It has been said that music has charms to sooth the savage breast. I have heard this uttered in taverns and whispered in theaters most of my life. I have even heard the idea voice by men on a field of battle who were about to face a rather monstrous foe.
Music, it would seem is not only the language of the poet, but also the hope of mankind. And as the years have passed, bring many changes upon the land, I have more than many things mourned the loss of the arts.
I was never one who enjoyed the field of battle, but all too often found myself riding with an army to face some threat to hearth and home. In all truth, were it not for Figol I would have enjoyed a quiet existence in the company of my books and songs. And while many great battles of our time have given birth to epic poems and songs which kept the bards busy, I have always thought that music should uplift the soul, and not glorify violence.
It was this trait within me which brought my father to deem me unsuitable for life as a knight. I know he was even more disappointed when I embraced his findings rather than stand up and demand my rightful place within his guard.
When I first moved to the small house along the mountains in Britain, I spent many happy hours wandering the forests listening to the songs of birds and the music of the wind through the trees. Each day I ventured further form the house until the sounds of hammers ringing in the smithy was lost and only nature’s music touched my ears. This I thought was the closest I could come to peace and contentment I had sought since leaving my father’s house.
For weeks I sat out each day venturing further and further from my home. As I passed a small cemetery, I noticed that now before me I could once again hear the sounds of hammers striking hard on anvils. Not sure what lay ahead, I made my way towards the sound, figuring to come upon another farm. As I came past a small corpse of trees, my eyes for the first time fell on the city of Britain.
Now I had known that we were in the vicinity of the capital city of the realm, but never did I suppose how close we were indeed.
The hour was just past one as I walked past the smithy at the end of a long road. I had thought to pause and watch the craftsmen for a bit, but there was something more in the air which drew me on. Rising ever above the din of the hammers came the sounds of violas and harps. Moving quickly, I rounded the corner I saw a large building before me. A painted sign hung from above with the words Britain Conservatory in large letters.
I have never moved faster in all my days than I did then. And though the distance was short, in my mind it seemed an eternity before I stood on the other side of the entrance, savoring the sweet sounds which drifted throughout the building.
From that day on, when I left my house, I hurried along the path towards Britain. I spent hours sitting in the building listening to music, or taking in a performance by local or traveling bards. The music scrolls contained within filled my mind with melody, and the reams of plays which lined the shelves provided me with hours of joyful reading.
Time passed, and homes changed. The next time I lay eyes on the conservatory within Brit, it was mostly deserted and reeked of neglect. Violas and harps which once sang out merrily lay strewn about the floor or smashed into walls and left for trash. The beauty I had once enjoyed was scrawled with graffiti. Some of a rather vile nature.
As I picked my way slowly through the old building I could not help but fear that the arts were falling by the wayside as citizens rushed towards what they deemed to be progress.
Years pass, governors, mayors and other so called leaders of the city come and go. Some leave a mark on the city, and work to uplift the people, but more often than not, as with most politicians, they are concerned more with lining their own packets than bringing greatness back to Britain.
Following the last elections, I was a bit hopeful that Britain might be on a better path. Dramora won, and one of her first acts was to name Thom as event chair for the city. This I saw as a very wise choice, and though I am not a citizen of the town, I decided to attend the first town meeting held there.
The meeting went quite well, and during it many of the plans in the works were announced. The one that caught my ear was the announcement that there would be working to bring the Conservatory back to life. Thom said that he would be holding a get together at the old building, and would be asking all artistic minded people of the realm to attend. And so, I made plans to addend this meeting as well.
I am not sure what if anything will come of this grand effort to return art and culture to the city of Britain. I did enjoy seeing the repairs made to the conservatory and look forward to seeing Thom’s plans for the place come to fruition.
I no longer live in the small house along the mountains and Yew is a long ride from the capital city. But if on some moonlit night I can ride through the city of Britain and hear once again the sounds of music filling the air I will consider myself lucky to have lived to see these times. For just as music soothes the tumult in the hearts of men, so too does it fire the imagination, and cause us to look forward to days of greater promise.
Music, it would seem is not only the language of the poet, but also the hope of mankind. And as the years have passed, bring many changes upon the land, I have more than many things mourned the loss of the arts.
I was never one who enjoyed the field of battle, but all too often found myself riding with an army to face some threat to hearth and home. In all truth, were it not for Figol I would have enjoyed a quiet existence in the company of my books and songs. And while many great battles of our time have given birth to epic poems and songs which kept the bards busy, I have always thought that music should uplift the soul, and not glorify violence.
It was this trait within me which brought my father to deem me unsuitable for life as a knight. I know he was even more disappointed when I embraced his findings rather than stand up and demand my rightful place within his guard.
When I first moved to the small house along the mountains in Britain, I spent many happy hours wandering the forests listening to the songs of birds and the music of the wind through the trees. Each day I ventured further form the house until the sounds of hammers ringing in the smithy was lost and only nature’s music touched my ears. This I thought was the closest I could come to peace and contentment I had sought since leaving my father’s house.
For weeks I sat out each day venturing further and further from my home. As I passed a small cemetery, I noticed that now before me I could once again hear the sounds of hammers striking hard on anvils. Not sure what lay ahead, I made my way towards the sound, figuring to come upon another farm. As I came past a small corpse of trees, my eyes for the first time fell on the city of Britain.
Now I had known that we were in the vicinity of the capital city of the realm, but never did I suppose how close we were indeed.
The hour was just past one as I walked past the smithy at the end of a long road. I had thought to pause and watch the craftsmen for a bit, but there was something more in the air which drew me on. Rising ever above the din of the hammers came the sounds of violas and harps. Moving quickly, I rounded the corner I saw a large building before me. A painted sign hung from above with the words Britain Conservatory in large letters.
I have never moved faster in all my days than I did then. And though the distance was short, in my mind it seemed an eternity before I stood on the other side of the entrance, savoring the sweet sounds which drifted throughout the building.
From that day on, when I left my house, I hurried along the path towards Britain. I spent hours sitting in the building listening to music, or taking in a performance by local or traveling bards. The music scrolls contained within filled my mind with melody, and the reams of plays which lined the shelves provided me with hours of joyful reading.
Time passed, and homes changed. The next time I lay eyes on the conservatory within Brit, it was mostly deserted and reeked of neglect. Violas and harps which once sang out merrily lay strewn about the floor or smashed into walls and left for trash. The beauty I had once enjoyed was scrawled with graffiti. Some of a rather vile nature.
As I picked my way slowly through the old building I could not help but fear that the arts were falling by the wayside as citizens rushed towards what they deemed to be progress.
Years pass, governors, mayors and other so called leaders of the city come and go. Some leave a mark on the city, and work to uplift the people, but more often than not, as with most politicians, they are concerned more with lining their own packets than bringing greatness back to Britain.
Following the last elections, I was a bit hopeful that Britain might be on a better path. Dramora won, and one of her first acts was to name Thom as event chair for the city. This I saw as a very wise choice, and though I am not a citizen of the town, I decided to attend the first town meeting held there.
The meeting went quite well, and during it many of the plans in the works were announced. The one that caught my ear was the announcement that there would be working to bring the Conservatory back to life. Thom said that he would be holding a get together at the old building, and would be asking all artistic minded people of the realm to attend. And so, I made plans to addend this meeting as well.
I am not sure what if anything will come of this grand effort to return art and culture to the city of Britain. I did enjoy seeing the repairs made to the conservatory and look forward to seeing Thom’s plans for the place come to fruition.
I no longer live in the small house along the mountains and Yew is a long ride from the capital city. But if on some moonlit night I can ride through the city of Britain and hear once again the sounds of music filling the air I will consider myself lucky to have lived to see these times. For just as music soothes the tumult in the hearts of men, so too does it fire the imagination, and cause us to look forward to days of greater promise.