| Duckies |
I would like to apply for the Dwarf. Here goes:
Dwarves, it is generally accepted, have two basic guiding principles that govern their every interaction. The first is their straightforward, direct manners. The second is their literal bloodimindedness towards everything. Gileas is no exception.
Gileas is, however, an exception when it came to his peers. Instead of mining or armoursmithing or even a master brewer, Gil found himself saddled with the troubadour duties for his part of town. Being the good, level-headed dwarf he is, he took it upon himself to set upon the task in the traditional manner of his people, figure out what it is that makes it go 'tick' and then make it go 'tock' even better. He resolved, upon his Day of Duty, that though he may not be the best suited, someone's got to do it, and by <insert dwarven king here>, that was going to be him, and it would be done RIGHT.
And so, for the next twenty years, Gileas plied his trade. He learned the hammer-dulcimer, he learned the lute and it's many and varied chords. He was taught the songs of the Dwarves of both the court and the tavern. In all of this, he was praised by his masters for being the most dutiful student of music they had ever seen, even if he reproduced every note they gave him without a single ounce of his own personality within it. Technically speaking, they had never had a more accurate or correct musician in the guild.
When finally he was conferred his journeyman's hammers, he did as any good dwarf would do: he proceeded straight to the alehouse and got roaring toasted. A good time was had by all, well into the night and some of the next morning; for when you are underground, time has little meaning and circadian rhythm becomes your clock of choice. At last, the session came to a close and he was asked to perform his trade for them, one last time. A bawdy pub tune, they cried to him for.
And so he began, stein in one hand, lute in the other, he sang the bawdiest tune he knew; a tune his masters had never, and have never since, admitted to teaching him. Technically, it was perfectly recreated... and a rather good buzz kill for just about everyone in the crowd. By the end, they had all scratched their heads a few times, trying to figure it out. It had all the bits, everyone agreed. Wenches, ale, even an angry innkeep and his less angry and rather more lusty wife. There was even a bit about a lizard and how he lost his tail in a strategically advantageous position. And since, as all dwarves know, if you have all the bits and put them all together the right way, it should be a good tune, they all concluded the only logical conclusion.
There must be something missing from the tune.
And so, Gileas was charged with finding out exactly what it was that was missing from his tune. What could make a right and proper bawdy song? And so, off he went, for he'd learned all the songs he could learn in the mountain, down into the outlying towns and villages, in search of the bawdiest songs the taverns could offer, taking meticulous notes and learning note-for-note reproductions of them, that later he might compare them to his and, since his was sub-par, compile, finally, the land's bawdiest song ever.
And so, he continues his search. To scour the lands for the tavern songs and their singers, plaguing them with questions and for their notes on songsmithing and construction. Meter and verse. Timing and tempo and clever choice of wink-wink-nudge-nudge words to make the men laugh, the women blush and the children repeat it at the dinner table in a loud and thoroughly inappropriate way.
/app