Mistral Lake Performing Arts Competition (Desumbar 11, 1222)

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Mistral Lake Performing Arts Competition (Desumbar 11, 1222)

Post by Delphine »

I want to thank everyone who came and participated in the Mistral Lake Performing Arts Competition! Everyone did great. I've enclosed below the performances of everyone who participated in the following order:


The following logs will just be their individual performances, minus people's reactions and banter, for the sake of brevity.

Zakalwe's Performance
Zakalwe steps forward, clearing his throat softly, raising a hand for silence before he speaks, his cultured voice mild. "I am fond of stories," he admits, "And often of stories of my own derring-do, properly exaggerated. But today, I thought I might attempt a song. A simple soldier's ballad, tweaked a bit to suit these Lost Lands.".

Zakalwe draws a chair out from a table and turns it backward, settling down with his arms resting on the back, his head bowed for a moment. He begins to sing, and though his voice is clearly not classically trained, he carries the notes quite well in an easy alto. "There's forty riln set on the drum," he sings, "For those who volunteer to come, to ride and fight the foe today.. over the hills and far away."

Zakalwe sings:

O'er the hills and o'er the main
Far from home, I do remain
Though banished, I shall still obey
O'er the hills and far away...

Zakalwe absently drums his fingers, keeping time with himself, his gaze flitting across the room. "If I should fall to rise no more," he continues, "As many comrades did before.." He flashes a brief, ironic smile, "Then ask the fifes and drums to play, Over the hills and far away."

Zakalwe sings:

O'er the hills and o'er the main
Far from home, I do remain
Though banished, I shall still obey
O'er the hills and far away...

Zakalwe eases into a concluding verse, the short song apparently already drawing near its conclusion. "Though I wander far from my home," he sings, "And turn to face a different foe..." His gaze drifts toward the door, and he lets a mournful note creep into the music, "Part of me shall always stray.." A beat. "Over the hills and far away."

Zakalwe concludes abruptly, carryingly, with the words "To our homes." And he raises his mug, and takes a slow sip.

Zakalwe stands, making a graceful leg, smiling in response and saluting Black in kind. He drags his chair back to its table and, almost sheepishly, slips out of the center of the room.

Anna's Performance
As she stands, Anna moves to face the croud. "I have a story, about a question I have wondered many a times spent in the library. What happens to something, when it is not directly perceived by human eyes?" she pauzes, letting the question sink in, her measured tones carying over easily.

Anna flicks a glance to the jar of wine resting upon the counter, then to a distant point upon the wall. "This tale is about 2 brothers, and an a tome the elder discovered when browsing through a collection of dusty shelves. fairly ordinary, it was, save for splatters of lines, that seemed as if done by a madman, but, none the less, it caught his interest, since as he flipped the pages, they contained quite detailed pictures of another world, bordered by empty spaces, objects upon the world seeming to materialize out of thin lines as a person gazed upon such."

Blue eyes meeting each in turn, Anna continues. "at first, the few lines of text that were legible semed not but jibberish, yet after painstaking translation, the brothers learnt of a yet unnamed planet, where in reality existed in not but perception, the intangible only becoming tangible when directly looked at, and understood. this, leaving the brothers with more questions than answers. was tome fiction? if not, how come it ended where it did. more pressingly, the questions lingered. were there worlds beyond ours? of course, huekatn myth spoke so of such, yet beyond word of mouth, had there been any proof?"

"years passed, mear questions growing into a burning drive to travel. But, oh no. their answers lay beyond the stars, and they had to accomplish a feet of travel, yet not done before. both brothers through various arcane rituals fortified a basket, with a balloon of light cloth that expanded as heated air was passed into it. succeeded one fine day, the balloon launched, as high as it would go, some claim, that it was seen as a tiny spec near the sun, yet, more unbelievers claim that the men had accomplished nothing, but thrown themselves to their deaths." pausing for a moment, Anna concludes. "rumor has it, that when the sky is clear, the device along with 2 shadows can be glimpsed."

Finishing her tale, Anna returns to the croud, taking a seat as she gazes into the debths of her cup.

Anna sits down on a chair.

Meri's Performance
?Meri? traipses into the center space, "I am! Yes. I have a poem. I think I will sing it!"

?Meri? takes off an exquisite smooth willow naiad mask.

Meri folding an exquisite smooth willow naiad mask under her arm, smiling brightly as she offers a dramatic bow. She straightens up again, singing in a simple, cheery melody, voice seemingly trained but far short of an expert:.

Meri sings:

Love is like a warm fire,
Burning bright and higher.
It fills our hearts with joy,
And never, ever to destroy.

Meri takes on a chiding tone on the last line, finger-waggling over the crowd and not to anyone in specific. She can't maintain it long, however, before her smile returns and singing takes on a more hopeful tone.

Meri sings:

In winter's cold embrace,
Love keeps us warm in any place.
It shines like the northern star,
Guiding us from near and far.

Meri gestures vaguely upwards towards the end of this, gaze following it, maintaining that far-off, wistful look as she continues:.

Meri sings:

Through ice and snow,
Love continues to grow.
It is a flame that never dies,
But shines throughout the winter skies.

Meri lowers her gaze to address the crowd directly again, smiling affectionately, looking at each member of the crowd with a look of soft affection and love, meeting eyes where she can. Even Jorgarven, newly arrived! Her song continues and concludes:.

Meri sings:

So let us hold on tight,
To the love that makes everything right.
For in its warmth, we will thrive,
And together, we will survive.

Meri takes an exquisite smooth willow naiad mask in hand once more, sweeping both hands out to either side in a low bow to the audience, "Thank you! This song is dedicated to all of us, keeping the flames of love alive in the coldest nights! And to Ujaeio, who encourages us all to feel deeply and entirely, body and soul. And to Hepetia, the aspect of theirs who embodies unconditional love, which serves us all in dark and dire times as these." And on the mask goes once more, with a wink.
You think to yourself, "I am surrounded by idiots and petulant children."

You experience a sudden flash of insight, as though you have an increased understanding of who you are.
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Re: Mistral Lake Performing Arts Competition (Desumbar 11, 1222)

Post by Delphine »

Black's Performance (TW: Brief mention of killing children)
Black gives a snort of amusement as he pushes himself to his feet, to look at those gathered as he says, "Some of you may have heard this tale before. I'll admit, it isn't a new one from me though there are enough unfamiliar faces that perhaps most of you will find it... interesting."

Black gets up off a chair.

Black stumbles a little, practically lurching towards Bryce and looks like he is about to dump the contents of his mug on the man. At the last moment, he rights himself, and simply snorts in his general direction.

Black clears his throat and moves to take his place in front of the crowd.

Black addresses those gathered there, lifting one large hand to idly scratch at the underside of his left cheek as he raises his voice to be heard clearly, "When many they think of Giganti, they conjure up images of subterranean cities that we inhabit in the realm of Sirak Drauth. The most famous being Dyphjem, or 'Deep Home'." He gives a low grunt, "Considered one of the greatest wonders of Arad, and it is easy to understand why."

"However, Sirak Drauth isnt all mountains and caverns" Black continues, "Some of the Clans make their home on the surface and depending where you are in the land youll find dense pine forests, rolling hills or further to the north..." A brief pause before adding with a faint grimace, "The tundra. A place so cold it makes the weather here seem pleasant."

The Giganti pauses a moment again, the grimace eventually fading to return to his normal expression. It isn't much different. "It is here where the Hvitulv make their home. Despite being a small Clan in comparison to perhaps the Jernmeis who rule Dyphjem itself or even the Svartsten who guard the pass out of this very quarantine, they rule a large swarth of area." Here, Black actually seems to offer a smile as he says, "Some might argue it is because no one else truly wants it, but the Hvitulv would say it is because no one else would dare."

Black places his arms over his chest, as he continues to talk. "They are truly ruthless and their preferred method of dealing with foes is utter annihilation. Many Clans will take on others in victory, slowly growing with every victory. The Hvitulv do not care." With his lips twisting further into a lopsided smirk, he draws a finger over his throat. "Out of the Clans, it isnt even uncommon for the Great Wolf to hold more sway over their packs than the Father."

Black doesn't amble further, and says, "It is among one of these roaming packs that this story takes place. A tale of two brothers, one older and following in the footsteps of their Krigmester or warchief. The other, younger, and working down the path of Runskjaere. The way of runes. They were as different as night and day, but also young and growing."

Black shifts his posture again, slowly walking along the edge of the crowd as he talks. "The eldest was all one would expect of a Giganti warrior, though still not even to his maturity. He spent his days training under the tutelage of the Krigmester. Learning how to survive out in the snow, to find food, shelter, and all that a man needs to sustain himself and if anything, thrive. He learned how to work with the pack, to break down their prey like wolves tearing down a stag." He stops, turning his head to look at everyone, "He was not blooded, but already they spoke of the great path he would walk."

Continuing his pacing, Black says, "The younger, still growing. Not small, nor truly weak because out in the cold, you cannot be. Those who are, are left. The Hvitulv are not merely compassionless to their enemies, but also to their own. He however, was sharp of mind and content in his path." Eventually stopping, he faces the group fully with his green-eyed glare as one shoulder raises in a shrug. "While not holding the honor that it might have back in Dyphjem, every Giganti is a child of the Father and none of us forget that."

Black clears his throat, grumbling something under his breath before picking up the tale once more. "Now, it came to pass that another Clan began encroaching on Hvitulv land. Not entirely uncommon. Dangerous, but with how large the tundra and how deserted you can likely understand why some of the smaller and weaker Clans might see it as an opportunity to occasional hunt or follow game where they should not." The large man begins to dig his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, just above his heart as though trying to get at an itch he just cannot reach. "Unfortunately, for every Clan who might succeed for a while undetected before deciding they'd pressed their luck enough there are those who get caught."

Black slowly says, "It was decided that for the eldest boys blooding, he would join in with the annihilation." He pauses. "For many, killing becomes easy. Others, never struggle to begin with. Some, fight it every day but whatever spurs them on will win out." He cocks his head to the side, "I imagine many of you here might know this." He spares a brief look at Zakalwe, though it isn't judgmental more an acknowledgement.

Black carefully remarks, "It is another matter entirely for many when it comes to killing children."

After waiting a while for his words to sink in, Black continues to speak with very little hint of emotion. In fact, he seems almost bored and he practically drones on with the next part of his tale as though reading through a shopping list. "The younger brother got to enjoy seeing his elder marched back into camp in the snow in nothing but chains. Gone were the hopes and aspirations of many, life is simple out in the cold. You are one with the pack, or you are nothing." Again, he falls silent though not for long. "It was a simple matter for the Hovding or chieftain at the time to decide to have the eldest killed, those who grow to be old among the Hvitulv are all those who had faced the same challenge."

Black turns back away from those gathered there, to slowly walk along the outside of the crowd. He raises his voice, just a little to ensure his words are heard. "Now, there is a custom among the Giganti. All the Clans are different when it comes to how their Hovding is picked, but there is one rule that is the same. They can be challenged to battle. The winner, would rule." Looking at everyone, he adds, "Of course, that reign may be brief but sometimes it doesn't need to be long."

"To the Giganti, Clan is important but so is family. Many Clans, those called 'pure' are nothing but one large extended family. And the youngest did love his brother, and the only hope was to challenge," Black states. He then slowly shakes his head at the audacity of it all. "No doubt, you can all understand the pointlessness and foolishness of this. Failure would mean two lives lost, instead of one."

Black simply remarks, "Now, the younger was not a warrior like the eldest. Still, he'd survived out in the snow and he was smart." A brief ghost of a smile, as he says, "As one who put his faith more in the Father than Great Wolf, he looked to the Clan Geistlig who are said to be those who commune directly with Him." He then further adds, "He sought the man's advice, and learned as much as he could of the old Hovding's weaknesses and sought out his Runskjaere teachers to learn any of the True Words they thought would assist."

Black settles his arms back of his chest, tucking hands under armpits though his right thumb digs into that same spot on his chest. "The old Hovding was a man who had seen many a campaign. A hard, chiseled man. Fashioned of not just stone, but ice. Still, age gets us all in the end and the old man had taken to drinking more than even most Giganti to ease the pain in his bones. Not a morning did go by that he didnt wake bleary eyed." The Giganti gives a quiet snort of amusement at that before continuing to say, "He also suffered from the affliction many of the old and skilled have, arrogance." He takes a brief pause here as he wryly says, "I'm certain we all know of people like this." Green gaze flickers towards Bryce before he continues, "Armed with this, did our young brother set out to save the eldest."

Black glances over the faces of the crowd as he says, "Now, the boy was cagey. Always staying near the edge of the circle where the fight would take place and hoping the old man would press too hard while he melted away so that he'd step from the boundaries." A pause. "Whenever he pushed, he ran, using his youth to his advantage while the Hovding struggled to shake the turmoil of his excess the night before, fighting from heavy brooding eyes." Offering a broad grin, he slowly says, "Just waiting for that one moment where hed mistake a movement, and let the young brother land a telling blow."

Black simply shakes his head, giving a loud and utter snort of contempt as his gaze turns into more of a glare at those gathered.

Black simply says, "Because this is not one of 'those' stories, it ended up being one thing only. Pointless." The Giganti pauses, lips twisting into something of a sneer as he continues the tale, "The youngest failed and quite spectacularly. The Hvoding saw no reason but to deal with this younger as he would any other enemy. He went in to kill. But, much to the horror of the youngest, instead it was the boys mistake that cost him the fight. His clumsiness and awkwardness saw him fall from the circle of combat before he could be hacked limb to limb."

Black takes a long drink from his mug as he stands in front of the crowd. Only after he has finally sated his thirst, does he continue on. "Now, these fights are often to the death because to lose means just one thing. Exile. To be cast from Clan, family, and all that you know. Because of this, most never give up until they are unable to even stand due to injuries. Very few then survive long enough after to be exiled."

Black calmly states, "The youngest was forced to remain long enough to witness his elder brother's throat cut, blood showering onto the snow." He pauses, taking another drink. "Then, as he had survived the challenge, was exiled without the clothes on his back or any true chance in the cold."

"His fate, is not part of this tale but it is safe to say that two boys went to Ven-Helligdom that day, to wait for the day the Father finishes His work. For the Giganti, this place is a sanctuary deep below the earth where those who die that He finds worthy can enjoy the pleasures of life without its pains." Black allows himself a moment before finally finishing with, "For among my kind, despite those that we anger, betray, or disappoint in our life, as long as we hold our head high and face that which life throws at us as best as we are able, the Father does honor." With that, the Giganti finishes the rest of his mug before wandering over to find his seat next to Cerise once again.

Black sits down on a chair.

Hreidun's Performance
?Hreidun? laughs under her breath as she moves towards the center of the room.

?Hreidun? says (muffled by a mask), "Most o ye have seen the bramble wrapped star on the tree in Shadgard. Tis a symbol to honor the Fey and Lights blessing on Sifa being able to lead Hill Folk ta safety from being sacrificed by Gudleifr to the Great Animal Spirits. This song is in regards to the forest. Some may have heard me sing it once or twice in the past seasons, some wording changed here or there."

?Hreidun? removes a painted black pine wraith mask from her heavy canvas backpack (open).

?Hreidun? takes off an exquisite enigmatic vulpine mask.

Hreidun gazes out over the crowd as she begins to sing.

Hreidun sings:

The sun comes
And the morning dew fades
Shadows meander forests and glades
Rejoice, for the sun is here
Rejoice outside the shadows
For there is less to fear

Hreidun shifts her posture, her brows knitting together as she sings and begins pacing, singing repetitiously, "The sun is here ^ The sun is here ^ Sun is here."

Hreidun sings:

There is one place, man avoids without shame
Only a few paces
Fools enter with themselves to blame
Maybe ought to pray
Maybe ought to fear
The forest of the Fey
Bane of Gudleifr

Hreidun puts a painted black pine wraith mask on her head.

?Hreidun? stills her pacing and tilts her head as she gazes around at those listening. Her voices pitches lower as she begins again.

?Hreidun? sings:

Look down into the shadows black
Look at up at the trees with tainted crowns
The leaves peeled back
Their roots grown deep down
The haunted spirits broken
You dont belong
They may be faded
But they are strong

?Hreidun? sings:

Step into the maze
Try to step back
You have gone sideways
Terribly off track
One could lose all faith
In a Fey Forest known
Filled with twisted spirits and wraith
Their prey piles of bone

?Hreidun? tilts her mask towards the floor, singing repetitiously, "The sun is gone ^ The sun is gone ^ Sun is gone."

?Hreidun? sings:

Lost to madness
Lured astray
Melodies of sadness
Their wills swayed
Lost all his men, the rest afraid
The truths of such
Difficult to air

?Hreidun? sings:

The sun is not there
The sun is not there
Sun is not there

?Hreidun? begins moving again as she takes off her mask, her hands out as she gestures upwards. Her tone slowly shifts to something more light as she continues.

?Hreidun? takes off a painted black pine wraith mask.

Hreidun sings:

The sun shines outside the Fey Forests press
Hillfolk led by Sifa free
Light and brambles blessed
To escape from tyranny
Into rolling hills and peace
Pursuing soldiers horses gained
Their peoples exodus ceased

Hreidun ends her singing, and gives a short bow as replaces her usual mask.

Hreidun puts an exquisite enigmatic vulpine mask on her head.

?Hreidun? lifts her mask for a grin as she retakes her seat. She begins faintly blushing and fidgets. "Thank ye kindly."

Pigeon's Performance
Pigeon says, "Oh. Yes, thank you for having me follow that."

Pigeon gets up off a chair.

Pigeon chuckles.

Pigeon makes her way through the crowd to take up a position in front of the fire, incidentally blocking the greater part of its heat for the duration. Her shadow stretches out long before her.

Pigeon says, "Now then, before I begin, just two things."

Pigeon says, "First...a couple of people here may have heard me sing this once before, and I apologize for inflicting it on you again. I do KNOW more songs, but...I like this one."

Pigeon says, "And second - just to explain, this is a song from my home. We have tales, legends really, of the Erl. This song is one of those tales - some call it The Blacksmith's Song. Some call it The Wild Geese. I call it The Erl-King's Daughter."

Pigeon takes in a breath, folding her hands at her waist and scanning the faces before her, her own expression lost in shadow.

Pigeon sings:

The wild geese fly -
the year is turning.
I gaze up when I hear their cry
and also turn, turn away.

Pigeon sings:

Like a hawk on the wing,
Like a storm on the water,
Like a fire in the night
Was the Erl King's daughter.

Pigeon sings:

Oh, I was young and carefree, and proud in my strength,
Had people, a place, work and a fair maid to wife.
Until the dark eyes of the Erl King's brave daughter
Left me hollow and hungry the rest of my life.

Pigeon sings:

I would have followed over land, over water.
I would have followed the Erl King's daughter
But she caught me fast, my wife, human woman.
Caught, held me fast against the fierce summons.

Pigeon sings:

She smiled and I stepped forward, forward to her hand
But my wife, oh my wife followed after and held
Me fast to our marriage bond, held to her demand.
My will failed, my courage fell and I turned away.

Pigeon sings:

I heard her wild laughter
And the wild geese wheeled over me
And I should have followed after
Through the blaze of a turning year.

Pigeon sings:

Now my wife's been dead for twenty years,
All my children gone before me
And the dream of the Erl King's daughter
Is all that I have to stay me.

Pigeon looks up, gazing sombrely out at you all.

Pigeon sings:

And I still
And I still
And I still
Hear in the night by the fire, her laughter.
And I still
Wish I had gone with the Erl King's daughter.

Pigeon 's arms drop to her sides, and she bows slightly to her audience before resuming her seat.
You think to yourself, "I am surrounded by idiots and petulant children."

You experience a sudden flash of insight, as though you have an increased understanding of who you are.
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Joined: Mon Jan 17, 2022 6:36 pm

Re: Mistral Lake Performing Arts Competition (Desumbar 11, 1222)

Post by Delphine »

Bryce's Performance
Bryce says, "All right, I ain't gonna stand, as I'd still be shorter'n most of you that're seated anyway."

Bryce says, "And if I'd known this kid was gonna steal my story," he gives an exaggerated glare at ?Hreidun?, "I'd have asked to go first so we coulda saved the better version for last. But I'll do mine anyhow, I suppose."

Bryce retrieves an old and battered-looking guitar from beside his chair. The musical instrument looks like it's been through some ordeals and is in need of some repairs, but is more or less in one piece. "I haven't found anyone to repair this old thing yet, so I'm gonna accompany my verse with somethin simple instead of tryin anything fancy. One day I'll make this into a proper song."

Bryce begins a simple upbeat four-note reptition of the like that often accompanies Hillfolk story recitations. He stops then, attempts to tune a string and with a few experimental strums between adjustments, then eventually gives shrug with an apologetic smile. "Best I'm gonna get out of her today," he comments as he takes up the four-note reptition once again, nodding along once he seems to have achieved an acceptable tempo. He then begins reciting in a clear, somewhat-monotonous yet still musical tone.

Bryce recites:

Now pull up a seat my fine friends, gather round
and I'll tell you the Exodus tale.
A tyrant, a savior, a sign from above
and a flight o'er a terrible trail.

Bryce recites:

I can trace my line back quite a ways you should know
to the folk of an Aetgard long lost.
Baby-blue eyes and long locks of gold hair,
these good looks were given a cost.

Bryce adds as an aside while he continues the four-note repetition, "And damn, ain't these looks good ones?" He wiggles his eyebrows, then begins the more structured recitation once again.

Bryce recites:

A nasty old cuss named Gudleifr rose up
and he claimed all of Aetgard his own.
Blood and brutality, fury and rage
were his means of securing his throne.

Bryce recites:

Torchbearer's teachings had begun to take root
Ol Gudleifr wouldn't abide it.
Compassion and kindness had no place with him
He'd slay all good people who tried it.

Bryce recites:

Now my ancestors, they were good people you see
So the tyrant-king hunted em down
Just havin our hair or our eyes was a sin
to that jackass who'd stolen his crown.

Bryce recites:

Now someone on high didn't like this so much,
they'd set up a savior to aid
From the sky fell a star on the day of her birth,
Sifa, the golden-haired maid

Bryce recites:

Though of younger years Sifa harbored no fears,
she spoke out against the king's crimes
And rallied good people to speak out the same
in a call for an end to such times.

Bryce recites:

The tyrant-king wouldn't be swayed, no surprise
and Sifa wished no more blood shed
She gathered her people together in secret
and into Fey Forest they fled.

Bryce recites:

Now no-one who enters that forest comes out,
it's something that everyone knows.
But Sifa was fearless and blessed besides
she had faith in the path that she chose.

Bryce recites:

So her people went into that forest of dread
and the tyrant-king's army gave chase.
Sifa and company passed through unscathed
but Gudleifr's men? Not a trace.

Bryce recites:

And that is the tale of the Exodus led
by Sifa the golden-haired savior
We Hillfolk celebrate Exodus day
and hope to reflect her behavior.

Bryce recites:

Be fearless against those who'd control your lives
Speak out against vile tyranny
We all have the right to live as we may
The right to be happy and free.

Bryce ends his performance with a few simple strummed chords. "Still needs a more proper ending, seems a bit abrupt," he apologizes. "There you have it, though." He returns the battered guitar to its place beside his chair and leans back, lifting both arms to place his hands behind his head.

Jorgarven's Performance
Jorgarven dips his head towards Cerise before with long strides approaching what seems to've become the designated spot for delivering performance, the seated performance notwithstanding. He takes a deep breath, and begins without providing any sort of contextual background for his delivery.

Jorgarven begins to speak, and the pace is slow, wrap't round in percussive rhythym, it's almost a chant, "on dark starlit nights, moon wreathed by stormclouds," as he speaks, the unmistakeable rumble of the giganti's heavy bass swells, "one's gifted a sight of creatures most proud."

Jorgarven continues at this slow pace, using the spacing between words as punctuation, and letting emotion seep into the swell of his chant, "it's these four-legged beasts with paws, claws, fur, and snout," the giganti wears something akin to a smile, lips quirked at the corners as he sweeps his gaze around the room, "that with giganti doth feast, hunt, play, war, and shout."

Jorgarven 's chant slowly builds in pace, its staccato breaths interspersing its words, "of their wagging tails eir and frodr speak true," he stamps one foot, spine held stone-straight as he rises from the drumlike stomp, "their tales beyond veils of wounds these friends soothe."

The giganti's voice rises in a more haunting melody, the chant of before having built into the volume of his words, "while krigmeister calls for warriors staid, and stood upon hills our hounds there have bayed." Jorgarven casts his eyes ceilingward, and then back down to the crowd siting, standing, and otherwise most beneath the level his eyes would normally sweep.

"No beasts of burden, these friends of yore, within their big eyes our secrets are kept," a large hand rises, thumping at his chest. The sound flatly provides rhythm against the backdrop of his lyrics, "greater than steinskjaere car-ved stone core, while for their departure great warriors've wept." Jorgarven bows his head ever-so-slightly, long hair hanging longer to sweep at his shins before the head shoots up once more, eyes finding those in the crowd with whom he's communed, supped, and shared battleworn companionship.

Jorgarven 's thumping rhythm continues, a drumlike noise to accompany his song, "the mountain father's great sonorous tone has spake truth in blood, skin, and bone," the voice of the giganti rises and falls, but always remains that bone-rattling bass, "our might we practice, our minds we have honed, yet without furred friends, we're naught but alone."

"Ven-Helligdom waits, the carved realm deep," Jorgarven acknowledges the other giganti in the room with a look, eyes closing afterwards for but a moment, "and in those worn halls, our great spirits sleep." He sways now with the melody writ in the spaces between his words, letting emotion fill the almost mournful tune spilling from his lips.

Jorgarven opens his eyes once more, their honeyed-amber shining with the light of the fire behind him as his words carry the dark tune once more, "warriors true, stoic brothers we've known, healers, wordsmiths, and carvers of stone," his face isn't quite expressionless, not quite the mask of non-emotion some warriors choose to bear, and in his eyes shines the soft light of perpetual rain, while something hunted rings in his voice, "those who live high, and those who live low, but surely runehounds, who gnaw upon bone."

Jorgarven speaks as though coming to the conclusion of his song, the volume of before quite dissipated as the final lines of his melody come to a close, "these words, they bear truth, through river an' dale. so hearken to them, 'round mountain an' vale:" the final two lines are nearly a whisper against the encroaching sound of the inn, their vibrations more felt than they could ever be heard, "the hound is the key to happiness dear, so long as they're 'round, there's nothing to fear." the final four words of this performance are far more drawn out than the others, their conclusive end tippled with an emotion that no longer shows in his face as the giganti thumps at his chest one final time, the ceasing beat of a heart that no longer does.

Mira's Performance (TW: Death of a baby)
"Don't let anyone steal this," Mira says to Pigeon, setting down her cup on the table where she was sitting. Striding gracefully forward to the same spot Jorgarven just vacated, she glances around, her perpetual smile somewhat fading into a wistful one. "For those who don't know, my name is Miralania Kjaban. But most people call me mira. This is a song that I used to sing to help an old soldier fall asleep. He was the one who started my teachings in Common, through some of these songs."

Mira begins to sing. Slow, with long pauses, just long enough for tention to build, but not quite long enough for that tention to bleed away. She possesses quite a range, reaching from rather rich, lower notes up to a clear, cutting high end. Though she offers quite a range, and a voice powerful that echoes out across the room, her voice carries with it the hints of someone untrained, unrefined. "Said the lord unto his lady ... as he rode over the moss, 'Beware of Long Lankin ... that lives amongst the gorse;. Beware ... the moss, beware ... the moor, beware of Long Lankin. Make sure the doors are bolted well. Lest Lankin should creep in.'".

Mira sings:

Said the lord unto his lady ... as he rode away
'Beware of Long Lankin ... that lives amongst the hay;
Beware the moss ... beware the moor ... beware of Long Lankin
Make sure the doors are bolted well
Lest Lankin should creep in.'.

Mira suddenly and without ceremony speeds up, nearly doubling her speed. Previously focused on putting the emotion into the keening notes, she now begins rapidly shifting pitch. "'Where's the master of the house?' says Long Lank-in. 'He's 'way to Lost Lands,' says the nurse to him. 'Where's the lady of the house?' says Long Lank-in. 'She's up in her chamber,' says the nurse to him. 'Where's the baby of the house?' says Long Lank-in. 'He's asleep in the cradle,' says the nurse to him."

Mira's previously distant smile morphs into a grimace and she all of a sudden turns and starts pacing, skirts billowing slightly around her black boots, those same boots keeping perfect time with her singing. "'We will pinch him, we will prick him. We will stab him with a pin. And the nurse shall hold the basin, for the blood all to run in.' So they pinched him and they pricked him, then they stabbed him with a pin. And the false nurse held the basin, for the blood all to run in."

Mira sings:

'Lady, come down the stairs,' says Long Lankin
'How can I see in the dark?' she says unto him
'You have silver mantles,' says Long Lankin
'Lady, come down the stairs by the light of them.'
Down the stairs the lady came, thinking no harm
Lankin he stood ready to catch her in his arms

Mira sings:

There was blood all in the kitchen
There was blood all in the hall
There was blood all in the parlour
Where my lady she did fall
Now Long Lankin shall be hanged
From the gallows oh so high
And the false nurse shall be burned
In the fire close by.

Mira returns to her original act, slow and keening. Now, though, her expression shifts a bit, and her eyes moisten a small amount. Her voice lowers a bit in intencity, down almost to a croon as she stops walking entirely, pivotting to face the crowd. Despite the lowering, it still is a powerful voice, and caries well across the room. "Said the lord unto his lady ... as he rode over the moss, 'Beware of Long Lankin ... that lives amongst the gorse; Beware ... the moss, beware ... the moor, beware of ... Long Lankin. Make sure the doors are bolted well, lest Lankin should creep in.'".

Mira lets her breath out, reaching up to wipe the scant moisture from her eyes. "This goes out to that soldier, where he lies. I love you, as you loved me." With that, she strides back over to her chair, picking up her mug.

Alexei's Performance
Alexei hesintantly walks to the front of the crowd. "Well, I'm pretty sure I can't outperform the last one. But let's try to end with a cheerier note, shall we?" His voice starts.

Alexei smiles.

Alexei lightly starts, "This story, I got off a drunk sailor from one of the Parren docks. He claimed he was well traveled, and that he knows stories from those isolated islands around the sea. I'll agree with him, if I wasn't sure he just pulled the storry out of his butt..."

Alexei realizing his words, he finishes it with, "Bottle."

Alexei nods.

Seemingly more relaxed now, Alexei continues trying to keep eye contact with everyone in the crowd. "There are many stories about how our world started, where we're from, and well, many disagree with some. Well, here's just but one." Alexei begins to pace. "In the begining, there was nothing, a blank black canvas of nothingness save for the painter of things. And of course, him being alone, he got bored. Thus, he started to paint."

Tapping his nose as if in thought, Alexei begins to mime swishing a paintbrush over an easle. "He just started with "green. Green was the grass, the plants and all, then came the people. Everything was abundant." Alexei smiles. The painter observed, what will the people do, he wonders. And they, did... nothing. Apparently with everything given to the people that they got lazy and never improved. Bored once more, He whitewashed the world. Alexei waves his hands as if to remove something. "Thus, this is the end of the first age."

Alexei pauses. "With a new canvas, and well, the last people dead and buried. The painter of all things made a new one. this one is more red. Red the clay, the sunrise and sunsets. Perhaps if I give the people more passion, that they'll do something. Alexei grins, "As you know, as usual, that was a mistake. Passion the people had, however, this ended with more bloodshed and rutting sometimes at the same time... Disgusted, the painter once more filled the world with white. Thus it's the end of the second age.

Alexei blinks at the a sourdough roll stuffed with creamy muskrat filling he was still holding, a little surprised. "Oops," before shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

Alexei takes a bite of a sourdough roll stuffed with creamy muskrat filling, then proceeds to finish it off.

Dusting off the crumbs off his lips and hands Alexei sheepishly continues. "Well, the painter wants to try next. He now filled the world with yellow. Yellow the sunshine, the wheat, and gold. Passion might be good, but what if we also give the people foresight?" Alexei mimes another paintbrush. "This time, the people planned, and they planned. They got all the things, horded harvest for the future. Problem is, well, the people are stuck with planning and nothing happened." Alexei shrugs. "The world was filled with white as the painter of all things once more looks at his creation with disgust. Thus, that was the end of the third age."

Smiles at the people listening. "As we established The painter of all things is, rather, uh, bored by now and has good ideas, problematic in execution. Sometimes, though, they do have good ideas." Alexei returns to where he first stood and faces the crowd. "For the fourth age, They decided that yes, what if we use all the colours? Green the grass and plants, red the sunset, gold the sunrise. Give the people, passion and foresight. And maybe make it that people will be reminded of this. So green was the spring, red was the summer, and yellow was fall." Alexei looks thoughtful, "What about winter? Well, right, this isn't called the legend of winter. Well, it's the time for us to contemplate and reflect what happened the whole year, a chance of renewal."
You think to yourself, "I am surrounded by idiots and petulant children."

You experience a sudden flash of insight, as though you have an increased understanding of who you are.
Posts: 190
Joined: Tue Jan 11, 2022 7:33 am
Location: Greece

Re: Mistral Lake Performing Arts Competition (Desumbar 11, 1222)

Post by Frisbee »

Wasn't able to make it, so I appreciate these logs immensely. Great performances all around.
Stop putting watermellons into the first thing you see that looks like it can hold a watermellon. It is most rude, because you'll only make them feel like they don't belong.
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