musingminstrel-blog1 - Tumblr blog

[musingminstrel-blog1]

Resigned for personal reasons/lack of muse. Thanks to those I got to write with while I was here. Best of luck!

[musingminstrel-blog1]

musingminstrel:

ofwildbarefoot:

his breath was all he could hear as he continued to swing his sword at the dummy, striking the hay with different movements at different positions. most of the time he did this when he needed to let out steam, or get his mind off things- yet jonas felt calm as the ocean ever since he has arrived at palais foncé. this time, this was simply out of pure enjoyment and freedom. 

his forearm started to ache from the few hours he has been participating in this hobby and how it has been a few months since he has picked up a sword due to having to take care of the business from his fathers passing. a heavy breath escaped his lounges as he dropped his arm and stepped away from the dummy. although he thought he was alone, he soon learned he was not as the boy noticed a body close to the door.  ❝     would you like to join? a partner would be more enjoyable than the hay.     ❞  a smile rested on his face as he ran his fingers through his messy hair and placed his sword on the table so he could drink the wine resting next to it.

Enzo had found his way out into the training grounds, drawn ever nearer by the sound of steel plinking against wood and hay. The other male’s form wasn’t half bad, but it was clear he hadn’t been with a sword for long. He lacked the artful finesse of someone who knew how to make the piece of steel a lethal weapon. It was an unwieldy swinging, formless in nature and reliant on the strength of his arms instead of his entire body. His labored breathing told that he lacked the breath control and stamina, or that he had at least been at this for several hours. 

When the other would address his presence he would make his way closer, his brilliant estoc hanging loosely at his hip. He still harbored some anger about his lost instrument from the night before, perhaps a quick bout with this boy would prove a decent outlet for those extra emotions. He noted that the boy was in full gear, but still took the precaution of placing a guard on the tip of his blade. “Tell me boy, are you familiar with  épée rules? No face, or throat. Body shots count for a single point, limbs for two. First to ten wins.” He said a light prayer, even crossing himself; It would be clear that this man fought for a living once, he conducted the proceedings with an almost traditional approach. He set the standard distance between them and raised into his en garde stance. “Draw when ready.”   

[musingminstrel-blog1]

kinglxrenzo:

Lorenzo was tired of the back and forth that he was subjected to here. He missed Italy terribly, yes there were things here he enjoyed but his home is where he wanted to be. It was nearly sunset when he managed to sneak away from his meeting. He found a quiet place outside got out his sketchbook and got comfortable. He was sitting by the flowers, surely not a place for a king to be at a time like this but he wanted some time to himself. He was sketching out something when he heard someone approaching. “It seems like my hiding spot isn’t as good as i thought it was.” He said with a chuckle before looking up at the person.

In truth sometimes the palais was even a bit too much for the wildly bard that trounced about the grounds playing away at his music at nearly every possible moment. Save for the early break of morning, he saved that time to prepare himself to deal with the troves of people that now flocked to a land that was once so free and open. It now felt densely cluttered with people that didn’t even desire to be there. The idea of someone not enjoying his homeland was absolutely insulting to the french man and all the worse, he had been handed down orders from the nobility of France to play songs that would also make their guests feel welcomed. This was after all one of the things that set him apart from nearly every other bard on the planet; He knew nearly every written language and could compose in each beautifully, but as he rounded the garden he saw a face that none of that ever seemed to help with. Irritation. Of course he could have simply turned and went about his business, but what sort of respecting bard would allow someone with so much emotion masked under such a boring facade to sit idle? No, he was intent on cracking through that warding exterior to figure out what motivated the leadership of Ireland.

 “On the contrary Your Majesty, this spot is one of the best around if you are trying to get away from the droll of the palais life. You are just unlucky that this happened to be my favorite spot as well. The bees around the flowers keep away most of the fancy folk and they never once complain about my music.”  To most it would be obvious he was no mere bard, he spoke too affluently; as if he was trained specifically in the art of words and as he gave the king his name he would undoubtedly notice the name of a popular Exporter/Merchant family; The Sauvageaus. “Enzo Baptiste Sauvageau; at your service. I must know though, why does a king such as yourself feel the need to break away from the eyes of adoring troves of people. A foreign king certainly gets his fair share of attention right? I imagine they’d bring you wine to your quarters even. So why this place? Does the scent remind you of Dublin? I hear the flowers there bloom year round? I have only been once or twice myself the rolling green hills were...” he shook his head lightly and let his eyes drift closed. “Perfect.”   

[musingminstrel-blog1]

clcras:

             Like so many afflictions, boredom grew more prominent with time. She had begun to feel like a caged bird, the iron gilded to appear more beautiful, yet it was no less confining. Nimble fingers plucked delicate petals from the bloom caught betwixt her fingers, each silken segment wilting beneath her touch. If not for the thousands of flowers which decorated the landscape, the princess could’ve been accused of ruining the garden.  It felt selfish to complain of her own restlessness, when there was still a breath in her body. 

The princess flinched when a bee flew around her, attracted to the scent of the flora she had been holding. She began to shuffle, attempting to dodge the pesky insect when she turned to see another nearby. ‘  There was a bee,   ’  she explained, smoothing out her gown.

A bubbling chuckle approached the scene, imagine how strange the sight must have been for someone used to seeing her kind on fancy thrones and done up to be seen as proper and flawless before their subjects. Without so much as a word to the woman though he reached out and closed his hands around the buzzing yellow nuisance, he carried the small creature over to a nearby batch of flowers rife with nectar so it would leave the princess be. His touch must have been incredibly gentle as to not crush the bee or drive it to sting his palm. “They’re familiar with me, My music has just as much of an affect on them as it does the guest of our lovely palais. Sorry my little friend gave you a scare, but I’m glad you didn’t skip straight to swatting him with the paper. A gentle and kind ruler is often admired after all, Your highness. Oh! Forgive me, I am Enzo Baptiste Sauvageau; resident bard of these grounds.” He bowed deeply from his waist; showing his respect for not only her title, but her consideration to not simply kill the bee to be rid of it. He chuckled again in that teasing tone, “And apparently the local beekeeper as well.” 

[musingminstrel-blog1]

thronebounds:

It is a universally-known fact that all men are breakable when pressured well enough. Kiernan seemed untroubled throughout the summit with his impish winks and roguish smiles, but these were merely means of misdirecting gossiping eyes from his inner turmoil. His dying countrymen, the impending fall of the crown hanging above his head, threats to demolish the monarchy, the growing need to find the most politically beneficial wife – they were all keeping him from sleeping, forming heavy bags under his eyes, threatening to break his mind. Whenever the palace was asleep, he would sometimes slip under the shadows to raise a bottle of wine up the stars. Tonight was one of those nights. He was lying on the ground, an arm cushioning the back of his head, when he all of a sudden heard a pair of footsteps crunching the grass. His alarms went off when the bright moonlight revealed a familiar face. “Good evenin’.”

It seemed as if more and more the people around the palais began to recognize him. Some because of his family’s immense influence over the markets, others for his musical prowess; This young man though caught Enzo’s eye from a ways off. As if to announce his approach he plucked several of the strings of his lute; filling the night air with a light and whimsical tune as his boots crackled against the foliage beneath them.  Enzo was a master at reading troves of people at once, so when he was brought into one on one situations he often analyzed the smallest details of a person’s face for tells and other things that would prove interesting to a man of the people. Enzo however was no drunkard, he carried with him only a single half empty glass of wine that he only seldom sipped from. “One of those nights,  Your Highness?” A prince, that’s what the boy was, he remembered now from a time when he performed in a court at Dublin. One of his better performances in his professional opinion, though he did pompously consider each of his works to be artistically masterful. He motioned to the wine they both sipped from, “Things have gotten tense lately. As a man of music, I feel like it’s my duty to capture the hearts of the masses. Though what kind of fool would make music about times like these?” He scoffed a bit, “Who am I kidding? A prince probably feels like a suffocating title right about now, Bonne chance with that mon ami.” 

[musingminstrel-blog1]

Hello everyone! I know my activity has been a bit dodgy while I try to get back into the swing of things on tumblr (It’s been a few months and things have changed significantly.) So please bare with any rust that has built up on these gears of mine. You can all call me Sawyer and if by chance you ever find yourself with need of some musical mischief in your life my boy Enzo has all of it you could ever need and more. In the meantime though feel free to swing by and introduce yourselves or sit back and wait for me to come to you; I’m working on making my rounds right now so if I flood the dash a bit it’s only because I am eager to interact with you all and learn new things about the characters you all portray. I hope together that we can eventually create beautifully detailed works that inspire us!

[musingminstrel-blog1]

nikotova:

Nikolai kicked at a pile of rubble, his hands twisted in front of him. The whole situation made the boy Prince rather anxious. If they had not been in quarantine, would the rebels have harmed them? It was an uncomfortable thought to think about. But for now, Nikolai had to deal with the damage already done. Some of his things had been stolen, of course. Most of his keepsakes from his homeland. It upset the boy, as he was already homesick enough. Now he didn’t have anything to remind him of Russia, besides his siblings. At the sound of a booming voice, the blond boy looked up. The French hit his ears aggresively, and Nikolai could only murmur a response in Russian. “Сэр, пожалуйста,” he said, shaking his head. His dark eyes widened. “Your instrument was stolen? My sincerest apologies,” The Prince said, his words genuine. It would be awful to have something so prized taken from you. However at the man’s next words, Nikolai’s lips pursed. Nikolai was invited to the palace and he certainly did not think that this would happen. “It seems we have all lost something.” 

At first the softer males intentions only served to pour like verbal kerosine onto the fire that swelled within the bard.  This man’s face was strangely familiar though, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had bumped into that soft rounded complexion on his many travels around the globe. Perhaps he had played in the boy’s father’s court once. The russians were fond of how he played their balalaika. It functioned in nigh perfect semblance to his lute skills. He attempted to muster the right tones of their language though it’s more rigid composition sounded strange as it protruded from the minstrel’s mouth “Вы ясно дали понять, I was not aware other items were taken as well. This wasn’t some trinket or toy though, it was my very way of life. I suppose I do have plenty of other instruments, but that violin was crafted for me as my first instrument by my grandfather... I lost him to the drought early on. It was the last piece of him that I had left. I almost feel lost without it. It’s as if im short a limb. To anyone such a thing would be priceless, no? Certainly worth raising one’s voice if not only to be heard. Noting the tight seal at the boys lips he made one of his own, feeling a light shame now at his actions. He was a man of the arts, to speak so barbarically wasn’t in his nature; the extreme situation must have been the cause. 

Détresse |Enzo&Open|

[musingminstrel-blog1]

xfortdesprit:

gregoire had been preoccupied with observing a discussion occurring across the corridors between two subjects from another country. he was focused but relaxed, almost looking lost in his thoughts to someone who did not know the man’s habits when watching others around him.  it wasn’t until he heard the words shouted out in french that his attention, like everyone else’s in the area was caught onto the french bard shouting about his missing instrument. gregoire’s brows furrowed upon seeing who the bard was and with a casual stride forward the duke of france lifted his blue hues towards the man he knew from his youth and early adult life. it had been a few years but gregoire could not mistake this man’s commanding performance. however louvel could not remember the man’s name for the life of him. instead he simple looked up at him , wondering if the other would recognize him as well before he spoke in an disarming tone,

“Se détendre, many people have had their possessions taken as of late, but a performance such as this does not work in favor of france my good man, soyez conscient de vos actions aux yeux du monde. come, perhaps we can figure out what happened in a more practical manner than flashing around your sword and silver tongue” 

The depths of his outrage were only quelled by the sound of his native tongue raising to his ears. Enzo was no fool, he wouldn’t have made a massive scene without a valid reason. The instrument that was stolen had been the focal point of his requests from the foreign guests at their home; the wide arching strings of his violin were capable of recreating even the most culturally sensitive tunes from the orient. In his mind, music was one of the few pleasantries left that united them. Remembering this made him feel ashamed of his outburst and even more so at his uncouth berating of their guests. He adjusted his shirt subconsciously while attempting to regain his composure. “Pardonne-moi, That was unfair of me. Many others have had their belongings taken as well, but you must understand. This was no mere trinket or bauble, but my very means of communication to the masses. Without it I fear that my mood won’t be the only one spoiled. What will drown out the whispers within these walls if not for music?” It was then that he finally took notice of who it was that had spoken to him. “Your grace.” he offered a small bow from the shoulders before continuing, “With that mentality you’re beginning to sound a lot like your father. Might want to be careful with that, he was as well respected but often drew the eye of the public too vehemently because of that.” Enzo despised moments like these. He knew full well of the Duke’s change in title and only hoped he wouldn’t prove weak-willed enough to allow a promotion to change his personality. Then again there were few things that time alone could not change. Would an age old bond of brothers stand steadfast against the powers of time, he could only hope otherwise he might be in hot water for speaking loosely of the Duke’s father. Enzo’s true intentions with his outburst were to get the attention of as many people as possible in hopes that bringing his situation to the forefront that many others would do the same and force the seemingly absent officials to take action instead of sitting among themselves bickering in hushed cries of desperation. Sometimes he felt like the only soul with half a clue in this damned palais. “But what are we to do? The nobles hardly acknowledge the situation and the commoners hardly have a voice to be heard on their own. Perhaps if I had my instruments I would detail this struggle in a song, but even that seems like an impossibility now. How do a horde of rebels slip past trained palace guards? What, were they all sleeping?  Bâtards paresseux. We’d have better luck loosing the hounds every night.”

Détresse |Enzo&Open|

[musingminstrel-blog1]

Détresse |Enzo&Open|

There were those things known to all men that you do not dare do. Certainly among these things would be to never deprive a musician of his means to play, but apparently the damnable savages that vandalized the palais did not know the dangers of irking a bard’s wrath. For in the midst of that night, under the curtain of darkness someone had stolen the one thing Enzo would kill a man over; his music. Well to be more precise the bow and violin needed to play his favored tunes had been stolen. The rash thoughts that overtook the musicians mind were racing by at the speed of light. Many people could have sought to silence his sessions around the palais, but even more would have noticed the absence of his music filling the corridors of the entire residency; which was now replaced by a thunderous stomping of booted feet down the stairs. His elbow propped up on the banister as he raised his head to look out at whoever would be there; “Leurs têtes, pas moins! The bastards know no decentsy! What sort of insolent barbarian steals a man’s instrument? Damned foreigners, no respect at all among the lot of them. We bring them into the heart of our country, into our homes and what do they do? Steal from us and slander our names?!?” It was clear the bard was in a fit, his silver shining blade rested under his free palm; hinting at his urge to make use of the weapon, before his opposite hand raked through his brunette tresses. “Be sure thief, When I find out who you are; You’ll wish you had stolen my life instead of that violin.” 

[musingminstrel-blog1]

xfortdesprit:

gregoire stood outside the entry to the palais, he was leaning forward and looking out onto those passing by and going about their business. vibrant blue hues scanned the many faces that walked before them though they never seemed to settle on one person for long. he didn’t speak or greet a single soul that passed through his line of vision, instead louvel found himself observing those around him for no particular reason other than to occupy his mind. granted he had adjusted to his new title with ease, it was still all new to him despite years of living in his father’s shadow, it didn’t help ease his mind that it was a time of crisis and with that meant chaos would follow in it’s wake. gregoire was a man who spent many hours locked inside of his own mind, and it was clear by his distant and blank expression as he watched the many faces pass that he once more was lost within his thoughts.

Once they were all allowed to mingle outside of the walls Enzo wasted no time in beginning his work. Hoisting both his lute and the vintage victorian violin up from their stands in his quarters; which was quantly tucked away from the littered hallways many of the guests remained in. A musician had need of a quiet space to work out the tunes that would determine the flow of the evening. He had prepared something special for their new guests in the palais; a collection of many of France’s most popular tunes and tavern songs. Just because this scarlet menace was among them didn’t mean their way of life had to cease and sit on the edge of the unknown. No, Enzo was a man simple enough to enjoy what he loved with ever moment of time he had. So when he emerged out beside a familiar face he almost did a double-take; it had been years since the two had seen eachother so close, but there was no mistaking the sent of pleated leather and husked furs that hung off the man. “Your Grace, I wasn’t expecting you to be out here as well. Enjoying our new company. If you ask me, it’s a lot like watching a swarm of enraged ants swarm a carcass. Look at them, the way they skitter about frantically as if their live’s hold more purpose now that we could all die from breathing in the air. It’s almost poetic, nobody realizes how badly they want to cling to life, until death is all but a certainty. Watch.” His hand pointed out towards a grouping of individuals that seemed to be bickering amonst themselves almost secretively. “See? How often is it that you see so many nobles of different countries gathered? It makes you wonder what they are discussing no?” With a wink, the wildly bard whisked off past the Duke; now finding a place near the group of gossiping nobles to ‘play his songs’. Several minutes later he returned to the Duke’s side. “It appears the blonde was sleeping with both of those gentlemen. A rather dastardly scandal don’t you think?”

[musingminstrel-blog1]

mcnsuns:

‘ it’s finally great to be able to be outdoors! ’ she exclaimed, clutching the bouquet of flowers she had picked up at the garden, ‘ the sun is up, it’s very beautiful, and i think you deserve this for surviving! ’ she enthusiastically told the other, handing out a small rose to the other.

He would have liked to be able to mind his own business and continue plucking away at the strings of his lute, but then a peculiar scene caught his eye; A small woman extending a rose towards him. Remarkably he let his fingers peel away from the strings of his lute long enough to do a slight bow and accept her rose. “It’s not every day I get tipped in a rose and a smile, many don’t take the time to distribute such kind notions mademoiselle; It’s a welcome change from all the snarls, stares and pocket change.” The small red petals were lifted to his nose and their scent inhaled with a content smile.  

[musingminstrel-blog1]

Luke Evans, 40. Have you by chance seen Enzo Baptisté Sauvageau, the bard of France? He is in favor of forming alliances during the plague and continues to work for the benefit of their homeland. They are said to be observant and clever, yet can be arrogant and loose lipped. In the palais foncé, they are known as The Minstrel. [Sawyer, 22, PST]

* Enzo was not born into poverty, his family were the proprietor’s for exotic goods from around the globe for several large merchant sectors worldwide. It was through this encompassing ability to travel abroad that Enzo first found his love for music and artistry. * Enzo had graduated as the youngest student ever from the Bard’s College in Paris. His teachers noted his musical talents and command of an audience to be nigh unmatched even among his instructors. It was as if the man could command respect from any ear that caught the musing tunes of his melancholy music. * By the age of 19 Enzo had visited every country detailed on the maps of their time. He performed for kings and queens alike, gaining a reputation and title even among the most esteemed of courts. His family had a power that grew increasingly valuable in the world that now rested on the brink of uncertainty, but also a risk that many others did not have to experience; travelling abroad meant shaking many hands and increased chances at exposure to the lingering menace that haunted them all. * It wasn’t until he neared 26 though that he had first learned to use a sword, despite always carrying his grandfather’s Rapier “Note Chanteur” ever since he passed away from the drought. With time Enzo’s finesse with this thin piercing sword would match that of his mastery over the ear. * Despite not being nobility, Enzo is well respected among the courts for the immense influence his family has over the trade markets. If his skill with the sword wouldn’t be enough to deter angry listeners from harsh actions; the fear of being blacklisted from the global trade economy certainly was. After all, who could afford to limit their wares and possibly even medicines at a time so telling of their futures?  * Enzo saw a fast and steady rise in power after the drought began to take full swing over the lands; Rising from a humble bard of the middle class to a figure that operated behind the scenes collecting information, favors and secrets alike all for the betterment of France and her allies while maintaining the outward appearance of a whimsical minstrel. * His loyalties lie only to the land of france, not any specific establishment or royal line of succession. However that little fact would be obscured from all minds but his own, not a soul outside of his family knew of how thoroughly the merchants despised the nobility, but in time surely even this well kept secret would be brought to light under the sweltering fever that overcame their society. He and his family’s motives serve only to ensure that France would survive and prosper during this drought no matter how adverse or dire the situations. * Despite his somewhat deceitful nature and snide remarks, Enzo is a unfaltering and loyal subject to those he believes have earned his respect and services. No better bard exists in all the realms than Paris’ own Enzo Baptiste Sauvageau “The Savage Minstrel” of the city of secrets. * Despite his family’s immense wealth, Enzo grew up a simple man with simple tastes; Women, Wine and Whimsies are all that held merit to his heart; not caring at all for the trade of his family in the least. This lead to him being treated as a sort of stable boy even among his own family, constantly left to clean and tend to his other siblings and even the horses his family kept in mass amounts to breed and sell to nobles for their means. His family for the longest time saught to keep the family outcast a secret, that was until his talents were revealed and he became nothing more than another way for them to earn more money. A fate the proud man despised and eventually cast aside to become nothing more than his title, “The Minstrel”.