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S E N J A ' S . T A L E

Senja was very upset. Being pregnant was fine, she’d gotten used to that; but now her world was crumbling! The Obans had finally marched; and they were marching on Neued! Even worse was that Rastian had left! Not permanently… at least his letter made it seem like he’d come back. But he was supposed to be here, be with her or at least offer to take her with him!
But no…. he had to just go and see to his crazy family on the very eve of battle while she was stuck in a city with no walls and no army to defend it! Sure there were warriors aplenty; in fact she’d never seen the city so active before, but it was no army. Not like the army that had been beaten just a few months ago. It was hunters, people from nearby who’d come to try and stave off the inevitable. They weren’t even planning to do more than hold the Obans here while they evacuated as many people as possible out of the city.

When she’d heard of this plan, Senja had volunteered her Mammu, Shilea to aide in taking people out. Being so large and so pale, poor Shilea would stand out badly in the jungle so there was no way she could escape without notice... unless there was a distraction somehow! Which was what was planned. Keep the Obans stalled in a street fight while the people escaped.

Senja wished she and her family had headed the warnings and left earlier… but she and many others had thought the army would not come here and so had stayed when they should have fled.
At first everything had gone to plan… then their caravan had run into an Oban company trying to sneak around to attack Neued from behind. The only warning they had was the nervousness of the animals before the Oban’s swarmed out from the heavy ground cover. Normally the Shifters would flee through the tree tops… but this caravan was filled with old, young, and wounded who could not do so.
In the sounds of battle, screams and clash of weapons, Shilea bucked and tried to avoid the incoming rain of arrows. Senja, off balance as she was trying to adjust a strap on Shilea’s saddle, was thrown off.

She cried out as she was thrown; the thick undergrowth slowed her, but not enough and she gave a whimper as she lay on the ground, her side hurting. A rough hand reached down to grab her shoulder, pulling the startled Senja up and away from the caravan. A startled cry escaped as she tried to struggle and escape the strong grip of the Oban soldier. But a dancer, athletic though she was, did not have the strength to break free from a seasoned warrior and Senja was dragged away, the sight and sound of the battle fading away as she and others were captured and taken prisoner.

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I met a young boy who I had been captive with... a sweet boy who's very typical 'don't wanna follow adults advice' sort of boy.... also very sweet and gentle! I wonder if we will meet again? I'd love to hear his story in a few years!

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with BarAmal, meets some matori with him and will try to get him to help fix the house! Or carry her stuff from shopping

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Sakhile is born!
Counts as a versatile RP point (PRP or Solo)

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Rp with fleade~

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Senja sat on the stage, her stool set next to and slightly in front of her brother Kumea’s drums. They were seated behind the dancing platform, illuminated so the audience could see them, but not in the way of clashing with the performers below. She was using a new instrument called an Erhu, a small delicate object capable of singing out achingly sweet tones or dancing fiendishly fast. Well, it wasn’t new per say… just that Senja had finally gotten her hands on one! She had seen them in the Wind tribe and wanted one but hadn’t been able to snag it while she’d been in Sauti. Rastian, sweet Rastian, had heard her talking about it and gotten one delivered just for her! She and the rest of the theater had spent the last month learning its sounds and composing for it… Since it was hers, though, she got to perform with it! So until they got another (which her father was busy trying to get several of) she was the only one who would perform! Normally she wouldn’t mind sharing… but this was her hubby’s gift to her!

The instrument was something the theater adored; something versatile and could be used to flesh out those sad scenes or used for happy ones! They now had variety in the sounds they could use for solemn or sad songs… something that wasn’t a deep toned instrument!
Today they were going to perform with it for the first time; a slow dance, one in memory of all the fallen in battle where Oban had invaded… and it would be for all sides, not just the Tendajians.

A sorcerer dimmed the lights, stoned imbued with magic so as not to risk fire in the theater, and the dancer below them bowed to the crowd and posed; ready to begin.

In the silence, Senja picked up her bow and began to play; soft, sad notes eerily cascaded out; gentle and yet piercing she began to play. Slowly the dancer moved; her limbs slow and elegant, the veils and ribbons she wore dark against the pale night skin of the shifter.

“Boom…. Boom…. Boom” The soft beats of the drum joined Seja’s slow music. Countering the sweet higher notes with it’s deep beat; the drum set the dancer’s pace and mimicked the pace mourners would keep in a funeral.

Gently the other musicians picked up their instruments as the other dancers slid on to the stage like graceful shadows to join the wraith like sadness of the starting dancer.

Senja slid her bow up the long thin neck of the Erhu, caressing out higher notes as the sounds of the Ajaengs and flutes joined in.

Soft, mourning, and gentle. A song of memory, a song of passing they played as the dancers danced about like birds and leaves in the wind; grief in their movements. Today ws not a day for lively dances or happy music; today was a day to mourn… and Senja and the rest on stage were here to help ease the hearts of the audience, let those tears out and hopefully ease some of the pain.

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Senja finished her weekly solo performance with a flourish; her erhu sweetly wailing before fading into silence. Applause followed, the audience being mostly adults there to enjoy the musical pieces presented by Crystal Theatre every morning. She smiled and gave a light curtsey before trotting off. It had been a good performance, a solid one. Not something that left an audience in tears or stunned by its beauty… but she was working up to that! It was far easier to do so with a group, drums softly pounding in the back, a lyre accompanying her erhu’s sweet tones and emphasizing it to really bring out the best in the instrument. But she always liked the way it sounded alone, soft sweet trills surround by silence…

Her ajaeng worked the same way, though she had reduced an audience to tears with that one by herself! She smiled at that memory; it had been a magical night for her. Everything had just… fit. The instrument sang beneath her hands under the moonlight, the soft breeze rustling the leaves all around had simply been magical… perfect. I will find that again with my erhu! She thought determinedly; and maybe my pipes…. That moment on stage, with the music filling her ears and thrumming through her veins, was what she loved most. You could get the same feeling with dancing; when the music took over and you danced at its call… and she had done so. But she loved creating the music more; and as the years passed she was happy with her decision to set aside dancing except for small pieces or helping teach classes to focus on her instruments and composing. Humming softly to herself, she sashayed through the walkway behind the open air theater where she and others performed on nice mornings before people resting in the trees all around. The walkway was much like the rest of Crystal Theater’s balconies and connecting walkways; pale reddish brown wooden planks with slightly darker reddish brown thin columns holding up the leafy cover. Vines twined down each pole, small pale white flowers blooming along them and releasing their sweet scent into the air. Transplanted naturally glowing crystals were placed at the base of each pole, to light the way during the night.

At a small round intersection where other paths met up from other theaters, she stopped to lean against the railing and looked around at her family’s Theater. A bench, carved by her brother, stood near her, looking out over the tree houses and the branch roads and below you could see the houses and street on the ground below. The Theater sprawled over four main large jungle trees, the main stage and amphitheater sitting in the largest and middle tree, built of dark brown local woods, sanded and stained to withstand the daily rains of the jungle and roofed with the light red wood matching the walkways. Stairs twining up the four trees could be seen, with vines wrapping about the hand rains and the same pale glowing crystals placed along them to guide people up into the trees. Above the theater was her house and the houses of her family and others who worked at the theatre. For her family the war had been good to them; it had finally pushed them into rebuilding the failing old theatre and brought in new customers and life to the quiet old city of Neued…. Life came out of death, and her Theater was proof of that. She smiled and continued on, walking down one of the stairs to reach the main theatre and her personal stage room and study. Awaiting her was a vase of flowers; she always came back to find someone had left her gifts after a performance. Nowhere near the amount of flowers and presents that the dancers got though! She smirked at that; she had seen one of the more beautiful main performers come back to a room so filled she could barely get in! It is nice to be appreciated, she thought as she smelled the bouquet. Of course... there was also the ‘gift’ from Sakhile, her son. She chuckled when she saw the captured Illo in a jar.

“Why does he always give me the small crawly bugs?”

She wondered out loud before walking to the window and letting the poor worm go. She changed out of her long performing clothes and washed off most of the makeup, putting on her preferred clothing; tight enough to be comfortable climbing trees in, but with the small pair of shorts having a ‘skirt’ with panels of flower petal shapes. It was cute and comfortable; the way she liked it! Also skimpy and showed off her figure; another things she liked! Just because she was married and had a kid did not mean she had to stop dressing this way at all! With her morning performance done, but still wanting to play more music, she instead took her ajaeng’s case and hefted it over a shoulder, grunting at the weight. She should really practice with her erhu… but she wanted to play the deep beautiful tones of the ajaeng rather than the sweet light chimes of the erhu. She walked up into the trees, away from where people lived; not wanting to disturb anyone but wanting to play surrounded by the sounds of nature.
She reached her normal spot; a small alcove within a tree trunk, widened and made smooth for her purpose by her brothers. It was a perfect place to play out of the sun and rain…. which, she noticed by the darkening skies, it was going to do son. Good, I will have background sounds to play to! She tuned her ajaeng, waiting for the rains to come. When she heard the first light drops hit she began to pull her bow across the strings, half crouched over the instrument to allow her small frame to reach the end of the strings.
She played a love song, a sweet song of waiting and yearning. She’d written it and perfected it over the years,; it was for her son Sakhile. The feelings she had while pregnant, the soft warm feelings of motherhood, were put into this song. It started off low and gentle, slow as the feelings had been. The notes long and thrumming before speeding up, gently and slowly. Her song danced through the air, blending with the sound of the rain, changing to match its pace, wrapping nature into the music and making them one.

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Sitting above her alcove, hidden beneath a small shelter made of leaves, sat an oban man. He came out here often at this time, taking a break from his work to sit and enjoy nature. He’d heard her playing and had started to come back to this spot more often, always waiting to see if the musician would show up and play again. He sat with his back against the tree trunk, resting with eyes half closed as he enjoyed the private performance. He always wondered who she was, but didn’t approach because he didn’t want her to stop playing… also he had a serious case of hots for her and was nervous about approaching her. Next time, he thought as he heard the song end, next time I’ll go down and ask who she is. Ask who she writes these soulful songs for… why some are so sad while others so full of life.

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Senja was lost in her music, when the song ended, she simply kept on playing, stroking the strings with the bow, plucking them with a finger when the mood hit her, simply letting the music flow out. Later when she was done, she would write what she’d played and see if she could remember it, but for now it was simply a time to enjoy the music and let it speak through her.

When she felt empty and the inspiration left, she ended her song and sat back with a sigh, massaging her back. The ajaeng was always awkward to play for long hours! It did keep her stomach muscles fit at least! She sat back and pulled out some parchment and began to scribble down the notes she remembered, wanting to get some of them down now while it was still with her. Later this evening, back at home, she would replay it, trying to recreate the parts she forgot and changing it until she felt it was good enough to show to the others and get feedback. The rain lightened slightly and she packed up her stuff, grateful for the waterproof case of the ajaeng as she headed back home. Above her the man stirred and raised a hand and almost called out, but stopped and sighed as she vanished into the rain. His eyes stared for a moment longer before he shook his head and ran an hand through his hair. He too stood up and left, heading in the opposite direction, back to work his questions unanswered, wanting to know the small beautiful women but too nervous to approach.