brainstorming
Introductory Notes
The Bards were a fairly interesting group of magic users. They, unlike most wizards, had the ability to use wandless magic as long as the incantations were sung instead of spoken. Not much is known specifically about the workings of their magic due to the fact that it relied on a master-apprentice teaching relationship (Much like the Sith - ;D). They did not employ the same methods for spellcasting as most of the wizarding world, although there are more than a few Bards with ability to cast magic in a traditional manner as well.
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There was a land far away, past the fields of ice and snow, past the expanse of endless desert, and beyond the deepest jungles known to those of lore. In this land existed towering reaches of mountains reaching perpetually skyward, jutting out of the bones of the earth in a vain attempt to reach the sky. Ever trying but never getting anywhere.
Through this land could be seen a lone figure weaving its way along game trails and goattracks. The cold crisp air at these elevations did much to help one clear the mind and focus one’s magic, bardic or otherwise. The figure traveled along humming to itself, apparently at ease in his surroundings. To one who knew no better, he was just an ordinary traveler; to those who know such things, the man was actually a bard in search of something. There was magic in the air under the direction of the bard’s tune which he was using as a compass or divining tool. He continued his trek for most of the day up the side of the mountain.
Shortly before the sun set, he reached the peak of the mountain and the tune he sung was no longer a mere hum, but a full sung song the likes of which had not been heard in these mountain reaches for many years. The song guided him around small copses of trees along the peak of the mountain, across patches of bare rock until finally leading him to a dense area of brush that would deter even the hardiest mountain dweller from attempting to make his way by this path. It was here that the bard came to a stop (both in his trek and his song).
As he stood in front of the seemingly impassable copse of trees, he withdrew a small gemshorn (flute made from a goat’s horn - pronounced 'games-horn') and played a haunting melody (Pucelette - rennaissance piece, in a slow 3). The melancholy of the tune wove its way through the thin mountain air with the bard mindfully playing as if expecting something to happen. Continuing into further verses of the old tune, the bard’s stance did not change as the brush between the trees seemed to retreat behind the trunks they protected. With more verses played there were other changes as well; the younger trees appeared to move their roots and pull themselves aside in order to make a sort of moss covered walkway between the towering older trees.
The bard, never ceasing the haunting tonalities of the gemshorn, resumed his travel and entered upon the path which lay open before him now. Past the outer reaches of the unusual group of forest, the trees and brush returned themselves to their previous locations.
The bard continued on his quest, playing continuously until he emerged from the strange grouping of trees entirely. He stood surrounded on three sides by the unusual foliage while the view in front of him extended as far as the eye could see. The bard had appeared at the edge of sheer-faced towering cliff. To say that the view was more than could be put into words was putting it lightly. Coming to a stop right at the edge, he finally allowed the gemshorn to fall silent as the haunting tune came to its end. He found himself just standing there drinking in the beauty of the world all around him, basking in the silence.
After a time, he almost thought he could hear the mournful wailing of bagpipe song drifting up from the keep hidden halfway down the side of the cliff. It sat there clinging to the rocky face apparently by sheer will. The ghost of bagpipe song wound its way through the bard’s very being, insinuating itself into his soul. He once again brought the gemshorn to his lips and developed an equally intriguing coutermelody to ring out across the valley before him. As the magic of the duet took hold, the rock of the cliff face seemed to shift and morph into a line of stairs down to the impossible to reach keep. Like before, the bard continued his playing until he had descended the entire length of the stairs. Once he set foot on the small expanse of rock before the keep’s gate he changed tunes and played what seemed to be a snippet of some lively dance before replacing the gemshorn in his sack. Soon after he finished he was hailed by a group of guards stationed above the gate. (It should be noted that before the dance tune was played, neither the guards nor the gate was actually visible to the eye. The only way for one to know that either the guards or gate was present was to be able to sense them through magesight, a gift unknown to many.)
He answered the guards hail in what must have been a suitable manner and entered into the keep. Once inside all remaining traces of the stairway had disappeared and where the keep had previously stood now appeared to be nothing more than an outcropping of rock from the relatively smooth cliff face.
-end for now-
(NOTE: I have discovered I use the word 'As' entirely too often to begin sentences, especially when tired. Please kick me if you notice it happening again ;).
The Bards were a fairly interesting group of magic users. They, unlike most wizards, had the ability to use wandless magic as long as the incantations were sung instead of spoken. Not much is known specifically about the workings of their magic due to the fact that it relied on a master-apprentice teaching relationship (Much like the Sith - ;D). They did not employ the same methods for spellcasting as most of the wizarding world, although there are more than a few Bards with ability to cast magic in a traditional manner as well.
*************************
There was a land far away, past the fields of ice and snow, past the expanse of endless desert, and beyond the deepest jungles known to those of lore. In this land existed towering reaches of mountains reaching perpetually skyward, jutting out of the bones of the earth in a vain attempt to reach the sky. Ever trying but never getting anywhere.
Through this land could be seen a lone figure weaving its way along game trails and goattracks. The cold crisp air at these elevations did much to help one clear the mind and focus one’s magic, bardic or otherwise. The figure traveled along humming to itself, apparently at ease in his surroundings. To one who knew no better, he was just an ordinary traveler; to those who know such things, the man was actually a bard in search of something. There was magic in the air under the direction of the bard’s tune which he was using as a compass or divining tool. He continued his trek for most of the day up the side of the mountain.
Shortly before the sun set, he reached the peak of the mountain and the tune he sung was no longer a mere hum, but a full sung song the likes of which had not been heard in these mountain reaches for many years. The song guided him around small copses of trees along the peak of the mountain, across patches of bare rock until finally leading him to a dense area of brush that would deter even the hardiest mountain dweller from attempting to make his way by this path. It was here that the bard came to a stop (both in his trek and his song).
As he stood in front of the seemingly impassable copse of trees, he withdrew a small gemshorn (flute made from a goat’s horn - pronounced 'games-horn') and played a haunting melody (Pucelette - rennaissance piece, in a slow 3). The melancholy of the tune wove its way through the thin mountain air with the bard mindfully playing as if expecting something to happen. Continuing into further verses of the old tune, the bard’s stance did not change as the brush between the trees seemed to retreat behind the trunks they protected. With more verses played there were other changes as well; the younger trees appeared to move their roots and pull themselves aside in order to make a sort of moss covered walkway between the towering older trees.
The bard, never ceasing the haunting tonalities of the gemshorn, resumed his travel and entered upon the path which lay open before him now. Past the outer reaches of the unusual group of forest, the trees and brush returned themselves to their previous locations.
The bard continued on his quest, playing continuously until he emerged from the strange grouping of trees entirely. He stood surrounded on three sides by the unusual foliage while the view in front of him extended as far as the eye could see. The bard had appeared at the edge of sheer-faced towering cliff. To say that the view was more than could be put into words was putting it lightly. Coming to a stop right at the edge, he finally allowed the gemshorn to fall silent as the haunting tune came to its end. He found himself just standing there drinking in the beauty of the world all around him, basking in the silence.
After a time, he almost thought he could hear the mournful wailing of bagpipe song drifting up from the keep hidden halfway down the side of the cliff. It sat there clinging to the rocky face apparently by sheer will. The ghost of bagpipe song wound its way through the bard’s very being, insinuating itself into his soul. He once again brought the gemshorn to his lips and developed an equally intriguing coutermelody to ring out across the valley before him. As the magic of the duet took hold, the rock of the cliff face seemed to shift and morph into a line of stairs down to the impossible to reach keep. Like before, the bard continued his playing until he had descended the entire length of the stairs. Once he set foot on the small expanse of rock before the keep’s gate he changed tunes and played what seemed to be a snippet of some lively dance before replacing the gemshorn in his sack. Soon after he finished he was hailed by a group of guards stationed above the gate. (It should be noted that before the dance tune was played, neither the guards nor the gate was actually visible to the eye. The only way for one to know that either the guards or gate was present was to be able to sense them through magesight, a gift unknown to many.)
He answered the guards hail in what must have been a suitable manner and entered into the keep. Once inside all remaining traces of the stairway had disappeared and where the keep had previously stood now appeared to be nothing more than an outcropping of rock from the relatively smooth cliff face.
-end for now-
(NOTE: I have discovered I use the word 'As' entirely too often to begin sentences, especially when tired. Please kick me if you notice it happening again ;).