#arthur arias

[sitting-on-me-bum]

Philippine Tarsier

Photo by Arthur Arias on Unsplash

[forgottenarthur]

In Ruins | Arthur, Roderick, Eilia, Aria, etc...

Another step. Another. Up and up and up they rose before him, unending as the Kolchean ouroboros. And not a soul was speaking. For all the attendants traipsing and tripping after their god-given Emperor, a strange breathy silence pervaded, headed by the sullen-faced ó Réaltaí sisters (as the Staffords were now, evidently, to be called) and maintained by Roderick's many retainers, half-gasping with the interminable climb. The silence was a veil and Arthur felt twitchy, his fingers beating a tattoo against his thigh as he walked and walked.

"You Astairans certainly were not in jest when you claimed to live amongst the stars, I see."

Silence. Arthur detested silence. He'd always dested it, and he detested it now most of all. It was tense; it was subdued. And he didn't know what Aria was thinking...

Or anyone else. His father, for instance, or even...He glanced around to catch another face, half-desperate to prove there were other feelings which concerned him. Eilionora. No. But he wasn't supposed to care what she thought: she was the enemy. Still. He cared even less for what Sir Gregory thought.

Huffing, he shrugged. "I think I shall be eighty years old by the time we reach the top!"

"And here I imagined," began Eilionora, tone condescending. "A knight might be glad of such exercise."

"I--" Arthur frowned, rankling against the comment and struggling to invent a sufficient retort, when at last daylight (dying, by now, he saw) broke upon them. "At last!"

By the time Arthur gained the room, a world of ancient plaster featuring a tiny stone window in its concave surface. His father was already there, attendants arrayed about him like the streaming light of the sun, itself painting all in Arthur's own red. Eilionora stood opposite him, her expression fierce and determined, with her sister at her side and, fobidding as Aria looked, Arthur found himself drifting towards her.

Looking up, then, Arthur saw the look on his father's face. "Shit."

This was an expression well known to Arthur: triumphant and gleaming. The emperor was about to make the weight of whatever victory he'd won felt. "You thought to keep it from us," began Roderick, eyes glowing. "You strove and you strove, but every trace of your heathen gods will now be expunged."

Arthur felt Aria's eyes on him, but he could not pull his gaze from his father. Turning, Roderick grinned knowingly and suddenly thrust his arm directly through a wall.

"Father!" Arthur cried, starting forward. He stopped short. The emperor was unhurt and, in fact, a hole now stood in the wall where his hand once had been.

"A crafty illusion, to be sure," gloated Roderick. "Who'd think to vellum up a wall? Painted so precisely as to look to be pure plaster. But your woman's trick has come to naught."

Snapping, Roderick gestured and, at once, his attendants got to the business of tearing down the wall.

"God," breathed Arthur.

Roderick's gaze flicked towards him. "Why do you stand by them, Arthur?"

Arthur glanced hastily at the ladies. Swallowed. "To ensure they do not attempt to flee."

Roderick frowned.

"Your inevitable victory is something they really ought to see, Your Imperial Majesty."

Satisfied, Roderick smiled triumphantly at Eilionora, and nodded to Arthur. Aria glared at him. The emperor turned as a broad, wooden door was revealed and, with some difficulty, prized open by the attendants.

Now, it was to file into the room. Two servants went first -- to ensure the safe passage of the glorious presence behind them against any booby traps -- then the emperor went through followed by his attendants and lastly the ladies, with Arthur bringing up the train.

The door was low and ancient he saw, its planks turned half to stone by unimaginable age and, curious, Arthur swept his fingers along it as he passed through. The soul, he was told, was recurring. Had some version of him ever touched this wood before, perhaps its gentle-growing branches before it had been cut. Stooping to pass under the lintel, Arthur was temporarily blinded by a blanket of dark, limpid eyes narrowing as he stumbled a step or two inside.

He emerged into a vault of starlight as the last vestiges of day gave way to velvet-soft night, the firmament dotted with twinkling starlight, caught in a veil of midnight. It seemed a thousand, thousand stars glittered in the liquid night and that, if Arthur only stretched out his hand, he might just touch them with the edges of his fingertips.

"God be good," whispered Arthur. "I've never seen so many stars."

Glancing about him, he took in the ruins all about him -- a shattered dome, floor-to-ceiling arches that may once have contained windows now gaping over a yawning chasm.

"Do you know what this room is, Arthur?"

"No," he said, curiously glancing around him. "What is this place?"

It seemed to him that each lain stone was blue as lapis lazuli -- perhaps was lapis lazuli! -- and inset with ivory or some such so that stars were inset even into the very stones that strained to shelter them against the heedless sky above. Stretching out a hand, he laid it flat against one wall, cautiously approaching the casements to peer over the side of the mountain. Nothing but open sky greeted his gaze.

"How far up are we?"

"This is the crest of the mountain, Arthur."

He straightened, turned back towards his father. "What?!" he demanded. " Then--then this is--"

"Yes, the so-called Vault of the Heavens, the Cathedral of Stars, and other such: the very spot where their heathen goddess is said to have once set foot, according to some legends; where the shards of starlight were found from which their familial swords were forged. This," Roderick pointed down, grinning now in the pale starlight. "This is the most sacred place in all of Stafford."

Arthur glanced down at his feet, some sensation half like guilt springing vine-like across him, before his gaze shot suddenly to Aria, her own gaze now trained, relentless, upon Roderick.

"Now," continued Roderick, even his tone a gloat. "Where are those craters where the stars touched the earth? They're in this very room..."

Arthur's gaze did not leave Aria's face and, though it was hard to tell in the streaming starlight, he thought perhaps he saw tears sparkling at the edges of her eyes. His throat tightened. Arthur's hands closed to fists.

"Fill them in, shall we?" continued Roderick. "And bring what's left of this place to the ground. No trace of this heresy shall remain once I've done."

It was misery on her face, bleak and utter. She seemed to look at the walls, to the sky, as if they spike to her, friends soon to be shattered. A loss as deep as her name. Gritting his teeth, Arthur turned abruptly to his father, but Eilionora beat him to it. She was...laughing. Arthur watched fury dawn upon Roderick's face, unfurling like a plume of liquid flame over obsidian-dark granite. Sneer for sneer and glare for glare, emperor and former queen stared one another down.

She came forward. "No original ideas, have you? Do you know some of my own ancestors had a similar notion. Their great hall might prove more useful, they believed, otherwise. They tried everything they could -- every earthly tool there is: stone to cover up and concrete to pour. They even attempted, when that did not work, to flatten the rest of the earth. In every case, their tools came away bent and broken. The goddess shelters this place still. You can no more raze this site than they!"

Roderick's face was granite, craggy rocks -- brow and nose and lips -- etched with statuesque ire. As Roderick moved to close the gap between himself and his would-be bride, Arthur stepped forward.

Arthur had seen his mother do this a thousand times. Surely...surely he could do it, too. Oh, he could not employ precisely the same tactics she did: what Roderick might find favorable in a woman would prove repulsive to him in a man, but the principles still stood. He could move the Emperor, if he chose. Surely he could. He simply never had. But surely, surely he could. And he would. Just this once. Just this once, he would...

Slowly he began to clap, letting boastful swagger into his step as he strode forward, placing himself between the emperor and the ladies, and turning a look of perfect arrogance upon the one-time queen. He'd perfected this look long ago. One in eternal competition had to.

"It was a fine attempt, my lady," he laughed. "But did you imagine the God's Chosen would fall for so obvious a ploy?"

"Ploy? It is no--"

Laughing, again, Arthur held up a hand to silence her and turned towards his father, clapping him on the shoulder. "The hubris of women excels everything."

He felt Roderick's gaze heavy upon him. Here it was. The moment. Everything hinged on what he said next. It wasn't a betrayal of Roderick, he told himself. What he said could be true! And there was Aria, lovely and lonely as the stars above, tears radiant with the same silver light. He couldn't stand by and watch. How could anyone bear the misery on Aria's face? No. He had to act. He had to.

"Imagine, trying to goad an emperor into cheating himself of his greatest prize!"

Arthur was careful not to look at Aria. He felt the weight of her look, but he did not turn. He hoped she saw what he was doing -- but he doubted it as well. She'd just see the hateful swaggering prince too easily bent by his father's will: the one she'd always detested leaping out again: throwing her beliefs in her sister's face; laughing at them both. Still, it was better, Arthur told himself, better than the alternative. It was the best he could do.

"When this is the seat of power she's been guarding, the secret she's been holding onto!"

Roderick's eyes were fastened on Arthur, and the prince knew his father would not ask for clarification: he would not wish to admit to anyone that he did not see what Arthur was getting at. But Arthur would have to be careful in that, too. He couldn't let his father realize that Arthur knew he wasn't following.

"It's like a woman, isn't it? To try to manipulate you into destroying the very thing that gives her power over the Astairan people." He turned his gaze on the queen, then, found her expression contoured with rage...and confusion. "This is it, after all, isn't it? This is the reason they follow you? This place? That lost blasted sword! You blind them with symbols of power till they believe in you and nothing else! You must hate your people in truth: to wish further unrest on them, rather than cede to peace under someone else! You'd rather this place reduced to rubble, wouldn't you, than see its power put into the hands of your conqueror?"

Roderick's hand was heavy on Arthur's shoulder. He was behind him, and Arthur couldn't see his face. Was it ire? His clever father had seen the betrayal in him, and now his cruel wrath would fall upon Arthur's mother and brother and sister as well as himself! The hand was heavy enough. But it lingered, too. Was it encouragement, then, a kind of thanks for showing him...what was, in fact, a lie? A rotten son, indeed, and to both parents, it seemed. Arthur swallowed hard.

"Easy, Arthur," his father said. "We cannot fault her for trying. It can be no easy thing to see one's seat of power fall into another's hands for a second time, I am sure."

Arthur heaved a deep breath, pressing his eyes closed. It had worked. And then he heard Eilionora laughing again.

Roderick gestured and the ladies were led away. Arthur did not dare look at Aria. He had saved her sacred site for her, yes, but could she forgive him for the means? And did she know it had been his intention? And, god, he had betrayed his own honored father in so doing! Perhaps he deserved punishment, after all. And, he thought, he'd suffer it all gladly. God, what was becoming of him?

It was Arthur's turn to laugh. And putting his hands to his face, he did.

[forgottenroderick]

OOC | Event 3

AHHHHHHHH!!!! omg obsessed w this new event!!!! ok so i defff think that roderick's eternally sus brain is gonna be doing paranoia somersaults over this one!!!!!

also w this having happened, its now gonna be even WORSE on both @forgottenarthur and @forgottenarias if/when roderick learns that he's been allowing aria out bc roderick's defff gonna believe, if he learns that now, that she was fomenting all this!!! and def that idolater siobhan as well!!! but she's def at the root of this, regardless ;DDD

either way tho he's def gonna tighten up security around the two 'ladies of stafford' bc he is feeling the trust even less now than he was just five minutes ago alkjsfkljsdkjfdf

[muckcourt]

@vitalphenomena

"Must you be so base?"

[forgotteneilionora]

OOC | Varmont & Stafford Heirs

this is relevant to nothing, really, but getting emo and i just had to share about the anti-parallel of the three heirs of roderick vs the three heirs of domnhall -- the unity of the staffords vs the discord of the varmonts; the fact that each is an equal member of house stafford while two children aren't even heirs for house varmont despite its conflict over that v matter; the fact that the stafford ruler was chosen by vote and the varmont one will likely be chosen by war; the fact that in both cases one heir is held apart from the others -- for the staffords only physically, for the varmonts by gender; that each of the six is a reflection of their parents and all the factors that created them; that each, in their way, fights endlessly for the things that really matter to them...

...excuse me...imma go cry now

[aria0fgold]

While typing up the previous post I just realized a common trait shared across all my favourites and that... their self-preservation is Broken, they're self-sacrificial, they all think it'd be better to endanger themselves for the sake of the people they care about. Head in hands... I set myself up for Pain when all my faves are running head first into death's door.

[opera-ghosts]

Henri Albers in the title role of Chausson's Le Roi Arthus, which he created at the Monnaie in Bruxelles in 1903.

Henri Albers, born Johan Hendrik Albers (1 February 1866 – 12 September 1926),[1] was a Dutch-born opera singer who later became a French citizen. He sang leading baritone roles in an international career that spanned 37 years and was a prominent singer at the Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels and the Opéra-Comique in Paris, which was his base from 1900 until his death. He also sang in 36 performances with the Metropolitan Opera company from 1898 to 1899. He made many recordings for Pathé Records and specialised in the heavier baritone and basso cantante repertoire.

Albers was born in Amsterdam and initially Albers was born in Amsterdam and initially trained and worked as an actor. He then studied singing at the Conservatorium van Amsterdam and was engaged by Johannes George De Groot to sing with his newly established Hollandsche Opera company. He made his operatic debut in 1889 as Méphistophélès in a Hollandsche Opera production of Gounod's Faust and during the next two years continued singing leading roles with the company. In 1891, on the recommendation of De Groot, he met with the French composer Jules Massenet and auditioned for him. Massenet was impressed and encouraged him to study further in Paris and to broaden his horizons beyond Amsterdam. After further singing studies in Paris with Jean-Baptiste Faure, Albers made his first stage appearance outside Holland when he was engaged by the French opera company in Antwerp. In 1892, he sang Jean d'Hautecoeur in the company's first production of Alfred Bruneau's Le rêve and began a lifelong friendship with the composer, appearing in many of his operas.After Antwerp, Albers was engaged as After Antwerp, Albers was engaged as Principal Baritone at the Opéra de Bordeaux and went on to sing at the Royal Opera House in London and the Opéra de Monte-Carlo. He was engaged by the Metropolitan Opera in 1898 and sang with the company both on tour and in New York City. He made his company debut on 8 November 1898 as Mercutio in the Met's touring performance of Roméo et Juliette in Chicago. He remained with the company through 1899, appearing 36 times in eight different operas and tackling his first Wagnerian role, Wolfram in Tannhäuser.On his return to Europe he sang On his return to Europe he sang regularly at the Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels from 1901 to 1906 and added several more Wagnerian roles to his repertoire: Telramund in Lohengrin; Hans Sachs in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg; Wotan in Das Rheingold, Siegfried, and Die Walküre; and Kurwenal in Tristan und Isolde. A highly versatile singer, he also appeared in the title roles of La Monnaie's productions of Hamlet, Rigoletto, Hérodiade, and Le roi Arthus, as well as singing Count di Luna in Il trovatore, Iago in Otello, and Baron Scarpia in Tosca.In 1899, he had also been In 1899, he had also been engaged by the Opéra-Comique in Paris where he sang leading baritone and bass-baritone roles for the next 25 years in 39 different operas. Although it became his "home" opera house, he continued to appear at La Monnaie, the Paris Opéra, and several other European opera houses from time to time. He became a naturalized French citizen in 1920.In late In late August 1926 at Aix-les-Bains, Albers once again sang the role of Jean d'Hautecoeur in Le rêve.A month later, he died in Paris of a sudden illness at the age of 60. At the time of his death, he was on the administrative council of the Union des Artistes dramatiques et lyriques des théâtres français.

[sequestered-song-skirmish]

Round 2 Poll 27

The Nightmare Song：　「While The Nightmare Song and the operetta it's from (Iolanthe) may not be totally obscure, I think this specific version of it is niche enough to count for this competition. Martyn Green was one of D'Oyly Carte's best comic baritones, and his performances in Gilbert and Sullivan shows are wonderful. However, while his renditions of G&S numbers are not impossible to find, they're also not easy to get ahold of either. The YouTube video I've linked to is actually an almost hour-long collection of Martyn Green singing G&S songs, and the whole thing has only about 1.1K views. (I don't know if it's on Spotify as I don't have a Spotify account) I've sent a timestamped link, to where the song starts at 38:30. The Nightmare Song itself is an entertaining and impressive example of patter, which showcases the talent and diction of its performer.」

The timestamp works for me currently, but I can't promise it will after posting. If it doesn't in the embed, perhaps it will in the link above.

Endbeginendbeginendbeginend：　「(not to be confused with the OTHER song on the Our Eternal Present EP, Beginendbeginendbeginendbegin.) this mf has five whole views on youtube and none of aria bare's songs on spotify have gone over 2k streams. 12 minutes of weird ass chill noise but also kind of noise music that tears into the silence??? idk this is a weird fucking song and i love it. this thing jumpscares me and it's great . it's so bizarre and ominous and i haven't really heard anything like it ever. shoutout to my gender studies teacher for playing this during class for some reason ????? if a song were to ever be trans this would be it i guess」

[whisperhillforo]

[sitting-on-me-bum]

Long-tailed Macaque

Photo by Arthur Arias on Unsplash

[forgottenarthur]

Storm at the Gates | Arthur & Aria

"They're out there!" Arthur stabbed a finger in the direction. "They're at our gates! This requires a resolution and I can give it! Please! Father! Now is the time! Let me--"

"NO!" boomed the emperor. Roderick Varmont's gaze was steel, tooth to tooth in full snarl. "You will do nothing of the sort. This is not a matter requiring imperial intervention."

Breath hissed between his clenched teeth. "Once before, Father, I stood in this position while a riot overtook the people in my charge. I cannot stand by--"

"MY charge!" declared Roderick, rising from his throne. "These people are no concern of yours, boy! And there is no trouble here! You will report to safety and you will do nothing. That is an order!"

Arthur's shoulders hunched. He couldn't slow the pounding in his chest. He tore his gaze away, towards the sandstone floor. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," he bit out, at last, tracing a cursory bow and stalking out of the room.

All around him, shrieks echoed through the corridors. This was wrong, he thought. All wrong. All his life, Arthur had trained, sword in hand, heavy armor banding his body like a steel glove. He was meant to be a warlord. He was meant to fight, not to cower behind stone. The gates boomed. They were pushing against them.

Even at Kil-Kennar he'd not hidden. At Kil-Kennar, he'd led the charge, when he might have quelled them, instead. The great gates shook. Arthur balled his fists. He was naked without his sword. Without his armor. And Kil-Kennar was all around him. He smelled the metallic tang of blood. The battered gates boomed in his chest. Screams echoed in his earts. It was all come again. Aine's bright red blood splashed upon Daybreak's gleaming blade and too-hot upon his own face. Weeping, screaming. Even then he might have spared lives. Even then...

Boom, boom! The gates clanked and clattered and Arthur had not even a sword.

'Hold fast!' some past version of him had barked to his men. The people howled outside. They wanted blood, red as the banners he'd used to claim Kil-Kennar. His men were praying. Pleading. There were far too few.

'We fight for our emperor!' Arthur had shouted. 'We fight for our lives! And we fight for our god! Hold fast and take heart, for there are no greater warriors in all the world! Today, all who raise their swords with me are sons of our divine emperor, my own brothers in bloodshed! Emmissaries of the true god, your deeds shall never be forgot!' He had them, now. He could feel it. When he had finished speaking, Arthur unsheathed Daybreak, turning towards the shivering gates. 'Those men are calling for blood. Let's give it to them!'

His words has swayed them. He knew it well. The cowering men had taken heart, rising, a hundred swords unsheathing with his own. But the consequences had been terrible. They were all of them -- soldier and rioter, alike -- his people. His responsibility. Every drop of blood had been his own, every broken bone, and every life forever altered. If he had only spoken out to the crowd...

He still might. They were at the gates, again, crying out for justice. He had taken justice from them before. But this time...this time it could all put to rights. Aine's life could not be restored, but the Stafford name could! How could it be worth all this bloodshed? Arthur turned back towards the room he'd just left, about to march back into his father's presence, but he recalled, then, his emperor's final words. If he spoke, now, it would not be with the voice of the god. It would be his own mortal hubris. It would be a sacreligious betrayal of his own true emperor, the God's own Champion. He could not.

Still and half shivering, Arthur turned his back upon the shuddering gate. He felt sick, nausea rising towards the crown of his heart with each heartbeat. He darted for the stairs. There was nothing he could do out there but, he reminded himself, there was something he might still do within these high walls. He knew where the women and children would be sheltered. he could take charge of the guard, he could see to it that they were all kept safe within the walls. He breathed a little easier at the thought, yet still the booms shrieked in his ears. Up and up and up he wound, mind turning over to his mother, his sister...and to Aria. The Queen and the Princess would be well protected, he had no doubt, his father's men would die defending them, if needs must, but Aria? Where was she? Who would look to her safety beyond keeping charge over some kind of prize?

Sucking in a deep breath, Arthur ran up and up and up, taking two stairs at a time. He had to find her. The first two places he looked, she was not, but at last he came to a small room, high above and replete with windows. Fear was a bird hovering just at his heart, weightier and weightier with every room he checked. God, he prayed. God, save her. He couldn't let her be hurt no matter what, but even worse to think of her injured with the way they'd left things after the Ice Ball! Yet, as he came into the room, his prayers were answered. There stood Eilionora and Aria. His heart was in his mouth to see her so close to danger.

"What are you thinking?!" barked Arthur at the guards, storming into the room. "Get them away from the windows! These rabble-rousers have projectiles! It's not safe!"

Eyes widening, the guards jumped to attention, moving in towards the women, but as soon as they moved to draw them from the windows, Eilionora resisted. Arthur ignored them all, stepping up to Aria, himself, and pulling her away, towards a dark corner of the room while the soldiers dealt with her struggling sister.

"What were you thinking?!" demanded Arthur, hands fluttering anxious across her waist, her arms, her shoulders, her head with its crown of ebony hair, searching for any wounds. She was so slight, her eyes wide, and his heart was a hammer, hands frantic in their search. What would he do if something had happened?

But he couln't think of that, couldn't think at all, as the weight of her eyes fell upon his. His questing hands slowed. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright. She looked at him. He couldn't breathe. Her breath was warm. One hand stopped at her waist, pulling her close. The other touched her face. The heat of her satin skin. His thumb gently traced the sweep of her cheek. He tucked a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. "Are you all right?"

[whore-tm]

Yessssss crying my eyes OUT

[muckcourt]

@vitalphenomena

"You're going to break it."

[swtsours-a]

SHIPS  TAG  DUMP  PT  3

[aria0fgold]

You never realize just what's deeply wrong with Cain Knightley until you're greeted with a translation of his birthday greeting to Arthur with the very first line being "I will bare my neck to an enemy's sword," Like my guy... That's one WILD opening to greet someone a happy birthday.

[opera-ghosts]

Clara Butt (contralto) - The Lost Chord (Procter & Sullivan) (1909)

In January, 1877 Sir Arthur Sullivan composed this famous ballad whilst keeping vigil at the bedside of his elder brother Frederic, who lay dying, aged only 39. It is set to words by Adelaide Procter (1825-1864), an author well-known in her own day for her output of sentimental verse. In spite of the circumstances of its composition, The Lost Chord became a great favourite, played and sung in parlours and ballad concerts, the epitome of popular Victorian song. It was dedicated to the memory of Frederic.

One of the first singers to perform it regularly was the beautiful American socialite Mrs Fanny Ronalds (1839-1916), pictured right, who was for many years Sullivan’s close companion. The composer often accompanied her on the piano when she sang the song at fashionable society soirées and her recording of it was one of the earliest phonograph cylinders ever made. King Edward VII remarked on one occasion that he would travel the length of his kingdom to hear her sing The Lost Chord.

He died of heart failure in London on 22 November 1900. In his will, Sullivan left the manuscript of The Lost Chord to Mrs Ronalds. It has been alleged that on her own death the score was buried with her, but the present evidence surely indicates that, if so, that must have been another copy as she, in turn, gave this one to the English contralto Dame Clara Butt (1872-1936) who had received the Musicians’ Company’s Silver Medal while a student at the Royal College of Music in 1894. Miss Butt's nomination for the award (by Sir George Grove, no less), as "...the most distinguished pupil in the College"

Sullivan himself heard Butt singing The Lost Chord early in her career and is quoted as telling her “That is how I always meant it to be sung”. Butt included the song in many recitals and it often featured in her concert performances for Queen Victoria and other European royalty.

She recorded it several times, perhaps most famously on 7 August 1930 in Westminster Central Hall, and for years her richly individual interpretation was the favourite version of her many admirers.

Clara Butt made her first recording - with husband Kennerley Rumford - on 26 January 1899. Ten years were to pass before she recorded again. A session for The Gramophone Company at City Road on 9 July 1909 produced no issued recordings, but her next session a week later (ie on 16 July) resulted in four published discs.