Post by Jay Kitten on May 3, 2011 15:31:16 GMT -8
(Major props for the Underground Harpers, very nice name for a group of Pernese rave artists.
By the way, if people think RMW doesn't have it's fair share of ravers, I am one. ;D I like to dance~ and I dance good!)
The morning had not held many surprises for V'ridian, he was simply moving in to his new home, this new Weyr he had so expertly placed himself in to. No more Harpers, no more Fort Holders, no more parents... Finally, the life that he had wanted, right? Well for now, no, he was still lifting boxes and unpacking instruments. Cirryyth had just dropped off his drum kit and went between for another load. He was working with mom and dad to get all of V'ridian's things. His sister was off doing something, he figured she was settling in as a Candidate, and he would leave her to it.
Lift, place, unpack, rearrange. This order fell in to routine and pretty soon he was simply too tired of movement that he slumped into one of his woodcrafted chairs. They were elegant, solid teak, very durable. He swore that even his large Tiger could sit on one and they wouldn't burst, which was good, because Cirryyth had a nasty habit of sitting on things when they moved into a new place and he hadn't memorized the layout yet. But either way, it was time for a break.
Reaching over to his side, the Journeyman Weyrharper took a large piece of wood and a small blade from where they had been resting on the floor, and, placing knife to wood, began to carve. The blade slid smoothly along the hard surface, shaving off a thin string of pulp. Then again. Gliding, carefully moving, wrist locking and unlocking to give it the perfect angle. But what was he making? A violin, for the new Weyr. He was going to paint it to resemble his dragon, and play for the Weyr atop his majestic Tiger when the time came.
Hours crept by, from early morning towards mid day, and still he sat, patiently carving. Carving, carving, occasionally sharpening the blade, carving some more. His patience was amazing, his care and love for his craft indisputable. His dragon had returned to unload more boxes, but those were left to pile up, he would deal with them later. Carving away, he continued to form the object of his desire, the vision in his mind of exactly what this block of wood was going to become.
Cirryyth at one point lay down to watch him for a good ten minutes, before his outlandish nature got the better of him and he ducked out of the Weyr to explore. By now it was nearing nightfall, and his instrument was nearing completion. With a final flick of his wrist, he switched from a knife to a small utensil designed to smooth out the wood, rough on one side and curved smooth on the other. He ran this along the instrument for a good half an hour itself, before he seemed satisfied.
What he held in his hands was a magnificent instrument to be sure, it was a violin specifically crafted to his own desired weight and length. He had grooved the inside to make it hollow with the shape of musical notes instead of the traditional curving lines, the neck was form-fitted to his fingers. Now all he had to do was string it, and tune it. V'ridian was accurate when it came to tuning by ear, so the prospect did not seem too difficult to manage.
Setting the violin down, he made his way across his room to search through three boxes until he found his strings, which had been specially made for the Harper Hall by the metallurgists at the smithing Crafthall, and consisted of thin metal wires. He began to string them accordingly, giving the strings that normal arc-layout that violins had. The first three were easy, but when he got to the fourth, that was when he had the difficulty. For some reason, the wire did not want to stay in place when he set it, and as a result he became frustrated.
Stretching the wire again, V'ridian leaned over his instrument, determined to get everything perfect, including this string. However, his efforts did not want to agree with him, and just as he had thought he had gotten it right, a small twang was the only alert he had to the string snapping in half. The wire moved too quickly to dodge, and impacted him along the cheek, slicing a thin cut out of his flesh. He gasped, his face moving to the side out of reaction, his eyes falling out the window of his Weyr.
It was that motion that made him forget all about the beautiful piece of work he had been so meticulous with. For what he now saw was a new Rider, a purplerider, outside of his weyr, on the ground floor. What was worse is that he could almost certainly see blood. And it wasn't his.
Grabbing a cloth on his way out, he dabbed at his own wound, walking briskly until he was outside and approaching the rider and dragon. He summoned for Cirryyth, asking the dragon to come as quickly as possible. He heard a lazy response, though he didn't pay attention to what he'd said, simply realized it was an acknowledgment and that he was on his way.
His voice rang out, clear and attractive, as any Harper's should be. "You there, are you all right?" he questioned, a bit rhetorically. He could tell with his eyes that she wasn't. He moved slowly, so as not to anger the purple, closing in on the girl and leaning over her, his crimson locks pouring over his shoulders with the motion.
"Can you breathe? Are you conscious? How many fingers?" He held up four to the woman.
It took only a few more seconds for Cirryyth to arrive, who back-winged his way into a landing near them, before he hobbled over to speak with the purple, whom his rider was incapable of hearing.
Excuse me, ma'am, but can you please tell us what happened?[/color] he questioned, trying to be polite yet serious.
By the way, if people think RMW doesn't have it's fair share of ravers, I am one. ;D I like to dance~ and I dance good!)
The morning had not held many surprises for V'ridian, he was simply moving in to his new home, this new Weyr he had so expertly placed himself in to. No more Harpers, no more Fort Holders, no more parents... Finally, the life that he had wanted, right? Well for now, no, he was still lifting boxes and unpacking instruments. Cirryyth had just dropped off his drum kit and went between for another load. He was working with mom and dad to get all of V'ridian's things. His sister was off doing something, he figured she was settling in as a Candidate, and he would leave her to it.
Lift, place, unpack, rearrange. This order fell in to routine and pretty soon he was simply too tired of movement that he slumped into one of his woodcrafted chairs. They were elegant, solid teak, very durable. He swore that even his large Tiger could sit on one and they wouldn't burst, which was good, because Cirryyth had a nasty habit of sitting on things when they moved into a new place and he hadn't memorized the layout yet. But either way, it was time for a break.
Reaching over to his side, the Journeyman Weyrharper took a large piece of wood and a small blade from where they had been resting on the floor, and, placing knife to wood, began to carve. The blade slid smoothly along the hard surface, shaving off a thin string of pulp. Then again. Gliding, carefully moving, wrist locking and unlocking to give it the perfect angle. But what was he making? A violin, for the new Weyr. He was going to paint it to resemble his dragon, and play for the Weyr atop his majestic Tiger when the time came.
Hours crept by, from early morning towards mid day, and still he sat, patiently carving. Carving, carving, occasionally sharpening the blade, carving some more. His patience was amazing, his care and love for his craft indisputable. His dragon had returned to unload more boxes, but those were left to pile up, he would deal with them later. Carving away, he continued to form the object of his desire, the vision in his mind of exactly what this block of wood was going to become.
Cirryyth at one point lay down to watch him for a good ten minutes, before his outlandish nature got the better of him and he ducked out of the Weyr to explore. By now it was nearing nightfall, and his instrument was nearing completion. With a final flick of his wrist, he switched from a knife to a small utensil designed to smooth out the wood, rough on one side and curved smooth on the other. He ran this along the instrument for a good half an hour itself, before he seemed satisfied.
What he held in his hands was a magnificent instrument to be sure, it was a violin specifically crafted to his own desired weight and length. He had grooved the inside to make it hollow with the shape of musical notes instead of the traditional curving lines, the neck was form-fitted to his fingers. Now all he had to do was string it, and tune it. V'ridian was accurate when it came to tuning by ear, so the prospect did not seem too difficult to manage.
Setting the violin down, he made his way across his room to search through three boxes until he found his strings, which had been specially made for the Harper Hall by the metallurgists at the smithing Crafthall, and consisted of thin metal wires. He began to string them accordingly, giving the strings that normal arc-layout that violins had. The first three were easy, but when he got to the fourth, that was when he had the difficulty. For some reason, the wire did not want to stay in place when he set it, and as a result he became frustrated.
Stretching the wire again, V'ridian leaned over his instrument, determined to get everything perfect, including this string. However, his efforts did not want to agree with him, and just as he had thought he had gotten it right, a small twang was the only alert he had to the string snapping in half. The wire moved too quickly to dodge, and impacted him along the cheek, slicing a thin cut out of his flesh. He gasped, his face moving to the side out of reaction, his eyes falling out the window of his Weyr.
It was that motion that made him forget all about the beautiful piece of work he had been so meticulous with. For what he now saw was a new Rider, a purplerider, outside of his weyr, on the ground floor. What was worse is that he could almost certainly see blood. And it wasn't his.
Grabbing a cloth on his way out, he dabbed at his own wound, walking briskly until he was outside and approaching the rider and dragon. He summoned for Cirryyth, asking the dragon to come as quickly as possible. He heard a lazy response, though he didn't pay attention to what he'd said, simply realized it was an acknowledgment and that he was on his way.
His voice rang out, clear and attractive, as any Harper's should be. "You there, are you all right?" he questioned, a bit rhetorically. He could tell with his eyes that she wasn't. He moved slowly, so as not to anger the purple, closing in on the girl and leaning over her, his crimson locks pouring over his shoulders with the motion.
"Can you breathe? Are you conscious? How many fingers?" He held up four to the woman.
It took only a few more seconds for Cirryyth to arrive, who back-winged his way into a landing near them, before he hobbled over to speak with the purple, whom his rider was incapable of hearing.
Excuse me, ma'am, but can you please tell us what happened?[/color] he questioned, trying to be polite yet serious.