Information
Cyfnos Tywyll has a minion!
Milo Ddagrou the Lacrimosa
Milo Ddagrou the Lacrimosa
Cyfnos Tywyll
Legacy Name: Cyfnos Tywyll
The
Galactic KoraOwner:
LleidwyrAge: 12 years, 1 month, 1 week
Born: April 6th, 2012
Adopted: 12 years, 1 month, 1 week ago
Adopted: April 6th, 2012
Statistics
- Level: 5
- Strength: 13
- Defense: 13
- Speed: 11
- Health: 13
- HP: 13/13
- Intelligence: 2
- Books Read: 2
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Store Clerk
The Royal Procession
Thousands of years ago, the Gods paraded proudly. The King of the Stars walked across the night sky, his procession of musicians glittering and playing for all to hear. The Subetans below would look up in awe and wonder, amazed by the music the People of the Stars could play. They were known to live as long as the Stars themselves did; dancing and playing for thousands of years, and The People of the Stars often excitedly spoke about continuing to play and bringing joy for thousands of years to come. How many generations would look up and enjoy an ancient tradition, as old as Subeta itself?
But that was thousands of years ago.
The generations of the Star songs have been lost through the ages, and all that is left are the stories. The Star People hide their faces as people cease to believe. Most of the procession is lost, wandered away. They do not speak with excitement of their songs, for they know very little would stop to listen if they heard the tune. Some even forgot about the old songs.
Some, but not all.
A few still play, remembering the days of old. Or traditions they were too young to remember that they find themselves falling back into.
Of these are Cyfnos Tywyll, who remembers the last procession.
He sits on a stone in the woods, playing on a strange golden flute of some sort. The music has a strange lilt to it, something that no instrument you have heard before has. It's a jubilant song, full of energy and perhaps a little sorrow.
When you approach, he lowers the flute, watching you with golden eyes, eyes that seem so young and yet so old. Like the stars themselves; stars that have very little care for time. Thousands of years could be young for the stars, but thousands of years is plenty of time to watch, to see, to shine.
"I remember" He starts in a voice that comes from no mouth, a voice on the wind, a voice in your mind.
"I remember the time of kings. I remember the time of kings and of sands that have since become glass. I remember the jungles that have now turned to paper. But I was so young then. I only played once."
His words were confusing. He was playing now, wasn't he? What did he mean by only once?
He voices your thoughts in a warm tone, his voice as soft as a spring breeze in a field of cotton, filled with chimes of the houses nearby. A warm musical cacophany.
"The last procession of the Gypsy King. He knew that it was the last. He knew that belief and care were dwindling. Or maybe it was because he was dying. But maybe he isn't dead at all. Maybe he's just ashamed that people can't remember. I think he's still there. Somewhere."
He didn't make any sense. If he was trying to tell a story, he wasn't very good at it at all. Musical cacophany indeed.
"I don't like words. I don't use them often because they get in the way of what I'm trying to say. There's just so many. And so many things to talk about that you want to say all at once. That's why stars don't talk."
"It'd better if I just showed you."
He placed the instrument to his lips and began to play, a song that was beautiful but incomplete, only one part of a whole.
Yet images began to flicker in the darkness. But it could have been easily shrugged off as a trick of the light; nothing more. But the flute... The lights danced and swirled like an ordinary trick of the light couldn't. Starlight danced before the very eyes as the rest of the world fell quiet.
It was the day we all dreaded the coming of. The day we all silently knew we would play no more. With golden eyes tearful we lined up, instrument after instrument. The Jollin played the violin, the Devonti the horn, the Anyu the drums and on and on. There on the barren hills lined up thousands of them. And there in the front, riding a Cadogre sat the King with his ageless beauty, shining above all the procession.
Playing in the procession was a rite of passage, a huge honor that I had not had not be given until that night. I was too young. But even as the youngest player, I approached the King, seeking his approval to play.
His music, the lilting tone somehow portrayed the kind warmth and love of the King in a way that no words could describe. The notes submerge you; you can't pull yourself out of their story.
It was his honor, not mine to have me play. He said how much he loved me, that he had looked forward to finally having me join them. I joined the long line, feeling important as I had never felt. Before I was nervous to join, now I was confident and proud. The procession began to play.
It began with the harp, the beautiful warm sounds. But then the clarinet joined in. And before you knew it, the song began and they slowly jerked into motion, dancing around the mountains as the stars gleamed in time.
Few people listened that night, they dwindled in Hearing even before then. That's why this procession would be the last. But yet, it was the most beautiful song played, the finale. The greatest of songs before the Stars fell silent.
When we finally ceased our parade, the Gypsy King got down from his steed. He gave him a gentle pat, and gave us a wave. As we watched, he walked away and disappeared into the darkness.