No one knows where the Elves came from, but they have been around for millennia in the tundra. Deep down we fear them, superstitions arise that they have unnatural powers and so called all seeing leader. The elves have no need for money, what they demand is trees from the hardwood forests to the south of their land. They eat the needles and sap, and use the wood to construct and carve various “gifts” of extreme intricacy, and drop them off to the south during the longest nights of the year.
The Octics warn us about them. While a mere 3 feet tall now, it was not always that way they claim. In the old ages they were over 6 feet tall and lived for thousands of years. Instead of toys they made great bows and arrows, and made the mightiest of swords. No army could defeat them, and indeed the Octic were helpless to defend their lands from the Elven’s might and rule. The end of the Elven age was through the reign of St Nikklas Cläus. Cläus is a 10 foot tall monster of an Elf, believing himself to be both prosecutor and judge of all mortal men, and under his tyrannical lead he forced all elvenkind to move out of the forest and into the white wasteland. The new generation of elves, malnourished on rationed pine needles became diminutive and sickly.
I vividly remember a gut stabbing fear as I found myself lost in the vast hardwood forest behind my grandparent’s house as a child. To be lost in the forest and to find myself: now I want nothing more.
Terana caerulea (or Terana coerulea), commonly known as the cobalt crust fungus or velvet blue spread
is a saprobic crust fungus in the family Phanerochaetaceae. Usually found in warm, damp hardwood forests on the undersides of fallen logs and branches of deciduous trees, this unique fungus has been described as “blue velvet on a stick”
Day 198/199 somewhere in the bush to Cocklebiddy 291K
A tough, but successful 2 days. The headwind continues to niggle you ever peddle stroke. On the flip side, temps can get as high as 40 this time of year, last few days have been low 20’s. Win some, lose some.
It’s difficult to describe riding the Nullarbor, especially the 142K straight road. It has been known to turn even a zen masters crazy. It’s a case of head down, wave at every incoming car, watch out of road trains and just suck it up. The scenery soon changes from rich hardwood forests to scrub bushes and very little else. I have witnessed a lot of road kill on this trip, but what is it with Kangaroo and trucks!!
Apart from kangaroo, I have seen Emu and a dingo, it run parallel with me, every time I stopped to take a photo, it would stop and then off it went before I could take a snap. This went on for a few hundred meters. Same with Emu and it’s little ones, ran along side for a while. Brightened the day!
I managed 180K yesterday and set up camp just back from the road and was asleep by 8.30, only to be woken up by thumping outside the tent, soon realized it was a group of kangaroo skipping past, but in an environment you can hear a pin drop it made the heart flutter a tad. The main challenge is steering clear of giant spiders and their 3 meter webs. I had set my tent up right next to one, seemed cool enough, until I went to take a photo and got a little miffed and started jumping around. OK my 8 legged friend, relax.
I am actually in a road house room tonight. Nothing better than a hot shower, boy did I need it. I plan to leap from one roadhouse to the other, the wind is picking up and looks like very little cover to set the tent up. Nullarbor, means in Latin, Null, no, arbor, trees. So glad I did extra Latin at my comp!
minseok: cherries, round glasses, piping hot soup, collared shirts, hazelnut creamer, chokers, caramel apples, city lights, frozen over lakes, polka dots, cool rings, foggy windows, pressed flowers
joonmyun: porcelain, the sound of swishing fabric, leather-bound books, picture frames, baby-blue, hardwood floors, forests, pullover sweaters, legal pads, the smell of candles, newspaper, cursive font, ripples in water
yixing: dimples, string-up lights, lukewarm coffee, pastel yellow, big umbrellas, fishtail braids, fruit tea, aviator sunglasses, meadows, the sound of a grand piano, friendship bracelets, cuffed sleeves, lilies
baekhyun: spinning chairs, pink lemonade, glow sticks, smudged eyeliner, drive-in movie theaters, ripped jeans, linty couches, gummy worms, lip gloss, swing sets, the smell of summer, crickets chirping, midnight picnics under the stars
jongdae: cheekbones, popsicles, the smell of the ocean, old hoodies, rooftops, messy bedhead, crayons, brass instruments, striped straws, sandals, memes, sharpie, cat ear headbands
chanyeol: flowerpots, sun behind clouds, blanket forts, italian soda, sharing earbuds, popcorn, curly hair, rock candy, late night tv, fuzzy slippers, fireplaces, carousels, bright eyes
kyungsoo: street lamps, buttoned up shirts, puffed breath when it’s cold, nervous smiles, gunpowder, smell of paper, checkered picnic blankets, fountain pens, too long sweater sleeves, cobbled streets, rain streaked windows, gooey marshmallows, velvet
jongin: dewy grass, late night milkshakes, the smell of ink, clingy cardigans, smoke, pinky promises, worn leather, grafitti, sparklers, faded highlights, spiderwebs, melted chocolate, bicycle chains
sehun: taffy, black and white photography, holes in socks, loud laughter, bubble tea, blowing wishflowers, ironed slacks and black loafers, dip-dyed hair, white roses, flannel shirts, candy hearts, bright blazers, peppermint candy
bts | exo | more bands coming soon! send me your thoughts and ideas ^^
so i decided to write another mini-au since the royal au was such fun. it’ll probably be about as long – four or five parts. fair warning, this one will be quite a bit darker in tone. thanks to gillie for the prompt.
The fragile winter sun falls in gilded stripes along the hardwood
floor, among the forest of flashing legs, as a piano older than the
Bolsheviks strikes out the notes that will on opening night be joined by
the full thunder and majesty of the orchestra, the haunting strains of
Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s classic score. The red velvet curtain will rise on
the hallowed stage, and the dancers will float like exquisite visions in
white tulle and pink satin, one true corps de ballet.
The swans will fly beneath the moon. Princess Odette will fall in love
with Prince Siegfried, and the cruel sorcerer Rothbart will try to tear
them apart. The Black Swan shall appear at the royal ball and perform,
precisely, her thirty-two fouettes. Roses shall be thrown, admiring
editorials written, and within the Bolshoi there shall be general pride
and success: another season, another Swan Lake, all exactly as it should be.
night is very far away. The dancers are in black leotards and warmup
leggings, their pointe shoes leaving smears of fresh rosin on the floor.
The practice room, as Moscow tends to be in January, is cold as hell
frozen over, though it slowly warms as the heating system grinds into
action. The grit of the early morning strains in their legs, even though
they have spent half their lives at this. Yet under the eye of their
new ballet master, nobody wishes to show weakness.
Emma does not look back, does not look down, does not betray any
awareness at all that he might be watching her – though doubtless he is,
she being his new principal dancer, his Odette and hence also his
Odile, and this will be their first performance together. All of the
ballet world will be watching very keenly indeed. Killian Jones is a
former male soloist at the London Royal Ballet, career ended early by a
traumatic onstage injury, and is the first non-Russian to direct the
company in its three-century history – especially taking over from such a
legend as Goldovich, the pressure is intense. But that is how the
Bolshoi does things. They are known for being bold and subversive and
daring, the antithesis of the stolidly traditional Mariinsky Ballet of
St. Petersburg, and after the laundry list of accusations of corruption,
bribery, and sexual tithes – that the ballerinas are loaned out as
essentially unpaid escorts to Russian oligarchs, telecom czars and oil
tycoons and former high-level KGB members, while being expected to pay
handsomely for the chance to even sniff leading roles – the venerated
theatre has decided that it has come time to clean house. In theory,
Killian Jones possesses considerable power to control the day-to-day
operations of the company, and to protect his dancers from anything
untoward. No one is sure, however, how much stock to put in this.