(Archive) Rohan -- Bardic contest — The Red Book of Westmarch

Amphitheater

South of the King\'s Road, cut into the mountainside is a giant amphitheater. The rows of seats are carved from the stone of the mountainside. The rows gradually narrow as they approach the bottom, where a large stage is set up for the occasional play or city gathering. It is here that the lords of Rohan oft come to give proclamations regarding the citizens of the realm.

Obvious exits:

Out

Real time is: Fri May 09 12:20:41 2008 - Rohan weather is: Clear

Elendor time is: Early Morning <07> on Sterday of December 25, 3043

The Moon is: first quarter

[Siladriel(#30783)]

The sun has risen in the clear sky. Blue and wide it expands allowing the golden rays to shine down on the land of Rohan. Despite that, the air is cold and lines of snow are on the ground. It\'s not long after sunrise and within the Amphitheater people are starting to gather. The two cultures, Rohirrim and Gondorian combining here it seems many are getting ready to watch, while the others are getting ready to perform.

[Coenred(#30388)] Clearly though the Rohirric culture is dominant among the audience, for the ranks of the amphitheater are mostly filled with the fair-haired people of the Mark. Among them is Coenred, accompanied by his wife Caeldis and together they sit in one of the first rows of the theater, eager to hear the bards perform. \"I hope that Hraefengar did not suffer too much from his fall,\" mutters Coenred, turned towards his wife. \"Oh no, he is a sturdy fellow,\" says she. \"He would not leave out the bardic events.\"

Down the steps treads a youth, sandy-haired and rather shabbily dressed. From beneath his undyed woollen cloak protrudes the frame of a small harp. As he descends, blue eyes gaze wondering at the many rows of tiers. \"I didn\'t think there were that many people in Edoras,\" he murmurs, sounding slightly awed. At least at this early hour not every seat is filled.

Bardawulf - Set.

[Iaurer(#20610)]

Not far from Coenred and his wife, walk Iaurer and his, her arm linked with his own and a hand on her limb. And then the master scout frees himself from Siladriel\'s touch, and he eases himself into a seat calmly, smiling at Coenred for a moment, before his eyes shift over the rest of the theater, a slight smile on his lips.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

As she walks in with her husband Siladriel doesn\'t sit by his side. Being one of the group who is wishing to perform she offers a loving smile to Iaurer after a squeeze of his arm is given. It is then that the Lady Nimothan moves to join a group of men and woman - her musicans, it seems, as they discuss and finish the details of her performance.

[Coenred(#30388)] As with the events before, this competition is also administered by a number of heralds. A tall, slim man in his late sixties, old of age by any standard of the Eorlings and thus deemed wise, enters the stage and calls out: \"Welcome, friends from afar and from the Riddermark! Today we shall hear fine words and pretty voices, the art of forging words into tales and tunes and of adjusting one\'s voice to make lovely music. Hear now the first entry, as the Lady Nimothan of Gondor sings to you.\" With that he beckons Siladriel to step forward.

At the sight of the gathering performers the youth quickens his steps, leaping down from tier to tier sure-footed as any mountain goat. He skids to a halt near where the Lady Nimlothan and her companions wait, looking slightly abashed. \"Am- am I late?\" he murmurs quietly in the Common tongue.

A question likely to remain unanswered as the herald speaks. The youth glances round, then, for want of a handy seat in an inconspicuous position, folds up his long limbs to sit cross-legged on the clean-swept ground, eyes alight with interest.

[Iaurer(#20610)]

Iaurer\'s eyes turns to the herald then, and he listens closely to his words, before his lips lightens again. When the herald calls for Siladriel, his eyes shift to the side of the stage, his eyes on the woman.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Upon hearing her voice being called Siladriel and her group move to the stage - this giving her no time to reply to the teen yet a smile is offered to him. A nod in thanks is given to the herald before she turns to the growd and addresses them: \"I will be performing a song called \'The Voice\', and these lovely fine men and woman,\" she guesters to the group behind her. \"Will be aiding me.\"

With that the group suddenly begins to play the music begins slow and gently. A second after the Lady begins to sing. Her voice is cherubs, it seems to float ethereal cloud of it\'s own making. Soft, yet higher pitched. A stunning voice to say the least as she begins to sing:

I hear your voice on the wind, and I hear you call out my name! Listen my child you say to me I am the voice of your history. Be not afraid - come follow me Answer my call and Ill set you free.\"

Once those lyrics are done, the band plays a little harder now, there is a touch more passion yet elegance to their music. It flows with her voice as though this was something they had worked together at for years. Like a flow of wind that travels together with the lands of the earth.

Coenred leans back in his seat and listens to the performance. Clearly, such music is different from what the bards and minstrels of Rohan offer their audience. A foreign touch is in there, the lightness and warmth of the south?

The cross-legged youth sits up a little straighter as the Gondorian musicians begin to play, and peers toward the stage to see if he can make out the details of their instruments. The singer, by contrast, goes unwatched, though he\'s clearly appreciating the soft tones by the gentle smile on his lips.

[Iaurer(#20610)]

As Siladriel begins to sing, the master scout smiles to her, even though the chance of her seeing it was minimal, leaning back into his chair calmly. He listens intently to her song, in particular the instruments, although his eyes remain fixed on his wife.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

There remains a gentleness to the music and her voice as the singing goes on.

\"I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain, I am the voice of your hunger and pain! I am the voice that always is calling you I am the voice and I will remain!\"

With every line though there seems to be a growth - the passion in the music becomes stronger slowly as though leading up. Above the musicans who seem very talently as they all flow together her cherbus voice sounds crisp, clear, and clean. Remining upon that ehteral clowed.

\"I am the voice in the fields when the Summers gone, the dance of the leaves when the Autumn winds blow! N\'er do I sleep throughout all the cold Winter long, I am the force that in Springtime will grow!\"

As the music builds to a climax, the sandy-haired youth absently drums his fingers on his knee, then catches himself and quickly snatches his hand back, sitting on it instead. He glances surreptitiously round to see whether anyone was watching - for the most part, the crowd are entirely focussed on the song of the Stoninglanders.

Coenred and Caeldis are enchanted by the powerful music from the Stoningland. Soaking up the lyrics and the melody, they simply sit there and listen.

[Iaurer(#20610)]

A hand rises to the Cuthalion\'s stubbled chin, where his nails scratch at his skin slowly, as if the music carries him far away - possibly back to Gondor, where his children wait for their return. A smile comes to his lips then, and his eyes remain fixed on Siladriel.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Now her voice fades softly like the clouds, here the instruments play. The climax still building. It grows, the power of their music filling the air with energy. This lasts for a minute before it seems the climax is hit. Siladriels cherubs voice sounds out again - this time, with the music, passion and power behind it. It is like one could feel the air and energy flowing towards the listeners the drumbs play hard like the beating of the earth, the flutes ring crisp through the air with the singers voice atop of it all as she sings:

\"I am the voice of the past that will always be, filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields! I am the voice of the future, bring me your peace, bring me your peace And my wounds they will heal! I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain I am the voice of your hunger and pain I am the voice that always is calling you I am the voice!\"

[Georlic(#32368)]

As the song bursts in splendour over the gathered crowd, a new figure slips into their midst. Then sun catches upon his golden hair as a tall figure joins with the audience, and he smiles as he gaze turns to the performers.

The sandy-haired youth sitting cross-legged on the ground near the stage remains carefully still, eyes on the flautist and head tilted to catch the vocalist\'s words. A tiny frown-line appears between his brows, as though he were trying to understand this truly different musical form.

[Coenred(#30388)] His arrival is not noticed by either Caeldis or by Coenred. Too splendid, too enchanting is the song to let them care for anything else.

[Iaurer(#20610)]

Iaurer, too, seems as entralled by the Lady\'s song, and little eye for anything else but her. His hand drops down to his lap now, where it rests.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Slowly the climax fades, her voice ringing out like an angel. Everything is perfectly attuned and runs smoothy.

\"I am the voice of the past that will always be, I am the voice of your hunger and pain. I am the voice of the future. I am the voice..\"

Her the song slowly fades, the musicans come to a gentle end while Siladriel is left letting the last tons of her voice ring through the air etheraly. A few seconds later the song is over.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

As the last sounds of the song end, a late arrival makes his way to the seats of the amphitheatre. At first his face is hard and stern, still standing before his seat as he watches the young lady sing. Then as her song finishes, some hint of softness smoothes out the harsh line of his jaw and he claps with the others in the audience. Then Mormegil Lord Carmayar takes his seat.

[Georlic(#32368)]

A round of applause follows a stunned silence, and the audience show their appreciation for the song in no uncertain terms. Among their clamour is the golden-haired fellow, who\'s hands clap louder than most and whose smile is warm indeed.

\"Splendid!\" he cheers, as though to lead a chorus.

[Iaurer(#20610)]

As the song draws to a close, Iaurer\'s hands come from their perch on top of his lap, and he applauds with loud claps, and his voice rings out among the noise - barely heard over it, \"Well done!\"

[Coenred(#30388)] \"Wonderful! Amazing!\" Coenred and his spouse have found back to life and together they clap their hands with much elation. And they are not the only ones.

The sandy-haired youth claps quietly, not wild heedless admiration but the reasoned appreciation of one word-weaver to another. No doubt he now has a head full of new ideas. At the golden-haired fellow\'s enthusiasm he looks round with a grin.

[Georlic(#32368)]

Nodding in return to Bardawulf\'s grin, the golden-haired fellow offers the same. \"I can see you have a love for music, friend, and also it\'s craft.\"

[Siladriel(#30783)]

With all the applause the group give a bow before moving off stage. The Lady Nimothan moves to take a seat by her husband, the rest of the band moving to their seats as well to watch the next performance.

[Iaurer(#20610)]

Iaurer then stops his clapping and looks around. Among the heads in the crowd, one makes his jaw clench, his jaw set hard, and his eyes suddenly cold - it is the Lord Carmayar he looks at then. But, remembering it is rude to stare, and Siladriel\'s warning, his head once again turns to the stage, watching for the next performers.

[Coenred(#30388)] The old master bard rises from his seat from where he had listened to Siladriel\'s song. \"Thank you, Lady Nimothan, for this performance,\" he speaks. \"Now we shall hear Beorhtgar from Dunlostir, an apprentice of Aldwine!\" He beckons the youth to come forward.

The sandy-haired youth gives the golden-haired fellow a nod in return. \"As do yo-\" The words are cut short by the herald\'s announcement the youth scrambles hastily to his feet and takes the stage, announcing to the crowd with an awkward bow, \"This is a song of one of the heroes of the Mark.\"

He is one alone in contrast to the many Gondorian musicians, his only companion his harp - a simple lap-instrument such as one might pass round the fire in any gathering of Riders. A single lock of hair slips across his face, and he blows it away, thoughtlessly as any animal might. Half-closing his eyes, he lets his fingers wander over the strings, a little tentatively at first, bass followed by treble. The pattern soon settles into a four-beat rhythm, akin to the rolling hoofbeats of a running horse.

[Georlic(#32368)]

The eyes of the gold-haired man fall upon the fellow from Dunlostir, and with an eager gleam his gaze stays thither. Fingers tapping upon his side in time to the rhythm he seems at once to listen both intently and relaxedly.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel sits beside her husband and looks to him and then to the stage as the youth takes his place and she listens.

[<#20610>]

It is then that he notices his wife has already taken the seat beside him, and his dark visage lightens considerably. He places a hand on her own, and as the Rohir youth takes his place on stage, Iaurer moves his mouth closer to Siladriel\'s ear, to whisper calmly, \"That ... ... ..., ... ....\"

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel sits beside her husband as his hand takes her she grips his firmly, but loveingly. Leaning in a little she whispers back to him then looks to the youth who plays with interest.

Opening his eyes, the youth Beorhtgar begins to sing in a clear tenor voice. Each stanza is given twice, first in the Rohirric in which it was written and then translated into the Common:

Listen and wonder: words I will weave now.

A hero they honour. Hear of his valour,

Mighty Helm Hammerhand, Hornburg\'s defender

Feeder of ravens, foes-bane of legend.

Wolves prowl the Mark, with winter their shield-wall.

Gone are Helm\'s sons, in shadow they slumber.

Grief his companion, grim-set his features,

Yet fierce his heart\'s flame, in famine undimmed.

No weapon he wears, no wound can him weaken.

Stone-strong the fist that smites the invader,

Summoning sleep from which comes no waking.

Iron-hewn his sinews, the ice-grasp defying.

--more--

[Iaurer(#20610)]

Iaurer smiles and nods encouragingly to his wife, before he focusses his gaze on the youth on the stage, only now starting to listen to his song properly.

[Coenred(#30388)] \"Aldwine\'s apprentice,\" wonders Caeldis. \"Ah, one can say the lad is talented.\" Slowly, Coenred nods his consent with this rating and continues to listen to the tale of Helm, defender of the Riddermark against the Dunlending usurpers.

[Georlic(#32368)]

The golden-haired fellow likewise listens, eyes closing to the sound of the song and a gentle smile turning the corners of his lips.

The steady four-beat rhythm of the harp continues, and the youth\'s tenor strengthens a little:

Hearken! A horn-blast, from hills\' hollow sounding

Deep fall its echoes, enduring and endless.

Helm goes forth, and fear follows after

Dunlendings tremble, in terror they flee him.

Morn brings a sun-gleam, spring\'s earliest herald

Hope reawakens in heart and in hand.

Yet where is the Hammerhand? Whither now walks he?

Sorrow shrouds those who still seek his return.

See - on the Dike! There stands a white figure

Dun-men\'s destroyer, his deeds at end.

No man could worst him, no weapon-blade mark him,

Winter\'s cold breath alone brought him to death.

--more--

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel sits there, her husband at her side. She listens to the youths song intently, taken in by it actualy. Her attention on him her mind wonders not, insted the music and words are listened to.

[Coenred(#30388)] Silence. The good people of the Mark know their history and too sad is the tale of Helm Hammerhand\'s death. Coenred and Caeldis, although people of the East-mark, feel much sorrow while the bard sings his sad song.

Beorhtgar\'s voice falters for a moment, and the harp\'s pattern of notes rings out alone. He swallows hard before taking up the song once more:

No breath parts his lips, no blood warms his veins,

Yet strong are his sinews, and straight he stills stands.

His knees are unbent, unbroken his spirit,

Defying the intruders who trouble our land.

Mourn we his death, yet mighty his memory!

Helm\'s horn still sounds in the hills and the Deep,

Still his wraith walks in Westfold\'s wide valleys,

Invaders to vanquish - for vigil he keeps.

--end--

As the words end the youth strikes a final chord on the harp then bows his head, the sweat beading his brow.

[Georlic(#32368)]

As the tale end, still the golden-haired man holds closed his eyes, and nods gently to the words. A long sigh of mourning escapes his lips, only for it to fill his chest anew with pride. His gaze opens, in search of Beorhtgar\'s own, and he bows his head to the harper in appreciation.

[Coenred(#30388)] Slowly an honest applause begins to rise from the audience and soon the whole theater can be heard clapping, although the enthusiastic cheering of the first entry is course missed here - too serious was the theme of the song.

\"And thanks to you as well, young man,\" says the master bard. \"Now let us hear Georlic of Edoras. Come forth please.\"

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel claps along with the rest - seemingly moved by the perfomance. Though she is silent the womans silver eyes watch the youth for a moment until the next contestent is called.

[Georlic(#32368)]

At the summons, the golden-haired fellow lifts his head, and his smile grows wider as he steps forth to approach the stage. \"Your words are wonderful, friend, and your skills with the harp a joy to the ear. I thank you for your song.\"

[Georlic(#32368)] These words are given to Beorhtgar and the fair-haired man is thus revealed as Georlic as he steps up onto the stage. Turning to face the audience he offers them a bow.

As the applause finally begins Beorhtgar lifts his head, the expression on his face all too clearly one of relief. His eyes meet Georlic\'s for a moment, and he gives the man an exhausted grin in response to the words before walking slowly past - no jaunty steps now - on his way back to the seating area. This time he spots an empty seat and is quick to take it.

[Georlic(#32368)]

A long moment passes then ere Georlic rises from his bow, and a further one in silence does he spend soon after. This done he smiles at the crowd and declares: \"I have no harp to pluck nor lyre to strum, and so pray forgive my voice, for it is all the music I can lay claim to.\" He bows a second time, though this ends fast, and he begins to speak anew. As he does, his words fall into a quaint rhythm, a merry young tune that varies little yet has the feel of the taverns to it.

Friends and kin, my dearest folk, lend ears to a humble skald.

Though his voice be hoarse and wits be few a tale he knows of old,

When bright shone the sky, lit for glory, cast in hues of gold,

By rays uncounted spilled forth anon o\'er the falbed Westfold.

There they welcomed a name well known, a King unmatched in song:

Eorl the Young, who gained his throne though deeds and battles won.

Friendship and honour moved his heart, and drove his people on

To find the land their valour deserved far from tended home.

The Eothred they were named, and well, under his banners and will

Sundered from men in the North they came to contend with forces ill

And win if they might a mighty realm, befit their name and ilk.

So they purposed, in time did find, and rejoiced with noble thrill.

[Coenred(#30388)] Smiles appear on the features of the audience. Verily, today the bards offer a a variety of emotional songs dedicated to the one theme \"heroes.\" Had they just heard about Helm being turned into ice and stone, now the glorious ride of Eorl, the beginning of their own existence is sung to them. And thus the the good people of Rohan nod their heads along with the tune and seem all pleased with today\'s event.

Young Beorhtgar lays his harp beside him and his trembling hands on his knees and begins to listen. As the lilting tune takes on words, a little smile lifts his lips, though as the subject matter becomes clearer his expression grows more thoughtful. His arms remain unmoving, but one foot taps lightly, unnoticed.

[Georlic(#32368)]

With an unashamed grin as the quaint tune spreads among the nods of the crowd, Georlic continues his recount: walking back and forth along the small stage to better address all present.

Who knows of the harsh trials they faced, to reach so meet an end?

Who here can tell of the courage of Eorl, sworn by oath to defend

A land of tall and mighty men, to whom he did extend

Such aid so great as to after lay claim to recompense most grand?

I wager not few, not many, but all those gathered here today

Can answer my riddles and speak with pride of fathers tall and fey

Whose names are writ and sung in songs that tell eagerly of such days

For here the men of the Eothred settled and Lo! here they stay!

But ever should the tale of our noble roots be told to feed the tree

That stretches on from such days of yore and adorns our history.

Ever should those who forged our realm be honoured by litany

So I bid and beg you all to hear the tale anew from me.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel listens in silence though she is enjoying every song so far. Those sparkling silver eyes are stuck to the stage and the singer as she listens with a smile.

[Coenred(#30388)] \"I have heard him sing in the \"Stallion\" before, he has always been a merrymaker,\" comments Coenred with low voice, as he and Caeldis follow Georlic\'s performance. And the woman nods.

As the song continues, Beorhtgar chews thoughtfully at his lip, a little grin still tugging at his mouth. Here is a ballad plain and simple, a theme easily understood, without the puzzling exoticism of the Stoninglanders\' singing. He twists round in his seat to see what the visitors are making of it, his gaze resting for a moment on the Nimlothan singer of earlier.

[Georlic(#32368)]

And Georlic proceeds to recount some of the more well known parts of the tales surrounding Eorl the Young, Cirion and the Wainriders, and the coming of the Rohirrim\'s ancestors to the Mark. In truth a detail or two is missing, or added by deft artifice within the lay, but the timbre of his voice suggests a wont to entertain rather than strive for wonder. His piece lasts a few minutes longer, and ends thus:

I thank you all -- no less your ears for hearing this scop\'s ditty.

To bring to life the fabled deeds that founded this King\'s city.

If in jest I spoke or at times wavered from the tale\'s certainty,

Forgive me, for my words were truly meant in dignity.

If our lords and sires toiled and strived long and hard and brave

What then would they wish for their sons when deep in their grave?

Sombre, silent, stern as elves, remembrance sad and grey?

Or perhaps that we remember them, merry, bright and gay.

Friends, I would rather raise a toast, to honour them with cheer

To let the heavens know that their kin have gained no whit of fear.

Not fear of foe nor fear of death should quieten love held dear

And thus I cry out in full rejoice of those we so revere:

Eorlingas!

[Orchalech(#25617)]

The audience once again erupts with applause, and Rohan and Gondor alike display their praise of such creative beauty. Among those assemblede, the Ranger Orchalech remains, his meaty paws thundering enthusiastically.

[Coenred(#30388)] Once again, the audience breaks into vivid applause. The rejoicing of the song seems to rouse their feelings and merry calls like: \"Well done,\" and \"excellent,\" fill the air. Coenred and Caeldis eagerly clap their hands as well. \"What did I say, the man knows his trade,\" chuckles the former.

As Georlic\'s song ends, Beorhtgar finds himself on his feet, his mouth wide. \"Eorlingas!\" he echoes, and his tired hands lift high to clap enthusiastically. Strange it is that music grave and wondrous should evoke reserve, and yet the light-hearted provoke storms of applause.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

With the rest Siladriel cheers and claps. The performance was good as well. They all seemed to of been so far.

[Georlic(#32368)]

Bowing anew to the crowd, Georlic\'s smile twitches with honest mirth and he nods to many of them as he descends from the stage. Moving to take up his former position the scop turns then to watch for sign of the next performance.

As Georlic descends from the stage, Beorhtgar calls out to him, \"That was ... wonderful! My music makes men weep, but yours can make the men of two nations smile.\" His mouth is still curved in a grin, as though to prove that.

[Coenred(#30388)] \"Thank you, Georlic Scop,\" calls the master bard. \"We shall now hear Lord Carmayar of the Stoningland,\" he explains to the audience and gestures to the stage so Orchalech may enter the contest.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

As the applause dies down at last and the last of the praise and encouragement is shared, yet another from the south stands up. And fo those who know him, it is a strange sight in deed. For it is the Ranger Orchalech who rises up and clears his raspy, gravelly throat.

\"If I may,\" growls in a tone that more resembles an avalanche than a voice.

[Georlic(#32368)]

The golden head of Georlic bows down once more in appreciation to the master bard, ere he turns then to do similar to Beorhtgar. Slowly, for his eyes linger upon the stage as he goes, Georlic moves through the audience, seeking the young harper\'s side.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

As the Ranger stands, his young page stands with him and follows him down to the center of the amphitheater. Eyebrows raise slightly and a few whispered comments are passed back and forth. But at last, he stands at the fore and addresses the assemblage. \"Please forgive me,\" he says with a slight bow. \"But as you all can easily tell,\" he continues in the same crumbling tone, \"I am no singer.\"

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Seeing the.. Ranger go up on stage, the Lady raises a brow. Her eyes don\'t narrow, like her husands would of. Insted she looks suprised to see him of all people up there. Resting in the chair she cants her head slightly and listens in silence.

At the sound of gravel rumbling, Beorhtgar turns his gaze upon the stage. Have the mountains taken voice? He stares for a moment at the massive Stoninglander, then seems to realize that Georlic is headed his way and slides absently along the rock-hewn seat to make room.

Coenred frowns and scratches his head. \"And there I thought the noblemen of the south were trained in song and letters,\" he wonders. \"And this one says he cannot sing.\"

[Georlic(#32368)]

Thanks are offered to both Beorhtgar and those who likewise part to make room, and Georlic takes the place next to the younger man. \"Hear the tone of that fellow,\" he breathes, grinning with interest. \"The hills are in his voice, and the cliffs of the distant sea also. I wonder what tale he has to tell from his land..\"

[Orchalech(#25617)]

the Ranger continues...

\"But if you would indulge me to allow this fine young man,\" and here he gestures to the page standing at his right side, \"to sing on my behalf, then I would like to weave for you, a tale...a history in fact.\"

[Coenred(#30388)] The master bard looks surprised at Orchalech\'s request. \"If you wish your servant to sing,\" he says, \"I would ask you to reveal his name.\"

Beorhtgar blinks at the Stoninglander\'s announcement. \"A tale not of his own telling, apparently. Have you ever met a man who did not sing?\" He cannot help but look a little disappointed that the cavern-deep voice will not be heard.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

The Ranger looks gennuinely surprised at the reaction. His eyes widen and a smile creeps across his face. \"I thought only to spare you the punishment,\" he calls above the slight clamour of voices. \"Do you insist then?\"

Georlic shares the harpist\'s disappointment, and shakes his head sadly. \"None,\" he answers, though he sniffs then in thought as Orchalech addresses the crowd once more. \"This man does at least!\" he cries out, grinning all the while.

[<#32368>]

He grins then, and speaks with hushed words to his companion. \"Many is the man I have known who is clever in holding a crowd\'s attentio, however...\"

[Coenred(#30388)] \"It is custom in our land,\" explains the bard herald, \"that any man\'s work is credited to himself, not to others. You may have written this song, oh Lord, but once it is sung by another, this one shall not go unnamed.\"

[Orchalech(#25617)]

\"So be it,\" Orchalech says, a slight raising of his hands in mock surrender. And as the murmer of the crowd dies, he continues in a mroe serious tone. \"The tale is not my own, but it\'s telling is. For this history is a tale I only recently learned myself while translating ancient letters that were found in my home land. It is in ancient Adunaic, the tongue of my ancestors.\"

Beorhtgar does not answer Orchalech\'s query directly - yet to Georlic he raises an eyebrow. \"You are right there,\" he remarks. \"I have always just ... sung. I think I could learn much from you, Georlic Scop.\" No more is said for now, as the Stoninglander begins to speak in earnest. He leans forward to listen the better.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel is simply, silent. Though interested. She watches, listens, eyes upon the Ranger with interest.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

\"I will sing it in the common tongue. Only for the refrain did I preserve the ancient tongue, for the dialect was primitive.\" And here the Ranger pauses long, a sad expression creeping slowly onto his face. \"But I warn you...it is not a merry tale.\" And he begins.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

The sound of his voice comes soft at first. Low and throaty, unaccompanied by any instrument, it seems as though he merely recites. But there is a strange cadence to the words an intonation that hintrs at song instead of revealing it. The sounds rolls from his lips like a slow and mighty ship on the waves, gathering strength before a steady western wind...

[Orchalech(#25617)]

From Western land to foamy shore,

on white-capped steeds of green.

The mighty men, the mariners,

great kings of men, they seemed,

across the great expanse of sea

arrived a mighty fleet,

with sails that marred the sea-grey western sky.

Their mighty captain, Rothphazan,

The \"Foam Prince\", tall and fair,

Upon the foremost vessel, he,

ten-thousand masts behind.

They landed thus, the river-north

and up the quay they drive.

To claim the middle of the world their own

Beorhtgar listens, and upon his youthful features now rests no smile but a fierce concentration. He half-closes his eyes to let the cadence of the voice carry the tale the better, then opens them again at the sound of some unfamiliar word.

[Coenred(#30388)] Little is known of Numenor in this time, in this land. And thus there is a curious silence again as Orchalech sings of the great seafarers of old.

[Georlic(#32368)]

Georlic too seems wrapt in the tale, eyes eager as he watches Orchalech and his ears pricking as though relishing the new tale. He sits in silence as the tale continues.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

The Lady healer rests in her seat, listening.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

The tale begins and though the voice comes almost monotone and coarse, it carries a deep, and weighty respect for the tale he weaves. His eyes close as he sings, his voice grows.

Mighty conquest then they sought

and oft the Foam Prince sailed

away from his beloved child

beloved wife and home

and many years was long away

the might of men to gain

In southern realm of scorching sun and sand

But oft, words fair, northward sent, wrote he

to ease the longing heart of wife and child.

And Daughter-Jewel\'s likeness carve-ed he

And sent to her, in ivory, crafted true,

A cameo fair Azramith, the \"Sea Child\"

In father-fondness named his \"Zimraphel\",

Daughter-Jewel whose doom would mean his own.

[Coenred(#30388)] \"A strange tale,\" whispers Coenred. Ships and jewels and far, southern realms are not of his liking, it would seem.

A play of emotions shifts across Beorhtgar\'s face: intrigue, appreciation, frustration at some unknown word-meaning. Still leaning forward, he rests his chin on his hands and stares.

From somewhere behind him, a quavering, elderly-sounding female voice is heard to remark, \"I liked our lads better. These foreign folk make no sense.\"

[Georlic(#32368)]

This breaks the gleam in Georlic\'s eye as he watches, allowing a smile to curl his lips anew as the woman speaks. \"Mayhap you are right, old mother, but the joy is in the craft. We may know naught of what history his words describe, but tell me you cannot feel the high purpose behind them?\"

[Orchalech(#25617)]

And deeper still is his reverence for the tale as he changes to the ancient tongue of Westernesse. And as he utters the refrain, the young page, who had remained by his side, beams proudly at the sound. Though the Ranger\'s voice is a ruin of grinding cracks and husky croaks, the passion of each word is unmistakable. And through the refrain, tha page translates...

O, Azramith, ephal ephalak, I zir ki uri naur

Makanzi codhel narika, izreyi nenagannalo...

\"O Sea-child, so far away,\" the page speaks just loud enough to be heard, but does not distract from his master\'s performance. \"How I miss the sun upon your hair. Go, my charge, and bring her hence. Let my heart not waste away.\"

O mith, i Zimraphel, narikeyi nadroth

E nentaido zurina...agannalo.

\"O child fair, my Daughter-Jewel, hasten thee to my side. And let not all these empty years consume.\"

The old woman snorts. \"I like something with a good beat to it. Something to clap to.\"

Beorhtgar, wrapped in concentration, seems completely unaware of the exchange. His lips part, and a single deep sigh falls from them.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel just listens. Thats all she does. Silver eyes stuck on the Ranger as he.. attempts to sing. It seems she is enjoying it though.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

The page grows silent as the Ranger\'s tale continues...

The seasons passed, and years grew ever on

And loneliness he could no longer bear,

Our Rothphazan sent northward for his kin.

Quoth he, \"Go, bring hence my wife and child,\"

And swift they flew, his faithful, at their deed

North to Lond Daer upon the sea.

To learn the tragic end of his belov\'d.

The cameo returned with them, his faithful, to the south

The ivory likeness all that doth remain.

\"Thy darling wife, and Daughter-Jewel, were

both swept away in rain-swelled river\'s course

and rest they both beneath the foamy sea.\"

His faithful bore such news to mournful ears

And Rothphazan, Foam Prince, in darkness wept.

O, Azramith, ephal ephalak, I zir ki uri naur

Makanzi codhel narika, izreyi nenagannalo

O mith, i Zimraphel, narikeyi nadroth

E nentaido zurina agannalo.

[Georlic(#32368)]

The strange syllables echo over the heads of the audience, and Georlic for one mouths them as best he can, trying to get a grasp on the unusual tongue. He seems not to like the taste of it, but as the page tranlates he become all the more wrapt in the tale.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

As the refrain calls forth a second time, the Ranger\'s voice here takes a dark mournful tone. The page moves slowly to find a seat, his own expession now melancholy...

Heedless of their words the Captain seem\'d

Though bitter tears betrayed his woeful heart

Commanded he again, \"GO! Bring them hence!\"

But in stunned silence, his faithful move-ed not.

Then wroth was he, and rising up in ire,

smote the one who spake thus dark, but true,

\"O Captain Mad, your wife and child are gone.\"

\"O captain Mad, your wife and child are gone.\"

Emptiness and darkness \'round him fell.

the Captain, ever after, silent was

save one day each year, when forth he cried,

calling for his faithful to his side.

\"Bring thee hence my wife and child,\" he called

but empty rooms and shadow answered not

the chill of the Mad Captain\'s mournful cry.

O, Azramith, ephal ephalak, I zir ki uri naur

Makanzi codhel narika, izreyi nenagannalo

O mith, i Zimraphel, narikeyi nadroth

E nentaido zurina agannalo.

Another sigh from Beorhtgar follows the first as the tale unfolds. The scowl on his face comes and goes as unfamiliar words and sounds mix with familiar, and at one part his mouth opens and he murmurs, \"But-\"

Behind him the old woman still grumbles, and another fellow along the row hisses \"Hush!\" Some of the locals are getting restive.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

The song seems to end, for the Ranger\'s voice grows softer still as he utters the final refrain. But darker still his tone becomes mourning has changed to something onimous...chilling. A final epilogue he intones...

Cent\'ries pass and stones grow ever cold

That hold the mem\'ry of the weeping prince

But tales yet tell in mystic southern land

of chilling cries that echo in the dark

one eve each year the day when river swelled

And stole away our Rothphazan\'s fair Zimraphel.

And there dark spirit-rumour yet remains

And then at last, he is silent...

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Silence. That is all that Siladriel can feel. To her, this was impressive. A good way to honour their people, their lands. Infact she may even been impressed with Orchaelchs perfomance as well, and willing to go up and sing with no obvious singing talent. Smiling brightly (maybe one of the first, too) the Lady of Nimothan beings to applaud the performance.

[Coenred(#30388)] The silence lasts for a moment, ere other claps are heard and slowly but steadily a full applause is given once again. But as before with the more serious themes, the cheering is left out. Eventually the old master bard lowers his head to the Lord and his page and says: \"Thank you, Lord Carmayar for this tale of a mariner. We will now have a break of half an hour, where jesters will play. Afterwards the bardic performances will continue with Barnhelm of West-Emnet.\"

Beorhtgar\'s hands lie limply on his lap in front of him, as though applause were beyond him. \"The tale was ... well-woven,\" he murmurs, softly, wiping a forearm across his brow. And then, at last, as the Lady Nimothan and others of her countryfolk begin to clap, the spell is broken. Quietly he puts his hands together and applauds, bowing his head.

[Orchalech(#25617)]

For a moment, the Ranger appears stunned, for the sound of applause comes first from only one pair of hands the young lady Siladriel. His gaze finds her in the crowd, and remains there in mute appreciation. Then as the crowd demonstrates their support for the strange and foreign tale, the Ranger fumbles in the folds of his cloak and pulls from within a folded swatch of silk fabric. He slowly unfolds the fabric, carefully laying open tha material until a tiny item within is exposed. He holds it aloft for the crowd to see, though perhaps only those in the front row can see it a small, ivory cameo.

\"Azramith,\" he calls. \"the Daughter-Jewel.\"

[Orchalech(#25617)]

And then with a nod to the Master Bard, he removes to find his seat once more.

At Orchalech\'s action Beorhtgar, fortunate enough to be near the front, strains forward to see the displayed item. Only a glimpse, then it is whisked away ... the apprentice bard watches the massive Stoninglander go and murmurs softly, \"A mystery.\" Then, as the recess is announced, he rises from his seat, lifts his harp and slips away to ponder.

[Siladriel(#30783)]

Siladriel doesn\'t move from her seat though as the ranger sees her, a faint smile is given. She is close to the front row too - but perhaps not close enough to see the item. As the recess is called the Lady Healer rests back in the chair for now and looks over to her husband, the two falling into a whispering talk.