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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 14, 2010 12:36:25 GMT -8
Lump made a snuffle at the grass as Frost slowed up, pulling a rather large tarp like fabric out of one of his storages bags on Lump's right side, hoisting it up the best he could, before giving a rather hopeful look to Naf'or and his extraordinary height. "Might I ask for your help friend?" He motioned toward his instruments, straightening it out and covering them the best he could. The Ashtel's interest in his own life choices was actually quite an interesting new feeling to experience... many people were much more interested in the stories he told rather than the story that he lived. Once the tarp was over the top he urged Lump to continue. The only time he ever had trouble with the bump. It greatly enjoyed wet weather, ululating happily with his head raised high and his soggy neck rolls jostling a bit.
"Please Lump, I promise you a net free romp in the mud if you'd like, but you know that the fiddles do not approve of rain." After much insistence, the bump finally relented, tossing its musky head about pleased as Frost responded to his friend. "Indeed. A place to put the instruments while we rest and decide the best route. to follow. After such a rain the paths are sure to get rather flooded." He didn't know quite sure how to respond to Naf'or's caring but he did know it changed nothing about how he felt for his new friend and he smiled, patting his shoulder its distanced height before waving to a farmer who had come out after hearing Lump's rather gurgled rejoicing.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 15, 2010 1:31:33 GMT -8
Naf'or helped in tucking the tarp around the bump's luggage while his own was pretty waterproofed already. Had they not been in need to moving along, Naf'or might have suggested them stop and see if the nearby farm was a friendly place, even wouldn't mind a little money for exchange of a barn stay. But they had at least three hours of walk ahead of them and a little rain couldn't hurt. "We should keep moving."
Or so he assumed.
He urged his own beast on and so Frost would surely follow, making sure his own beast did not frolic too much. As they continued, the rain did as well. It's strong drops were both heavy and numerous and the wind was picking up as the sun was going down. His concern furthered until he figured they should go no more. Maybe it was a sign to stop. "Friend." he said loudly. He found the noise of the weather was drowning out speech. "I think we should find some shelter. I don't think my tent will suffice for this weather. Do your eyes see anything useful ahead?"
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 15, 2010 8:12:57 GMT -8
Glimmering eyes wove through fog that seemed to rise and the thick drops of Genna's tears. It was how he had always described it, it was her breath and tears, but tonight it was going to prove difficult, he smiled as he looked just a ways off the beaten path to an alcove that spoke a promise of a dry place to hide their soaked bodies. He smiled before pointing and giving Lump a small nudge to remind him where he was headed, the slimy moss covered rear was starting to shiver a bit from the ongoing rain. Bumps were use to marshes, not downpours, though the occasional rain was always nice. "There is a recess in the rock overhang..." His voice resounded, and frost gave thanks that the hint of his voice could incur one to KNOW just what he was talking about without him having to shout over the rain. Sometimes it was a gift being a bard, other times he's switch with Lump if he could.
Gathering himself the trekked through the beaten woods, and he led and bent branches for Lump to bumble through. Twigs snagged at his traveling cloak, and pulled a bit at his hair, but the rain had already brought it down for the most part. It was quite the reprieve once they made it into the nook, Lump thundering inside and pressing his rather stinky hide up against Frost for comfort. He was definitely done for the night. Dolourian ways taught Frost long ago to deal with himself in the rain, as most of heir villages weren't as sophisticated, to say the least. Pulling off his traveling cloak hung it across one of the many branches that hung into the alcove. It was muddy from the push through the wet out of doors, but nothing he wasn't use to, and after that he smiled at his friend before laughing. Even his laugh was musical. "A sight we must make. The stories of Frost Hazeleaf and Naf'or of the Ashtel, soaked and seeking refuge in a dusty alcove whilst the storm rages on" He threw his arms up as he spoke, faux drama in his voice before he laughed again. "Lump I will get your melon promptly," he assured.
He took off his outer layer of leathers to dry as well, before rifling around in Lump's side bag, presenting from the pouch, a red melon. "You will have to share this one and then I will give you an apricot for your trouble." He set to work laying out his warm blanket and another that was obviously meant for Lump. "Make space for your new friend Lump, I'm sure he wouldn't mind a bit of warm to lie on as well." He smiled sincerely, patting the spot beside him on the warmth of the woolen blanket. It appeared to be made of shagg wool. He paid through the nose to clean it every chance he got but it was the only way he found that kept him warm and dry. "Melon?" He bopped the melon on the ground a few times, trying to determine the weak place on it. Trying to open red melons was like attempting to split a rock, but the Bump was rocking happily in anticipation.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 15, 2010 22:58:19 GMT -8
The knehoy made a dull whine as he too barged into the covering. His rounded snouted bumped into Lump's mushy rump when he moved too slow, then shoved his way into a spot beside the smelly beast. Maybe he was picking up some of lump's habits?
Naf'or could only sigh at his own animal and enter last. It wasn't as though he could get any wetter. He moved to the creature's side and began to release the hefty carrying load. It fell with a thump to the floor. The knehoy grunted in appreciation and even seemed to eye the melon laid out for Lump.
"Ahlac, shan..." the Ashtel said, shaking his head slowly, "You'll be as spoiled as the one beside you in no time." he patted his creature affectionately, then turned to the elf. He seemed to be working with the melon.
"May I?" he asked, his palm upward. He would help with the melon if Frost allowed him to.
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 16, 2010 8:25:17 GMT -8
It didn't even take a second thought before he held up the melon and headed over toward Lump. The animal was spoiled yes, but so was Frost, it was the natural state of the people that fawned over him so the animal knew he was important. On top of that, he deserved it. Lump would have been fine with the netting on him, but it was obvious the neyhoi needed more space, so he got to removing the tarp, letting the water pool in front of lumps face to drink whilst he set to removing the instruments. He dried each one meticulously, fingers running ever so carefully over strings, with the grain of woods, and blowing softly on each thing. For his 'twist,' the instrument he'd constructed himself, he rolled the drying cloth and used a small metal rod to wind it up to get any water that might have found its way up. He spent an exceeding amount of time on them, especially on the smaller instruments. There were two that he never removed from sacks he had on the netting. He trusted his new friend, but the Ashtel had given him the broken violin long ago, claiming its abilities would one day aid him. He hadn't shown it to another person since. The other was of a more personal nature.
Once he had finished in swabbing up the water from his things, Frost took a deep breath. He never was much for moderation, but he knew far too many things and had a great curiosity for the things around him. If his fictional partner in crime had already seen what was in the purse that the old codger in Amoury had given him, it was paramount that he too spent some time to glimpse its visage. He pat Lump's head dry, then the rest of him. "Do you mind new friend?" He inquired of the neyhoi, signaling that he would pat him dry as well. Without a sign of displeasure, frost bowed his head before patting dry Naf'or's youthful steed.
No one could say that Frost was a lazy man, he certainly did his share of work, but upon finishing drying anything in need, he dropped himself, in care of the pouch from Amoury, onto the blanket he'd lain out for them. Along side it he'd placed the map, and a journal where Frost would never admit, but he'd first discovered with the tale of the bell. He'd added to it, the things that he'd heard. There were clues written in varying kinds of runes and Frost had long ago concluded that this was the doing of dwarves or demons, whichever he had not discovered which had left him certain that this was what they were going to find on this magikal gate that the old man spoke of.
Opening it and the map, Frost began scanning, reading pieces and bits that had been written in elvish scrawls. "My friend what languages do you read?" Glancing up for just a moment to find recognition, he found that Lump was rubbing his side on the neyhoi, causing the Dolour to bite his inner lip in attempt to not giggle. It was a sign that the great stinky beast enjoyed its company, but he wasn't sure the neyhoi knew that. He buried his face back in the book, flipping pages for any reference of the gate or passage in which was spoken. He cursed himself for not being able to read runes, but he was elven after all. He read bits and pieces of everything, but this was older than the dialects he had the pleasure of knowing.
Icy blue eyes trailed to the pouch on his lap, deciding if he ought to open it. The book had mentioned the old man's name, and with his contacts among the royal and peasant alike, he was able to discover far more about the man. Such a grand story he had put together from the pieces of information that was gathered, and it was all part of the song he was writing for this adventure of his. 'The Bell Tolls....' He had been writing the series of songs for over ten years now. Each part pertaining to the mystery of the bell and those attached to it. Oranoma's story was the last of those, the one who had completed the quest. Composing the remaining story though was a great effort, and he had it in his mind that Oranoma should soon find a companion. Naf'or added greatly to his sense of import, and so too would it be for his mythical friend. The godborn elf with the hints and clues sent by the gods... perhaps after such a long and lonesome journey he would find a friend.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 16, 2010 12:52:18 GMT -8
The dark skinned man worked diligently on his own tasks. First and foremost, however was the splitting of the melon. It was a hard and heavy thing that was more stubborn in breaking that a coconut. Still, with his back turned to the Elf, Naf'or seemed to break the melon into even slices soundlessly, effortlessly and instantly. It was hardly noticeable at all and his trick, he did not mention. Certainly, it would probably go unnoticed by the working Bard.
Carefully, the Ashtel laid half of the melon slices before Lump, half before his own beast, then removed a sack of feed and spread half before each beast as well. "Ha'lan barac toulan'lourna." which in his language meant 'variety is better for the stomach.' It was spoken kindly to both creatures who should get both fruit and grain to remain healthy.
The rain outside was never ending. The heavy patter of drops seemed to drown out all else. The wind too had picked up and roared like a violent thing. But it was neither these sounds, or even the increasing amount of thunder rolling from far south and nearing every few minutes. There was a sound on the wind, so faint, it would take a special, keen ear to hear it. Naf'or did not notice, but perhaps Frost would.
Naf'or busied himself with removing certain parts of his clothing. He hung them to dry for the following day, leaving on his breeches for the night. He also laid out a few of his things from his pack that had grown soaked. One of his bags in particular needed to dry and he removed several small boxes from it, stacking them carefully away from where the water would reach. Each had a small seal on it and seemed unopened. There was also a mixture of magikal items, some trade items and something silvery and long popping out from under a cloth. It was a flute of some sort. Maybe Frost would notice that too.
At last, Naf'or started drawing out a well kept, dry pile of kindling from another bag. It was just for such an occasion. A few flicks of his flint and a small, but warm fire was coming to life. It too would help Naf'or's ears miss the gentle song on the wind, still so quiet it was hardly more than a whisper of a whisper.
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 16, 2010 13:46:02 GMT -8
Pattering rain and engorged thunder was like music to his ears, Frost had for years looked for ways to mimic them with his own equipment, but that wasn't what was on his mind. Even his own obsession of attempting to decipher the book and its secrets came second to what he was hearing on the wind. Even though he was concerned, he said nothing until placing the items away, as his eyes scanning through the thick drops. He came with soft steps to the edge of the outcropping, closing his eyes to listen to the faint and subtle noises. There were tones at which certain things made noise and though he came to the conclusion he'd placed the noise somewhere else before, it didn't however help him to decide on where.
Wind picked up and as it did he did not lose concentration. His undershirt which was what he wore below the jerkin was a still dry in the body and the wind was making the arms of it dry quite quickly before a fluttering rather high noise caught his ears from behind him. It was the echoing tone of what most considered to be the noise of the fae or god kind, but he knew it well and upon turning found its source peeking out from between the wrappings. The mouth piece was exposed and that of course was what was making the fluttered sound, but he didn't forget about the one that was falling between the drops.
"Friends, you are in the possession of a flute?" He did not reach out and touch it, however he tugged the fabric to cover the mouthpiece so that it would not add to the sultry sound he'd been following. He was hypnotized by it. And yearned to discover its origin before much time went by, but he also did want to appear to be forgetting his partner. "Have you some musical inclines of your own?"
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 16, 2010 21:28:11 GMT -8
Naf'or had hardly noticed the elf. His eyes had closed once seated on the rug and his hands were outstretched to the small fire. The bard's musical voice caused him to peer an eye open then toward his things seeing the direction Frost was inclining himself toward. At first he wasn't sure what the elf meant until the wind ruffled his things and re-exposed the flute end.
"Ahh.." he said slowly. Truly he had forgotten about it until this point. "You know I do believe everything happens for a reason." which didn't explain anything just yet. Naf'or tipped his head toward the tool of music then spoke again, "Please, take it out. I think you would be interested." which of course was probably a well educated guess in his case.
When the elf would take it, he would see the flute was not straight like a normal one. It was silvery, but finer than that and very short. It was probably closer to a piccolo in size and made a gentle twist so it seemed like a ram horn. There were only 4 finger holes for changing the notes but a longer one on the bottom that would seem a strange thing without knowledge on the piece or explanation. "It is made of mithril. It is a very special flute that I could never even try to play. It was a gift from the Eldar King. He says it makes the sound of the wind." another rare smile came to his lips. "I am known by such a title. I am the Fal'ona Sayor. It means Wind Lord."
His hands clasped onto his knees and he licked his lips. "It's also said to be magikal. Would you try to learn its secrets? I think I was truly given it because fate knew I would meet you."
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 16, 2010 21:48:15 GMT -8
Some men were said to get such a fix on the heart for vengeance that he could see nothing else, but this is said of warriors. Of those with the magik of music at their heart, it is said that once a bard hears notes of an instrument they have not heard, they are bent with a similar affliction to discover its secrets. Without having held one there were tall tales that Frost had heard sung of the mystical flute that he unconsciously began reciting as he neared it, his eyes fixed on it. "Glory oh the wind's song, the breath upon your lips. Can one so yearn for such a thing or would they be remiss. He held it to his raven's lip, and treated with a kiss." Tan colored fingers wrapped around the flute as he lifted it to his eyes, lowering himself slowly beside Naf'or before staring at him in awe.
"You are the Wind Lord? My... partner, Pen. She spoke often of you." Lump lifted his head at frost's mention, reluctance as he handed it to Naf'or'slap, his fingers trembling with excitement. "You are a thing of legends my friend." He didn't dare use it himself without being given any reference to do so. It didn't surprise him that the ashtel was something so shocking, but it was heart stopping for him to hear that fate had brought them to one another. "I... how could I have not realized?" He was as shocked with himself as he was with Naf'or that he'd not realized the whole tale pointed to the wonderful man.
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 16, 2010 21:58:18 GMT -8
The man's hand grasped the piece gently and cradled his gift with nothing less than respect. A gift was a thing to cherish and treat well. His glowing eyes lowered onto the tool and he seemed to be lost in it. Or it was he was in his own mind. "I am merely a man before you. I would ask you what tales you know of me, but I would rather know of you. I grow weary of myself." There should have been amusement in his voice, but there was none. There was far more to the tale than was said, but that might have to be for another time.
"Pen. May I inquire?" he would not like to barge into a place he was not welcome, but any person who could take the heart of a bard, was a person indeed for a bard's love was for the musical world first and foremost. Or perhaps it was a sad tale. Without raising his eyes, he lifted the flute back to the bard. It lay open in his palm, welcoming him to take the piece. "Please. If you would share with me, I will happily allow you to enjoy this flute to your heart's content."
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 16, 2010 22:24:58 GMT -8
Her name struck a pain in his heart, but a sweet, sweet sorrow. There was no forgetting a person with such passion and bravery. With the instrument in his hand, it was like a great reminder of her once obsession, a reminder as well of her quirks and cheerful disposition. "It would be my honor to tell you of her. Her's is a story much greater than mine, and I was... of great luck to have her's entwined with mine." His thumb caressed the longer of the holes, sliding over it as he maneuvered the instrument in his hand, working it like an alchemist with gold. "Pen was a singularly gifted woman. She fashioned herself a minstrel of old. Destined to write songs and stories to bring to light the most ancient of myths. I first came in contact with her when I was traveling for one of the first times. I was looking to make a name for myself at that point." Frost obviously, from the tone of his voice and the lost look of his eyes, had never written Pen into story or song... her's was a sad one that he could not bare to write into fiction.
"Pen was singing, so simple and perfect was her song, that I was captivated. Pen, a human, without any magik in her fingers or laced within her tone, created something wholly individual that not a bard in the history of Terra had done. She had brought me... to life. I had never written a song of my own until meeting her. She came to me after her third performance with me in presence and not once questioned me. She knew exactly what I was thinking and what my problem was. Her voice, so lyrical and soft, she crooned like a lark. 'Words are trapped in your fingertips.' It was the first thing she'd ever said to me."
He smiled, holding the piece to his lips but never blowing, his fingers moving gently over the holes, sliding his thumb down the longer of them like one would stroke a cat. "Pen was only twenty then... but her story began long before me. As a little girl, only four circles of the year, she had learned young, that music was frivolous... and she loved it. She never spoke of the years in between, said they had been the days of unliving., until she had been apprenticed to a passing musician. Pen instantly, though without any magik of what people claimed made a bard, took to captivating the world with her stories of ancient artifacts. Ever word she spoke or sang rang with the truth of its history. She had... she had everything I could ever hope to be and without a word to pass between us, she had chosen to bring me to life."
He swallowed, his eyes casting downward to his now limp hands that hurt to hold something she would have endeared. "I traveled with Pen for four months. Only four months and she taught me everything she could. Passion and glee, her belief in myths was so ensnaring, I hadn't even realized that her heart was for the music, not for my own... endearment. Pen was married, had a husband here in Tirin of all places," he sighed at the thought, knowing that the story was choppy and missing in places but much of what they went through together he attempted to keep their own. "She was... the only one I have ever met with a passion to find the story more than mine."
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 16, 2010 22:37:19 GMT -8
Naf'or listened and watched the elf's face. He could see his emotions and felt a sort of hollowness that was unlike him; empathy. But he couldn't truly understand the sadness because the Ashtel people did not understand passion the way the Dolour or a human could. It was a source of much curiosity for a lot of his people.
Never once in his lifetime could be muster the passion and love for another person that Frost displayed so openly over his soft featured face. An Ashtel's love was in his study and in his magik and even then it was nothing like the depth of the most mortal races or of the ethereal. It was actually very shameful for one of his own people to show such emotion, even a smile. Yet there, deep in his chest was a small twinge of empathy and sadness for the other. Naf'or could safely say he had never known any person so closely as Frost already. One did not get too close, even to one's wife or child. He wanted though.
But nothing showed outside. His eyes were low on his lap and his face passive. From the outside it might even seem as though he was not listening or not interested except that he asked further about the matter. "Does she live still?" He assumed not.
His mind sought out the image of his own wife's face. He felt nothing. He was not meant to feel.
What he did feel was a feeling of tiredness washing over him slowly. The sound on the wind was so faint but it was back. Was it from the flute? Even from touching it? Naf'or heard it this time but he did not recognize it yet.
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 16, 2010 22:46:50 GMT -8
Frost perked up after the silence, his eyes closed whilst he did so, but he popped properly up like a Dolour. They too weren't meant to maintain much sadness or sympathy toward lost loved ones, they fell in love as often as the seasons changed, but Pen was his first and so far only love. "No, no. I never did the disservice of appearing to her husband to console him on the day she passed, but I could never forget her. I had received a letter from her, written in her dying days, but received long after. Apologizing that we had never made the journey to Rhun like she had once promised. Telling me about her children's love for music." He never mentioned that she had plead with him to take her children on, it hurt too badly then and after to see them. They looked like their mother, and for that he had to leave them behind for fear of his own pain. Dolour did not handle feelings... in a quite orthodox way. Never really predictable. When the wind captured his ears again he plucked the instrument with a new vigor, before letting his eyes come to rest with a glimmer of his intrigue in them. "You have played it before?"
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Post by Bunhash on Nov 16, 2010 22:56:25 GMT -8
He finally raised his eyes. They settled comfortably onto the other. He was pleased to see Frost had composed himself. He was able to return to his usual state much easier and his previous feelings were already faded into the hidden, lost parts of himself.
In response to Frost's question, Naf'or shook his head. "I cannot play music nor use such a specialized instrument. It is... superfluous to my people to learn how. I would like you to keep my gift. You will do it justice I think." Then he moved to grasp a tote beside himself and drew out a small bag of dried vegetables and a small pot. He did not even seem phased by giving the thing to the other, even though the elf was probably sputtering. He only offered the pot to him and asked "Would you have this filled with the rain water? It's pouring much so it shouldn't take long."
He was going to make some dinner for the two before he slept... who knew if the bard could be brought down from his excitement enough to sleep this night. Depending on the morning, who knew whether they would be leaving anyway.
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Post by ExlMagician on Nov 16, 2010 23:09:40 GMT -8
Swallowing wouldn't bring words to his usually verbose demeanor, as Naf'or spoke words that only he could have dreamed of. There was not a thing he could think of that would allow for him to thank him enough. The ashtel were such a private people but he found the more time he spent with this man, that their intrigue was more of a hidden culture than what people speculated. Naf'or wanted to be... thought of as a normal companion. He would give him that, as from the day he met the dark skinned brother, he had long decided they were meant to travel the world. "Of.. course." He bowed his head, taking the pot, and pressing not on the matter of the flute. It was in a tight but loving grip in his hand as he held the pot for the rain to fill.
"I.. thank you Naf'or." It was all he would say to pursue it. Once filled, he brought the miniature cauldron beneath the stony overhang, aiding with the vegetables only long enough before curiosity filled him enough that his heart would burst if he did not blow into the flute. There was his surprise, no sound at first, until he slid his fingers into position along the tube. It required the petting motion along with a soft touch to bring forth even the slightest noise, which was more the startle seeing as when the wind blew it was the flute that fluttered noises through the air. Genna's breath was such a... masterful thing. He turned it and examined it with not a single thought but to its function and how to bring music from it. Its uses. Why it was passed to Naf'or. This was indeed, a project which he would fixate upon, all night.
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