.
6th Spring 517 AV
Early morning, before daybreak
"Speech"
Baran woke from a restless slumber to a distant, tolling bell. One, two, three, four, five... He counted the chimes, their melodious meaning, and assumed it was the fifth bell. He coughed, and rubbed sleep from his eyes, still in a daze from sleep. Then the musician realised where he was, and grinned. After that, it took no time at all until the man was out of bed and slipping into his clothes, still travel-worn from his journey. He felt peculiar, not his best, so he took a sip of water from the jug and opened the window to lean out into the still-slumbering city.
Despite the quietness of the morning however, there were still sounds that drifted over the houses and watery streets. Industry was awakening, and he watched a couple of traders hauling heavy sacks onto a ravosala for a few moments as he wiped his face in the cool morning air. It was perfect, to be in such an organised place. Baran smiled, and submerged back into his rented room to get ready for the day.
Half a bell later, the man felt a little better, if still not quite clean or fresh. He had washed his face and hair with cool water straight from the jug, then shaved away some of his stubble (but not all), just about managing to avoid cutting himself. But he had awoken too early to find what he wanted- a wash, new clothes, and a job. So he paced the small room for a moment before deciding to put in a spot of practice before leaving.
The walls were undoubtedly quite thin, his snoring next door neighbour was a testament to that, but he didn't care or even think of the consequences. If he irritated someone, then so be it. He withdrew the gamba from it's case, and tightened the bow hairs slowly as he stretched and massaged his hands awake. Then, slowly, he drew the bow across the strings and began to tune.
The music followed, mostly slow pieces to begin with. He was in a strange mood, both excited and introspective. His thoughts turned slowly as he warmed up, revolving abstractly, his fingers falling into neat patterns as he played familiar pieces he'd played many times over. The bell had tolled the sixth bell by the time he awoke from his trance and began to focus again.
Baran knew a lot of music, from lots of different places. There were the songs of Kenash that he knew from his mother and father, traditional lullabies for the most part. Then there were the songs and tunes from Alvadas, quirky, unusual, the sort of thing he had picked up in his youth there. Pieces from Sunberth, rowdy and upbeat. All the places he'd ever been he had tried to learn at least a handful of pieces from each one. Now he needed to add Ravok to the list, and he wondered where the best place to go was.
But the piece of music he began to practice then was a strange, singing tune that he had heard sang by a Konti in the Stallion's Rear in Alvadas. The words were not words as such, more hummings and patterns of sound. He began slowly, trying to feel the fragments of melody in his head, listening to the Konti woman as he remembered her. The mood had been quiet and moody, with the soft crackling of the fire and golden shafts of sunlight illuminating the woman's platinum locks.
He sang, quietly, his voice cracking to begin with. He sang a wordless melody, letting the pitch rise and fall until he found the right note. He sang gently, even, strange for a man with quite a loud, outspoken voice. He sang with a kind of lonely passion, even if his voice was rusty and wavering. The musician felt peace, the kind of peace that you can only feel when you are completely alone with your own voice, when you shut out the rest of the world and become one with yourself. It was perfect, and he sang until he ran out of melody.
Early morning, before daybreak
"Speech"
Baran woke from a restless slumber to a distant, tolling bell. One, two, three, four, five... He counted the chimes, their melodious meaning, and assumed it was the fifth bell. He coughed, and rubbed sleep from his eyes, still in a daze from sleep. Then the musician realised where he was, and grinned. After that, it took no time at all until the man was out of bed and slipping into his clothes, still travel-worn from his journey. He felt peculiar, not his best, so he took a sip of water from the jug and opened the window to lean out into the still-slumbering city.
Despite the quietness of the morning however, there were still sounds that drifted over the houses and watery streets. Industry was awakening, and he watched a couple of traders hauling heavy sacks onto a ravosala for a few moments as he wiped his face in the cool morning air. It was perfect, to be in such an organised place. Baran smiled, and submerged back into his rented room to get ready for the day.
___
Half a bell later, the man felt a little better, if still not quite clean or fresh. He had washed his face and hair with cool water straight from the jug, then shaved away some of his stubble (but not all), just about managing to avoid cutting himself. But he had awoken too early to find what he wanted- a wash, new clothes, and a job. So he paced the small room for a moment before deciding to put in a spot of practice before leaving.
The walls were undoubtedly quite thin, his snoring next door neighbour was a testament to that, but he didn't care or even think of the consequences. If he irritated someone, then so be it. He withdrew the gamba from it's case, and tightened the bow hairs slowly as he stretched and massaged his hands awake. Then, slowly, he drew the bow across the strings and began to tune.
The music followed, mostly slow pieces to begin with. He was in a strange mood, both excited and introspective. His thoughts turned slowly as he warmed up, revolving abstractly, his fingers falling into neat patterns as he played familiar pieces he'd played many times over. The bell had tolled the sixth bell by the time he awoke from his trance and began to focus again.
Baran knew a lot of music, from lots of different places. There were the songs of Kenash that he knew from his mother and father, traditional lullabies for the most part. Then there were the songs and tunes from Alvadas, quirky, unusual, the sort of thing he had picked up in his youth there. Pieces from Sunberth, rowdy and upbeat. All the places he'd ever been he had tried to learn at least a handful of pieces from each one. Now he needed to add Ravok to the list, and he wondered where the best place to go was.
But the piece of music he began to practice then was a strange, singing tune that he had heard sang by a Konti in the Stallion's Rear in Alvadas. The words were not words as such, more hummings and patterns of sound. He began slowly, trying to feel the fragments of melody in his head, listening to the Konti woman as he remembered her. The mood had been quiet and moody, with the soft crackling of the fire and golden shafts of sunlight illuminating the woman's platinum locks.
He sang, quietly, his voice cracking to begin with. He sang a wordless melody, letting the pitch rise and fall until he found the right note. He sang gently, even, strange for a man with quite a loud, outspoken voice. He sang with a kind of lonely passion, even if his voice was rusty and wavering. The musician felt peace, the kind of peace that you can only feel when you are completely alone with your own voice, when you shut out the rest of the world and become one with yourself. It was perfect, and he sang until he ran out of melody.
.
