IRC-Galleria

Lake Nìunul
One misty morning the Crystal boats sail
on the cold lake trying to catch the falling birch leaves.
The mist droplets fall to the sky
and return as white doves
as I cool off my feet in the freezing water.
I hear only the tiny waves
which bump against the rocks
in this silence.

The mountain of Ferrdor
She used to be called Fandaan. Those great halls, forests, citadels in which she used to roam. Ruins, dusty ruins and forgotten scenery left. Their devotion washed away, but what was left of them? Hate, anger, vindictiveness... Mutilated beasts and souls without freedom. She keeps wandering astray in this snowy mountain which used to be her home. She prays her, the devout Wich, to free her soul from the sorrow and anger, but there is nothing which can be done for the sake of this atrocity. They all are doomed...

On the edge
Here lies the wintery world.
Here the pines gather falling snow and here the land is filled with snowbanks
which pour over the edge.
Here I stand at the edge of earth and ask myself
why not step to the nothingess which lies before me.
Will my dreams ever become real then?