Rumor Has It (Open)
Jul 31, 2016 18:12:54 GMT -7
Post by Awenydd on Jul 31, 2016 18:12:54 GMT -7
Nighttime was the best time. A time full of life, of surging energies and crowds, which meant there were people to listen. Tonight was one of the nights Awenydd wanted those ears, wanted to captivate and hold the listener's attention. Of course, it was a selective audience that she wanted to catch; they were the ones who would hear the message, while the rest of the world heard only a song. A story with a melody and the sharp notes of her electric guitar.
"The one who walked away, left a dragon in his wake
Towers of gold were stolen away
Until the Dragon Rider paved the way
To bring the thief's demise, to slay
The one who left us at the fray."
The notes filled her with renewed energy as she sang, not the first night since she had last spoken to Gilgamesh. While not her best work, something she would indeed need to work on, she also wanted to keep the message simple and see who caught the message. Who would notice the nod to the mysterious Mosh Man, and note a fray in the future, rather than the one left behind? Her pick struck each string with a familiar motion that she could do in her sleep, blonde hair whipping in a rising wind around her face and obscuring her mask for the moment. It didn't stop her; she blew out the hair that would occasionally try to stick to her lipstick, the bard unsilenced.
She had to wonder who would also try to take up the slack of a defeated Mosh Man, should that indeed be the case. But that was part of spreading the message: seeing who took note.
"The one who walked away, left a dragon in his wake
Towers of gold were stolen away
Until the Dragon Rider paved the way
To bring the thief's demise, to slay
The one who left us at the fray."
The notes filled her with renewed energy as she sang, not the first night since she had last spoken to Gilgamesh. While not her best work, something she would indeed need to work on, she also wanted to keep the message simple and see who caught the message. Who would notice the nod to the mysterious Mosh Man, and note a fray in the future, rather than the one left behind? Her pick struck each string with a familiar motion that she could do in her sleep, blonde hair whipping in a rising wind around her face and obscuring her mask for the moment. It didn't stop her; she blew out the hair that would occasionally try to stick to her lipstick, the bard unsilenced.
She had to wonder who would also try to take up the slack of a defeated Mosh Man, should that indeed be the case. But that was part of spreading the message: seeing who took note.
