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piosenniel · 07-17-2003, 06:46 PM

Lorien

He sat with a bemused look on his face and a large mug of mulled wine in his hand. The little window of his room faced west, and he followed the course of Arien as she pushed the vessel of the sun below the rim of the world, leaving darkness in her wake. He took a large swig of his drink and rolled the flavorsome liquid about his mouth.

There were not many who actually called upon him for his services. Many cursed him, to be sure, when their dreams were filled with dark and dreadful things, but the ones whose dreams were filled with delight soon forgot them, and no words of thanks fell from their lips for the one who had sent them.

Lorien raised the mug to his lips, but they met no enticing brew. ‘Who drank it?’ he wondered, a soft hiccup punctuating the thought. His free hand reached out for the pitcher he had thought to bring up stairs with him and he poured himself another round of pleasure. ‘To Arda,’ he said, raising the mug to the darkening scene that spread out below his window.

‘And here’s to Piosenniel,’ he said to a passing cloud as it drifted across the yellow face of the moon. Swallowing her stiff-necked Elven pride, she had thanked him in advance – for services not yet rendered. That was worth two drinks in his book!

‘Well,’ he remarked to no one in particular, ‘best get on with the task she’s set me.’ A last mug of wine found its way down the Vala’s throat, as he tipped back in his chair and propped his long legs on the windowsill. His mind, a bit muzzy with the delights of the vine reached out east, seeking the men Pio had spoken of.

The gibbous moon shone in the window, as he wove a riot of dreams and phantasms for them. Its cold light cast his sharp features into a wolfish relief, and he smiled as the dreamers tossed and turned in their little beds without respite.

[ July 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

07-17-2003, 06:46 PM	#22
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Lorien He sat with a bemused look on his face and a large mug of mulled wine in his hand. The little window of his room faced west, and he followed the course of Arien as she pushed the vessel of the sun below the rim of the world, leaving darkness in her wake. He took a large swig of his drink and rolled the flavorsome liquid about his mouth. There were not many who actually called upon him for his services. Many cursed him, to be sure, when their dreams were filled with dark and dreadful things, but the ones whose dreams were filled with delight soon forgot them, and no words of thanks fell from their lips for the one who had sent them. Lorien raised the mug to his lips, but they met no enticing brew. ‘Who drank it?’ he wondered, a soft hiccup punctuating the thought. His free hand reached out for the pitcher he had thought to bring up stairs with him and he poured himself another round of pleasure. ‘To Arda,’ he said, raising the mug to the darkening scene that spread out below his window. ‘And here’s to Piosenniel,’ he said to a passing cloud as it drifted across the yellow face of the moon. Swallowing her stiff-necked Elven pride, she had thanked him in advance – for services not yet rendered. That was worth two drinks in his book! ‘Well,’ he remarked to no one in particular, ‘best get on with the task she’s set me.’ A last mug of wine found its way down the Vala’s throat, as he tipped back in his chair and propped his long legs on the windowsill. His mind, a bit muzzy with the delights of the vine reached out east, seeking the men Pio had spoken of. The gibbous moon shone in the window, as he wove a riot of dreams and phantasms for them. Its cold light cast his sharp features into a wolfish relief, and he smiled as the dreamers tossed and turned in their little beds without respite. [ July 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.