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Valesse · 06-30-2006, 02:04 PM

An Afternoon in Hìsimë...:
It had been a long day's trek.
Currently the team found themselves in some sort of clearing, if one could call it that. It was getting late, and a mist had enveloped them a few hours ago, growing thicker and thicker as time went on. Now it was nearing sunset and visibility would only worsen until the heat of the next day would drive it off. In short, it was time to put up their tents and build a fire. Fortunately, the camp members were almost humorously well prepared with their tents, and pails, and plates, and spoons. Within an hour the fire was blazing, and each person had their own private tent furnished with everything from bed rolls and buckets to candlesticks and in the case of Eomer, the publican, a fully functional wet bar... but most imporantly they all had their instruments.

It was Gil-Galad and Valesse's idea. He, an artisan spoon player, and she, a Master accordionist, had sent word far and wide over the less wilder lands that a great Zydeco Camp (unconventional instruments welcome) was to be held. However, what skill they had with their music or over-packing, they lacked in actually camping, and there-in laid the first problem.

It was quickly growing dark, and the camp members formed a circle around the fire for their first lesson. But before it started the two camp leaders had discovered something dreadfully wrong. In charge of directions it was Valesse's responsiblity to lead the team to their proper destination but, in actuality, she had the map turned up-side-down most of the journey and now --as best as they could figure-- they were deep in Hìsilómë.

...

Hoping that the camp go-ers were none-the-wiser of their mistake, Valesse asked "What is music?" as she and Gil-Galad joined them at the fire.
Taken back by the simplicity of the question, Kuruharan quickly replied "Melodic sound."
"I've always considered it a kind of way to communicate without speaking" let out Roa_Aoife, thinking deeply.
"You're all off." Glirdan sighed, rolling his eyes. "Music is art."
Gil-Galad sat nodding, agreeing with everyone as they took their turn to reply before speaking up himself. "Music is all of these things...but most importantly, it gets me money."
"And how!" Macalaure cried merrily, raising his glass.

Valesse cleared her throat sternly and continued into lecturing the different theories of music and it's effects. After an hour of this it became obvious that the speech wasn't completely original, as she had to excused herself to replace the batteries in her walkmen. While she was gone, Gil-Galad raised his hands in the air and promised he wouldn't let this happen again, and instructed the camp members to go get their instruments before Valesse had time to return.

They did, and as a reward, were allowed to break the ice by playing their favorite songs until it was time to call it a night.

Day 1, Morning:
Not only was the mist still around in the morning, it seemed to be thicker... Now to the point where only the torches of each respective tent were blurry signals of something beyond the five feet of visable world. This did not dampen the camp's moral, however, and around the camp fire they waited for the leaders to instruct them on their first day's lesson.

"It's been an hour" moaned Valier, the town pickler, who's claim to fame was her successfully pickled zebra.
Mormegil nodded "And it's also been wet. I didn't expect this kind of weather at all."
"Maybe..." Formendacil hesitated "Maybe we should check to see if they're up?"

Using her unique skills, Mithalwen shooed her peers over toward the camp leaders' tents, but as they closed in, each became more and more aware of the eerie tingle of hair raising on the back of their necks. First, they peaked inside of Gil-Galad's tent, eager to wake him before the Valesse in fear of another kind of lecture. What they discovered terrified them.

The utter silence of their screams echoed around inside of the tent, which had been obviously quite well sacked. It was simply amazing to them that no one had heard the noise at all during the night. Inching closer, the campers found Gil-Galad at a folding table which he had brought in order to write his nature-inspired spoon melodies on. He was slumped over, and carefully, Nogrod the idle fanatasist surveyed the damage quietly. Gil-Galad, the talented artisan, had been choked by his own spoons.

Out of fear, the group rushed to Valesse's tent, throwing open the flap to see her leaning over her accordion strangely. With extreme caution, JennyHallu nudged her shoulder and shrieked to find that, not only was the B Flat key off of the accordion broken and removed, but it was replaced into the accordionist. Without further hesitation Jenny let out a loud cry "She's been stabbed with... with... A Sharp key!"

"Who could have done such a thing?!" Kitanna studdered, fighting back tears.
"Not 'who', but 'What', didgeridoo-er" replied Nogrod. "These crimes were not commited by people, but wolves! Just look at the fur and the scratches all over the victims!"
Curious, Eomer inquired "But how does a wolf choke..or stab someone?"
"Not just any wolf..." gasped Macalaure, pointing at a typical calling card and taunting letter "Werewolves!"

Quickly the mass of campers circled the scrawling, squinting and mumbling as they read out loud the message:

'Trust us three, we did you a favor by bumping off the Accordionist,
But we're serious about kill you all! Thats why we nabbed the Spoon-artist, too.

Sinc...- Your's Truely,
the three wolves.'

"Three!" choked Roa_Aoife. "Three werewolves!"
"And they're all probably standing right here with us, playing along..." grumbled Nogrod.

The Living:
Roa_Aoife- trick pilot, double-necked electric guitar.
Valier- town pickler, piccolo.
Macalaure- unskilled inventor of funny fake occupation ideas, on the verge of bankruptcy, tuba.
Mithalwen- cat-herd, viola.
JennyHallu- street corner doom-sayer, aeolian wind harp.
Nogrod- idle fantasist, tin whistle.
Mormegil- non-practicing wizard, triangle.
Formendacil- pirate, pipe organ.
Eomer of the Rohirrim- publican, double-bass.
Kitanna- hermit, didgeridoo.
Glirdan- town musician, sax.
Kuruharan- condottieri, flute.

The Dead:
Valesse- Master Accordionist (Mod) stabbed with A Sharp key.
Gil-Galad- Artisan spoon player (Mod) choked on his musical spoons.
______________

Day One has begun.
Wolves- plot,
Seer- day-dream
And Ordos start discussing.

06-30-2006, 02:04 PM	#2
Valesse Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Aug 2005 Location: \|Away Posts: 614	An Afternoon in Hìsimë...: It had been a long day's trek. Currently the team found themselves in some sort of clearing, if one could call it that. It was getting late, and a mist had enveloped them a few hours ago, growing thicker and thicker as time went on. Now it was nearing sunset and visibility would only worsen until the heat of the next day would drive it off. In short, it was time to put up their tents and build a fire. Fortunately, the camp members were almost humorously well prepared with their tents, and pails, and plates, and spoons. Within an hour the fire was blazing, and each person had their own private tent furnished with everything from bed rolls and buckets to candlesticks and in the case of Eomer, the publican, a fully functional wet bar... but most imporantly they all had their instruments. It was Gil-Galad and Valesse's idea. He, an artisan spoon player, and she, a Master accordionist, had sent word far and wide over the less wilder lands that a great Zydeco Camp (unconventional instruments welcome) was to be held. However, what skill they had with their music or over-packing, they lacked in actually camping, and there-in laid the first problem. It was quickly growing dark, and the camp members formed a circle around the fire for their first lesson. But before it started the two camp leaders had discovered something dreadfully wrong. In charge of directions it was Valesse's responsiblity to lead the team to their proper destination but, in actuality, she had the map turned up-side-down most of the journey and now --as best as they could figure-- they were deep in Hìsilómë. ... Hoping that the camp go-ers were none-the-wiser of their mistake, Valesse asked "What is music?" as she and Gil-Galad joined them at the fire. Taken back by the simplicity of the question, Kuruharan quickly replied "Melodic sound." "I've always considered it a kind of way to communicate without speaking" let out Roa_Aoife, thinking deeply. "You're all off." Glirdan sighed, rolling his eyes. "Music is art." Gil-Galad sat nodding, agreeing with everyone as they took their turn to reply before speaking up himself. "Music is all of these things...but most importantly, it gets me money." "And how!" Macalaure cried merrily, raising his glass. Valesse cleared her throat sternly and continued into lecturing the different theories of music and it's effects. After an hour of this it became obvious that the speech wasn't completely original, as she had to excused herself to replace the batteries in her walkmen. While she was gone, Gil-Galad raised his hands in the air and promised he wouldn't let this happen again, and instructed the camp members to go get their instruments before Valesse had time to return. They did, and as a reward, were allowed to break the ice by playing their favorite songs until it was time to call it a night. Day 1, Morning: Not only was the mist still around in the morning, it seemed to be thicker... Now to the point where only the torches of each respective tent were blurry signals of something beyond the five feet of visable world. This did not dampen the camp's moral, however, and around the camp fire they waited for the leaders to instruct them on their first day's lesson. "It's been an hour" moaned Valier, the town pickler, who's claim to fame was her successfully pickled zebra. Mormegil nodded "And it's also been wet. I didn't expect this kind of weather at all." "Maybe..." Formendacil hesitated "Maybe we should check to see if they're up?" Using her unique skills, Mithalwen shooed her peers over toward the camp leaders' tents, but as they closed in, each became more and more aware of the eerie tingle of hair raising on the back of their necks. First, they peaked inside of Gil-Galad's tent, eager to wake him before the Valesse in fear of another kind of lecture. What they discovered terrified them. The utter silence of their screams echoed around inside of the tent, which had been obviously quite well sacked. It was simply amazing to them that no one had heard the noise at all during the night. Inching closer, the campers found Gil-Galad at a folding table which he had brought in order to write his nature-inspired spoon melodies on. He was slumped over, and carefully, Nogrod the idle fanatasist surveyed the damage quietly. Gil-Galad, the talented artisan, had been choked by his own spoons. Out of fear, the group rushed to Valesse's tent, throwing open the flap to see her leaning over her accordion strangely. With extreme caution, JennyHallu nudged her shoulder and shrieked to find that, not only was the B Flat key off of the accordion broken and removed, but it was replaced into the accordionist. Without further hesitation Jenny let out a loud cry "She's been stabbed with... with... A Sharp key!" "Who could have done such a thing?!" Kitanna studdered, fighting back tears. "Not 'who', but 'What', didgeridoo-er" replied Nogrod. "These crimes were not commited by people, but wolves! Just look at the fur and the scratches all over the victims!" Curious, Eomer inquired "But how does a wolf choke..or stab someone?" "Not just any wolf..." gasped Macalaure, pointing at a typical calling card and taunting letter "Werewolves!" Quickly the mass of campers circled the scrawling, squinting and mumbling as they read out loud the message: 'Trust us three, we did you a favor by bumping off the Accordionist, But we're serious about kill you all! Thats why we nabbed the Spoon-artist, too. Sinc...- Your's Truely, the three wolves.' "Three!" choked Roa_Aoife. "Three werewolves!" "And they're all probably standing right here with us, playing along..." grumbled Nogrod. The Living: Roa_Aoife- trick pilot, double-necked electric guitar. Valier- town pickler, piccolo. Macalaure- unskilled inventor of funny fake occupation ideas, on the verge of bankruptcy, tuba. Mithalwen- cat-herd, viola. JennyHallu- street corner doom-sayer, aeolian wind harp. Nogrod- idle fantasist, tin whistle. Mormegil- non-practicing wizard, triangle. Formendacil- pirate, pipe organ. Eomer of the Rohirrim- publican, double-bass. Kitanna- hermit, didgeridoo. Glirdan- town musician, sax. Kuruharan- condottieri, flute. The Dead: Valesse- Master Accordionist (Mod) stabbed with A Sharp key. Gil-Galad- Artisan spoon player (Mod) choked on his musical spoons. ______________ Day One has begun. Wolves- plot, Seer- day-dream And Ordos start discussing. __________________ "Loo, what sholde a man in thyse dayes now wryte, 'egges' or 'eyren'?" - Caxton, Eneydos Last edited by Valesse; 06-30-2006 at 11:27 PM.