# Voice Needed.



## Long_Tom (Oct 26, 2005)

What sort of Character? A villager or a patrician? Sane or mad? What sort of accent? English? German? Transylvanian? Something in between?


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## RRguy (Jul 14, 2007)

You could use a sound editor to create all kinds of effects with your voice recording. If you have a good CD or DVD burning program, you may already have a sound editor. I have Nero. I can only assume that Roxio also comes with a sound editor.

I cropped out the oration about death at the end of the *Guess Who* song "Hang On To Your Life." Using the Nero sound editor, and using the *Transpose* tool, I changed the voice to a lower register without reducing the speed of the recording, thereby maintaining the length of the sound file.

I can't offer samples because I don't have a website to upload the files to for linking.


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## Fiyero (Oct 25, 2005)

I already got that speech taken care of, but I do have a few more characters that need voices, Two male and one female.


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## Long_Tom (Oct 26, 2005)

Same questions, then. And script. Maybe I could give one of the male characters a shot.


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## Fiyero (Oct 25, 2005)

The character is called "Gerard Bexlimorre" He was a friend of Count Ravenswood when they were youths. and he fell under the curse of Ravenswood Castle forever in the form of a wolf. He is the sort of tour guide to the castle, there are several bits but here is one you can try.


"He’d gone too far this time—much too far. 

Really; I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t just stand by and watch the self-initiated destruction of my one-time friend, the adventurous comrade I had known in the long-gone days of my youth.

Madame Belladonna —bless her soul, wherever she was—was no longer about to keep Fiyero from throwing himself madly, thoughtlessly, into whatever abyss he saw himself as destined for. But I was here, and I wasn’t just about to let him go through with whatever insane design he’d now come up with.

I repeated the orderly, logical speech that I’d come up with after hearing from the terrified merchant, Sir Charles Alverdine, of his meeting with the Count Fiyero, as I marched resolutely up the curving stairwell that led up from the sixth floor of the particular wing of Ravenswood Castle that I had been in.

Aging, however, had many more downsides than anyone would like to admit, and I had to stop time and time again to allow myself a brief pause for breath. Then, as I continued, I cursed Fiyero every step of the way for the arthritic pain his latest idiocy was causing me.

The man was mad indeed!

Eventually, though, I made it to the top of the thrice-accursed stairway, and found myself standing in a doorway that opened up into a long, wide hall of gleaming cream-white marble. Shafts of moonlight fell from the large open windows that lined this corridor, glancing upon the immaculate floor and pillars there, and on their sleek and pristine embellishments of fine silver. There was not a speck of dust or debris to be seen anywhere. Fiyero, if nothing better could be said of him, was an exceedingly fastidious and well-ordered individual, and he would not tolerate the slightest bit of overgrowth or disorder in his domain.

At least if he had the choice, he would not, I reflected morosely upon catching a glimpse of the palace gardens, far below, through a window as I passed down the hallway: the soles of my boots making no more sound on the cold floor than the gently sweeping wings of a moth on the air. The castle was completely—one might almost say disturbingly—quiet.

But that was only if one had never been there before.

I had gotten used to it now.

With every year that passed by, Ravenswood Castle grew more wild, more overrun by the thick and entangling rose vines that had sprung up out of the ground, a seeming lifetime before when a powerful enchantment had been laid over the place. The former beauty of the palace still shone inexorably, clearly, out of the thorns and leathery green leaves, but it seemed as if the forest of vines was growing moment by moment, second by second. I knew I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if I’d seen another rose unfurl before my eyes, or a vine snake its way up one of the once immaculate stone walls.

Every year, Ravenswood Castle became darker.

Of course, Frytania would have left Fiyero just that much—a beautiful prison to remind him of former days, of the life he had once known as his own, but a prison that would gradually turn more and more into a place that could only serve to ultimately hold him captive. And of course she would have left him scores of personal reminders of herself: the roses that were so reminiscent of her appearance, which marked his time left to live under her curse…

My heart nearly left off its beating in my chest as I stopped dead, realizing with a jolt just what Fiyero’s latest madness meant.

Is he hoping that the boy—this Circelae—will save him? He’s only a child! He could never go up against the dark power of one such as Frytania! 

Now I knew: I really needed to find the cursed Count of Alterra.

One of my former friend’s favorite haunts about his deserted palace was the lovely glass-domed tower atop the entire castle. From this vantage point, one could look out and see the entirety of Ravenswood Castle, its grounds, and the forest surrounding it: set so high above the ground that the tower had a view of the landscape surrounding the castle for miles and miles. It was here that I knew I could find him on most nights. 

He had nowhere else to hide now.

I climbed the stairway that led up to the tower room, rehearsing my speech for the last time in preparation to give him the piece of my mind that I thought he deserved, and all at once found myself in the doorway. I looked instantly for the tall, black-cloaked figure that I was certain would be lurking within the tower’s shadows, as it was almost every night after sunset.

And he was there—standing alone at the three-tiered ledge that was all that kept anyone who was standing in the tower from walking right off of it, into thin air. I didn’t like to go very near that ledge. The awesome drop to the waterfall-filled gorge below and my inescapable, untamable fear of heights prevented that.

So I stood where I was, and looked at him for a moment.

Many long years had passed since the day when Ravenswood Castle had been transformed by a powerful sorceress’s spell into a place of ghostly memories of the past and the even bleaker prospect of a dark, uncertain, enchanted future. 

I had been away from the place when the sorceress had returned to wreak her vengeance on the Count, the man she had assumed to be her lover—though many other rumors had said otherwise—and so I had not been included in the curse. Frytania had been unaware of my existence at that time. After all, I was Fiyero’s friend, and she had had eyes only for Fiyero himself.

At any rate, when I had returned from my time of sojourn away from Ravenswood Castle, I had found it utterly devoid of all its former life, movement, and sound. There was not a soul, not a single living being about, and just to get in, I had had to hack my way with my sword through a thick net of rose vines that had grown up over the silver gates of the castle. The entire place reeked of foul enchantment, and when I had found Fiyero, and at last viewed the ghastly horror that had been visited upon him, I had known that this could be nothing but the out-workings of the most dreadful curse I had ever seen.

Much time had passed, and the world beyond the castle had gone on.

I had found a new home for myself in a manor not far away from the forest that had once been known as the royal park of the Alterrian royal family, and lived there quietly, with only a housekeeper and a butler-footman to keep my company on a few days of the week. My youth had drifted past me, and I had journeyed into adulthood, then middle age, and now, finally, the beginning of my twilight years. I was now an older man with silvery-gray in my mustache and hair, lines at the corners of my eyes, and considerably less energy and agility than I had had in my younger years.

But Fiyero, because of the sorceress’s spell…

Fiyero himself had not changed since his last encounter with the sorceress. He had not visibly aged, except for his mane, which was now white. He was still the same Lion I knew at least, though I noted—watching as he stood there, looking out over the lands without acknowledging me—that his clothing tastes had altered a bit.

He wore stark and uninhibited black now, and nothing but black, At the moment, I couldn’t see anything of him but the outline of his cloak, but he knew that I was there. I was sure of it. With hearing like his, it was scarcely surprising— 

Yet he did not turn from his contemplation of the night sky.

I shifted on my feet, feeling a prick of irritation, almost wishing that he would hurry up and turn around, and be done with it. The last thing an old man like me wanted was to stand around on top of some forsaken tower while the cold wind lashed around and threatened to send him to who-knew-what doom."

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In that scene he is reading a entry from his diary. But I am not sure as to what exact dialect to use, I am not sure of what accent, try a few different ones and see?

Thanks!


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## Long_Tom (Oct 26, 2005)

In my mind I am hearing someone reminiscent of Holmes' friend Dr. Watson? 

Some pronunciation items:
-- Alverdine: Alver-deen? or Alver-dyne?

-- Frytania: Frye-tane-ya? Frih-tane-ya? Frih-tahn-ya? 

-- Circelae: Sir-seh-lay? Sir-seh-lye?


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## Fiyero (Oct 25, 2005)

I should have noted, that Gerard is Persian.

Seer Suh Lay - Circelae

Fry - Tawn - Ia Frytania

Alver Deen - Alverdine.

Fee- Air-Oh -Fiyero.


(Try A watson accent too if you wish, that could be most interesting)


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## Fiyero (Oct 25, 2005)

Any luck with it , Long Tom?


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## Long_Tom (Oct 26, 2005)

Schedule got full last week. I will give it a go one of the evenings this week, assuming somebody else doesn't beat me to it.


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## Fiyero (Oct 25, 2005)

Oh dont worry. No one has done that yet


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