Winter Collection (everyone welcome)

[Ehlanna]

And from a slightly different PoV ...

[mozenwrathe]

The day after Neelkamala D'aari and her entourage had come into town, the four of them spent time in the bazaar before coming back to the Artists 'Ambit. The story of how the famous fatesinger was in Nanthalion had spread all the way to both Valencia and Hurema'Inca. It was said that she and Indukanta had travelled from far off Adenfort to meet up with the other two in their party of sorts. Yashawini had recently been in Trader's Dale inside of the High Forest, but that had been more than a month ago. As for the half-vulpani Bandhura Acua'Pil herself, it was unsure where she had been before meeting up with Indukanta and the others. She did not mention anything to them, but as they headed back towards the Artists 'Ambit, it was quite clear she had a story to tell of her own.

A small crowd had gathered around once more as the four women entered, hoping once again that Neelkamala would have a song or a story for them. They would be soundly disappointed as the Tribeswoman waved them off, but still bade them all to sit. However, it would be in a circle in one of the performance spaces, and not the more expected semi-circle. Of all those there, Bandhura remained standing, stepping out and away from her chosen friends. The tall woman (though not quite the height of Yashawini by far) had placed on the bangles and silks of a dancer, taking out two kopis that had been ornamented with minor gemstones for her. Still, one could feel the sorcery swirling around everything metal upon her form. It would take on strange and beautiful colours, some of them complimenting the lines of fur that she bore upon her beautiful form. As she began to dance very slowly, it was the gruff and grumbling Indukanta that pulled out an instrument and started to play. Some long and drawn out melody from the half-barbarian's distant past, Indukanta blew into the fragile and venerable pan pipes, going in time with the steps of the half-vulpani.

Gyrating and shivering in time with the song, Bandhura began to recite a poem. The poem itself started off almost meaningless, but as the words descended like rain upon a parched garden, one started to see the life returning like dawn over a rising kingdom's horizon. Though not quite as eloquent as her travelling companion Neelkamala, her voice had enough passionate undertones to carry her well. That, and half of her audience was not truly listening to the words of her poetry and prose, but the sound of the pan pipes and jangling of the many bracelets upon her wrists.

"Not within the year we have just watched sail by
"Upon the open seas of our blessed memory
"But two more spans of eclipses and starfalls
"Which would bring us back to times of lesser glee
"Do I recall a boy who struggled hard
"To become a man who never left his mask
"Behind him lay years of untold travels
"And yet before him still at least one sacred task
"Did I observe him from a slight distance fair
"Finding his efforts worth my gentle notice
"Thinking him upon a spirit quest of sorts
"To become some good shaman's apprentice
"His back was bared down to his waist
"Though winter's might had risen high and quick
"Dwarf crafted breeches made of bearskin did he wear
"And tall boots of boar leather with fur lined in thick
"Fingers covered with gloves of crimson
"With a pair of scabbards to match his hands
"Containing the blessed daggers of bone
"He kept with him while he traversed the lands
"For five days through knee high snow I followed
"Quietly along with my lovers two
"Pondering if capturing and enslaving this boy
"Would be the proper thing for me to do
"As those of Sheykan blood are rare enough
"Outside their known haunts and havens
"So a prize that runs and writhes and sings
"Would be worth more than obsidian ravens
"Something outside my heart and soul
"Stayed my hand to pause his flighty ways
"Instead did we three stay downwind of him
"For those fateful cold and bitter days
"He was on the trail of something large
"Something akin to savage wolf or bear
"But every night when he set up camp for himself
"Were strange eyes not ours watching him there
"On the fourth day and not the fifth was it
"What we felt his moment of truth had come
"For in his path as the storms approached us all
"Did he remain aloof as upon his thighs he did strum
"A strange rhythm with his fingers while he paused
"Before kneeling in the heavy snows to pray
"And as the whiteout came and winds did rage
"Was I certain would the youth perish that very day
"My lovers and I huddled together with fear
"As this storm hungered for our blood and breath
"Scouring our very flesh through thick cloaks and breeches
"Clearly seeking to bring about our death
"When new moon had come and fallen
"Our eyes shut tight as we did shiver
"Did the mercy of morning rise without our notice
"Dawn's arrival with grace like does on a frozen river
"So it was with much surprise and quiet oaths whispered
"As we saw the boy embracing the morning sun
"In the same garments as the nights before
"And his quest for answers finally done
"Before him stood a majestic stag of cerulean coat
"Its antlers looked of ancient hemock and oak
"Pressing its massive head against the boy's own
"Knocking him over onto his woolen cloak
"The great elk reared itself then stamped on both sides
"Of the prone Sheyka on the ground
"Taking its time to take the measure of the fallen male
"Who had no choice but watch the great beast walk around
"The elk allowed this Sheykan to rise
"And caress its mighty antlers upon its head
"But the young man knew if he drew his blades
"This blessed creature would strike him dead
"Eventually the elk bolted away into winter snows
"With the bare chested Sheykan remaining still
"Until the dusk caught up with him again
"At night's cresting he stalked towards sacred hill
"For here was place he sought all this time
"Only to bury those two precious blades of bone
"Whispering his prayers of thanks and praise
"To those venerable spirits of his all alone
"Such a moment to bear witness to
"And capture all within my songs this life
"Would never again I thought to see the man
"Thinking him to marry some random fishwife
"But the same one that Neelkamala espied
"And spoke with at length not so many moons ago
"Is the same who I saw on his spirit quest
"And whose story now you all will know"

As she finished her song, Bandhura went into a more elaborate dance with Indukanta's pan pipes playing accompaniment. Yashawini for her part had also pulled out an instrument part of the way through from a large leather carrying haversack - a barbitos. (Essentially, a larger version of a lyre.) The music created by the pair wove together, as it was clearly not a practiced piece. As they continued to play, Bandhura took the hands of women who were sitting at the opposing places in the circle, now having a total of four dancing with her. Some of the other people within the Artists 'Ambit itself who were familiar with Indukanta's original harmonies joined in as well with recorders and carved flutes made of strange animal bones. For over an hour, the Artists 'Ambit was filled with song and dance, as once Bandhura had sat down, the women who were still dancing had pulled up partners of their own to join them. An impromptu festival of the new year. some called it afterwards.

And once more, some poor unfortunate sap in the general store found himself sneezing and coughing. This time, he took time out to make himself some tea... only to scald his tongue upon it.



((Once again, the Sheykan mentioned in the story is the druid Dasan.))

[Tehya]

Again I am in awe Ehlanna great picture, loved the tones of blue, and of course the dragon in the sky.

Dasan another wonderful story and poem.

[Fariday]

The torian walks into the Ambit and spends some time there with Tehya, reciting a poem as he does. It is not as long as others, but finds its place onto his paper.

~The Soldier's Birdsong~

When shall the birds of old yet sing?
To hear the merry cry
A soldier sits upon the field,
And watches gray-hued sky.

With limbs forged tough from war and cold,
He stands and walks along
The air no longer rings abound,
The olden songbird's song

The plate-mail rusts, the leather cracks, the soldier weary goes
And finds his recompence so still
He is alone, no living soul
Acompany his trail.

And when he finds the tree to rest, underneath its boughs,
He looks across that gray-hued sky, no songs of birds of old.
Though as his eyes should drift and close, he follows every sound.
The very last thing on his ears, a merry cry abounds.

The winter shifts, renewal cries as soldier watches now.
Before his feet, as birdsong starts, a single blossom blooms.
With eyes now closed, a smile comes
And creases weary lips.

His soul moves on, the soldier rests,
And finds his old birdsong.

----

[Tehya]

As promised players adding to the Winter Collection will receive a gift. Please seek me out to receive your prize.

Those that have been rewarded are listed below. I will continue to post names here until each person has collected their prize.

Ichilandar
Fariday

Note: Check out the topic Creative Challenges which Artists`Ambit will sponsor from now on.
http://belariath.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=254&t=14630
Thanks,
Tehya