Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Dreamsinger 04-24-04, 09:28 AM	Dew was collected in the cup sized surfaces of the rose petals. The fog had swayed away with the rise of the crimson sun, and now Tetheril was no longer hidden by its impenetrable veil. With him it had left the moist of a brisk spring morning. He cared not that his silk, green pants and his pearl-embroidered vest did nothing to hold out at the cold, and whenever he felt a sneeze itching his nose he kept firm, and pushed the feeling away. The rose was left to solitude as he rose from the marred ground and left towards a point of horizon even his elven eyes could not reach. He noticed how silent it was, this cold landscape. No birds send chirps through the morning, no wild animals awoke to get a first glimpse of the red sun. Even the chatter of the trees was dull, and inaudible. One of his pale hands brought forward his harp. The hold was made of good, sturdy oakwood, the strings of a mermaid's hair. He edged a finger along one, then snapped, and sent out in the morning a silent 'diir'. A faint smile spread on his face, and then he played, and song, first silently, later wildly. The melody was a gliding, blurred whisper, like that of a dying man, but with the beauty of a risen angel. It was good to sing again, good to play, and his heart followed him as he sung. It's so good to be free..
Agudo Archmage 04-26-04, 03:56 PM	http://www.members.shaw.ca/gordquigley/pictures/portlongagudo.gif http://www.members.shaw.ca/gordquigley/pictures/portlongladyhoot.gif Artwork copyright © 2003, Gordon R. Quigley The misty morning was frosty in this forestry land of beauty. The sky was brightening as the first rays of sun pierced through the veil of the night. At that moment a blue and white robed wizard, with long blond hair in a sharp ponytail, made his way through the brush. Knocking off ice sickles as he did. In his right hand was an enchanted staff ,with a blue orb at its top. His other hand freely moved about, sometimes grabbing onto a corncob pipe that was in the mage’s moth. It filled the air with a smoky trail of apple cinnamon. He would take the pipe out, whenever the wizard wanted to speak with a lovely snow owl, flying g about him. Those close by would see several brightly colored rings, as he held the staff and pipe. The blond haired magic user, had brown boots on that oddly seem dry in this damp land. His silver buckled belt, held several green and red pouches, with a small magical bag at its side. When the sun rose higher, the rays sparkled from an emerald stone; near his chest that hung nicely on golden necklace. The white owl dove and rose as they spoke of fond memories and new beginnings