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 Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 12:48 am
+Begins to work out the fingering of his new song on the sax, alone and to the rhythm of swaying trees. Leaves turn and rustle in the wind. He likes it here. Not for peace and quiet, but for its particular brand of wild noise. Things chirping. Things chittering. Inanimate things whispering against one another. He is like an animal here, making his own wild call into the mouthpiece. He's a part of it all.+
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 12:51 am
+The music is natural and visceral, wanting for nothing. He got his inspiration tonight from, of all places, a man singing at the bar. He's never heard anything like that. Some kind of magic, it was; etherial. His own notes have a dry humanity, like they've been washed over with emotions that have long dried up and left a stain.+
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 12:54 am
+To this song, there will never be words. Not a single lyric. The title itself is a handful of notes. It is a communication with the woods, the ground, the empty spaces. It is not practiced or written down. It is improvised with care, and will never be played again. He's no musician. Just a man with a song to play.+
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 12:57 am
+As the night wears on, the shapes of the forest start to define themselves to his eyes, as night vision improves with each passing hour. He wonders for a moment on the concept of man's infinite potential.+
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 1:02 am
+He has known for a long time that Crosshaven was built on hallowed ground. Singing to a place like this is like singing to a person... it has an effect. Sometimes, it sings back.+
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 1:15 am
+No church for Dorien. This is his temple.+
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 10:29 pm
Taking a detour through the forests and wilderness surrounding Crosshaven, Malcolm found himself walking across a serene wooded glen. As he strolled through the grass, nature serenaded him with its own music: birds were chirping, bees were buzzing, and the gentle wind whistled and whispered as the breeze traveled through the woods. All around him was the music of serenity.
As Malcolm listened to nature's song, he could hear a faint tune coming from a saxophone. "How bizarre to hear such a sound in the middle of nowhere. So I must be closer to Crosshaven!" he thought to himself.
Malcolm rejoiced in coming upon his new home. Perhaps this new land would provide him with the life and future that he hoped to achieve. Malcolm dreamed about the possiblities as he watched the shadows of the trees sway and dance to the music across the glen floor.
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Posted: Thu Sep 29, 2005 7:12 pm
+ That song, just pours in stream-of-consciousness through the fingerwork, until it comes to its natural end. Then it leaves him for a moment in silence. After his ears adjust to the quieter rhythm of the glen, the chirpings and rustlings, he settles, the trunk of a severed tree cupping his back. The sax he lays against his chest, and waits for the wind to whisper another song into his ear.
Then he hears another familiar sound. Distant footsteps. And he sees an outline. Too close to ignore but to far away to wave. It doesn't bother him not to be alone. He is patient and content to let whoever it is enjoy their evening without his voice breaking their silence. He watches the man's far off form reflect in the shiny brass of the sax; quiet company.
He isn't afraid. He has a sense, an odd sense, that the person belongs here. +
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2005 9:22 pm
Almost imperceptibly, this immediate area seems to become a nicer place to be. The cool evening air seems just a touch fresher and more comfortable, the wild sounds seem just a bit more harmonious, and one may find a bit more inclined to smile and feel that all is generally right with the world at this moment.
A quiet figure makes its way through the undergrowth. Oddly enough, peasant garb makes the perfect camouflage, the ragged green fabric blending nicely among the leaves as soft footwear muffles the passage of feet. The noise of her movement is as the rustling of some small animal. She peers out through the leaves for a moment, then decides to curl up beneath the bushes and hope for music.
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Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2005 1:36 am
+Closing his eyes as a rush of something gentle, some mood-shifter that almost seems like a drug sweeps over him. He taps his fingers on the keys of the sax, though he's putting no wind through it, he visualizes the patterns and the songs they will make. In short order, he lifts it to his lips and blows in. The wind of his lungs through the reed, like the wind of the glen through the trees, stirs sound.
A low, slow, melody, almost bittersweet, floats throught the trees and touches the ears of passers-by. It isn't a sad song, but it is laced with ambivelant emotions. both acceptance of life and regret for time not spent living, both the excitement of newness and the desolation of loss.
But, truthfully, all of that is in the player. In reality it's just breath through a reed and the flickering of fingers across brass keys.+
+Anyone who happens by can hear a distant melody from another direction... coming from the tavern. Someone is performing there tonight. He's glad it's not him. His audience is the trees, the sky, the people walking, and himself.+
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Posted: Fri Oct 07, 2005 9:25 pm
A short distance away in a vacant meadow..... the air grows icy and damp, the winds begining to howl as a eerie hum resonates through the air. Tendrils of light break the surrounding space, ripping the very fabric of this world and opening it to another's will. Hot winds blow through the tear, as a black clad female strolls out, her short hair whipping violently around her face. She places her hand on her hip, and gives the immeadiate area a scornful appraisal. She seems agaitated, wary, as if she is ready to be challanged at any moment. Her ruby eyes scan the meadow a second time, tilting her head to the side as she catches the echo of some unknown tune. She smiles wickedly and gives a haughty little laugh, gripping her black staff firmly.
"Interesting....but not what I came for." She huffs bitterly.
The female then turns and retreats back to her doorway, the alien world beyond spewing it's replusive aroma's and marring the green vegatation surrounding the portal. The woman seems unaffected however, and breezes through without a backward glance.
In her wake, the plants around the disturbance start to wither and die, crumbling into dust. The strange effect begins to spread...to the trees, the flowers---alerting anyone near that something was terribly wrong.
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Posted: Sat Oct 08, 2005 2:01 am
+He feels an unnatural breath of wind from her direction. He turns his head, and sees where the leaves rustled in that spot have swept up, wilted, and crumbled into nothingness. He stands up and storms over, surveying the damage she left behind. There are few things that can spark real anger in this easygoing guy, but this does the trick. He watches as the spread of the creeping death nears him, taking a step back. Then he breaks into a run. He has to get to Fauntine. She can fix this, she can, she can set it right.+
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Posted: Sat Oct 08, 2005 9:04 pm
+He has returned with the seeds Fauntine gave him. He sits and takes up his saxaphone for a moment, his way of ritualistically cleansing the area. He plays a sweet and lively song. A song for a woman. A song for Fauntine. He plays it on until he feels the ground of the forest vibrating his notes back, and then he brings it to a close.+
Work your magic, darlings, work your magic. +He sprinkles the seeds, following her exact directions, and watches for a change.+
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Posted: Sun Oct 09, 2005 11:21 am
**Sometime later that morning**
Fauntine hurried into the meadow clearing, anxious and exhausted. She barely had received any proper rest the night before--the events at the Lab were too prominant in her thoughts.
And now this....
Fauntine curbed the impulse to unlease wild magic, the urge to take her frustration out on something was very strong. But no, that would be childish.
Damn, not here. Why did "it" follow her here?
She looks for Dorien, yet sees no one present. She comes upon the decaying circle, its growth hampered by the seeds that she had given him.
They were a special blend, these seeds, endowed with the healing magic she retained inside of herself.
The gift was underdeveloped, her mother dying before she could teach Fauntine how to utilize it. Still, she could make some use out of the surplus energy, and Fauntine employed the healing gift to her seeds whenever possiable.
She bends down at the edge of the circle, long silver hair flowing over her nude shouders. She is quite underdressed, the need to keep her skin bare as she imploys this magic was vital. Only the essentials were covered in dyed silk tatters, the rest of her body exposed.To the casual observer, she would appear as a wood nymph, something mystical and surreal.
Fauntine digs her hands deep within the wounded earth, her gray eyes closed and brow furrowed deep. She chants softly, calling on the layers beneath the decay to awake and spring forth. The "pure earth" She calls it, the soil that remains unseen by the sun--untainted. The song deepens, the earth responds to her call, rising up and reclaiming the tainted soil above.
It seemed as if the earth was turning over itself, the diseased soil sucked down, while the pure soil replaced all that was rotting.
Sweat dampens her body when this is finished, Fauntine leaning back, breathing heavily. She feels euphoric however, the rush of her magics was always sensual and heady.
She closed her eyes as new blades of grass rise rapidly to cover the scarred surface.
"This earth is healed..."
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Posted: Tue Oct 11, 2005 5:27 pm
Note wakes up. His head is pounding. He has no idea how long he has been out. He checks the date on his watch. He stands up. He's been out for a few days. He guessed that he must've had
a bit too much to drink, stumbled into the woods, and got knocked cold. He wonders what could have hit him so hard that he was unconcious for days. He looks around the area for a rock that could have fallen on him, yet he found nothing.
He eventually decided that bandits must've done it. Luckily, Note was carrying nothing of value at the time.
Dazed, Note makes his way back to town.
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