Music Final Poll

[Velox]

Vote here for your favorite Music story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on June 17th at 11:59 PM EST. The entry with the most votes will be the winner of the Music theme and will then be either judged or polled against the winners of the other themes.

1. Tunes to Live For “My name is Boros; I’m a De-Matoran from a faraway land. These two fellow villagers are my companions.” It wasn’t a lie, though depending on who was asked, who bore the title of “companion” varied. “What are you doing in these parts? We don’t usually get many tourists.” “We’re minstrels.” “Minstrels?” Music was practically unknown to the Steltian miners. For those in their line of work, it virtually didn’t exist. “We haven’t had music in this island for millennia. We’re under a tight schedule, but I think it’d be good to let the workers have a distraction. Do you think you could play for us?” “Certainly. That is, after all, our job.”

   **

   The Steltian chief spoke with Boros as he oversaw the work. “As you can see, we lead an isolated life. We’re laborers for Vortixx weapon manufacturers. It’s a tough existence, but we get by, and so long as we do our work well, we’re left alone.” “Is your work here important?” “Relatively speaking. The ore we dig out is used in many of Xia’s weapons, but this isn’t the only deposit, though it is one of the largest. If Xia lost the colony they’d be facing some problems. But we’re skilled in fighting as well as mining, so we’re not defenseless. We can protect this place, though so far there has been no need to do so.” Boros only nodded. “By the way, what would be your price? I don’t suppose you work for free, do you?” Boros smiled. “For the time being, we’d be content with an audience and a place to stay the night.” “Good. We can provide both.”

   **

   It was late in the evening, after the workers had all finished their work, and the Matoran sat on a small platform facing a large courtyard. In front of them were gathered the entirety of the workers in this island, which, unknown to its inhabitants, had recently become the target of Dark Hunter operations. Boros and his companions, however, were aware of the situation. They were too aware. Wordlessly, they began to play. The three were Matoran of Sonics, so their ears were extremely sensitive. It had taken them years to become accustomed to normal speech levels, and even longer to master their instruments. They were simple, relatively crude flutes. However, the music they played was neither crude nor simple; they played a complex, mesmerizing piece, a masterful sound that resounded through the night. Every person present was caught up in the music. They were too caught up, in fact, to notice when Boros and his two companions, slipped small devices over their ears and attached a sleek, square device to the end of their flutes. In one last movement, the three blew into their flutes to the full of their capacities. The special Xian devices they had used in conjunction with their flutes recalibrated the sound into a special frequency, which hit the Steltians in full force. The courtyard was then full with many, many unconscious bodies. The three were content. The unfortunate Steltians would most likely lose their jobs, but they would live. The courtyard was relatively far from the mines and storage rooms, far from the Dark Hunters’ path. There would be no confrontation. They had been doing this for some time, trying to figure out the Hunter’s goal and preventing it from escalating into a battle. Sometimes they were successful, other times, they were not. Today they could be glad that they had saved a few souls with their music. It was all they could do. -------

2. Spiriah's Symphony Again, the pounding rhythm in her ears was threatening to split her head in two. For as long as she could remember, the beat had been with her. Of course, it hadn’t always been so torturous and agonizing. Before, it had only been a nuisance, with the squabbling of everyday life enough to drown it out. The soft, melodious chatter in the market used to play as a background. The varying patterns of thumping footsteps entering and milling about her shop used to syncopate most elegantly with her own rhythm. Resonating tenors and sweet contralto used to swirl about her, harmonizing in pleasant accompaniment. The wind used to mosey on in through her open shop windows, humming a carefree tune, tickling the curtains into laughing some days. Back then, the song that she lived in was peaceful and harmonious. And then Makuta Spiriah came to Zakaz. Cursed Makuta Spiriah had distorted her gentle lullaby into Karzahni’s own twisted symphony. No longer was the cadence inside of her steady and reliable. Now it hammered erratically and cracked like some ghastly kind of thunder, always trying to pound its way out of her head. Even over time, the dreadful new throbbing didn’t subside. Once she realized that it wouldn’t go away, or get any better, decided to go on living live as she always had; finding music in everyday tasks to accompany the tempo. But it was very clear that her old life was not enough to satiate the new rhythm. One day in the shop, one empty day, and she had almost been overwhelmed by the pounding monster inside her mind, deaf to anything else. She lived alone, and she used to be solitary and content by nature. But there was nobody to stop her when she started going out and experimenting with different ways to try and drown out, or at the very least, make peace with her new rhythm. Arrows thudding into flesh, clubs crunching protosteel armor, bones being snapped over her knee, and extremities crushed beneath her stomping feet now played in counter to her beat. Swords ringing on armor and maces screaming through the air threw their respective notes into the din. And on really and truly horrible days, like today, when the thrashing in her head threatened her sanity, the only vocals that could complete this new song, the only vocals powerful and worthy enough to soothe the beat within here were the agonized screams and final, howling curses of the enemies she’d made over the recent years. All of this was now contained in a day’s work, a day’s musical and glorious work. After a job well done, the repulsive, echoing beat of her empty heart was just a bit calmer in her ears. -------
3. Sing The rising sun’s rays painted the trees with streaks of red. They turned their leaves toward the sky in gratitude as a stiff breeze flowed among them, greeting each and every plant and animal in its winding path. The period of silence between midnight and dawn, when both nocturnal and diurnal Rahi slumbered, remained only for a minute more; then the first birdcall rang to the distance like a fervently rung bell, and slowly, the jungle of Le-Wahi drew itself from semiconsciousness. Small birds were the first to awaken; their shrill melodies joined and intertwined, stirring the hearts of those still sleeping. The raucous cries of Brakas monkeys began soon after — they were intermittent, but their contribution to the forest eidos was nevertheless indefeasible. Minutes passed. A Gukko called out as it skimmed the treetops. Ground-locked Fikou spiders continued their silent work, apathetic to their environment. The signature pok-pok-pok of a Pokawi reverberated in the chill-tinged air, soon intermingled with the harsh buzzing of distant Nui-Rama and Nui-Kopen searching for food. A rustle told of the appearance of Ash Bears, or perhaps Ussal crabs; one could not know which. Melodious twittering soared above all other sounds. The jungle did not take notice. Beauty was intrinsic to its ecosystem. Why should it notice of something so obviously meant to be? The melody throbbed with energy as more voices joined the choir. No time signature, no tempo, no clear rhythm... and yet it was somehow more real than a song with structure. Perhaps there was a structure, just one so complex, so undeniably vast that no Matoran could ever hope to replicate its beauty. There was, however, another possibility: With such beauteous tonality, was structure required at all? A small bird hopped from one tree branch to another. Its breast was white, its wings and back light gray segueing into a mottled light and dark gray on the bird’s scalp. It canted its head and opened its beak. The melody burst forth with surprising ardor. Perhaps the little bird lived for its song; the jungle was privy in regards to its priorities. Again the bird leaped; its dainty weight barely shook the branch upon which it landed. Its high, throaty vibrato was perchance more palpable than its mass. From a distance, another bird let out a similar call. The first bird responded and spread its wings, crouching to better leap off the branch— Twang. The arrow that pierced its chest pushed the bird sideways. It tumbled through the air before landing out-of-sight amongst the undergrowth. It would sing no more. The Le-Matoran Tamaru lowered his bow and inclined his head before retrieving his meal-to-be. ------
4. The Lone Performer ~~~ Baldo took a deep breath in and surveyed the landscape. Here on Bara Magna, he could see almost to the horizon, with the occasional sand dune and mountain range cutting through the sight. He was at peace up here, in his secret place. It was a tall natural spire of stone, jutting at such an angle as to be climbable, and it even flattened out at the top. He still remembered the day he saw it, when he had been riding with some other Agori on a trade caravan and suddenly the great thing had been in view. The others took no notice of it, but he saw it for what it was; a podium, a perfect stage to perform. Back before the Shattering, he was a well-known singer and dancer, and he was of high renown throughout the land. He had stayed out of the War, but he was limited by his tribal colours as to where he could perform. He mostly stayed in his home province, under the banner of the Ice Lord, but he would sometimes creep to other lands to give secret performances to his loving fans. Even now, years on, his heart beat faster as he recalled walking out in the guise of another realm’s colours, and passing by fearsome guards that were only a hair’s breadth from recognising him and having him captured or worse. The Fire Lord caught up with him though, in the middle of the war. His light feet were good for more than just dancing, and his clear voice was well-suited to things other than song. He became a scout, hunting for the enemy’s position and racing back to report. It had been a dreary existence then; the others had laughed at him as he tried to practice his routine; the beings now known as Glatorian were sometimes rude enough to demand he dance to the tune of their laughing, sarcastic ditties. That said, he had respect for some such as the warrior Certavus, who would quietly request songs from home, sitting and listening with a sad look in his eyes. And then, when the world shattered with a rumble and an ear-splitting crack, Baldo was left on the desert planet. He still served as a scout, though for a different purpose; he kept an eye out at night for Vorox and bone hunters and other such creatures; occasionally he’d travel with merchants, as he had grown practiced at spotting danger before it spotted him. He had always felt alone, ever since he was brought into the war. He missed the crowds, the admiring fans, the awed silence of a full theatre. Now, all he had was the hissing winds and burning sun. He walked to the centre of the plateau and closed his eyes, taking his position. In his mind, he told himself this was his big moment, and the entire village was watching with bated breath. He opened his eyes. He was on the stage. A thousand faces glowed at him, eager for the performance. He danced, fast, sweeping movements that flew like a sandstorm. He sang, proud and strong, of the hope of a better tomorrow. He smiled. -------

[Ballom Nom Nom]

Voted for number one, as it is still quite an interesting take on the theme.~B~

[fishers64]

All of these are excellent, but 3 stood out to me.

[Legolover-361]

I self-voted. Regardless, the other entries were deftly written -- Entry 1 featured an intriguing plot, and both Entry 2 and Entry 4 showcased good writing.

[Velox]

It was between 2 and 3 for me, but in the end I went with #3.

Edited June 14, 2012 by Velox

[Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa]

I liked #2 and #3 for the way they both integrated music into their writing, and #4 was a nice story, but I liked #1 best for its creative interpretation. Personally, I'm not looking for the writer who adhered best to the theme in these polls but who worked most creatively within its confines.

From the desk of Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

[Excelsior]

I voted for 2.-Excelsior

[Grantaire]

3.

[Velox]

Polling period over; poll closed.