Creeping. Crawling. Flying. Falling. [Gash] {January 3010}
Apr 3, 2018 18:16:12 GMT -5
Post by Ravondis on Apr 3, 2018 18:16:12 GMT -5
Finding her first chance at offense to be lessened in viable outcome, Ravondis eyed the spear in the hand of the pale orc. Many a spear she had broken in the grips of her claws, yet this orc was large, and she expected a powerful arm and so she watched closely all the while, that she could move from reach if the spear were to fly her direction. Ravondis had been pierced by spear before; in her bat form; many years ago; during the War of Wrath.
It had been many years and many battles Ravondis had sailed in sky. Her wings were delicate and turned quickly to take her where she wished, and she watched the glint of metal, smiling to herself in a way that would not seem as a smile to the pale orc.
It was her singing which began to rise through the air; not the singing of mortal. But the song of elvenkind, in the Quenyan language which once was the speech of the fair folk before they came unto the eastern world. Which speech would dillude them to follow her. The song in which she sang to lure them, as a winged ghost, if the orc might fall to the corruption of the song she would belong then to Ravondis, and that was to say, she would become Sauron's.
“I lúme utúlie,
Tienna narwa
No rocco néca,
Yan i esse ná Qualme, -
Wilie haiyave
Númenna Wisto.”
The beautiful song came from grotesque creature of leathered wing, but the orc was cunning, for Ravondis watched as she took the wax from her pack and stuffed her ears; still some of her song should seep through. What chance did she have? And Ravondis continued to sing.
“Vainolelya unqua
Ar macilya rusta
Loráva nenessen
I caituvar ńalle.
Ve laurea anna,
Hroalya racina.”
Ravondis summoned the winds to rise surrounding her and grow to fresh gale, and rising still, turning to strength, and circling in din drafts which would lift her higher. Winds rose to the peak of violent storm, and dust and pebble began to blow and lift from the earth in Ravondis' anger. Rocks began to roll as the speed was risen to that of a hurricane, and the air became hot with her rage, though it was still winter at the turn of the year.
Song translation:
Hour has come,
Onto road fiery-red
On a pale horse,
Whose name is Death -
To fly far,
To the West of the Sky,
Your empty sheath
And broken sword
Will sleep in the waters,
That will cover the dale.
Like a golden gift,
Your broken body
It had been many years and many battles Ravondis had sailed in sky. Her wings were delicate and turned quickly to take her where she wished, and she watched the glint of metal, smiling to herself in a way that would not seem as a smile to the pale orc.
It was her singing which began to rise through the air; not the singing of mortal. But the song of elvenkind, in the Quenyan language which once was the speech of the fair folk before they came unto the eastern world. Which speech would dillude them to follow her. The song in which she sang to lure them, as a winged ghost, if the orc might fall to the corruption of the song she would belong then to Ravondis, and that was to say, she would become Sauron's.
“I lúme utúlie,
Tienna narwa
No rocco néca,
Yan i esse ná Qualme, -
Wilie haiyave
Númenna Wisto.”
The beautiful song came from grotesque creature of leathered wing, but the orc was cunning, for Ravondis watched as she took the wax from her pack and stuffed her ears; still some of her song should seep through. What chance did she have? And Ravondis continued to sing.
“Vainolelya unqua
Ar macilya rusta
Loráva nenessen
I caituvar ńalle.
Ve laurea anna,
Hroalya racina.”
Ravondis summoned the winds to rise surrounding her and grow to fresh gale, and rising still, turning to strength, and circling in din drafts which would lift her higher. Winds rose to the peak of violent storm, and dust and pebble began to blow and lift from the earth in Ravondis' anger. Rocks began to roll as the speed was risen to that of a hurricane, and the air became hot with her rage, though it was still winter at the turn of the year.
Song translation:
Hour has come,
Onto road fiery-red
On a pale horse,
Whose name is Death -
To fly far,
To the West of the Sky,
Your empty sheath
And broken sword
Will sleep in the waters,
That will cover the dale.
Like a golden gift,
Your broken body
