//I left the emotes because a) it is from the log and not formatted ahead of time, and b) it self-references so it looks kind of weird without them, and anyway the words weren't the entire point of her attempt. Sorry! ;)
[INDENT]When half the inn exits as she was putting fingers to guitar strings, she calls out several curses to follow them out. After a few minutes of grousing she claims that it was just as well, and turns towards the fire with hands cupped around her mouth, inhaling deeply, only to turn back toward the remaining onlookers and blow it all out again. Smoke pours from her mouth to swirl into a large, winged shape in classic street performer style.
DRAGON TALE, right? She lowers her fingers to the strings and only plays a light chord at the end of each line.
Well, I thought I'd tell a story...
About a wyrm or two...
One of tears or one of glory,
or even lovey goo.
She strums another that perhaps deliberately finds a discordant note that matches her wrinkled nose, then picks up half a rhythm with a trilling of a string
But as I bent to this next task,
to choose which might unfold...
I soon was reaching for a flask
(and went through six all told)
Her fingers still the strings of the guitar as she looks up with an indignant expression, the smoke dragon dissolving into a hundred shapeless wisps.
In short, we have entirely TOO many bloody dragons!
The swarm of trilled notes to a languid beat continues as she seems to ponder aloud
There's Fisterion the red of course,
king of dragons, he
(Or at least that's what he says he is,
It's all the same to me)
The fire pops and the exercise of the strings spins a form of shifting red smoke.
Knad'radoniad did his bidding,
when he raged on Leringard
...Though 'fore him was Fraxhdilakizskar,
before the north was island shards
The smoke swirls and dances out two more in miniature, those gifted in magic recognizing that it is not the words that shape them but the working and gesturing fingers of the guitar strings to music. She sighs dramatically.
But like a rival sibling came the shadow,
or he of the poorly lit tomb
She quips with a grin as a shadowy curl of smoke detaches and forms hints of wings, then calls out mockingly,
It seems to be deepening but never quite darkening!
...I'd sing different were he in the room.
Ractrafieroz the Tarnished Death
not poor Bastion of the fall
a black with hatchlings drawing breath
who switched sides and left her hall
Three more form, one easily double the size of any other.
Weeeeeeeeeeell enough of that.
She puffs her cheeks and blows them into the fire when the shadows in smoke begin to war to the notes of the strings, only to have more parade out with every line.
There's Ozlo that summoned me for the war
and AAALLLL the wyrmlings he'd hidden before
She makes a groaning face as a litter of smaller ones appear with the larger form
There's Katia's lover who guarded the gate
(unless you think Rofie ain't playin' it straight)
Rofirein himself and his nemesis Rage,
the silver abandoned in a Corathite cage...
The illusions swirl in half remembered shapes as the calloused fingers trill faster on the strings as they come more quickly, one after another joining in a chaos around her. The challenge for her appears not to be the words themselves, sloppy at best in playful absence of meter and rhyme whenever she pleases, but in the many threads around her.
Granarock's silver in the Peaks,
The white that kissed a merman's cheeks,
The blue that set on Gloom a curse,
A dozen that lived only in verse!
All were clamoring to be heard!
She puts her hands over her ears and yet with a performer's trick the guitar strings continue to vibrate with the music she had set it, smoke shapes warring with one another
Each the one to be preferred!
But the absurd occurred and the words were blurred and I just stop-it-right-there one at a time, buddy!
The music stills as she flops backwards into the pillows, and all the illusions puff out with the collapse.
...
Whew. She sits up again.
So one by ONE they all crept out.
Some big and tall, some short and stout
(Well, those are the stories with dwarves in them)
In scales of many colors,
In stories true and not,
From winged snake to giant drake,
I recalled what I'd forgot
She takes an exaggerated deep breath as her fingers dance along worn strings once more
It was the toleflor that gave creation,
And they do not like abuse
What dragons made and tossed away,
Caused trials without excuse
...You didn't know I could rhyme those words, did you? But I've got the guitar.
Ma'lsvi'riejir'litrix the Mouthful,
Who's done this all before
The dragon lord that commanded plague,
Our echoes of older war
Leir'ith'aurix ...! she declares, seeming to savor either the name or only needing one try for it
...His only son
Through -his- blood was all the means
To make his work undone
Dhemur'isia the Judged,
who concocted unicorns...
Her lyrical voice trails off as her moving fingers conjure a herd that only runs straight back into the fire. They fade abruptly with the rest and she starts again once more, picking up with the guitar where she left off, and the smoke shapes begin once more to crawl out insistently
Kraraxeni that was the storm before Mist,
and Esy’chythsus his cold golden thief ...
Uh, Shindy the priestess was awfully *censored*ed
Since her Nararsa it was that had come to grief
Another joins at the naming, and she squints upwards as though to ponder.
Perhaps the Elasanien planned too early
For Rahxlamakliza...
A shape of smoke rears up dark and terrible, then abruptly curls up
The Winged Demon is still asleep,
he'll die of old age, surely?
Aaannddd before Lucinda there were dragons plural,
To spin and hold the Weave...
Just one mortal became Al'Noth,
and may She never leave!
She clucks her tongue as if she's ticking down a list as more join the others.
Black torn-ear was dismembered,
Sold at market just as black...
Prolly we should have then remembered,
To clean up after attack
Fezrekthania the Broken One,
For being dead she's had quite the run!
Dre'zlunkhazhn of the foulest breath,
And his buddies that helped Hurm to death
Each joins the others in swirling forms that are clearly becoming a strain, her fingers moving faster with her voice above
Yzyartkadrania, not to be confused with Yog'oldrania,
one blue and one huge
Blueberry* and Yoggie forever!
Fem dragons wearing rouge!
No? Alright. I could do this all *censored* day, you know.
A dragon that takes tales as tribute
Is one I can get behind
Mdherki Yri and Emberblade,
To them I will contribute
...What do you mean that rhyme doesn't count? It counts 'cause I say it counted.
Another of swirling red smoke appears beside, and a tiny one glowing green curls in her lap. She bulls ahead as the legions of smoke miniatures war and explore about, and more whirl out in a frenzy.
A dragon visage in the swamps!
Vanavar's that got the chomps!
Jennara's sighting of copper coins,
Island cults with bloody loins
One SAT on me in the plane of fire,
One flew my sister ever higher,
Another captured then escaped,
Sent in poison to be shaped
Dragon sightings o'er the sea,
some friends and foes of you and me
More yet stir within the earth,
AS IF OF DRAGONS we'd had a dearth!
At that she glares at the chaotic parade almost concealing her form, there are so many of them, and they all puff out of existence save the shapeless green mote in her lap
Goodness knows what I've forgotten.
...Of old and new and just plain rotten
All the Houses with wyrms at arms,
and bedtime stories with all their charms...
She squints at Jaelle. Suffice it to say, this night's subject is ENTIRELY too broad.
Aahhhhhhhhhhhh well... Her fingers continue the strumming playfully.
Here you have a thousand parts,
and not a single whole
When you've not a question** that's what you'll get
A flood without control!
She directs the last to Andrew, her voice carrying easily, then twangs on the guitar in a cheeky button ending.[/I]
*Earlier in the evening she had decided aloud that "Blueberry" would make an excellent nickname for the Long Storm.
**Andrew had earlier asked others for information, but stated he did not know enough to even form a question. [/INDENT]
((If Wren had not ditched the party he might have simply seen it performed rather than making up an audience :P ))
((If Wren had not ditched the party he might have simply seen it performed rather than making up an audience :P ))
//sorry ran off to RP about a mission he was on, about the same subject :P of course. When it rains it pours.