SUMMER

Angkar: Wet season. Precipitation is common during the late afternoon and evening hours. Vegetation grows significantly during the summer, but flooding is a danger due to the monsoons that ravage the country. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Extremely hot and dry. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Relatively hot and dry, but with a chance of thunderstorms from time to time. The heat may cause forest fires.

Soto: Hot and humid, tree cover is dense while ground growth is restricted. Thunderstorms see the most amount of rainfall during the season, and it can be very windy. On occasion, there are flash floods that can destroy homes and farms built on flood plains.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

March 30th, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has changed hands and is now under new management! If you have any questions, please direct them to DaringRaven! As for the rest of the announcements, including a season change, you can find them over here at the following link!

January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


WHAT IS ELENLOND?

Elenlond is an original free-form medieval fantasy RPG set on the continent of Soare and the Scattered Isles, which are located to the south in the Sea of Diverging Waters. The four chief nations of the western side of the world—Ashoka in northern Soare, Soto in western Soare, Morrim in eastern Soare, and Angkar, the largest of the Scattered Isles—continue to experience growth and prosperity since the fall of the Mianorite gods, although power struggles within the countries—or outside of them—continue to ensue.


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    Morning Disorder; Open
    Topic Started: Oct 16 2014, 02:42 PM (255 Views)
    Galeas
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    //Gale's attire, once again//

    The inevitable had happened, just as he had suspected. He had been robbed. Or more like looted, as it was his house rather than the pockets on his person that had gotten browsed through by lowly bandits. Those found among the savage junglefolk to be exact.

    He couldn't really blame them for the ordeal, for he did understand how great the temptation must have been in their little Minds the moment he had left. And not only this particular time, but all the many times he had been off the face of No'bu. It had been only a matter of time, in all honesty, and he was rather impressed they had not done anything sooner than this. Guess they had figured after a month that he wouldn't be back for the following two either. As he had not been, not with all the roadtripping and getting-lost-in-the-blasted-Loniar that had surfaced unplanned on the way. If there was something he could've said to have learnt of all this, it was just to travel alone the next time. Utterly, most definitely, alone.

    Or even better, not to leave to the other side of the continent at all.

    As he had stood there in his study amidst the scattered entirety, for an amount of time that had seemed like a decade, gaze wandering and noting all which had been lost, witnessing the outcome which had surfaced due his extended absence, he had made a decision. It was time to move. The sooner, the better.

    ***

    He had brought the little he nowadays owned with him, uncounting the collection of literature that still adorned the dark shelves at his soon-to-be-past homestead. The bandits had not taken a single tome before, utterly illiterate and ignorant of their monetary worth as they were, and thus he had felt comfortable over leaving them behind for now. The only ones that had gotten a number of violations were those with pictures, some which he had not known to having even owned, thus perfectly out of value in all else but artistic fields. Which he personally held little regard for, if any at all.

    For now he was freed from his belongings, most of them along with his horse, the pitchblack individual with the name Svala, now staying parked at the local stabler since the late of yesteday. He was not too worryful over any of it really, for if someone was willing to steal -or sell- the equine from his hands all the better. Even after all the troubles he had gone through with it, or the miles it had eased for him, he had not gained any fondness towards its ebony being. As a personality it was quite hardheaded, if not terribly stubborn and mischievous some days, thus quite hateable. In addition, it never seazed emitting the earthy odor that most animals had, natural grease of its hair mixed with the hay it slept in. Should he have been forced to tell one good thing about it, to all those animal loving ones that questioned him, he would've called it pretty. For a horse anyway.

    The current was that of an early morning, the streets of Kinaldi spreading in every direction like a set of colourful, crowded rivers. The Summer had advanced to the extent where it no longer bore the chilly light of a rising day, but still kept most of the heat of high noon to itself, a quite delightful combination when opposed to that which he was used to. Not that he could mention having ever gained ultimate tolerance towards anything in particular.

    His gait was directed to no direction in specific, only forward, the tall figure robed in muted blues and fading greys taking forth in the silent determination of a grim frigate. As opposed to his slow, passive advance, the hues that stabbed from under his forever knit brows were on the side of aware and observant, working their way around every inch of the surrounding during his glide. The coming day was of usual Kinaldi, he presumed, the middle of a busy week and year to all that scurried past from every direction. There had been rumours of a strange sickness spreading from Sotoan grounds, such a chime of suspecting tongues the cause to a sudden migration towards Morrim along others. On his way he had seen some early refugees that spoke of it, but not too many for the phenomenon to be called an actual masshysteria. Many had staid in their homes, for now. When it came to things as this, he had always thought there was no escaping it in the end. As long as people moved, so did everything they were able to carry.

    Was at that moment, his visage distracted by a passing, coughing child, that he bumped onto someone. It felt like a wall really, not wavering from the hit even if it lacked in height so some extent, being about a head shorter than him. In what followed, he was able to only stare, whilst taking a short step backwards in recoil.

    Swift as as a rabid predator, the person which he had so carelessly stepped upon swinged on their heel, revealing an angry face. And without any type of questioning, begun yelling. Or maybe growling or barking would've been a more fitting word of description. He raised his palms in weak protest to shield himself, just in case they were to take a stab on top of the scolding.

    - ARE YOU TOO CALLING ME FAT!? HUH!? They screamed, shoving their face so close he was able to count the freckles on their complexion, dark braids whipping the air amidst their wild gestures.
    " Well, I- "
    - I KNEW IT! Interrupting him, they drew their sword and begun swinging it at his dignified person, to which he answered by taking another step back before arranging his own talents to direct the weapon to the side each time it came at him. The evasion only seemed to enrage the Lady further though, if one was to judge the way they roared in between assaults. Also, during his continuos deflecting he was able to spot a child's face peeking from over their shoulder, the small form wrapped to the woman's back. It was smiling at him.

    - Hah! Would you look at that. Hildi is giving a beating to some foreigner once again! A voice reached from across the street amidst the swish of the blade, a bunch of men laughing at the notion in a cheery choir. At which point the Lady stopped attacking, as if someone had struck a spell on them.

    - Shut your mouth Hansel, you male scum! The woman yelled back, now having an empty radius of ten feet around them as the crowd dispersed from their presence, movement united like that of a school of fish. The man kept laughing.
    - Oeh, little one. Hildi muttered over their shoulder, reaching for the child and removing it from their back.
    - Mommy needs to beat up a few guys, alright? You stay here with this... They glanced at him.
    - This. Person.

    And then they were off, shoving the kid to his hands, leaving him staring back at its piercing look. In a mere minute, on the other side of the street, teeth were falling and some odd men flying, all screaming under the wrath of what seemed like a most unsignificant woman.
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    Lorialette
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    But Oh, if I could save the earth -- just one space in time/ I thought that wisdom would be mine: love, and purity...

    Yet again she had awakened to a cold chest and a heart fluttering like a distressed butterfly, trying to breathe calmly. Every morning, without fail, anxiety set in, wrecking what lovely sleep and dreams she'd had and utterly destroying her carefully collected thoughts. Shhh no no no, it's okay, you're okay, you're okay... She would repeat to herself as she stumbled, lightheaded, into the bathroom.

    You'll be okay, shh... As she dry-heaved into the washbasin, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, sweating but bundled up in an attempt to smother her tremors. It was difficult to balance vomiting with being horizontal so she didn't pass out: passing out, in her eyes, was the Worst Thing In The World. Well, maybe not passing out itself, but the light-headedness certainly ranked on her Most Unpleasant list. Her fear of it was so bad she often felt like she was the only one, though her minor intellect knew this wasn't true.

    After her daily bathroom episode, she curled up on the marble floor, and the cold of it grounded her enough that she started to actually doze off. This wouldn't end well, she knew, and she didn't want to concern Kupselion should he return to find her here, and so she slowly got herself up and dressed properly, broke down, had a good drag from her pipe, and once she settled, set out into the city with her harp as always.

    Except that the city didn't greet her as it always did, but erupted into violent turmoil Lori herself almost got dragged into. With bewildered, wide eyes, she stepped back a little too quickly and stumbled, almost crushing her instrument, but narrowly avoiding getting caught in the crossfire. There was a wicked-looking woman there flailing around, and a child being minded reluctantly by an older gentleman draped in lovely mild hues. It was this man who first caught her attention, and she actually found herself on tiptoe trying to catch a glimpse of him again over the crowd's heads. Perhaps it was that glorious hood, or maybe the sombre look etched unforgivingly into his features.

    Step by step she backed up, sitting herself safely up on a short wall, hydrangeas nuzzling her back, and without thinking unwrapped her harp and started to play, still watching the events.

    It was a calming song, something slow but resounding, and its notes blossomed through the street. The hydrangeas bowed their heads slightly; a stray dog sauntered over and sat down; a crying baby somewhere in the throng had stopped crying. it was only as soothing as it was because Lorialette had taken her medicine like a champ and was now pleasantly zonked, eyes half-lidded, a ghost of a smile upon her lips. This almost-stoned calm came through her hands and plucking fingers, and out through the strings and the humming of her voice. It wasn't such a bad morning, was it?
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    Galeas
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    The Scholar staid frozen, looking into the child's azure eyes as if afraid it was going to detonate any minute. It returned his glare openly, with wide-eyed curiousity and mouth idly agape, as if contemplating aggressively. In truth he didn't believe it to be thinking too much at all, but it sure pulled the face off quite well.

    It could've been called a staring contest. However, for it to be taken as a acceptable match it would've required both the participants to have the same kind of awareness and in this case there were some heavy doubts about whether the youngling even knew the contest to exist. Judging by how it blinked innocently and then broke into a spontaneous fit of laughter after about two minutes' silence, he figured not.

    There is nothing funny about this.

    Victoriously apathetic, he averted his look from his newfound and most humoured companion. The mother seemed to remain busy, kicking dirt to a beaten man's eyes while punching another. A tiny crowd had gathered to see the spectacle even, some cheering, some grunting in dismay to the disruption of what could've been a quite peaceful morning. He shook his head and sighed. At least the child had stopped laughing for now, making him feel less of a fool and center of some type of questionable attention. He suspected he might stay united with the immature human for a while, as of the occupied state of their guardian, and bettered his grasp on its figure, moving it from being hung from under its armpits awkwardly to a bit closer proximity. He ended up holding the child upon one arm, while trying to keep the gesture as professional as possible. Needless to say, such was getting exceedingly difficult, what with the kid grabbing at his garments like a hyperactive monkey.
    Choosing it better to move from the middle of the street, the spotlight, he begun a withdrawal to the dignified side of it, dodging a flowerpot that flew past his head from the brawl's direction on the way. Good grief...

    Then, there was a tune.

    Amidst the screaming scenery a lone islet of calm rung, plucking out notes that snaked between the other sounds like water through wisps of seaweed. It was faint at first, horribly suffocated by the commotion and barks of both people and beast, but seemed to grow in intensity the longer the harpist went on. It was a single performance, yet had the impact of a modest orchestra. The music itself was traditional by form, for the heard instrument anyway, a calm composition with a tendency to a restrained joy. But, the player's interpretation by this particular harp was far from ordinary, having shades and depths that he couldn't recall having heard before. Instead of just spelling out a set of sounds by string, it seemed to sing, wordlessly.

    Unsurprisingly, the one he held had already spotted the harpist, round head inclined towards the music and the figure producing it. They sat not too far away, above a fragment of a fence, a serene smile of an artist submerged in their work upon their features. There was an edge of inviting friendliness in their stance, something both him and the primitive child seemed to agree on and understand in unison. The way he could tell was by the grabby gestures his companion pointed at the musician's way, whilst drooling and emitting incomprehensive exhales. He shifted, initiating a calm approach towards the proposed direction, tacking through the many creatures of the street.

    As he drew nigh the image behind the instrument came clearer, in a somewhat striking manner. They were unusual by both skill and innate appearance, attributes that almost emanated when juxtaposed with the monochrome of their clothing. While they were the keeper of a more peculiar and distinctive kind of female beauty, the relationship between the shade of tanned complexion and the bright of their hair complimented the entirety with a perfect harmony, making all strands of the fabric belong in a foreign way. To most the white wisps were exotic, a rarity that turned looks and gained stares to the extent of the adoring attention being on the side of intrusive. He was staring at that moment too, yes, but it was rather by the painful familiarity of the quality than astonishment towards such an uncommon sight.

    His gait halted to a polite radius from the exceptional Lady - and everyone else to that matter, mainly the brief collection of those that listened too - and he kept the questions and weirdly risen compliments to himself for now. It was generally considered impolite to speak over a musical performance, not to mention how strange it all seemed. As he let his terribly passive gaze wander, the reason to why the harp could be heard clearer each second hit him suddenly.

    It was because everything else had dispersed, gone, considered missing. Of course there was no infinite silence in a busy morning schedule of a sizable town like the capital, but the slot in which the previously dominant Noise had resided seemed to have emptied. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the brawl audience having scattered, along with everyone else that now seemed to hurry back to whatever they had been doing before the disruption. To his relief he was able to spot the murderous woman from before though, scolding a pile of defeated men, if only being relieved by the fact that he wouldn't have to look for them in order to return what was theirs.

    When the soothing tune came to an end it created a void of silence, a type of quietness that could've been filled by the expecting susurrus of cicadas and mostly didn't exist in reality at all, but solely in one's head. He felt like clearing his throat in order to break the bubble, but the child beat him to it by erupting a few clumsy applauds by its little chubby hands. Having basic understanding of mathematics he counted its palms missed each other more often than met, by the solemn lack of solid coordination. Should he not have thought it as unintelligent, he might have rolled his eyes briefly.

    The absence of sound was furtherly cast aside by the respawn of the hostile lady, who entered violently. They muttered a few victorious curses under their breath, panting subtly, and claimed their offspring. As a final statement, they gave him comradely nudge and yelled something along the lines of ' Maybe ya all aren't that bad after all. ' before storming away. He stumbled backwards, tripping lightly onto some odd canine, only the excuse of a wall actually stopping him from taking intimate contact with the ground. Was close he didn't bump the bard off their seat on the way, hitting the cold stone a mere two feet from them. Mildly confused, he spied the child waving a goodbye. He hoped it was a farewell that was to stand for the rest of his life, minimum.

    The Scholar took quickly to pull his splintered grace together, straightening and taking a little step back. Correcting his sleeves, he turned to face the harpist. Krhm.

    " I apologize for the adrupt intrusion, for I was quite shoved. " He begun, offering a formal bow at them. A ponderant hum escaped him subtly and as he regained his posture again, his gloved hand reached to adjust his hood in a stroke. A breeze shivered through the feathers, collecting greyness somewhere in the Sky.

    " Also, I hope you excuse my recent curious stare. It is rarely that one gets to witness such musical talent as Yours, mastery even. " Pausing, he coughed against his clenched digits.Turned people from hectic to temperate as cattle...

    " There was a ripple in the Fabric due to Your song, a minor, but potent one. Is that additional enchantment conjured by Your own vessel, or that of your instrument, if I may pry? " Remaining casual by voice and bearing, he brought his hand behind his back loosely. His face staid as stoic as ever, if stirred a bit by honest interest and an almost invisible hundredth of a smirk.
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    Lorialette
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    But Oh, if I could save the earth -- just one space in time/ I thought that wisdom would be mine: love, and purity...

    The world just trucked on by her, like it might as well have not existed at all. To Lori, it didn't, at least not the way everyone else experienced it: yes, she heard shouting, some squalling kids, but it all just registered as so much background noise. She was busy feeling the notes.

    When she finished she looked up to find herself face-to-face with a man -- a man who was evidently many things: older, frowny, probably intelligent, and smelling like paper and withered imagination. His voice was grounding, but also chilling, like someone who hadn't laughed in thirty-odd years. Naturally, she found herself smiling, gazing blankly, dumbly even, into his scholarly visage. "Oh it's all right, I get shoved all the time. Smells like conflict today, doesn't it?"

    She was distracted by the fabulous plumes on his hood, and the dog which had sat beside her stepped forward to sniff at the sorcerer's robes, tail wagging hopefully. Back and forth they waved in the breeze, and it was with great difficulty that she snapped her eyes back to the man, and she found herself flabbergasted by his words. Flabbergasted, and giggling uncontrollably.

    "Oh, well I -- I'm not sure," She managed between titters, straining to control herself. Helplessly, she looked down to her harp, holding it up a little and turning it over as though she had never seen it before. "I'm not sure it would be any talent of mine, but I'm not sure about the instrument either. You see it was a gift..." A very precious gift. Her eyes flicked back up to him, her smile vague. How polite! And what words! There was only one other person she knew who smelled like old paper and who also used words like a painter uses color: in this instant of dawning realization a naive kind of trust fell through the dusty floors of her subconscious. She held the harp out to her conversation partner for him to examine if he wished. "I'm Lorialette, by the way. Are you a scholar?"



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    Galeas
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    - Smells like conflict today, doesn't it?

    Maybe, if such a scent is the unity of wet dirt, aghast livestock and a whole multitude of people with different states of personal hygiene. Or so he figured. Despite his ever flowing rivers of thought and their endless circles that sped forth, having already escaped most of the moment to hover elsewhere, he kept his inquisitive view upon the Lady as they spoke.

    There was also the rising presence of tittering, by no evident reason.

    They seemed confused, like a stirred pond that had no idea how to settle, smiling and giggling. He only hoped that he hadn't humoured them by accident, with his ways of manner and sentence, that would've been horrendous. Uncertain how to address their amusement he kept his face unflickering, whilst letting his gaze wander idly upon the different details that surrounded. To his dismay he became familiar with the unnerving fact that there was a dog at his feet, having crept itself closer during general distractions. Unwilling to tell it off by verse or evident gesture he took a half a step away from it, feigning a mere adjustment of location and posture. He might have glared at it too, for a split of a second.

    As the Lady expressed an amount of cluelessness towards the origins of their uncathegorized powers, he tossed his hand in a half a shrug and an understanding smile.

    " A mystery then. Maybe it is one to unveil by time, as mostly is meant with these cryptic and obscure occurances. " He concluded, observance dropping from their misty eyes to the instrument that was suddenly and most straightforwardly presented to him. For inspection nevertheless. Pausing, as if looking for further permission, his vibrant hues bounced up in a double-take. Something seemed to have planted a spontaneous sense of trust to them, for a reason most unknown. Taking the supposed value of their item, it had to be in solid confidence though.

    Nearly visibly taken aback by the lot of it he accepted the offering, extending both hands in a most deliberate way of picking it from the other. He held it akin to one holding a bird; delicately enough so to not crush it, yet with enough force to keep it captive. In interest he shifted in his place and hoisted the harp some, tilting it this way and that to further examine the carvings and reflections that the light of day created upon the surface and strings. He squinted just a bit, as of his worsening presbyopia. It had condemned him unable to see exceeding detail for quite some time now without spectacles, but he had knowingly left them unequipped for this particular moment. Such an action would've destroyed the process, making it a tad bit more laborous than he had attended.

    Upon the introduction and question of less rethorical kind that reached over the rattle of clockwork within his skull, he snapped his attention back to the harpist. Lorialette... He repeated in his Mind, spelling it out to be memorized. Trying to sprout a yet another casual smile, he returned the instrument to its keeper.

    " Galeas Winterbringer. " He started, bringing a hand to his chest and dipping his head in a nod. " And yes, I do recognize myself as one of the mentioned class. Is my upbringing and innate tendency to research by discovery that guided me upon such a path, to be brief. " His gloved hand gestured along with his explanation, tone neutral and bereft of most opinion.

    " Hence why the eldrich quality of Your performance attracted my interest. Are You a bard by profession then, perhaps? The display You gave a mere moment ago surely roused a suspicion upon such, for You quite skillfully captured this entire street. "
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    Lorialette
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    But Oh, if I could save the earth -- just one space in time/ I thought that wisdom would be mine: love, and purity...

    While the man examined the harp, Lori hummed and swung her feet a little, looking around at the crowd surrounding and milling past them without really seeing it. She did pay attention when he replied, though, taking her instrument back and holding it like a precious infant. The dog at their feet gave up on the scholar and turned to her instead, and she patted it absentmindedly. It relished even the offhand attention.

    "Ohhh, that's such an amazing name!" She breathed enthusiastically. He was partly reminding her of Kupselion, with his attention to words and how they were woven in a sentence. It was a trait she had always admired, being in the pseudo-profession of putting such intelligent phrases together, though perhaps with a bit more artistry. The artistry she had. The intelligence? Maybe not so much. So she was always delighted to meet people who could make that intelligence apparent. "I know a scholar! I live with him actually. Scholars are wonderful, though I don't know how on earth you manage to keep all that information inside your head at once. Doesn't it get a bit overwhelming?"

    This Galeas seemed a bit blasé about his trade, though, which was unlike Kupselion and by extension all she was used to. Then again, if everyone was as enthusiastic about their work as she was things might either never get done, or they'd get done so messily and with such inconsistency that it might as well have not gotten done at all. "'Eldrich'..." She repeated the word dreamily, intending to use it later for... something. Was there anything that rhymed with eldrich? But the rest of his statement made her eyes widen in genuine surprise and some joy. "Did I, really? And I wasn't even paying attention..! Isn't it funny, how when you don't really try all the things you want to happen, happen, and if you try too hard you just end up breaking strings and making peoples' ears bleed? Hey, would you like to go for a walk? This party's getting rough."

    Lori slid off of the rock wall and gestured for Galeas to follow. The dog trailed along behind them, excited by the dancey spring in Lori's step. "I like to think I'm a bard, anyway -- I'm not always very good. I'm awful at writing my own songs, but I'm pretty good at plucking the notes and dancing and stuff. Do you have a favorite story? You must know loads."
    Edited by Lorialette, Feb 18 2015, 12:29 PM.
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    Galeas
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    Their enthusiasm was admirable, beaming in honesty and shades of sincere interest, yet without a trace of that stupidity that he mostly associated with the kind. None had ever exactly described his name as 'amazing', or if someone had he could've already forgotten about it, taking how things as titles and other creations of such category posed little meaning to him. They were merely to tell one apart, to distinguish a single bird from a flock of millions by giving it a verbal calling, that mainly told nothing of its internal. Though it had the power to create assumptions and prejudice, sometimes distorted expectations, by the way it sounded and rolled off their tongues.

    Incidentally, something as 'Winterbringer' was no different. It was quite high in content and falsely powerful imagery by its simplicity, closer to a allegoric millstone than an actual advantage. Was just a conjuration of a man bereft of a surname, caused by their stubbornness that had eliminated their significance to the old family and resulting with them losing all the perks it might have shared. And all for a woman. What a fool.

    - This party's getting rough.

    Lorialette's hasty inquiry snapped him back to the moment, from an unseen wander. Unable to submit any words until they were already making their way off, he merely nodded in response to each and every one of their questions. Had they just suggested being able to make people's ears bleed, or was that rather a metaphor? He figured he didn't want to find out in depth. As they slid off their spot and took to depart the current scene he trailed at their wake, sight observing the cheerful gait until he caught up on them to pace at their side at a professional distance. Their further remarks afflicted a flash of a smile upon him, if not too visibly.

    - You must know loads.

    Surely, but not of the needed category necessarily. He was brought to silence for a time then, unable to answer it straight up. The way they requested a story inclined that it was to be a fictional one, rather than bearing a whole deal of unforgiving facts and boring detail. Thus, not the kind he was utterly familiar with, not as of late, having read the most recent one probably a generous two decades ago. Of course tales were afloat all around, but unless they had context of interest to him they didn't really get stuck to be memorized later on. Not like this anyway. Maybe the claim that his imagination and dreams - along with most presentable humour and creativity - had entirely abandoned him held some truth to it after all, not that he was sorry for it one bit.

    What exactly had all these artists done to the infrastructure anyway, apart from amusing the surrounding spectators from time to time. He had observed enough to know that mainly nothing, but somehow this 'culture' they had managed to create with a set of half-arsed brush strokes and hastily written compositions were the only thing that the common folk remembered later on of an era. They even treasured them, in general, thinking their creators as saints and making the Arts collect value the longer they vintaged. Sometimes to and past preposterous quantities.

    " I am not exceedingly cultured when it comes to tales and fables, but a couple does spring to Mind. There exists no preference of mine, thus I will exploit that of another... " He stated finally, glancing at the Bard briefly, as if making sure they hadn't dispersed or something of the sort. Though he was not the storytelling type, nor was he willing to transmit an impression suggesting that he was, this particular Lady had awakened something -- a long lost, exceedingly nagging feeling -- that persuaded him to except himself from all his patterns. He did not even ask if they actually wished to hear it, assuming they would should he mention it, thus why he took a shortcut and dismissed the obligatory middle-verses. He resumed, after a pause.

    " In primeval times, a maiden, beautious daughter of the Ether, descended to the ocean. Waves her coach, and waves pillow, seven hundred years she floated, tossed hapless in the salt-sea's billow. In sadness and despair by her lonely wander, she pleads to the Ether up yonder, for aid and attention, for powers and salvation. One more moment passed, ere flew forth a waterfowl, searching for a place to rest, somewhere to make its nest. Mistaking for a hillock of green, it landed upon The Daughter's knee, then laid eggs of gold and one of iron. But under them did the maiden shift, shaking the eggs adrift, shattering them to the ocean floor, yet they did not perish. The fragments came together, forming two pieces in number, equal to one another, pieces of upper and lower. From one half, the nether realm of Earth, from the other, the higher vault of Heaven. The eggs' whites became the moonbeams, the yellows the sunshine, the motley the starlight and from the darkest parts came the clouds. Witnessing this The Maiden turned once again, her old spot of linger now for the fish to hinder, her motion turning the sand, shaping it to banks of land... " Suddenly remembering of time and place, having blurted out the strangeness of it all in greatest of lengths, he concluded in a fading end of a verse, throwing the Lady a quick glance. It was almost apologetic, though turned away at haste upon the clearing of a throat.

    " It sequels with a strangely produced Son singing the conscious beings to existence, whilst wielding a harp of fishbone which creates the regenerative nature by each pluck. An evident creation myth nevertheless, of unnamed author and indented to Mind in detail by a daughter's favouritism. " He hummed a toneless exhale in the end and made an effort to a slight smirk, gaze adrift at the scape in front, yet blind to what it displayed.

    " Certainly You are more sophisticated in means of poetic narratives,, being a performer of a craft that has remained utterly foreign to me. No matter Your statement of lacking creativity for songwriting, I bid You not to think less of Yourself. The verses need not eternally be of verbal decoding, for the notes of an instrument are an individual, expressive language, stemming from each player's personal interpretation. Worded scriptures alone hone few shades of tone and impression free for experimentation, whilst musical compositions have such in a multitude unhindered by sentence structure and linguistic laws. Or thus I would state. " Tapping his chin he took a hasty breath, ponderant stare returning to the Lady from its wander, adopting an edge of inspection. Guess he could've broadened his narrow-minded horizons, just this once.

    " Regarding Your well-fashioned artistic position and interest towards stories, I suspect You also have one You might have affected upon? "
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    Lorialette
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    But Oh, if I could save the earth -- just one space in time/ I thought that wisdom would be mine: love, and purity...

    All the while Galeas spoke, Lori had clasped her hands before her and walked with a kind of dreamy sway, clearly envisioning the entire tale with the ghost of a smile upon her face. She could see it all in excellent detail: the shimmering of the ocean and the flowing of the Lady's hair beneath and upon the waves; the shimmering eggs and their contents, transmogrified into sunlight and moonbeams; all brilliant colors like a complex painting, one with a thousand smaller images within it. The kind which, every time one looked at it, would reveal something new. She committed the tale to memory, and sighed wistfully when it was done.

    It had reminded her of something... An era long passed, sitting in a rocking wagon beside her father. Her hair had still been auburn then, and his was a little gray. He hadn't looked much like Galeas or even spoke much like him, but he had a similar voice, and told stories to her when she asked and when she was good, sometimes around their camping fires, but also when they were riding to the next town or city or village, and she had always drifted off into envisioning them. Back then she had to do it with her eyes closed, but now, with her mind fractured and detrimentally gifted, she could picture these things without even trying. Sometimes it was distracting.

    "Oh, you are so wonderful at telling stories..! What a memory!" She glanced over at him, the images fading away into the very back of her mind where she would doubtlessly dredge it up for later use. "I think you sell yourself a bit short too: you have a wonderful gift. Stories don't really need to be sophisticated, but you seem to remember it so clearly, and your voice is the voice of a speaker."

    For a few moments she considered his exposition on the nature of music and songwriting, and she very nearly swooned with joy -- he got it! It was a very scholarly speech, but it exposed the same essentials. She kept her delight carefully masked but the sheer brightness of it showed through in her smile. "I think you understand music and artistry much better than you believe you do. It's true, every artist brings something unique to the table: you could have ten different musicians play the same theme, and there is unity in this, but they will all have a very different ideas of what it sounds like. For instance, you claim not to be very wise in the ways of Art, but you very clearly understand them -- you simply phrase your understanding differently than say, I would."

    "I suspect You also have one You might have affected upon?"

    Lori hummed thoughtfully. There were so many..! However one stood out, one she had been thinking of more often lately that reminded her of that year wherein she had disappeared from Soare and wound up... somewhere else. It hadn't been a nice place, but it was as though she unconsciously thought she could overwrite those memories with that one song. It made her feel better, anyway.

    "There are so many," She laughed lightly, kicking up her feet slightly as she walked, watching the hem of her skirt like it was a fascinating series of cloud formations. "But one has been standing out lately; it's the story of a girl who has visited the Realm of the Fae, returned to Mundus, and was never the same." She straightened up a little more, and began to sing*:

    "Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
    Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean,
    By burn by ford by greenwood tree
    Yet you are halesome and fair to see.

    Kilmeny look'd up wi' lovely grace
    But nae was a smile seen on Kilmeny's face
    As still was her look and as still was her e'e
    As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea
    Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.

    Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew
    Where rain never fell and the wind never blew,
    But it seemed as the harp on the sky had rung
    And the airs of the heavens played 'round her tongue.

    She spoke of the lovely forms she had seen,
    And a land where sin had never been,
    A land of love and a land of light,
    Withouten sun nor moon nor night.

    Where the river swa'd a living stream,
    The light of a pure and cloudless beam,
    A land of vision it would seem,
    A still and everlasting dream.

    Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
    To a land that no mortal has ever seen.

    Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
    Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean,
    By burn by ford by greenwood tree
    Yet you are halesome and fair to see.

    Kilmeny look'd up wi' lovely grace
    But nae was a smile seen on Kilmeny's face
    As still was her look and as still was her e'e
    As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea
    Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
    "



    ((OOC note: I did not write this song, credit goes to the Mediaeval Baebes http://youtu.be/Cus5mSsDP5U ))

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