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PNPC Apprentice Priestess T'Paun - Wuh eshikh panu; The Desert World.

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Karen/Stefania shared this with me and I knew I had to share it here.  I love the creativity, of order and logic through music which, especially with certain styles, is very orderly and logical.  I found it a fascinating idea and felt it deserved to be here.
((OCC. inspired by the awesome Aly's Haukea music description 😉 I had to do something about Vulcan music and about a Vulcan ritual to find the pure logic trough music :  The Vulahar. ))
((Little Risa - On a secluded beach - Starbase 118))
T'Paun, a youthful Vulcan musician and composer at the age of 63, served as an apprentice to the deputy priestess of the Vulahar temple on Vulcan. Notably, she possessed a striking beauty that even surpassed human standards.

Over the course of several years, T'Paun dedicated herself to intense preparation and the nomination process for the revered Vulahar ritual."

The Vulahar is a Vulcan ritual and a mental discipline that aims to harmonize the mind and the body with the universal order through musical expression.
It is not common for all Vulcans, but only for those who have a natural affinity for music and seek to transcend their individuality. The Vulahar can take several decades of study and practice, and it is usually performed at the Temple of Vulahar in the Vulcan's province of ShiKahr.
The final ritual involves a musical performance with a Vulcan master, who evaluates the candidate’s musical skill and logical purity. If successful, the candidate receives The Vulahar medallion as a symbol of their achievement.

T'Paun's candidacy was repeatedly rejected in accordance with Vulcan tradition. In fact, throughout Vulcan history, acceptance had never come easily to anyone. For some, their applications were perpetually declined, and it was customary to attempt up to 99 times without ever achieving success; 99 was indeed the maximum acceptable limit, even for a Vulcan.

Even the founder of the ancient discipline, the esteemed priest Svok, nearly a millennium ago, restrained himself by refusing 98 times before ultimately awarding himself the medallion of the Vulahar.

In the final ritual, Svok performed the flawless musical composition in complete solitude. At that time, he was the sole follower, the only priest, and the exclusive master of the Vulahar. On Earth, he might have been deemed a misunderstood and forgotten individual, but on Vulcan, over the centuries, he had earned recognition as a highly acclaimed master of logic and musical purity.
His composition, "Gok'shiv n'pana", is still played and repeated with each candidacy, serving as a test of purity to separate the less dedicated.
((OCC "Gok'shiv n'pana." = "The Flock's Starling."))

The Tradition had nearly faded into obscurity, surviving only through the sparse notes of a few monotonous songs and rare melodies carried on the winds of the desert plains of ShiKahr. It had only been rediscovered almost 200 years prior and had finally gained acknowledgement and respect from the Vulcan Music Academy, ranking second only to the realm of science—perhaps even higher, some might argue.

After T'Paun's fourth application was rejected, she spent nearly two years deliberating over the perfect instrument, torn between the harp and the Vulcan flute. Ultimately, she chose The Vulcan Flute.

It is a wind instrument made of metal, with a cylindrical body and a conical mouthpiece. It has six finger holes and a thumb hole, which allow the player to produce different pitches and tones. The Vulcan flute has a range of two octaves, and can produce both soft and loud sounds. The sound of the Vulcan flute is clear and pure, with a slight metallic timbre. It is often used to express the inner thoughts and feelings of the player, in a subtle and refined way. The Vulcan flute is considered a difficult instrument to master, as it requires precise breath control and finger coordination.

Following her fifth rejection, in accordance with tradition, she opted for self-exile, leaving behind the familiar comforts of her home planet, Vulcan.

Thus, she found herself at starbase 118, seeking solace in a place far removed from Vulcan's temptations and distractions. Here, she sought refuge in the unfamiliar, drawing inspiration from the chaos that surrounded her, ultimately discovering inner peace through the stark contrast.

She began to play a monotonous, detached melody, a tune devoid of emotion—a painfully dull composition. Could this, at last, be the solution she had longed for? The sought-after goal?

Surprisingly, the melody possessed a poignant quality, although it remained true to the typical monotony and flatness associated with Vulcan music. Its purpose was to clear the listener's mind, inducing a state of deep meditation, effectively lulling them into a state of profound boredom.

At a considerable distance from the vibrant center of the festival, on a secluded and isolated beach, T'Paun found herself playing her instrument in an atmosphere of profound solitude. Only a handful of Vulcans stood as her audience.

With a few deft touches on the panel , the instrument seamlessly continued the melody on its own, creating a repetitive loop that provided a steady backdrop. This allowed T'Paun to transition seamlessly into her own vocal performance, her voice weaving effortlessly through the recurring notes, enriching the musical tapestry with her hauntingly beautiful vocals.

Wuh eshikh panu. (The Desert World)

This is the world where we belong. A world of sand and stone. A world of harsh and dry A world of strength and will.

This is the world where we survive. A world of challenge and struggle. A world of danger and risk. A world of skill and wisdom.

This is the world where we thrive. A world of order and harmony. A world of logic and reason. A world of peace and balance.

This is the world where we meditate. A world of silence and calm. A world of no emotion and no distraction. A world of mind and soul.

This is the song of the desert world. A song of flat and steady. A song of no melody and no rhythm. A song that only we can hear.

The song concluded with a jarring, discordant final note, reminiscent of the abrupt sound of an alarm clock or a burglar alarm. This disruptive noise served as a mechanism to snap the listener back to reality, occasionally jolting them awake in a rather unsettling manner.


Apprentice Priestess of the Vulahar Temple
SB 118 
ID: C239604KS0
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