Position

by Bassoon-Master

In a world where music is the way of life, two young saxophonists rise to challenge the Dark Ones icy grip over the land. Will their journeys lead to triumph or tragedy? This seemed like the best place to put it, inform me if there is somewhere better.

Editors Note:This is not my story, as much as I would like to claim it at so. It is the work of a friends whose permission I have to post this. I'm only the humble editor, but I would like to see what other people outside of me and a few others think of this story. Constructive criticism (in a polite and professional manner) will be passed onto the author, paises will be appreciated, and idiotic coments will be used for my own particular amusement. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Some of the characters in this story are real people and therefore belong to themselves. This particular world of music and other characters are sole property of the author M. Broch. Please, don't steal unless you ask.

--Position--

--Prologue: Beginnings--

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--Two Eras Prior--

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Cackling flames lit the stone chamber, the edifice that lay centered within the structure stood surrounded by hundreds. Men and woman, some conductors and some directors, from all across the globe, and from the three different countries of Music, joined together, within a single corral, to honor and worship the departed soul of one whom they all had plead loyalty and devotion. Mezzo Dante stepped out of the crowd and walked towards the holy alter, gazing down upon the body of the Maestro as a stream of tears began rolling down his withered cheeks. He had to address the council; it was his duty as Mezzo, only he could coronate the ceremony. With determination, he regained his composure and stood upright, turning to face those that stood behind him and removed a small book from his coat pocket, a book that has been passed down from one Mezzo to the next, the Book of Fermata, the Book of Passing.

"Release…" he began, straightening his collar before he continued for it had become askew, and such a simple thing as that could give him a bad image. "…the breath we take, the final brush of air that touches our lips and tells our minds, our souls, and our hearts that the piece, the orchestral masterpiece we hath just played, is at last concluded." Dante paused before continuing, looking out upon his peers with a sullen and saddened gaze, knowing he could not keep up this composed charade for much longer. He had learned many times to not second guess himself, the Maestro had taught him the meaning for such an acquired skill. But now, at this very moment, when the world of Music looked to him for guidance, how could he not. To break the traditions of the Music world would be deemed heresy, and he would most likely find himself beneath the churning waves of the one sea before he could even think of a second thought. However, he felt weak, his mind waning. Age was quickly catching up to him, and tradition had no meaning to him anymore. Dante sighed, coming to the realization of what needed to be done, what had to be changed, what needed reformation. He looked at the small book that rested within his palms, its tattered pages rustling in the cool breeze that wafted through the chamber like a wraith, and with a disgusted glare, he closed it shut, breaking one of the worlds most honored codes. The gasps from all of those who surrounded him reinforced the meaning for such an act, change was needed, and a new piece needed playing. Mezzo Dante slid the thin tome back within the confines of a pocket and began anew, ushered reform, beckoned change.

"Paul Bain, or Maestro Bain as many of us knew him, was a visionary beyond his time." Dante looked back at the body that lay upon the edifice, the shell that had once been his dearest and closest friend, as a tear slid down his face; he was no longer ashamed to show emotion. "In the time we all spent within his presence, that glorified aura that wafted down upon us all at the very sight of his soothing smile, we each could feel the passion, the joy, the happiness, and the love he had deep within himself that he wished to share with everyone. The symbol of a perfect musician, the image of a divine leader, Paul Bain will be missed, and is already missed, greater than any of his predecessors before him. I still, to this very day, remember the exact words he spoke to us all when he first came into our lives. Standing at the center of the Musicianary Council, he looked around at us all and said…"

"Music… is as good and as pure as you make it out to be. I… am no more than a guide, a baton that can only point you down the path to what makes perfection… what is perfection. This is not just my world… it is all of ours. Each and every one of us holds a reign that beckons life to follow in our example. Our choices made within this room, within this sacred structure, will tell those who look to us for guidance how to play that perfect sonata, that timeless ballad, that epic march. Let us do it together… now and forever… as one! As united sections! Join me now! One Band! One Voice! One Sound!"

The room erupted in tears, some of which were the Mezzo's own, most of which were others. He tried to continue, tried to progress his speech further, but he could not. All his pain and sadness kept him at bay, his eyes buried in his hands, tears seeping through the cracks of his fingers and plummeting to the floor below. His mind once more turned to the question of why, why did one of the most influential people in his life, in everyone's life, have to die so unexpectedly. Removing his head from his hands he turned to the alter and fell to his knees, shuffling towards the stone edifice and grasping to its rims as if it was his saving grace from death. Beneath his breath, Dante spoke the words of legend, tangled tongues unspoken for generations, speech that gave graces to Gods, ten of which there were, Ten Gods of Music. Silence befell the council, tears stopped shedding, and cries of pain stopped echoing. As the Mezzo's voice projected from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, ear to ear, the prayer of ten was uttered by a musicians lips once more after having not been done so in nearly six eras. The wings of change had taken up flight, and reformation displayed the image of the Gods return once more into the world of Music.

"Chromaticus octavos metzota fortista pianos accentio fermatosia" spoke Dante, his eyes beginning to fill with light as the ocean blue irises that were his gaze changed hue to a golden glow. The Gods of Music, hearing the passage that had long since been lost uttered again, gave the speaker of their words a blessing. Mezzo Dante had not only brought reform and change but he had also brought hope, hope that a new life lye waiting beyond the horizon for Music and its musicians. "By the Gods devotion we ask for this soul to receive guidance as it travels into the world beyond. Let ARCH not twist its influential form and let it find peace within the realms of passing, as we ask also for peace and unity to reign supreme upon our world at last. We beg that we do not stray into the shadows of uncertainty, and we pray that darkness not veer its gruesome gaze in our direction. For by the baton of the directors, and by the hymn of the conductors, in the names of the ten we pray… Fermata…"

--End Prologue--