| Subject: ... |
Author:
...
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 06:49:25 09/23/02 Mon
The soft sound of a flute drifts lazily through the frigid air, tantalizing with its bittersweet/melancholy resonance. It’s eerie timbers pierced the seeming complete and utter silence left behind upon the world by the falling of Ceallac Dru’Riden. Mourning…that is its sound, though really, was it for the Falling or for something else altogether? Inconsequential. The sound was beautiful in its melancholy, played expertly with a complete and utterly indisputable skill.
The music drifted across the barren waste, its haunting tune continuing unhindered, flowing expertly through the notes of an indescribable song. Something that surely held more in its essence than the simple presentation. It was the music of the soul…a soul that had gone through torment and come through it stronger…hardened and much more powerful, though at what cost? Still it bore no hint of victory, only a sad melancholy.
Still it endured, the tune slipping and twining more fluidly, seeming expert fingers flying over the telltale instrument furiously, taking the sound to a frenzied height of passion, a crescendo of beautifully played notes, before slipping back down the spiral of sound into its former melancholic glory. It was a song that would surely touch the heart of a sensitive one. A song that would draw out one that was empathic. It held no magic, other than the magic that all, well played, music seemed to be full of. And yet it continued…no relapses evident, no ceasing within foreseeable sight, ever continuing yet never repetitive…
Oh…the song was recognizable, to those who were Icewind…afterall, it was called…
The Scourge of Icewind.
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 