#starxdome

[achilleio]

down to the woods ` open LOTRv

There's something peculiar about the wood he's found himself inside, something very peculiar indeed. At first he doesn't know what it is and he keeps walking, further and further into the depths, stepping over twigs and avoiding leaves when he can, instinct more than habit. He's a warrior, a fighter, and he needs to have stealth. Not that he's stalking anything in particular.

           Then he stops. A sound. That's what it was. The wood was silent, not a single sound. Not a bird's song or rustle of feathers, not the stirring of leaves or the breaking of a twig beneath the foot of an animal. Until now.

          He has his weapon--a sword, spearheads in a small leather bag--but he's unsure of how useful it will be. He's surrounded by trees, his stalker seems to be silent again and there's little he can do about it.

[kingoftheravensarchive]

Zzz.

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    It was the wee hours of the morning when the sun had not yet kissed the horizon in greeting, but its nearing approach painted the sky in the faintest of pinks and oranges. Loki lay sprawled atop his bed—rather ungracefully—on his stomach, arms spread about, face smashed into his pillow, and sleep heavy on his relaxed form. He would not wake for a few hours yet and in the meantime he slept on, dreaming of things he would not remember when he pulled from the depths of sleep.

    Talking in his sleep was not a rare thing. He’d been doing it since he was a child, since he’d learned to speak coherent sentences. His mother had always wondered what things he dreamt of, especially as his sleep-filled words were so vague and by the morning he rarely remembered if he’d even dreamt at all. So now, despite her not being around to witness the event, it was no surprise at all that he spoke so vaguely, “Why d’ya have more hair than me?” He muttered into his pillow, his face twitching into a faint expression of confusion and displeasure. “Can I make’a braid? Juss’ a lil’ big one.” A pause. “Elrond, please—” Yet another, far lengthier pause in which his face contorted further. “Thank’ya. I make it pretty like you.”

[shieldshawk]

-looks at the clock- -groans-

ugh. it's 330. why am I not exhausted? I have work this morning at 9. -whimpers-

I think I need me some of Lord Elrond's special knock out tea. Anyone know the recipe?

[shieldshawk]

Vally of songs || starxdome

Clint sighed, leaning over his mare's withers, looking at the beautiful lands around him, the cliff faces and the falls around him glowing silver in the fading afternoon light. The Vally of Imladris was truly a hidden gem, sparkling and bright. Sitting back, he slowed his mount down more, not wanting her to turn a heel on the steep cliffside paths, well maintained as they were. A few minutes later, they rounded a bend in the path, and a bridge opened up in front of them, spanning the first of many forks in the river that ran the length of Imladris.

[kingoftheravensarchive]

starxdome replied to your post:

ooc;; Grumpy Elrond is going to give Loki /the look/--with them eyebrows, haha.

"I AIN'T SCARED OF NO EYEBROWS."

[shieldshawk]

SWEET ERU, THERE'S 1100 OF YOU

CONGRADULATIONS GO TO STARXDOME, WHO'S MY 1100TH FOLLOWER.

YOU DON'T WIN ANYTHING EXCEPT MY ETERNAL LOVE AND STALKING OF YOUR BLOG.

AND A PROMO

YES. YOU GET A THING.

-nods-

I swear I'll finally make that mun video I've been threatening you all with since day whatever, get some questions in that ask box, I'll do a thing.

[acrimoni]

»▲«  —- ;             ❝ I daresay, we've yet to be acquainted.

                                                Tom Riddle -- I'm certain it is a pleasure. ❞

[breniarchive-blog]

An Age Passed by Hand || starxdome

The Forest Road is beautiful. It is clean, it is direct, it serves its purpose well, and those who walk it are often peaceable, humble, and kind. Upon these roads, paved by hand and foot in the wake of his kin, there could be no misdirection whilst his destination held true. From Greenwood the Great, through the Misty Mountains, the road would end, become the Great East Road, and Eriador would welcome him until the ports of Mithlond reached his spirit before even his eyes.

But he did not take the Forest Road-- nor the latter.

In fact, he took no road at all. None known, at least. In forging one of his own, he slipped by unchallenged and stopping for none. If he must learn from his departure, then it would be by his own merit: from one unexplored path to the next, his footfalls soundless, cautious only as he dared to be.

Travel did not wear upon him, for his legs would take him afar even if his body bid otherwise. Restless, his father had called him. Restless, befitting of his station but even so he was unfit, and so Thranduil departed. And he did not rest until the spring filled him, until he could feel the sea in the simplest stroke of the breeze against his cheek.

And when he saw it-- oh, when he saw it; that calm body of blue, the sigh of the depths echoing that which passed between his own lips-- well, he knew his path had been the right one. He had come here to learn, to be taught, to stretch the great walls of his spirit that his own figure could never hope to contain. In time he would craft control in his own name; it would be done and he would fail not once. 

In the middle of the quiet port, he settled against a trellis and watched the sea-- rested-- until the sun dipped low and greeted the far waters with gentle fire. 

Turning his back to them at last, he took another path, and was welcomed within the gates of Ereinion Gil-Galad himself. For even as he has taken his rest, it will be gone from him soon enough. And he will be ready for it this time, as ever, until this obscurity bleeds from him and leaves him renewed.