- Messages
- 129
- Character Biography
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“O Zar’Ahal, thy Valsharess returns
Corded arms and shoulders, crownèd brow of silver, her fury burns
All who stood against her fell beneath her barèd blade, now she turns…”
Vel’duith scratched the comically pompous paean lines out annoyedly with her quill. She lamented that Ispir Sione had left so abruptly; he doubtlessly could have improved upon her composition. It seemed so effortless whenever he burst into song, as in the Croghear courtyard the night after her arrival. While she had always harbored a love of music and had practiced her lyre as often as she could steal a moment to, she completely lacked the bard’s spontaneity and ease. As much as she yearned to sing out her hopes for Vyx’aria’s reborn reign, perhaps this composition would best be an instrumental.
At least that part sounded right. She had started with twinned pangs of loss over somberly shifting roots in a melancholy dirge, searching uncertainly for future reprieve over the briefest lilt of an ephemeral major step, before falling back to despairing. Then a touch and go counterpoint cut in, the countermelody steadily gaining prominence before finally pulling the other voice along with it into a soaring, turning rise. Finally, a proclamation on high, answered with rising harmonies below, with all voices sharing and repeating the triumphant theme to one another.
It had almost felt like something within the lyre itself yearned to come out, inspiring her fingers as they string-stopped, plucked, blocked, strummed, and quavered. A second touch of a spirit past, equally spurred to song by the happy event. A spirit that didn’t mind her intrusion into its onetime retreat, that welcomed her additions and adjustments. And for her part, Vel’duith took care to only change what she truly felt she needed in the room she borrowed, sensing the sanctity of what remained from the past, and appreciating the beauty and elegance of what had been left for her to find.
Vel’duith finally surrendered to her writer’s block, deciding the lyricless piece alone was fit to share. She frowned and fretted a bit as she walked the hall with the lyre tucked securely under one arm, and a stool under the other; she was already several days too late for it to be a timely coronation gift. Seeing Vyx’aria at ease in the courtyard, she found a spot she felt would acoustically benefit her performance, set down the stool, and softly tuned the strings.
And then, she began to play.
Vyx'aria
Corded arms and shoulders, crownèd brow of silver, her fury burns
All who stood against her fell beneath her barèd blade, now she turns…”
Vel’duith scratched the comically pompous paean lines out annoyedly with her quill. She lamented that Ispir Sione had left so abruptly; he doubtlessly could have improved upon her composition. It seemed so effortless whenever he burst into song, as in the Croghear courtyard the night after her arrival. While she had always harbored a love of music and had practiced her lyre as often as she could steal a moment to, she completely lacked the bard’s spontaneity and ease. As much as she yearned to sing out her hopes for Vyx’aria’s reborn reign, perhaps this composition would best be an instrumental.
At least that part sounded right. She had started with twinned pangs of loss over somberly shifting roots in a melancholy dirge, searching uncertainly for future reprieve over the briefest lilt of an ephemeral major step, before falling back to despairing. Then a touch and go counterpoint cut in, the countermelody steadily gaining prominence before finally pulling the other voice along with it into a soaring, turning rise. Finally, a proclamation on high, answered with rising harmonies below, with all voices sharing and repeating the triumphant theme to one another.
It had almost felt like something within the lyre itself yearned to come out, inspiring her fingers as they string-stopped, plucked, blocked, strummed, and quavered. A second touch of a spirit past, equally spurred to song by the happy event. A spirit that didn’t mind her intrusion into its onetime retreat, that welcomed her additions and adjustments. And for her part, Vel’duith took care to only change what she truly felt she needed in the room she borrowed, sensing the sanctity of what remained from the past, and appreciating the beauty and elegance of what had been left for her to find.
Vel’duith finally surrendered to her writer’s block, deciding the lyricless piece alone was fit to share. She frowned and fretted a bit as she walked the hall with the lyre tucked securely under one arm, and a stool under the other; she was already several days too late for it to be a timely coronation gift. Seeing Vyx’aria at ease in the courtyard, she found a spot she felt would acoustically benefit her performance, set down the stool, and softly tuned the strings.
And then, she began to play.
Vyx'aria
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