far beyond all reason in your mind

POSTED: Sun Jan 06, 2019 8:28 am

OOC: Troupe members only please! :>

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Each dawn they broke camp and shuffled higher up the coast. The forests here were strange and unfamiliar to Malik, though he knew logically that they'd traversed them once before - Apparently after a year not even the trees saw fit to stay the same, and the only constant landmark was the sea.

It was cold, too, really cold. Since their disgraceful impromptu exit from the rife stink of Portland's eastside docks, the world had opened up around them - no buildings, no bustling noise pollution, no rank piles of filth, just the open road and the evergreen woods and winter's icy breath against the back of their necks. Mal's coat had come in thick for the season, pushing out his silky white hair like a cloud around his head. Obstinately a mumma's boy, he kept it long in the style Semini had liked even when it had become impractical to do so. Cal thought the length of it enhanced the romantic look about him when he played, and that seemed a good enough reason to endure.

Still, a long white mane of hair took a fair bit of upkeep, and dirtied quickly after each snowfall. It was too cold to bathe in any streams they forded, so Mal settled with trying to comb out the dirt and twigs, and promised himself a good heated kettle when they finally reached Krokar.

The going was mighty slow. Partly this was because of Mondo and the wagon. The big steer wasn't particularly hasty at the best of times, and with all their junk loaded into the vardo behind him he moved like a rock being rolled uphill. The rest of it could easily be blamed on the weather; Mal could no longer count on his hands the times they had needed to backtrack after coming to a dead end or an impassably deep drift of snow.

Though the Troupe were good company for the most part, such circumstances can leave the merriest of men sour.

After they'd made camp for the afternoon, the young bard took up his lute and excused himself from the fire. He was careful never to go too far - they had left civilization behind them, and there was no telling who else was passing through these woods - but just enough to secret away a moment to practice with the lute.

With his back against a broad pine and his rear in the snow, Mal began by warming up his fingers - they danced over the sheepgut strings like a lover's touch, and the plucked notes resonated out into the pines around him.
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Alaine
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POSTED: Tue Jan 08, 2019 12:43 am

Music has been one of the things that had bound them together. Mateo had seen The Bard play back in Portland, his fingers practically dancing across the merry lute that lay crooked against the man’s dark knee. There had been magic in the songs, and something in Mateo had understood that this was who he needed to follow in order to flesh out his art. The summer had found him moving from boy to man – his body filling in from manual labor on the ship, his hair gathering in longer curls that Naji had refused to trim for him.

Winter claimed pieces of each of the travellers, and though Mateo felt lighter than he had in weeks, a part of him thought that perhaps this was because he had left a piece of his heart back on the Golden Hind. He tried his best not to think of their time spent below deck – the vibrant sunlight darting through shadows to illuminate the curves of her against the sacs of grain and wooden crates.

The young Minstrel sat perched atop a gnarled stump, his violet gaze scanning the camp as it was broken down into even quadrants. There was an area for cooking, an area for sleeping – and somewhere he was sure that the pretty girl with the long hair was arranging a place further afield for her and the brute that always trailed after her. Mateo chewed on the end of a long stick, teasing the end of it between his teeth in an effort to catch the meat that had become stuck there soon after breakfast.

The camp was quiet in the early morning, with a blanket of frothy mist gathered around its edges. It was in times like these that he wondered about the family that lay far across the open sea. He wondered if Salvador thought of him in his absence – or if Maribel and Rita ever reminisced upon their adventurous brother. They had been women of opulence and he could never imagine them lounging about an open flame or hunting for themselves in the frigid winter of Nova Scotia.

The Troupe sought out a place called Krokar – a pack of which he knew very little, save for the fact that Tiamat and her rag tag brothers had been born there. It was strange to think that he had wandered away from his so-calle tribe – only to find himself amongst more Amaranthes. A generation removed from their Onuban traditions, but carrying their flower crown of a name with pride.

Music teetered through the trees and he felt his ears prick eagerly, his nostrils flaring as if he could follow the trail of sound with his nose.

Mateo tossed the stick and launched into a trot, following the finger-picked notes with a curious set to his lips. When he found the bard sitting against the base of a nearby tree he barked a greeting – digging his pale hands deep into the pockets of his vest. ”Hey Malik,” For some reason he instantly felt shy, ”That sounds nice.”

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Amanda
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POSTED: Thu Feb 07, 2019 8:16 am

OOC: ilu!!!

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Those who had gathered under Calrian's gold-coin banner were a motley lot. The variety of each individual should naturally have set them at odds with one another; Some were secretive, some were snarky, some brash and some morose. By all odds and ends they should have fallen to bickering their first night away from the fickle twinkle of Portland's lights.

But a common thread seemed to weave through each. The tapestry was a design that Malik could not fathom, but he felt it nonetheless; There was a camaraderie held between each of the little folk, sewing them together. In their own private ways they had all heard the calling for something more than the docks could offer.

It wasn't quite ambition, but near enough to be mistaken for it.

Letting the flourish of an arpeggio pour from the lute, Mal's sombre lagoon eyes watched the minstrel approach. Of them all, he privately thought Mateo the strangest addition to the bunch. The young man had a gentleness about him that spoke of privilege - it's hard to be soft when you've been kicked to the curb - but he was unmistakably affable in spite of the naivety. There was a goodness to his nature that seemed impossible to disguise. Among thieves, night-girls, buskers and drunkards, he may as well have been a prince.

It wasn't in Malik's immediate nature to be envious, and so he wasn't. The comparison stuck nonetheless.

"What do you think?" He ventured, having played the little harmony he'd been working on to its natural conclusion, "I'm still refining it, but I'm getting a... A forest lovestory vibe from it, maybe," Clever fingers - his father's fingers, put to better use than a bow or dagger - gestured for his comrade to take a seat.

"What do you hear in it?" Curious, he played the bridge again, and looked eagerly across at Mateo when it was done.
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Alaine
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POSTED: Tue Feb 19, 2019 2:13 am

There was something about the quiet way that Maliks fingers toyed with the strings that had Mateo drawing parallels to the way his own hands drew him to parchment and quills. Mateos eyes followed the plucking claws and words spun through his mind, snippets of song and lyric that grew inside of his chest and threatened to spill out into the snow.

In the Courts of Onuba Mateo had learned how to speak with the golden tongue of a poet. There was no silver to it, no bright shining charisma – but instead his wonder was slow burning and keening – his words punctuated by the rhythm of a heart that sought to express too much. His siblings had dedicated themselves to the sword and to the courts, and Mateo had watched from the outside.

The notes that danced upon the air had him imagining panes of stained glass taller than the forest, the deeper tones imitating the rhythm of soldier’s boots against stone.

Music had a way of transportation – and for a moment he lost himself to it, ignoring the question that hung between them.

”Hm, a forest lovestory?” Mateo scratched his chin and leaned forward, allowing the thick copse of his brows to lean together as he listened intently.

He heard no trees in it – no forlorn whisper cast between green leafed branches.

It sounded… Cold. Wandering. Like a span of mountains capped in perfect snow; pastel clouds parting to reveal rivulets of sunlight that trickled over stone. Lovers found… and then…

Lost.

He couldn’t help the way his lips pulled into a frown.

”It’s beautiful. Sad.” His ears twitched, ”But not green. You ever put words to it?”

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Amanda
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POSTED: Sat Feb 23, 2019 11:48 pm

OOC: two good boys doing good boy things

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The lute provoked all sorts of responses from those who heard it. In central towns it was a sign of civilization - Their walls and fires and clothing allowed them to pretend at being creatures other than what they were. Out here in the boonies, it was looked on with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. You can't eat that! Some glances seemed to say, baffled by the waste of skill and time. What is it good for?

Having come from a big place, Mateo was obviously cultured enough to appreciate the instrument for its apparent beauty. This pleased Mal, who was not immune to the occasional ego-stroke.

The Salcedo had a familiar look of intensity about his face, that he got when he was puzzling over something. After enduring the rigors of travel with the young man, Mal was familiar enough with the way his bushy eyebrows pinched in the middle to know that the response was worth waiting for; He ran over the chord again, light as water across glass, and watched the cogs behind Mateo's deep lavender eyes turn.

"Sad?" The bard's morose seafoam eyes sparkled, "Yes, I suppose so - the best music is always sad, I think." There was something romantic about tragedy. Having been fed on the greatest lovestory of all time - his father and his mother - Mal thought he understood something about the deeper flavors of emotion. Sad was bittersweet, and lingered on the tongue for a long time.

Sighing, his fingers fell to stillness and he leaned back against the tree. "I've tried, but they won't come. It's like that for me - either I know at once what I want a song to say, or I can't get it out at all." Watching the Onuban from beneath his lashes, Mal's lips twisted wryly to one side. "What about you, Matty? Ever attempted spinning some lyrics? You're a poet, right - it's basically the same thing."
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Alaine
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POSTED: Sun Mar 24, 2019 12:37 am

Mateo often wondered about the common thread that ran between them all – the common denominator that made The Troupe compatible despite their differing backgrounds and ages, skills and interests. Mateo was arguably the least skilled of the whole lot of them, with no experience in fighting or defense. Ruckus always went on and on about how he needed to toughen up; how he needed to understand that the world would not always be so calm. He could hear his voice even now: ”There’s no Court here.”

The sound of Maliks song transported him – left him feeling naked and bare despite the tunic that hung loosely from his shoulders.

He could feel himself losing pieces of his feeling in the notes that the bard plucked from the instrument’s strings, and he wondered if in this the music was a mirror – reflecting himself back in shards of sultry song. He hummed softly, leaning so that the crooks of his elbow were balanced against his knees. ”I know that feeling.” He chuckled dryly, ”Inspiration is a fickle thing when you need it. Sometimes its like going crosseyed – all of a sudden you settle into a place where everything is double but it all makes sense.

”I don’t have a very good voice.” His ears fell forward, ”Play it again, let me listen.”

This time as the notes came, he allowed his features to fall slack, his hands steepled in front of him as he summoned whatever words he could. They tingled on his tongue like newly fallen rain, and when the song ended his eyes snapped open – and he was grinning.

”Here, hows this,” He coughed to clear his throat.

”Far on the mountain,
Why do you wander?
Darker and darker,
your pathway will be.
Turn from your roaming,
Fly from its dangers,
Come back to me.”

HA writing a lyric is so hard? Taken from pieces of random lyrics on the internet and built out from there. I imagine he's singing along to a hozier song that I 100% can hear in my head but can't remember what its called LOL

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