Open [World's End] The Spring Tempest

[Siral Avadur]

16th of Spring, 513 A.V. The World's End Grotto wasn't quite packed this night, but Siral never really felt too concerned about how big or rich his audience was. He simply enjoyed the chance to share his stories and his music with whoever cared to listen, and for that he was thankful. Siral surveyed the crowd before him with a casual sweep of his gaze, his hands idly polishing his flute as his thoughts carried on. He had always come here as a patron and a friend, but now that he called this his workplace and home the World's End had taken on a new warmth for the young bard. It was simply strange for him to even have an actual 'home', and being taken up for room and board was probably the closest he'd get for a while. Cradling his precious instrument in the nook of his arm, Siral made his way towards the small raised platform that now served as a stage, and cleared his throat. He had long since grown out of that awkward stage-fright, thanks to the life of a wandering troupe, but still the hesitance remained as slowly the heads turned to the night's entertainment. Siral spotted a few regulars, who smiled their appreciation, but the rest may as well have been faceless to the minstrel. But regardless of who they were, they all received the same cheery smile and eccentric voice. "Welcome! For the next short while I consider you all my dearest friends, and as such I plan on sharing quite the story and quite the song, if you'll indulge me. I have travelled across the plains and over the seas to bring you tales you've never imagined, and songs you've never heard. So, without further pompous ado, I do hope you'll enjoy the evening here at the World's End." It was at that moment that the wooden flute fell gracefully into his other hand, in one fluid motion as it rose to his lips. The silence in the air was tangible as Siral stood in front of the crowd, frozen in playing position as if he were made of stone. Then the music began. (The times below are just for reference if you wish to attempt to follow the analogy) For those who had not seen the man perform before, the sound would not be quite what they expected. The flute Siral used was of a sturdy wood that had a naturally hollow stem, and gave it a unique intonation unlike most carved flutes. He started playing with a gentle progression, his music low and flowing, a steady stream undisturbed by nature. Slowly he stepped up, long notes marking his rise, before once again falling to the beginning (1:03). The stream continually flowing; a cycle of nature. His fingers knew what they were doing by this point in his life, so Siral stuck to these images, these metaphors for his songs, and played what he saw. He continued the slow rising and falling of his river, until there came the breeze, and the song began in earnest (1:20). The story was of a young couple walking along the stream, the sun beaming down on their face as flowers fluttered in the wind. The song matched their pace as they walked on, the flute taking on almost magical tones and styles of progression that Siral's mother had supposedly invented just for the instrument. And on went the walk along the river, as the bard played his flute through closed eyes and an open mind. Then, the couple stopped. (3:09) The man took his wife by the hand, and pulled her into his arms with a deep embrace. Siral's music took on a tense rise, the pressure of the song building. The world around the couple stood still as the two held each other tensely, until a gentle kiss, and then the wind picked up once more. The song took a fluid fall from grace into the lower scale, as if it was a sigh of relief (3:58). But things were not as calm as they seemed. Siral began a series of flourishes, once again building a tension in the air around him and his stage. The couple in his tale stuck in place as the world around them spun, and all of a sudden the scenery was a bustling city of unknown origin and fascinating culture (4:40). And off the two went, on an adventure of their own; one of discovery, both of the city and of themselves. The song carried them along as marketplaces, temples, and beautiful vantages flew through Siral's mind. One after another Siral played all of these settings with his own abstract talent, until once again the couple found themselves by the side of yet another river, the sun now setting on the horizon (6:49). The couple now had experiences and adventures of their own, and would be able to share their own story. Siral now simply acted as a backdrop. He now played the song of nature itself, and left the couple to sing their own tune. And the familiar progressions and rising and falling from the beginning once again came forward, with dramatic flairs, as the metaphorical cycle of the song came to fruition. As the sun finally set, Siral finished his song, the gentle note fading away as he bowed to his audience. He gave them a professional smile as he carefully tucked away his flute, and bowed once more as the crowd gave their support. Walking over to the bar, he shook hands with those who approached him, and took tips when they were given. There were always more drinks than Siral needed, and so he always asked for a strange drink called Golden Grace. It was a performers secret that was simply watered down cider, but one never wanted to refuse a gift from a patron, and so everyone won. The barkeep, the establishment, and the performer split the coin three-ways, and the customer still felt like he was doing a good deed without simply handing over coin. So there Siral sat, sipping at his mysterious 'ale,' and playing gentle friend to all of those who came up to him to congratulate or praise, or perhaps even criticize. Siral could never tell who would be the next one to come up to talk, but one thing was for certain. He was always ready for a story.