ahh haven't had a formal post in such a long time... oh well here's one for e record~ lolz sound so arbitrary but hm this prose dono since when start de. according to e file, it was created on jul 14... so that's like 4 mths already? oh well inspiration has her own idiosyncracies... no puppet strings to control her. at least no tangible ones. oh well here goes~
I always wonder why people don't appreciate the moon enough... I guess the full moon's fine. When it's big and round people look up and say "wow". But even half-moons can be perfect... and crescents. A shape that even exists only because of the moon. The way it holds the promise of a full circle in its incompleteness is simply... intriguing.
In the depths of the forest night, a crescent moon hangs high in a starlit sky - an incandescent sliver that casts a pale shadowless glow on the grassy clearing. A solitary silhouette fades into existence, emerging like an eclipse at the edge of the clearing. With feline grace, the phantom figure glides to the center. A soft breeze rustles the leaves in the trees and the grass bow down at her passing, as if all of nature itself was paying homage to her.
In a sudden single pirouette, she had drawn a curved scimitar in each hand and her hood was uncovered, revealing a face of cold pristine beauty. Her streams of hair ripple in motion, lacing her gleaming armor with streaks of midnight. The twin blades she wields are forged of the purest mithril, forged into shape by dwarven hammers of Khaz, inscribed with runes of power and blessed by Elune herself.
Then, she begins to dance.
Weaving through still air, the blades glow lambently as she whirls in a series of fluid motions, a portrait of iridescence amidst the monotony of darkness. Her cloak, soft as velvet and black as ebony, flows around her like liquid night, shrouding the deadly glimmers of her blades in shadow. With the agility borne of elves, she dances through an intricate choreography of swordplay in a cathartic display of dexterity.
Softly, a silvery hum emerges from the night silence, crescendoing to two clear tones in perfect harmony as the blades resonate within the accelerating dance steps. Her light footsteps on the glistening carpet of grass create a thumping rhythm to support the harmony of her blades, in synchrony to the faint swishing of cloak against her lithe grace.
Uniting the dance and the song, she composes a deadly musical beneath the light of the moon - a moondance.
incidentally, there was a really nice moon last night.
Name: Foo Guo Zhong Melvyn
Age: 19+
Affiliations: MSHS (Pri), Rosyth, RI, RJC, SFX (LoG)
Bday: 14th Nov
Email: mel_protoss@hotmail.com
ahh haven't had a formal post in such a long time... oh well here's one for e record~ lolz sound so arbitrary but hm this prose dono since when start de. according to e file, it was created on jul 14... so that's like 4 mths already? oh well inspiration has her own idiosyncracies... no puppet strings to control her. at least no tangible ones. oh well here goes~
I always wonder why people don't appreciate the moon enough... I guess the full moon's fine. When it's big and round people look up and say "wow". But even half-moons can be perfect... and crescents. A shape that even exists only because of the moon. The way it holds the promise of a full circle in its incompleteness is simply... intriguing.
In the depths of the forest night, a crescent moon hangs high in a starlit sky - an incandescent sliver that casts a pale shadowless glow on the grassy clearing. A solitary silhouette fades into existence, emerging like an eclipse at the edge of the clearing. With feline grace, the phantom figure glides to the center. A soft breeze rustles the leaves in the trees and the grass bow down at her passing, as if all of nature itself was paying homage to her.
In a sudden single pirouette, she had drawn a curved scimitar in each hand and her hood was uncovered, revealing a face of cold pristine beauty. Her streams of hair ripple in motion, lacing her gleaming armor with streaks of midnight. The twin blades she wields are forged of the purest mithril, forged into shape by dwarven hammers of Khaz, inscribed with runes of power and blessed by Elune herself.
Then, she begins to dance.
Weaving through still air, the blades glow lambently as she whirls in a series of fluid motions, a portrait of iridescence amidst the monotony of darkness. Her cloak, soft as velvet and black as ebony, flows around her like liquid night, shrouding the deadly glimmers of her blades in shadow. With the agility borne of elves, she dances through an intricate choreography of swordplay in a cathartic display of dexterity.
Softly, a silvery hum emerges from the night silence, crescendoing to two clear tones in perfect harmony as the blades resonate within the accelerating dance steps. Her light footsteps on the glistening carpet of grass create a thumping rhythm to support the harmony of her blades, in synchrony to the faint swishing of cloak against her lithe grace.
Uniting the dance and the song, she composes a deadly musical beneath the light of the moon - a moondance.
incidentally, there was a really nice moon last night.