Thistle's Scribble Pad
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((All writings are either originals or adaptations to something DnDish. I will note adaptations with my source, feel free to use any as if you may have heard it from Thistle herself, or secondhand bad renditions from "memory" of others would be lovely too.))
On guarding a gate after being told of an impending Hobgoblin army marching towards the gates. The army never showed, and time was spent instead staring off in to a wall of dark woodlands, that I could not see from the torchlight being used to light the town.
And still it lurks,
darker then the night,
the shadow beyond flicker
of torchlight,
Its massive brooding,
held back by thin walls
raised from the bones,
of its fallen.To the gate, to the gate,
To hold back the threat of night.I am but a lone elf,
Shaking hands to string,
watching the shadow,
of something far beyond
mine or kins years,
the majestic dark,
the brooding waiting,
Rawlinswoods.To the south, to the south,
It lies in night, biding.From my throat,
drawn song, as arrow
drawn from bow,
'gainst this nameless shade
that rests, lurks, shelters,
The Unknown, Unknowable,
blanket of cover
for things that stalk, rend
shred. Swallowed,
for my light is but a leaf,
lost in the woodlands
dark and deep.To the fire, to the fire,
Warmth against the woodlands dark.Harken to the sun,
the only light that makes
this horror retreat,
that turns shadow to shade,
armies to trees, threat
to welcome and lays
heart at ease. Hark,
as it pushes away
That dark army of unknowing.To the east, to the east,
watch for breaking sun.
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_Basic music theory suggests that one note played solely resonates within itself. That the addition of two other notes within scale (a chord) resonate with each other so as not to clash with each other, but instead compliment the other. Three or more notes played together create a chord, and the chord is more then the single note, by virtue of the addition of the other notes, as well as a richer and more full sound.
This is true for music. Like calls to like.
This is also true for the weave. The weave is classically divided in to schools. Each school, like a scale brings to life certain things like a proper played chord. With magic, as with music, there is proper form, there is proper cadence, all things build to a certain note. As with music, certain schools do clash with others and create dissonance, they do not resonate with each other. Divination does not resonate with Illusion. Transmutation does not resonate with Conjuration. Though they come from the same source, the Weave, they are from different scales and are dissonate with each other.
This is true for magic. Like calls to like.
This is also true for life. Those we call friends, are those who resemble us most. Like a symphony, our conversations may carry different motifs, in the end, we play with each other within range of the other. The occasional dissonate note used only to build the highs and lows of the overall performance. The overall harmony plays through.
This is true for life. Like calls to like.
This is also true for self. When we are in a joyous mood, we are like a string, body and soul, vibrating at a pitch with our surroundings. We effect those around us, causing them to come in to tune with ourselves, in return changing our situation. When our moods sour, we bring others down with us. For our every action, like a well played dirge, cause those around us to reflect, and sadden.
If this is true, then what might the perfect song do? Done properly, played in perfection, might it not then resonate with the Weave, with our environment, and ultimately within ourselves?
For this I search._
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Know Your Quarry. Lute's can be light hearted I think, and a gift of a song in trade for one should be given in light heartedness. Since the gift came from Makaio, and I have met so few others single minded in pursuit of his quarry, I think a tongue in cheek tale of three rangers with a silly lesson would make for a fine trade, especially if light enough to dance to, which his sword play reminds me of. Can't be all epic tales and ballads, since it seems this land is so overwhelmed with sadness and seriousness already. Wonder if he'll even care for it?
Three Rangers went a hunting,
Three Rangers strong and true,
For Hare, and Boar, and Doe set out,
with only one felling quarry,
To the shame of the other two.To the shame of the other two.
The first took bow and arrow,
He sat silent in the field,
Left his wolf to do the chasing but hares are far to shrewd,
Spent all his time just waiting,
But Hares are far more skilled.But Hares are far more skilled.
The second; a long boar spear,
Set deep on forest trail,
Challenged boar to charge him hard, but ended up all bruised,
Boars are large and threatning,
You can win; but still will fail.You can win; but still will fail.
The third one, rather clever,
Took nothing but a smile,
Found a doe in crowded woods; charmed her through the night,
Took her home when sun rised morn,
And fed well; all from guile.And fed well; all from guile.
When you hit the taverns,
Remember well this clue,
For the hare your own chasing, from the boar just flee,
But to land that doe so tasty,
Just a little charm will do.Just a little charm will do.
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and everyone's a hero,
and everyone's so bold,
they risk their lives
so quickly,
like it's nothing,
worth less then gold,and everyone's a hero,
and everyone's so brave,
to seek out challenge
so quickly,
and slay it with fist,
spell, bow, or blade,and everyone's a hero,
and everyone has a sword,
they like to draw
so quickly,
like the sole answer,
to all riddles ever posed,and everyone's a hero,
and everyone seeks gold,
but it comes and goes
so quickly,
hardly giving warmth,
'gainst ever growing cold,numerous scratched out lines follow, obviously something still in the works and may or may not be completed
