Roland held the tip of his pretend-staff with both hands, attempting to push its end against the ground. The moment it seemed that it had become more stable, he let it go, the pole pointing towards the sky.
"Light... cheerful... loud. A roar between the whispers."
Roland then opened his cape, letting its cloak fly against the wind, the multiple wooden tools tied against the cloth clicking against each other, held together only by the hood tied around his neck. The cacophony of wood slowly transitioned into harmonic excerpts - the invasive noise sometimes becoming a melody intertwined by the occasional knocks of wood against the metal of the gray-colored armor chest-piece he wore underneath the cloak, now exposed.
"Matters of birth and life are something that I cannot reach into as easily as other subjects. The Ten Divines cannot will it so - for it is knowledge pertaining to the Fallen One. Yet still... I must guide my ears to the Divine Asha, may her cold heart love with all its worth."
The whispers wade in and out, as if waves crashing against the rocks, as if flames doused by rain. As if roots piercing the earth.
"... We cannot... any further..."
"... ship... to sail ..."
Too far. Whispers rearrange, the voice cannot still be heard. Focus fades in and out as the harmony builds, crashes down, and rebuilds anew. An eternal cycle.
"Her voice is light... cheery. ...say... name. Say... her... ...name."
The whispers were not clear enough yet, but they were slowly taking form.
"Yao."
And with the word, the wind stopped fluttering his cape about.