alhoon wrote:Termelan, Safana, 2 youths
"Lead the way my lady!" Termelan says to the exotic woman.
As she makes her mind (whether she approves of a sudden escort of 3 men or not) and starts moving, Termelan begins a low tune.
It starts softly, nearly under his breath. The words are in a foreign, heavy, strong language probably incomprehensible by most. But meaning of the words doesn't seem to matter. As the moments that Termelan sings in a low voice turn to minutes the music, the syllabes, the notes that Termelan creates they all seem to condence into... something.
Athough the meaning of the words is lost, the music tantalizes the mind evocing powerful images, ublifts the spirit and bolsters the heart with promises of valor or glory depending on one's disposition. The Sound of the footsteps of a soldier returning home after the war. The pride of a squire kneeling to receive knighthood. The power of a giant gazing his domain from the mountaintop. The view of the holy shrine at the end of a pilgrimage. The gleaning of the moon on a masterpiece blade in the eyes of the blacksmith. All these and more are conveived slowly, note by note, syllabe by syllabe unknown word by word as Termelan's voice starts to pick up.
The music is moving enough that for a moment, the casual passerby may forget the incredulity that this group is actually going for a hike to inform the watch and not taking the first steps of a grand quest.
Temerlan sings as the small party heads across the street to Safana's house.
At the lady's house, the little band collects the traveller she aided, a middle-aged man with a bruise on his head.
They all head for the River Gate, where the city watch maintains a guard post.
And still the bard sings his song, full of strange words that roar and rumble like catapult stones rolling down the street.
People lean out of their doorways and windows to listen.
Several men and boys the party passes fall drop what they are doing and fall in behind the bard, laughing, clapping their hands to the rhythm of his song.
By the time, a short while later, the party reaches the River Gate, Temerlan walks at the head of a group of at least
twenty people.
The gate stands open during the day, but not unguarded. Four guards in green cloaks stand near a little covered stall set up just outside the gate. A clerk sits in the stall, with a book on a folding table in front of him.
One of the guards waves at Temerlan's approaching group.
"Ho there, singer, play for us!"
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)
