RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes

Leanne · **09-11-2014, 02:38 PM**

(One of the things I don't get to explore much with Leanne is her poet/musician/storyteller part. This place is to undo that mistake! Every once in a while I will be posting her thoughts and musings, songs and poetry, tales and stories, etc, etc...starting now!)

~It's been a while since I last saw you...~

~Did you grow? I would think so.~

~Did you mature? Perhaps, but I wouldn't believe so.~

~Kyrin, the lil' bandit, my staunchest companion.~

~Dragging me to crypts and dungeons, in your unbound curiosity.~

~Or perhaps, because of your appetite for bones?~

~Today is the day stoic Kyrin. I'm taking you back to the road.~

~Which adventures we shall go on together?~

~Which dungeons you shall brave forth without consent?~

~Does any of that matters? To a degree, yes.~

~Yet...gosh, hear me, you silly pup! No adventuring without me!~

~...And no messing with that bee!~

Leanne · **09-19-2014, 02:46 PM**

~Ballad for the Unnamed Merchant~

Last days haven't been anything else than tiring for the Seeker of golden eyes, the miqo'te of cheerful features fighting to keep this happy-go-lucky face of hers which seemed to bring comfort to so many people. Yet in that specific moment, sitting against a lone grave in the middle of the desert... In her hands, a guitar was held, fingers plucking some strings, while the other played with the tune. On top of the grave, a moogle drinked copious amount of ale, sighing as he watched his pupil playing with the guitar.

"Are you done, Leanne?"

Leanne would only nod after several moments, attempting some chords before answering with words.

"...Yes."

Nodding in return, the moogle looked to the stars.

"Start then, kupo."

Slowly, a music began to fill the air around the grave.
It's melody cold, it's sound mechanical.
Leanne's somber, serious voice was the only thing giving the song emotion.

"...He kissed his wife like was the last time..."
"And each and every son like they were the only one..."
"He crossed the road with a timid, fearful step,"
"Mounted the chocobo like he was a magitek..."
"Strapped to his mount a few valuable goods..."
"The gil he so much need to continue living,"
"Tired eyes muddled with sand and tears..."

...The song began to become cheerier...

"He sat on a rock like it was a holiday,"
"Eated a marmot like he was a wealthy noble!"
"Drinked and had hiccups like he was in a shipwreck,"
"Danced and laughed like he heard a song!"

...Only to take a turn for the dark.

"He stumbled through the desert like a crazy drunk..."
"He fell to the ground like a dead bag..."
"He could only see the sky as blade neared his neck...!"

The guitar stopped.

"He died on the desert a victim of bandits."

Leanne took a deep breath before restarting the song...

"...He kissed his wife like she was the last one..."
"And each and every son like they were the prodigal..."
"He crossed the road with his fearful and drunk step,"
"Mounted the chocobo like he was a man..."
"Strapped to his mount a few valuable goods..."
"The gil he so much needed to not die...,"
"Tired eyes muddled with sand and death...!"
"He sat on a rock like it was a throne,"
"Eated a marmot like he was a sultan!"
"Drinked and had hiccups like he was a magitek,"
"Danced and laughed like he had a friend!"
"He stumbled through the desert like hearing music..."
"He fell to the ground like a dead marmot..."
"He could only hear the blade as his eyes gazed the clouds...!"

The guitar once more stopped.

"He died as a consequence of the corruption."

The guitar returned to play.

"He kissed his wife as if it was only logical."
"Strapped to his chocobo a few worthless junk."
"He sat on that boulder like a lifeless corpse."
"He was thrown to the ground like he was prince!"
"He began to squirm on the sands like a sorry drunk,"
"Teary eyes watching nothing as a edge cut through him..."

The guitar stopped.

"He died in Thanalan as a victim of life."

Musings and Thoughts of a Young Poet (Journal)

RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes