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TheMaskofMany

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(Just needed to throw this somewhere, not actually fan-fic)

There was once a group of traveling musicians, and singers, each the best in their art. The pianists tapped their keys and out came beauty, the violinists raked their bows and out came sorrow, the opera singers would sing and out came life, all its variety and splendor, its triumphs and tragedies.

One day this traveling group crossed the plains on the way to the greatest city of them all, the capitol, a place of lights and decadence to make their home. There they would find others like themselves, the best performers of their times.

To their dismay the river had flooded, leaving the road impossible to pass. Luckily there was a small town on those plains, and this is where they stayed until the storm subsided. Here they set up their tent and began their performance, beauty, sorrow, triumph and tragedy all came together in harmony. The people of the small town were astounded. After the show one of the townspeople, the local pianist, came up to the others and asked: "How is it that you make such sweet sounds?" The opera singers took no note of him. The violinists turned away. The caravan's pianist, however, simply smiled. "I play as I have always played. I practice and love my craft." The local piano player's eyes lit with hope. "Does that mean I can someday play as you do?"

"Of course!" Came the reply, quick and sure. "Anyone can! Simply play your heart and you will succeed. Keep playing, and one day beauty will come to you too."

The next day the caravan left, off to the capital once more. To their dismay as they passed the mountains a great landslide occurred, forcing them back to the small town by the river. There thy performed once more, astounding those that listened. Once again, after the performance's final act, the pianist came up once more.

"Amazing! Amazing!" He said as he rushed to his fellow pianist. Once again the opera singers took no note of him. The violinists turned away. But his fellow pianist only laughed. "It went well, my friend. And how about you? How is your playing coming along?" At this the amateur shuddered. His playing was not nearly as beautiful as his idol's, but at his urging the boy played anyway. It was sweet, and the portions where the boy came into his own were beauty on the ear. "Very good! Very good!" The senior chimed. "You are doing well, very well! Come, play with me for a spell." Embarrassed. The boy played with his idol. Together they made beautiful sounds, and the boy was pleased. There was polite applause from the rest if the caravan, and the boy left, his head held high.

Again the caravan departed. This time, much to the boy's dismay, they arrived in the capital. Years passed, and he heard no more of them. But he was determined. Playing for tips at the local saloon the boy eventually saved enough money to visit his idol once more. He went to the capital. There he heard the most wonderful sounds. Beautiful music filled the streets, and at the center of it all, the grand opera house. He approached, entering from the musicians entrance. There he saw a wondrous sight, his idol playing with a slew of wonderful pianists, violinists, cellists, opera singers, percussionists and more. Together they captured the essence of life and played it for all to see. He was astounded, dumbfounded. He could think of nothing to say, he only took in the beautiful music, unable to turn away. At first he marveled at its beauty, but as he stared on his heart crumpled. He would never play so marvelously.

Suddenly a stage manager snapped him from his stupor: "Hey! Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The boy answered, his heart sunken and defeated.

"Me? I am no one. I've come to say goodbye."

The boy turned to leave, but his idol, with the greatest musicians in the world bidding for her attention, bid the boy closer. His feet carried him two steps forward before he turned back. The boy's playing was sweet, but that was all it was. He was a fool to think he would ever reach his teacher's level of skill. His playing would never capture life as the others did, as his idol did. He turned to leave, abandoning his still calling mentor. Tears rolled down his cheeks and shame filled his heart, but he knew that his master's time would be better spent among his peers, and not tutoring some boy who would amount to nothing. So he fled, back to his little town by the river, back to where the locals nodded their heads, pleased with the sweet little tunes he played, both parties aware that outside their pleasant existence something much greater low just outside their reach.

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ImpurestCheese

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#2  Edited By ImpurestCheese

@themaskofmany: Wow this is kind of beautiful. Kudos to an interesting well written story

BTW this is more then welcome here being fiction/narrative/script work (delete as appropriate)

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dngn4774

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#3  Edited By dngn4774

@themaskofmanyVery moving indeed. There must be a lot of talent over on the RPG board.

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Project_Worm

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@themaskofmany: agree with those above you did a helluva job on this. Very well written.

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TheMaskofMany

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Thanks guys. Was half wondering if anybody saw it and half hoping nobody did. >_>

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dngn4774

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TheMaskofMany

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@dngn4774: No, it doesn't really bum me out, just cuts a little close to home is all, which makes it kind of embarrassing to admit.