Post by l'Mina Feuerwald on Apr 24, 2010 1:55:07 GMT -5
Dark was the forest; dark the bole and bush, blade and bough, enshrouded and eclipsed where not even ethereal witch light broke the eternal living dome above to mark the ways below.
Here dwelt dichotomy; an outer darkness, a physicality which mirrored the darkness of those it sought to capture; here, the light studied the dark, seeking secrets and advantage in the war that continued, even now, ever now in spite of the warning which was the Fissure; the Death Fey's own preemptive strike.
It is a place that plays cruel tricks upon the senses of all within it; even time is not immune, stretching like taffy and suddenly snapping back into a semblance of normalcy until the cycle begins again.
Beneath, though ... beneath it lies the still beating pulse of Forest, that chorus song of a million anthems blending together in each eternal moment - and through them all, a dissonant strain, an undercurrent that silenced each voice it brushed against; creating in the rhythm the notion of pause - silence that spaced and ordered, jangled and mashed.
This was an echo; like the cry of the hunting eagle that reaches far places beyond its intent, but leaves its mark in the terror it elicits from the animals who hear its cry; the ripples that change the pattern more profoundly than even the initial impact that created them. It was an echo of the eternal moment when the Nifelheims rose and broke the world. In every forest l'Mina had traveled to the echo had been present; she had not yet found one still pure and unsullied by the Nifelheims counter stroke, and the weight of this burden weighed down on her spirits even as it marked her body.
Here in the total darkness, she dwelt, subsumed into the forest entire, her consciousness diffused throughout the length and breadth of the Wood that was another broken fragment of what had once been Forest. She felt it all, drawing the experience into herself and imprinting it upon her being.
But this time she felt something different ... a presence that was neither of the Wood, nor of the Flesh, a being both like yet unlike herself. This required study ... investigation. Sampling.
Slowly she began to separate herself from the Wood; with the sense of loss that always came as she felt reduced, lessened, no longer as grand, as integral to the all that was around her. Seeking a particular tree close to the sense of strangeness where she might regard whomever the interloper might be more directly.
Here dwelt dichotomy; an outer darkness, a physicality which mirrored the darkness of those it sought to capture; here, the light studied the dark, seeking secrets and advantage in the war that continued, even now, ever now in spite of the warning which was the Fissure; the Death Fey's own preemptive strike.
It is a place that plays cruel tricks upon the senses of all within it; even time is not immune, stretching like taffy and suddenly snapping back into a semblance of normalcy until the cycle begins again.
Beneath, though ... beneath it lies the still beating pulse of Forest, that chorus song of a million anthems blending together in each eternal moment - and through them all, a dissonant strain, an undercurrent that silenced each voice it brushed against; creating in the rhythm the notion of pause - silence that spaced and ordered, jangled and mashed.
This was an echo; like the cry of the hunting eagle that reaches far places beyond its intent, but leaves its mark in the terror it elicits from the animals who hear its cry; the ripples that change the pattern more profoundly than even the initial impact that created them. It was an echo of the eternal moment when the Nifelheims rose and broke the world. In every forest l'Mina had traveled to the echo had been present; she had not yet found one still pure and unsullied by the Nifelheims counter stroke, and the weight of this burden weighed down on her spirits even as it marked her body.
Here in the total darkness, she dwelt, subsumed into the forest entire, her consciousness diffused throughout the length and breadth of the Wood that was another broken fragment of what had once been Forest. She felt it all, drawing the experience into herself and imprinting it upon her being.
But this time she felt something different ... a presence that was neither of the Wood, nor of the Flesh, a being both like yet unlike herself. This required study ... investigation. Sampling.
Slowly she began to separate herself from the Wood; with the sense of loss that always came as she felt reduced, lessened, no longer as grand, as integral to the all that was around her. Seeking a particular tree close to the sense of strangeness where she might regard whomever the interloper might be more directly.