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OOC:This is the song I had in mind that Maldrid plays near the end. Song. Just think of him playing it over and over again. 500+
IC: Maldrid came to the Serena Reserve because of the interesting history of the area. He had read in the library in Haven Mansion that this was a failed wolf reserve. The humans that previously inhabited the land had thought that they were saving the wolves that they put here. Unfortunately for the pack that was placed here they didn't survive because they had few numbers and couldn't hunt the elk in the area effectively.
Since this place had such a sad history Maldrid had decided to come here to write a song about them. His songs recently had been rather cheery and exciting, he thought it would be good for a change in tone. A song lamenting the loss would be both beautiful and eerie, if he chose. Maldrid felt that this series of songs would be a favorite of his because he loved the way that smooth songs could both ease and make someone feel edgy at once.
Maldrid stepped out of the Crimson Dreams pack territory with a few things with him. He took both his lute and recorder along with some paper to write the sheet music for the songs that would pop into his head. This was a new luxury that Maldrid was able to enjoy from being with a pack, and that was paper and pens to write with. Though he'd still commit the songs he wrote to memory as a habit of his. Plus he wouldn't entirely need the sheet music to play his songs, it would be used by others if they chose to learn his music.
Maldrid walked along in the forested area of the reserve admiring the scenery. This place definitely had an ominous feel to it, Maldrid felt as if he was constantly being watched. Maldrid felt that he would get lost forever in this forest as the trees kept getting more and more dense. If he needed to Maldrid would follow his scent back through the forest to get out.. He kept walking along until he saw a collection of four springs. Maldrid knew where he was now as he'd read about this area. He was now at the Grandfather's Springs.
This area had the most chilling history in Maldrid's opinion. After he'd read about it he then wondered about the strange deaths of the wildlife near this spring. Another interesting fact was the color the water froze in during the winter. Maldrid had a theory that it was just a special way the water reflected and refracted the light. Maldrid got closer to the springs and sat down setting his things on the ground. Maldrid let the cool air go through his fur and the soothing noise of the water coming from the springs. Maldrid closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander.
After about fifteen minutes of this, Maldrid picked up his lute and started to strum a few cords. He started on a lower cord, strumming in a lower range of notes while moving his fingers along the neck of the lute. Thinking of a mournful song Maldrid started to strum his lute in a slower tempo being sure to keep the notes flowing smoothly. He thought this song good and continued to play the song in a loop, over and over again. Time seemed to have no meaning any more, just the serenity of the area Maldrid was in. Maldrid continued to play his song.
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.......That song is so pretty *___*
ANOTHER HARD-LUCK STORY
.......Moments before, Hemming had been enjoying the sun on his face and the air flowing through his fingers. After taking two steps into the woods, the intensity of light was more like that of the moon than of the sun, the canopy blocking out almost all of the light from above. The wind seemed unable to penetrate this deeply, as well, and the air laid dormant. It was amazing how closely the trees could grow together and still survive. The wolf could imagine their roots beneath the ground, tangled and denser and deeper than the veins in his body.
.......His mind wandered, as it often did, and lost itself in the low hum the trees seemed to make. The male imagined himself, like a tree, fixed to the ground with roots that wormed their way deep into the earth and skin that could accept the gift of light the sun gave him. What did the trees hear, with such a wide reach? What things had they seen, after living for so long? Amazing beings, they were; if only they could speak, the stories they could tell.
.......When intricate music started to drift through him, Hemming had only assumed that he was still dreaming, that he had started to interpret the stories and the magic of the forest in a form that he was, admittedly, not that familiar with. But where would his mind find the tools to make such music? The wolf had never heard a lute before, and only the simplest of tunes had reached his ears. This was a little odd, and as he wandered his mind tried to make excuses. A few moments of trying to come up with one, he realized there was no other explanation; the trees were actually singing to him.
.......This idea, of course, baffled him, a wolf of reason and logic. In his dream state, anyway, he would accept it. Even the most fantastical things could set in one's mind if he was not completely there. This was such a pleasant idea, too. If only the thoughts of the trees were in a language he could understand! Forgoing that attractive fantasy, he tried to interpret what they were saying without actually hearing words. From their tones, it was a sad story, certainly, but from the intricate weaving of the notes, Hemming could tell it was a beautiful one. They had been here for ages and, oh! if only they could tell him specifics. For now he could only imagine: had they seen great battles? had they seen a father bury his young son?
.......As Hemming made his way, almost comatose, through the woods, he thought the trees' song was getting louder. The sound of flowing water also seemed to crescendo. As he neared a small gap in the trees, he peered through to see a wolf sitting peacefully besides a stream of water. He was holding an instrument, fingers playing across its neck and one hand moving across the strings. Without thinking, Hemming said softly, "Ah, so you are the voice of the trees."
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OOC: I know. That's why I chose that one for this thread. *sigh* So pretty...
Maldrid continued to play his lute, he was lost in the tune that he'd created. It was so beautiful yet so sad at the same time. It was wonderful to Maldrid's ears, he then took a mental note of the notes that he'd been using and engrained them deep into his memory. This one was one of his best yet and he wanted to really keep this one.
Maldrid heard a soft voice across from him. "Ah, so you are the voice of the trees." Maldrid stopped playing his lute and looked up to see another wolf in the clearing with him. Maldrid was somewhat puzzled by this comment. "I wouldn't think of myself that way. I am just a simple musician coming here for inspiration," Maldrid said matter-of-factly.
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.......:]
ANOTHER HARD-LUCK STORY
.......The other wolf stopped, and Hemming felt like he had been dropped back into a closed-mouth forest. "No?" he asked only slightly rhetorically, looking up at the trees as if they would give him a hint. "You see, as I walked I thought I heard the trees telling me their stories." He was starting to come back to real life, and the words that had come out of his own mouth were a bit puzzling to him. Hemming knew that the trees couldn't talk, and knew that though they had been here for so many years they hadn't exactly been the best witnesses of history. Inspiration, though, was often found through absorbing the atmosphere of a place, and the wanderer understood how these woods could give rise to a song like that. Perhaps this musician was playing the words of the trees, interpreting their grandeur in a way that was unique to him.
.......Dropping the thought to ponder for another day, Hemming smiled softly. "You play beautifully," he said, walking toward a spring and stepping into its shallow waters. He sat down on its squishy bank, feet still submerged, and sprawled himself across the ground. The blue sky was visible from here, and he stared up at it. "Could you play some more?"
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OOC: Here is the song he's playing in this post. Song
IC:"I think you may be right to a certain degree," Maldrid said, "The feel of this area and its history inspires me to write good songs." Maldrid thought more about this area. It did have an enchanting air about it and he could understand why someone might think him to be some sort of spirit with the song that he had just played. It was amazing to him how music could make someone think that and also how skilled Maldrid had become in his hobby.
Maldrid looked back at the other wolf when he heard him say more, he wanted him to play some more. "Of course," Maldrid thought back to another song that he had written that would be nice to hear in this sort of environment. Maldrid picked up his lute again and started playing, letting the song flow from his mind to his fingers. It was a song that was even more mournful than the last and it could bring tears to just about anyone. Maldrid had played this song enough to not be brought to tears.
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.......Hemming did not know of the history of this place, but perhaps it was true that one could learn of a being's past by listening to the music it inspired. The other wolf knew what had happened here and he was playing these tragic, yet beautiful, songs. The gray male could only imagine what the other knew, what was fueling these somber notes to rise from his lute.
.......He started to play again, and Hemming let his body relax into the soil. His amber eyes drifted lazily about the spot of sky above and his breathing became shallower. In this moment even the flight of birds seemed to be divine, their caws complimenting the story the musician was playing. "Ah," he sighed, and continued in words that were mostly directed to himself, "That is lovely." A contented smile dragged the corners of his mouth up a little, though his eyes shimmered.
.......After the song had been played a few times, Hemming's heart felt like it might be mush and really, he would have been content with being engulfed by the earth right then and there. Saying it carefully and quietly as to not interrupt the other's song so jarringly, he said, "You said the history of this place inspires you... What is its history?" His eyes continued to drift across the world above him.
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Maldrid played on almost letting his fingers work as if they had a life of their own. He listened to the song and thinking how he loved this song's peaceful mood. Though he did like his faster songs that could rile up someone, he really enjoyed a slower song or two. Maldrid didn't write these types of songs often, but when he did it was a thing of beauty. When Maldrid heard the other wolf's comment he said, "Thank you. These types of songs are precious to me." Maldrid continued to play the song again and again. One couldn't get tired of this no matter how many times you heard it, or at least that is what Maldrid thought. If Maldrid had ever gotten the chance to speak with another wolf that didn't want to kill him in the wilderness and he told them this, they'd take Maldrid for an egotist.
When Maldrid heard the other wolf's inquiry about the history of this area he said, "This area is the source of tragedy. The Serena Reserve as this area is called was a place that the humans hoped to rebuild a population of wolves and elk. Unfortunately they put too few wolves together in a pack and they all eventually starved to death because they couldn't take down the elk effectively. They were just too big for their small numbers. These springs you see right here are said to be the last attempt from a pack's alpha to bring prosperity to their pack. I read that after the alpha had done this the springs came into being, and the alpha's pack was cursed afterword. Even now there have been accounts of dead animals near this spring during the winter I believe it said. Truly a sad history, all of it didn't end well."
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.......It was likely that Hemming would wake tomorrow thinking that this day was a dream. The forest itself was surreal, with its densely crowded trees and still air, and it could easily passed off as some strange dimension, some dreamworld where all things were possible. Perhaps, in this dream, this wolf before him would end up being the spirit of the trees, the one who tended them. Maybe the sad story he played was also his own story about how he had come to be the custodian of these giants. Banished from some mortal tribe to this otherworldly place, where he would live forever? Perhaps. As the musician had drawn inspiration from this place, Hemming was drawing inspiration from the musician. Places like these had so many potential stories to be told, if only someone with a good imagination and a fondness for storytelling stumbled upon them. Hemming had only dabbled in writing stories - he had no one to tell them to out loud, really - but had enjoyed it. Someday, maybe, he would come here with a pen and paper.
.......Among the many stories that could be told was the true one. Often times, the truth would be less known and less fantastic than ones that could be made up. But, as Hemming had learned from human books, even the place with the dullest history as remembered by wolves and passed down through generations could have an absolutely magnificent truth tucked behind it. The way that these trees came to be here was astounding, and before that, the way that trees had come to be in the first place. This story was told in the way that birds flew, called, and nested, and in the way the moss clung to the earth. The story that Hemming thought was the most magnificent of all was also the longest story ever told, recorded in every bit of life there was.
.......On this occasion, though, the truth did not disappoint. Though he had thought there was something rather suspicious about the fence and the wapiti that were kept captive inside it, Hemming had not figured out what exactly had gone on. The other's words shed light on it, and made the wolf's heart ache even more. The male did not believe in such things as curses in the supernatural sense, but he would agree that something bad must be going on at these spring that gave them the reputation. For a moment he considered lifting his feet out of the water, but decided against it. The other had said it was in winter, after all. Very curious about these mysterious deaths, Hemming noted to himself that he must come back here in the winter.
.......It seemed like every attempt the humans made to save a part of the wilderness had a certain lack of foresight that lead to the failure of the plan. Of course, it would be immensely difficult to plan something like the reintroduction of a species after they had caused its destruction, and Hemming did not blame them for their failed efforts. It did, however, make him feel as if his heart was filling up with stones and weighing him down. Though the humans were getting better in the efforts near the end of their reign, it seemed like no attempt would ever be as successful as would avoiding the problem in the first place. What had happened to the wolves originally in these lands? Hemming didn't know the specifics of this area, but he had heard that in the more northern continents they had all been hunted and killed as bad omens. Just thinking about it sent a shudder down his spine. In their youth, human beings had been horrible, stupid creatures. It could not be undone, but their lessons could be learned from.
......."That is... horrible," Hemming replied at length, opening his eyes again. The blue sky was as bright as ever, and seemed to hint that outside of these woods all the world was wonderful; such a contrast to the ugly truth.
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OOC: Here's the song he's playing at the end of this post. Song
IC: Maldrid continued playing the song was making him drift into melancholy. It was indeed horrible that such an event had occurred, but it was complete accident. Plus the wolves probably didn't have any clue as to how they should save themselves as they likely didn't know the area and couldn't think of a better place to head to. Maybe one or two of that pack had tried to leave and might have had better futures than the wolves who stayed. It was something that couldn't be changed now though.
Maldrid didn't feel that dwelling in the past was something that was good for one's soul. It delays progress which will ultimately lead to the end of one's life if they prolong that dwelling too long. Maldrid didn't want to prolong his melancholy so he said to the other wolf, "I think I'll lighten up the mood a bit. This song is rather quick and is sure to excite you, and maybe even a bit of the surrounding area." Maldrid then stopped playing the slow somber song and went for a more exciting song, sure to stir up the blood in one's body.
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.......How easy it would be to drift away into sadness and never return. All that would be necessary was a craft, fashioned out of regret and held together with a lick of pity, and a great sea in which to sail. Remorse could be the anchor, and shame the sail. Stories such as the musician had told could be made to be as vast as the Atlantic, and there was enough material around here to build a fleet.
.......And yet, there was always a lighthouse, always a great stretch of green grass, even if it lay behind some rocky shores. Hemming was close to slipping off the stones to wander into the water, following the wolves that had been stuck here by the humans, but the music that the other wolf started playing grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. These notes, perhaps, were more like the story that Hemming favoured, a triumph of time and life.
.......What the other had guaranteed was certainly true, and the gray male pulled his legs out of the water and swivelled to watch him play. The movement of his fingers across the instrument was really quite enchanting, and Hemming's amber eyes did not pull away for a while. Eventually, though, he looked back to the musician's face and asked, "Where did you learn to play so well?"
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Maldrid was enjoying playing a song like this. It was very fast and required most of your attention. Maldrid moved his fingers with skill along the instrument getting all the notes in their exact order and time that they needed to be hit. Maldrid thought to how skilled he had become, it had taken years to get this experience and many hours of practice, but in the end it was worth it all. Maldrid wouldn't trade all those hours for anything else. Maldrid was fixed in the moment of playing his lute now, all his skill was being put into this song.
As Maldrid kept playing on he almost didn't hear the other wolf say, "Where did you learn to play so well?" Maldrid slowed down a little bit so he could be able to talk to the wolf. Maldrid's breath was labored from having moved his hands and fingers so fast. "In my previous pack I was taught how to play by an older wolf by the name of Tanis. I studied under him for a year before I went out on my own into the wilderness. I was sure to take my two favorite instruments with me so I wouldn't go crazy with solitude. I played them as often as I could and also I experimented with different ways on how to play them. I started to write songs that I had not previously known. This song you just heard me play, I wrote just after I had made a kill after several weeks without food."
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.......The intensity of the song left the other wolf panting a little, and Hemming imagined that it would be immensely physically as well as emotionally taxing to play such a song. Through his explanation he revealed a little about himself, as well. Like Hemming, this musician had ventured out on his own, taking something he was passionate about to keep him company. The tall wolf smiled a little bit at the other's story and the similarity between theirs. "That is hugely impressive," he replied. It really was amazing that the orange-tinged wolf was capable of writing his own music. The creative faculties that must be at work in his head was astounding.
.......And of course, each song told a story. In this case, the story - as the music had suggested - was that of a prolonged victory. While Hemming was out by himself, he had set up a fairly extensive system of traps, and planted gardens. The system seemed to work, and he did not often go long without food. Even if food was bountiful, the male would often become sufficiently lost in his books and activities to forget that he needed to eat. This contributed to his slightly skeletal form, the lower ribs peeking through his skin and the bony shoulders. Cooking was an art that he was rather fond of, though, and occasionally, when the idea struck him, he would fashion himself a feast out of what he collected from the traps and the garden. These events were more for the sake of cooking than the sake of eating. Had he had someone to cook for, he probably would have done it a lot more often. He liked to share what he knew.
......."I, too, lived by myself for quite a while. I didn't have instruments, but I had my books and some other things that kept me quite entertained. Why did you leave your pack?" The story behind the genius must have enhanced the genius, and Hemming was curious.
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Maldrid stopped playing his lute for a moment to gather together his thoughts. Leaving his previous pack wasn't something that he'd been able to share in a long time. The story wasn't a sad one, or even one of anger and frustration, it was simply one of a fool's confidence. He thought back to his parents and his one sibling with the life he lead there. He thought of himself then as an ignorant wolf, not knowing what he was getting himself into. Maldrid chuckled, "Now that is something I haven't shared with someone in a while. No one really bothered to ask."
Maldrid set aside his lute behind him, "My pack didn't have very large borders at all. They knew that they had all that they needed and felt no desire to expand them in the least bit. This led to me, during my time as a pup, not having much to see. My curiosity for what lay outside our borders was too much for me to bear. When I was two and a half years old I went up to my father, of whom I respected greatly, and asked permission if I could leave the pack. It was something that was required in order to leave. To leave without and explanation was looked down heavily upon. After I had told him this he needed a few days to consider what I asked. At the end of those few days my mother and father came to me and supported my decision, much to my surprise. I had the foolish idea that I would be able to support myself then, I was mistaken. The first six months of my solitude were not pleasent. At least I am here now, that's all that matters. The day I left my pack was just over three years ago."
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.......As Hemming listened to the other's story, its similarities with his made him think of his early life. However, the gray wolf's birthpack was almost completely apathetic about whether or not someone left the pack. It was this apathy that had ultimately resulted in his drifting away, his trips away becoming longer and longer until he was gone for good. Sometimes he wondered if his old pack was still there.
......."Your pack was pretty closely knit?" It sounded as if they kept a close eye on their members. Sometimes, within the first year of being away, the gray wolf wondered how long it took for his pack to realize he must be gone for good. He didn't think of things like that anymore. Actually, he very rarely thought about his old pack. Other things were more important and more exciting.
.......The first few months had been tough for Hemming, too, but after only a while of being alone, the winter had broken into a generous spring. He was able to set up camp throughout the summer, and was nice and cozy for the winter. It was a good experience, and the male had learned a lot, but he was happy to settle in with AniWaya.
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OOC: Gah! I hate writer's block.
"You could say that. My pack focused greatly on the family, it was very important," Maldrid said. When he left it wasn't because he hadn't enjoyed his time there, it was simply for reasons of curiosity. Maldrid hadn't gone back because he couldn't face his old pack now. Leadership was sure to have changed in his absence and it would've felt somewhat awkward for him to return. He'd gone to the Crimson Dreams pack because it was a pack that were intellectuals, like himself. He wanted to stay there permanently now.
Life in his family had been a good time for Maldrid, he had fond memories of it. His father was a firm yet gentle wolf. He'd always make decisions that were just in family matters. He was a kind and caring wolf also, he cared deeply about the welfare of his family. Maldrid had learned many of the values and morals that he has now from him. Maldrid's mother was a very social pack member. She would often be seen with other members talking about any subject that would come to mind. Maldrid held his parents in high regard for raising him the way they did.
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.......Me too D: Perhaps they could go on an 'investigation' through the woods or something, to spice it up?
ANOTHER HARD-LUCK STORY
.......Hemming nodded in agreement and sighed a little. "That's a good thing," he replied, looking down at the ground. The gray wolf didn't really feel as if he had ever been in a real family, but perhaps AniWaya would grow to be one for him. So far he had met some very friendly tribemates, and he was excited to meet some more and learn about the tribe. At this point, he could see himself being there for a long time.
.......He stretched his legs out again, so the backs of his ankles were just touching the surface of the stream of water going by. "Why do you think things die here in these springs? Mysteriously, I mean." Hemming had almost forgotten the rumour of the curse, but still he pondered over what the actual cause could be. Were 'curses' transferable from packs of wolves to the animals around them? Could the collapse of the pack and the death of small animals both be aided by these springs? Somehow, Hemming felt they were unrelated phenomena.
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OOC: Sorry about not replying earlier. I think we could just end the thread after they have this discussion on what may be causing the death of the animals.
Maldrid thought for a moment about what the other wolf asked. To tell the truth Maldrid didn't know what might have caused this. He did have some theories though. The most likely reason that animals are found dead near the springs is that some unknown toxin was in the water. It was likely that either some bacteria thrived in this spring, or that a poisonous element was in the water that flowed from the spring.
"I don't know. I think it may be something in the water. The peculiar thing is that it comes in the winter. I've never heard of deaths like that being seasonal," Maldrid said. He got up and went closer to the water. He peered down into it in wonderment. It would be truly facinating to finally figure out what may be under there, but Maldrid lacked the means to find this out. Perhaps another some time later would be the lucky one to uncover this mystery.
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.......okay - this will be my last post. if you want to reply, go ahead :]
ANOTHER HARD-LUCK STORY
.......Hemming had read about humans doing elaborate experiments to answer questions such as this. They had a lot of tools at their disposal, though, and it was likely that they had had animals they could inoculate to determine the pathogenesis of the disease. The humans had chemical assays, spectroscopy and crystallography to help them as well, things that the wolf wouldn't be able to do with just what they had left behind. Maybe, if he was lucky, the answer would be clear enough to determine from the evidence that would be provided once the deaths started happening again. He would come back in the winter time, perhaps, and collect some bodies.
.......The tired sun was starting to rest on the pointed spokes of trees, and before long it would dip beneath them. Without light, Hemming would be unable to find his way back, especially if he ended up on the wrong side of the dense woods. Always cautious, he would like to give himself quite a bit of time. On top of the time that was needed to be home early, the wolf had to throw in some time for backtracking and time lost while he tried to figure out in which direction to go. After all of that, sleep would be a wonderful reprieve. Though his den was not yet as cozy as it could be, he wanted to spend the night in it. The furs that Ember had graciously donated were quite comfortable, and over the last few nights he had become rather fond of sleeping on them.
......."It is very odd... I'll have to come back when it starts to get cold and take a look. For the mean time, though, I think I'd best be going. Don't want to get lost," he smiled at his acquaintance gently, standing up. "It was nice meeting you, and hearing you play. I'm sure I'll see you around." With a smile and a meek wave, Hemming was off into the forest again, hoping he would be able to find his way out of the trees and back to his lovely cave.
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