Resta in ascolto (Keep Listening)

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Resta in ascolto (Keep Listening)

Postby Rholarowyn » Fri Sep 30, 2016 8:51 pm

The moon, not completely whole yet perched high, cast its radiance upon the field below. Crisp was the air and black was the evening sky, free from cloud or mist, though it was pierced by stars twinkling bright, ancient witnesses accompanying the merriment of celebration. Recently cleared grounds, which had once known battle and destruction, were now filled with renewed life, people and festivities just outside the White City.

Autumn had arrived. The Pelennor Fields now brown, yet, the land was dappled with colored canvas tents and makeshift wooded stands situated in somewhat organized rows. Compared to the looming nearby walls of Gondor they looked miniature in stature yet each tent, each vendor, had something special, some unique item that people certainly could not live without.

Once again it was a festival of the senses. The wafting aroma of charring meat mingled with the rising dough from baking breads and pleasant aromas of spices from distant lands. Laughter, conversations, and music all contributed to the joyful festivity along with the faint cheers for the enthusiastic dancers towards the edge of the encampment. Meanwhile lively women in radiant dresses eagerly maneuvered through the aisles, checking the wares for sale as well as the handsome knights who, with guarded interest, occasionally passed by.

Any and all could be found here, for it was the annual fall festival put on by Gondor and the very King himself! An act of remembrance and reflection for the many souls lost during the War of the Ring, but it served also as a celebration of joy, gratitude, and ultimately the victory. Some attended regularly, every year, while for others the White City, much less the Autumn Festival, had not been seen for a great many years. Then there were those who were present, fortunately or unfortunately, those who found themselves in the City of Ecthelion’s Tower, now, at this time, whether they wanted to be or not…

.
Image

So True the Arrow, So Steady the Hand

No word in your quiver goes errant,
no thought from your bow is misspent,
no image falls short of your target,
so true are the arrows thus sent.
Your heart with a steady compunction
pulls the bowstrings few others could ply,
your story does more than just function--
your steady hand helps my heart fly!

Thank you Parm for your wonderful poem. :heart:

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Rholarowyn
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Re: Resta in ascolto (Keep Listening)

Postby earendil81 » Fri Oct 07, 2016 5:17 am

Diya al Din cast a haughty look about her; it was the one way to avoid being hassled by those who would sell their wares at the festival. Truth was she had no money to spend and until she found a way to get some, she had to pretend to be too good for it. A game… another one.

The truth was she was awed; it was Gondor but it had a feel of home. Well not the weather. That was colder than she could have ever imagined. She might need to look a bit more comely if she wanted one of the handsome young bachelors to offer her some khav. It would warm her frozen fingers.
Still the colourful cloth of tents or dresses, the aromas, which fragrance wafted this way or that, the relaxed atmosphere with the calls of salesmen; all of it reminded her of the market down South. And there were people come from Harad standing near people from Dale; you could see the variety of skin tones in the crowd. From the pale complexion and blue eyes of the Rohirrim with their crown of golden hair, to the darkest tan of a South Haradian, Diya knew the origins of most people around her.

She might have laughed in fact. In any other weather, one would have recognized the Southrons from their lack of clothing. Men and women of the North were prude, covered from head to toe with clothes in shades of grey and brown, appropriate for their weather. People from the East and the South not so; you’d see the sheer bright clothing they were used to. Not today though. The foreigners were clothed with layers upon layers of clothes that did nothing to protect from the cool wind, whereas the locals looked perfectly comfortable in radiant light dresses and other tunics.

Diya wasn’t immune to the cold… Though underneath the heavy dark green cloak covering her, she was exactly who she was. A player… And the game to play now was enticing one of these young men to pay for a drink, and maybe a trinket or two. Maybe even release him of his purse if she were so inclined. It was unlikely she’d play that game though: not at the beginning of a Festival if she wanted to remain for its entire duration.
Never forgetting those who have passed into the West :rose:

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It's funny how some distance
Makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me
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It's time to see what I can do
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Re: Resta in ascolto (Keep Listening)

Postby Rholarowyn » Fri Oct 07, 2016 7:17 pm

“Kirith!” the boisterous voice requested making sure he was heard over the Southron music playing nearby. “Another round for the house!”

A young woman peered over the makeshift bar, stood and tucked a few scattered blonde hairs back into place. Her ocean blue eyes scanned the canvas made room along with the tables and chairs, most of which were empty. Turning momentarily, her gaze fell upon the large dark haired Northern man, his stomach pushed out well over his belt, if indeed his belt could be seen, but whose clothing was nicer than most. “Mackilb…” her eyes sparkled of mischief as she glanced towards his blonde haired friend while wiping her hands upon a nearby towel. “Why IS IT you are so generous when we only have 5 in the house?”

“HA HA HA” his laughter echoed and then he leaned in towards his Rohirrim friend. “Can’t get anything by that one.”

A few moments later the barmaid brought over two mugs. Foam from the recent pour still dripped over the edge and splattered the top of the rustic wooden table. “I’ll add this to your tab.”

“Wait!” Mackib gestured, “I wish to introduce you to a good friend. “Kirith this Bryttar, Bryttar, Kirith.”

“He is always one for formalities,” she smiled at the Rohirrim, “Bryttar, ah yes, Mithril Knight and Bard… we have met before.” Kirith stated confidentially. The Rohirrim sat back. “And when would that have been?” He asked searching her face as well as his memory. “It was some time ago,” again the twinkle, “but I will leave you two men to your business.” She turned quickly as a new patron entered.

Bryttar’s eyes followed seeking the missing piece, or pieces, to the puzzle as she slipped behind the bar. “Never mind her…” Mackilb interrupted, “now we talk!” And instantly a bag full of coins emerged from Macabe’s hand as he then tossed it up the table. “I need your help.” The man’s eyes were earnest. The Rohirrim picked up the bag and studied its weight. “This is no small sum.”

“No..no it’s not.” The man lowered his voice.

Bryttar leaned in too. “What exactly IS IT you need?”

Silence hung in the air.

“A husband.” Mackilb finally murmured..

The Rohirrim bolted back in his chair, “A what!?!”

“A husband…for Vinisha.” The heavy man whispered and motioned Bryttar forward. “Look, I’d give you 3 more if I though you would do it, but you have your principles and all…” Bryttar interrupted pushing the bag back towards his friend, “I know we haven’t seen each other in some time but I can’t find a husband for your daughter, besides they have women for this kind of stuff Mackilb, matchmakers, isn’t Glydoris still around on the third level of Gondor or perhaps, yes, there is a woman in Rohan…”

“Bryttar, listen!” Now his friend interrupted. “You are a good man, I mean yes there was that mishap up north, and then that small little imprisonment in the East…” He waved his had around, “All misunderstandings I know, see she needs a husband now, or at least by the end of the week!”

.
Image

So True the Arrow, So Steady the Hand

No word in your quiver goes errant,
no thought from your bow is misspent,
no image falls short of your target,
so true are the arrows thus sent.
Your heart with a steady compunction
pulls the bowstrings few others could ply,
your story does more than just function--
your steady hand helps my heart fly!

Thank you Parm for your wonderful poem. :heart:

Sharing another adventure with Eari in the Scriptorium: Once There Were Words
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Rholarowyn
Warrior Bard of the White Tower

 
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