Over the ridge, from the far caves, came a parade of the marimbas. A team of three white ponies led the carriage full of orchestral percussionists, tympanis, chimes, bells, and drums following behind. The players were of all sizes and forms, but all had large eyes and quick fingers. The Pit Players lived in caverns, where the resounding echoes could repeat their earthy tones. While the majority was short and nimble, their homes had ceilings of grand heights and depths of unfathomable bottoms. Any being who passed by the Pit grottos could hear the bright pitches ring for hours. Two Players drove while a few poured water under the thatched canopy. The rest rode on their instruments, lazily tapping a few notes here or there, playing a little melody for the ride.
Immediately behind the Pit was most likely the toughest species Bandopia had seen. The Drum Line marched on from Battery Peak, five snares, two tenors, and six basses all in step. Their movement was silent except from the constant and steady snapping of the center's stick. Not a single smile was among the group; dead, cold stares to the opposite object. With a slight change of beat, every hand twitched and twenty-five more sticks appeared. The Drummers played a cadence to make the mountains rattle. Every roll and note was precise, and even the horses slowly began to trot in beat. They didn't stop until they reached their place in the middle of the field. Reid and Liggy nodded in respect. The Horns whispered amongst themselves with tainted looks. Mallet, the eldest hopped off his place with the greatest of vigor and began to shout commands to his followers. Pieces of the pit slowly unloaded and the Drummers didn't hesitate to help. With all but one breed present, practice was almost ready to begin.