Music Poll: Howard Shore

[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 10th at 3:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Music Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 12th round preliminary poll.

• [*]The Musician The chronicler spoke to the Turaga, of the strange, yet utterly beautiful, event he had witnessed all those years ago. He had failed to mention the mysterious songs in those long texts and records he had written, for he was never quite certain if what he had experienced was real, or if it was some apparition created by his mind as he lay, helpless and lost, in the vast, unconquered realm of nature. Now he knew that what he heard was true, for he had met the Musician once again, her notes still as beautiful, perfect, as they were before, her voice as strong as the wind, yet gentle like the stream that ran yonder, a sad cry of a wolf, yet more energetic than a meadow decorated with the boldest of flowers; and she still played the instrument, what a beautiful thing! As she puffed into the flute of branches and grass and plucked the strings of nature, an otherworldly sound resonated in the hearts of the listeners, and when that instrument was combined with her euphonious tones and astonishing vocals, it transcended the very nature of music. Afraid, despite his acquired descriptive skills, that he would be unable to portray the preternatural qualities of the Musician, the chronicler began his account of the night, thousands of years past, that he met the Musician. "I lay between two rocks, cowering from the unseen, from the darkness that surrounded me; the stars shone, the brightest I had ever seen them, for there were no lightstones for Kio around. I heard the sound of Rahi deep within the shadowed forest, imagining the most foul monsters. This unknown, uncharted territory had me quivering, the very prospect of spending the night without a roof, above my head, without a foundation beneath my feet, terrified me beyond reason; there was nothing, or so I thought, that could alleviate the horrors of this situation. "Curling up between the two rocks, I resigned myself to the night, hoping for no more than a few winks of sleep. Then I heard something, it sounded as if it came from the far off mountains; my first though was that it was a Rahi wolf, howling to it's pack about the vulnerable prey that I was; but it changed, the voice grew, echoing through the mountains, rustling the leaves: it was the wind whistling through the branches, between blades of grass - no, now it was the stream that gurgled over the smoothed pebbles, then it was a bird, singing the last notes before it slept, soon replaced by the hoots of an owl. Then it began to fade away, until all I heard were it's echoes, until all I felt was an inner calm that I had never felt before. "Upon awakening the next morning, I could hear that supernatural voice once again, could feel the Musician's breath against my cheek as she whispered in my ear, feel the strings of her instrument beneath my feet: the blades of grass that swayed so gently in the wind. The bubbly song of the stream was intoxicating, the choir birds sang, whistled, tweeted their joyful songs, and at last I met the Musician in person, or rather in all her forms: for she was Nature herself, the lucent stream that flowed over the pebbles, the cool breeze that swayed the trees. "Today I met her again, the Musician, as I walked the forest path over yonder; heard her play once again, her voice sweet as ever, and I hope that someday you will attend the Musician's concert too." -------[*]Jungle Rhythm The sun rose over the trees spread below me, the stars disappearing like drying tears. Only the clouds of the fluffiest mien drifted across the resplendent sky. The jungle leaves shimmered with the sun's golden rays. The Kohu and Kewa rose from their roosts, circling upward into the sunshine and greeting the day with lighthearted song. The morn was of a beauty unparalleled, steeped in a joy long forgotten to me. It brought warmth to my heart and a smile to my face, carrying my woes away on the breeze. I sat for some minutes on my high perch, watching the jungle waken to the day. The chorus of the jungle burst into a melody I had not noticed for a long time. It filled me with an energy I could not describe. From the Gukko's soprano to the Ash Bear's baritone it was a cadence that compelled me to clap along to the beat. When I had heard my fill I descended the Nui-Kao, weaving through its canopy alongside the Fikou and Brakas. With agility and skill I ran from branch to branch, descending them with the ease of a flight of stairs. In the shadows of the trees Kavinika prowled among the roots and underbrush, being themselves hunted, perhaps, by Muaka on a final pursuit before taking to their nests for the day. I brachiated among the boughs and vines. I called out to each Rahi in passing and they called back. I whispered to the trees. I felt the identity of every rock and stone, every river and stream, every tree and shrub. I was in a harmonization with the jungle that I had thought I lost. I was again the jungle. And the rhythm persisted. It would rise to a crescendo before calming to a soft, steady refrain that insisted I emulate vocally. I descanted:

"A-wimoweh, a-wimoweh, a-wimoweh, a-wimoweh. A-wimoweh, a-wimoweh, a-wimoweh, a-wimoweh."

I paused on a branch to allow a bevy of Taku to fly past. Instead they decided to alight in the same tree as I. One bird landed upon my shoulder by accident and, giving a squak of surprise, prepared to flee. But I reassured it with a coo, smoothing its ruffled feathers with a dexterously applied hand. It responded with a cheerful trill. That evening I lay beside my favorite pool, watching the Lightning Bugs buzz about overhead, their light reflecting off the pond's gently rippling surface. A beautiful day was giving way to beautiful twilight, obfuscating the shadows and splashing the sky with rapidly evolving hues. The tune was beginning to calm and soften, but it thrummed on dulcetly. Birds, preparing to retire for the night, lent their song to the melody. But louder over them I heard the baritone yowls of prowling Muaka. I lyricized:

"In the jungle, the mighty jungle, The Muaka prowls tonight. In the jungle, the peaceful jungle, The Muaka prowls tonight."

Soon twilight would give way to the night, and the moon would shine down like the eye of a nocturnal hunter. And I would prowl alongside every one of them, beneath each star, among the roots of each tree. While the music of the night lulled the diurnal into their sleep, I would revel in the nocturne of the darkness. Day and night, I was the jungle. Day and night, this was my home. This was my world. Dirges and laments had no place in the repertoire of the jungle. This was my lilt. I was its tune and it was mine. I am and always will be Kaomata--Spirit of the Trees. -------[*]The Slave and her Music Up and down, back and forth. The hammers rose and fell in synchronization to satisfy the will of the Skrall slavers. Lihaka struggled to keep in the good graces of her vile masters, lest they decide she was incapable of performing her assigned duties. In that case, her life would no longer hold value to them… and that was a possibility she’d rather not consider. She had been enslaved during the most recent wave. The Skrall had requested that their slaver contact, Sahmad, bring back Ice Tribe Agori that would be able to work on the exterior of the mountain mines, where punishing frigid winds might prove too much for the average Agori. She was one of the first Ice Tribe victims. Lihaka was slowly going insane; she was fairly certain of that. The stress that was caused by being a slave of the Skrall eventually took a toll on anyone’s state of mind. She held onto one thing, though: a little tune, a favorite piece of music that her friend used to play her. He was a Water Tribe Agori. He had a beautiful wind instrument fashioned out of a sturdy reed he’d found in a spring on Water Tribe territory. Every time she left Iconox on business in Water Tribe territory, he would play her the same tune. It was sublime to listen to. The melody caused your mind to conjure up images of a beautiful world where waves still lapped on shorelines and plants and animals flourished rather than shriveled under the sun’s unforgiving heat. A world like they said Spherus Magna had once been like. According to him, the tune was ancient. Perhaps it went back to those times. And here she was now, braving the perilous slopes of mountains that lied even further north than the Black Spike Range. There was a fairly good chance she would never hear that music ever again, but it was impossible to deracinate the tune from its home in her head. When the mining labor became insufferable, that wondrous piece of music would come to mind and offer welcome reprieve as she became numb to the world around her, lost within her mind. When there was nothing to drive her to continue onwards, she told herself that she was one day going to break free – one day the chance would come, and then she would go straight into the heart of the Water Tribe’s land and hear him play that tune once again. It was the only impetus Lihaka could call upon: the hope for a future where she might have the chance to once again hear the music - once again let her mind conjure up those images of a beautiful world that no longer exists. If Lihaka hoped to avoid going mad, she had to dream, dream of a world better than the cruel one she lived in. And so she dreamed of the music… ------- [*]Dirge ••••• Death and life. Both were facts of the world. Heroes came and went, villains were the same. The average Matoran lived the average life, worked his job, met with friends. This went onwards for centuries, until something brought him to his end, whence unfortunate circumstances caused his heart-light to blink out. The funeral dirge echoed eerily over the dunes of Po-Koro. It was only fitting that the death of the village’s greatest musician was honored by a full, solemn orchestra. Drusteph had been a pioneer on Mata Nui, introducing the island to music that they had never before heard. Whether he played the violin with a rock or composed a piano piece involving sawing the strings, he was a brilliant Matoran. He used water wheels to create electricity–without the help of a Toa!–which he channeled into oddly shaped instruments that created previously unheard sounds. This orchestra consisted of his friends, his followers, and his enemies. Yes, even those who were against his music. The ones who opposed Drusteph the most played most passionately at the ceremony of his death. He was their opponent, he was the one upon which they placed the blame of the wild actions of the day. Yet, in spite of their dislike, they could not say that the Matoran lacked skill. Drusteph was the life of Mata Nui, he was the power behind happiness. He brightened the days with his magical music, his sorcery of sonic and electric energy. He was simultaneously the Matoran that discovered unnatural electricity and the father of music using the energy. The orchestra’s piece, incorporating more somber elements of the music, reached its end, and not a dry eye was in the massive procession. Drusteph was laid with his first instrument in a mausoleum dedicated to his legacy. The carving around his coffin were ornate, filled with bright designs that he would have wanted. The funeral would have been almost too solemn for the hero of Po-Koro were it not for these cheerful designs. As the second orchestral piece began, the mood quickly brightened. Life was to keep going, and the music of Drusteph was still there. The distinct electronic noises echoed over the dunes, and though tears were still present, joy was felt in the hearts of the gathered Matoran. The music kept going after dusk, moving back to the village. Villagers from every Koro joined in the celebration of life, the song that was no longer a dirge, the music of Drusteph that was there, invigorating them and pushing them onwards. -------[*]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. -------

[Toa of Dancing]

4, because I support myself. XD

[Ballom Nom Nom]

Four, I suppose. Although, overall, none of the entries really stood out to me.~B~

[Excelsior]

Tough choice between 2 and 3, but I went with 2.-Excelsior

Edited June 9, 2012 by Excelsior

[fishers64]

I'm going with 5; 4 struck me as a dry history...2 was nice, I guess...

[Velox]

#3, I s'pose. And polling period over; poll closed.

Edited June 10, 2012 by Velox