Rikyn
In the northlands of my sire and his kin, it is the Skalds who lead warriors into battle, keep time their stamping hooves, and fill their hearts with vigor; it was their task, also, to witness the deeds of those who could not return to boast, and to immortalize them in song. Few were more praised among the bearded men and sturdy women of that far away land I had never seen more than the Skalds – or so I’d been told, by the tall, strong men of that land who had helped raise me. My Uncle Torleik, in particular, was called the Bloodskald, by those of my father and he’s native land, and, eventually, by those here, too. What I know of the battle-song, and the honor that is to be had in being able to lift one’s voice in tribute to Gods and one’s people, I mostly learned from him, though my father had certainly answered a question or two. Memories of him rise to mind without being asked as I cross by certain places in this valley, because, though I’d spent little time with him, those moments that we had shared stand out poignantly in my memory, and there are things a-hoof which bring his profession to mind. Torleik was dignified, and wise, the sort of man who had been born to lead, and use his words to guide others, even if those words were sometimes tempered with his emotions. It was what made a good story teller, though, a true Skald; the ability to wield words with impact was synonymous with relying on one’s feelings. Perhaps this was why I was no warrior bard, like many of my family were, if their tales of the northern lands they’d come from were true. Though I had inherited their robust singing voices, skillful timing, and deep lungs, I was definitely not the sort of dude who kept his heart anything at all like what others deemed “accessible.” I did know some old songs, though, ones I’d gleaned from my mother’s lips, and the women of the Nightwalk; songs I’d overheard others reveling in while they thought no one was listening, too. With Tallsun’s time ebbing down, Orangemoon is sure to arrive, and with it, the first Lordly task I’m not all together dismally upset about partaking in. A party, for my home and God! There will surely be women folk there, and if the batting lashes I’ve seen at other vocally blessed gentlemen is any promise, Glacia will be one jealous lady by the end of that fantastic night. The Festivals of my foal hood had, almost always, been an utter delight to participate in. I’d selected one other to join Duir and I; I’d heard enough of Nimue’s whale song to know she was adept enough had holding a tune to be relied upon. That left only my buck as a potential upset, but I didn’t figure he could muss up too bad, so long as I set him to percussion, and told him to keep his heinous singing to himself (it sounds very much like a woman screaming, but he doesn’t seem to care). Regardless, I hope that one or both of them is already there, and, unfortunately, as I breast the hillock towards our designated meeting place, the whale, or Tiamat, are not here waiting for me. Sighing as I set down Duir’s short, hollowed log, the buck eagerly begins beating on it with a sizeable oak stick he’s trundled along with him as we walked. Nimue know we here now! he delights, thoroughly enjoying music already, despite the lack of rhythm or eloquence to his erratic swings with the oaken branch make on the sun dried bark. [ OOC: We gonna practice some songs friends. :D Felix, feel free to have Rhodoc "wander" up to the meeting on accident or I can add in Rikyn asking him to come after overhearing him humming or something if you'd like that more. ;D Just let me know! Anyone else who would like to last minute learn some music or join the band for the Festival is also welcome. ] |
[PRIVATE] talent optional [FESTIVAL PREP]
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RHODOC louder than god's revolver and twice as shiny Bang.
Bang, bang. I'm in the middle of one of the best naps of my life when I hear it: this erratic, gods-awful banging that sounds like two trees having sex. Usually, when a noise wakes me, I can only grumble for a moment before I give up and roll over to fall back asleep. But such is not the case now, because this racket is so off-beat and odd that it practically begs me to investigate. I uncurl from my ball of warmth and set off towards the noise, fully intent on chastising whoever thinks this percussion is acceptable to be played at a nap-interrupting volume. As I'm stepping through the underbrush, I toss tresses of blue-tipped mane from my eyes and try to remind myself that not everybody is as tone apparent as I'd like. When I step into the clearing, it isn't only Lord Rikyn I see but a small, earth-colored deer with intricate antlers and a stick. A stick that is being hammered over and over again - out of time! - against a hollowed log. I don't know what it is he's trying to accomplish, but it's definitely not music. I raise my head and look between the two before finally settling my gaze on Rikyn. "Your friend is incredibly off-beat," I greet him, but not without the flicker of a smirk. I also tilt my head towards the deer himself and flash a smile, for good measure. "Where I come from, if you played like that in front of a Lord, you'd get your head cut off." Not that I know how to beat a stick against another stick any better, but still. At least I know it isn't supposed to sound like that. @Rikyn Please tag me in all posts! Magic/violence cool whenever.
05-08-2017, 09:43 AM
@Rhodoc
05-08-2017, 02:13 PM
RHODOC louder than god's revolver and twice as shiny The deer must not take criticism well, because he shoots me a sharp look before ceasing to play altogether. Oh, c'mon, I want to say to him, don't be like that, but I'm not entirely sure he'll be able to understand me. So instead, I set my ears toward Rikyn. At least he seems to be taking my comments well, because his chocolatey lips curl into a grin. Maybe he knows Twighead is garbage at drumming and I'm only further fortifying his opinion. I laugh with Rikyn at his joke, but the truth is I don't really get all this bonding bullshit. I mean, seriously, what is the appeal of having another living creature be able to read your mind? The idea of someone poking around in my head is enough to make me cringe. And all this "connected soul" stuff is--and I say this somewhat respectfully--bizarre. "You think you can teach him?" "Me? Oh gods no. I'm not much of a percussionist, you see." It's true, and I'm sure this comes as a relief to the scowling companion. At this point, I tilt my head towards him and give him a reassuring smirk. "A pointer, though, while we're on the subject: try to count off the beats in your head, and keep the same number of beats between each strike. Should help with your timing." Still unsure if he understands me, I glance back at Rikyn in case he needs to translate or do all that wack telepathic communication jazz. And then we're talking about songs, which is cool because it gives me a fuzzy feeling of warmth. I don't even attempt to be humble when it comes to singing: I know I'm great. I know this because when I was still hanging around my old home, I sang in front of an audience on numerous occasions. Weddings, birthdays, holidays, allll sorts of celebrations. It's kind of my thing. "Yeah, yeah, there was lots of music. A whole shit ton, but singing, mostly. That's what I did. I couldn't remember any of the songs if I tried, though. I'm alright, I guess," I say, but I can't even pretend. My lips stretch into a wider smirk. "If he--" I gesture towards Rikyn's deer with my muzzle, "ever needs help with vocals, I'm your guy." @Rikyn Please tag me in all posts! Magic/violence cool whenever.
05-09-2017, 11:32 AM
@Tiamat @Rhodoc | |||||||||||||||||
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