Fall 45, 515 AV
Laviku’s Tower
Gwin had spent the morning in the water, taking a break from parchment and music notes, although nothing could quench the music in her ears. The never-ending symphony followed her everywhere and she didn’t mind, on the contrary.
After the swim, she’d returned to Laviku’s Tower to retrieve her satchel and violin case from the balcony where she’d left it. The priests had promised to keep an eye on her belongings while she swam. The Sea God didn’t get as many visitors as the primary deities of Akalak and Konti, but Gwin still felt nervous about leaving behind her precious violin. If it had been stolen once, the same could happen again. For a few chimes she sprawled at the platform overlooking the Suvan before taking her things and beating her veined turquoise wings to rise high into the air. The lighthouse at the top was hugged by a small circular balcony with a broad awning. Perching on it, Gwin carefully dropped her instrument case on the wooden floor and looked up.
She stretched like a lazy cat, shaking the last drops of water from the grassy fur of her tail, before taking out a comb. Slowly, but surely the sun and wind dried her locks and returned them to their original color, a mixture between sand and ripe wheat. Gwin kept her watery turquoise eyes on the horizon as she hummed a nameless tune to herself. It could’ve been a lullaby her mother had sung or an Akvatari ballad she’d picked up once.
Having combed her hair, Gwin bent down to unpack her violin. Her tail was curled around the railing and her wings were beating lazily for balance, so could take the instruments into both hands. She licked her lips, tasting salt, and skipped tuning it in favor of the song that came to her.
Laviku might’ve whispered it into her ear. For some reason she had no problems accepting the notion of a Sea God. Only a fool would deny the existence of water, coral reefs and sea creatures, after all. There was no doubt about the dangerous force of high waves and storms. If people wished to unite all that under one abstract name, so be it. The song she was playing spoke of that and more, beginning softly and soon gaining force like a tidal wave. Her fingers caressed the wooden board while her bow worked the strings carefully. Precise like clockwork, Gwin managed to express the flow of ebb and tide in a meandering melody.
For the bridge, she focused on her vibrato, carefully drawing out each note. Suddenly the song resembled a siren’s call, sweet and sad enough to inspire dockside stories. After a few beats, however, Gwin returned to the chorus and ended it with an elaborate flourish. Furrowing her brow, she tried to remember where the song had come from.
Laviku’s Tower
Gwin had spent the morning in the water, taking a break from parchment and music notes, although nothing could quench the music in her ears. The never-ending symphony followed her everywhere and she didn’t mind, on the contrary.
After the swim, she’d returned to Laviku’s Tower to retrieve her satchel and violin case from the balcony where she’d left it. The priests had promised to keep an eye on her belongings while she swam. The Sea God didn’t get as many visitors as the primary deities of Akalak and Konti, but Gwin still felt nervous about leaving behind her precious violin. If it had been stolen once, the same could happen again. For a few chimes she sprawled at the platform overlooking the Suvan before taking her things and beating her veined turquoise wings to rise high into the air. The lighthouse at the top was hugged by a small circular balcony with a broad awning. Perching on it, Gwin carefully dropped her instrument case on the wooden floor and looked up.
She stretched like a lazy cat, shaking the last drops of water from the grassy fur of her tail, before taking out a comb. Slowly, but surely the sun and wind dried her locks and returned them to their original color, a mixture between sand and ripe wheat. Gwin kept her watery turquoise eyes on the horizon as she hummed a nameless tune to herself. It could’ve been a lullaby her mother had sung or an Akvatari ballad she’d picked up once.
Having combed her hair, Gwin bent down to unpack her violin. Her tail was curled around the railing and her wings were beating lazily for balance, so could take the instruments into both hands. She licked her lips, tasting salt, and skipped tuning it in favor of the song that came to her.
Laviku might’ve whispered it into her ear. For some reason she had no problems accepting the notion of a Sea God. Only a fool would deny the existence of water, coral reefs and sea creatures, after all. There was no doubt about the dangerous force of high waves and storms. If people wished to unite all that under one abstract name, so be it. The song she was playing spoke of that and more, beginning softly and soon gaining force like a tidal wave. Her fingers caressed the wooden board while her bow worked the strings carefully. Precise like clockwork, Gwin managed to express the flow of ebb and tide in a meandering melody.
For the bridge, she focused on her vibrato, carefully drawing out each note. Suddenly the song resembled a siren’s call, sweet and sad enough to inspire dockside stories. After a few beats, however, Gwin returned to the chorus and ended it with an elaborate flourish. Furrowing her brow, she tried to remember where the song had come from.