eachdraidh | [Text | Audio / Open to Both Courts]

Are there any story-tellers amongst us? Or Bards? I know of one. [He is more than a little fond of that one.] With the plethora of unexplainable events, imaginations could run wild.

[It only seems fair that, since he is searching for stories, that he offers one of his own - though he feels a bit silly telling one that is specifically about him. Still, it can't be helped.

The text transitions to audio and Vanyel's baritone voice can be heard singing. There is a lute accompanying him - likely played by him as well.]

Along a road in Hardorn, the place called Stony Tor
A fearful band of farmers flees Karsite Border war.
A frightened band of farmers, their children, and their wives,
Seek refuge from a tyrant, who wants more than just their lives.

Now up rides Herald Vanyel. "Why then such haste?" says he.
"Now who is it pursuing, whose anger do you flee?
You are all of Hardorn, why seek you Valdemar?
Is Festil no protection? Nor bide all his men too far?"

"Oh, Vanyel, Herald Vanyel, we flee now for our lives,
Lord Nedran would enslave us, our children and our wives-
He'd give our souls to demons, our bodies, to his men.
King Festil has not heeded, or he happens not to ken."

Now up speaks Herald Vanyel. "The Border is not far-
But you are all of Hardorn, and not of Valdemar,
You are not Randale's people-can call not on his throne-
But dammed if I will see you left so helpless on your own!"

So forth goes Herald Vanyel, and onward does he ride,
On Stony Tor he waits then, Yfandes at his side.
With Nedran's men approaching, he calls out from on high,
"You shall not pass, Lord Nedran! Nay I shall not let you by!"

Now only Herald Vanyel stands blocking Nedran's way
"Now who are you, fool nothing, that dares to tell me nay?"
Now up speaks Vanyel his voice like brittle glass;
"The Herald-Mage called Vanyel-and 'tis I you shall not pass!"

Now there stand great Lord Nedran, behind him forty men,
With wizard there beside him he pales, and speaks again-
"So you are Herald Vanyel-this place is not your land.
So heed me, Herald Vanyel; and now turn aside your hand."

"Let be; I'll give you silver, and I shall give you gold,
And I shall give you jewels fair that sparkle bright and bold,
And I shall give you pearls, all the treasures of the sea,
If you will step aside here, leaving these poor fools to me."

"What need have I of silver with sweet Yfandes here?
And all the gold I cherish is sunlight bright and clear.
The only jewel I treasure's a bright and shining star,
And I protect the all helpless not just those of Valdemar."

"Now I shall give you beauty, women slaves and men,
And I shall give you power, you'll never see again,
And I shall give you mansions and I shall give you land,
If you will turn aside this day, aside and hold your hand."

"Now beauty held in bondage is beauty that is lost.
And land and mansions blood-bought come too high the cost.
The power I have already-all power is a jade-
So turn you back, Lord Nedran if of me you are afraid!"

Lord Nedran backs his stallion, the wizard he comes nigh,
"Prepare yourself, bold Vanyel, for you shall surely die!"
The wizard calls his demons, the demons he commands,
And Vanyel, Herald Vanyel, only raises empty hands.

The wizard calls his demons, the sky above turns black.
The demons strike at Vanyel, he stands and holds them back.
The demons strike at Vanyel, they strike and hurt him sore,
But Vanyel stands defiant, only to raise his hands once more.

The sky itself descending now, upon bare Stony Tor
It hides the awful battle. The watchers see no more.
The wizard shouts in triumph-too soon he vents his mirth.
For Vanyel calls the lightning down, and smites him to the earth!

The clouds of black have lifted; and there on barren ground
Stands Vanyel hurt, yet victor, the demons tied and bound.
He looks down on Lord Nedran; his eyes grow cold and bleak-
"Now I shall give you, Nedran, all the power that you seek-"

Now Vanyel frees the demons, and Nedran screams with fear,
He sets them on the Karsites, who first had brought them here.
He sets them on the Karsites, and on the Karsite land.
They look down on Lord Nedran. And they do not stay their hand.

Now Vanyel calls the farmers. "Go tell you near and far,
How thus are serves the tyrants who would take Valdemar.
I am the bane of demons, their query I defend.
Thus Heralds serve a foeman and thus Heralds save a friend!"

[He clears his throat self-consciously.]

Anyway, let us share stories. You needn't have a gift for rhymes [or be a famous Herald-Mage] or an end packed with morals. Not every story can be wrapped up so easily.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Toboe cocks his head at what of the text he can acknowledge before the music begins. His ears flick up, just offscreen. He listens to the words only to cursorily understand what the song is about; all in all, a song - any song - is a bit refreshing to hear weeks of the castle halls.

Then at the ending call for stories, his ears turn a little. It'd probably be as appropriate as the song was, again, refreshing, to share. He starts sort of lightly-stepping in, still offscreen.]

-- Well, where I come from -- [He paces his phrases a bit; he hasn't exactly had much storytelling practice. What more do you do but relate clearly and invitingly?] -- they said that at the end of the world, a way would open to Paradise. But that only wolves could find it, by following the scent of Lunar Flowers.

[He listens patiently, smiling in encouragement.]

A fine way to find Paradise. [No pain - just a (hopefully) sweet scent to follow.] Do your people possess a strong sense of smell?

[Wherein they can smell what others can't?]

[It was quite the scent and one he'll miss, if he thinks much about it - for what it was, and its natural meaning - and Vanyel's smile achieves its purpose. He answers with a modest lift.]

Yeah!

[And on his end of the line he shifts a little more into further - comfort, ease sharing a tale of sorts!]

And my friends and I -- we followed the scent of the flowers -- and we met one.

[Tone settles with posture a bit more into delicate touch of a pleasant memory.]

Her name was Cheza... She was a Lunar Flower -- brought to life, the same way people and animals are. Shaped like a girl -- but she was a flower. [An ambiguous waver in tone, there; not coming to him how to be more precise. She still was a flower, didn't eat but did drink, basked in the sun, smelled just like a flower.

Idle trailing statement to cap it off personally:] She was so nice...

[A flower becoming a girl? Well that's new. Vanyel chuckles.]

A sweet-scented flower could never be unkind, I would think. [It depends on the flower, in truth, but Vanyel suspects a Lunar Flower is delicate, beautiful and sweet.] How did you know she was a flower shaped like a girl? Did she tell you?

[ Despite the weariness, despite the quiet urge to simply lie down and not rise that he fights, Maglor has always loved a good tale, and his voice is approving, stronger than it has been in a while, although Vanyel is not to know that ]

Oh well done young one! That is a fine tale you tell and you tell it well. You had good teachers, I deem.

[Then part of Vanyel's intention has been fulfilled. He doesn't like to see others miring themselves in their own depression. Stories can be healing in their own way.]

I'm afraid I'm not a Bard, though I do possess the Gifts. When I was a lad, I wanted nothing more than to be formally trained, but that wasn't meant to be.

[The pain of that rejection has faded over the years.]

Another formed the lyrics for that song, but since it was written about one of my victories, I took it upon myself to memorize it.

[Not for his ego's sake, but because a Bard took the time to write him a song.]

Edited 2014-08-29 06:24 (UTC)

Ah, so you are the Herald Vanyel then? Well met, I suppose, as far as such meetings over devices might be called so. Maglor I am, and if tis a Bard you seek, I have been so trained.

Tis a pity you never had the opportunity - you have a good voice and a firm grasp of the tune. You might have done well in such a profession.

Edited 2014-08-29 10:52 (UTC)

Er...yes. [His embarrassment is likely audible in his voice.] Then I find myself in rare company indeed. Maglor, can you tell me a tale about your world?

[The words mean a great deal to him - more than he can let on.]

Our paths lead us to unexpected places. I am needed as a Herald; not a Bard.

[ A soft hum ]

Perhaps that is so, but you have time enow here, I think, if you wished to take up another skill. But I can, aye. What sort of tale would you have, Herlad Vanyel?

Music has always been apart of my life. I would enjoy honing it. [He has been giving his lute far more attention lately.] I'm not accustomed to being idle.

It can be hard. [ Maglor agrees ] But at the least you have the time now, eh?

Well, if tis music you enjoy the most I can offer my own skills in return! Twould only be fair, after all. Is there anything in particular you wish to know?

[Nico just isn't one to turn down a story, as long as he isn't in a tremendous hurry and lives are in the balance. So, he listens to Vanyel's song, and feels both an appreciation of how it's delivered and also a sadness, as he's sure that there's more to the tale than what's in the song. There usually is.]

You tell a good story. I'm not a Bard or anything like, but I have a lot of stories from my world, about gods and heroes and such. Is there a particular theme or mood you'd like to hear?

[Bardic creations are generally crafted to please their listeners. Otherwise they wouldn't make much of a living. So, yes, there is more to the tale - and it is rather grim.]

I would like to hear them if you have the time? Choose the tale that will please you most to tell.

[Because part of the reason he is telling a story is to lift spirits.]

[He actively listens with a certain curiosity the entire way through - pauses over it as if turning his ear on a message of a certain amount of import for review.

The impression he'd gotten from the last time they spoke surely can be taken to mean he wouldn't be unwelcome to step forward again - speaks up a bit subdued.]

Ah - my name is Anthony, Herald - we, er -- I spoke to you before. [Quick, small duck of his head.]

Is, er --

Are you -- the Herald Vanyel, of that tale?

[Slips and cows short of properly inflecting as a question, with a flickering look too neutral to be a wince. There could be reasons someone would prefer not to be asked, but, alas, hopefully in any case innocent inquiry is excusable.]

[His smile is warm and welcoming, yet the expression fades to something like embarrassment at Anthony's question.]

Yes, I am. I assure you I didn't write the lyrics, but the tale is true.

[It's one of many tales that have been written and sung about him.]

Heralds accomplish similar deeds - both great and small - every day. [Though the Bards don't focus quite as intently on them as they do Vanyel.]

[Text | Audio / Open to Both Courts]

[Video]

[Video]

[Video]

[Video]

private voice;

private voice;

private voice;

private voice;

private voice;

private voice;

private voice;

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Video]

[Video]