miyamoto-sama stood before the assembled host of engineers, designers, artists, testers, and marketers.
each one, to a man, was kneeling, reverent.
it was aonuma-san who broke the silence. "give us your blessing, great lord," he said.
miyamoto-sama opened his third eye and gazed through it into the throng. "music is the voice of the host," he said in words-that-were-not-words. "let all men, be they hale or weak, quick of wit or slow of thought, dextrous or sluggardly, accomplished or mechanical, recieve the gift of music." with his hands, he pantomimed many instruments, and a seraphic accompaniment began to syncopate his gestures.
"yes," said aonuma-san, swaying. "we will bring to all men the gift of music."

miyamoto-sama
