Entry #3: Iggy & Squiggy - Canadian/Cape Breton Fiddle
https://thesession.org/tunes/7445
Nice recording:
https://thesession.org/tunes/7445
Nice recording:
- Welcome to Calamity Refuge.
Osmium Density
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#2
General Discussion / Entry #2: Union Street Session
February 02, 2021, 10:50:56 PM
Entry #2: Union Street Session: Canadian/Cape Breton Fiddle
https://thesession.org/tunes/5057
Goodish recording (I hope you like banjo):
https://thesession.org/tunes/5057
Goodish recording (I hope you like banjo):
#3
General Discussion / Entry #1: Brenda Stubbert's Reel
February 02, 2021, 02:51:25 AM
Entry #1: Brenda Stubbert's Reel - Canadian/Cape Breton Fiddle.
Music: https://thesession.org/tunes/727
A Recording I Like:
Music: https://thesession.org/tunes/727
A Recording I Like:
#4
General Discussion / A Tunebook
February 02, 2021, 02:48:38 AM
G'day folks, hope you're all keeping well.
I've been thinking about putting together a little collection of music that we can all enjoy, and maybe across our various continents, instruments, traditions we can have something in common we can all play together.
To that end, I've kicked things off with this thread, we're I'll post some music I love and enjoy playing each day, and everyone else can toss in some of their favourites. While posting sheet music goes a long way to helping people learn, recordings/youtube videos would work just fine as well :)
I've been thinking about putting together a little collection of music that we can all enjoy, and maybe across our various continents, instruments, traditions we can have something in common we can all play together.
To that end, I've kicked things off with this thread, we're I'll post some music I love and enjoy playing each day, and everyone else can toss in some of their favourites. While posting sheet music goes a long way to helping people learn, recordings/youtube videos would work just fine as well :)
#6
Roleplay / Re: A Voice From the Storm (Reset!)
January 15, 2021, 02:32:41 AM
The only good thing about the market season, mused Garhad, chewing on the last fragments of a pie, is that I can get a decent meal for lunch.
The city's culinary offerings were suitably dreary during the cold winters, and as a result of some spectacularly poor decisions the previous autumn, Garhad's diet included far too many carrots for his liking during the last icy months.
Food aside, Garhad was thoroughly sick of market season. Whilst the merchants were able to set up their stalls in the gardens and squares, the Guild District was twice as busy - and the constant hammering, heat and steam made for poor companions.
It was just about the only time of the year where the houses were busy day and night, and the first weeks were the worst. Before long, the caravans from the country would bring in those looking for work, and the new hires gave the old hands some break time. Their arrival, however would be some days away, as the caravans made their way through the forests and fields, navigating over rivers swollen by the spring thaw. Garhad remembered his own journey, almost four years ago to the day, and grimaced. It had not been a pleasant experience.
Finishing the last of his lunch Or was it technically breakfast? Garhad dusted the crumbs from his hands and stood. Stretching in the sun, he sighed, noting the now worryingly large hole in the bottom of his trousers. At least he could stay at the Hall dormitories this season, that'd save on rent. And as long as he didn't go too wild at the taverns or get involved in any other "business ventures" he'd have enough for some new clothes by summer. Luckily he didn't have to worry about boots this year, perhaps his wisest investment over the last year or so.
As he turned to start the all-too-short walk to the Guildhall, the mighty city clocks struck ten, their thunderous tolling beating in time with the city's heartbeat. Garhad has learnt to count with the bells in his old hometown, and made a habit of counting the hour.
One, Two, Three Crossing the street, Garhad heard the whinny of horses from behind, a carriage or wagon of some sort. Four, Five, Six Carriages didn't come through these streets, the flagstones were rough and the paths narrow. Seven, Eight, Nine Looking up and behind him, Garhad saw it was a passenger carriage with four large horses pulling at a rather fast pace. That won't be a comfortable ride, bouncing on the cobbles like that. He stepped to the side, waiting for that final tolling of the hour...
And time stopped.
In an instant, Garhad found himself flying into the middle of the middle of the road. Straight into the path of the oncoming carriage. He hit the stones with a thump, and rolled, rolled, rolled, before finally curling himself into a ball. The hooves and wheels missed him by inches - the carriage trundling down the street. He lay there dazed and confused as hot pain crept through his limbs. Opening his eyes, he found himself facing a pair of dark leather boots. Looking up, they belonged to a tall figure, shrouded by a long dark cloak, face barely visible under the cowl. The face mouthed some inaudible words, before turning on its heel and striding away.
Did they push me!?
And the clock finally struck ten.
Garhad let go of his clenched fists, groaned, and began the increasingly painful process of getting up. Small rivulets of blood running from grazes on his forearms, he would certainly be a sorry sight to his fellow smiths in the Hall. Hartha was handy with all manners of poultices and dressings though, and Garhad resolved to ask the dwarf for advice when he returned. He limped over to where he had been standing only moments before and sat on the low stone fence, waiting for his ears to clear and head to stop aching.
Garhad's pain induced meditation was cut short by a familiar voice calling his name.
"Gar! Gar!" A young man dressed in the uniform of the city watch rushed over. "Are you alright friend? Did you trip over or something?"
"Yea - yeah." Garhad's words reverberated through his own skull.
"Here, drink this. It was a good thing I was looking for you, the other smiths said you liked to take your lunch up this way."
Gar took the proffered waterskin and took a swig. The water helped to clear his head, and he made the last stumble back into reality. It was an old friend from the Guild, Anton, face furrowed with concern in front of him. And wearing a Guard uniform? But that makes no sense.
"Thanks Anton, what's with the uniform?"
"What do you think I wanted to talk to you about? Follow me, I know a pub open this hour and the Guild won't notice you're away for another half hour."
Despite having only just eaten, Gar was suddenly very hungry. "Fine with me."
The pub Anton knew turned out to be a favourite evening haunt of Gar's, Black Bows. It was where Gar made the most of the one other good thing about market season, moneyed merchants who fancied themselves adventurers who would pay good money for a raucous tune or story. Gar had nurtured a talent over the years for tall tales and spun stories of all sorts keeping the fat cats distracted, while his friend and barmaid Ala, picked their pockets.
It was a strange sort of justice, Gar and Ala had decided. After all, they were more than happy to split their takings with their families, fellow labourers and roommates. Once, Gar earned a black eye for his trouble and decided to steer well clear of the pub for a week or three.
Anton leading the way, the two pushed open the door and gave a wave to Jack the barkeep. "The usual thanks!," the two settled at a table in the furthest corner. To Gar's surprise, they weren't the only patrons this morning, as two young women sat by the front window talking in earnest.
As Jack brought over drinks and plates of sausages, Anton, his voice low, began to speak.
And Gar knew his life would never be the same again.
The city's culinary offerings were suitably dreary during the cold winters, and as a result of some spectacularly poor decisions the previous autumn, Garhad's diet included far too many carrots for his liking during the last icy months.
Food aside, Garhad was thoroughly sick of market season. Whilst the merchants were able to set up their stalls in the gardens and squares, the Guild District was twice as busy - and the constant hammering, heat and steam made for poor companions.
It was just about the only time of the year where the houses were busy day and night, and the first weeks were the worst. Before long, the caravans from the country would bring in those looking for work, and the new hires gave the old hands some break time. Their arrival, however would be some days away, as the caravans made their way through the forests and fields, navigating over rivers swollen by the spring thaw. Garhad remembered his own journey, almost four years ago to the day, and grimaced. It had not been a pleasant experience.
Finishing the last of his lunch Or was it technically breakfast? Garhad dusted the crumbs from his hands and stood. Stretching in the sun, he sighed, noting the now worryingly large hole in the bottom of his trousers. At least he could stay at the Hall dormitories this season, that'd save on rent. And as long as he didn't go too wild at the taverns or get involved in any other "business ventures" he'd have enough for some new clothes by summer. Luckily he didn't have to worry about boots this year, perhaps his wisest investment over the last year or so.
As he turned to start the all-too-short walk to the Guildhall, the mighty city clocks struck ten, their thunderous tolling beating in time with the city's heartbeat. Garhad has learnt to count with the bells in his old hometown, and made a habit of counting the hour.
One, Two, Three Crossing the street, Garhad heard the whinny of horses from behind, a carriage or wagon of some sort. Four, Five, Six Carriages didn't come through these streets, the flagstones were rough and the paths narrow. Seven, Eight, Nine Looking up and behind him, Garhad saw it was a passenger carriage with four large horses pulling at a rather fast pace. That won't be a comfortable ride, bouncing on the cobbles like that. He stepped to the side, waiting for that final tolling of the hour...
And time stopped.
In an instant, Garhad found himself flying into the middle of the middle of the road. Straight into the path of the oncoming carriage. He hit the stones with a thump, and rolled, rolled, rolled, before finally curling himself into a ball. The hooves and wheels missed him by inches - the carriage trundling down the street. He lay there dazed and confused as hot pain crept through his limbs. Opening his eyes, he found himself facing a pair of dark leather boots. Looking up, they belonged to a tall figure, shrouded by a long dark cloak, face barely visible under the cowl. The face mouthed some inaudible words, before turning on its heel and striding away.
Did they push me!?
And the clock finally struck ten.
Garhad let go of his clenched fists, groaned, and began the increasingly painful process of getting up. Small rivulets of blood running from grazes on his forearms, he would certainly be a sorry sight to his fellow smiths in the Hall. Hartha was handy with all manners of poultices and dressings though, and Garhad resolved to ask the dwarf for advice when he returned. He limped over to where he had been standing only moments before and sat on the low stone fence, waiting for his ears to clear and head to stop aching.
Garhad's pain induced meditation was cut short by a familiar voice calling his name.
"Gar! Gar!" A young man dressed in the uniform of the city watch rushed over. "Are you alright friend? Did you trip over or something?"
"Yea - yeah." Garhad's words reverberated through his own skull.
"Here, drink this. It was a good thing I was looking for you, the other smiths said you liked to take your lunch up this way."
Gar took the proffered waterskin and took a swig. The water helped to clear his head, and he made the last stumble back into reality. It was an old friend from the Guild, Anton, face furrowed with concern in front of him. And wearing a Guard uniform? But that makes no sense.
"Thanks Anton, what's with the uniform?"
"What do you think I wanted to talk to you about? Follow me, I know a pub open this hour and the Guild won't notice you're away for another half hour."
Despite having only just eaten, Gar was suddenly very hungry. "Fine with me."
The pub Anton knew turned out to be a favourite evening haunt of Gar's, Black Bows. It was where Gar made the most of the one other good thing about market season, moneyed merchants who fancied themselves adventurers who would pay good money for a raucous tune or story. Gar had nurtured a talent over the years for tall tales and spun stories of all sorts keeping the fat cats distracted, while his friend and barmaid Ala, picked their pockets.
It was a strange sort of justice, Gar and Ala had decided. After all, they were more than happy to split their takings with their families, fellow labourers and roommates. Once, Gar earned a black eye for his trouble and decided to steer well clear of the pub for a week or three.
Anton leading the way, the two pushed open the door and gave a wave to Jack the barkeep. "The usual thanks!," the two settled at a table in the furthest corner. To Gar's surprise, they weren't the only patrons this morning, as two young women sat by the front window talking in earnest.
As Jack brought over drinks and plates of sausages, Anton, his voice low, began to speak.
And Gar knew his life would never be the same again.
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