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cypress_shadows) wrote2019-10-05 01:10 pm
cypress_shadows) wrote2019-10-05 01:10 pm
Writing sample
Lórien set his foot to the enchanted bridge he had made in the distant past. It was woven as though of moonlit mists and lay on the air as lightly as a strain of music, and it spanned the Great Sea and branched throughout the Great Lands of Middle-earth. As slender as it was and fragile as it appeared, it could not be dislodged by any power of nature, not by storm winds nor by lightening strike, and it was by its very substance warded against intrusion by any but the dreamers it was intended for, Elvish or mortal. The angelic powers might walk it if they chose, but no evil power could do so.
The Lord of Dreams traversed the bridge swiftly, returning from an errand in the Uttermost West. His current purpose was to reconnoiter Eriador from the Ered Luin to the Misty Mountains, to ascertain the strength and location of any of Morgoth's forces that might be detected by direct observation or by more arcane perception. Long ago, the Fëanturi had fought in the original war with Melkor, before the Dark Vala was chained in the Halls of Mandos. Lórien had fought also in the War of Wrath, and he was no mean warrior when the need to fight arose. But his forté was silent, unobtrusive or outright invisible movement. When you need a scout, send the Dreamlord!
His gray-green eyes gleamed in the moonlight and his long hair drifted on the breeze. His face was a gentle one, a little secretive, but always expressive of the passion of his art -- the creation of dreams and the encouragement of visions. His heart and mind were full of the understanding that a maker of dreams must have -- a subtle comprehension of the human spirit, whether Elvish or mortal.
Finally, the Misty Mountains loomed up in the distance, their peaks white against the midnight blue sky. The refuge of Imladris lay nested in the folds of the western feet of these mountains, between the two source streams of the River Loudwater. Because Lórien could move the bridge or create new branches of it whenever he willed, it took him down to the stream-crossing just south of the refuge.
The Lord of Dreams traversed the bridge swiftly, returning from an errand in the Uttermost West. His current purpose was to reconnoiter Eriador from the Ered Luin to the Misty Mountains, to ascertain the strength and location of any of Morgoth's forces that might be detected by direct observation or by more arcane perception. Long ago, the Fëanturi had fought in the original war with Melkor, before the Dark Vala was chained in the Halls of Mandos. Lórien had fought also in the War of Wrath, and he was no mean warrior when the need to fight arose. But his forté was silent, unobtrusive or outright invisible movement. When you need a scout, send the Dreamlord!
His gray-green eyes gleamed in the moonlight and his long hair drifted on the breeze. His face was a gentle one, a little secretive, but always expressive of the passion of his art -- the creation of dreams and the encouragement of visions. His heart and mind were full of the understanding that a maker of dreams must have -- a subtle comprehension of the human spirit, whether Elvish or mortal.
Finally, the Misty Mountains loomed up in the distance, their peaks white against the midnight blue sky. The refuge of Imladris lay nested in the folds of the western feet of these mountains, between the two source streams of the River Loudwater. Because Lórien could move the bridge or create new branches of it whenever he willed, it took him down to the stream-crossing just south of the refuge.