WTFudge: Whispers From A Legend!
WTFudge: Whispers From A Legend!
I never though this would be possible, but it happened. IT HAPPENED!!!
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Funny how searching for one thing might lead to something completely different…like MUSIC.
HÖBIN: I can’t believe this is happening.
JAIME: I KNOW!
HÖBIN: You wouldn’t even know about him unless I’d shared my collectors albums.
JAIME: And I am very grateful that you did, Höbin. It’s changed my love for music, and I have to tell you, it’s dramatically improved my view of gentre culture.
HÖBIN: You’re just saying that because you don’t like the RAVE music of the lower districts.
JAIME: I am.
HÖBIN: Its not that bad if you put your hips into the beat, you know.
JAIME: Lets talk about our hips later, especially your replacements. Stay on point. We’re here, we are both excited, let the community know why.
HÖBIN: Sorry. *ahem*
Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to OFFICIALLY announce that the anticipated new album from the music legend B.B. Wing, has been completed!
JAIME: WE GOT US A NEW ALBUM JUST FOR OUR COMMUNITY!!!
HÖBIN: Did you have to yell?
JAIME: Sorry. …but YES!!
HÖBIN: *sigh* Jaime, none of our readers even know who BB is. You’re excited, that’s good, but let’s help everyone catch up and let them know why you’re so excited. I think it’s a good idea to introduce BB’s background. It’s fascinating.
JAIME: …but I don’t know BB’s background.
HÖBIN: Luckily, you know an equally famous historian who does.
JAIME: Who?
HÖBIN: …..
JAIME: *snort* Sorry, Höbin. Go on. Tell your stories.
B.B. Wing: The Blues Bard of the Lower Slums
Early Life: Born from the Grind
Born Bruno Brass Winggear—a name only his mother ever used—B.B. Wing was a child of the rusted, creaking underbelly of Clockworks City. The Lower Slum Districts, where he took his first steps, were a maze of dilapidated buildings and narrow alleys echoing with the sound of grinding gears and steam vents.
His father, a clocksmith of middling talent, spent his days toiling in a small, cluttered workshop, struggling to eke out a living in a city that valued precision and punctuality over artistic expression. B.B.’s mother, a washerwoman, kept the family afloat with her unwavering determination, instilling in him a resilience that would shape his future.
The city itself was a complex blend of mechanical marvels and industrial grit, where the elite thrived in towering spires while the lower classes languished beneath their shadows.
For the young B.B., this was a place of endless noise—clanging metal, hissing steam, and the relentless ticking of the city’s massive chronometers.
Amidst this cacophony, he discovered the rhythm of the blues, a sound that resonated with the beat of his own heart.
The First Strum: Finding His Voice
At the age of 10, while rummaging through a heap of discarded junk behind an abandoned factory, B.B. found his first guitar—a battered, half-broken acoustic instrument missing several strings.
It was hardly playable, but to B.B., it was a treasure.
He spent countless nights by the dim glow of gas lamps, coaxing melodies from the worn-out strings, teaching himself to play by ear. His fingers bled, but the pain was a small price to pay for the solace music provided.
By the time he was 15, B.B. had become a local prodigy, known for his ability to turn the harsh, mechanical sounds of Clockworks City into soulful melodies.
The slums had never heard anything like it—a music that reflected their struggles, their dreams, and their undying spirit.
B.B.’s performances in the smoke-filled corners of underground bars and on street corners drew small crowds, each person drawn to the raw emotion in his playing.
The Rise: A Legend in the Making
As B.B. grew older, his reputation spread beyond the slums. His music became a beacon for the downtrodden, a symbol of defiance in a city where the poor were often forgotten.
He combined traditional blues with the unique sounds of Clockworks City— the rhythmic clanking of gears, the hum of machinery, and the distant, eerie whir of wind through the metal spires. This fusion created a genre all his own, known as Gear Blues, which resonated with the working class and quickly became the soundtrack of rebellion.
By his twenties, B.B. Wing was more than just a musician; he was the voice of a generation.
He refused to play in the affluent districts, insisting that his music belonged to the people who had inspired it. His disdain for the upper class’s sterile, emotionless lifestyle was evident in his lyrics, which often critiqued the disparity between the city’s rich and poor.
This stance only increased his popularity among the lower classes, who saw in him a champion of their cause.
The Turning Point: Love, Loss, and Legacy
B.B.’s life was not without its tragedies.
His one true love, a fiery young gnome named Ruby Sparks, shared his passion for music and the dream of a better life. Together, they planned to leave Clockworks City and find a place where their music could flourish free from the grime and oppression of the slums.
But fate had other plans.
Ruby fell ill, succumbing to a mysterious disease that swept through the Lower Slums, claiming many lives.
Her death shattered B.B., driving him into a deep depression.
For years, B.B. disappeared from the public eye, retreating into the shadows of Clockworks City. Rumors swirled about his whereabouts, with some saying he had left the city, while others claimed he had died of a broken heart.
In truth, B.B. spent this time refining his craft, pouring his grief and anger into his music. The result was a collection of haunting, powerful songs that would later become his most famous work.
Legacy: The Eternal Echo of Gear Blues
Now at 68, B.B. Wing is a living legend, his name synonymous with the blues and the spirit of Clockworks City. He continues to live in the Lower Slums, his home a modest workshop where he builds and repairs instruments for the next generation of musicians.
Despite his fame, B.B. remains humble, a man who has never forgotten his roots or the people who supported him along the way.
His influence can be seen in the countless young gnomes who pick up guitars and harmonicas, eager to follow in his footsteps. The Gear Blues genre has spread far beyond the city, inspiring musicians across the world to experiment with the fusion of mechanical sounds and traditional music.
To those who know the true story, B.B. Wing will always be the heart and soul of Clockworks City, a symbol of perseverance, creativity, and the enduring power of music.
JAIME: Oh wow. I love that, Höbin.
HÖBIN: Good, huh.
JAIME: Dang straight. But you missed our meeting…which is why we’re actually sharing this information.
HÖBIN: I didn’t forget, Jaime. Just wanted to set the mood and give BB the respect I believe and feel he deserves.
JAIME: Fair. Tell the story now?
HÖBIN: [grinning] Absolutely.
The Meeting: When Worlds Collide
Jaime had heard whispers of B.B. Wing. Tales of the legendary gnome musician had reached the ears of those with an ear for the extraordinary, spreading through the underground music scene like wildfire.
JAIME: Oh! That’s complimentary. Appreciate that, Höbin.
HÖBIN: SHHHT!
JAIME: Sorry.
The stories were almost mythic—a bluesman who could conjure the soul of the city itself with a single strum of his guitar, whose music was said to be so powerful it could make even the most hardened heart weep.
For Jaime, who had a passion for discovering hidden talent, it was only a matter of time before he found himself on a journey to seek out the elusive artist.
But Clockworks City was not an easy place for a human to navigate.
The towering spires, winding alleys, and the ever-present hum of machinery created an atmosphere both awe-inspiring and intimidating. The city’s inhabitants, though not hostile, were wary of outsiders—especially humans, who rarely ventured into the heart of the gnomish world.
The journey was not without its challenges. Jaime spent days wandering the lower districts, asking questions in smoky bars and crowded marketplaces, often met with guarded responses or outright dismissals.
Slowly earning the trust of the locals with his sincerity and passion for music, he was directed to one of the oldest, most hidden taverns—The Rusty Nail.
B.B. Wing was seated at the far end of the bar, hunched over his guitar, fingers idly picking out a tune that seemed to blend seamlessly with the clatter of gears around them. He looked every bit the legend—his long white beard, eyes glinting beneath the brim of his wide-brimmed hat, and the air of quiet authority that surrounded him like a shield.
…but he also looked tired, as if the weight of the years and the relentless grind of the city had taken their toll.
Jaime approached cautiously, understanding the significance of the moment. This wasn’t just a meeting between a fan and a musician—it was a convergence of worlds.
A human was seeking to bridge the gap between their respective realms.
Jaime didn’t start with flattery or grand promises. He simply introduced himself and asked if he could sit down.
There was a long pause, then B.B. nodded, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.
“Not many humans find their way down here,” B.B. said, his voice as gravelly and deep as the blues he played. “What’s brought you to the Rusty Nail, stranger?”
Jaime smiled. “Your music, Mr. Wing. I’ve heard stories—legends, really. I wanted to hear it for myself, and maybe…find a way to share it with others who wouldn’t otherwise get the chance.”
B.B. raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t dismiss Jaime outright. Instead, he leaned back, taking a slow sip of the drink in front of him. “And why would I want that? My music belongs here, in Clockworks City, with the people who’ve lived the stories I tell.”
Jaime nodded. “I get that. But I believe your music could speak to others outside of Clockworks City. Humans, even. My world, out there, is different,…but the blues…your Gear Blues…it’s universal. It’s about struggle, hope, resilience. Those are things everyone can understand, no matter where they’re from.”
For a long time, B.B. didn’t say anything. He simply studied Jaime, weighing his words, perhaps searching for any hint of insincerity.
Jaime had come prepared, not with contracts or business propositions, but with a deep knowledge and love for the blues. He began to talk about the history of the Delta Blues, the legends who had come before—Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, B.B. King—drawing parallels to B.B. Wing’s own journey and the way his music could become a part of that broader legacy.
B.B. Wing had seen too many musicians lose themselves chasing fame, sacrificing their art for the sake of popularity.
…and here was a human who seemed to genuinely understand the importance of keeping the music pure, of letting it reach the people who needed it most.
“What do you propose, then?” B.B. finally asked, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Jaime smiled again, sensing that he was on the right track. “We keep it simple. No big labels, no glossed-over productions. We record your music the way you play it—raw, real, and full of soul. We share it with people who appreciate it for what it is. I can help you reach an audience outside of Clockworks City—humans who will never step foot here, but will hear your music and feel a connection, just like I did.”
The idea of sharing his music with humans, of crossing that bridge between their worlds, was not something B.B. had ever considered. But there was something in Jaime’s approach—a respect for the music, for the craft, and for the stories behind the songs—that resonated with him.
“All right,” B.B. said at last, a slow smile spreading across his face. “We’ll give it a shot. But on one condition.”
“Name it,” Jaime replied, eager but respectful.
“You let the music speak for itself. No flashy promotions, no sugar-coating. If the humans are gonna hear Gear Blues, they’re gonna hear it the way it’s meant to be heard.”
Jaime nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “You have my word.”
And so, the unlikely partnership was formed—an alliance between a human from another world and a gnome who had become a legend in his own right.
Jaime returned home with recordings of B.B. Wing’s music, staying true to the gnome’s wishes to let the music stand on its own merits. Humans, who had never heard anything like Gear Blues, could now experience the raw emotion and unique sound of B.B. Wing’s performances.
B.B.’s music, thanks to Jaime, can now find its way into the ears and hearts of people far beyond the city’s mechanical borders, connecting them through the universal language of the blues.
JAIME: Huh.
HÖBIN: That’s it? Just ‘Huh’?
JAIME: Wellll….
HÖBIN: Wellll what?
JAIME: You know it didn’t happen like that. I almost fell on my face walking into the bar, the fan boy broke out and I started stuttering, and that made BB laugh so hard he almost fell off the barstool.
HÖBIN: I was trying to make you look good.
JAIME: This is our community, Höbin. They know me too well.
HÖBIN: Fine. I tried.
JAIME: …and you’re a great gnome and even greater friend because of it, buddy. Thank you.
Which leaves us to the official announcement:
On Friday, October 4th, 2024, we will be posting the full album: ‘It Started Here’, right here on Life of Fiction!
Don’t miss it. You’ll love it.
Jaime & Höbin
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I’m always running out of basic supplies……if you’re willing & able, you can click on my list of what I use and buy a product …..OR…. you can buy me a coffee and I’ll get what I need when I need it. THANKS!
I’m new to your world, and yes, it can feel a bit overwhelming at first, even with the detailed description and screenshot in your well-organized post-subscription email showing me exactly where to begin. Maybe the rebel in me just wanted to explore freely, wherever my eyes led me. Your page has so much to take in visually. On top of that, wanting to catch up with everyone else, I ended up starting with the last post—the one I joined with—this one.
I must share with you that I found it so fascinating… the ingenuity of the world you’ve created and the detail… the details astound me! So intricate and realistic and masterfully executed. Not that I’m qualified to critique writing or art for that matter, but if my experience was somewhat of a magical one, I’d say that’s qualified enough. And then, to realize you have created an actual album from one of the characters?!… your mind is beautiful.
BB Wing is a such a cool cat (well, gnome) and I was transported to the streets listening to the sounds of the machinery and steam whistles and envisioning Mr. Wing with fog surrounding him, plucking his altered instrument and filling the air with his emotive music. It brought me back to a time where one-man, jazz concerts were held in the NYC subways or streets of yesteryear. I know exactly what those smoking manholes, dark alleys lined with ragged furniture and overflowing trash bins look like. The single pages of newspapers scattered about, with rats slipping in and out from under discarded couches, hunting for scraps. I can still hear the smooth sounds of a saxophone, played out of a window, filling the alleyways and basement corridors. The music echoed through the streets, creating a gritty yet strangely beautiful soundtrack to it all. I was blessed to have lived towards the end of an era where music was raw and unfiltered and talent was measured with a bar so high very few of this era could ever reach. Thank you for the experience.