felt it but sang on, listening and coloring the mood of his song with each note.


There are no real words for love
I try, I try to say
Compare thee to a summer's day
Or a bird in flight, a heart so pure
And marvel at my failure

Nothing spoke can touch the glow
I try, I try to say
Trust and patience changed my way
Wants and needs now sheltered by
Wise and piercing elven eyes

Not binding nor capture nor love's obligation
Nor shackles to bind my touch-hungry skin
But truth and honesty released from judgment
Wherever you go, I'll follow you in

The simplest thing can take me forever
I try, I try to say
What it is that makes me stay
Strips the fear of chains away
Making sense of love clichés

A tapping, a touch, pointing at you
I try, I am trying to say
She’s led me all the way
Seeing what now is before
The woman I was created for

I've sung this before and it rings true for me
It wasn't a minute, an hour, a year
I am captive and freed man from what you have given
I am only a whole man when you are near
 
She had to go.  Once again he promised her, at her insistence, that he would be there - she needed the reassurance and that he could give her.  He listened to her light steps until a wooden door's closing cut them off from his hearing.

He started toward a sparsely populated campfire, then veered abruptly toward a large fire surrounded by several solemn families, all waiting for news from inside.  He sat, introduced himself, asked about them.  Made up songs for the children and stayed until the last old man went to bed singing - trying to share the warmth he envisioned, and the hope of a future less bleak.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 28, 2010, 06:02:13 PM
He read it again and again.  The letter sat on his nightstand, to be picked up at random times and put back down by shaking hands.  His fingertips were stained purple.  He sometimes had trouble breathing.

Love was not fair.  Love, the kind he'd chased his whole life and not understood until now, comfortably into his forties, was a continent away surrounded by disease and not sure if she would live.  If there was a lesson here he didn't want to learn it.  Michael and Edward gave him room, and Paddy was (as usual) around but no where to be seen, but Heloise - dear Heloise, fast becoming like a baby sister to him - stayed close and watched him with her huge brown eyes.  

He wasn't his usual kind self, nor funny, nor charming, nor anything.  Just busy.  Busy enough to bury his worry.  He practiced his rapier moves and did a lesson with Ty, did some schooling with the boy, checked some brewing.  Went over plans again and again for the tavern, which had new back walls and the gamboling area done.  Anything to keep his mind off her, and how much he missed her.

But night came and he ran out of distractions.  His kids, as he though of the young employees of his tavern, were home and the tavern shut up.  He'd gone hoarse trying to sing himself calm.  There was nothing left to pull his attention elsewhere.  He was out of drugs.

He picked the letter up again.




My Dearest Love,
 
 I do not know what tomorrow will bring us but I do know that I have much to say that to often we simply do not have the time to convey to each other with the distance that seperates us. So I will say it here so that should My Lifebringer call me home, you know how it is I feel.
 
 
What I would miss if I passed away today.


I would miss dearly the scent of your hair, the sound of your breath, the warmth of your embrace. The sound of your voice as you sing perfect harmonies to lift my spirits. The way you know when something is bothering me without me saying a word, and without a word the way you just hold me and let me ramble or hush me with the tip of your finger, the way you rub my feet, my body and know that I will melt into your care and all my troubles will come spilling out for you to ease the sorrow that fills my heart.

While you were gone I missed you, I missed your touch, I missed your kiss, I missed your warmth and even the scratchiness of your chin whiskers that I to often protest so much about. I missed you, and the unyielding, unending love I know without a doubt shines on me and warms me from within. So often I do not say what it is, that is on my mind, to anyone other than you. Though I know my Lifebringer knows that it is you that brings me to life.

It is you that has stood by me in the most trying of times, you have seen me at my worst and still loved me without a second thought. It is you that has not set an expectation on me but helped me see that I need to place expectations on myself, not only expectations but placed in me desires to become more than I am.

It is through you I see vision, it is you I see the flame of passion of not only the love and lust that flares between us each time we are together, but the desire to be more to the world around us, and take each day with the same passion and grow in who we can become together.

It is my worst fear that I would become complacent in my actions, that I would let my dreams fade away, that I would simply cease to be and fail to live. I can see through your eyes though that you would not let that happen. You are an inspiration, and a true work of art that I do not thinking anyone other than the Muse herself could understand. It is your simple willingness and desire to understand those around you that makes you so complex because you are willing.

My Dear Tashe you asked me to call you by your true name, and I am honored, I am blessed, and without a doubt no trial that we face together will it be to much. Even when seperated it is our love for each other that reminds us what we have to live for. You, Tyr'riel, our love for our friends and family. Our passion to help others and bring to them the beauty of the world.

You see through my eyes, and feel my pain as if your own, you have wond yourself so deeply into my life, as if each breath I take is your own. My soul belongs to you.


My Love I fight for you, for our family, for our friends, because I realize that with all of your aid, we will find a way to help the people we are called to help. I realize that with the Lifebringer, death will not be the end for anyone. I am tired some days pass as they pass without an answer, but I have an answer already. That love is my strength. You know that is what brings me here.

Over the last year, there have been tears between us shed over lost love ones. There have been confessions of trists that though were one night stands, still our hearts know so well that they mattered, and they are part of who we are. There is not one thing you could do that would stop me from loving you. I treasure you for who you are, for each imperfection makes you perfect to me. And if I were to pass away today I would miss you most of all but I know that it is you who completes me this day.

Where I to pass away this day I know that you would understand that my life was not about possessions, but rather a spirit of unconditional love that wishes to be understood by all of those around us. That it is this spirit that needs to be shared by all. Would I pass away today, it would not be about the tears that would be shed, it would be about the lives saved that go on, and the ripples of their lives that have the potential to make a difference. It is a spirit of embracing all life that I would wish to leave as a legacy. So in my thoughts of what I would miss if I were to pass away today, it would be leaving you alone to teach others what I have instilled so deeply in you.

Should I pass away today though, it is my dream and hope that you would continue to live and love as you do today, with all your heart, with the spirit of music and your Muse' inspiration. That you never loose sight of the greatest gift you have been given. Love. Pure and sweet and intiatable. [/COLOR][/I]
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 10, 2011, 02:17:56 PM
In a not-so-steady italic script.

Symphony.

Tyra has told me a little of your experiences.  Since Hlint was poisoned, or whatever it is, I have been outside the gates trying to assist in whatever way I can.  And now, I don't know if anyone has told you but my lady has taken ill with whatever it is.

I don't know what help you can offer but I am reaching out to everyone who's done anything with the Cult.  This thing they've unleashed will leave the town a quarantined graveyard, Minu among them, and it won't be the first I believe. I would do anything to prevent that.

Is there any help you know of?  You have been places and seen things, I recall some discussions from Argali's situation, and I pray you have some idea that might help.

Please let me know if you can do anything to assist, or have information or names that would further a cure.


Andrew Reid




To Andrew Reid, greetings from Jennara Creekskipper.

I hope Tyra has not exaggerated her tale and left you with misinformation and false hopes.

Since I do not know what the Cult has done, I do not know if anything I know will help. Word of what was captured outside the gate may be more helpful than anything I can offer.

My experiences against the Cult have been primarily on two fronts. The first is an attempt to gather ingredients for a cure or antidote to the modified affliction they use, and the second is the recovery of a stolen book. The latter has no bearing on the current situation in Hlint.

The former endeavor met with general success, but remember that was only to gather ingredients. I am not aware of the results of any attempts to create a proper cure or antidote. Since I do not know what has happened to the water in Hlint, I cannot say that any cure produced would be applicable to the situation.

I will attempt to discover an answer to that question.

Knight of the Wyrm Section Commander Jennara Creekskipper
Heart of the Dragon
Protector of Echo
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 23, 2011, 12:13:56 PM
Minu

I was thrilled to get your letter.  To know you're alive has given me renewed hope - the event I mentioned did not go well.  I will tell you more when I see you.

I don't know if you've heard but Kuhl has declared war on any part of the world but the ones who will lick their boots.  They have marched on Hilm and are threatening the families of anyone who was at the recent Willie the Bard show to try and remove them from play; as we were not there, those little things dearest to us are safe, I believe.

The Toranites and will be marching and when they do, I will be marching with them.  In fact I am on my way to Hlint to talk to Ragrian about her Halberdiers joining the effort.  I will bring everyone with me, one way or the other.  Consider us en route.

More, love, when we are fence to fence.  Until then, a song for you; keep this to yourself, as our friend sung it recently and someone might get clever.


Love rain over me
What shall be shall be
To rise and fall with passion’s call, love rain over me
 
Stronger than steel, binding but loose
A shackle I’ll gladly wear
I’m captured and free man from what you have given
Fiercely in love with our crazy affair
 
Love keep my heart true
What we must do we do
To your hands hold and your self mold, love keep my heart true
 
A day and a decade rolled into one breath
One minute that never stopped growing
No walls will stop what we've made of this madness
Or the changes our passion is sowing

I fought it, I ran
No commitment for this man
But Lady Love don’t much like to hear no

I’m dense, yeah, it’s true
Finally, it’s you
My fear’s the only thing letting go
 
Love bridge the divide
Keep us side by side
Oceans away to you I pray, love bridge the divide...



Soon, Minuet.  


Tashe





My Dearest Tashe

My Love, I have finally received word back from Omer, on his efforts in Spellguard and wished to waste no time at all in getting in touch with you.

He has asked that if you are able to reach out to our friends, Keela, Shadowleaf, Tyra, Argali, Andrew Storold, Ferrit, and Ygraine, to meet at Moraken's tower, along with Sister Moonriver in an effort again scry the answers we are seeking to cure the illness.

I know you will do all you can to aid in this effort and pray that this letter finds you swiftly on the wings of our feathered friend.

All My Love,
Minuet
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 24, 2011, 03:49:23 PM
My Dearest Tashe,

Lianna has returned, and her tales though I am sure are slightly embellished, are no less than the truth that she was attacked on her way back to deliver us our message.

She did not come baring the message we hoped for but did give us a message to give us some hope. I will not go into any further details in this letter, but in your hands are the documents to deliver to her Majesty Queen Mourning. Please be careful My Love. It is not safe, there are people watching I am sure what happens here in Hlint.

All My Love,
Minu

-------------------------------------------------------


Sealed and marked for the eyes of Queen Mourning of Trelania eyes only a letter is sent with Andrew to be given only to the Queen.

My Dear Queen Mourning,

I am imploring you to provide what information you can to enlighten us of any findings, any information found from the entity Storold Doerccha delivered, as it may currently be a vital piece of information that is needed to find the cure to the illness in Hlint.

We fight for a cure, with so little information to go on. I was there with the Protector, when he came to offer his aid, but we have not heard any more from him on what he has been able to discover of the entity or that of what the Church of Lucinda may have found.

I beg of you for your aid, for your enlightenment. These lands are my home, the home of my friends. These people are your own, if we can not find a cure, Hlint may come to an end and with it what little hope there is that we can find a cure.

In the name of My Beloved Aeridin, I pray that you will provide what assistance you can.

With Deepest Respect,
Elohanna Min A'Litae
Priestess of Aeridin

Instructor, Tower Academy of Port Hempstead





Upon reading this, Andrew heads to the gates to speak to Elly.

"Minu, love.  It seems the Protector has declined for reasons he does not elaborate on.  We can't know what is or is not a piece of whatever affects the town - I will ride for Blackford immediately to see what information they might have on the "thing" Storold captured.  However, I doubt they will release a single word of any findings to someone like me unless I come with proper credentials.  Will you provide a note, and I'll take the Protector's note, and perhaps even something from one of the head Sisters inside?"



I am sorry to say that time as a researcher is at an end. Hopefully the people at Blackford castle can inform you of their findings.
I will not be present at the meeting as things stand.

*Signed*
Storold Doesscha



Dear Protector:

My priestess has sent word for us to meet at the tower near her current location as soon as we can.  The headmaster has news.

Please join me there as soon as you can.  I am on the way.

Singer
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 25, 2011, 01:37:52 PM
Andrew,

I will send an offical sealed letter to the Wolfswood Ranger Core and ask if they will meet with me to discuss if they have any available scouts, marksman and trackers to offer in the cause...

Although it has been a good number of years since I last seen him, I will travel to his treehouse in Folian's Vale and check and if he still resides there. Enzo is the retired Commander of the Wood of the Wolfwood Ranger Core and might be able to introduce us to the right leaders of the Core.

After I send a letter off to the Wolfswood Ranger Core, I will make haste for Silkwood and see if Enzo still lives there.

Do be safe my friend, and know that Elly is in our prayers and thoughts. When you travel to Hlint the next time and converse with Elly throught he gates, please let her know that Melaa really misses her "Gammie Elly" and cant wait to go blueberry picking with her again.

Leaf




My friends

I would call upon your help yet again. I have the idea to ask those of the Kitherian church for archers and scouts for that which seems inevitable.

However, they have a rather vexing lack of formal address. Would you know any place I could start - or would you be willing to pursue this? I suspect there would be some followers in Dapplegreen and the Wolfswood and I'd guess the Wolfswood Rangers would know quite a bit but I am a city boy and always will be and they can smell it on me. Or so it seems.

Come to think of it, the Wolfswood Rangers would be a good group to ask for assistance as well; we'll need a lot of scouts I'm betting.

Send me a note back if you can help or if you wish to ask some questions. I think you'd have better luck than I.

Love to Melaa and may the Muse inspire you both


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 27, 2011, 11:50:35 AM
In a neat italic script.

Paladins, Captain -

I was looking at one of the maps, and something occurred to me.  Let me preface this by saying as I do not have a large-scale military mindset, most of my suggestions will be for moving small and very targeted groups for specific strikes.  

And as such as I looked at the map, I noted that near Stormcry Hollows in Kuhl there is what looks to be a deep channel that is fed by Swarm Lake and the River Vesper, and feeds off into the Immer River that runs by Ash and ends in Mamouth Lake.

I have heard of potions that allow one to breath water, and transmutations that can do the same thing.  In addition I have suggested to the Captain that you contact the Goranite Church as they make some very nice things I'm told, and it's possible they have apparatus that might mimic that magic.

If you wanted to land a strike force deep into Kuhl, going underwater might be one way to do it.  They will have ship and boat routes watched for certain; but will they have eyes under the surface?

I am on my way to Hlint to see Minu and see how the cure is coming.  If you need me you need only send a bird that direction.  Also, you may wish to keep in touch with Shadowleaf back with the Wolfswood Rangers as he is trying to reach Captain Serim.


Andrew
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 31, 2011, 12:46:39 PM
Greetings to the Paladins

I've been in Hlint to keep Minu's spirits up and we discussed something that I wonder if you've used yet.  Namely, misinformation.

I know this is not going to sit well in your Toranite hearts, but this is war after all.  I thought on this as I discussed that concert ambush a while back.  Naturally it is a concern of mine - innocents being caught up in the affairs of the stonebound - which is why I have not been public with my music lately.  But in musing it occurred to me that you can use those tactics to your advantage.

A few well-placed and carefully constructed plausible lies that would encourage the Cult to turn their eyes in a specific direction; maybe rumors of a strike-force buildup outside Sedera or Kuhl, and even troop movements in that direction, with a second set of orders to for them to set ambush and additional reinforcements to deal a fatal blow to whatever the Cult sends out. Or, to strike behind their troops and in front, leaving them running in both directions; or just to suck them out of position.

In any case, I suggest you use this tactic to your advantage.  I am certainly willing to help if you need a trustworthy voice to get things into the bloodstream of the rumor mill.  I know a lot of people who will happily repeat things like this; you can bet it will reach the right ears sooner rather than later.

Yours in the Muse and justifiable deceptions,


The Ilsarian
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 01, 2011, 03:15:39 PM
Reid,

As per our agreement you have completed what I have asked of you. I know that you spoke to the Toranite Argos Stargazer. For this you have my thanks. I am already aware that what I have asked of you is no longer... viable. However anything that you were told is of great value to me.
 
I am also aware that my reputation is not what it should be, and as such you may be weary (and rightfully so) in aiding me. Matters though, have changed. This war is pulling in more factions than first anticipated. Unfortunately I am not at liberty to go into detail, but this Demi-Lich Mechidil is imperative to success in certain matters. I must know that which you do as fast as possible. Speed is of the essence here . If you do not trust that which I say, speak to Steel. He will tell you what you need to hear.

~Jay~
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 02, 2011, 07:48:54 AM
Minu

I'm well, or as well as can be; I've been helping with the war effort in whatever ways I can think of, having no official capacity.

I wonder that this cure the one that Symphony told me of.  Of course I will be there and in fact your letter finds me traveling from the Breath of the Muse to Hlint so expect me within a week.  

I have been praying to Ilsare for you every day, love.  I will take this as a sign She's heard me.  I will be there soon.


Tashe




My Dearest Beloved,

Tashe, I hope this letter find you safe and out of trouble, as I know you are so good at getting yourself into it. I have had a visit of late from a mutual friend, and in his visit he has brought a renewed hope to Hlint.

He speaks of possibilities, it is not an absolute and I write to tell you My Love, that he has asked for a volunteer. I am certain he asked me because he knew I would do it, without a second thought. I do it because I know it is the right thing to do. I said yes, but with conditions.

One of them is that you must be nearby, and the other is that all information regarding his request has to be disclosed to Sister Moonriver, so that she may know what to expect.

Please forgive me for agreeing to the unknown, but My Love you know as well as I, that we can not wait much longer. We have to try everything. Please come soon Tashe as I miss your presence and the sound of your voice. I miss your arms wrapped around me and the passion of your kiss, the sweet taste of your lips.

Yours Eternally,
Minu
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 21, 2011, 09:04:13 PM
Andrew knocked on the door of a stately home in Fort Vehl, breathing shallowly through his mouth to minimize the smell of rotted flesh, old blood, and chickens. The home's owner was taking his time or coming from an upstairs room; he tucked his head down to listen but the wailing of mourners nearby made it impossible.

An impression near the house caught his eye as the failing sun broke through cloud cover. A mud-cast, deep and clear, of where one of the mist creatures fell. It was death's sculpture in reverse, painted with blood faded rust red. Probably Argali's doing. He smiled but it was a lightning flash on his tired face; three of those mist monstrosities had dropped him mid-song during a battle, and the Soul Mother had heard him. He was still off-balance from that.

Even with the sobbing of the women still carrying in the air, he heard a scuff from inside and slid his hood back that his face was visible. He brushed back straight black hair that now tickled his back
- must get this cut - and put it up in a queue before smoothing down his dark eyebrows and rubbing his face. It felt like someone else's hands, he was so tired. Squeezing his eyes closed, he let his thumbs linger inside the corners of his eyes, almost on the bridge of his nose, and pressed; then blew out a breath and forced himself to his full six-and-a-half feet.

Light from inside illuminated the ornate carving of the thick wood as the door was opened and a medium-height, medium-build man with hair the color of the overcast sky, loose this evening and brushing his shoulders, looked out. Andrew gave a short, fifteen-degree bow, body straight and arms at his side, and waited.

The man within returned Andrew's bow - the inclination of which as perfect as if the man had studied the rules of etiquette known to so few outside the courts of Tilmar nobility.  Whether the precise angle of the bow was accidental or purposeful, who could say?  A small smile, bordering on a smirk, tugged at the corner of the man's thin-lipped mouth.


"Welcome Master Reid - please, come in out of the ..."  He made a vague hand gesture to the vista of grief and horror outside the manor.  "... Please come in."

With a soft click, the door closed behind Andrew and his host.  The contrast between inside and out could not have been more stark.  A scent of jasmine.  The ripple of a harp somewhere nearby.  The oak paneling on the walls did its job and the world outside the door, though only a few feet away, might as well have been on the other side of the world.

"Please, take a seat ..."  Another flash of a smile. "... that's a figure of speech by the way, I'd appreciate if I could, at the end of the interview, keep my seat. It's one of my favourites.  A drink for you?  Brandy?  Wine?  Ale?  Something lighter?  Juice?"

Taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs within the front parlour room, Arkolio raised a hand and clicked his fingers - some might say arrogantly - and within moments a man bearing the dress of a butler appeared, as silent as a rogue, bearing a tray of drinks. Arkolio took a snifter of brandy.

"Thought I'd better fortify myself for the grilling that awaits."

Another flash of a smile.

"Lay on!"

Andrew smiled at the bow returned, walked in.  Took in the tone of the room without filling the air with chatter as he usually did. He was tired and his nostrils stank of the blood of those they could not save, albeit jasmine scented blood now. Sitting down was momentary bliss.

He couldn't be this tired, not here, and forced himself alert.  The suave, educated, and very dangerous man relaxing across from him was not someone he could jabber with and expect to find out anything.  And he was indebted to this man, much more deeply than if he were just paying back borrowed coin.  Nothing that generous was ever without price.  His was to justify that which he feared might tarnish the silver heart and clef around his neck.

But some things you just want, and to hell with the fee.


"Juice, is fine, thank you." He wasn't one to observe; his eyesight was bad. But he listened, closely, to the tone that Arkolio used with him, and with his servants, and to the snap of the man's fingers. His impression, gathered from the few times they'd met, is that the Lord liked being the center of attention, was used to it, but did not rely on it.  He understood that. Appreciated it, even.

"I am grateful for your time, Lord Salvorre. I have made an appointment to view the Inn as soon as the owners are able to show me the whole of it." The brandy and juice arrived, freshly pressed grape for him. He believed it was not coincidence that his favorite beverage for riding on metaphorical wagons was known to the Lord of Fort Vehl. He tipped the glass toward his benefactor in thanks, and sipped.

The harpist softens the tune from some unseen place. It gave him an idea.
"At the risk of a jarring lack of segue, do you play?"

"Do I play?"

"Master Reid, there is playing and then there is playing. I am afraid I will only ever fall into that first category of playing. My fingers can find the notes, my ear can hear the notes ... but - " He made a vague hand gesture - "... I am afraid I will never be considered a player.  A long pause. "Let's say I play often enough that I know the difference between a real musician and one who can only aspire to..." A smile. "Play the notes."

He crossed his legs at the ankles, taking a sip of his brandy.

"May I be frank, Master Reid? I hope I can be frank - I am ever an advocate of direct speech."  He barely waited for an acknowledgment.

"You are here to determine if you've, as they say, sold your soul to the Pits in return for realizing your dream of building a haven for musicians and musicianship?  Is musicianship even a word?"

He smiled again.


"Regardless, I guess my question is, how can I prove to you that you haven't? What would you have me say?  Is this conversation just an exercise in soothing your conscience?  If that is what we're doing, let me know what you want to hear and I can ..." A flash of a smile again.  "... Play the notes."

The younger man leaned back in the chair.  "I suppose my conscious could use some salve, yes.  You are alternately a creature from the bottom of the Pits, or an angel straight from the bosom of heaven, depending on whom I speak to, and I begin to think you are in fact both.  A man of calculated whims, as it were.  So..."  He sipped again, looking annoyed at himself. "So I might have answered my own worries just now.  Will I buy the inn?  Yes, likely.  Will I owe you for it?  Definitely.  I guess the only question is which of your whims I'll be defending, when public relations are called for."
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 26, 2011, 02:40:19 PM
A small travel journal is set near the larger songbook.  Inside are several dates and locations, and words spelled phonetically in a language not common; the notation "verb, object, subject"; and page after page of short phrases also spelled phonetically in common.  The language, when spoken, is gutteral and harsh but has an elemental beauty to it.  The same neat italic script that marks the author's handwriting during calm moments is at odds with the starkness of the words on the page.

From the phrases in the book; "[Talk well you], [dance well you], [eat want I], the author might be able to speak the language as a toddler of the native tongue.


Another date is added and additional words - the first is [purple].
Title: Songs for the Storm
Post by: RollinsCat on February 26, 2011, 04:14:50 PM
Milady Angela, Milady Alantha

I write with a request that I do not make lightly. I would like to secure your help in negotiations with the leader of the Stormcallers, the Riptide, and any subsequent actions thereafter.

As you know Cult ships approach Sedera, and four sickened dragons are laying waste to parts of the kingdom. We cannot fight ships of Cult armies as well as the dragons and the ships are still at sea. I believe the Stormcallers could sink them, or a lot of them - enough to turn the battle to our favor and let us concentrate on those dragons.

I have spoken to Hardragh about this as he is the only Mist follower I can locate. Point of fact, the Riptide was his suggestion - I was originally going to try and recruit clerics. He is willing to arrange the audience and throw in something the Riptide may be interested in as part of the cost.

I know this is a huge request, especially as I do not have the funds to prepare a proper payment for services rendered and that will definitely be demanded, and so I turn to you. I believe this is a way to strike a win in this war and keep the Cult from securing more of Dregar. I will make good on every True I end up owing you for this. Please help and let's sink that fleet to the bottom of the Sea of Fury.

Yours in a Free Lor and the Muse's Love


Andrew Reid



A letter is delivered, addressed to Andrew Reid.

Greetings beloved of the Muse,

We are intrigued by your ideas and wish to hear from you in more detail, perhaps over a cup of tea (Ally will bake soemthing)? The letter suggests you have a plan long in the making and we would like to hear your thoughts on it. Perhaps you would consider elaborating on the riptide and the stormcallers as well, and the cost you mentioned.

The letter is sealed with wax and stamped with a crest of a tiger battling its own shadow. The tiger itself is not covered in the usual kind of stripes, but with clearly visible lightning bolts.



He knocks on their door wearing his best clothes, hood off, blue-black hair longer than normal and tied back neatly. Any refreshments offered are accepted graciously and enjoyed, and he offers up small talk and a song or two while they settle.

Soon enough he begins to outline his idea.
"There is some background to this. I have been wondering what we could do to sink some of those Cult ships, and I have in the past loved a lady dear to Mist, and one stormy morning when thinking of her and the approaching ships it came together. I know Mist's clerics can call down storms and thought to contact them through Hardragh, but he suggested the Riptide instead.

The Riptide is the leader of the Storm Bringers, the naval might of Mist. Most of them are privateers but they come together and are a terror on the seas if my research holds true. Better, they act as mercenaries, and so might be enticed to attack that fleet for us with proper financial inspiration. Muse what I would not give for some good old-fashioned avarice, with the kinds of things our "allies" demand of us sometimes." He blows out a breath.

"The Riptide himself, one Murray who is the Tide of the...stars and song, which was it...north? Northeast? North-something...anyway, he's a bit of a cipher and I have not been able to discover his feelings about the war. What I have learned is the church is divided - but since Mist's followers have no obligations to each other or to the Church as a structure it seems, if he is not charitably inclined toward the Cult, he's free to join the fray. But we'll pay for it, and as my funds are currently nil from spending all my time working on this war and none of it earning any True, I must come to those who plan better than I do for their financial futures."

"What I plan to do is ask Hardragh set up a meeting. Hardy is willing to throw in a shield with some historical significance to sweeten the pot while negotiating for the help of the Storm Bringers and to act as a liaison to the meeting since he's known in the church. I'll do my level best to convince Murray to bring his ships together and any of the Trade Winds who will ride with them. Assuming we come to a price and he agrees, I'll ride with them of course; can't do to put their lives on the line and not my own. I will leave the planning to him, I'm no naval commander...yet..." He smiles at them. "...and we'll do what we can do." I'd like to time this to Steel's actions, as I understand he's going to be hunting dragons soon. If he's keeping them busy we'll have a much better chance of success."

"I know this is a lot of if's and maybe's, but at this point nothing can be lost by asking. What I need from you is agreement to support the cost of the Riptide's services; and your swords and spells, if he agrees and you wish to ride along." He sits back and waits for them to think through his idea while he nibbles on refreshments, trying to do so without giving away how hungry he really is.

Angela and Alantha both listen to what Andrew has to say, then looking at each other briefly.  They speak back and forth, almost as one at times.


"We see one problem with this and that is the time you suggest this to be done."

"Unfortunately we have already pledged to help in the "dragon hunting" as you call it."

"Would you consider timing it differently, we can't be in two places at once."

"Well we could split up but we don't do that."

They speak in unison.  "Where she goes I go."

While they let Andrew consider this, Alantha goes to fetch her freshly baked and much too sweet biscuits along with some ginseng tea.  "Don't mind the biscuits, they'll be... chewable, once you add tea."  She nods knowingly while pouring a cup of tea to Andrew and Angela, then finally one for herself.

"We understand getting a solid number might be difficult, however you should be aware our credit is not unlimited and we are funding another project already."

"This does not mean we are broke but coughing up cold hard trues might be difficult if the sum becomes large."

"Perhaps we could throw in something nice and shiny?"

"Something magical yes?"

Alantha takes a sip of tea and dips a biscuit in the tea holding it there for a good minute or two before eating it.

He nods gracious thanks, dipping a biscuit into the tea repeatedly to soften it and sweeten the tea. "Timing is a issue, and as I am associated with Steel's Suicide Squad, I envy your mission. It's not required for you to be with the ships; it was only a nice idea, as I've seen what you two can do." He flashes them a white-toothed grin.

"I have no idea what the Riptide will request for his services, assuming he agrees at all, but certainly magical items would be good bargaining tools. Any...special requests he might make will fall on my shoulders alone, unless Hardragh wants to leap to my rescue on that and I won't be holding my breath that he will. But if you are willing to provide backing in some way, it's enough to get the process started. I pray we can move fast enough.

I'll be contacting Mist's friend Pallena as well; as I recall she has a way with animals and I'm going to request, bribe, dance naked, whatever she wants for intelligence on that fleet so we're not caught flat-footed by what's incoming if this whole thing gets underway."

He pauses to sip tea and gnaw on the soggy yet oddly hard biscuit, smiling at some thought, before speaking again.

"I know this came out of the blue and sounds hare-brained, although passionately so. I still believe with Ilsare's blessing and a bit of Deliar's as well, the Storm Bringers can help tip the scales. Time is critical and we may be fighting them right offshore Audira, but with the dragons being harassed at the same time - "...A weary but still engaged smile to the ladies and he uncrosses his legs and leans forward, focusing on them as if they were the only two people in the world. "Can I count on your help?"

Angela smiles sweetly and takes another sip of tea while Alantha is still gnawing on that biscuit pausing to speak now and then.

"You may count on our support."

"Yes what she said."

"We are just making sure you do not have any illusions about what we can and cannot provide."

"Yes that would be unfortunate."

"Perhaps we could meet again in hempstead, and see what we can provide for starters?"

"Just don't be too eager to show your hand."

"Will this arrangement work?"

"It will, Milady. Ilsare will make it so and I'll do my damndest as well. Thank you both...I will portal to Center and meet you in Port Hempstead as soon as you wish, and send word to Hardragh to arrange that meeting." He reaches to take both their hands, planting a grateful and courtly kiss on each if they allow it.

Later, a message is sent to Hardragh, informing him that the ladies are on board and would he please arrange the meeting. A second note is sent to the temple of Mist off Leringard's coast, requesting a meeting with Pallena.

..................

Discussions with Pallena were informative and positive - she left to query dolphins and he to the Dragons.  She had stressed one thing that left him nervous, excited, and troubled enough to sing himself over and over, using all of his training to keep himself on even keel.  But she was right.  And thinking about it...he still wanted her, help with the Riptide or not.  He wrote the letter that night.


Night Sky

I pray this message finds you, and finds you well and happy.

I will be asking the Riptide for assistance against a Cult fleet soon.

If you would be willing to stand with me, I need your help. I'm over my head with this - and yet I will try, still.

I am around Leringard some days, Hlint some days, and Mariner's Hold more and more, if you wish to speak to me about this. It will be soon.

I miss you.


Arioso

.........................

Pallena will come find Andrew, as soon as she is able. She looks tired; it's obvious she has been exerting herself for this.

"From what I hear, Murray is one of those who is pretty indifferent towards the cult. As I told you, the church as a whole is as neutral as we ever get, so that's not really surprising. You had better have some pretty" expletiveing "...good payment, or it'll be a lost cause. And you better act quick, if you want to get there in time."

She pauses, looking at him.  "I think the opposition is going to be tough. You're looking at about 24 ships, I think. At least one dragon.... and the biggest vial of poison I've ever heard of."  Her face clouds in uncharacteristic worry as she mentions the poison.

Again, pausing, looking at him with piercing eyes.  "I'll come meet the Riptide. BUT... I am going to be honest. Like I said, though I oppose the cult, I'm not sure if involvement is the best thing for the Mistral, and if asked, I will give my opinion. Having said that, you still want me there?"

"I want you there."  A pause.

"We need to remove that vial of poison.  I can guess who it's for.  That's a whole separate issue, and it could be broken open in the battle - Muse, what that would do to the seas..."  He gives her a sidelong look.  "If we have a battle going on, it might be enough distraction to let a group of stealthy druids get it and get out.  Was there any description or indication which ship carries it?"

"That should be easy enough - it will be the ship they have drachs or things swimming around. Problem is, what in the Pits are we supposed to do about it?

Say we get close enough to try and remove it from the chains... how are we supposed to stop them from just smashing the thing and releasing it into the sea? Better they use it any other way, really.

What if overcome the guard somehow, not giving them time... what could we do with the thing? Its only slightly less dangerous in anyone else's hands."

She shakes her head, angry and frustrated.  "That and half of the druids still see the cult as just another human regime, no different than any other."

She mutters imprecations.


Softly.  "There is a possible cure; I'd like to get it to the persons working on that.  I think we're going to have to try and take the whole ship.  

This is bigger than I thought and frankly it scares me.  I might have to convince Steel's group to consider this the more urgent mission.  That means the Riptide, assuming he can be bargained with, would be a distraction...which might sit better with him or might not.  But as you said, we have to move and fast.  If there is any way to verify the identity of the poison ship, that would be ideal.  I'm going to get more help."


Hardragh

Need to meet soon as possible. Set up meeting with RT ASAP.

Thanks to another of Mist's own I know what we're facing.


AWR



He goes to Raz's home.  He isn't sure he wants to - but he does.  He's going to need more help than he has, even if the Riptide agrees.  Even if he can pay the cost.

Raz is there, Mara being in town but out with Zari, when he knocks.  The slight elf is relaxed in his home and gracious as a host.  He does not draw out conversation but lays his request on the table.  

He leaves out the part about Mist and the Riptide.  He tells Raz what he thinks is coming - and about the poison.  That catches the elf's ears and they discuss ways to get it while strolling around Raz's palatial home.  He is impressed; art, sculptures, instruments.  The home is comfortable.  There is love in the expression of art, and love between sisters and by a brother captured in that art.  He likes it.

A brief respite from his thoughts, though.  They speak frankly but without rancor.  Raz will possibly back him financially and is interested in getting the poison out of the Cult's hands, and taking out the dragon.  And it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would to ask.

He sang a prayer later that night.  Maybe he could hope - a little.




Andrew,

The Riptide has agreed to grant you an audience. I dare say his mood is good, so this is as well a time as ever.

Will be awaiting you at the temple in Leringard.

Hardragh

......................

Andrew finds Steel at the Arms. He seems in a hurry, natty in his very best blue clothing. He waits until Steel is ready to speak and adjusts his tone for the man's ears only.

"I know what is coming to Sedera's shore. Twenty and change ships, one dragon, and one bloody huge vial of poison. Pretty sure I know who that is intended for.

I'm on my way to meet with Mist's Riptide, along with Hardragh and Pallena, and try to bargain for the services of the Storm Bringers to challenge the fleet. I need net throwers; Tyra is moseying along with her project and I can't hurry her nor can I be there right now to do it myself. Can you get me a few, within a week?

As for the ship with the poison vial, I'd like to take that intact while the fleet is busy, assuming the Riptide comes on board with this and I have the scratch to pay the bill - I have backers, so Ilsare willing that won't be a problem. Any magic that can be used to contain the poison would be helpful - I really, really, really do not want to poison the seas and my own magic doesn't run that way. And I need to consider more than the three of us for a team to take that ship or steal the poison away. I know I'll die in a quick hurry to the myrdrachs guarding it.

Again assuming this doesn't go to the pits I plan to turn the vial over to those working on the cure - Xora, likely."

After the rush of words, he leans back and waits for Steel to comment, humming deep in his throat and running his silver heart and clef back and forth on its chain repeatedly.

"Net throwers? You'll need launchers of some sort. But I have another option, what I've been researching to take down the dragons: a modified web spell. Honestly, for regular drachs, the normal web spell may be sufficient enough to hamper their flying, but if we may also be able to sling more powerful webs at the flyers if I have enough time and magical aid.

As for the ship carrying the poison, we'll have to board ship after ship until we find it, unless it is somehow distinguished from the others. I'm not sure we'll have the time to do that. It will be much easier to capture that on land. Of course, it may be too late by then.

What is your goal here? To take out as many Cult ships as possible? To delay the Cult ships?

Let me offer a suggestion, and consider this when you speak with the Misties. With the drachs and dragons on their side, sending in ships to attack the Cult fleet is a losing battle. Rather, consider a way to set the Cult ships off course, to delay them, and to sink them without ever engaging them directly. Send them into the storm of the century, the maelstrom of maelstroms. You'll have to convince the Misties to pray for the storm, and they'll have to convince Mist herself to create it, but that's our best bet right now, I think. With just a little more time, the dragons terrorizing Audiria will be neutralized, and the troops from Rael and Succession will converge on the city. If we don't give the Raelian or Succession troops long enough, this battle will be much harder.

Call upon the Storm, Andrew. Call upon the Storm."

..........................

Andrew meets Hardragh and Pallena at the Arms, dressed in shades of blue and humming quietly to himself. He's put up some rudimentary wards around the couch he's sitting at. He doesn't waste time with small talk and pitches his voice low.

"Steel is going to assist. After discussion and thought, I am back to my original idea - the best chance of turning the tide of this battle is to bring up a storm, a big one. The Riptide might not be able to get enough ships in place in the time we have to effect battle and it would be suicide to attack the fleet without net flingers for the lizards. If you have another idea, let me know, otherwise a storm is the tack I'll lean.

I see three major challenges; get the Riptide to commit Storm Bringers and possibly Sea Furies to the fight; identify the ship with the poison on it - Steel seems to think we can disrupt the poison, spoil it somehow before it's used, although I have no ideas on what would do that; then pray that Mist gives us one bloody huge storm. We should get word to Audira that it might want to evacuate sooner rather than later.

As for the poison, Ori or not I believe we're into scrying territory and should try to leverage it to peg that ship. We'll need to board it somehow, at the beginning of the storm or action - or in the absence of that, we're still going to need to get to it.

And that poison has to be spoiled, destroyed, or removed before an accident releases it into the sea."

He looks to Pallena. "I have not heard from the Flail. We go on, and if she gets the message and can catch up, I'll be glad. Otherwise, onward. I trust that you both know your Goddess far better than I and what is best for she and her followers. If it comes down to this is not the answer, at least we still have some time to alert the War Council, and we can still take action on that single ship. So tell me what you think, and let us come to agreement and go meet the man."

"Lady Doom is a goddess of chaos and change - I have ideas about what is best for the church, but I don't presume to know what is best for Her."  Pallena grins.

"Now, you have to understand... Mist tests her followers.  If a storm is raised, its quite possible she'll throw it at everyone - if we can't deal with the storm better than the drachs, we probably didn't deserve to win anyway, you see.  Maybe she'll test us by withholding her blessings entirely - all part of the fun of following Mist."  She smirks, and after a moment sobers.

"My real concern is that vial - assuming its the poison, of course.  I don't know if there will be any way to identify the ship from the sea or sky."  Pauses.  "I'm not sure how many others who can swim I might be able to find, but I can put the call out.  If we have means to neutralize the poison, that's got be my prioity." Her voice turns hard.  "If we kill every last Drach but that poison gets into the water we will have lost."

She pauses to let that sink in.  "Find out everything you can about the means to neutralize the poison - I won't have that thing corrupting the ocean from some botched attempt to deal with it on my concience."

"I am in complete agreement.  We can't let that vial destroy the ocean.  Steel is sufficiently convinced of it's importance that he's offered his help and I can call on Razerium as well, and perhaps others.  We will have competent help.

I'll see if I can find out how to 'spoil' the poison.  If you can have some swimmers holding off and waiting, should the ship sink and the vial remain intact - and I believe if they intended it for Longstorm, it should be well sealed as they can't predict the weather; we can obtain it that way as a last resort.

And if Mist wishes to test a follower of her friend Ilsare, I'm up for it.  The Muse knows Mist's tested me through love before..."  A slight smile, fading quickly.

Hardragh shows an amused smirk. "Sometimes you just have to roll with it.  We can stand here and guess at what the Riptide will ask, or what he can provide, but it won't change anything.  I reckon you should just get in there and improvise. Do what is necessary to get him on your side.  Tis not like more can be expected from you.  On the poison, key is to identify the ship that carries it. If we can achieve that, we're a lot further than we are right now.  And Mist'll do as she pleases. The best we can do ourselves is proof our worth in her eyes, as we always do."

"Now, I think someone is waiting to see you Andrew.  If we get that audience over and done with, I reckon you'll have a better view on what is still needed."

Pallena turns to Andrew. "Right. Who is going to be there?  Do you know many people the Riptide will have with him?  Are there others besides Hardy and me that will be coming?  If the Flail can't make it, I know another priestess or two that might be sympathetic with our position - should I contact one or more of them?"

"The Riptide said myself and two others, or that is the way I interpreted it. I think we should reach out to every Mist follower that is willing to stand with us, because we may end up having to pray for this storm on our own and my voice doesn't carry the weight yours does.

But we won't know anything until after we speak to Murray. And for the meeting, as the man says -" Nods to Hardragh "- let's keep it to just us."

Hardragh shows a slight smile, then nods.  "I agree, once everything is set into motion, we might need every help we can get. But Andrew has done more than enough in preparation for this meeting I would say, let's see what happens."

Andrew laughs and runs a thumb over his upper lip before standing.  "Hells with it.  Let's get moving.  And may Mist and the Muse be standing together, smiling down upon us."  He sings a prayer as they walk - and shifts it to sea shanties dedicated to Mist as they wait for Murray.
Title: Riptide
Post by: RollinsCat on March 02, 2011, 10:26:28 AM
Pallena shows up, clad in her normal sky-blue, practically-cut (if rather showy) leathers, and a symbol of Mist burned into the wood on the amulet around her neck.  A green scaled shield is slung across her back.

Andrew, Hardragh, and Pallena knock on a back room door three times in rapid succession before the door opens and a bald headed man with a powerful build and tattoos covering half of his head looks out and nods, motioning them all in.

Inside they find Murray seated at the far end of a table with a man known as Dougal on one side of him and an unknown Mistite to his other side.  Murray appears quite relaxed and motions them all to sit. Behind him are two Mistite priests.

The man who motioned them in slams the door shut behind them and resumes his guard post.  His body is hugely muscular and close observation reveals him to have orcish heritage within him.

Murray's face curls into a smile.


"Ahh Hardragh, still carrying that old blade around?  You know, If you ever want to sell it, I'd be very interested."

Beside him Dougal shifts almost in annoyance and his eyes flash angrily at Hardragh.  Murray seems to enjoy the mans discomfort.

"Now, I understand there is little time and there is a matter of great urgency. Not that it really matters to me, but I have agreed to meet with you and listen to what you have so say and so here we are."

He motions to Andrew to speak with an almost theatrical hand waving gesture.

Andrew studies Murray while the man speaks.  Shakes of Arkolio, a man used to power who enjoys deeply; but again, not one who needs it to be deadly.  A Tide of Mist, after all.

He stands between Pallena and Hardragh, forming a line rather than standing in front of them.  With the flourish of Murray's hand he gives a formal Huangjin bow and assumes a relaxed but square-shouldered stance, one hand gripping the other wrist casually across his torso.  A flutter of last-minute thoughts like wings of a frantic bird; he hums them away.

Sink or swim, Tashe.  Don't choke.


Pallena gives Dougal and the other figure a curt nod, and graces Murray with a nod a touch slower, a bare note of respect. She holds herself with confidence, obviously not intimidated by the presence of a luminary of the Mistral.  She smirks at Murray's banter with Hardragh, but does not speak yet.

Hardragh shows a courteous bow to Murray at his words and offers a slight smile, though whether the smile is aimed at Murray or Dougal is unclear as he locks his sight on Dougal for a moment. "Thank you again for allowing us this audience, Riptide."

At that, he shifts on his feet, turning to slightly face Andrew as the Ilsarian addresses the Riptide.

"Thank you for seeing us.  I am Andrew Reid, this is Pallena -"  He nods right "- and Hardragh you know."  His head tips left with a brief smile.  

"I have come to ask for, bargain for, your assistance with a fleet headed toward Audira.  I'd like to see that fleet sunk in a tempest enough to reshape the coast of Sedera.  I'd like the help of you and those Storm Bringers who can answer in time to ask Mist for that storm."

Murry smiles yet again at Andrews demeanor, taking time to remove a stone from a leather pouch next to his glass on the table. The stone is dark in colour with swirls of red and blue. He holds it almost reverntly in his hand and rubs a thumb gently over its surface.  "What do you have to offer for such a....spectacular display of Her power?"

Pallena turns to Andrew, obviously curious herself.

A glance then a longer look at the stone - some memory drifts over Andrew's face and his eyes lose focus before he snaps back.

"Well, that's the rub.  I tried to do some research into you, you see, to find out what the Riptide of Mist might find enticing."  A flash of a smile.  "You don't give up much for the outside world to know.  Now, Hardragh has something that might tickle your fancy...and I have access to magical items and True, if that's your bent, and we only need to decide how much of what.

However, if there is something more specific that you want..."  His voice trails a moment and he eyes the stone. "Then let's discuss it.  I'm certainly open to possibilities.

Less tangible but no less a reward is the circumstances that bring me here.  The fleet that I speak of is Green Dragon Cult, as I'm sure you know.  Should Mist favor a storm, and the fleet destroyed or atrophied, the War Council in Blackford will be forced to acknowledge Mist's contributions.  One cannot hold tight to the ideals of Toran or Vorax and not give credit where credit is due without looking to the rest of the world like hypocritical idiots.  If that becomes the case, the world will hear about it - I'll make sure of that.

If this fails for any reason, my fault or not, I assume the blame.  If it succeeds - Mist, and you and her followers, assume all the credit.  And we both know that which put enemies of your goddess in a position to thank you carries a lot of personal satisfaction, in addition to giving Lady Doom something to smile about."

A heartbeat, and a smile. "Not to mention sticking it to some of those who didn't take the opportunity to make a change."

He remains relaxed and still, humming softly to hear himself in the Resonance, as Murray responds.

Pallena mutters to Andrew.  "I did warn you I was going to be honest . . .She raises her voice to a more normal level; its unclear if she is talking to Andrew, or Murray, or just the room at large. Her tone is firm.  "Those who follow Toran or Vorax are hypocritical idiots.  We would be fools to expect them to behave in any other way.  Personally, I wouldn't turn down an opportunity to make them look bad, but fail to see how ingratiating ourselves to them is any reason to act."

Her tone here changes, it is almost as though she discussing something purely hypothetical - a rather detached, academic air. "Now, the thankfulness of the people may be a different matter; people who are in chains of one sort or another have difficulty dancing in the storm, and a little push, or inspiration by example can often help a group of people find the will to struggle, to rebel - and that, in my estimation, is a more worthy goal."  With that, she inclines her head to Murray.

Hardragh tilts his head and follows Pallena's comments with a audible whisper to Andrew.  "I already gave him the shield... an insult and an empty promise might not be the best start."

Andrew listens with head tipped toward Pallena as she speaks, and his smile is brief but genuine.  To Hardragh's whisper his face flickers confusion, then settles back.  "Apologies - I stand corrected on the shield."

During the short exchanges between those present Murray continues to rub a thumb across the stone he holds in his right hand.  His face is contemplative as he listens.  After a few moments of silence he speaks.  "Here's the kicker, the Silver Cresent have been good to us over the years, not that loose alliances mean much to us."  He chuckles. "But, business is business and bad business is....painful. You're asking us to ignore lucrative sources of income, not to mention you want us to go against a large number of those who follow Mist in order to sink this fleet. You don't seem to realize that while the Cult soldiers are in it, many of the sailors manning the Silver Crescent Ships are our brethren.

Aside from that I've spoken already to Hardragh about possibilities for protection for our people who decide to do this which is enticing but...I am finding myself balancing on a precipice.  I look at each side and I really am not sure which way to jump.  Whose going to be the victor here?  We don't really know and I kinda would like to be on the side of the winner, if you know what I mean.  Besides that I have to weigh up allegiances, however loose they are, do I throw my lot in with untried and untested allies such as yourself or do I work with those who know and love the Lady in all her fickleness as I do?  The way I see it, our aid on either side will change the course of the battle significantly and so you see my dilemma.  Which way do I go?"  He regards Andrew as if completely unsure which way he should choose but it seems he is highly amused by the prospect and enjoying the situation immensly.

Pallena does not seem to share Murray's amusement, but she does nod in understanding and agreement at his words.  She unconciously fingers her cloak clasp - a small medal - as she listens.  Then, perhaps sensing hesitation in her companions, or perhaps just to throw in her perspective, Pallena speaks up again.

"Either you have truly good information, or truly poor... can you say with confidence that the brethren that sailed with those ships are still with us... that they have not been turned into drachs, literally had their hearts poisoned against our Goddess?

Even if they are still human, what Mistite worthy of the name could serve the Cult?"  She snorts.  "The way they run their lands is as bad as Rael, as bad as the Rofis...surely you know this.  They are the spirit of subjugation and control - we are the spirit of freedom and rebellion."

She pauses, and fixes Murray with a firm look.  "I, personally, will fight the cult because as a Druid I believe they must be stopped.  There are druids who disagree.  I oppose them because as a Mistite, I believe they should be fought.  There are Mistites who disagree.  I will do what I have to.

As far as the church as a whole... perhaps it is in the Mistral's best interest to join this fight in Sedera.  Perhaps it is not.  I do not pretend to know.  Rest assured, however, that the day will come when we will contend with Cult.  They will not let those who advocate for the Storm's fury and freedom to have voice forever."

After a longish pause in which the bard is clearly weighing the Riptide's words and listening to Pallena's, he speaks.  "I cannot tell you who will win or make assurances to that end anymore than I can assume Mist will answer the call for a storm.  It's a gamble, as is everything.

We may be untried and untested...but the two I stand between love Mist as passionately as anyone in that loose alliance you speak of.  I have spent years close to Lady Doom's own and discovered much; to enjoy the unpredictable.  To be in awe of the storm, even if you fight it.  I remember facing a tsunami that was surging toward Port Hempstead, mesmerized by that tower of water and yet singing my brains out to stop it.  And while I do not follow Mist, I follow her ally the Muse.  

The Cult sends out their sickened dragons and poison and rampant murder in waves..."  He pauses, swallowing back his goodie-goodie rhetoric.  "Silver Crescent slavers might staff those ships - and contribute to your coffers - but as the lady says, in the end, you'll have to deal with them and the Cult.  I know from very personal experience..."  A wintery smile. "...that freedom of expression is not high on their list, and they have no problems slaughtering everything to make a point.  Not in the way a storm lets the strongest and cleverest have a chance to survive - but pure attrition by whatever means.

My plan is to ask for Mist's fury to whip up the seas, and to intercept a certain ship in the beginning confusion of the storm, may she bless us with it.  To deal with the vial of poison they are bringing to Sedera on that ship and adulterate it or steal the vessel if I can - can't make that call until we're there.  And to witness the gorgeous power of the storm while it sidetracks, batters, and sinks those ships.  I welcome whatever challenges Mist throws at us.""  Brief but genuine smile.  "You included.  Finally, and simply: we need your help."

With that he looks to Hardragh.

Deliberating on your words for a short time the Riptide suddenly leans forward, his eyes gleaming and he raises the stone in front of his face so that you may see it.

"Are you willing to leave everything up to the lady herself then?  A single cast of the stone, fate done as it may be, in her name?  Are you willing to stake everything on that one cast?  That, is my offer.  A cast of the stone to determine the will of the Lady."  His eyes take on an almost feral gleam at the prospect of staking everything on a single cast.

Pallena grins, her eyes lighting with a feral gleam to match Murray's, focused on the stone.  Andrew leans forward, his own almond-shaped eyes almost black in the room's light and flickering with the same inner fire.  His smile is sudden; it's the same smile he's had when running gamboling events in his inn, or taking bets at the arena, or working stakes at demon card events.

"Cast the stone."

In the seconds before the gamble, he begins to sing.  The music is quiet, written for someone who has loved, fought, and dedicated herself to Mist - someone that he still loves with a passion that is frightening in it's lack of boundaries.  These are the first words that come to his mind and he can't keep them from his voice anymore than he could resist her if she walked in that moment.

"Who keeps this lowly third mate burning
What keeps me at this porthole yearning
Whose song rings around me sharp and bright
Her face a vision slowly turning

A gaze like the ocean, a voice of the sea, her touch an untamed wave was the undoing of me...

The melody rips me up inside
An acid bath to my pride
Humming it to myself over and again
A hymn, a penance, a love denied

Who keeps this third mate locked in need
Head and heart and body agreed
Is the question then need from want
Or what do to should I succeed?

A voyage of trust, a ship in uncharted seas, mapping her waters was the undoing of me...

You can never tell the dangerous ones
The sirens song doesn't leave for question
Introspection or seize the day or live out life in quiet obsession..."

The cast is made and eager eyes watch as the stone rolls on its edge and then rotates in equilibrium around and around.  Seemingly time slows and all focus is on that single stone.

After what seems like echoes of eternity the stone falls.  Slowly Murray shifts forward on his seat, the wook creaking as he does so.  He gazes thoughtfully at the stone then looks up at them.


"The lady has spoken it seems." He looks at Hardragh. "I assume everything is in place?"

Hardragh nods.  "The fleet has sailed already and just before we came into this meeting they were attacked by the Crescent just inside Sederan waters."

Murray laughs suddenly.  "Well, it seems our people in the Crescent have had their turn, now its ours.  Besides I never did like their priestess, she always did think a little too highly of herself."

He looks at them once more.  "I will send a call with all due haste, those who answer we will need to somehow get to those ships in time to actually make a difference.  I can get them to Sedera fast but to the ships in another issue.  I'll work on that however."  He sips from his drink. "Let the games begin."

Andrew's expression is that of fierce enjoyment and the wild eyes of a winner who had bet it all.  He gives another formal bow.

"I need to identify the ship with the poison, and I'm sure I can - I've been close enough to feel the sick magic that fuels it, or at least what they used on Hlint.  If we can't hijack that ship at sea, I'll need to get word to some people on land to intercept.  Not the War Council -" Shifts his eyes to Hardragh. "-but Steel."

"One way or the other, I'm going to be on a deck in that storm."

Hardragh curls his lips into a smile, amused by Andrew's gamble and often glancing at Murray's stone. "I for one can not wait to see this play itself out." He looks briefly at Dougal, then to Andrew.  "Ah, reckon I'll be in the battle myself, wouldn't miss it for anything. Got to live the song before you sing it, aye?"

He then considers Andrew's comment.  "And aye, Steel's pretty reliable in his do or die approach...I just wonder what risk the poison poses to us during the battle. I'm altogether content with improvising on the spot. Keep an eye out, but don't plan on idle hope that the ship is easily engaged, it might be in the rear, or not."
Title: Recidivism
Post by: RollinsCat on March 27, 2011, 02:36:25 PM
The inn was empty.  Dust motes twinkled and the outside wind worked through tiny cracks to cause eddies.  It didn't matter how clean they kept it, a place that big always got dusty.  This time he didn't stop to marvel at the miniature starscape.  Barring the door, he tossed his travel pack and instruments in his office without looking and headed straight for the bar.

He hadn't said a word since finding out the dark elf woman had been hung.  Not a word nor a song.  It was the longest he'd ever gone without speaking and he was surprised at how much one could do without words, if one avoided social entanglements.  Aside from helping Rose - it had been harder to keep his silence, then - he'd managed to get his point across, travel, and avoid having to listen to the murder weapon of child and mother and the reason that a possibly innocent Az'attan now lay moldering.

Gods he was a stupid bastard.  Stupid, stupid, bloody bastard, always charging around like he could save the world, and what had it gotten him?  Here.  Standing here, his voice shut off as if Ilsare's fingertip had brushed across a switch, with a bottle of Silver Buckle in his hand.  His voice had caused the Krandor Hospital to lose reputation, caused three deaths, and that was only this time.  His concert as Willie the Bard wasn't too far from his mind.  How many had he killed then, friends and family even?  His crutch, his one trick, his one talent, was death.  And screw anyone who said he was wallowing in pity, they hadn't killed a child.  His stomach growled as if agreeing.  He tried to remember when he'd eaten last.  On the boat maybe.  Had he?  A day or two ago.  Potatoes.

Why had this mistake cut so deep?

Memories came unbidden, whispering to his question.  Ty, a baby; Ty, a toddler; Ty, playing his first song on guitar all the way through, writing letters, talking about what he wanted to be when he grew up...saying goodbye in a daze, watching his father leave him behind in the care of a bunch of elves he'd never met.  That was what this was about.  A child, not unlike his.  A child he'd accidentally killed, and only because he had the money and the friends that he did had boy and mother been raised.  Even then, a near thing and it didn't salve his consciousness at all.  Next time, there might not be a cleric nearby.  Next time, it might be Tyr'riel, and he would not be there to save his son.

The images flashed over and over along in a stream of sounds and voices that was an axe strike to his head.  He wanted desperately to blot it out and yet the memories churned in a loop without mercy.  He could not sing.  He could not talk about it -- he didn't want to speak, let alone bare his soul.  That left him exactly one option, currently uncorked but not yet drunk, neck dangling from the middle fingers of his left hand.  That bottle was goodbye to Night Sky if he ever saw her again.  She would not suffer this foolishness twice.  He should reach to the Heartsong, let the beating soul of the Muse wash over him...Ysgraine's tossed off comment when he'd tried to offer solace to the newly raised woman and child was as sharp as the moment she'd said it; "remember what happened the last time you sang".

Ilsare would not stand for what he'd done.  Xeen was right there, in Rose (now that she'd admitted it) and in the bottle.  Never too far, that one.  Always willing to wrap him in a chemical hug.  His first swig happened midway through that thought.

The burn caught him by surprise; he'd forgotten...then it settled in, and he remembered.  The shiver was powerful, fully involuntary, delightful.  A second or two of adjustment where he forgot why he was drinking.  His body tasting the favored of all his poisons, blocking out other conscious moments.  Bliss.

The second swig was easier on the tongue.  The third, numbing.  He didn't want to be drunk in the bar so he headed to the basement.  That felt about right.

The moment of bliss was dispelled as he passed the red and white flag of Krandor Hospital Clinic.  He stood in the doorway to the staircase hall, one shoulder propping him up, head down, for exactly eight seconds before tipping back the bottle and killing half of it in one swallow.  Poured it straight down his throat, to be exact.  He took a few steps forward, feeling a little light in the head but otherwise fine.  Basement steps straight ahead.  Down, one step...down, two steps...

He was at the bottom of the stairs and crawling.  Standing, he'd been standing.  How...he tried to lift his head from staring at the floorboards, had to curl up, something was punching him in the stomach, gods it hurt it hurt who was hitting him gods, his mouth was watering, his throat burned, no -- no -- the smell -- the gin --


Ragged breathing.

His shirt was wet.

Cold, and wet.  He was shivering.  The breathing was louder.  The smell of gin and something else, something bitter, was overpowering.  He opened one eye, could see Minu's crates on their side, fuzzy and spinning, spinning -- oh gods not again --
Title: Just Say No
Post by: RollinsCat on March 27, 2011, 10:41:43 PM
Footsteps, soft.  Coming closer.

"Boss?  Mister Reid?"

More steps, the scuff of leather on wood.  Fabric shifting over skin, breath sounds.

"Mister Reid?"

A poke, warm fingers.  Headache.  Spinning.


"Beat all."  Thump.  "Miss Elly's going to have a fit she sees you like this, sir.  Best we clean some of that up."

The voice.  Young.  He tried to speak.  Shhh, not so loud ...

"You, ah, stay there."  Two clinks, a creak, a step.  Silence.
 
Footsteps.  Fabric on his skin - someone wiping, roughly.  Fabric on wood.  Tugging, pulling, a rush of shivers.  He was damp.  And cold.

"Ain't going to cover the smell, but got the worst off I think.  Pardon if I don't give you a bath, but that'd be plain weird.  I'll help you upstairs.  Here..."

Standing -- no -- staggering, feet a million miles away encased in blocks of ice.  Where was that bottle?

"No, don't - sir -- sir, come on.  I can't hold you if you go bending like that.  Bottle's upstairs, I took it with.  Not rightly a good idea as you're wearing the other half."

Oh.

One step.  Two steps.  Three steps.  Light pounding through his lids making his brain curl up on the back of his skull and whimper.  Spinning...he was walking sideways, everything was spinning again, his head was in a sling at the end of a pit fiend's twirling hand --


 "Oh shi-"  

He dropped, the impact enough to turn over his stomach, but there was nothing.  He constricted throat to testicles, over and over, in a whole-body effort to purge.  Nothing but strangled gasps and bitter yellow saliva.

Footsteps, fading.  The stairs were cool, the double doors open.  He shivered and everything was still spinning, sometimes slower, sometimes faster, he was moving in slow circles on a lazy river of gin.


Warmth, suddenly.  Blessed warmth.  He wanted so very much to say thank you. "Blanket's been by the fire, should stop that shaking.  Going to try again, sir.  Up you go -- "  So warm, so warm...one hand curled around the blanket edges to clasp it to his front.  He was standing, then leaning, being led, more than half his weight on the man next to him.  Stairs again.  Very slow.  One step.  Two steps.  Three steps.  Four steps.  Five steps.  Shuffling forward, the smell of woodsmoke.  He didn't dare open his eyes.  "Almost there, Mister Reid.  Just a few more.  Just a few...there, sit..."  

Something soft that conformed to his backside...a feather mattress...he tipped sideways, legs still hanging off the bed.  They were lifted up.  Footsteps, a short distance and back.  Soft thump, louder thump.  He smelled Mariner's Hold well water.

"Best drink, sir.  I'm going to hold your head up -- there you go - there's a bucket on the floor.  It'll come back at first, but keep trying."

Awful.  A few swallows and he vomited.  His head was lifted, the glass pressed to his lips, again, again, ending up in the bucket again and again, until the last few swallows sluiced over acid-burned tissue and stayed put.

"I'll get some more."

Footsteps, receeding.  He blacked out.

Peaceful...a delta...a dream...was he dreaming?  The delta splitting into three, the sounds of birds.  He moved forward and was frozen.  All sound stopped when he did.  The delta's silted river muck was yellow, stringy, and he smelled gin instead of water but could hear nothing -- the birds were gone, the river didn't burble, there was no noise except an insistant buzzing, where was the screaming, wasn't there screaming about now?  He was moved as if by an invisible hand, jerking around, grinding, he remembered that, he knew what was coming next --

"...up. Wake up.  Wake up."

"unghh."  Hands on him, on his left side, then not.  He felt sick again.  Shaken, not stirred -- he giggled thickly.

"Sir -- can't have that.  You have to stay awake.  Ups a daisy, as my da would say to my ma.  No napping.  You have a long way to go."

Glass pressing on his lips again.  He was cold and sweating.  He drank.
Title: From Tiny Hands
Post by: RollinsCat on April 06, 2011, 08:04:15 AM
He woke disoriented, dizzy, and having to pee so badly it hurt.  He was on a bed.  There was no light in the room, no windows; an interior room.  He could smell the wood polish and the mahogany which made it the room he’d put Symphony in back when Minu had come.  For a long moment he could not remember how he’d gotten here, or why he felt turned inside-out, until his eyes grazed the simple hickory bucket over the edge of the bed and random chunks of memory slammed home – a bottle of gin, stumbling, falling, awful-tasting water, a young man’s voice telling stories of a lost childhood and a drunken mother.  Remembering was like stripping a bandage from a weeping wound.  And good bit was just gone.  He couldn’t guess how long it had been since he’d guzzled the gin, but everything between a close-up view of slowly spinning crates and Paddy’s gentle, practiced ministrations was a pitch black tunnel.  

Gods, he had to pee.  The privy was miles away, and the bucket was right here – he one-armed himself to sitting position, almost making himself sick at his own smell.  Sweat, gin, and puke.  Lovely.

His silver heart and clef was a gentle weight, neither warm nor cold on his neck.  Was She with him?  Could he sing?  He was afraid to try and had more pressing needs.  He started to remove his belt and glanced down; one look in the bucket and his stomach decided him, he’d go to the privy and nevermind how uncomfortable he was.  All well and good until he tried to walk and the spinning started again – slower, a graceful pirouette instead of the free-for-all of before.  Doing the pee dance didn’t help and the trek down the hall was as staggered as walking a ship in a storm.  Paddy was gone – or he could not hear the boy – and Bella was not to be seen either, not that he wanted to be seen.  In the midst of those assorted thoughts he made his destination and minutes later was able to walk back to the room with less of a hop to his step.

The room stank and would have to be cleaned, so he stripped and ran a bath right there.  He wasn’t thirsty, oddly – he didn’t think he could ever be thirsty again.  He felt waterlogged, sodden from the inside, but reasonably alert and the more time on his feet, the more the twirling of the room faded to an annoyed tick on one side of his brain.  Hot bathwater helped; he wished he could clean himself before entering for a soak, but the bucket was – busy.  He was going to throw that out, the hells with cleaning it.  He soaped up in the tub, unusal for him but desperate times.  Half an hour later he felt marginally human, if weak, sickly and monsterously sensitive to sound and light.  Hung over.  A flash of anger - he’d skipped drunk entirely, no glow, no lightheadedness; he loved that, he would always love that; no laughter at things that would be funny at no other time.  No pleasure.  Xeen’s promise had been slapped right out of his hands.  Ilsare was mightily tweaked off at him.

It took that and another chain of random musings to remember why he’d done it.  To remember the boy and the mother and how much he wanted more children, children of his blood and his loins, and how the one he did have was so far away and practically a stranger to him.  He felt sicker and was tempted to pour himself a glass – just one.

Just one.


I'm burning up inside
All senses opened wide
Wrestling the desire to fight this fire with fire
I'm burning, burning up inside

Funny how things fade a few years down the line
Just one sip won't hurt
Just one sip
Just one...

No.

He’d written that years ago, after quitting the first time.  Nothing had changed.  He tried to hum it, failed, gathered up his rancid clothes and stuffed them in a basket.  Wandered down the hall to his room stark naked and dug clothes from among the books and scrolls and staff paper stuffed in his armoire.  At least he’d look clean, if rode hard and put away wet.  


Downstairs, to the kitchen; his stomach rebelled at even the thought of food.  The bar was a bad idea.  The stage offered no comfort.  There was no one in the clinic to tend him, and he was holding the basket of his clothes of the previous two days for no reason.  Gods.  He wandered to the fireside conversation area, dropping the basket as he went.  His short velvet coat flopped out.  He didn’t turn around.  The red velvet chair...he did have a velvet fetish, didn’t he?  His chair was waiting and warm from the fire.  There was still a chill inside him and he sat, legs stretched out toward the heat, still as death with his head flopped back.  He could sleep here.  At least here it didn’t stink of booze.

Footsteps.  Light and quick, too quick to be Paddy or anyone else who he would expect to find here, and even in his addled state he recognized the pace.  How did she get in?  Had he left the door open again?  Raising his head was too much effort so he listened.  She came from the door, purposeful at first.  Stopped at his coat; he could not hear her sniffing, nor could he see her expression; but they’d known each other long enough.  He pictured her face, nose wrinkled and delicate mouth ticked down in a practiced frown.  The pause was just long enough that she knew that he knew she’d smelled the gin.

Footsteps again.  She stood in front of him.  She did not sit.  He finally dragged his head up and caught her gaze; her eyes were not steady on his but taking in his pallor, the ring of sweat already damping the shirt he wore, the circles under his eyes.  The smell of gin that seeped from him.  Half a bloody bottle was all, and he’d thrown most of it up – why was he leaking like an old cask?

“Did you come here to arrest me?”

Both eyebrows raised.
“Should I?”

“Probably.”  

“What did you do?”  

“I killed a woman and her child.”  

“Maybe I am then, yes.”

Maybe?  "Didn't the constable of Krandor send you?"

"No."

Long moments of silence.  She waited him out with patience he could never match and he knew it.  “Do you want an explaination?”  She nodded.  One long breath, and then he let it all out.  About visiting Krandor hospital.  About the dark elf visitor, the hospital door opening – the sounds of scuffling feet and Ysgraine’s screetched warning.  How he’d thought the dark elf had brought friends, or had friends come looking for her – or set them up.  He didn’t bother explaining his paranoia.  She seemed to understand that.  

He explained his burst of song, loud enough to stun, loud enough – he’d never thought about it before, never used it in a town or around anything he wasn’t threatened by – loud enough to kill.  About the woman and boy he’d slaughtered with his voice.  His voice, that he had never wanted to use as a weapon.  He’d avoided the skald’s path like it was poison.  He’d never even learned the song of cursing, for the Muse’s sake.  And he’d killed two innocent people with his voice.  That stopped his narrative while he fought for control.  His eyes burned.  It was a minute before he continued, speaking of the Aeridinite who was in the end able to raise both victims of his stupid reactionary presumption.

After the rush of words, he felt deflated and slightly less sick.  She watched him, still standing. “They are alive now?”  

He nodded and waited for the handcuffs, or rope, or...something.  Instead, she began to speak, not a story but a recounting, hesitant at first, building to a conclusion she didn’t seem to want to remember.  Werewolves and the children they had stolen to make their own; she’d been part of the group investigating that.   She told him of traveling to Moraken’s tower, of being met on the hill outside by several of the stolen kids.  Her hands went to her eyes, covering them even as she stood by the fireplace in his inn, decades removed from the act.

“I tried not to hurt them.  I didn't want to.  They were hurting others... I killed children.  I killed them and they are still dead.”

He was struck dumb, wanting to offer comfort and having no words to give.  He had only a guess of what it had taken her to offer that memory; she was a follower of the Gold, a woman of law, and a lover of children.  He knew the last to be true.  He knew that in the same circumstance he could not have done it, wrong or right.  He felt himself vibrating, but his focus was shifted entirely to her and her words that followed.  Symphony was the center of his universe, music he’d only ever heard in a verse here or there, a bit of chorus, an intro, opening to his ears.  He gave himself to her as he listened.

She didn’t stop.  There was more, her words feeling part confessional and part...something else.  He’d never heard of the Krakarian Academy but her description of the battle at the walls put him there in the middle of it – choices too horrid to make, that had to be made.  She’d taken the battle to the gate, then inside the main door.  She recalled the children screaming upstairs and how everything had gone to the pits.  The children had not died that time, but her whispers grew harsh when she bluntly said if she’d reacted faster, maybe...maybe that many people would not have had to die.

He wanted to tell her she was wrong.  He knew it was no comfort and never would be; such gentle words only worked on people who had not made those decisions year after year, decade after decade.  And maybe she was right.  He’d be as hard on himself – was – for similar reasons.

Her quiet voice tightened further as she recounted a mage trying to become a lich and the children that mage had sought for that purpose.  He was transfixed, at some point he’d slid to the floor to look her in the eyes.  He still vibrated, thought he heard music and knew somehow her pain was helping him...

They’d failed.  It hurt to listen. “I couldn't move or do anything to help. No one could. He murdered the boy right in front of us, sacrificing him for the ritual and some sort of revenge against his father, to end the line, and used the girl's soul as some sort of living phylactery.”  Worst, it didn’t end with that.  She described the children of the group’s members, people he knew with kids, becoming the targets.  Hardragh.  Hardragh had a son.

Had.  “At the Arms, we found Hardragh's son being held by one of the lich's servants.  He demanded we all stop our pursuit of his master for the life of the boy.  Hardragh agreed, and Kobal... Very few did.  I could not.  I had a duty... He murdered the boy right in front of Hardragh.  It hurt.  It hurts now.”

Stars and song, Hardy.  That explained a few things.

She wound down, her face drawn.  He spent a moment imagining being the one watching his flesh and blood killed before him and made a quiet resolution regarding the older bard.  How do you move past that pain?  How did he?  How does she get up and carry the emotional weight that she does?  How does one live with that?  He’d fallen apart even though the child and his mother were alive and safe in the end...


“How do you...I mean, have you ever lost it?  Really lost it?”  She didn’t speak.  A gesture at himself. “I came back here, and I lost it.”

Her expression was guarded before she looked at him. “After killing those children...I don’t remember what happened after that.  I do not remember what I did.”   He was quiet for three breaths, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.  If her opening up helped him, maybe he could help her.

“I can’t sing, Jennara.”  More panic in his voice than he intended.

“You were singing.  Do you see these gloves?”  She held out her small hands.  He’d never looked at them.  They were more shapely than he’d assumed, the digits tapering and flaring, the fingers surprisingly long – well, she did play violin. And yet they looked hard under the silk of the gloves, more a perfect stone carving of a hand than flesh and bone. The gloves had a shimmer of Al’Noth and seemed to be woven of mithril and silver lace.  Tiny, tiny rubies dangled, an incongruous bit of artifact against her otherwise simple clothing.

“I was singing?”  Dumbstruck.  He hadn’t heard himself.  She nodded.

“They were given into my care to help, by Master Jonir Ilisix, who took charge after the death of Master Krakaria.  He gave each of us something from the vaults, and said... these were special.  That they could choose to allow themselves to be worn.  They likely would have gone to the murdered boy, but... Now I see a reminder of my failure every day.”

Again dumbstruck.  Every day, she wore gloves of a child she failed to save.  He reached up for his necklace and tried to absorb that.  Every day, she was reminded of the death of a child that she felt responsible for.  Every  day.

He almost couldn’t grasp it.  Strength – it was her strength, not a source of it but a result.  Five years ago, ten, he’d have considered her stupid for rubbing her own nose in failure.  At that moment a curtain rose and he saw why she wore those ornate, bejeweled gloves.  He thought of all the things he’d run from, sending letters from distant places or vanishing when he didn’t want to deal with consequences or have to think about what he’d done. The booze that had been his insulator from those acts.


“It will take time. You will never stop hurting, only become used to the pain.”  He looked in her eyes, then closed his own and thought.  It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.  They’d said a lot and let words settled around them while the fire crackled.  

Maybe he would have that strength someday.  Maybe he’d have no choice.  That he could have that much wisdom he doubted; it wasn’t his nature.  But dammit, he would not run again.  He’d unlearn the stunning song, banish it from his brain – he would not use music to cause another person pain.  He would find himself in the Resonance, and find that mother and child, and make amends.  He would find the strength to face it.

She shifted her feet and he gave a last thought to this woman and to all the women in his life.  All the wisdom he’d held on to came from women.  His mother, Annwyl, Jaelle, Elohanna, Jennara, Argali, Ranewin, even Alazira despite their differences.  He knew precious few wise men.  Even the wisest of them, his friend Daniel, had fallen to the bane of men everywhere and let the wrong head do his thinking – why else would he have married a known associate of Steel?  No, he’d keep his ladies close, and maybe they could help each other.  And he’d been quiet long enough.


“Would you like to get some pear juice and play a few hands of darts?” She nodded, and he stood, and they headed for the game room together.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on April 20, 2011, 10:19:23 PM
I took it
I gave it
I paid it
I failed

I said it
I lived it
I cried it
I’m jailed

Not a man who slaves to rules but this time on the wrong side
Wish I could make better amends but to say, to say I tried

Now we’ll never know
Redemption or a whip
Now we’ll never know
A truth, a lie, a slip
Paranoia’s little trip

Can’t sing my way from this one and I don’t really want to try
Three skeletons in my closet and only two can see the sky
And one condemned to fry
To absent strangers
Goodbye

I sang
I killed
I wept
I prayed

I sang
I killed
I ran
I’m afraid...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 01, 2011, 01:42:57 PM
To Andrew Reid, greetings from Commander Jennara Creekskipper.

I send a warning.

A suspicious offer was received from the Cult, which included a threat regarding the use of secret operatives. These agents could and would be ordered to take action against various targets, including "eminent individuals participating in the war."

I am writing both to warn you of this potential danger and to ask that you send word to others. It is my hope that the letters will continue and spread so that all may be warned and be alert.

In addition, the Cult source suggests that there are "adventurers" who can verify the claim of agents hidden within multiple kingdoms and organizations. If you know of evidence to support such a claim, please send word to the War Council at Blackford Castle. If those you contact know of such evidence, please ask them to contact the Council.

Do not be disheartened by these threats. Be safe and stand firm. Take actions you feel are appropriate to limit the opportunities of Cult agents.

Knight of the Wyrm Section Commander Jennara Creekskipper
Heart of the Dragon
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 03, 2011, 11:09:27 PM
Looking over the screaming thrall
How did one man get so tall
And still a speck, so small
A voice of love in bloody places I want to sing, sing, sing

Too many can’t count them all
Wondering if I’ll take a fall
A crumbling battered wall
A guitar and my violin I sing, sing, sing, sing, sing...

Just a little wink in time – this is all I can call mine
These words are all I have and they will
Live me forever

Can’t keep flesh on my bones - my grave’s marked and sown
Each song a mile to my death but they’ll
Live me forever

Watching campfires on a sky of dirt
Our side tired bleeding hurt
Playing a one–man concert
May be all I’m good for but I can sing, sing, sing

Guess it’s true what they all say
Under pressure white turns to grey
All the choices we have to weigh
A thousand desperate moments and I sing, sing, sing

A blink and this too shall pass – it’ll be some other evil caste
Inspired long enough to write and
Live me forever

Right now not much use – a bard, a fool, obtuse
Going to be here to the end though and
Live me forever

It’s all I got and it’ll
Live me forever...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 06, 2011, 12:46:14 PM
Love

I haven't looked yet and won't until you are with me.  I would not deny you a minute of my surprise!  I do have a favor to ask if you're back, though; I apologize for coming out of the blue with this.

Amaria and I spoke last night and Ilsare blessed me, us, with a song that she was able to hear in her very troubled dreams.  At points last night I wondered if she was possessed, so rapidly was her expressions changing - during a shyer, more lucid moment; the Amaria we see most often; she spoke of a tower in Bydell, one she went to often, lived at or worked at, that was gold and silver with a red door and flowers all around.  She said she knew what was in there but could not remember; it was always on the tip of her tongue.

I tried to soothe her with my song and she fainted, and then fell into an internal struggle that left her briefly conscious and then unconscious again.  During my second attempt I sang her through walking up and opening the door of that tower.  I've never been able to do that before and it was - indescribable.  I can see, clearly, why the Resonance keeps such a strong eye on its members.  I had her best interests at heart, or so I believe, but someone who did not would have been able to do terrible things, love.  I felt Ilsare's heartbeat last night, singing to Amaria to face her fear and open that door in her dreams, and I am humbled that the Muse would trust me so much.

Amaria opened the door and spoke only a few words; "No, Master, NO!".  She struggled further and I sang her away from the door but she woke anyway.

I need to be here in case Thalia comes early and to continue to help Amaria.  Could you make a trip to Bydell to see about this gold-and-silver, red-doored tower?  Amaria is clearly hiding here from someone.  She is worried that we've mentioned her presence.  So in addition to keeping her a secret for now, any investigations you would do would have to be extremely circumspect and not name her.

I do not think she comes from wealth.  She mentioned a harpist she admired, dead from alcohol, and I will get you his name as soon as I remember it - Elmer?  No, that's not it.  But when I recall it I'll let you know.  Anything you can find out about the tower or her past that does not bring anyone back here looking for her (yet, until we know who is safe and whom she might want to be re-united with) would be of great help.

Can't wait to see what's in the cabinet!

Love,


Tashe.



My Dearest Love,

I am sorry I was gone so long, but I do not think you will be to upset at the reason why. When you have a moment, when you feel the need to take a breath. I have left something for you in your chest in our room.

I love you Always,
Your Minu
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 24, 2011, 04:48:13 PM
Letters sent.  Bags packed.  Tomorrow they leave.  On his hip, as always, Muse's Sting.  He remains a little embarrassed by the name; he gets enough teasing about rapiers as inferior pig stickers and not proper methods of defense.  That rolls off his back, as it would Razeriem's or Tobias's or Angela's or Damon's.  But Sting?  It sounds like a mosquito bite, although never in his lifetime would he tell Buddy that.  Or replace it with a shining mithril blade, for that matter - he has songs to boost his weapon if needed.  The white metal's extra bite isn't worth losing this gift that remains one of the finest rapiers he's ever owned.

The red-tinted metal gleams.  He never pulled it out in Stormcry.  He's learned, finally, that whether rapier or bow or knife or spitball, attracting attention from certain creatures is a fast ticket to being able to count the wrinkles of his intestines.  That said, it's been too long.  He is rusty.  The Inn is quiet - Minu off doing something, somewhere, avoiding his unnatural stiffness around her.  He can calm himself, he knows he's learned a lot, but the question of the price he is making not one but two other people pay for that knowledge will not let him go.  There is nothing that can be done for it at this time unless he wants to pay someone he likes better to court her, and he knows it's too late for that.

Unsheathing is always a sound he enjoys - the fire adds crackle to the metal on metal hiss.  A stack of combat dummies are scattered carelessly in a corner.  The blade enhancement will make short work of them, but his iron rapier doesn't feel the same anymore.  He needs to practice with the fire.  His first few swings are wild; Damon would have him drilling until he dropped if he saw that.  

Back to basics.

One hundred hits in the same place, one arm at a time.

One hundred hits alternating both arms.

A cigar and some water - he's coated in sweat.

Hits high and low until the dummy is a charred wreck.  Replace dummy.  Resume.  'Again...'

Swapping the rapier from arm to arm while hitting the same spot with both.  He's been playing music left-handed on and off since he learned to use both hands, and writing that way as well when the mood strikes.  It's never quite as good with left as with right but playing his guitars left-handed has pushed him past writer's block more than once.  One of the most useful things Damon ever made him learn.

Still one thing he can't do left-handed, though.  That makes him laugh - if he wants to pretend he's having a wild night with a stranger when he's alone, all he has to do is use lefty.  

Okay, Tashe, enough giggling.  Back to work.

Today remains upper body work until he can barely hold the point upright.  Too long.  This is good for him, he feels...better...not in the same way as singing for himself or for others but in a clean, exhausted way.  

A bath, one last check of the bags, and an early night.  Tomorrow they leave.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 28, 2011, 07:33:40 PM
Hullo, hullo sir!

I recently received your invitation for an interview of some sort through the faithful post service here in the area of Haven. To be honest, I'm not really sure why anyone'd be interested in anything an old, tired wind-bag like myself would have to say. However, if you're willing to come here in person, I certainly wouldn't turn away one interested in chatting and reminescing over times past. My family's tabac farm lies on the outskirts of the Haven area, but if you ask folks they should be able to direct you here easilly enough. May your journey, should you choose to come, be a good one!

By Prunilla, your friend,

Lyle Underroot
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 07, 2011, 07:30:43 AM
Sent by bird.


Sir

I have not yet thanked you and I hope to do so in person over a game of bones or cards preferably. After all, my winning streak is one for one so far! What the Stormcallers did off the Sederan shore was nothing short of a miracle; sending those ships swirling down and their Cult load with them turned the tide. If by chance we do not meet again, thank Lady Doom, her Stormcallers and you for that beautiful, beautiful storm.

I have been away at war on Belinara and have not been able to receive mail or news. Having just returned I had quite a lot of catch-up to do and in that I may have missed correspondence regarding my bill. If so I apologize and I await it at your leisure.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 21, 2011, 07:51:18 PM
Andrew requests materials to write a letter. He will write supervised if required, and submit the letter for vetting before asking Elohanna to send it for him. He tells her he loves her, as he does every day that she visits, before being sent back to his cell.


To: Freldo Jabutica
Wherever the Waves Lick the Shore
Oceans Away
Layonara

Dear Mister Jabutica

Should I drop the dear? Sadly I've never had the opportunity to meet you, so it seems too precious a greeting, but ah well. I will follow protocol.

I have heard of you, sir. Heard of you, met those that enjoyed your company and one who loved you, and had the privilege of standing insides four walls that, forgive my Ilsarian poetic waxing here, felt like the central chamber of your heart. Instruments and a well-cared-for piano sitting mute as the heart no longer beats, yet waiting in dusty reverie for their owner.

She is an amazing woman by the way. I was tempted - but my own human heart belongs to another elven lady, and temptation doesn't have quite the grip on me as it did when I was a younger man. I'm not sure if this saddens me or not.

How I came to hear of you first was through a quickling - the dear woman refused to call herself a brownie. Quite the firebrand, I can't recall her name at the moment but we shared some skull-denting liquor and some battle and she said I reminded her of you, which I take as a compliment. Over the years of singing and storytelling I hear mention of you, sometimes with a sad shake of the head, other times with a nod and wink that the great Freldo is somewhere living out the abnormally long life of we stonebound and taking at last the rest that so few of us live to see. I do not know the truth, but I send this letter in hopes it is the latter.

Why write? The last time I heard your name it was with a wistful sigh from a man, one L. Evert Fethsibarker, who is conducting interviews of those who uphold the bardic arts. He called you one of his Two That Got Away, the other being the Master Prevaricator (or the Great Liar so I've heard him called by those less graciously inclined). As I am currently without very much to do, having turned myself in to the Krandor guard for manslaughter charges. As I sit out my sentence, doing what I can to help with Ilsare's Heartbeat in my ears, I thought to write and see if you would answer. There is no small part of selfishness here - I am bored to tears some days and cannot find my victims from behind bars (whom I had raised that same day having gone almost mad after discovery of what I had done, and so they live although no longer in this town).

And so - here are some questions that I hope you will answer. I will put some of his first, as I recall them from when I interviewed Nus the Bard and Ragrian of Hlint for him:


-Tell us a little about your background, where you’re from.

-What are your styles of bardic expression, and what first experiences opened you up to it?

-Is there a deity that you follow? What events have led you to that god/goddess?

-What song or songs have deep meaning for you? What do you sing to yourself to cheer yourself up?

-Do you have a special performance memory, an event or concert that really stands out in your mind?

-What do you do when you get restless?

-If you could distill what you’ve learned over the years to just one or two things, what would they be?


...pablum, I know. I consented to an interview and kept wishing he'd ask something interesting. So I submit some of my own:


-What is the craziest thing you've ever done while in the throes of love (by whatever definition you care to use)?

-What is your definition of Passion? Of Inspiration?

-What are your favorite stories to recite, and will you share one? I will gladly trade both song and story should you be interested.

-Who was The One? How or when did you know?

-Having done something terrible - the song of sound burst killing a woman and a child inside the long range of my voice - have you ever done anything such that you regret so deeply, or that made you question your gifts?


The last question is Mr. Fethsibarker's but I enjoy it so I ask:


-What’s the weirdest thing you know that you think not a lot of people know?


I would be truly honored if you would consent to respond. Bird messages won't get inside the jail, but you can send any response by bird to Elohanna, Priestess of Aeridin - my lady - or care of Krandor Hospital and they will get to me.

I look forward to hearing from you. Ilsare keep your heart on even keel.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew William Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 20, 2011, 04:38:47 PM
On a page is a charcoal drawing of a small gathering of dragon-head flowers.  There is much erasing and re-drawing.  The flowers resemble snapdragons, but more dragon-y, with a petal mane and a long, tongue-like style.  It is dated and a quick note says only "Y'ogoldrania" and "Storold story".  The flower heads have been rubbed gold with something not ink, not pastels - the way the color shimmers, it might be dandelion dust.

In a corner is another drawing of a perfectly proportioned elven lady, hair smudged gold with the same shimmering dust.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 25, 2011, 12:31:37 PM
*sent to Storold by bird*


Protector

On behalf of a friend and on recommendation of my Minu - Elohanna - I would ask if you could offer your assistance in a matter.

Minu has told us about your work with memory retrieval in the past. Our friend has had some traumatic experiences in his past and when the stress builds up he "forgets" them, with the unfortunate side effect of losing himself as well for unpredictable amounts of time.

He has requested help in facing this problem. I feel I could be of value with song, but I am no expert in mind medicine nor have I any skill in careful drawing out of memories. The one time I have done this by Ilsare's grace I didn't cause any damage, but I'd rather someone be there who has concrete abilities.

Minu advised me to say that we will also be requesting assistance from a mind specialist (perhaps more on the medical side) from Aeridin's church and that we hope to conduct this at the Silver Buckle as our friend seems reasonably at ease here.

Please let us know if you would be able to assist, or if you have a recommendation in the event you cannot.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 02, 2011, 09:08:00 PM
A letter is sent to Mister Andrew of the Silver Buckle.

Felicitations Mister Andrew!

I can't meet you at the moment since I'm on Mistone, I can however relay what I found out! It seems like the docks are brewing with malcontent! The lower class folks living in the docks have this certain sense of apprehension churning within them. Something's up!

That's all I found out. Hope it helps you and your search!

Signed,
Pimpernell Greentoe
Teller of Tantalizing Tales
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 02, 2011, 11:42:07 PM
Something about Melody inspired him.  The little lady gnome had such an honest, sweet sound on her mahogany guitar.  They played together, unwitting entertainment for Enzo and Tane, he challenging her past her comfort zone and she giving him words just by her presence.

The result wasn't a masterpiece but it would bring smiles and maybe get someone to dance.  Good enough for a song he made up on the spot while playing Bella to Melody's slide guitar technique.  The result started fast and ended slow with a sinuous undertone and overtones of coconuts, warm sun and sandy beaches...he liked it.


Light's sinking
Time for drinking
Singing, dancing, stories too
Dark's dawning
No time for yawning
Get up off your chair and I'll dance with you

Light on your toes now
Everybody flows now
Bodies swaying in the summer heat
Steady as you go now
Don't go too slow now
Keep your body moving to the music's beat

Shimmy shine
Sweat divine
Shaking raise your hands up high
All night dancing
Flirting, romancing
Whirling round under star-specked sky

Late, the sun's not far to come
The dancers swoon
The night's nigh done
Music echoes soft from wall to wall

Two by two they drift away
Sweet dreams and sweeter play
Until final notes sing
Down the empty hall...

But not to fear dear
The band will return to here
Soon as this newborn sun
Lives out it's day

The music only sleeps now
It will return with night's hello
So wake and wait
Don't hesitate
For tonight we play
Tonight we play
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 09, 2011, 03:59:49 PM
Who are you now, do like what you hear
The yearning and musing that drifts to your ear
Wildly pounding the beat of your heart
Searching for passion to fuel your art

Running and running from this thing to that
Making amends at the drop of a hat
The one hand repents and fights to be sane
The other says peace and to thine self remain

Am I lost or confused, what path do I take
There are so many forks in this journey I make
That go with the knives forged of bad memories
And a spoonful of laughter for every face pleased

Who are they then, these facets and visions?
Now dashing, now dancing, now prancing, those vixens!
Each one a turn, each one a decision
A map inked in joy, sadness and pain

They're not a distraction they're part of the play
Every body a note in Her grand cabaret
I am their servant, their jester, their fool
The Muse is conducting and I am Her tool

Circling round to the crux of this eve
How to accept that my heart's on my sleeve
Living my life by the seat of my pants
Devoted to passion and guided by chance

Who am I now, do I like what I hear
And can I listen with nothing to fear
To Her and to I in our shifting duet
How do I embrace both pride and regret

Crowds are ambrosia and I drink their sound in
Stomping on pine with my touch-hungry skin
I hear what I hear and I can't leave things be
Silence is deadly
To me
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 11, 2011, 04:31:16 PM
Peace before peace.  Acceptance - how do you do that?  Even Daniel says stop dwelling on the wrongs.  You're a fine man, he says.  Lucky, even.

How do you exhale a dream?  How do you let go?  

He picks up Bella, who waits as she always does, her soaring voice ready to calm him, elate him, bring him to the brink of joy or tears.  He's already done his prayer ritual to the ancestors, but he doesn't think she hears that.

She might hear this though.



Tucked under chin
Drawing her bow
Fingering, eager for music to flow
Ripples and trickles in Ilsare's heartbeat
For one fleeting moment this man is complete

The rosewood it echoes
Drifting through time
A bridge for connecting her world and mine
But all the king's horses and all of his men
Can't bring her back to hold me again

Where are you now, the hands that once shaped me
The fading red hair, the warm loving face
Where are you now and can you yet save me
Spin me a yarn to weave me in place

Tell me a story
Sing like you did
Help to release this boiling pot's lid
Help tear down fences that divide my mind
Just for a moment I'd like to unwind

Scale tipping madly
Weighted by choices
In one pan a vision, the other holds voices
Echoes of futures that I long to know
Guide me through Bella on where I should go

Where are you now, the voice I still dream of
Clear as a warm summer afternoon sky
Where are you now and do you still listen
To me late at night all alone when I cry

If you can hear me
Show me you're proud
Show me you approve of this life lived aloud
The child in this man still misses your touch
Why does this one ghost matter so much...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 17, 2011, 01:20:42 PM
His favorite time of the morning; late, the sounds of the tavern rising through the floor to ease him awake.  Minu was up and gone already and he sprawled onto her side of the bed, sucking the cool off the sheets with his skin and inhaling the fragrance she left on her pillow.

So Alazira knew.  Daniel suspected at least after their conversation, but Zira was the only one he had told.  He could trust her, especially with this.  He was giddy and terrified and got a little light-headed every time he thought about it.  He still had a ways to go.

He rolled onto his stomach and stretched, snagging his hand-mirror from the tatami mat floor.  Taking a look he noticed tiny crow's feet spidering from the corners of his eyes, hints of grey shouting from the midnight nest of his hair; how his skin had faded to a lighter mocha color since he'd been inside more.  All very interesting and doubtless something he'd fret over as the years piled up, but not what he was looking for this morning.

Honesty.  Acceptance.  There was so much more to that than a mere decision.  There were women he'd wronged, now that he could admit that, and people who had suffered for his actions.  If he was to accept that he was a man who could not leave alone in the hopes he could bring about some good, then he had to accept that it wasn't always going to work out as he wished.  By the Muse, Freedom had driven that point home.  Even hearing the word in it's normal context caused him to ache.  

There was a long pause while his heart constricted.  He sang to himself while he listened.  The feeling he got was not as raw as before but instead a wound scabbed over with time; still sore, yet not as open to the stinging winds.  He couldn't hide from it and singing to Ilsare's heartbeat could not lift it from him.  He thought of the Sunstriders, and let the emotion ride through him although he didn't dig into it, not right now.

Time passed with no marker in the windowless room.  Thoughts of Freedom and the tears they brought slowed as the stream of memories settled.  He sang again, turning his mind to the future.

The future.  New mysteries, ones he'd long been fearful to explore, and why?  Because maybe there was something better out there and he didn't want to miss his opportunity?  Well, that was over.  If he was to be Her clergy, if he was to grow closer to Her, he was going to do what he should have done ten years ago.  With a quick listen for any waking presence upstairs, he practiced the single sentence he had to say.  Everything else he could wing, but there was one thing that he had to say a particular way and he would make sure he said it without hesitation.  Each time he heard his own voice he recalled that tiny inner glow during their conversation by the upstairs fireplace.  He was going to do this right.  

And later that day, write some letters to some ladies.  He had some explaining to do.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 19, 2011, 09:56:28 AM
A late evening, working with Melody on songs.  She was delightful.  He'd missed having a partner as Lana was both busy with her life and an ocean away.  A gap was being filled and as they wrote together a lot of laughter was produced, enough that Edward and Heloise kept hanging around to see what was so funny...although, if he were perfectly honest, his special cigars had a little to do with his exceptional mood as well.  But only a little.


There's a hole in the bucket, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, there's a hole in the bucket, dear Andrew, there's a hole.

Then fix it dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, then fix it dear Melody, dear Melody, fix it.

With what should I fix it, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, with what should I fix it, dear Andrew, with what?

With a straw, dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, with a straw, dear Melody, dear Melody, with a straw.

But the straw is too long, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, the straw is too long, dear Andrew, too long.

Then...cut it dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, then cut it dear Melody, dear Melody, cut it!

With what shall I cut it, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, with what shall I cut it, dear Andrew, with what?

With an ax, dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, with an ax, dear Melody, an ax!

But the ax is too dull, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, the ax is too dull, dear Andrew, too dull.

By the Muse...then, sharpen it, dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, then sharpen it dear Melody, dear Melody, sharpen it!

With what should I sharpen it, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, with what should I sharpen, dear Andrew, with what?

With a stone, dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, with a stone, dear Melody, dear Melody, a stone.

But the stone is too dry, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, the stone is too dry, dear Andrew, too dry.

Then WET IT, dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, then wet it for the love of all thing holy dear Melody, dear Melody, WET IT.

Um...with what should I wet it, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, with what should I wet it, dear Andrew, with what?

With water, dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, with water, dear Melody, dear Melody, with water.

But how shall I get it?, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, but how shall I get it?, dear Andrew, with what?

...in a bucket, dear Melody, dear Melody, dear Melody, in a bucket, dear Melody, dear Melody, in a bucket.

But...there's a HOLE in the bucket, dear Andrew, dear Andrew, there's a HOLE IN THE BUCKET, dear Andrew, a hole.


LADY:

From these gently lofting heights / Lit by stars, draped by night / Wither little people go / Sorry past the lantern's glow

The lighting's softer radiance / Wasted on mousy countenance / Drab as stock and not as live / How do so many of them thrive?

No gold to wear nor jewel's gleam / To raise a one in my esteem / Such a pitiful existence / How I must shine inside their glance!

Blessed am I by riches plenty; / Child of duke, wife of marquis; / Who are you the wretched poor / Who begs for alms outside my door?

What judgment from on high falls / On those that huddle near my halls / Unkempt, unwashed and shivering / Wrapped in rags held up by string

Begone! You ruffians, you filth / Coveting my very wealth / You'll have naught from these shelves / The Gods help those who help themselves

Yet I wonder ere I stand / What in all the Gods have planned / For them I spare not one pity / But what the future holds for me...?


DEATH

Fair Lady, throw those costly robes aside / No longer may you glory in your pride / Take leave of all your carnal vain delight / I've come to summon you away this night.

LADY

What bold attempt is this? / Pray let me know from whence you come, and whither I must go / Shall I, who am a lady, stoop or bow / To such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou?

D.

Do you not know me? / I will tell you then: I am he that conquers all the sons of men / No pitch of honor from my dart is free / My name is Death! Have you not heard of me?

L.

Yes; I have heard of thee, time after time / But, being in the glory of my prime / I did not think you would have come so soon / Why must my morning sun go down at noon?'

D.

Talk not of noon! You may as well be mute / There is no time at all for vain dispute! / Your riches, gold, and garments, jewels bright / Your house, and land, must on new owners light.

L.

My heart is cold; it trembles at such news! / Here's bags of gold, if you will me excuse / And seize on those; and finish thou their strife / Who wretched are, and weary of their life.

Are there not many bound in prison strong / In bitter grief and souls that languish long / Who could but find the grave a place of rest / From all their grief, from which they rest?

Besides there's many with an aging head / And palsied joints from whom joy is fled / Release thou them whose sorrows are so great / And spare my life until a later date!

D.

Though thy vain heart to riches is inclined / Yet thou must die and leave them all behind / I come to none before their warrant's sealed / And, when it is, they must submit, and yield.

Though some by age be full of grief and pain / Till their appointed time they must remain / I take no bribe, believe me this is true / Prepare yourself to go; I'm come for you.

L.

But if, oh! if you could for me obtain / A freedom, and a longer life to reign / Joyous would I stay, if thou my life wouldst spare / I have a daughter, beautiful and fair / I wish to see her wed, whom I adore / Grant me but this, and I will ask no more?'

D.

This is a slender frivolous excuse! / I have you fast! I will not let loose! / Leave her to Providence, for you must go / Along with me, whether you will or no!

If Death commands the King to leave his crown / He at my feet must lay his sceptre down / Then, if to Kings I do not favour give / But cut them off, can you expect to live / Beyond the limits of your time and space? / No! I must send you to another place.

L.

Ye learned doctors, now exert your skill! / And let not Death on me obtain his will! / Prepare your cordials, let me comfort find / My gold shall fly like chaff before the grind!

D.

Forbear to call! That skill will never do / They are but mortals here as well as you / I give the fatal wound, my dart is sure / And far beyond the doctors' skill to cure /

Flow freely you can let your riches fly / To purchase life, rather than yield and die! / But, while you flourished here with all your store / You would not give one penny to the poor.

Though in the Gods' names they plea to you did make / You would not spare one penny for their sake / The Gods beheld wherein you did amiss / And call you hence, to give account of this!

L.

Oh! heavy news! May I no longer stay? / How shall I stand at the great Judgment Day? / Now from my eyes crystal tears do flow / None knows now what I must undergo!

Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie! / My selfish life makes me afraid to die! / My sins are great, and manifold, and foul / May the Gods have mercy upon my soul!

Alas! I do deserve a righteous frown! / Yet pardon, my Lords, and pour a blessing down...

Death

Thus with a dying sigh her heart did break / And did the pleasures of this world forsake.

Thus may we see the mighty rise and fall / For I, Death, show no respect at all / To those of either high or low degree / The great submit to Death as well as we.

The grave's the market place where all must meet / Both rich and poor, small and great / If life were merchandise, that gold could buy / The rich would live -- only the poor would die.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 07, 2011, 04:28:04 PM
He returned to their third-floor tower room in the late afternoon.  Minu was gone with a note letting him know she'd be back before supper.  He wiped Bella's rosewood veneer clean, checked her strings, and thought.

He'd entertained for hours, meeting people, gathering up small crowds here and there, taking special time to play for the children.  It was a breath of fresh air after weeks of sitting at a desk fretting over paperwork and political intrigue.  He felt charged and calm at the same time.  Sated, but not overly full; he'd done a few duets here and there, but mindful of Illia's words backed off to make sure the other musicians weren't overshadowed.  Much the way he'd been with Melody, letting the lady learn by doing with him instead of watching him.  And learning a few things from her as well.  Observing how she affected people and how her emotions radiated from her, warming the space around her.  She made him happy.

But what did that mean?  To "make" someone anything?  His response to Melody was a lifting of his spirits and he felt it from scalp to toe to heart.  He felt the force of her personality in a way that affected his mood.  Similar Minu; he felt safe with her in a way he hadn't with any other woman, she was his hearth, his home.  It was tangible even as it was in his heart, those emotions, and he wanted to infuse his performances with those feelings as effortlessly as he felt them.  Did that mean feeling more?  So he could project more?  Joy came easily to him.  What was he missing?

He'd explored his grief at the children he would never now have, let it rampage and burn itself out, as miserable an experience as it was.  His brutal honesty with both himself and Ilsare - oh, he'd spoke to Her through those savage tears, and not kindly - had finally allowed him to see what he had in Minu and take that first step.  What other emotions did he need to give voice to, what fears...

Ah, therein lie the rub.  An emotional closet full of rattling bones, yes indeed.  He could rise above it for a time, either by modulating himself in song or by smoking himself silly, but in either case it didn't fix the problem.  And he wasn't sure he knew what the problem really was, except that he had very little to complain about and did so with depressing frequency.

Bella was clean, tuned, shining.  His fingertips drifted lightly over the wood.   She always felt warm to him and he wondered why.  Again down the neck, over the body, the swoops and whorls, the tight grain.  Warm.  He settled comfortably on the feather mattress, closed his eyes, and let his fingers talk.

Fingertips on the scroll.  The curl's varnish felt worn where Grandmother Rose had held it so many times.  It was a habit she'd never broken herself of but she'd made sure the way he carried Bella didn't compound the problem.  The smoothness giving way to that spot of raw wood brought back her voice - "Now, Tashe, hold it here, near the body, don't hold it there - I know I do it, but don't you."  He felt a pang directly in his heart, then another.

Slide down the rosewood to the tuning pegs, silver, making the neck a little heavy but doing wonderful things to the sound.   He remembered finding Bella in the bottom of that crate on the Jakzonvilet.  He remembered all the emotions and dreams of that trip, culminating in what could be called a happy ending for anyone who wasn't a member of the ship's crew.  But most of all he remembered touching the instrument and the fierce, immediate feeling of re-connection.  Finding something lost, and not just his violin, but feelings of his childhood.  Things shoved aside or buried in a child's stunned sadness.

Why did they have to die?  Why did she have to die?  Such a stupid death, fever, if that is what it was.  He had never been fully convinced, but his parents had no reason to lie, did they?

Did they?

A knuckle brushed the f-hole with a soft resonant thump.  There was the barest shiver in the instrument.

Resonance.  Emotions.  His grandmother, dead.  He wanted to reach for one of those carefully segregated, potent cigars, with the halfling weed only sold privately to known customers...he wanted to drink.  He always wanted to drink.  It was all about not being in that moment, when it was about pain.  Joy he could handle, laughter, frustration, anger even, but pain?  Regret?  He'd only scratched the surface with letting go of the woman he hadn't met who not be bearing children she didn't know about.  He always found a way to run and even modulating his own emotions had become just another way.  

His hands ran over the curves of the upper, middle, and lower bouts.  Highs and lows.  Except he never really let himself get low.  He always found a way to get high, whatever it took.  Even as a child, even on that day his father and mother had gathered the family together and told them that Grandfather and Grandmother were gone, already cremated, and how the fever had struck so fast there was nothing anyone could do.  He'd run away to a private spot then and forced the pain away.  Big boys don't cry.  Thinking back on his reaction unearthed aching denial and the pressure of forty years of unshed tears.

Thoughts were piling up yet he felt close to something.  Illia had asked him if he knew who he was and he had said he didn't.  He hadn't lied.  But he knew this: he was a performer.  He performed.  Not enough anymore, never enough, as he kept his emotions in check and played a bourgeoisie of Mariner's Hold, and in that he'd slipped without knowing from what.  He enjoyed performing.  He bought that inn so he could have a stage that he barely let himself use.  He wanted to stand in front of an audience with a hot tingle of performance jitters, he wanted to feel the heat of their eyes and the tug of their ears, eager to hear entertainment that moved them out of their lives for just a little while.  He wanted to be their drug.  To do that, he had to live what he felt.  Really live it.  He needed to make himself feel, and he knew what needed feeling first, as Bella's tail piece lay under one palm and her fingerboard wrapped snug in the other.

...but not now.  Falling to pieces at the Harvest Ball...and there it was again, a reason to not do what needed doing.  

So close...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 13, 2011, 10:15:04 PM
The words were in a rhythm he wasn't as familiar writing, but he'd enjoyed writing all the same.  Lana, Melody and now Kira?  His cup runneth over...

I did a stint in Hlint for some Dwarf Lieutenant, I sent him the ears of some gobs I'm skinnin'
Saving some steers for some farmer out on Alindor, I sent pigeons and packages and bought soldiers armor
I've been across Mistone, from Vehl to Lyn, and if you cross words with me, you know I'll win
I sling songs and arrows, worship wings and sparrows, and if you cross words with me you'll end in a barrow, but I'm not a violent girl, just a little bit wild, so sit back, relax, and enjoy my style.

The people are all in the fields,
While the Lords lose touch with what's real.
Their words are backed by their True,
But what good does it do? Their True's not the Truth.

Rael's off his rails, Rofie's thrown in jails, cuts off dragons' tails, smiles at their wails
The Cult's smelling stale, Deilar's got no sales, Dwarves got no ale, Corath isn't pale, Ca'Duz isn't male
Murders down in Vehl, the killer's out on bail, City's bound to fail, but the Runner's got a trail
Laws are lookin' frail, Wind's got no gale, try to no avail, but the Runner's got a trail--a tale to be told, the path unfolds to another forked road
that leads to a field,

And the
People are all in the fields,
While the Lords lose touch with what's real.
Their words are backed by their True,
But what good does it do? Their True's not the Truth.

My clothes aren't pretty, I'm not the best dressed,
So if you won't listen to me, hey Andy Reid, come on, tell 'em the rest!

I sing to pay the rent, from ballad to lament, wrote songs for every event I been to witness
Tip to tip each continent to spread the words that my heart meant and all the things I hear that need address
Rael plays benevolent while dragons claw at battlements and hunger causing discontent it’s a mess
To those that lord and those that hoard I strike my chord because you know my pen’s mightier than their sword, but I’m not a violent man, just a little scarred, so relax and have a listen to the sparrow and the bard

The people are losing their fields
Burned and withered and peeled
Need for this war to be healed
Hungry wings in the night, that’s the truth

I might be pretty but that doesn’t make me wrong
So if you won’t take me seriously then listen to the Sparrow’s song
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 14, 2011, 02:42:06 PM
I was born of Huangjin stock, a handsome native son
That's how the Tilmar language became my native tongue
That I was a pretty baby my mother she would vow
The girls all ran to kiss me, well I wish they'd do it now

Oh, I wish they'd do it now, oh, I wish they'd do it now
I've got itches in me britches and I wish they'd do it now

When I was only six months old the girls would handle me
Clutch me to their bosom and bounce me on their knee
They would rock me in the cradle and if I made a row
They'd tickle me, they'd cuddle me, I wish they'd do it now

Oh, I wish they'd do it now, oh, I wish they'd do it now
I've got itches in me britches and I wish they'd do it now

At twenty months as fine a boy as ever had been seen
The girls all liked to follow me from house to village green
They'd make a chain of buttercups and drop it on my brow
Then they'd roll me in the clover, well I wish they'd do it now!

Oh, I wish they'd do it now, oh, I wish they'd do it now
I've got itches in me britches and I wish they'd do it now

Those island girls would swim with me when the air was mild
Down to the river we would strip and splash about a while
They'd throw the water over me, dunk me like a cow
Then they'd rub me nice all over, oh, I wish they'd do it now

Oh, I wish they'd do it now, oh, I wish they'd do it now
I've got itches in me britches and I wish they'd do it now

Well its awful lonely for a man to live a single life
I think I'll go down to the dance tonight and find meself a wife
Oh I have got six brindled pigs, likewise one fat sow
There'll be plenty love and bacon for the girl who'll love me now!

Oh, I wish they'd do it now, oh, I wish they'd do it now
Lots of love and bacon for the one who'll do it now!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 28, 2011, 11:06:32 PM
To: Edgar Whinessy
c/o The Resonance of Being
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hemstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Greetings Conductor, from lovely and festive Fort of Kings!

I regret I have little time to expound on what I've learned since you guided me to the Sunstriders, but I do have a request for you to forward if you would and with that I will promise a more thorough letter or more preferably a visit as soon as this delightful harvest ball I am attending has run it's course.

I have recently met a lady, Liselle, who queried me on all manner of sound questions; what changes tones, what variables affect the sounds instruments make, and more. I was able to wend my way to the heart of the matter and she is asking two specific questions I cannot answer, as I am not traveling the path of Transcending Life.

I would be most appreciative if you could name for me those among this sect that might speak to the lady about their work and perhaps provide her with the answers I cannot. She wishes to know about sound waves that can affect incorporeal undead, and possibly shift them into this world, if even for a moment.

If you would see whom among us might be willing to find an ear interested in the nuances of their work?

Thank you,

Yours in our Muse,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 02, 2011, 11:53:58 AM
He awoke to the muted gonging of a hall clock.  Minu sleeping on the right side of the bed, too tired for revery; in her post-illness habit she sometimes seemed human to him but for her otherworldly luminescence.  Of course, that could be Aeridin's touch on her, or his own eyes through Ilsarian goggles.  There were hints of festivities even now drifting from below, the crier's call from far away of " three o'clock and all's well".  Only in this dark would his ears pick up such a distant nuance.

All's well.  Is it?  Bella lay on the table nearby, waiting, resting.  Something nibbled at him.

Fort of Kings.  He'd only been here once before.  Once, when he and Minu were new to each other.  That was the beginning of her nightmare he recalled; the reason she was in danger just walking around the city.  He'd come to think of it as just that, the place where Minu should not be.  But it was more...it was the capital city of the kingdom of his grandmother's birth.  Bella's rosewood shone in moonlight diffusing through the curtains.

In the stillness she was less a violin and seemed shaped almost as a key.  Someone in this city might know who made her, and to whom she was sold.  Or perhaps the woman who played her before she ended up in Huangjin in love with Liang Reid.  The thought made him nervous, but his gut seemed settled on the matter.  Just a few more days and he'd do a little asking around.  Just a few more days...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 03, 2011, 10:56:04 AM
Placeholder should the Harvest Ball (http://forums.layonara.com/innocent-investigations/284269-harvest-ball.html) be continued.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 03, 2011, 11:39:24 AM
Stolen.  Stolen!

How would he have felt?  He remembered the first violin he'd completed, hickory, very simple.  He'd only played it to check the tuning.  He was pretty sure it was still sitting in a chest at the inn.  It was no masterpiece but it was his first - how would he have felt, had someone made off with it?  And how, then, to lose something as precious and perfect as Bella, something that you'd given up everything to create?  So driven that you lose your family, your sanity, your life?

She still felt warm in his hands, this instrument that meant so much to him.  Could he restore a reputation, even in death?  Would it mean - losing her?  His connection to...

...to...

"Andrew, I know you know better than that.  Detache means each note is equal; you're adding pressure on the down-stroke, sweetheart.

"Spiccato is slow, like this...the bow bounces, like you after a plate of cookies.  Now watch...off the string...

"Don't pull it too far...not too far...then SNAP!  I knew you'd like that!  That's called snap pizzicato.  Try it again - SNAP!

"Oh, my life started here with your grandfather.  Ilsare brought us together and I've never looked back.  Let's get some lunch and then your mother has chores for you...remember our agreement."

To whom?  Grandmother Rose, or...red-headed Mary?

So much he didn't know.  So much he had to know now, especially now.  A woman and a luthier and a stolen violin, some ninety years ago...he was guessing at that.  He was - Muse, fifty something.  He'd stopped celebrating birthdays.  Grandmother was...well, he was eleven when she'd died, mother was about seventy now, so...grandmother would have been around fifty when she passed...his age.

He didn't know how old she'd been.  He didn't know how old his mother was.  He wasn't entirely sure how old he was.  What year was he born again?

A head shake, some breathing, singing ripples into Her heartbeat, not to lift his spirits but to bring him to the here and now.  He had a violin that was one of two possessions he cherished, his link to his past, and now he had an inkling of what that past had cost someone.  He could leave.  He could leave Fort of Kings now, no one would know, nothing would be lost, and the past would stay there, his own memories included.

And nothing would be gained, either.  If Mitchell Forcier had made this violin his should be known for it.  If his grandmother had stolen it...his heart turned inside out.  He was not Daniel - he would not have turned her in, even if she was still alive.  If something could be done for the man's family though -

He was getting frantic.  Not enough information.  Not enough to determine any facts, only wild guesses to feed his fears.  He would have to find out as much of the truth as he could.  And according to Sal, that meant a visit to the castle.

So be it.  Bella snugged into her case and buried in his pack, he set his feet for Erilyn's royal home.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 16, 2011, 01:28:17 PM
Green leaves edged in fire
Oak stands between summer and fall
Undecided...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 18, 2011, 05:04:19 PM
The bard sits by a white-paned window with the sash pushed all the way up.  A rest on his journey home, in this small and immaculate room that smells of cinnamon and the red pepper scattered around the baseboards to keep ants out.  The bed and breakfast's proprietess, a middle-aged, well rounded widower who turned coy at his flirtations, directed him down the hall with a swat on the behind for his cheek.  He knows she enjoyed their banter and smiles.
 
It is a dark night.  Orn plays hide and seek with a storm arriving fashionably late.  He watches the clouds, arms folded and resting on the sill, content to remember and to marvel at what peace can mean.  His thoughts still flip as pages in a windstorm, yet the roiling isn't as distressing now.  It isn't that he's any calmer.  It's only that...as he told her...he's okay with feeling this way.  
 
Who am I now, do I like what I hear
And can I listen with nothing to fear
To Her and to I in our shifting duet
How do I embrace both pride and regret
 
It could be Rose's song.  He will never know for certain if her name is Rosemary, although he believes it is.  He'll never know if his grandfather held her secrets; he wants to believe that the man did and loved her anyway, forgiving her as she must have forgiven herself.  She could not have known what her wild flight with stolen violin in hand would cause.  One arm only loosely under his conscious control reaches for Bella, for he must know she's there.  The wood is warm.  It always is.
 
Rosemary, Rosemary, red-haired Mary, Rose.  Daughter of Jack Murphy.  Born to little or no money and a harsh father honed to a dangerous edge by the world's darkness.  How did you learn to play in the dark, my grandmother?  Who taught you?  Was that the only joy you knew until the evening you sat in your tiny cottage in Huangjin, playing the song that would not leave your soul, and heard a knock on your door?  
 
And you, Mitchell?  What drove you to create this rosewood beauty, a violin that can stand beside some of the finest ever made and feel at home?  A lifetime of mediocrity avenged and then lost to one desperate act.  But you'd lost everything that mattered well before then.  A cautionary tale indeed, and one the bard decides will remain even as he aches to give Bella's maker his due.  Edward Forcier and his family do not want the attention and he will honor their wishes.  Bella has sung for them, and they matter the most.  They know.  It is enough.

Bella's in his hands now and she feels good.  Illia is right.  Rose had her reasons and to him she is still Grandmother Rose, taller than the sky, red hair sneaking from braids to form the fiery orange halo that he saw looking up at her as a child.  Perhaps her pedestal isn't so shiny.  And perhaps, had she been what he assumed she was, he would not know his connection to music, to the Heartsong, to Ilsare; he would be a potter, discontent and never knowing why; or some small-time crook, or a back alley drunk, hat out for change and singing for his next draught of poison.

Well, he's almost been the last already.  Still -- the way he could never get anything over on grandmother as he did others.  The connection they shared, how she understood him when his father and brother did not.  Without her...without the theft of the violin...it still hurts to accept it, but he does not block the pain.  There is no black and there is no white, and there is no reason not to feel his own confusion.  He doesn't need to understand so much.  He just needs to express it.

Bella cradles his chin, a wooden palm giving him comfort.  Bow touches strings and the first song released is one he wrote for Rose not very long ago.  He sings the words again, even as new ones wait to be born from his voice.

If you can hear me
Show me you're proud
Show me you approve of this life lived aloud
The child in this man still misses your touch
Why does this one ghost matter so much...

Running and dodging
All highs and no lows
No place but up for me to go
Inside her story I hit brick headfirst
What if our places had been reversed?

 If it were I
Could I make that choice
Could I tear free and trust only my voice
Breaking assumptions that are keeping me stuck
No questions, no answers, just instinct and luck

Maybe I have
As I sail my fears
A ship built of notes on a river of tears
The dam's good and broken, the music is out
Crumbling bricks of repression and doubt

Who am I now, this fanciful man-child
Locking my pain and tossing the key
The key never left and now the door's open
For once, for the first time, I can hear all of me

Bella sings joyful, reunited with her maker through his heart, or so it feels.  He remembers shy ripples in the Heartsong as he played for the Forcier family.  Remembers the angry, sad man peeking from behind curtains; Edward, him, at that moment it didn't matter.  They both had emotions they did not want to acknowledge.  He feels for the man that grew up under the shadow of one judged mad.  That moment of clarity carries through the music and it gives him hope for the family and for himself.

Rose's song winds down.  He hears himself clearly in the Heartsong, more clearly than ever before.  Ilsare feels so very close.  She has led him here even as before She let him wander until he figured out he needed to come home.  Loving him enough to let him go, knowing he loves Her enough to always return for Her to guide.  Each step along his journey only reinforces what he already feels, Amaria's lesson now expanded on by his own; there is power here.  Emotions are the core of a being.  He will be careful.  He will cause no harm.

The next song, the lullaby, he is already playing.  He is a little discomforted by what he learned at the Sunstriders, and by his promise to help if he can, but he does not tamp his discomfort.  He lets it change the music.  He listens.  

Illia has taught him more than he expected; he can see now why the Conductor sent him to the Alindor woods.  Yet it's more than merely teacher and student.  He has something to give, possibly.  He pushes the discomfort into the fore, playing it loud.  His arms and fingers tell him what his mind tries to hide.  He does not want to make things worse.  He is afraid.  If he approaches Raina about her parents, she may become angry.  If he fails, Illia and Kaldar will be hurt.  They would not dismiss his friendship, but it would be a spectre over them all.  He does not want to fail.

Again he is not calmed, but instead at peace.  He feels how he feels.  The fear isn't so big when exposed.  Ilsare will guide him, and if he can help, he will.

Fort Homestead's lights have gone out by the time he stops playing.  He has to rise early.  Bella is put into her velvet lined case and the crisp white sheets covering the single bed look inviting.  Laying down, he hums Ilia's lullaby, making up words, until sleep overcomes him.

Sandman, sandman, visit me
In this dark I hardly see
And wish for dreams to set me free
Sandman...sandman...visit...me...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 30, 2011, 08:51:17 PM
Revised per discussion.

A night not much less than this eve, wither round this fire brightening, I traded tales with a kindred soul to see whose was the more frightening.

I'd taken fare from Vehl, you see, on a dark and stormy afternoon; there were no other cabs around, not in that soggy near-monsoon!

He took my True, the cab was dry, the horse did not complain. For hours chatting nonchalant we drove on through the rain.

Landing here to rest the mare I told a story and then two - horrors witnessed, large and small, he listened as he drank a few.
 
And a few more -- he listed now, it took some time for him to speak. Bottles lined that seat of hay, under deep grey skies he looked antique.  His eyes how they misted!  His face forlorn and wary!  His cheeks veined and saggy, his bulbous nose like a berry!  His voice was quite sudden, after all of that booze, expunging his soul in fits and dropped clues.

"Something you should know" said he, leaning pale and thin, "I got a past I can't outrun" - his whisper, well, it scraped my skin.

"Nigh fifty turns past - I drove even back then - a proud man with a temper, I did mighty sin...she took fare to the Port, her face was a vision. I thought I must love her, I'd made my decision.

"I'm not sure why her - because she seemed so alone? Her autumn red hair? The way her eyes shone?

"It mattered not, my mind was set, and I started to chat up that women I'd met. I thought twas my heart but as a man in my youth, was likely parts south who set my lips loose. I asked her her name, I flattered and wooed, and for all of my charms she eyed me quite rude. I asked for her name, for her family trade, yet all she would say was 'Maggie Calcaighd'; to the rest of my questions she stared from a window into the deepening evening shade.

"I'd given my all in words and in reasons and still she turned and twisted away -- what right had she to judge a mere hackney driver, did she think me a mongrel, a vagrant, a stray? My temper soared as birds from a cliff at each thin-lipped frown and each haughty sniff.

"I stopped the cab and stepped from my seat, opened her door and tugged her to her feet. Pulling her out and down to the road I unstrapped her luggage and dropped down her load.

"She stood in mute fury as I locked fast the door; then fury turned pale at the sound of a roar; from the dark forest some creature drew near; she was frozen and shaking in desperate fear. She pleaded I didn't abandon her there...but I took up my reins and snapped at my mare.

"I felt a bit sick but it was her fault, you know? Or so I thought then in my pride. It was two days hence that her body was found - late for her wedding -- a merchant son's bride.

"I was asked if I'd taken her fare many times and lied and I lied and I lied, with my guilt losing battle to fear of a cell and casting my morals aside.

"I've a slick tongue and so they believed.  She was buried inside of eight days.  I didn't stick round to pay my respects, left determined to mend up my ways.

"That year I took fares far from Port town...till one night I drove near that road unaware...saw a woman walking alone in the dark and she waved me down for a fare.

"Garbed in a thin gown she shivered quite cold, a faded address all she allowed me to hold, pointed to cab and the aged paper, moving so lightly she seemed made of vapor.

"She was ill-dressed for chill, so I offered my coat; a silent nod all she gave, not a word did she spoke. You think me a fool, and that's understood, but you have to know I was trying to do good.

"The hairs on my neck stood as she boarded and something about her made me feel quite sordid but I drove, and I drove as the air thickened round us and through that foul mist I began to stress.
 
"Her address lad I could not find, hour upon hour of driving, in foul rolling fog we carried on still no closer to arriving.

"With weary horse, I made to stop; it was only then came to my ear; her scratching upon the window-cloth, so faint that I could barely hear...
 
"There were gates some paces back, I'd a hauntingly familiar sense.  I could not recall; I let her out; she walked silent to that fence.  She turned once and I thought she smiled but with no warmth, no, it seemed hostile...
 
"It was not until the morrow I remembered my noblesse, so next evening I returned to that address.  The iron gates stood mutely guard, a field chock with aging stones; jutting left, center, right; all markers over someone's bones.
 
"Twas more than an ill-feeling then I went walking through graves and found my coat torn to shreds cross one carved 'Maggie Calcaighd'.
 
"I turned right round, I left the coat, drove back to Hempstead in haste, but on the way inside my cab, I saw her pale, ghostly face!

"And heard that scratching at the cloth!  Again and again and again!  It was enough to drive me mad, that sound wiggling 'neath my skin!

"It was her, I knew it was, she'd come back just to haunt me, I fled my cab and left it there and ran fast as I could flee!
 
"I know not what happened to that horse, or to that carriage fine, I thought that I'd escaped my fate, and swore to the divine.

 "But lad, she didn't stop that night, nor most nights since that fare -- I can see her sitting side my guests, I see her there, I swear!  And hear that sound so often it's enough to make me froth!  The scratching, scratching, SCRATCHING always at my window cloth!"

Ladies and gentlemen I tell you what he told to me, I'd have taken it as joke if I hadn't seen what I had seen.  For when I let my eyes browse the carriage to my right, I saw someone behind the cloth lined in ghostly light.  And heard a gentle scratching as if picking at my ear - just above the threshold of the softest I could hear.

I declined the rest of way and took myself by foot, the driver dragged his feet while looking quite hard put.  I found out later his final rest had come on that old road; it seems ghostly Maggie had gotten what she'd been owed.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 17, 2011, 11:28:12 PM
Dear Beloved

Such a pithy start yet I have nothing better.  I'm running out of everything - time, patience, ideas, clout, smooth words.  I know when I set out to see what Hardragh wanted that you expected me back sooner and I am sorry it did not work out that way.  I have some time now to write, as we limp to Krashin in yet another destroyed ship, and I want to explain myself - and vent my fears onto this letter I hope you will read.

It all starts so innocent, doesn't it?  Our morning together, waking with a properly extensive and sweaty hello, and after our breakfast setting sail to Leringard expecting...to be truthful, I had no idea what.  That Hardragh would have requested my presence was, is, still a conundrum.  As we waited on the docks it became clear I was not the only one he wished at his back as Arkolio, G'ork, and Steel joined us.  It reminded me of nothing more than an old child's game: One of these things is Not Like the Other.  One of these things Does Not Belong.  And yet, sucker that I am for the atypical experience, I tagged along as he forced his way into a meeting in which the Tempest herself was expected to speak.  Really, who could resist?  The Tempest of Mist!  Head of the church!  Right hand to Mist herself!

She was shorter than I expected.

I digress.  In summary, the meeting was to announce the Tempest's latest game; she wants a dragon's egg which she, to the best of our knowledge, intends to raise as a Mistite.  My immediate reaction was that I would partake in no kidnapping and it remains so, which is why I am likely to be coming home soon.  That, and I've irritated G'ork, so if I do not leave of my own volition I will be returning via the bindstone almost certainly.

After the meeting and some failed small talk with a Tide and with Dougal - you recall he was at the meeting with Tide Murray and a more sour man I hope I never meet - we were about to leave when a tiny red-flecked object was tossed in the room and Hardragh and I were summarily frozen solid.  Most unpleasant.  I found later this was likely an artifact called the Glittering Craton, allowing a person to amplify the elements around them.  Pray Emwonk never finds it!  After our thawing I contracted Jetta (on Hardragh's True) to aid us and Hardragh brought Rose in to scry.  

Another digression, but how and why he carried on a relationship with Rose is beyond me.  He is very unsuited to a woman like her who requires quite a bit of tending.  He would do better to focus on Liere - more on her later.  Steel and Rose engaged in some successful scrying and we were off to Krashin to chase someone who might have found a dragon's egg.  Arkolio provided the ship and in a surge of magnanimity allowed me to name her.  I christened her the Minuet.  I hope that brings a smile!

Having gathered more information in the trip, imagine Hardragh's surprise when the location Dougal was chasing was Snowtooth's lair.  Hardragh and the big white lizard have a rather special relationship and it has been strained to the seams during this adventure.  And let me say before I forget that having stood now before Fisterion and Snowtooth, I prefer Fisterion.  He's a much better host and less prone to yelling so long as you are respectful.  The ice dragon is a hothead.  Ironic, no?

There was quite a bit of misadventure - trekking all over that bloody sheet of ice they call home, myself and Rose coming down deathly ill from chillblains and then nearly dying at the hands of our tracker at the time, a bladed maniac who hates women apparently.  I have become not very fond of Krashin.  Call me a pudding-soft southerner if you will but I'll always take a beach over a snowbank.  We encountered attacks from native tribes, delays, and a deadly foray into the Deep which we were able to cut short by arranging our first visit with Snowtooth.  I have also learned a valuable lesson; do not hold one's bow with half-frozen fingers in the chambers of a dragon.  If one's touch is blunted by the miserable temperatures, and one's arrow slips and hits one of the dragon's guards, bad things happen.  Lesson learned.

Rose has been having visions on and off since we started, and at some point in our conversation with Snowtooth - I say conversation, it was more an endurance of much bellowing and expected groveling - her vision manifested in an illusion.  This caught his eye as it was the picture of someone stealing an egg, and the location nailed his attention to the floor.  He ordered us to find that egg and if we did he would give us the location of one he did not care about.  We warned him of Dougal's attempt to steal another of his eggs and that earned the man's ships a thrashing.  I might also mention all the destruction of Mist temples and villages, directly attributable to this venture, and the subsequent calling off of the game by the Tempest.  A lot of innocent people have died for her amusement.  I'm sure that she'd only blame them for being either unprepared or weak in the face of a surprise dragon attack.

Our first ship was attacked leaving Krashin.  Snowtooth intervened and...well, I'll be honest.  It is amazing watching dragons fight.  Even in the war, I will confess to a certain awe at the grace bundled into their strength and the way they maneuver.  My brief time in dragon form was so clumsy, a toddler learning to walk, by comparison.  I was also very glad that he was intervening on our behalf, and being dragged in the wreck of the boat all the way to Leringard was something to be remembered too.  I suppose in the end it is moments like that for which I remain active in the world, and let myself be convinced to do things that perhaps I should know better than to do.  Feel free to remind me of this the next time I have a bright idea.

Sleuthing led us to Tide Cassandra and her followers whom had stolen an egg fathered by Snowy himself with a dragon in the Redlands.  I am ashamed to say I did not recognize the landscape of Rose's vision - I do not know where in the Redlands there is sand, as most of it is red clay as I recall.  It must be deeper in than I have ever traveled.  Arkolio once again provided a ship, and upon first glance at the captain I admit I was concerned, he being a large and burly half-orc.  Having gotten to know G'ork I can say with certainty that people like Tane are definitely the minority of half-breeds in that sphere.  The man's name didn't inspire my confidence for a conflict-free journey any more than his appearance, that being Captain Rabid Vash, and all of this had me in a light sweat until we were introduced.

Minu, my love, the world is a mysterious place, when a man who seems so obviously one thing can instead be a connoisseur of music and a writer (albeit an inexperienced one) of poetry.  The man was nearly smitten with me and apparently Arkolio had promised him in advance that I would be most attentive in sharing my stories, music, and poems.  I knew better than to argue.  It's moments like that I am reminded that I am in fact on a leash and it is uncomfortable.  At the least though this was a pleasant assignment.  Captain Vash was both and enthusiastic and appreciative audience and my time spent entertaining him was hardly a chore.  We worked on a few of his things during the trip to catch Cassandra and I was able to learn a few more song variants of some shanties I know as well as shake off my land legs and get my sea legs back.  I think of all the time we spent, this was the most enjoyable and I spent most of it with the captain and crew of the ship.

This next divulgence is a reminder that while it may be tempting to treat Arkolio and G'ork as peers, they are not.  A man like myself could not spread word among a network of acquaintance on strength of reputation alone and expect them to find and gift-wrap my quarry for me.  G'ork can.  Arkolio can.  I'm certain Steel can.  No matter what daily facade they put on - well, except for G'ork, he's fairly open in his misanthropy - these are not ordinary men.  It would do me well to remember that now that I have crossed swords with them.

Cassandra and the remains of her crew were trussed up on the island.  The man who found them for G'ork was a beast.  Merely being around him had Rose's hair rising like a cornered cat's and I shared her assessment.  He had gutted and strung up Cassandra's mages and some of her other crew.  I found it prudent to keep my mouth shut about my own magical abilities.  After some conversation we convinced them to not slaughter the crew, rather we would take them on, and he and his left.  I think even the wind sighed relief when he did.

Immediately they set upon Tide Cassandra.  You know me, love.  A defenseless woman, if only so because her hands and mouth were secured, is nothing I can stand by and watch abused.  I intervened then when they would have killed her outright and Jetta and I stayed behind to watch her once they ascertained that she had the dragon's egg on her now-sunken ship.  In the process they moved us all down to the beach and it was then that Arkolio began to threaten her.  It may be nothing I have heard before, but now I am not so sure he would not carry through.  Hardragh played good cop to Ark's threats but I was simply not taking a chance.  For my Lady I cannot.  I stood close as Ark threatened to do harm, and when G'ork moved to cut off her fingers - no idle threat there - I blocked his path, rapier drawn.

I'd like to think I stopped him if only by the shock of my less than impressive bulk being willing to fight.  Perhaps it was amusement although this is the least likely.  And perhaps it was Hardragh's words, which, in retrospect, is probably what gave him pause.  I don't know for sure.  I do know I was willing to die there to protect her, and would have.  I have sparred with G'ork before in the Arena.   I give myself six seconds or less at the wrong end of that thrice-dammed axe.

They left everyone alive and unmolested in myself and Jetta's hands.  Probably more hers than mine truth be told.  I made conversation with Cassandra, trying to figure her motives, and failed.  The few tidbits I did get out of her, such as she's been planning this for a very long time and Dougal must have gotten wind and planted a seed in the Tempest's ear to secure his own power, are worth nothing.  What I did get was a long internal dialogue with myself over ethics, and disgust with Cassandra.  Love, you know of my past with Jaelle.  You know that I have not had an issue with Mist's followers before.  Yet it seems to be that those in power are either unaware or uncaring of the rest of the world.  Change for change's sake with no thoughts to the future.  In the course our discussion, Cassandra stated the Cult was not wrong!  That the dragons should be eradicated before they grow more powerful!  She spared no pity for those caught in the crossfire of a possible war with the dragons over this egg, stating that, basically, anyone who died was weak and deserved it.  I was sickened.  When I told her that I wanted to head off another war on the heels of the first that was still causing misery and starvation as the world recovered, she dismissed this as culling and said we'd all be stronger for it.  Listening to her I am ashamed to say I regretted standing firm against her torture for a moment.  I would do the same, even knowing what I do now, of course - my ethics are not as situational as those of G'ork's or Hardragh's I'm finding.  However in my experiences her responses were that of a evil being and I will not mourn her passing should it happen.  To be so blatantly disrespectful of life, and to blame others for fates you foist off on them, is both evil and cowardly.  I have not visited her since we put her in the hold.  I doubt I will.

In the end they found Snowtooth's egg while we remained on shore guarding Cassandra.  Snowtooth landed himself on Captain Vash's ship, the Merkin Daily, not long after to reclaim his offspring and Hardragh got the worst of that deal.  We are taking port in Krashin, again, to change ships as Snowtooth's landing did some very serious damage.  Captain Vash has the heart of a bard though - he was delighted that a dragon had landed on his ship!  I shall be keeping his name in mind for any future need I have of private transportation and hope that the goodwill and entertainment I showered upon him will have some bankability.

And so my fears.  Snowtooth will be heading to Leringard in ten day's time, eight now, ostensibly to make some peace with Mist's church.  Or to gloat about something.  Or to get Hardragh in trouble.  Or maybe to destroy the city.  Really, all of the above are possible and I think the latter more likely.  Hardragh is to be given the location of an egg he can kidnap and I can't see how I can continue to be a part.  I've lost a son.  I can't contribute to someone else's loss.  I think of Freedom every day, every single day.  My son.  How could I bring that kind of pain?

And that is the end of my story to date.  Forgive me, love.  I did not mean to put my stamp on any of this.  I felt it necessary to help get Snowtooth his egg back, for the rightness of it and to stop the attacks, but going forward I do not know where I will be.  I've drawn a blade on them once before and may end up across the fence again, I don't know.  For now, there is a bar in town and I feel a great desire to rekindle the old performer in me.  I shall post this letter then Bella and I shall try to bring some smiles before we change ships in the morning.

I love you.

Your husband,


Tashe
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on December 21, 2011, 11:15:20 PM
The room was cool; the fire was banked and winter air seeped around door frames and windows.  It was dim as well, shutters tight against the chill.  A quick scan showed dusted bottles, clean glasses, a swept floor, and well-dressed patrons.  Not your common dive and no place he'd played before.

Two tables past a loudly arguing gaggle of private school youths, the elf he'd come to meet crossed slender legs and opened a parchment, his carelessly careful non-reading of the page indicative of someone with an ear to the conversation around him.  He was early and the elf, Dretsil, earlier still.  Edging around the table of young men, he took the chair to the right of Dretsil at the round table.  The man sat with his back to the wall so he could see the entire establishment.  The bard would not block his view.


The elf look up and set the parchment, written in a language he did not recognize, aside.  "Master Reid, a pleasure.  You have the song then?"

"I do.  I must confess, this has been...most enlightening.  I wondered what beyond the war of the dark elves against the surface elves would earn such hatred from my Lady, who is normally a most forgiving Goddess - and I ought to know, I've certainly tested every inch of Her patience.  I dug into my knowledge of church history and recalled the assassination of Ilsare's daughter, which gave rise to Ca'Duz."  He kept his voice level at the cost of his normal expressiveness, but his face betrayed his disgust at even saying the Prince of Hate's name.

"I cannot be fair in this, honestly. Someone's child was killed so a being twisted with hate and revenge could rise. I can't condone it, it sickens me. But, it seems, I can write about it. Oddly enough I was listening to some children chanting rhymes while they jumped rope when I got the first few lines..."

The elf nodded and waited with the patience of the very long-lived as he removed Bella from her case and made some minute adjustments to the strings.  It seemed to him that his motions were under the elf's scrutiny to a greater degree than most people who anticipated being entertained and it made him wonder, but...on with the show.  His vocals lifted in a chanting song, simple and lilting in contrast to quietly sinister bowing.

"Sing a song of sacrifice
Mouths filled up with lies
Four and twenty dark elves
Cooking a demise

Recipe for vengeance
Nourished over years
A splash of spider venom
A quarter cup of tears

Hate in his silken womb
Counting down his time
Love in heaven’s parlor
Working on a rhyme

Love’s child in her garden
Enjoying nature’s art
When up came a spider
Crawling for her heart

Pockets full of posies
Scattered all around
Maiden in the garden
Fallen to the ground

When the dish was opened
Hate’s first wailing breath
The child of the Lady Muse
Was lying still in death

Mother loses daughter
Evil’s form is cast
All the world below him
Suffer for the past

Sing a song of old pain
Birth of black from white
One lurks in the darkness
One stays in the light."

He lowered the bow. "I hope that satisfies your request, Milord."

Dretsil smiled, a toothy affair that felt momentarily genuine.  "If you agree to give me the partitur...I would be certainly pleased.  If that is agreeable.  I have as I said some information about our...common acquaintance?  But I'd like the things sorted and ordered, savvy?"  The elf moved a bottle of wine to the center of the table and made to uncork it.  So fluid the motion, so correct the surroundings, that the bard forgot he was not allowed to drink and waiting for the wine to coat the sides of the glass with anticipation that should have been a warning.  Dretsil spoke as he took his time with the cork.  "What are your first concerns?  What is what you want to know?"

His smile was slight, working at casual affability, as a sudden stab of paranoia forced its way out of his mouth via his foot.  "While I have no problem sharing my work for the world to sing, I would hope this doesn't end up twisted for the use of some Ca'Duz apologist...I trust you'll take care that isn't the case?"  The wine bottle tipped toward his glass.  Wine.  Wine...wait!  He thrust a hand over the glass at the very last minute and fished grape juice from his pack. "Alcohol and I have had a falling out that I pray lasts the rest of my life. Apologies, but I shall drink the unfermented fruit of the vine."  Something about his reactions felt off, he was off-kilter, he could feel it in his gut, yet he teetered still as he poured the grape juice into the glass.  Flashbacks of a tightly controlled, almost mechanical woman asking him questions about the Resonance of Being and the dead.  Refusing to drink if he did not.  Would it be worth returning to alcoholism to avoid insulting people?

Something to ponder another day.  He settled back in his chair, hoised his glass, and spoke. "My questions come from opportunities afforded a group I am affiliated with. With a specific goal in mind, we've had offers of aid from two merchants - Elmer Darin's half of the Iron Throne, and Arthas. Arthas is the one that interests me more as the man is a cipher.  Normally I'd go from my gut - but as I am not the one making decisions..."  An acerbic twist of a grin. "I have been asked for due diligence of discovery.  My concerns are first that he may be involved in something that would cause those I am representing harm, either in reputation or in body.  My second concern is that he pursues adventurers for private ventures, and as a part-time member of said group, I am sadly used to ulterior motives that end up going against my Lady's wishes.  I'm looking for solid, honest information on Arthas that will help me make up my mind one way or the other. I find him both challenging, confounding, alarming, and interesting, but again - in this situation my gut feeling has been put up for committee." After his rambling preamble he sipped and waited.

Dretsil smiled just a bit at his first comments, but his lips were as tight as the drum heads at the Buckle.  "Oh, my...do you ask that always?  Because the implication of me betraying my skin for the betrayers, well, it may be an insult as big as if you would betray your lady..."  The furrow that started on his face at the bard's first words turned to a scowl as the hand blocked the glass.  He moved the wine bottle off the table with a firm clink.  "Keep your song then sir, I don't want to have anything to do with it."

The relaxed, crossed legs unfolded and Dretsil sat up straight and stiff, feet flat on the floor.  "And yet I am a man of my word.  Where I won't offer friendship, I will offer answers to your questions.  Yet the question is a bit general so far, for bodily dangers are almost a sure bet in almost all the endeavors of these days; you remember the last war for sure.  Arthas is a prominent merchant in the city, and with strong friends and presence in the council.  He may be a councilman soon, if he moves his pieces right.  With this said its hard to define what is wrong or good for body or reputation, since he surely may have his rear covered, as such powerful people do.  With that said, the man is an eccentric.  If the question is if he is involved with some unlawful activities, if he was he made it lawful, if you get my meaning.  So, no, nothing unlawful coming from him.

"As for danger for the body, its said that he has adventurer's heart, but he doesn't have the physical ability to actually do it himself, so he lives his dreams through others, that is his inspiration, his ... muse."  The elf shook his head, less distress than lack of comprehension. "He is also a consummated sculptor yet he does it for the sake of the art, for his own enjoyment, and none of his pieces are shown.  His reasons are not known; he keeps them to himself.  If asked about it he has answered that he is becoming a master and that he doesn't consider any of his art worthy yet to be seen, they are imperfect still - in his own opinion of course.

"He is not an Ilsarian and of course he has plenty of projects on his little mind, but no great scheme for Ilsare's demise as far as I know.  He is indeed familiar with adventurers and he likes to get their help for their endeavors, he's a good man to have you on your back for that reason, yet his agenda its his own and of course - same as everyone - he will use the resources he has to get his goals.  Yet his main interest is to get that position on the council for the future of course."  With that the elf re-corked the bottle and rolled up the parchment he'd been studiously not reading earlier.

Well, Tashe, you could not have handled that worse unless you'd accused the man of being a dark elf in whiteface with a bottle of poison.   Muse.  "Please accept my apologies, Master Dretsil.  No insult was intended. It is a reflection of years of - well, let me be honest and call it paranoia.  Merely talking about dark elves leaves me twitchy and prone to rudeness, as I never know who is listening over my shoulder..."  His moment of genuine contriteness was combined with a shadowed glance around the room before he spoke again.

"It's funny you mention my lady, as she a daughter of Voltrex and would have twisted my ear into a knot for what I just said."  A long breath.  "I thank you for your information.  My instincts seem both right and wrong, yet my gut said to align with him and I think with what you've told me I'm still leaning that way."  Without hesitation he placed the musical score with the words to the song on the table.  "If you so choose, despite my rudeness. If I may ask, what instrument do you play?"

A brief pause.  "I do play the violin yet more due stubbornness than natural talent.  I am more a collector of sorts, not an artist.  Songs reflects the culture of our times and this stays in the annals of record and teach us of lessons for the future.  Slowly, the elf reached for the song.  He glanced at the score as he spoke. "The wise lord teaches us that, and your reasons are understandable indeed."  The score was rolled deftly in slender elven hands and placed into a crafted scroll case, made of exquisite malar skin and covered with simple yet sturdy wood.

He allowed some of his relief that his apology was accepted to leak into his expression, and finished his juice.
"Stubborness...I can certainly appreciate that." A smile and the bard tapped his skull.  "I am honored to have written for posterity.  Thank you again for your information.  If you have further need of me, I am found often at the Angels Guild, and also at the Silver Buckle Inn in Mariner's Hold."

With a nod, Dretsil finished his packing and excused himself with polite goodbyes.  The bard sat a moment longer to stare at his empty glass as the fire only just lit reflected yellow and blue flames of youth across the glassy curves, humming the song to himself.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 02, 2012, 02:53:23 PM
To:
Lord Arelius Witherspoon
c/o Mariner's Hold Council
Mariner's Hold
Sagewald
Alindor

Greetings Lord Witherspoon from Andrew Reid of the Silver Buckle

As you have doubtless heard, I recently engaged the services of the Wayward Wildside Trio that resulted in the tragic loss of life after the protests pulled the guards from the gate and the bugbears attacked.

I am aware that you provided protection for the band by way of law and that you are considered a patron of the arts in this city. As it appears that one Edna Blackheart has made it her business to both sink my inn to the bottom of the harbor (I assume metaphorically but one cannot be sure - she was most outraged that someone would be tolerant of a talented musician in fur or feathers) and to take from you your council seat, it seems we share a problem.

Given that we are both men who understand art and we face a common difficulty in the form of this woman, I'd like to meet with you and discuss how we can mutually benefit each other and help Mariner's recover as well.

Looking forward to your response,

Yours in Ilsare,


Andrew Reid
Proprietor of the Silver Buckle Inn




Always a pleasure to recive a letter from such a fine musician of such splendid talent and moral fiber!

Indeed, it was I who had first convinced the council to vote in favor of allowing the trio entry into the city. I do not regrest my decision, though many on the council have been using the recent riots and bugbear invasion as a tool to villify myself and those who have open hearts to the arts and culture of others.

Culture, this is the central issue I believe to be most relevant. It is in the manner of our upbringing, the notes of our song, the manner of our dress and the fiber of our being. Those who reject other species based solely on prejudice are ignorant of culture. These same individuals would next cast out the half-bloods, then the dwarves, the halflings gnomes and elves all out of ignorance of culture. They fear the foreign, malign the unknown and cling tirelessly to outdated jingo notions of nationalism.

There is but one good in this world, knowledge. And there is but one evil, ignorance. Those who willfully blind themselves and shove fingers in their ears rather than open themselves to new sensations, peoples and art, they do murder unto their own souls. Edna is such a woman. She would see every home on the block a cookie cutter replica of the last, every leaf muted and every mind a fortress with its door barred and windows fastened shut, with her cankerous, joyless rump in my seat. For the sake of the people of Mariner's Hold, this must not pass.

You already have felt the pressure of her influence, and for that I apologize, for no doubt she seeks to strike at you with methods she dare not partake against a noble such as myself. I invite you and your allies to come and dine with me, perchance to perform one of your famous songs as well! I am rather fond of "Do Virgins Really Taste Better" and have yet to hear it from the author himself. Then after a good bit of libation and revelry shall we discuss the matter of Lady Blackheart and her lapdog Herschel.

May your heart soar on the wings of art, the joy of innovation be your wind.

-Lord Witherspoon of the Mariner's Hold City Council
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 23, 2012, 04:22:03 PM
He slams the door, runs in calling her name - no, she's not here, they hadn't seen her since the two of them left together.  She isn't here, boss.  Yes, they're sure, unless she sneaked past and is hiding in the kitchen...

...he looks, just to be sure.  And Minu's office, and the pantry, and the clinic. The bathroom.  The Resident Halls, the basement.  She isn't here.

He is screaming inside his head.  How long can she last?  How can he combat those two female-shaped pits of pure pain?  How can he even find her?  He's completely let her down, failed miserably, all those promises to the man that she doesn't know he knows is her father and now he's put her in danger.  So bloody cocky!  So sure of himself!

He has to find her.  He can probably hold them off enough for her to run.  He'll die, certainly - he is still drained and in a state of panic.  There is no time.  She doesn't have long.  He needs help and he doesn't have time.

Okay, Tashe, think.  How are you going to find her, how are you going to save her.  Think.  Thi -

...

Grasp the necklace.  Close eyes.  Kneel, not for reverence but for balance.  You'll fall over otherwise.  Now, sing.

Sing.  Listen.  How do you feel?  What do you sense?  

His nostrils twitch - he smells roasted dwarf and throws up a little in his mouth.  Spits, and returns to singing.  The smell coats his nostrils in viscous memory.  Burnt beard hair.  Seared flesh.

Singing more, he hears...feels his panic bending the air around him.  He hears pan pipes, the sound doubled over the memory of sitting with her mother.  Of her playing the tune - a girl piping to comfort herself.  The panic rises and vibrates with his own weakness and he almost can't stand it.  He has not felt this desperate, this shredded inside, since Thalia walked out and took all hope of him knowing his only biological child with her.  This might be worse.  Someone's life is at stake, not merely his sanity and heart, and he does not know how to save her.

He hears Kaldar asking him to please watch out for her.  To bring her home to them...something he isn't sure he can do, she is no child.  He doesn't know her well enough to be that honest with her; she'd just leave.  Yet he hears the man asking again and again and in his song he uses to feel himself inside Her heartbeat, he repeats the man's words.  Tell her we miss her...we love her...we forgive her.  Miss, love, forgive...

Another sensation as his song changes - fear.  A bard, slipping from his knees to the ground as his throat is cut.  Cut not because he is a threat but because his captor is done taking from him what she wants.  She is finished with her human plaything, and wastes it simply because she can.

HATE. HATE - HE HATES THEM.  IT ROARS and he covers his ears - HATE!!!  He wants them DEAD.  He wants the pits of blackness to fade into nothingness.  DEAD.  He tried to do to them what they were doing to him, and failed.  It was desperation then.  Could he do it on sheer hate?  

That dark elf that took his life after the stupid, long speech about revenge.  He still doesn't know why.

Duchess.

The dark elf woman who murdered him in full view of Duchess, deliberately, as much to insult her as him.  He was a mere slave.  Replaceable.

The Shadow who holds his family hostage for silence over his pet enchantress.  HATE.

His jaw aches and his fists are tight.  His gut is tight.  Breathing raggedly, he stands.  He doesn't have much left.  He is afraid.  He doesn't know what he's up against.  He doesn't think he should be doing this, he who never used his songs to curse, he who lives by Lady Love.  But it's all he has, and he has a lot of it.

If love won't save Raina, maybe hate will.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 31, 2012, 11:12:37 PM
"Yes dear...of course dear..."

"Oh,  don't forget sugar.  We've got pies to bake and we'll need that and, let's see, some salt as well."

"Yes, dear."

A foot stamp.  "You're mocking me."

"Of course not, dear."

"Tashe, stop or I'll..."

He grins.  "You'll what?"

"I will pluck just one seam on your favorite coat when you're not looking!"

"You wouldn't!  I'll unravel!"

"Try me."

"Yes, dear..."

Swimmy, she's swimmy before his eyes.  A white blur stretching and shrinking.  He remembers the conversation and remembers their laughter but it drifts down from a deep, deep hole while his eyes struggle to focus.  She sounds different, her voice lower, masculine, a gentle urgency that he can't resist and if he does, pain --


"She calls you Tashe, why?"  A reasonable request in a reasonable tone.  He answers as he fades from stone cell to Buckle and back, a slow tide of consciousness, never really sure where he is.  There is another question in that same unhurried voice.  And another.  And another...he's walking down the hall to his room now, Minu is waiting for him near their bedroom door and she's been burnt black he can smell the seared flesh and hear screaming - Minu's hair is white - screaming -- his voice -- he's screaming --

________________________________________________________

He wakes on and off.  He's soiled himself and doesn't remember when.  The tingling itch of waste on his skin is irritating and he wants to sit up and clean himself, he's going to do that -- now.  Right now.  He'll move now.  Now.

Now.

Hungry.  Thirsty.  Sleepy.  Weak.  Now...not now...when he wakes up...

...someone is crying?


________________________________________________________

Time has lost all meaning.  There is always the same amount of light from odd globes and fungus on the walls, he has no idea.  He's not as fuzzy, though, and his veins don't burn with poison.  The human male who brought his food has not come in two days.  Hunger is making him light-headed.

He's clean, or cleaner.  His odor must have motivated someone to throw a bucket of water over him.

His cell is too short to stand in; not sized for humans, and certainly not humans his height.  He sits near one wall or another.  The smells coming from the waste grate in the middle of the cell are terrible in ways he's never imagined.  If he turns his head and breathes shallowly he doesn't gag.

He can make out Raina in the cell next to his.  He's already tried to reach her and can't push his hand through the bars; a magical barrier he senses but doesn't understand.  Not his kind of magic.  Minu would know...his heart aches, an evisceration that rips to his stomach.  She'll worry when he doesn't come home.

...quiet sobbing...not his.

Instinct.  He sings, trying to comfort in the only way he can.  He can see her shivering.

The guards are yelling at him in dark elven.  He lowers his voice immediately but keeps singing to her.  Her breath is shaky and she whispers.  
"Don't, Andrew...they'll just come and take it... I'm not sure I'll ever sing again...my throat hurts so bad from screaming."  A pause. "I'm sorry.  This is all my fault."

Fault is the least of their worries right now.  He tries for eloquence and his throat rebels against his usual verbosity, scraping out words like a miser paying cash. "I don't know what we're up against, Raina.  I don't know what they are.  I didn't know...you could do that with song...I mean, I did - skalds --" A racking cough, pain, he looks for water.  There is none.

"I never should have come to get you.  I should have run.  I should have..."  Her voice breaks off.

"You did what you thought was right." A dry swallow as a pitiful offering to his throat.  He leans on the wall, taking shallow breaths. "We're alive. Let's start with that."  

"We're never going to get out of here."  Her despair thrums against him; she's curling into a ball, a fetal defense against the undefendable.

A pause.  A slow breath.
"Raina, are you stonebound?"

She sniffles. "No, I'm not."   Muse.  Muse.  Muse!  It wasn't his first choice but it would have gotten them out of there...in his head, a string of Old Tilmarian curses that would have earned him a slap from his mother and an impressed whistle from his father.  He needs to keep her talking though.  She's slipping.  He keeps his voice low, as much to preserve his throat as to avoid attention.

"I don't know if we'll get out of here. That's me being honest."  Not helpful, really, but lying would serve no purpose even if he could make her believe him. "What I want to know...is what they are taking.  What are they taking from us?  How?"

Another sniffle.
"You don't know?"

Head shake.  "I've never encountered this.  Even the skalds I've met...I mean...I don't know much about it.  I've never used the Heartsong this way."

"Because it's forbidden."  Fear thickens her voice.  His thoughts are jumpy, he is having trouble thinking past his stomach.  Forbidden?

"Tell me."

"It doesn't matter anymore.  Maybe I deserve this.  You should have just left me."  More despair.  He knows why.  He's heard them torturing her as they have been him.  He knows the slice of every note.  He knows how she's been suffocated nearly to death on a spider-sweet chorus, only to be let go, gasping, and then suffocated again.  He knows how each caress from their dark elven captors sears like an iron pan right off the fire.  He knows, and no matter what happens, he will never forget.

And yet -- a petite elven woman stands in his mind, her golden whiteness a contrast in every way possible to those who keep them here.  She endured worse.  She tended to dying men and women until she herself was ill and even then she kept working, kept caring, washed withered bodies and wiped fevered foreheads until she could no longer move.  She bore the brunt of the very first cure at the risk of her life and was in constant pain for longer than he can imagine.

His White Lady, his Minuet.  She didn't give up.  He won't either.  He can bear this, for both himself and Raina if necessary.


"Raina...tell me. We can't fight what we don't understand."  She does not respond.  "Look at me."  Not unkind, but firm.  He's been accused of overthinking many times before but this time -- this time -- he must understand.  Flailing blindly got them here.  He'll have a dollop of knowledge with his gut instinct, thank you.

She coughs harshly, shudders, curls up tighter.  He's always been fascinated by that.  Does every warm-blooded race go fetal under extreme stress and pain?  Do orcs?  Do bugbears?  Her voice cuts through his mental wandering. "When you sing for people..."  She takes a deep breath. "What does it do?"

"It lifts their mood...it makes them feel stronger, more energized...I mean, I hope."  He tries to smile. "Or they pelt me with vegetables and beer bottles."

"And when these..." Fear choke off any further description.  He doesn't need it, he knows what she means.  "What does it feel like?"

He pauses to look for the words.  Torture he's not had a lot of experience with, but some.  Some.  Francesco was removed from the Resonance for that.  Forbidden... "...it's pain, it's like the antithesis of everything the Heartsong is...it's blackness and suffocation and hopelessness and weakness.  Like the power of the cursing songs, but...worse.  Much worse."  He blinks even as he says it, furrows his brows, resting his chin on his knees to think.  She waits.   "Like the curse songs...Muse, I've been trying to put more emotion into my uplifting, to really...they are doing the same thing.  Not the same song, but the same focus, the same practice.  To hurt and to kill." He's never imagined that anyone would use the Heartsong for this.  He knows it's forbidden by the Resonance, and now her words make sense.  This is why.  

So many points of light firing, he feels he's going to pass out.  His words..."It lifts their mood, it makes them feel stronger, more energized..."  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  Like new years in Huangjin, epiphany after epiphany booming through his skull.  As all artists do he gives to his audience, sends feelings and desires through the Heartsong, and he takes from them as they give their enjoyment.  Give and take, audience and artist passing energy through Ilsare's Heartbeat.  But his heart is not blind anymore, he can feel the Heartsong like he never has, and he could...he could...so much, he could do, to bolster and excite...another corner of the veil lifts...


He's not going to be Harmonious.  Harmony -- when has he ever?  It's not his style.  He's performed his entire life.  He's been on the right path but the wrong road.  Augmentation.  That is who he is.  If, when, he gets out of here he'll tell Illia.

But why wait?  It's not that he doesn't know how, only that he's been blocking himself from throwing fully into what he really is because he's a cleric, and he thinks he must know something of healing.

Let Minu worry about healing.  He will sing for the people.


It's right, it's absolutely right, this path. He feels it from head to toe. He can do this.  It's what he does.  And moreso he doesn't need to tell any mentor.  He must start now because Raina needs him.  Raina -- she's speaking --

"It's not just music, Andrew. They don't need a song to do it.  Just like I don't need a song."

He thumps his head gently on the stone wall, partly to clear it, partly to make sure he's not dreaming.  His brain is still reeling from that thought explosion.  "But the theory is the same.  To project hopelessness and pain so that the person feels it."

Her voice catches and she cries softly again.  "But I don't know that I can anymore.  I feel so empty."

"You're not."  He closes his eyes a moment.  The words march past the dry pain in his throat with the war-beat of his heart.  "I don't believe they can take it away.  I don't believe it.  Inspiration isn't something we're born with that we use up as we age.  It's all around us - every person, every thing, every experien...ce..."  BAM!  "I hate when I make sense." He thumps his head again.  She sits up, wiping her eyes.  "Our...fuel...is all around us, processed by our hearts.  You are not empty.  I am not empty."  His cheek twitches -- he is pretty empty actually.  Muse, let them feed us soon...

As he speaks he warms, almost physically.  His words seem to calm her.  "I don't know what this forbidden magic is, but the more we understand it, the better our chances of getting out.  And they can't take our inspiration away, Raina, so long as we live.  There are people on the surface who care for us. That's reason enough to learn and survive."  Like your parents.  Like my wife and son and family.

She is still wiping her eyes. "My father used to tell me that we were all connected in spirit. Do you know why the bardsong is powerful?  Or do you just use it?"

"I...er, skipped a lot of temple classes when I was younger.  I've always thought it came from shared experience - emotions we can all respond to, bard or not."

He can see her turning to look at him. "Temple classes?"

"Well, shrine."

"Huh?"

"My family is Ilsarian.  All of them - except maybe my sister."

"What does that have to do with it?" It's hard to explain, his education, but her confusion gives her a moment away from her fears and he's glad of that.

"Well, when I had chances to learn some of these things I didn't exactly want to ruin a beautiful day listening to a lecture so I skipped it."

She rubs her forehead, confounded that so simple a thing is beyond him.  Good.  It's more like the Raina he's seen in the past.
 "So, no... you have no idea why the bardsong is powerful."

"Well, not exactly true.  The Resonance of Being has remediated part of my ignorance."

"Tell me."  She is watching him through the bars although her face is in shadows.  He pauses a moment to gather up what he's learned.

"The Heartsong.  We're all a part - every living thing, and possibly even dead things."

"So why does a bard have power?"

"Bard song, or dance, or art, or whatever, it reaches people by projecting the emotions of the artist into the Heartsong."

Her voice has taken on a teacher's tone, or perhaps he's imaging that.  "That's the first sphere."  Of course she would know that.  Kaldar and Illia...

He nods. "As to why we have power?  Because in some way we're more aware of that connection we all have in the Heartsong than others."

She licks dry lips and coughs again, letting out a soft wimper of pain as she does so.  He can only look sympathetic as his own lips are cracked -- running his tongue over them merely sands them down a little.  He dredges up some foamy spit to try and moisten the skin.  

She continues.  
"When you sing in battle for people, what do you feel for them?"

"Mm." Once again he draws his knees up, resting his arms on them.  The sounds of footsteps echo in the corridor, coming closer, and a knot forms in his belly.  She hasn't heard them yet.

"Determination.  Strength.  Focus...fire.  As in 'in the belly'."

Now she's heard them -- he hears her sharp intake of breath.  The feeling of warmth he's decided must be coming from her as they've been speaking but it fades now, pulsing dimmer with each booted step.  It's as if she has pulled her very being closer to her for protection.  The air around them presses down, tense, smothering.  "Oh no... not again...please don't come for me...please don't come for me..."  He sits up as straight as he can and forces himself to look alert, defiant -- well, alert.  More tempting than the terrified woman in the cell next to him.

Come get me.  Take me.  Take me.


Without voice he focuses some of his determination toward her -- the same determination he sings in battle, ironically.  Strength.  Focus.  Fire.  He's always interacted with magic through song and vibration, always, he's never learned the art of silent singing as he's seen other silent cast.  It's a struggle but the remembrance of flow from him to her helps.  He can feel his energy, the same energy he puts into his performances and his war singing, ripple toward her.  He offers it freely and without reservation.  Muse, if only he could have done this for Minu when she was sick...there is a sensation of loss as he opens his heart, he's a tap with a broken spigot, but there is no pain.  When it's taken by force, there is pain.  Here he gives, and there is no pain.  It surprises him and yet it doesn't.  So much to learn, Tashe.  So very much.  Focus on the feeling...the giving...she is your audience.


The door to Raina's cell is opened.  They slip inside, lithe, graceful, eyes flickering red.  The faces of evil.  She's screaming, begging for help -- it tears him to pieces.  A lady in distress and he can do nothing but watch them sneer in delight as they drag her out, her pleas for them to leave her alone echoing down the corridor.  A stone door slams shut.


It is his turn soon enough.  The two females torture him, talking in between the pain in their peculiar speech.  They gloat -- he doesn't need to speak dark elf to know that.  They insult him, he's certain, over and over as they drag out his screams.  Fighting it only seems to excite them.  He's more passive this time.  There are things he needs to pay attention to, if he can.  The torture goes on...and on...

When he regains consciousness he's in his cell. Raina is breathing. He thinks she's sleeping.  And he knows two things he didn't know before.

Most of their attacks are not sonic.  

And they hate him.  They hate him so much he can feel it, almost touch it.  Pure undiluted hatred.

Interesting...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 06, 2012, 10:51:35 PM
Sweat etches lines through the dirt on his neck.  The song he hears is one to a lost love and it is beautiful.  Her voice is beautiful.  He recognizes it immediately.  He sees her, facing the water by her stool, making the music of her heart and he wears her song like a stormy summer day until she abruptly stops.  She turns her head and is staring right at him with her sightless gaze.  Illia.  Right at him.

"BRING HER HOME!"

His eyes snap open as if he'd never been asleep and he wonders if he was.  For a moment the oily remembrance of earlier sexual dreams of Minu and how her sun elf face morphed to the icy black, physically perfect face of one of his captors mixes with the clear, cool water of Illia's plea before the memories drift and separate.

He doesn't think he dreamed Illia.  He's not sure he dreamed either, and despite how utterly filthy he is he slips a hand down to check if he's been with anyone...


...no.  A dream.  Illia's song isn't an echo so much as a residue now.  There is a thump, wet and boneless, and a door slams.  Raina lies motionless just inside her cell.  He listens but can't hear her breathing.  Without his spectacles or incense, he can't see, either.  In the middle of a surge of panic, one quiet thought: He has to learn to let go of the song components.  His life no longer allows for these kinds of dependencies.  When he sees Minu, he'll ask her to teach him.

Of course he'll see Minu again.

He doesn't know how long they've been here but he knows Raina doesn't have much time.  He doesn't either, but longer than her.  His well of experience is deeper.  His tolerance for pain is also much higher.  Yet he won't bring her home if he doesn't do something.  What worked before might work again and he stamps on rising fright at her inert state and tries to project through the Heartsong to her.  What was it she mentioned her father saying?  "We're all connected in spirit..."  Meaning bards, he guesses.  They never finished that conversation.  He speaks, and feels a terrible guilt that it's so easy when she's not awake.


"They love you Raina."  Their love, Kaldar and Illia's parental love, he tries to express into the Heartsong in silent waves.  It's hard -- he knows parental love, but his is not theirs.  Raina doesn't move.

"I should have told you sooner.  I'm afraid to get involved.  I don't want you to end up hating me and then them too...I'm afraid to be in the middle like this.  I've been here before and it turned out badly for all involved."  He wants to sing.  He wants to sing.  He can't sing, they'll come back and he has to help her. "They love you.  They miss you.  I wish..."  

The words stick.  Ty.  Minu. Being apart and trusting others to do what's best for your loved one.  Separation with no way to know what your family are feeling and thinking.  He projects a blazing pulse of his own memories and emotions from that time.  "I know what it's like to miss someone you love that much.  I wish I wasn't such a coward that I have to tell you while you're unconscious."

No response.  He doesn't feel any better, either.  

"I want you to live.  I don't know how to save you but I want you to live."  Hoarse, but fierce.  Quietly fierce.  She remains limp, although some shallow rising and dipping of her side indicates that she is in fact breathing.  He slumps back and runs a thumb over the empty space at the top of his ring finger.  It is he and Raina.  Just them.  He can't send her emotions that he doesn't know.  "They're not here.  So it's me.  I have to be...yes." A nod; he's come to be very cordial with himself.  He's been asking himself questions and answering them too.  Politely.  Maybe he should be worried about that.  But he can't worry now, he has to help her.  Drawing in his thoughts is difficult.  He gives in to his need to hear and hums to himself.  It helps him focus.  

He thinks about what he feels for her.  She is aloof, annoyingly so at times. He has a good guess as to why, though.  She's sarcastic, yet vulnerable in her youth.  Confident yet nervous, independent and perhaps a little flippant, at least in her casualness about dating his bouncer and friend Edward.  She's talented.  Instinctive.  A witch's brew, her personality, not unlike his sister's only less abrasive.  A sister -- yes, that's what she feels like.  A younger sister.  He's never been a big brother.  He feels like one now.  He draws on that, on his caring, the same caring he offers his family even when they drive him crazy, and his worry as well.  The humming hones his emotions and he pushes them out, timing his heart to the lullaby both mother and daughter play on the pipes.

It's a release not to put on a brave face.  Even though he's learned that lesson before, he needs a refresher, and as he lets all of his feelings out he warms.  It's subtle at first but it grows.  He visualizes his emotions rippling toward her and her breathing strengthens.  From that comes hope, and wonderment, and wild gratitude to Ilsare; it all flows through his heart toward her.  He feels stronger.  She breathes easier.  His fatigue and aches lighten, still there but less pressing, less urgent.  He feels loving.  The hope is making him a little high, and this latest miracle of his Goddess humbles him.  He has no idea how long he sits there sending out his emotions.  It feels too good to stop.

He calls her name but she doesn't stir, and so he quiets and revels in the sensation.  Even through his light-hearted euphoria he knows it's been a while. His bladder is full.  Can one continue to do this while attending to body functions?

Apparently so, as he finishes and sits again.  A short time later she stirs, shivers, tries to pull a blanket over her in a pantomime of comfort.  There isn't a blanket, of course, and she sits up and looks around.  He speaks.


"Good morning, sunshine."

"Andrew?   I...am I dead?"

"Not unless I am."  He thinks he must be glowing a little.  He lets the emotions flow unimpeded.  He basks in them, love and worry alike.  He does not want to stop.

...his own words echo through his enjoyment.  He has to tell her, now, before anything else happens.  "Raina.  I need to be honest with you."

She smiles and he hasn't seen that since they woke in this place.  She inches closer to the barrier.  
"I thought I heard you talking to me, but it was so dark where I was...I couldn't find my way out, and then...there was a light..."

He beams.  Hate.  He thought his hate could save her.  He has never been so wrong -- and that's saying something. A spike of pure love for Ilsare; once again, my Muse, you've shown me truth.


"Honest with me?"  

"Yes.  I was telling you when you were out...but that's a cowardly thing to do."  He keeps his voice gentle.  He's sure this won't go over very well.  "Do you remember when I told you I was visiting Kaldar and Illia?"

Faster than he thought the warmth ebbs away, she retracts, their connection drawing thin. "Oh.  Yes."

"Back in Fort of Kings, when I was researching my violin."  He can't hold back the pang of misery as he remembers that and he doesn't try -- not about Rosemary's theft, he's worked through that, but that his Bella is...somewhere else.  Not here.  Maybe never to be held by him again.  He lets it flow with the rest.  "I wondered why talking about them upset you.  I could tell."

She winces then laughs, nervous and quiet -- everything they do is quiet, they both seem to hope that it will stave off their attackers longer if they are little church mice.
"I'm...not very good at hiding my emotions apparently."

"I'm too good sometimes. It's not healthy."  Their healing connection shrinks further.  He doesn't want it to stop.  A cleansing breath.  "Conductor Whinessey asked them to mentor me.  That's how I met them.  I wondered why for a long time."  She listens and pulls her knees to her.  "But Illia has taught me things, or more...let me learn things without letting me stand in my own way.  Does that make any sense?  In the meantime you came into the Buckle, and we met."  She is silent.  He presses on, needing to talk, to keep her connected.  "That day I was torn up over my violin's history.  I...I'll explain it later, but it was difficult for me to understand.  I didn't wish to play her so I took out those pipes you gave me.  I've been practicing."  He's proud of that.  He's always disdained woodwinds, and now he can play recognizable tunes.  Sometimes he plays them to shake his brain, find inspiration from an instrument he still has to think about.  She favors him with a hint of a smile.  "Kaldar asked me where I got them, and I told him -- there was no reason to be dishonest.  He seemed very interested in them and I thought perhaps you'd given me something magical or...I don't know...I suppose they are.  He told me then where they came from."  Not warm...not warm...don't let it stop...  "Don't pull away."

Confusion.  "What?"

"You've been pulling away, ever since we started talking about them."

"I haven't moved."

"I've felt something since the other day. I always thought for me, working in any sphere meant sound, but I have been able to...to project myself to you, without singing."  Again the wonder.  Is he really doing this?  He is, he feels it.  Intellectually he knows what is happening and there is no way mere words have prepared him for it.  "That's what I've been doing for the last...Muse, I don't know.  Since they brought you back last.  I lost track of time.  It felt good."  A pause as she listens. "It was like you were closing your heart when I started talking about your parents."

The connection finally breaks and cold seeps in, or perhaps he imagines it -- a lack of the warmth they shared.  She closes her eyes, tenses, even with the connection gone he senses panic from her expression.  "I...I didn't think I'd survive that."

"Shhh, you did.  You're stronger than you think.  We have to get out of here...but I think we have to keep each other alive until the chance comes."

Fear.  "I don't know how.  I don't know what you did..."  A single tear.

"Raina.  They love you.  They miss you.  They forgive you, and they hope you forgive them.  And they want to see you.  So much I can't even..."  He pulses love. "That's what I wanted to say.  Everything is forgiven.  Stuff happens, no one person is to blame.  They love you.  They want to see you."

Her eyes are closed and her breathing ragged. "Andrew, what I did...I can't take it back."

"No.  I've done things I can't take back either.  But you can go forward."  His emotions flow strong, memories of decades of his mistakes and his acceptance of them.

"But she can't."

"She has.  She's come to Hlint to be at my wedding.  She's promised to visit my Inn...she's mentoring me.  Is that not going on?  She's reaching out to you.  Look, I've screwed up.  My grandmother...Muse...she's screwed up, and if she hadn't, I'd not be who I am today."

Raina rests her forehead on her knees and quietly sobs.  Her shoulders shake and the movement is at odds with her restrained grief sounds.  He feels the flow of pain, sends his own feelings into the Heartsong redoubled -- regret, determination, resolution, and love.  Her voice is muffled. "You don't know what it was like... always arguing.  I don't know why, but it seemed that no matter what either of us did we irritated the other.  I thought she hated me."

"I've been that way with my father before.  Often.  But I know he loves me, and I know she loves you."

The connection rejoins, tentatively, but the warmth is there again.  She turns her head on her knees and looks at him. "Did you almost burn your house down with your mother inside?"

"No, I rebelled against my father by never being what he wanted.  By shirking my responsibility.  By having sex with...lots of women.  By doing drugs and being a drunk and disappointing him every single day, because he could see my potential."  His regret flows unimpeded.  "I threw away a decade at least, not caring."  Slight grin. "That's a lot of time to us humans."

"I'm half human."

"Still got pointy ears."   He's grinning for real now. "And you'll be very pretty at two hundred.  I won't."

She smiles and steers them back to the topic of his father.
"But you're so...powerful now.  He'd be able to see that, right?"

"Things are better.  I've realized what I can be, he's seen that.  He's figured out he was overbearing, and stepped back, and let me learn."

A sigh. "I used to get so frustrated with my mother.  She traveled all over when she was younger.  She saw the world, and that's what I wanted to do.  For my stories... you can't learn all of those stories by staying in the woods.  Don't get me wrong, I love being out there, but the peacefulness... eats at me after a while.  I need to be out, performing, learning, being around people."

"You know, I think it does her too."

"What?"

"She was very happy to come all the way to Hlint on Mistone.  Super happy to be around people, a wedding, all that joyous emotion...I think she'd like to get out a little more.  Maybe not a lot, but more...that's my guess.  If I had to guess, she stays, hoping you'll come home."  He pauses while she thinks on this. "Did she not want you to go out and travel?"

Raina frowns. "There's something more, I just don't know what it is.  Something made her stop traveling, and I just don't understand.  She said she loved it, but she just gave it up.  She always told me I wasn't ready."

The easy back and forth, the feeling of their emotions healing each other, he's almost comfortable. He's almost forgotten he's so filthy he's developed a crust, and has a rash in a place he really wished he didn't because there is never enough water to even coat their throats let alone bathe.  They are always hungry here and they are always, always thirsty. "Parents and children.  We make so many mistakes, from both sides of the relationship..."

Her laugh is bitter. "Maybe I should have listened.  I wouldn't be down here."

"But then you wouldn't know what you know.  I guess you have to find a happy medium...something between stuck in the woods and stuck here in the Deep with an ex-drunk innkeep."  A bubble of giddy, almost hysterical mirth -- he smiles.

She turns on the sarcasm. "A near murderer and an ex-drunk?"

"Now that's the Raina I know."

"I'm scared."

"I am too."  And he is. And she knows it. "But we can keep each other alive while we figure out how to get out.  They hate us, Raina."

She puts her hand on the ground next to the barrier.
 "I know."

"They hate us.  Hate, so much hate...why?  Why hate a human and a half-elf?  Why bother?"

"Because it's who they are."  She licks her cracked lips. "I...know a story..."  

Who they are.  Who are they?  Hate is who they are.  And he's struggled to understand, struggled with his own hatred, struggled to temper it because he thinks it misplaced.  Struggled to understand the three dark elves he knows that are not evil, or at least, he doesn't think so -- Minu trusts one, Daniel another, and Angela is married to the third.  And yet here they are, being tortured solely for pleasure; he's been killed by dark elves for reasons he still doesn't know; he's been treated as a slave and almost branded; and still he struggles.  Words his father has spoken come back to him clear as if William were standing next to him.  "Don't let the exceptions obscure the rule."  They are hate.  He doesn't know why, but they are.  He feels a surge of his own raw hate for their captors and the entire dark elf race.  If he'd been singing, it would have been vibrato.  Raina winces, her eyes widen and she looks directly at him.

"I felt that."

"Sorry.  I hate dark elves."

"So do I."

"You know a story?"

She nods, slowly.

"Tell me...please."

She doesn't hesitate.  This story, she says, comes from her mother and has been passed down through the elves in Illia's lineage.  In a parched whisper she recites it, the tale of a war clan who once had skin tones as varied as any surface elf.  She tells of how they fought a war with the dragons, in the time before what the elves call the Betrayal, and how the dragons appeared to be winning by attrition even killing prey animals to starve the elves.  A corner of his mind turns to the world above them and the return of the dragons, and his own fears that war is coming -- again.

She speaks of the elves' desperation as so many of them die.  How the of them all the war clans stood their ground, convinced they could win.  And of how they were offered a solution by a pit fiend -- power enough to defeat the dragons...at the cost of their service "for a little while".  Of course the council was horrified and forbade the alliance, if a contract between anyone and a fiend like that can be considered such.  The war would be fought and won or lost on their own strength -- elves are a proud race, and deservedly so, most of the time.  She tells of how the attacks increased and the elves began to retreat -- he feels a surge of his warlike nature, that which he too often hides or admonishes, the part of him that paced the walls in Fort Hope and sang the armies from Lor into battle.  He is a peaceful man much of the time.  But he can't keep shoving this part of him aside, even if it might distress Minu.  He has a war bard's heart when it counts.

Raina continues -- the abrupt cessation of the attacks, the moment when dawn broke and the elves saw the dragons dead on the ground, every last one.  He tries to whistle -- what has that much power? -- but it ends in a cough.  And she recounts how the leader of that war clan walked across the wreckage of scales and wings, skin as ebony as the midnight sky, hair shock white, eyes now glowing embers of red, and the emblem of the pit fiend burned into his chest.  

They had gone against the council.  He wonders a moment if it would not be in some way justified to save their people, a sacrifice for the greater good, but she continues; it was not the victory the war clan leader wanted.  It was the power, and the war was but a means to that end.  He did not forge the alliance with the fiend alone, moreso.  From behind him came others, all of them blackened and with white hair and red eyes.  The surviving elves were horrified.  Not only had the deal with the fiend changed the appearance of those who stood with the war clan leader, it had changed their hearts.  They were lustful of power and more war.  They sold away their souls in favor of the strength to take what they wanted.

The council banished them out of fear, although Raina says no one really knows how this exactly happened and that there are other accountings of the aftermath.  The new race of elves hated light, and those who dwell in it.  They were -- are -- the dark elves. She tells him that elven parents raise their children with stories of disobedient children being stolen away to the Deep.

She grows quiet as her story ends, then quieter.
 "I believe it now.  Maybe this is my punishment."

He thinks one last time of Alantha and the others.
 "How are there exceptions born?  Are there ever?  I've met dark elves that seem...not so evil.  One is a friend of my wife's and the other is Ilsarian."

A shrug. "I don't know, except that they lie."

"That they do.  I wonder if we can use that somehow...I said inspiration isn't tied to us but all around us -- the Heartsong, life itself.  I wonder if I could give them a surge of lo -- "  Footsteps in the hall.  He speaks quickly.  "We can keep each other alive, Raina.  Remember that.  I'll be listening for you -- "  He taps his heart.  "And helping you."  Raina tries to push herself into the wall behind her, through it if she can, as far from the door as possible.  He all but throws his emotions to her, waves of them, all that he can give, as he listens.  It is not her door that opens this time.  It is his.  There are two female dark elves outside the cell in silk-covered plate that blends them into the ever-present dimness.  One speaks in the dark elven tongue and there is no preamble, no build up, only instant overwhelming pain, all his nerves suspended over the fire of her words, he can't move...Raina is screaming his name, he wants to say shhhh...shhhh...it's almost too much to process, the agony.  The pain in his arms increases as hands grab him.  It is the last thing he remembers.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 13, 2012, 08:54:10 PM
A moth is carved in his shoulder.  The burning is constant.  His left shoulder -- he's not sure why that detail is so important.  His left shoulder.  He could try to heal it but does not.  He does not want it to be permanent.

There are not words for the pain he's been put through.  Dark elves, all females, marking him in some sick ritual.  He wants to hate them, their smug chanting, their smirking enjoyment at the agony they cause.  He wishes he could hate -- oh, how he wants to hate.  A lava flow of bone--deep hatred to sizzle them where they stand.  But he can't.  Not because he's too good a man, or because he's too exhausted, starving, and dehydrated to care, or because his prior attempts were as feeble as he is right now, or even because hurting someone with the Heartsong is forbidden, although those are all factors.  But after Raina’s story, his hatred has morphed to pity.  They really are what they are, just like sharks are what sharks are, and mosquitos are what mosquitos are.  They are pre-determined.  They can't help being wretched, loveless, spiteful, hateful beasts – they are born that way.  He doesn't hate sharks.  Why bother hating something that cannot be anything other than what it is?

But, like sharks and mosquitos, it doesn't mean he'll think twice about killing them.

He can hear a woman screaming and sees Raina is not in her cell and prepares himself.  Ilsare, please let her -- and screams himself, as his prayer causes the moth to burn, burn...

It is the same as when he was strapped to the table, the same pain as he called out to Her.  He is ANGRY.  They cannot block his Goddess from him.  She is in him, part of him, as he is part of Her -- the burning flares, and he struggles against blackness.  They can't take Her away!  They can't separate them!  He literally sees red, pounding on the floor and walls.  The frenzy spends itself quickly, he has precious little resources to spare for such a pointless display, and he sits with his back to stone and hums soundlessly as Raina’s screaming stabs his conscious.

What he doesn’t know about the Heartsong is staggering, and yet...he’s learned a lot in the last...months?  Year?  He’s learned he can’t send emotional ripples any distance, at least not here, not now, not yet.  He’s learned that he can’t send emotional messages in the Heartsong either.  Illia has not felt his attempts, he’s sure; a dream must just be a dream after all.  He’s learned that sharing emotions the way he and Raina are sharing is healing but it seems to be a function of being close, physically as well as spiritually, and the connection must be mutual.  He’s learned that certain emotional states sever the connection.  That confuses him; no emotion is bad, all emotions must be expressed to be dealt with, but perhaps it is a reflection of a person needed space?  Withdrawing lest they reveal that which they don’t understand about themselves?  He doesn’t yet know.

He’s learned that praying hurts, and that hearing himself inside the Heartsong doesn’t.  He’s always known that the Heartsong is not exclusively Ilsare’s; Jaelle taught him that years ago.  But it has never been so real, the difference.  The stone is cool on his bruised, whip-marked back.  Raina’s screams fade.  The moth burns.  

Ilsare’s or not, it doesn’t matter.  To him it will always be Her heartbeat, just as he chooses to think of the Heartsong as something he can hear, although with his soul and not his ears.

So he and Raina can help each other and keep each other alive.  He rests and prepares to speak to her likely unconscious form when she’s returned to the cell.  He prays through flaring pain that she is alive.  He does not want to be alone down here.  No one has come...Rory has not come...Minu has not come...no one.  They are alone and unarmed and nearly naked, starved, thirsty, attacked the moment their cell doors are opened, tortured regularly for no reason he can see.  It is going to be like this for a long time. It may well end like this.  He can’t bring her home because he can’t combat them.  He would, if he could, but he has nothing, not even a song now; he can barely talk.  All he can do is keep her alive, keep himself alive, and pray no matter how much it hurts him.

Please Ilsare...rescue us.  Rescue us.  A chance, an opportunity, a party of Voraxians even -- Muse, he’d dearly love to see Griff and Gunder and Gorm and Zig and Argali come stomping down here...the pain literally takes his breath away and he smiles, for he can’t be sure that wasn’t from Her for his flip thoughts of Vorax’s faithful.  But he’d still kiss each one of them on their hairy upper lips if they did show up.

So weak.  He needs strength.  Again, as it has been now and again, a thought wanders through his head.  If he and Raina can help each other in their emotional resonance, can he also draw strength directly from the Heartsong?  He wishes to find out, and opens his heart to listen, searching for a way to connect...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 19, 2012, 10:20:06 PM
When is the moment that everything changes?  That patience and prayer become panic and desperation?  That shift inside.  It's so small, not something one can put a thumb on or quantify in any way.  Only that then, he observed and waited and prayed for rescue, and now...

He's tried to understand what it is that he needs to learn here.  Ilsare has not brought him here for nothing and She has not forsaken him, even though prayer burns worse than fever and fire.  His unfolding friendship with Raina is one thing he's learned, certainly.  They have found a way to help each other emotionally.  Other...he has found Other, another, and he understands more than when it was just him.  Just himSelf.  Now the emotional...resonance...makes more sense, with another.  He's told her about it, offered to teach her, but she isn't interested.  She only wants to escape, and to stay alive, and have a friend and not be alone.  He ponders when she sleeps on what this could mean.  Beauty, yes, he understands that, and love - being here in this place makes it hard to love, but love is what makes this work.  

And they say it's not really Ilsare's Heartbeat.  Pfagh.  He smiles, cracked lips and all.  Love, caring, is the facilitator.  He offers, she accepts, she offers, he accepts.  Unspoken and fluid, their emotions buoying and healing each other from the torture and pain and magnified by the Song of Life.  They need each other.  It is that simple.

He thinks of them as them now, not her, and I.  Oh, he's probed his feelings, examined his guilt while she sleeps, wondered on his own wild inner nature - or is it? - and finally accepted that he is not harboring secret lust for this half-elven woman.  His heart is Ilsare's and Minu's, and Raina still reminds him a great deal of Aya at times.  He tells her and she thinks it's funny.  He wonders if she'll laugh once they meet.

But they are they, and there may only be a tiny handful of secrets they still keep.  They anticipate each other now.  Nights...days?  He has no idea - they've sat, built stories from thin air now that they've shared all the ones they know - "...and, realizing her life might be in danger from this vain and wild royal, she snuck one day into the girl's closet, and plucked a thread from each hem.  And sure enough, the very next day she was summoned to the princess's room.  'This corset is too tight, and my petticoats too short!  Fix them immediately or you shall perish!'"

"...the seamstress could do no more work than had already been put upon her that day and begged for a little more time, which displeased the princess..."

"...the princess waved one imperious hand and said 'Off with her head!'"

"...but the seamstress was after all very clever and she pointed to all the spoiled princess's dresses.  'Oh, my dear Persephonie, there is a thread loose in those seams - if I am to die, who will fix all of those as well?'"

"...vexed and purple-faced, the princess stampled her foot..."

Stories, their own and those of their fancies and whims, are how they share.  He knew the things she's seen and felt as a child.  She knew how many times he skipped his lessons growing up (twenty-two) and where his hiding spot is in the home he grew up in.  And that it is not the home that his parents live in now, and that he left a journal behind in his old bedroom for the family moving in.  

He waits for the tiny moan of metal on metal as her cell door is opened.  She comes back alive, if barely, and carved with her own moth.  Their pain seems equal when they compare and neither have any idea what it is or what it means beyond controlling prayer.

Control, though.  Yes.  Control.  He thinks perhaps they've passed some test, some dark elf test of stamina, and now the real trial begins.  And that shift inside - no one has come...no one is coming...it is time to get out of here.  He does not know why Minu has not come.  He does not know why Rory has not come.  He knows he has to get them out and keep Raina alive.  He's examining every outlet, every crack, every hinge, every bar.  Even the grate in the floor, Muse help him, if he can squeeze through.  They have both lost a good deal of weight, but his shoulders are still broad-boned...maybe...maybe.  He starts another story as he again goes through what he knows, what he has, and what it will take to escape.

"BRING HER HOME!"

I'm trying!  I'm trying!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 28, 2012, 12:00:51 PM
To: Alantha T'sarran
Stort
Alibor Island

Milady Alantha, I write in hopes you might meet with me. I have had a long and terrible captivity with dark elves in the Deep and have been marked for it. I'm trying to identify the mark and perhaps translate the ritual, and for that, I need someone fluent in the dark elf tongue.

Plainly put you are one of only two dark elves I know that I would trust to go where you will go, should this work - literally inside my mind, to see what I can't or don't want to remember. It will require trust in me, and in the redoubtable Sister Bernice, who a friend of Minu's and a high-ranking Aeridinite.

How this will be accomplished will be fairly awful and possibly even deadly for me, but in this case, necessary. From what I remember I'll be put into a drugged state that loosens my control of my mind, and you and Minu will be drugged as well, and through this substance you will be able to witness my memories or my interpretation of them. I hope this does not frighten you into refusing! I do need your assistance and I pray you can make it to Mariner's Hold in time. Please bring your lovely lady wife if you can, I have not had the pleasure of either of your company in far too long.

In hopes to see you soon and may the Muse inspire you,


Andrew Reid
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 05, 2012, 10:13:28 PM
Wings on my shoulder
Too close to the flame
Want to share the pain but I’m the only one to blame
Some things never change

Wings on my shoulder
Engraved with black and inky hate
Would like to change my mind but it’s way, way too late
Some things never change

There are no angels in the Deep
No seraphs perched by my ear
It’s not Ilsare’s voice I hear
Leperdoptera

Wings on my shoulder
Savage pinpricks in fleshy ego
Would love to take the thorns off but I crossed that bridge long ago
Some things never change

I’m crying out Her name
Setting myself on fire to pray
Would love, I’d love to still my tongue but it’s a small price to pay
Some things never change

Maybe it’s proof, maybe dare
Maybe a test of my fealty
She’s earned that much from me
If this is how it has to be
Leperdoptera

Wings aflutter at Her name
Pounding glass again and again
A moth behind a window pane
Some things never change
Some things never change...
Title: Power and Prestige
Post by: RollinsCat on March 06, 2012, 10:33:22 PM
Wicky Fennel - something about Sagewald and kenku? - vegetable farmer.

Girntif Smazor - dung man - gossip with Wicky about mercs

Note:  ---if the old mines were reopened-----maybe----more gold means more money----dwarves----what happened to the----the halfling could help----

Some of the fort officers forfeiting pay; voluntary, or forced, or king is broke?

Prostitutes are good spies.  Good thing I'm married.

----------------------

Johnny (Kurn chopped his legs off - Muse, I was with the horses or I'd have stopped that!) and his friend marking wagons for Darius the halfling bandit leader.  "....the halfling could help"?

May Ilsare keep his soul.

------------------------

4.2-120.3-4.1-3.3-1.2-2.4-3.1-6.1-4.6-9.3

7.1-13.1

3.4-2.2-15.3-7.2-4.5-2.3-8.2-5.1

4.3-14.1-15.5-8.1-11.7

4.8-19.2

11-3.2-15.2-14.3-4.9

22.6-27.3-18.1-5.2-5.1

4.4-5.4-17.1-32.1-5.3
_______________________________

The Quiet Laws - stars and song!  And here I thought it was bedtime reading for a bandit...
_______________________________

White Mouth Harbor.  Harold Carterton is governor and loyal to the guilds.  Possibly; probably; the guards as well.

Smithing Guild, Shepard's Guild, Shipping Guild, Seamaster's Guild = Council of Guilds.  W/king appoint Governor.  Profit to be had from letting Sagewald take over; need to dig into the guilds, much deeper.  Something is rotten on both sides of this fence.  Are they looking for Sagewald to take over, or to give the harbor semi-autonomy?

Halfling - Troubadal Lightfoot, Shipping Guild.  Richest halfling in Taur'en.  Must ask Denon.

Code: visit Jimmi's.

Ask Naldin to dig into dwarf side of things, very possible that's got termites too.
-------------------------------------

Government district: Council Chambers, Governor's Court, Governor's Mansion, Jimmi's on the western edge, shrine to Aragen

Merchant district: Main Gate, four major guild houses, Fluffy Swan, Deliar shrine

Western docks: Warehouses, slums, Dark's Den (gang-run gambling), Brass Buckle

Eastern docks:  Nobility housing, business offices for shipping companies, Governor's Landing, arts houses

---------------------------------------

Ball crushingly dull, especially when I'm not playing.  Aging fop indeed - fashion in that town is a wreck.  Must keep outfit long enough to give Minu a laugh.

MOTHER OF MUSIC of all times to sneeze!  What kind of flowers did they bring in this place anyway?

...Darin Yu.  Must find out more

------------------------------------------

What you wish for...Rook's found out Ms. Yu is an active bandit leader, after giving up our mission and the name of the King.  I hope they believe she's working independently but I can't assume.  Regardless myself, Jetta, Minu, Jil and SehKy can't go to Jimmi's anymore.

Yu wants to meet the King and implied she'd like to revoke his single man status.  Really?  Or bluff?  How much can I trust her?  Can I trust her?

Zildjian Fie; Yu is setting Jetta up to be a bandit, a recruit from her organization.  Rook going deep, need information conduit - Drogo? Foresta?

---------------------------------------------

Troubadal Lightfinger, powerful man and the head of the hydra as far as where the bandit goods are being laundered.

---------------------------------------------

Bertha Stoneforge - I must be part of her bodyguard, protecting her as the regent of Taur'en.  A dwarf, surely Voraxian or Dorandite.  Ilsare protect me...

Clan council of the Taur'en Hills - seven members of the most influential, oldest, and largest clans.

-One wants stronger ties to Bydell along with Bertha
-Three want to defect to Erilyn due to ancient packs with the nobles and knights
-Three want to defect from Taur'en and start a new dwarven nation with a new dwarven king.

Twelve years of arguing, how wonderful.  Despite Kurn's faith I doubt an Ilsarian bard can wring any concessions from them.

According to King Thomas, they offer protection of the lands above the halls, but otherwise have put nothing on the table.  This will mark the first time Taur'en has made a statement to the Dwarven Council since the time of Kraklin and Milara.  Stoneforge will direct all negotiations.

Good questions, bad answers.  Not happy about this.  Troubadal Lightfinger is coming along, and that bodyguard of Sabian's.  Not happy at all about this.

---------------------------------------------


Erilyn:

Stonehunger – Ogaffum, representative. Clan loremasters; ask them for past information? Perhaps about King Angus’s vanishing or digging too deep? Appears to be persuasive, perhaps leading the Erilyn charge. Votes for closer ties with Erilyn.

Granitemaul – Uskar, representative. One of two youngest clans with a seat along with Axeheart, very prolific group, good for them. Nookie and family – dwarves I could enjoy. Likely considered less influential than the other five due to youth. Votes with Ogaffum Stonehunger for closer ties with Erilyn.

Ironaxes – Harkojud, representative. Great clan warriors, Harkojud best of them all. Do not challenge to arm-wrestling. One of the clans in existence when Angus was king. Votes with Ogaffum Stonehunger for closer ties with Erilyn.

Independence:

Strongforge – Murdag, representative, granddaughter of Angus Strongforge. Clan of the last true king. Murdag wishes to reclaim throne, no surprise there. Votes for independence.

Stonetrees – Aidenhammer, representative. Clan that existed when Angus was king. Forgers, builders, likely very tied to the ore in the hills as such. Built most of the city, will know all ins and outs, any secret passages. Votes with Murdag for independence.

Axeheart – Oighrig, representative. One of two youngest clans with a seat along with Granitemaul, very prolific as well. Oighrig is youngest council member in the history of the clans. Considered radical, possibly open to new ideas, also very likely less influential than the others. Seniority rules in dwarven culture from what I’ve seen. Votes for independence.

Bydell:

Elfbane – Lrakuxil, representative. Clan wizards, very unusual. Not popular with Bertha and very likely not popular with any of the other clans either; why are they on council if they’re so controversial? Blackmail? Fear? Magic figures in there somewhere. Votes for union with Bydell.


-Why was a king or queen never re-crowned?
-What happened to the clans that Stonehunger, Granitemaul, Axeheart, and Elfbane replaced?
-Would an independent dwarven kingdom ruling under the hills in alliance with Bydell rather than as a part of it be so bad? Except for the Vorax bit of course.
-Must find all dwarven songs I have, good thing I have a lot of drinking and anti-Rael tunes...

--------------------------------------------------

-Do NOT insult dwarven honor.  Not even a little bit.
-Be direct.  No frills.  Ilsare, help me...
-Be true to your beliefs and your values.
-Do not disrespect.
-No frills!
-No frills...

They searched and inventoried us.  Shades of Prantz.

--------------------------------------------------

A mere handful of survivors so far.  Better than none, but Muse, what a cave-in...

We lifted the curse, at least in a little area.  Now thanks to Katelyn and Protector Merritt we know how - the dwarves and elves must forgive each other, and be blessed while doing it and sharing blood.  A ritual of peace.  I haven't felt this good in a long time.

It's strange to think that Ilsare, Deliar, Rofierin, Dorand, and Vorax were all part of cleansing this place.  

Aidenhammer's son, his only son, lives.  It's been a good day.

--------------------------------------------------

What a show...Muse, I'm drunk...what a show...

--------------------------------------------------

Aidenhammer Stonetree and the Elfbanes for Bydell, then. Two down!

The forces of the mountains and Erilyn banded to fight Milara, and lost - badly.  The Ironaxes and the Stoneforges bore the brunt of the loss.  Must emphasize that Erilyn and Bydell are not enemies and find out how close they are, in trade agreements and in mutual aid.  Troubadal?

Harkojud of Clan Ironaxe has asked for help with a problem.  He called our actions saving Aidenhammer's son "exploits" and mentioned that he wants to throw in with the "nobler" knights of Erilyn.  Interesting word choices.  Harkojud has caught word of an assassination attempt, and the assassins are already in Lusaxon.  They have vanished since entering.  He wishes to catch them and ask questions - in the way that only dwarves ask questions - but can't tip off the assassins, which means no extra security.  

Targets are unknown.  A description will be sent - I'll draw that as best I can.  One known agent but possibly more who came in not too long before us.  I wondered about moles in the city, as dwarves often assume a loyalty that another race may not.  Now we must find out.

Suggested we check the various estates for evidence of tampering.


GENERAL Ironaxe  !

Elfbane indeed least trusted, although also one of the oldest.  Must meet these dwarves, I am helplessly drawn to why they would buck expectations and use magic.  Secretive and Harkojud says you won't forget meeting the clan leader, Lrakuxil.  This I must look into, really - and Minu won't forgive herself unless she's able to learn of dwarven magics.

Possible targets after discussion - council members and pin it on us, council members and pin it on a clan that is for Bydell, or Bertha, so the ring goes to Troubadal.

Elfbane is first visit and Naldin tells us they are older than the Cataclysm, and took their name from the great wars between the elves and the dwarves.  It was a long time ago, and they apparently don't hate elves any more or less than any other kin now.  They have an affinity for "tricky magic", and Lrakuxil is a wizard, by the Muse!

--------------------------------------------------

We've met Clan Elfbane, Lrakuxil the Clan Lord and his brother Loudrig.  What a difference - magic everywhere, not merely being used but actively being studied.  It's no wonder they're distrusted by the other dwarves, they make no bones about who they are and what they do.  Their clan home is smaller by far than the Stonetrees, however, although no less appointed.

Lrakuxil has done his homework - he knows about the Buckle, and who Tyra is, that Minu is a healer, and about Lance's military service.  As one would suspect, I suppose.  He invited us in and was quite gracious as well as to the point.  I found myself quite liking him, in fact.  His brother?....well.  His comment on how war is good might be suspicious, although I admit to being pre-dispositioned.  What if brother dearest is tired of his reputation or being in the number two slot?  

Upon being questioned, he admitted that his purpose was to avoid stagnation and to help the whole of Lusaxon, although he used the term "all dwarves".  I quote: "to protect our lively hood and further our family name and bring honor to all dwarves".  It was at this time that Zig noticed that some of the dwarves about the alchemy tables were scratching their necks.

While Minu asked about helping with the allergic reaction, Lrakuxil told us that Uskar has romantic feelings for Oighrig and in fact has been spurned by her a few times already.  When I asked why, he said to seek her out and ask her...if we dared.  Muse, that's going to be tricky.  He did say it may have something to do with her strong ties to Murdag and their devotion to independence.  Uskar votes for Erilyn - although that may be because he's allied with Harkojud and also to spite Oighrig for spurning him.  He felt the hardest votes to change will be Murdag's and Uskar's because they are stubborn even for dwarves.  He thinks the easiest will be Ogaffum, as the man is old and out of touch - lore for the loremasters might sway his vote.

Discussion on magic and the kin, which always leads to the same place - I admire the struggle of Elfbane but I don't envy them.  To change minds is a long, long road indeed when the prejudice begins millennia before birth.  Lrakuxil believes that a split Taur'en is the end of Taur'en.  I turned the discussion away from magic and dwarves and instead to Harkojud of Ironaxe, hoping there to be a secret that might lend us an advantage.  He is the greatest warrior they have and committed to the defense of the Taur'en Hills - and that is all, apparently.  We thanked our host and were shown out.

Further discussion in private led us to the neck-scratching and the fact that Elfbane has many, many servants.

Regent Stoneforge opined that Lrakuxil was in fact more open with us than he's been with anyone she's seen or at Council meetings, which I surmise is because we don't come with the same cultural baggage as kin.

All in all a very interesting and informational visit...let us see what Stonehunger holds, then.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 17, 2012, 04:41:53 PM
From the books Millon let me borrow.

The first is "The Stone and the Will"; old lore, legends of the past, artifacts; good documentation.  I'll scribe a more through copy later.  This is what is of interest:

"I am so close to find the stone, It may solve most of the problems , witches, power, dreams reality, what is which..  soon i'll realize .. Naales was right,. this is the answer..  if i can find the stone...

I may speak with him on Center..  he must know what else i need ..

I found some work by darkelves here. . they are after this, or no.. what is real what not?  they have taken slaves to the deep ..  how they get here?  I killed one.. he said that they are after me.  ..  EVERYone is after me..."

The second is a journal from a "Rolanda".  A mere diary although in execrable shape, nearly illegible except for this last passage:

" ..  The stone must be found. . that is the way to get rid of this..  .  he's comming back...  He's comming back...  Oh no... ... NOOOOO..."


I dislike this I think.  More references to dark elves, and a "Him".  What are they doing?!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 17, 2012, 06:18:22 PM
Per discussion with Kaelan.

Dark elves are responsible for the attacks on the Port Hempstead fields.

Kaelan says he hurt Minu twice.  They went to the farms to investigate - I know her side of the story on this, I have Millon's books still.

He says that he and Minu went to the cave and found dark elves.  She vanished - here is where she was captured - and "they" fought the elves.  They are Millon, Aesthir, Kaelan, and a halfling with a cat named Master Flora.

"The woman killed herself...she...she said that nothing was real and all a dream and such, and that I was the dark evil man from her nightmares."

"Rolanda died.  Killed herself.  Because of me, you know.  She said I was the one from her nightmares.  Deluded.  She could not separate dream from reality."

They visited Rose in Wayfare, under one Captain Tunnings.  Daniel was there.  She reacted as Rolanda did - "she died before my eyes and I dream of burned flesh since then, the people I burned...Caly I hate you...."

"Rose tried to kill me."

Tormenting through dreams...how well both Minu and I know that.  Raina as well.  This elf's been living in hell for a long time.  He says Minu was there!  That Rose tried to dominate him and there was someone in the prison called the healer, who is not.  "Fishy".

Minu is in jail for trying to spell cast in a Rofirinite prison.  Dang it, woman...not a good time to think like me!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 20, 2012, 10:47:11 PM
Minu has filled in more information - "The Stone of Chitomaru".  Dark elves attacked Port Hempstead before, and had possession of the stone which might still be in or around Port Hempstead.  Either the Rofirinites or the Lucindites have a traitor, and Daniel remembers a traitor, perhaps working with the dark elves.

From Daniel - fifteen farms lost in the last year, burned, and people taken by dark elves.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on March 24, 2012, 10:32:06 AM
Dear Andrew

I regret I have not been out of contact for so long, a pile of letters and dust awaited me as I returned.
If it is not already too late, I would be happy to assist you. I am certain Angela would like to accompany me as well if only to get away from her duties in Lor for a little while.

I hope this letter finds you in good health.

Alantha
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 10, 2012, 12:07:46 AM
The drink was poured before his brain caught up to what he was doing.

Two fingers, Silver Buckle.  Neat.

No reflection in the glass; it was a few hours until dawn, the candles were out and the fire was tamped.  Old timbers breathed soft moans and one of the cats was sharpening it's claws on something, likely something expensive and imported.  He sipped without thinking.

How had one little baby bard brought him here in front of the bar cabinet?  One ex-slave, rescued, nursed to health and set free to fly.  That baby bard had no nest to return to and so she'd come to the Buckle, bright-eyed with stories he had not heard, experiences he had not experienced, and a passionate desire to share it with the world.  When had he stopped being that bard?

Another, larger sip and the burn, that old burn, that wonderful familiar old burn...he'd missed it.  He missed a lot of things these days.  Audiences, traveling, seeing new things.  Old friends.  He was a relic; there were fewer and fewer stonebound, fewer and fewer who took the adventuring path.  Fewer of those he knew.  Their shrinking gatherings for music or stories too often felt like a eulogy for years and friends past.  It depressed him.

And this place, his shelter, that just hours ago had been home was a shackle that taunted the key in his hand.  She'd asked what was holding him back.  He'd made a throwaway remark about bills, obligations, soup kitchens, family.  All true and yet not all true.  The glass clinked on his teeth; empty.

He poured another.

No, true would have to include the things he'd been slowly giving up on.  Not swiftly because hope was too ingrained in him to leave without a fight.  But even hope can't hide the world forever.  He had never achieved fame, not as himself at least.  He'd never played the auditorium in Huangjin after that first, terrible, half-drunken attempt in his teens.  The next gulp of gin tasted like pure irony.

He had not, not so far as he knew, ever made a significant difference on any scale.  Not that the few real successes he'd had were not something; Jed, for one.  Ty for another.  He'd done some good during the years the war had been active, not that anyone cared to acknowledge the ones who had gone after the Broken One. Not the ones that didn't already have heaps of accolades anyway.  He wondered what the hells had happened to Jennara.  

But then...there was Raina, whom he had all but delivered to the dark elves.  And Freedom...Muse...the gin sloshed into the glass as he sang.


"I wanted to be there for you
To stop nightmares from coming true
Watch you dream and when you wake
We’d a thousand moments make

"Freedom gained is Freedom lost
No one really knows the cost
A thousand moments never known
A thousand hugs and kisses, gone..."

He sounded terrible.

He was becoming an old man, afraid to leave the perceived if not actual safety of his home, afraid of what his past would do to those around him.  Afraid to let himself dream anymore because if it wasn't a nightmare it was a moment so sublime that he knew in the dream he'd be waking from it.  Afraid that he'd spent decades trying to learn something he was not capable of doing.  Afraid, most of all, he was simply not relevant enough to merit notice anymore.  Unworthy of an audience.  What worse death?  What, indeed.

There was the gentlest sway as if a breeze had hit him but all the doors and windows were locked.  The bottle was nearly half empty.  Alright.  Alright.  He was hurting, he was worried about his father, he'd get over this eventually.  Sleep.  He just needed some sleep.  He stuffed the cork back in the bottle and dropped his empty glass in the trash barrel just to hear it shatter.  Muse, how he wanted to be that bard again.  Hungry, passionate, unfettered.  Playing bars and taverns all over Layonara singing against Rael, before he had people who would suffer for his foolishness.  Young and rife with possibilities.  That bard.  He had to lean on the post near the Residence Halls door, his feet floating half an inch above the floor.  He'd better sleep in Iri's old room.  Minu would smell it on his breath.

Ilsare, please let me dream of an audience tonight...
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on May 16, 2012, 10:52:34 PM
In italic script but scrawled fast, as if taking dictation.

The Lost Moot.  Must find location.

Duncan Blackwater - Chum Runner.  Stolen Raelite ship.  Runs slaves, children, natives, legal and illegal ports.  Runs labor camps, cruises the Dragon Isles for pygmies to sell.  Sold Captain Rakish of the Devil's Reef out to Prantz for a pardon, then stole Raelite ship in doublecross.  How the hells am I going to turn this guy?

Captain Pike - Death's Gate assassin crew, Flagship Alpha of Omega, unstable, speaks through intermediaries - problems and solving them one death at a time.  Arranges accidents and suicides.  Reapers, Revenants, Ghouls as titles...lovely.  Pass.

"Kenshad the Self-Righteous" (The Righteous before mutiny from King William) - Siege Perilous.  Captain thinks he is a Knight of Toran.  Was ordered to do the impossible and mutinied, taking the old captain prisoner and executing him.  "The Kingsmen", all have price on their head.  Makes his own law but is said to keep his word.  No slaves, smuggling, or mercenary work.  Maybe?  Insufferable and pirates to boot.  Maybe not.

Captain Rakish - Devil's Reef, rarely slave, rarely smuggle, mostly raid.  No law, just dark elves and monsters and crazies.  One law: The duel.  Second choice.

Captain Unknown - Smoky Bones.   Smuggling, moving people who don't want to be found.  Possibly agreeable?  The "Bonesmen".  Kurn will send captain's name if I don't find it.

"Twelve Pint" Quaid.  Muse, help me, this next dryout is going to hurt if I board Smoky Bones...

Also scrawled but with more care.

Illwmaky - Andrew
Vmaaw - Greed
Cylaan - Lust
Liymwam - Murder
Wailanir - Death
Slave - Lacilela
Prisoner - Tymelaelam
Suffering - Layooamelv
Malice - Liilcesta
Pain - Tyilel
Anguish - Illvyelair
Betrayal - Faanmilailc
Vengeance - Elalvaillsta

Goecc anirali - Kill them

Wilmgolalala anilgoa aey! - Darkness take you!

Ane anira wailanir - To the death

Ane anira tyilel - To the pain

Fa anira tyeanla - By the pits

E ceela tymaanana ocekyamla, cil cil cil - I love pretty flowers, la la la (will get me killed instantly).
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 01, 2012, 04:53:25 PM
Just got off a ship my friends and lemme tell it to ya
Wasn’t sure I’d be here with this guitar in my hand
The trip was mighty quiet till we hit the Sea of Lampil
Then it was a gamble if we’d ever see dry land!
 
They came up quiet in a fog and ne’er we did see them
One creeping up our skirts and another hard a-port
Times like that a man just hopes that the heavens hear him
Cause a merchant ship’s a tasty treat to a pirate sort

Cutlass to the left and a crossbow to the right
And us in the middle on that foggy foggy night
Never get between two dogs rarin’ for a fight
Cause the only one who loses is the bone!

The pirates on our tail were firing volley after volley
The ones to the port of us swinging over for to board
We all hit the deck as if Mist had blown us over
That first round of arrows stuck the portside pirate horde

There were hollers and confusion and red upon the deck
The pirates screaming bloody murder as the arrows stuck
When they turned and through the mist they saw the other ship?
Oh, it was on my friends, the gauntlet had been struck

There was a cutlass to our left and a crossbow on our right
And us in the middle on that foggy foggy night
Never get between two dogs rarin’ for a fight
Cause the only one who loses is the bone!

The black-hearted thugs that were snuggling our portside
Turned swords and rushed to the jolly rogers rear
The clash!  The thuds!  The shouts and the blood!
A man don’t know whether to lay down sobbing or to cheer

Them pirate boys fighting over our tiny measly boat
Was a chance we’d only get one time we knew
We dropped the oar right quiet while they tore into each other
And into the murky darkness we did flew

There was a cutlass to our left and a crossbow on our right
And us in the middle on that foggy foggy night
Never get between two dogs rarin’ for a fight
Cause the only one who loses is the bone!

By the time they got all turned around we were lost inside the mist
Rowing silent as a tiny baby’s breath
They never caught us thank the gods and so I’m here today
Twas pirate greed and luck that slipped us out from under death, ah yeah – greed and luck that slipped us out from under death!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 06, 2012, 12:04:49 PM
To: Councilman Grue
c/o City Council
Mariner's Hold
Sagewald
Alindor

Honorable Councilman Grue

I would ask for some of your time, privately, that we may speak about a possible security risk to Mariner's Hold - namely, myself.  It is a very long story that I would prefer to go over in person and in magically protected circumstances but I would ask for the city's assistance in the matter.  Please allow me some time to make my case that we can decide on the safest course of action for Mariner's Hold.

I am sorry to be cryptic and I hope to speak with you soon.

Sincerely


Andrew Reid, proprietor of the Silver Buckle Inn
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 20, 2012, 10:58:23 PM
Written in a jumble, quickly, penmanship forgotten.

Rose fears the crow-haired man.  Raven hair, like crow feathers.  She had a drink, in Center - remembering him made her shudder.  Fear.  He asked her to read cards for him.  She remembers pain and dropping the cards, and he changing into something else - seeing everyone around her dead or dying, and it was dark.

She was carried somewhere.  Master Cedric was there taking care of her, but it was not him; he turned into the crow-haired man, and then came after her.  It was all real, and yet not real...she felt he was going to kill her so she tried to stop him.  She made an image of his death and sent it to him.  He rejected it and continued to come after her.  She tried again and it didn't work, so she ran, and there were screams, and dead women, and and shouting, and then people grabbing her.  And then she was somewhere else.  She ran, sometimes in the woods, sometimes in the dark, sometimes other places - real, and not real.

She walked into the water, meaning to make it stop, but it did not stop, and she was in the woods again.  They took away her name and she was somewhere dark.  They bound her hands, tied off her mouth, and locked her away.

The recounted narrative ends abruptly with an ink blot.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 21, 2012, 09:40:14 PM
And later, added to the same page:

Minu remembers Rose speaking of a single demon coming.  Just one.

Who?  For whom?  

Has the one the dark elves made a pact with come back to cash in his chips?

And more, later -

Fighting with men dying in the field.  Two dragons circle like birds of prey.  Everything is dying.

"I'm just the messenger."
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 25, 2012, 04:55:10 PM
Muse, he had to get his head together.  Rose was gone - he wasn't sure when she'd walked out, for all he knew she was in the tavern finding someone to kiss and he'd have some very strange looks tomorrow.  He wasn't coming out today.  Bugger them all.

Minu was still in the kitchen and pots and pans were coming down with force that a ninety-four pound woman should not be able to generate.  So she was mad after all...bloody hells, it was about time.  She wouldn't admit it when they talked.  Well, she should be, anyway.  More so if she could see his condition right now even with all her talk of "be yourself" and "don't hide from me".  Smoke formed cirrus patterns across the ceiling and he was as far gone as he'd been in a while.  Escapist.

Yes, and so what?

Ilsare, that's what.  Two women, one he was in love with and yet; the other he was not, although he loved her.  And yet.  

He couldn't stop rubbing his face, it felt good.  Fuzzy, which it was most certainly not, and the weed-influenced sensations felt odd against the clarity of his thoughts.  

So, my Muse, what do I do?

Part the first was obvious.  He had to make things right with Minu, he was married, this was childish, and he was Ilsarian and not Xeenite after all.  Pleasure was all well and good but he'd taken vows.  It wasn't his fault if Zira hadn't specifically made them exclude others, it was implied, although he didn't expect Rose to know that.  It wasn't like she went to a lot of weddings.

Rose.  He'd used her, he'd admitted it.  When Minu was sick and perhaps dying he'd found his comfort with her.  He'd used her completely and justified it with her religion.  She said she used him as well and that was fine but how did he "lift her fog" when they were together?  Must ask.  Didn't make what he'd done any less wrong.

One foot was numb; he had them crossed at the ankle up on his desk with his legs stretched out.  He asked his foot kindly to rest on the desk next to its twin, got no response, gave up.  He'd fall over when he had to stand and have something to blame it on.  Very good then.

Where was he...sorting this out...a parchment slipped under his door. Ignore it for now.  If it was important they'd have knocked or just barged in so he could stand up and fall over.

Where was he...oh, Minu and Rose.  Muse...sort this out...he'd better, or at least set it all aside because they all had a lot more to worry about.  Two red eyes in the night's sky, stones, dark elves, horses that spread famine, moths - his double - Minu's blood captive.  All of it.  Too much, too soon after war, and Ilsare - I love you, I love you more than any mortal woman, I pray my soul goes to you when this shell finally nourishes soil - but I will kill every single dark elf I see without question, except Alantha, and that's that.  Dead.  All of them.  Don't care if it's Az'attan or not, no way to tell unless you bless me with that knowledge.  The Heartsong will have to get along without them.

How'd he get on that tack?  Where was he?  Oh, right.  Women.  Minu wanted more romance, to go touring with him, okay.  He could do that.  Could he ask her for what he wanted?  To not be so bloody gentle all the time?  Pain was her enemy and he'd never had the kyûsyo to ask her to do certain things, things he could ask Rose to do although the Xeenite wasn't that enthused either.  Too submissive...well, usually.  Last night's conversation made a lie of that.

Really need to move this foot.

Seers and magic and women, the death of him someday.  Now wouldn't that be a mess?  Stars and song, what if she ever came back from wherever she's been...she knew, she knew.  She'd been there with him and they both knew what they liked and what the other liked and she was not gentle, that one, although she could be kind when she chose.  If she ever walked in the Buckle's front door his vows were in trouble.  Serious trouble.  He'd finally told Minu that a while back...how long?  It didn't matter.  It would test him.  He dreamed of her still.  He looked up at the glittering night sky and thought of her still, less than before - but still.  

"Your goddess doesn't make things easy."

No, She does not.  It's up to him to decide his path and whether it is true to Her teachings.  Right now, it didn't feel like it.  Well, he's right about one thing; he can love and not sleep with someone for it.  That will be the way.  And that powder she put on her tongue?  No no no.  He translated it into Melody's voice as he thought it.  That was a firestorm of trouble.  His special cigars would do, thank you.  

Thank you for listening my Muse.  Can you help me move this foot now?  Bless.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on June 30, 2012, 09:02:05 PM
Notes jotted quickly in not quite so neat italic script.

"Red eyes in black...she knows". - Rose

Connor speaks of a way to re-till the soil with composting and fertilization, provided it is free of moth larvae.  It reduces the feel of the pits when done. - Connor by way of Jil

The larvae are rare within the affected soil - are they cause of the blight?  How? - Jil

And so I was tattooed with dark elf flesh in the shape of a moth that appears to be the moth that the larvae become, a creature of some as yet unknown pit.  Wonderful.

"Two red stars are thought to be associated with a goddess of the dark elves though none know her name other than the Mother of Darkness. The formation is sometimes called the Mother's Eyes.  It is always in the night sky but faint among the others." - Jil

Milara.  Milara scrying Minu, Milara sending agents under the ground near Mariner's Hold...and he wished to be a god once.

Vin'larie - Demon horses?  By the Muse.  They are of another plane.  Also raised on this plane, Voltrex at the least.  Harbingers of doom - there is a white version.  The Golden Emerald?  I've never heard of it.  Vin'larie with another creature, Lance says Jehemina, again I have no idea. - Jil and Daniel

Vin'larie orginally bred to be magical food for dragons, corrupted by the Mother of Darkness. Said that their appearance were part of ancient prophecies about the rise of Sinthar, dragons, and demons. - Lance

Moth pit creatures are called aaa, or whisperers in the dark. - Lance

Attack on Vale led by female dark elf riding a black horse with one horn, a Vin'larie.  - Lance

We need to understand that contract.  They hit Vale, and Plenarius is one of Milara's greatest rivals.

Attack on Vale and Rangely and another on a village in the Wolfswood, no one left alive, rituals.  There was a similar attack before the war, thirty years at least ago, on Mistone - when the Vin'larie were first spotted.  Dagger found at that scene with Vin'larie used in conjunction with dark elf houses.  Here there is a sketch of a crest, the head of a Vin'larie centered, and another sketch of a very similar crest.  Notes under each say "found in Mistone village" and "found by Connor's wife in Wolfswood".

Pit moths from a prison pit, no idea who is kept there - same pit as Xandrial came from.  Barron, hot, looks like the hells.  - Griff and Brisbane

Blight is selective to a degree - as Jil said - forests and gardens less affected.  - Connor

The pit moth has escaped recently.  It emerged from it's cocoon, left traces of conjuration, transmutation and illusion, a husk, and some partially destroyed larvae.  It teleported out, even better.

Rose has traced out and paced out a summoning pattern.  Connor has stopped her, requested she doesn't summon pit kind to the inn.  She did anyway - she doesn't seem in control and can't stop the motions.  Plants all died.  Rose was possessed, it took a number of us to bring her around.

Sketch of dark elf woman, from memory.  Rose said she was deep in a cave, open to the sky - she went back to look, it called to her.  Anna says it's the one who led the attack on Vale from Vin'larie-back.

Katia, Folian - both attacked by dark elves and the highest priest slaughtered and sacrificed.  Connor, Jaelle, Steel, Annalee and another - Acacea maybe? - were tracking the murders when the trail ran cold, before the war.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on July 08, 2012, 03:48:27 PM
"Andy?  Are you okay?"

"Of course, why would I not be?"

"Your neck..."  Heloise stretches to her tiptoes and his flips his collar up.  He's pretty sure he's blushing.

"I'm fine, really.  Very good in fact.  How are you?"

"Was Elly with you last night?"  

"Yes..."

"Hmph."  Helly's eyes narrow at the starched fabric shield brushing his chin.  His waitress/cook/nurse/bartender folds her arms, looks around the great room - for Minu, no doubt - before stalking away without a further word.  He can't blame her.  He's giddy, breathless still.  He hasn't had a hickey since making out with Rose, and before that...since before he was married.  His office doors close silently now that some of the repair work on the meeting room wall is complete; Amaria's demonstration had thrown his hinges out of whack as well.

The red velvet chair welcomes.  It's starting to mold to him, much like the one that used to sit in the Twin Dragons and now resides by his fireplace.  Little pleasures...and big ones, as his fingers brush his bruised flesh while straightening the collar again.

All this time, and all he had to do was ask.  All the drama avoided - could he be forgiven for thinking that an Aeridinite priestess would not take to the idea of pain?  Or was he an idiot for never asking?

Idiot, certainly.  Another lesson from Ilsare and he sings a prayer with necklace in hand.  Famine spreads, new wars threaten, evil burns in the night sky, and still his wife can amaze him.  It wasn't that he expected her to refuse outright, of course.  It wasn't that at all.  It was that he expected her to try without any enthusiasm.  With distaste.  He expected and he did not give her the chance to prove him wrong.  And oh, how wrong he was.  Beautifully, abjectly wrong.  

She was honest about her reservations and equally honest about wanting to learn - to understand why he could enjoy it.  It would not be now but last night was a first step, a hopeful first step.  Score one for love and marriage and Ilsare.  Which made him smile, because he has a Xeenite to thank for it.

"Are you happy?"

Yes, Rose.  Today I am happy.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 03, 2012, 04:15:52 PM
It didn't take much these days.  In the Deep, trying to free gnome slaves, one guildmate chanting "freedom", and he felt that involuntary cheek twitching he never seemed to get a handle on and had visions of a man on a battlefield leading Rael's armies.  He felt sick.  It never seemed to get any easier.

The song had come unbidden and he'd hummed it but now, just now, back under the sun and in a dizzying spiral of self-reflection, he'd put words to it.  A glance at them was all he allowed.  He couldn't sing it.  Not yet.

Door to chamber thick with dust
Hinges shut and limed with rust
A place I closed long ago
A place that I never go
A place I always hoped you’d know
Where you’ll always be
 
Faded after many years
Red paint flakes like bleeding tears
I step into this shrine
Your face so much like mine
An image frozen, stopped in time
Still a child of three
 
Freedom isn’t free
At least it’s not for me
Letting go left scars
That most will never see
There’s always a someday
A will I’m told, a way
I see your smile as I pray
One day we will meet
 
Old pain lingers in the air
Fading sounds of her despair
Ticking of the clock
Doorway open to the dock
The carriage-horse’s steady clop
Taking you from me

Her heart breaking still so fresh
Each note bound into my flesh
She lost me, I lost you
Child that I never knew
Held tight inside this tiny room
Here yet absentee

Ilsare please whisper in his ear
Let him know my love is near
Guide this boy whose gifts are mine
Please let he himself define
What he is, whom he shall be
Please, Ilsare, keep Freedom free
 
But freedom isn’t free
At least it’s not for me
Letting go left scars
That most will never see
There’s always a someday
A will I’m told, a way
I see your smile as I pray
One day we will meet


It hadn't started out that way.  He knew his son had his blood, he'd felt the bardic magic, and the words had begun as a prayer that Ilsare would inspire Dom to discover them.  He still hoped it would happen, had happened.  Yet who was he?  The son of a potter, that's who, and it wasn't an accident that an unfinished letter to his slowly ailing father lay near the inkwell.  The same father who, despite knowing his youngest was musically inclined, always assumed he'd come home and make pottery.  As a child he'd resented that assumption deeply, causing fights and rebellion.  Would Dom feel any less?  From him, should he ever see the boy, or his adoptive father?  He hoped his son would feel art in his heart - music preferably - which was egotistic to say the least.  The man raising Dom wanted him to be an officer in the Prantz military.  If Dom realized his gift, whatever form it took, he was in one of the most hostile places on the planet to be practicing if he was allowed to at all.

So - no, my Muse.  I don't want him to be like me.  It would be easier on him if he's not.  I want only for him to have a choice.  To play, to draw?  To master sword and armor if that is truly who he is?  To do both?  They are not mutually exclusive after all.  So long as it's his choice, I will be content.  Which is not to say I'll be happy.  But that's the price of freedom - choice and everything that comes with it.

He closed his journal as soon as the words to the song dried.  Perhaps it was time to seek Dom out.  Perhaps Thalia's heart had softened over time and she'd allow some contact.  It was easy to say it was her fault.  He'd nursed that wound for years.  But was it?  He'd never gone back to check.  Such a fine line, respect versus abdication.  What if the husband who was to solve all her problems had died?  What if she'd left him, unable to make things work?  What if he was abusive?

What if everything was fine and he was butting in where he wasn't wanted?  

No.  His Muse knew his heart and if Dom had been on his mind so much, there had to be a reason.  He only had to check that the child was reasonably happy, that he was secure and thriving.  That's all.  Just check.  Just...to check.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on August 29, 2012, 10:35:58 AM
A draft and a response tucked into a journal that has been outfitted with a lock and newly added magical trap.

Colleagues:

After our last meeting I spent some time thinking on the proceedings, as you all did. I went to the Breath of the Muse to inquire about a possibly related event of the past. Jil and Brisbane have read my progress but I repeat here:

"There was a young woman found dead in the Hlint gardens, her Ilsarian lover missing. Witnesses at the time mounted a rescue with the town guards. The attack was blamed on Corathian ruffians.

"There was a witness identified as Kell Ereptor might be found to tell more.

"There was a body found in the moors that could have been the lover but it was too badly mutilated to be identified. Pieces of the chest were missing and something ate the face.

"The Ilsarian lover, Elias Sayian, is presumed missing pending final identification of the body though some think he may just be in some deep artistic depression over his lost love and someday make his way back to the Muse."

No one was overly concerned, although the missing heart still makes me wonder how it might be connected to our Vin'larie riding dark elf. As for the sketch of the staff, no one espoused any recognition.

Copied from my original letters, with apologies. Having reached a bit of detente with the situation I pondered the ritual. Part of my communication is to see what others are investigating, and part is to suggest an idea and have the feasibility appraised. Assuming that these moths are from the pit that the ritual opened, would it be possible to create an un-summoning ritual for them? Half the battle is the cleansing of the soil, the other half seems to be removing the blight. If something can be brought here, it can be sent back, yes?

Again my magical knowledge is gained by instinct and hard knocks, so I turn to more researched heads for opinions. I'm not sure I'm the best person to look into this but it's thought possible I will ask Minu to lend her expertise and get working on it.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid



The return note is scrawled in reply on rice paper, written quickly and without it's usual care. It is bundled in a number of layers and extra is paid to have the note delivered by hand directly to the addressee, no other.


I know Kell. He once lived in Leringard, raising a child with his partner. He is... or was... a mighty tracker. I do not know if he still lives, but that might be a good place to start. I do not have time to track him at the moment, though I think if enough tongues wag, he would find his way to the one looking for him.

Additionally, I believe we have a tertiary problem that may need to be addressed in the primary sense. I know it has been discussed at least somewhat in the past, but I feel this is more than just a side effect of Dark Elf workings. The collection of body parts is a trend that apparently stretches back decades in conjunction with these other issues. There is little that I am aware of that the collection of body parts is useful for, besides cruelty and gore, but dark magics. Each of these robbed bodies have been associated with a deity unfriendly to the Dark Elf. That only increases my concern.

There may be somewhat more but...  The handwriting pauses here, leaving a dark blot. I need a little more time....

~anna
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on September 24, 2012, 05:05:36 PM
A song short and sweet of battle and pain
A suicide mission for us lacking in sane
The mist and the monsters have come for a war
The Blue Man and Elf have something in store

Oh, yeah they do. And it’s a doozy.

A lantern that glows with a mystical light
Will shut down the source of those creatures of night
From Storm’s Haven to merc the handoff is made
We leave on our mission right after the trade

Next time I’m taking a boat.

A ride off of this world which is really the Pits
Rough on the stomach, we’re tossing up bits
Not once and not twice but three time’s the charm
By the time we arrived I thought I’d bought the farm

Don’t eat before you go is all I have to say.

The odds were quite bad when our feet hit the dirt
Swarms of fiends looking for something to hurt
They can’t be worse that the traveling there
We dragged ourselves up and went on a tear

Lost a few, but they lost more!

Shadows to left and shadows to right
Shadows that stay at the edge of your sight
We rattled their teeth and shattered their bones
With metal and magic and arrows and stones

Without that mist? Easy pickings.

The portal was huge and quite hard to miss
A beacon lighting up that entire abyss
On the top of a mount behind a writhing mass
Of shadow-spawn creatures we had to get past

You know what they say at times like this, folks? Giddyup.

We waded on in and fought back to back
Trying to survive each fresh attack
We cut our way through at least thousands, plus ten
And finally got to the magic, and then

Well, the Blue Guy stuck his hand right on in, lantern and all. Hurt. A lot.

Rumbles and shaking and we all went uh-oh
The mountain was shaking and ready to blow
No one had time to make good an escape
Which is why we all ended up in bad shape

How bad? Keep listening.

The portal went BOOM and most of us died
I still have bits of Steel stuck in my hide
Four of our number was all that remained
Standing and even they were pretty maimed

We got it together and raised up our dead
Before they could regroup well, we pretty much fled
Came back to here and now I’m in this room
And that’s our whole story from beginning, to boom!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on October 10, 2012, 08:21:20 PM
It’s of dear grog to you that I’ll sing
And to dear grog I’ll always cling
I like my cup filled up to the lip
I’ll drink the right lot in one manly sip!

And it’s oh, dear grog, thou art my darling,
You are my joy at night and in morning
Grog is me breakfast and grog is me sup
A keg, a bottle, a mug or a cup

If all the rest of the world’s races
Was assembled here in one place
I’d part with all without one single tear
Before I’d part with you, groggy my dear

And it’s oh, dear grog, thou art my darling,
You are my joy at night and in morning
Many’s the waking I did with a bruising
After a scuffle that followed a boozing

The brewer brewed thee up in his pan
The tapster drew thee into his can
Now I with thee will play out my part
And guzzle thee down to my grog-loving heart

And it’s oh, dear grog, thou art my darling,
You are my joy at night and in morning
Grog got me wed one night glass after glass
Use your noggin’ while groggin’ round a dwarven lass!

Though oft hast made my friends my foes
And oft hast made me pawn my clothes
But since thou art so near my nose
It’s up, me boys, and down she goes!

And it’s oh, dear grog, thou art my darling,
You are my joy at night and in morning
Give me a stout, a pilsner or ale
In bucket or trough or jug or a pail

Now since this liquor’s all drunk up,
Hand to this bard that big empty cup
And when I’ve filled it up with sling
We’ll drink to your health all over again

And it’s oh, dear grog, thou art my darling,
You are my joy at night and in morning!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 03, 2012, 10:26:49 PM
In a tomb of kings and warriors, footsteps in the dust
Ivory bones shuffle past
Dried red streaks of blood, or rust

There they rest but rest they don’t, trapped in rocky cages
Carefully nurtured vitriol
Distilled down the ages

Curses screamed from wall to wall
Echoing down carved stone hall
Crimson spray and broken crawl - final hate from grey lips fall
A lock formed from a death rattle...

How long did they stay that way, barred from final night?
No one left to apologize
No one left to set things right

Dust like snow as dark forgets, this place you cannot tread
Until steps echo long and short
Odd companions to the dead

Elves and humans, kith and kin
Not of the past and so let in
Inside a rage as dense as tin yet gaseous, diluted thin
A cloying mist across our skin...

Racing time the odd ones out, to pull life from angry ashes
Each step heavier than last
Then and now in desperate clashes

New blood conquers what has gone, the lost are finally found
Still that rage and pain a boot
Crushing them onto the ground

What can fix the centuries
Who among us would be keys
In three small words the anger ease and ghostly memories are pleased
'I forgive you...'

'I forgive you...'

More power than in any spell and sharper than a blade
Elf and kin dissolve
The curses that ancestors made

From an opening of doors and hearts the living are brought out
What other good might come of that?
Seems to be worth thinking about




When Lusaxon was young, oh he was a dandy
The men were like tree-trunks, the ladies like candy
The draughts poured from kegs as a golden spring shower
Crisp as a fall wind and sweet as a flower

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!

Lusaxon’s a sweet lamb but a lion in war
The city may purr but gods it can roar!
The allies he keeps are steadfast and true
From history’s pages...and maybe some new

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!

Bold and unconquered the city he’ll stand
No matter who tries to mine up the land!
So rise if you love these sturdy old hills
Clap whistle or stomp and keep that mug filled!

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!

I’m making this up as you sing along
And I’m glad that you’re all enjoying this song
Turn to those near you one to another
Let’s all raise our glasses as Lusaxon’s brothers!

Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Lift one for me
There’s no other place that I’d rather be
Lusaxon! Lusaxon! Raise up your glass
To old friends and new friends both laddie and lass!
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on November 30, 2012, 11:37:14 AM
A copy with several words crossed through sits in a discard pile.

Milady Brisbane

I hope this letter finds you [strike]in good health[/strike] well and loved. I recall our previous evening together with a smile, and [strike]hope to enjoy your company[/strike] wish I were writing with another such offer; however I am adding a request to the bait of my banter, and I hope you will consider it.

We have come against a food shortage, as so many parts of the world have, while trying to provide for the needy of Mariner's Hold. I recall discussion of a method of reclaiming the soil, but my failing memory has put the details of this out of mind's reach.

Would you be willing to travel to Mariner's Hold and [strike]aid[/strike] instruct us in testing this method? We're losing farmers and vendors and people in general, and while this is normal on a geological scale, this is also my home. I'm not sure if the famine "cure" is being implemented elsewhere but I'm willing to bankroll testing it here.

Please let me know soonest Milady and I hope in addition you might enjoy the hospitality of the Silver Buckle and some entertainment owed to you, by me.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid




Another letter, received some time later, lies on a "respond" pile. A separate sheaf of parchments, scripted in a hand accustomed to lengthy report writing, is in the process of being read and bears a few pinprick hot ash holes and a smudge of fruit preserve, apricot by the look of it, highlighting a tiny incriminating thumbprint.


My old friend,

As you can see from my report, nothing is detected by the good Paladins of Toran's faithful and the energy we used did not seem to have the desired effect. I now believe whatever contagion corrupts the soil is not detectable by any means outside of druidic magic. I strong advise enlisting a druid.

Your friend,
Daniel.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 09, 2013, 02:57:07 PM
A copy of an old letter is filed under "Angels"...but not in date order.

My guildmates

Due to the circumstances of both Elohanna's and my own capture by dark elves and recent happenings around Port Hempstead, both my wife and myself have been requested to remain outside the city until such a time as we are deemed safe to enter.

Neither Minu nor I will be able to assist with the guild hall upkeep, nor will we be able to do business there or use the crafting facilities in the city.  We are however allowed to use the store in the fields; the banning only applies within city walls.

With this in mind and also knowing this could drag out for decades and be possibly permanent, I would ask that my instrument chests be brought from the guild hall to the guild store as well as some empty chests that I can place for silk and wood storage.  It would be greatly appreciated as I will have to travel to Center for the instrument bench now or ship everything to Mariner's Hold via Fort Vehl.

We would be grateful for your understanding in this matter, and again I will stress the importance of changing all the locks on both the guild hall and the guild store as soon as possible.

Yours in the Muse,


(http://i56.tinypic.com/2i72ufa.jpg)
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 10, 2013, 07:34:38 PM
Milord Celador

I would be delighted to meet with you.  There are innumerable others more in touch than I, not the least of which would include Jilsephonie of the Angel's Guild, Connor Garvill and his wife, the druidess Brisbane, Ferrit Pandorn, and others.

Connor and his wife have gone underground, as has the lovely Brisbane, but the others should be available.  As much as I have been centered on one small geographical area, namely Mariner's Hold, I will do what I can to help your greater efforts as well.

And you are officially the other judge for the Fashion Show!  Zari, fashionista extraordinaire, will be co-judging for the "expert" portion.

I am spending much of my time in Mariner's Hold these days, we can meet at the Buckle and I would of course welcome any of the above listed whom you may with to also invite.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid




Dear Andrew,

I hope you are well and forgive me for not contacting you sooner. It seems time has gotten away with me because of my studies. I have been back for four months now and I’m most interested in hearing the story of how the land has been infected with this blight. Also I have come up with a theory which I am testing now and would dearly care to listen to your opinions and suggestions.

If it would be convenient for you, I would like to perhaps meet at your inn and discuss this matter with you in person. As well as that, I’d most love to hear about the happenings in your life and any other gossip you’d like to share.

P.S. Also have you found a judge for your little get together for your fashion show? If not I would case my ballet to be the last judge.


Celador
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 25, 2013, 04:34:21 PM
Daniel, my friend

I am embarking on a project to test this cure - your efforts may have been more fruitful, pun intended, than you know.  Having pondered what you've told me, I wonder if the bindstones themselves may carry the magic of the "cure" throughout the land?  It seems interesting that the ritual must be carried out near red poppies.  I am wondering if it may be repeated near other stones to strengthen the effect.  Would arranging another such ritual, say near the Center bindstone and the red flowers there, be feasible?  If I am far off base, at minimum the ritual may need to be repeated as you've mentioned, and I will be happy to add my own research to the matter if it helps.

Regardless, we put this to the test.  We are working a plot of land out by Farmer Part's, three acres, enough to manage with the backs we have available, one of whom is Charlie.  I thought you'd like to know he's a resident of the Buckle again, staying with Kat and throwing himself into farming like he was born to it.  He fancies getting his hands into soil in fact and is quite good at it.

Let me know your thoughts.  I will be close to home if you seek me out.


Andrew




My old friend,
 
As you can see from my http://forums.layonara.com/rumour-has/285795-meeting-faiths-united-against-famine.html (http://"[URL)"]report[/URL], nothing is detected by the good Paladins of Toran's faithful and the energy we used did not seem to have the desired effect.  I now believe whatever contagion corrupts the soil is not detectable by any means outside of druidic magic.  I strong advise enlisting a druid.
 
Your friend,

Daniel.
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on January 25, 2013, 10:41:54 PM
From discussion with Daniel -

Jhemina - unicorns, in the simplest sense - Daniel has seen they and the Vin'larie in the same paddock, "not here", meaning on another plane.  The Golden Emerald is charged with protecting the Jhemina.

Katherien and Rael, Sun...

From Daniels' report:

Brothers and Sisters of the Faith,

I have met with a contact, who will remain anonymous, regarding a symbol that was found on a group of dark elves when we were investigating the blight.

The symbol belongs to a clan or house of dark elves called the Ur'thal Skagvin'larie. The Ur'thal Skagvinlarie are known to be associated with an ancient prophecy that supposedly foretold the return of Sinthar Bloodstone as well as the defeat of the Demon Lords by Xandrial and the return of the dragons to Layonara. It is said that these things must happen and then the Vin'larie will return along with the Sons and Daughters of the Mother of Darkness to reclaim the surface of the world for themselves.

Upon asking more of the Vin'larie, it was said that these creatures were once created as creatures whose sole purpose was to feed and strengthen the dragons. But in the moment of their creation, the Mother of Darkness put in a drop of her own blood and fed into it all of her hatred and malice and corruption, thereby creating the Vin'larie. This is obviously a myth since the tales do not coincide as far as history shows, however, it does show that it is acknowledged that the Vin'larie are creatures of evil. They exist in the Deep along with the dark elves, but have recently been seen on the surface in conjunction with the blight.

As far as the moths, or Pit Moths as they have been called, they are known possibly also as "aaa", or even butterflies depending on the translation. These aaa are said to be like whispers in the dark, heralding the presence of the Mother of Darkness. They flock to her.

This is no small thing that we are dealing with. We must defend our homes against those of the Deep that seek to destroy and overtake it.

Of rumors that I have heard regarding a ritual to solve the problem, I would only ask if this ritual mentions any of the above mentioned information before taking it entirely seriously.

In the Light of the Hand of Virtue,


_ Brothers and sister in the faith.

This indeed has been something that has come to gesture slowly upon the last 100 years, the Vin'larie are not new to the land and had been appearing before the famine happened, This creature to those who doesn't know what they are, have equine form with a single horn on the middle of the eyes, they are of black hair and they are indeed of magical nature, they can't be tracked naturally since their trails disappears almost instantly once they pass for a place, They are as our sister Daniella highly dangerous, I've crossed singular combat with one and must say that there are indeed formidable foes, none of us fell on that combat, but one of our brothers fell against it, Strongly caution is recommended on the deals with this creature.

This have some antecedents, back in time about 20 years , there was an attack on the Northern of Co'rrys where a whole village was wipped out, on that time a single dark elven dagger was found that poiinted out under a process of scrying towards a city in the deep, this is the first time I learned about the Vin'larie, but they become silent after this events. It may be they were testing or that other attacks were missed by all the troubles we have under on the last years.

Now this attack to this small village its quite likely as other that happened recently upon the area of Alindor, in the Barony of Green, A whole village gone and one Folianite priest was killed and apparently used in a ritual, Investigations in the Barony are in order.

I've also heard nothing of the said ritual and the questions that my sister in Faith has done concerns me as well.

By the light of Toran , be careful on this, stand bravely and vigilant .
Title: Re: Andrew's Songbook
Post by: RollinsCat on February 05, 2013, 12:38:44 PM
Scribbled from memory, a love song from a pixie...

Worlds apart; we finally meet
You sent me sailing into your arms
Without you, I am incomplete
In your warm embrace, there I will find no harm

Hear my voice on the wind calling out your name, I am the voice of your desire
Come good sir, come and dance in my flame, take my hand as the fire grows higher

I'm the light of your earth
I will give you sight to your eyes
Here at the moment of our birth
With your new vision, I have been stripped of my disguise

Feel the rhythm of my heart, do you hear the lover's call
Worlds apart; Our love they will condemn - alas, this is my requiem

But, let's make it a sweet, sweet goodbye
Sing, sing me to sleep
It will be our only time
As our eyes close, you will not see me weep

And below the words he made up sitting there, being serenaded by six inches of lady.

Your tears are a gift
Your heart a rare book
I would read and read over
Were I able to look

Your heat draws me in
Wings toward a flame
I hear you, I hear you
Singing my name

Smoother than rose petals
Sweeter than nectar
Beguiling
Bewitching
Your voice is a spectre

Haunting and fragile
What might have been
Worlds apart as we sit
Skin to skin

I will sing in your slumber
Till sun dissolves night
Close your eyes, close your eyes
Dream well and sleep tight...
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