Post by L.A.C.R.I.M.O.S.A on Aug 11, 2007 13:49:51 GMT -5
"You are aware, I presume, that as soon as you set foot beyond this gate, you are dead to us."
The cloaked woman stopped dead in her tracks before the granite-gray monstrosity that was the gate of Celebarda, icy orbs that rivaled even the cold, merciless breath of Winter itself fixated on the path before her in quiet thoughtfulness. For a long moment, nothing was heard, and the virgin sun of dawn caressed the two avariels delicately with tender kisses of warmth and pleasantry as she tangled her golden, spindly fingers of incandescent light in their silver-white manes, her palm gently running itself across two identical, ivory-white complexions.
"Do not forsake us, Ithilwen. This is your home. Where now do you intend to go?"
The voice was of a god's, but although more humble so than divine power itself, it beheld the distinct traces of inexplicable power, of much-demanded respect and authority. The sound was a siren's song woven of golden lullabies and velveteen notes, deep and soothing in tone, and enough to satisfy the screeching birds of the forest as they looked on in respectful silence. It was of silver church bells in the early hours of morning, a coveted spectacle to sleepy eyes hidden beneath blanket and pillow as the maiden sun burned the sky in hues of brilliant oranges and crimsons. Completely inhuman though it was in beauty and grace and divinity, the undertones of the voice could not be ignored. The still earth quivered ever so slightly with silent fear in its disturbed slumber, and the forest inhabitants dared not speak for fear of endangering their lives.
But the woman knew better. The great and alluring voice held no fear over her.
Still, however, she refrained from speaking, her falcon companion perched comfortably atop her shoulder as he nudged her with the top of his head. He was too wise to dare impede on her judgment.
Ahead of the company, only a few meters away, sat a great white wolf in the middle of the cobblestone path, sagely and intelligent in appearance as it sat upon its muscle-bound haunches. Eyes the color of smoldering amber watched the avariel woman intently, patiently awaiting the next move as his lady gave him a fervent look. He, on the other hand, was already well beyond the gate.
The woman took a step forward but then hesitated, her gloved hands easing slowly to her face as she pulled down the hood of her cloak that before had obscured her features.
Like pale, fragile Winter, she was, with porcelain skin that remained unmarred and untainted by scar or bruise or blemish , pure as the freshly laid snow that pursued the death of autumn. Tall and slender, yet finely toned was her frame, covered more or less by a billowing, gray, traveling cloak hand-crafted by her own people, her long, lanky limbs hidden under the great garment. Her long, lily-white hair was graced with silvery hues and hung loose about her face and body, stopping only at the backs of her knees. An elegant and fine-boned face turned to meet the avariel man, a masterpiece of a marble statue brought suddenly to life by only a god, sharp and chiseled features giving her a visage of unparalleled beauty and charm. Her ears were elongated and pointed at the ends, denoting the lineage of an elven sub-race, but only the great, white wings that lie dormant beneath the supple skin of her back betrayed her true bloodline as an avariel. Finally, her eyes were of stark, azure ice, as cold and distant and unforgiving as the arctic lands beyond the great northern seas, but they could not mask the sheer intelligence and wisdom that lie securely behind them in a keen and watchful mind.
A voice that rivaled the godly sound of the avariel man was heard, but although just as alluring and powerful, it was of feminine connotation.
"The time for change has come upon me at last, my lord, and I'd be a wretched fool to ignore his demands." The woman turned slowly after setting him with a critical look. She didn't need to look at him to picture what he looked like. Staring right back at her would be two eyes that complemented her own, framed by locks of the same silver-white hair atop the same fine features. And like her own, his face would give way to no emotion, save the solemn, grim gaze of one who had seen many years passed.
She spoke again, her voice now more distant as she began to take small steps to wards the gate until she was directly under its looming shadow. "You do as you must. You rule these lands in a wise and just reign, and you are content with this. My calling, however, remains beyond this gate."
The man's brow became knit as he considered the woman's ambiguous motives, his mouth set in a tight line as silence lingered about for a moment. He finally voiced his mind with a simple statement.
"If you set foot beyond that gate," he drawled slowly in that same, beautiful and daunting tone," I will have nothing more to conclude but the fact that I have failed you, Ithilwen."
She stood there for a moment in consideration, her eyes never leaving the temptation of that trail before her. She addressed him once more, and it was for the last time in a long time.
"I am sorry........Father."
And as she made to pull up her hood once more, she pressed herself beyond the gate of Celebarda, beyond the lands of her own subjects, and beyond the watchful eye of her father who stood now in the gateway in silent observation of his daughter's departure.
...'You haven't failed me.'...
This is me for forever
One of the lost ones
The one without a name
Without an honest heart as compass
This is me for forever
One without a name
These lines the last endeavor
To find the missing lifeline
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I'd give my everything
The cloaked woman stopped dead in her tracks before the granite-gray monstrosity that was the gate of Celebarda, icy orbs that rivaled even the cold, merciless breath of Winter itself fixated on the path before her in quiet thoughtfulness. For a long moment, nothing was heard, and the virgin sun of dawn caressed the two avariels delicately with tender kisses of warmth and pleasantry as she tangled her golden, spindly fingers of incandescent light in their silver-white manes, her palm gently running itself across two identical, ivory-white complexions.
"Do not forsake us, Ithilwen. This is your home. Where now do you intend to go?"
The voice was of a god's, but although more humble so than divine power itself, it beheld the distinct traces of inexplicable power, of much-demanded respect and authority. The sound was a siren's song woven of golden lullabies and velveteen notes, deep and soothing in tone, and enough to satisfy the screeching birds of the forest as they looked on in respectful silence. It was of silver church bells in the early hours of morning, a coveted spectacle to sleepy eyes hidden beneath blanket and pillow as the maiden sun burned the sky in hues of brilliant oranges and crimsons. Completely inhuman though it was in beauty and grace and divinity, the undertones of the voice could not be ignored. The still earth quivered ever so slightly with silent fear in its disturbed slumber, and the forest inhabitants dared not speak for fear of endangering their lives.
But the woman knew better. The great and alluring voice held no fear over her.
Still, however, she refrained from speaking, her falcon companion perched comfortably atop her shoulder as he nudged her with the top of his head. He was too wise to dare impede on her judgment.
Ahead of the company, only a few meters away, sat a great white wolf in the middle of the cobblestone path, sagely and intelligent in appearance as it sat upon its muscle-bound haunches. Eyes the color of smoldering amber watched the avariel woman intently, patiently awaiting the next move as his lady gave him a fervent look. He, on the other hand, was already well beyond the gate.
The woman took a step forward but then hesitated, her gloved hands easing slowly to her face as she pulled down the hood of her cloak that before had obscured her features.
Like pale, fragile Winter, she was, with porcelain skin that remained unmarred and untainted by scar or bruise or blemish , pure as the freshly laid snow that pursued the death of autumn. Tall and slender, yet finely toned was her frame, covered more or less by a billowing, gray, traveling cloak hand-crafted by her own people, her long, lanky limbs hidden under the great garment. Her long, lily-white hair was graced with silvery hues and hung loose about her face and body, stopping only at the backs of her knees. An elegant and fine-boned face turned to meet the avariel man, a masterpiece of a marble statue brought suddenly to life by only a god, sharp and chiseled features giving her a visage of unparalleled beauty and charm. Her ears were elongated and pointed at the ends, denoting the lineage of an elven sub-race, but only the great, white wings that lie dormant beneath the supple skin of her back betrayed her true bloodline as an avariel. Finally, her eyes were of stark, azure ice, as cold and distant and unforgiving as the arctic lands beyond the great northern seas, but they could not mask the sheer intelligence and wisdom that lie securely behind them in a keen and watchful mind.
A voice that rivaled the godly sound of the avariel man was heard, but although just as alluring and powerful, it was of feminine connotation.
"The time for change has come upon me at last, my lord, and I'd be a wretched fool to ignore his demands." The woman turned slowly after setting him with a critical look. She didn't need to look at him to picture what he looked like. Staring right back at her would be two eyes that complemented her own, framed by locks of the same silver-white hair atop the same fine features. And like her own, his face would give way to no emotion, save the solemn, grim gaze of one who had seen many years passed.
She spoke again, her voice now more distant as she began to take small steps to wards the gate until she was directly under its looming shadow. "You do as you must. You rule these lands in a wise and just reign, and you are content with this. My calling, however, remains beyond this gate."
The man's brow became knit as he considered the woman's ambiguous motives, his mouth set in a tight line as silence lingered about for a moment. He finally voiced his mind with a simple statement.
"If you set foot beyond that gate," he drawled slowly in that same, beautiful and daunting tone," I will have nothing more to conclude but the fact that I have failed you, Ithilwen."
She stood there for a moment in consideration, her eyes never leaving the temptation of that trail before her. She addressed him once more, and it was for the last time in a long time.
"I am sorry........Father."
And as she made to pull up her hood once more, she pressed herself beyond the gate of Celebarda, beyond the lands of her own subjects, and beyond the watchful eye of her father who stood now in the gateway in silent observation of his daughter's departure.
...'You haven't failed me.'...
This is me for forever
One of the lost ones
The one without a name
Without an honest heart as compass
This is me for forever
One without a name
These lines the last endeavor
To find the missing lifeline
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I'd give my everything
scary good.