Post by silkinsane on Jun 16, 2008 23:59:52 GMT -5
Deep in the mountains of Kencha a lone figure sat on the peak of one of the taller mountains. His breath frosted before him in the thin air before the biting wind whipped it from his lips leaving them chapped. He barely seemed to notice as his wine colored eyes gazed out over the terrain. Summer had come and in the deep crevices between the high peaks the land was covered in a velvet green. The color brought a loving smile to those wind wounded lips. Shuku looked good in green, he would make her a new dress when he got back home. A blast of air from the valley, frozen cold and dry from the snowy expanses, ripped past the lone figure and sent his beautifully braided hair whipping about his face in a profusion of golden sparkles and silvery sounds. Massive storm heads were seeping among those peaks and the man could feel the approaching fury. They settled again, those woven in wind chimes and a crack of thunder rent the air. “Time to begin.” The words slipped through his teeth, past his lips and was snatched away by the air in a writhing mist and Silk smiled as he touched his bow to his violin.
The strokes fell soft and gentle drifting out on the wind and across the snowy expanses. Soft, and distant was the sound as the storm approached. The cold clouds boiled and rolled about the peak on which he stood, writhing tentacles of mist churned their way forward, higher and higher. Behind them the thunderhead towered over Silk like a massive creature. All at once it engulfed him. The valley and the mountain disappeared in a haze of white fog that made Silk blind to everything about him. The tune rolled out soft and slow, eerie and haunting as it roamed in the endless walls of the unknown clouds. The wind began to howl and the storm broke in raging fury. Crystallized ice whipped about on the howling wind as Silk exploded into action. Notes came forth in torrential sheets, poring forth from the violin in powerful crescendo after powerful crescendo. Gusts whipped and tore a Silk’s clothing and his music clawed back in a raging roar. Ripping through the smoky sheets of flying ice the notes spun in aggressive harmony against that driving precipitation. Thunder rolled through the storm clouds as if to warn the musician to ease his defiance and flee. But the bard was deaf to this warning; feeling the thunder roll through his fine frame as just another part of his composition. The blood heated in Silk’s body as his heart pounded a steady beat in the adrenal rush of the mad motif. Ice bit into exposed flash after the frail silk shirt had been blasted away. Pain seared through Silk’s torso and he was driven into a more furious composition. A primal rage rose from within Silk aroused by the stinging pain; it pumped through his veins and into his muscles. Fingers groped that fine violins strings, bending and sawing them to rip forth the ecstatic scream of the song and hurl it into the entrapping storm.
Back and forth Silk and the storm raged with their sounds. Eloquence and beauty sliced and cut through the enfolding rush of weather only to be broken and smashed by the deafening blasts of thunder. The musician slowly became lost within those clouds and his feet left the mountaintop as he played. Drifting like a part of the storm, Silk continued to match the storm’s fury with his own. Rising crescendos were capped by powerful claps of thunder as the music and the storm became one. And then, just like that Silk ended the song with a powerful motif. The thunder took the last note and Silk laughed, dropping his levitation power and plummeted downwards blind though the storm.
The plummeting figure punched from the cloud ceiling like a bolt from heaven. He fell with the rain and laughed t the light feeling of being so free. The ground rushed up to meet him. Silk’s arms spread wide and enacted his levitation, lightly touching down in the driving rain and smiling brightly. It had been a beautiful dance indeed he thought as those numbed feet began to walk him down into the warm valleys to dance among the rapids of the swelling streams.
The strokes fell soft and gentle drifting out on the wind and across the snowy expanses. Soft, and distant was the sound as the storm approached. The cold clouds boiled and rolled about the peak on which he stood, writhing tentacles of mist churned their way forward, higher and higher. Behind them the thunderhead towered over Silk like a massive creature. All at once it engulfed him. The valley and the mountain disappeared in a haze of white fog that made Silk blind to everything about him. The tune rolled out soft and slow, eerie and haunting as it roamed in the endless walls of the unknown clouds. The wind began to howl and the storm broke in raging fury. Crystallized ice whipped about on the howling wind as Silk exploded into action. Notes came forth in torrential sheets, poring forth from the violin in powerful crescendo after powerful crescendo. Gusts whipped and tore a Silk’s clothing and his music clawed back in a raging roar. Ripping through the smoky sheets of flying ice the notes spun in aggressive harmony against that driving precipitation. Thunder rolled through the storm clouds as if to warn the musician to ease his defiance and flee. But the bard was deaf to this warning; feeling the thunder roll through his fine frame as just another part of his composition. The blood heated in Silk’s body as his heart pounded a steady beat in the adrenal rush of the mad motif. Ice bit into exposed flash after the frail silk shirt had been blasted away. Pain seared through Silk’s torso and he was driven into a more furious composition. A primal rage rose from within Silk aroused by the stinging pain; it pumped through his veins and into his muscles. Fingers groped that fine violins strings, bending and sawing them to rip forth the ecstatic scream of the song and hurl it into the entrapping storm.
Back and forth Silk and the storm raged with their sounds. Eloquence and beauty sliced and cut through the enfolding rush of weather only to be broken and smashed by the deafening blasts of thunder. The musician slowly became lost within those clouds and his feet left the mountaintop as he played. Drifting like a part of the storm, Silk continued to match the storm’s fury with his own. Rising crescendos were capped by powerful claps of thunder as the music and the storm became one. And then, just like that Silk ended the song with a powerful motif. The thunder took the last note and Silk laughed, dropping his levitation power and plummeted downwards blind though the storm.
The plummeting figure punched from the cloud ceiling like a bolt from heaven. He fell with the rain and laughed t the light feeling of being so free. The ground rushed up to meet him. Silk’s arms spread wide and enacted his levitation, lightly touching down in the driving rain and smiling brightly. It had been a beautiful dance indeed he thought as those numbed feet began to walk him down into the warm valleys to dance among the rapids of the swelling streams.