Hoensbroeck's 'Essence of Song'

[Hierophant]

Hoensbroeck's 'Essence of Song'
Penned by Berand A. Hoensbroeck



AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is my loving nod to my most celebrated hobby, the hobbyist that I am. Indeed, never have I attempted to use art as a means of filling my belly, or my pockets. Art is something to be enjoyed immensely, and without malcontent.

With that being said, I do believe - despite its unnecessary attachment to material gain in our times - that though it ought remain pure and sabotaged, which is to say wild and free, that it might still serve a vital purpose in our society.

That purpose is lifeblood. Without love, without precious things to care for be it family, art or the crown of a Sultan, it is love that makes a heart beat fast and long for another day in this world in spite of its cruelties. The lifeblood that drives we, many survivors from scattered banners, to press on in the face of absurdity and fickle fate.

Of many things that makes this come true, is music. Yet for music to continue being its most inspiring self, it must evolve with its flock and conjoin innovation within creativity to create something truly wondrous. As the Izdur might tell you, leave your mark on the world and make it magnificent.

To conclude, music is not to be underestimated. It is a powerful instrument of itself that can shake the foundations of all we know in an instant. Be kind to its shepherds, who bring to you its softness and its tender nature. That makes you feel as one with all. That which makes your breath slow and your heart feel God's embrace.



Of Hummingbirds & Hope


I first realized my adoration for song from nature itself, if one might believe it. Without the touch of something not quite right, when nature is left to its devices, even the most unsuspecting creatures in existence bear the amazing gift of song. The song of a hummingbird, when I was a child; the very first time I heard their soothing hymns I was very young, but I remember asking my father what they were, and he called them Lovebirds, as most often they were seen in pairs.

Then I began to hum along with them by the Steading hills, as they went about their morning song. I was painting, too; and I remember being very perplexed by the excess of dew that day.

I imagine such things, such innocent memories of mine, and I fail to feel fear anymore upon the state of things. The world has taken a fierce blow from old, fickle fate; but such is life, and so long as we remain with minds that remain sharp and never cease looking forward to new and better things, then life shall remain boundless and bustling everlong.

I have my father to thank for the opportunity in honing such things, who cared little of art but certainly knew how to toil upon a field for our masters the Lords of Velstra. He paid me no trouble for it and because of this, I was allowed to practice and enjoy the things that made me excited, rather than get my hands dirty in the soil or milk the cattle. My hands were always too soft for such things anyway, but as a militiaman, my father did ensure I at least had some modicum of ideas in defending myself properly.

But we return to the hummingbird, who lives its life simply and completely, undeterred by the propagations we have placed upon ourselves, thinking we are not capable of this or that. We seclude ourselves into our roles given to us by life's woes, and toil on. If I told you that passion could be pursued alongside necessity and duty, would you believe me? Or would you cast my words down with doubt-filled words of your own?

So the essence of music is not to compose the piece that shall win the hearts of many and fade into obscurity once its flavor has worn, but to be so different that you win the hearts of the few and yet the lyrics cemented into their minds forever. Because it is my firm belief that when melancholy is discussed, this eclipse in our happiness that plagues many of us since the loss of our homes, that its culprit is stagnation and lack of hope.

It can be explained furthermore by repetition and trends, those who encourage the continued popularity of an establishment, a something that tugs at the hearts of men which cannot be truly explained. Half of us don't even realize its impact on our welfare.

But when you feel that pull, that hale beat in your chest that stems not from a nervous disposition but a content and surprised mind both; you will know there is more to this world yet than the eye can see, or what is told to us in repeat. When they hear your music, let it be the sound of a crowd clamoring for change and for the ushering of new eras; let it not be the sound of dull clapping and uninspired woos and brays, nor the antiquated and gentle 'such fine works' from the lips of so-called patrons and philanthropists in our midst. For such inspirations shall not be found in such dull sceneries, but in crowds and tables of folk with questions, who hear a song that sounds a little different than the others, with words that do not rhyme and yet speak to one's very essence.

The essence of music, raw and believable, and yet the precursor to the moving parts of an undying engine within us all that shall shape and mold the world we wish to live in. For I would sooner perish with an Asterabadian novel in hand, Ephia's borders no larger than they are today, and yet for all its worth in the world; its people fed and its homeless given home.

[Hierophant]

A correction is made in the publishing.