Wanders around humming
Strings a me,
This-a-strument,
Soul mine inside,
See you a-they,
Haromany.
Pluck, Make I a sound,
Musics, dance-a-they.
Dance! Dust!
Kick-a-beat stomp,
Dance in the Night.
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Brishen
"No, we speak, a-you know."
2 · 635 views · located in 
Norde Keep
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by lostamongtrees
Groups
Description
Wanders around humming
Personality
His words are smoothly broken.
Music riles him
The land soothes him
People entertain him
He entertains all.
Music riles him
The land soothes him
People entertain him
He entertains all.
Equipment
Mandolin
The clothing on his back
Weathered shoes
A morose expression
Canvas Backpack
Medium Sized Cloth, Bread, Cheese, 3 Oranges, 4 inch Blade, Rope, Canteen, Cologne, Flask, Mint leaves, Metal Dish
The clothing on his back
Weathered shoes
A morose expression
Canvas Backpack
Medium Sized Cloth, Bread, Cheese, 3 Oranges, 4 inch Blade, Rope, Canteen, Cologne, Flask, Mint leaves, Metal Dish
So begins...
Brishen's Story
- Seen 74 Times • Page 1 of 3 • 1, 2, 3
The setting changes from the-realms to Gypsy Camp
Not far from the gypsy camp stood a young woman, staring into the wooded area beyond. At a distance, one could almost have mistaken her for an ethereal wraith, given her pale skin, white hair, and loosely fitted white dress. However, upon closer inspection it would be apparent that it was simply a woman, albeit a frail and lightly built one. Standing at only five foot, she was far from an imposing individual.
Buoyant notes carried through the air, inky as the shadow which spilled before the man. Connected at the bare and dirty toe, the stain stretched across the earth like preview to his passing. The man kicked along his shadow to the plucks of a mandolin, eyes cast to the ground in front of him. Such textures he loved to experience, the soft tickle of the grass, or the cold grains of dirt. The earth itself inspired the music of the mandolin. Shoes dangled by the laces around his neck, for although he rarely wanted shoes, they did come in handy.
He had barely taken notice to the camp as he shuffled around the perimeter. An absentminded frown contorted his lips, curls astray. Absorbed in his music, he walked towards the woods, plucking away with a strum here or there. Up ahead stood a woman, who he wouldn't of noticed had she not been so... So white. His fingers danced up the neck of the mandolin, and he anchored himself with a rock backwards on his heels. Where exactly was he?
He had barely taken notice to the camp as he shuffled around the perimeter. An absentminded frown contorted his lips, curls astray. Absorbed in his music, he walked towards the woods, plucking away with a strum here or there. Up ahead stood a woman, who he wouldn't of noticed had she not been so... So white. His fingers danced up the neck of the mandolin, and he anchored himself with a rock backwards on his heels. Where exactly was he?
The woman stood motionless, her eyes locked on the forest ahead. It was hard to say if she was aware of another approaching, so lost was she in her introspect. She looked lost almost, lost and confused, and yet intrigued at the same time.
What was it about this place that was so familiar to her? What lay beyond this border that filled her with such feelings of déjà vu.
What was it about this place that was so familiar to her? What lay beyond this border that filled her with such feelings of déjà vu.
It wasn't the man, but rather, the instrument that finally broke Whisper's focus. She so very much missed music. Born a dancer, music was in her heart and soul, and nothing could change that.
“I'm sorry, if I'm intruding... but this place, what is it?” she asked finally. Her voice was low, introverted and hesitant.
“I'm sorry, if I'm intruding... but this place, what is it?” she asked finally. Her voice was low, introverted and hesitant.
Parrying between two notes, he contemplated her words. This place? He knew not. Slipping again into a strum, he held it off on another pluck, flicking his eyes towards her shoulder. A peculiar expression came to rise on his face as a faint melody came to rise, falling into tempo with his feet as he took a couple more steps towards her. He wobbled a bit, stepping farther left than right, but did not cease to play when he stopped walking again.
"Intrude you don't," a smile and a strum, "Camp, surely?" he continued to pluck the song.
"Intrude you don't," a smile and a strum, "Camp, surely?" he continued to pluck the song.
Whisper blinked at the man. Was he drunk? His wobbling steps and disjointed speech left her wondering. She was here looking for answers, and she cast the wood a second glance, but the matter of the individual in front of her was a more immediate concern.
“Is everything ok?” she inquired carefully. She didn't want to insult the man, but he most certainly seemed a bit off. And coming from her, that was saying something.
“Is everything ok?” she inquired carefully. She didn't want to insult the man, but he most certainly seemed a bit off. And coming from her, that was saying something.
His strumming ceased, and he spoke in barely a whisper, "Is?"
Her words left him strangely grounded, standing in the silence. Blinking a couple of times, he glanced around him, clutching at the mandolin. Was there reason for everything to be anything but okay? He peered towards his toes, then back up at the woman.
"Yes?" Brows furrowed, he leaned to take a quick peer around her. He had come full circle on his walk, landing himself right back where he started, and hadn't even noticed until now. A soft hum resonated in his throat for but a moment, before his hands gently began to make music again.
"Is everything ok?" He mimicked her tone, smiling innocently and plucking a song he had learned upon his travels, called...was it furalees?
Her words left him strangely grounded, standing in the silence. Blinking a couple of times, he glanced around him, clutching at the mandolin. Was there reason for everything to be anything but okay? He peered towards his toes, then back up at the woman.
"Yes?" Brows furrowed, he leaned to take a quick peer around her. He had come full circle on his walk, landing himself right back where he started, and hadn't even noticed until now. A soft hum resonated in his throat for but a moment, before his hands gently began to make music again.
"Is everything ok?" He mimicked her tone, smiling innocently and plucking a song he had learned upon his travels, called...was it furalees?
The music was rapidly becoming a point of irritation for the woman. Was this some distraction sent to lure her away from her answers? Like a satyr in the dead of night? How easy it would be to lose herself in music and song and forget what she came here for.
She began gently massaging the bridge of her brow as if she had a headache, and it was rapidly becoming apparent that she seemed mildly distressed.
“I'm fine, I just... I think I'm looking for someone...” she explained. “Perhaps I should go.”
She began gently massaging the bridge of her brow as if she had a headache, and it was rapidly becoming apparent that she seemed mildly distressed.
“I'm fine, I just... I think I'm looking for someone...” she explained. “Perhaps I should go.”
"Hapse I be of asstance?" He strummed softly, bringing his thumb to rest on the thickest string. She seemed stressed, possibly confused, maybe irritated. What exactly she was he knew not, but he wished to help in any way that he could.
A twinkle popped into his eye, and the hum returned. Thup, thup, his foot tapped on the grass to the beat of the tune he hummed. He quite liked the sound of that, picking up the tune with his mandolin and ceasing to hum.
"Help find?"
A twinkle popped into his eye, and the hum returned. Thup, thup, his foot tapped on the grass to the beat of the tune he hummed. He quite liked the sound of that, picking up the tune with his mandolin and ceasing to hum.
"Help find?"
Whisper simply nodded briefly at his words. Acceptance of his offer to assist her perhaps? Though she offered little to aid him in this endeavor, and instead she simply moved to hug her arms around herself as if cold. However, the afternoon breeze held little chill to it, and it would seem that whatever ailed the frail woman was not of the body.
“Have you ever felt like you lost something, or are forgetting something, but you cannot remember what?” she asked after a moments pause.
“Have you ever felt like you lost something, or are forgetting something, but you cannot remember what?” she asked after a moments pause.
The setting changes from gypsy-camp to Wing City Lake: Beach
He walked along the beach, mandolin in hand, strumming along with the lapping waves. Having had not visited a beach in too long, the curly haired gypsy was far entranced by it's beauty.
Up ahead a form lay on the ground, but it would take a moment for Brishen to even acknowledge it's presence. His heart was with the water, soul carrying on the wind.
Up ahead a form lay on the ground, but it would take a moment for Brishen to even acknowledge it's presence. His heart was with the water, soul carrying on the wind.
Wandering closer, his footsteps became more clumsy. This, of course, was offset by his strumming. Lost was he in the world of music, creating sweet melodies so morose, complimenting the hearty strums with the occasional pluck. Eyes closed, Brishen continued to stamp around the beach. The music floated from his mandolin, carried on the wind, and crashed against the sand.
Tilting his head back in his gait, the gypsy opened his mouth and began to wail along with the tune. His words were indecipherable, they may not have even been words! Either way, he traipsed closer to the one on the ground, closer, closer, and nigh trod on him.
Tilting his head back in his gait, the gypsy opened his mouth and began to wail along with the tune. His words were indecipherable, they may not have even been words! Either way, he traipsed closer to the one on the ground, closer, closer, and nigh trod on him.
The setting changes from wing-city-lake-beach to The Æthereal Plane
Brishen looks around, quite befuzzled.
The setting changes from amoeba-records to Canti's Diner
He ah...
Was not sure what he was doing here, at the diner. Something, someone perhaps? They had beckoned him here. Well, he had hunger besides. He entered, hand made shoes of leather and chord having him slip a moment. Hah! It would be, as he did, a whistle caught his attention.
Then, a bird. An assortment of feathers, an owl. He was intrigued, distracted, inspired, his fingers danced. The mind on the mand was nestled in the guitar on his back.
He must see this owl. Hesitantly, Brishen advanced down the aisle and seated himself on a counter near the owl, and her.
Was not sure what he was doing here, at the diner. Something, someone perhaps? They had beckoned him here. Well, he had hunger besides. He entered, hand made shoes of leather and chord having him slip a moment. Hah! It would be, as he did, a whistle caught his attention.
Then, a bird. An assortment of feathers, an owl. He was intrigued, distracted, inspired, his fingers danced. The mind on the mand was nestled in the guitar on his back.
He must see this owl. Hesitantly, Brishen advanced down the aisle and seated himself on a counter near the owl, and her.
"That bird," His accent dripped Romani, "Beautiful bufniță."
Brishen gestured towards the seat closest to, or perhaps across from, the young lady with the fascinating bird. He swung the instrument around, laying it to rest against his side. Folding his hands, placing his wrists on the table, the gypsy man stared attempted to stare deep into the eyes of the owl.
Brishen gestured towards the seat closest to, or perhaps across from, the young lady with the fascinating bird. He swung the instrument around, laying it to rest against his side. Folding his hands, placing his wrists on the table, the gypsy man stared attempted to stare deep into the eyes of the owl.
Brishen frowned at the guitar, regretting the cracking of his mandolin more and more each day.
"Charmer, yes," His smile dropped, but not too far, before it was turned on the lady.
"And you? A name, for the lady?"
"Charmer, yes," His smile dropped, but not too far, before it was turned on the lady.
"And you? A name, for the lady?"
He quirked at the question, but eased nontheless.
Brishen wasn't old, perhaps in his mid twenties, though seeming a bit more rugged. A bit more aged.
"A beautiful thing, such inspiration," He gestured, and looked out the window. Seeing the machinery disappointed him.
"Like a flower," Then to her, "A pretty face!"
Grabbing up the guitar, Brishen played four or five notes, then set it aside again. He then watched Shakespeare.
Brishen wasn't old, perhaps in his mid twenties, though seeming a bit more rugged. A bit more aged.
"A beautiful thing, such inspiration," He gestured, and looked out the window. Seeing the machinery disappointed him.
"Like a flower," Then to her, "A pretty face!"
Grabbing up the guitar, Brishen played four or five notes, then set it aside again. He then watched Shakespeare.
Brishen murmured through a smile, watching the bird speculate the instrument. Carefully, the gypsy man reached for his pack. The clasp gave him some trouble, but eventually he was able to withdraw a small pad and a graphite stick. Brishen then doodled in his lap.Not old enough,
He said to the waitress who had appeared, looking back to Tawny with that strange smile.Please Tea,
Halfway through drawing, Brishen felt the sharp peck. The worst of grimaces crumpled his face, wrinkles morphing into a laugh in moments.
He reached to the side and stroked the guitar, making a pleasant hum, breaking off a crumb of graphite and putting it on the table. Brishen then resumed drawing, doing his best to keep the owl at bay.
He reached to the side and stroked the guitar, making a pleasant hum, breaking off a crumb of graphite and putting it on the table. Brishen then resumed drawing, doing his best to keep the owl at bay.
You live here?
Home was where the heart lies, that was sure. To Brishen, home was but a good pair of shoes. He missed his mandolin, having had brought his guitar on this journey, but didn't regret not grabbing it anymore. The owl would have broken the other strings, these it could actually play.Indeed!
He scribbled some more at the owl figure,I am with a band of Gypsies,
Lovely bunch. Travel, vagabond do I. Have you a night place?
- Seen 74 Times • Page 1 of 3 • 1, 2, 3