Author Topic: A quiet evening in Threshold  (Read 278 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Wildfire

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 2288
    • View Profile
A quiet evening in Threshold
« on: April 27, 2005, 12:51:56 PM »
A wispy mist reaches up from the Fogveil and the grand peaks of the surrounding mountains have become silhouettes. Kossuth is beyond the western wall but its? light is still shining out. The fading glow dances off the web-like clouds high in the sky brilliantly illuminating them in shades of crimson and ochre. As the light in the west fades to east the moons of Istisha and Akadi also kiss the clouds to paint them in indigo and emerald.

The lights from the houses in the river valley freckle the darkening land. The soothing sound of peepers cascades through the air blending with the slow steady gurgle of the river. The statue of Havigaard on the high hill standing in honored glory is washed by the lights above and the Spike of Fire in front. The flaring jet of flame that screams from the Spike toward the sky is a constant reminder that the gods are watching. The Rosewalk and Wolfsong Bridge are now lit for the night so that wanderers may have a guide to them in the dark. The Circle of All is in a ghostly light from the Spike of Fire above it and the play of the moons beyond the clouds. The trees around it seem to offer a quiet protection to the stone circle and the stone circle is as a revered father to it?s wooded kin. The swirling reflections of the sky and moons play as a liquid kaleidoscope on the water of the river. The rocky cliffs slip into their slumber in the shroud of newborn leaves and shadows.

The smell of moist ground blends together with the fresh mountain breeze and the smell of young flowers. The cool air sweeps through Threshold flexing the weak hold of the Venric season. Soon the old season will have no power and will finally relent to the young season. Such is the way of nature.

The sounds of laughter and music echo through the night speaking of carefree times and the blossoming of yet another Sythus season. Outside of the taverns  Mahiya sings it?s own music and paints it?s own picture. It?s a sight that, if seen, would never be forgotten.

One should never underestimate the stimulation of eccentricity