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Description

Ok. So. I'm trying a new thing where I try and sketch environments for about 20 minutes, focusing on colour and feel, instead of trying to get everything perfect. I've always felt a bit lacking in the background/colour department, and I keep getting a bit too 'tight' with everything and losing all feel.
What better to practice on than my woefully neglected fawnlings

Featuring Bast|Stag|Aspiring Shaman
Spring, Year 767 of the New Age
Oakfern, somewhere under the tunnels

The tug of the water was insistent. It wound through his dreams and tugged at his mind follow, follow.
Waking slowly, still half in a dream, he could not help but heed the call. Somewhere below his hooves, a secret river flowed, a secret that wanted to be heard.

Quietly he left, waking none as he passed, taking no heed of the ever present guards. What he did was of no concern to them.

Something told him that silence was appropriate this night, where usually a tune or song would be bright in his mind, pale velvet lay to deaden all sound.

Delicate hooves picked their way carefully over loose rock, finding their way deeper into the tunnels. As faint as a memory, the sounds of dancing water still called to him, that hidden river felt like a writhing snake beneath him.

An almost invisible crack in the walls held the key, a new one, perhaps caused by some tremor an unknown time ago. Only someone as slight as he would fit, and even then, not comfortably. Carefully he squeezed through, barely able to breath the walls were so tight. A fleeting thought of a lonely death flitted past him, only to be chased away by the river in his mind.

The walls widened, the floor becoming slippery as it angled ever downward. No moonlight shone here, no glimpses of the comforting sky, tiny creatures slithered and scampered away from the light he brought with him, wary of this glowing stranger in their home.

Darker and darker, no helpful moss grew here. Deeper and deeper, none had come this way.
Down and down he went, the weight of the mountain heavy above him.
The blanketing darkness around him slowly gave way to a pale light seeping out from far ahead.
He forged on, the call of the water was beginning to weaken as he approached its source, but the scent and the sound of it were almost overwhelming after the cold, stone nothingness of the earlier tunnels.

Then, as if it had appeared from nowhere, he turned a corner and stepped out into a behemoth of a cavern. From his rocky platform overhanging a deep, still pool, he stared around in wonder.

From above, far far above, a beam of moonlight penetrated, illuminating this place for his eyes alone.

This was surely Gealachs chamber. Roughly round, deep and still, a circular pool lay at the base of jagged rocks, reflecting the silver light of the ever glorious moon.

On dark days, this cavern would remain unseen, for there was no other source of light here, only this close to the full moon was it able to be found.

Bright, tiny crystal points embedded into the rocks soaked up Gealachs light and reflected it back to him in a blaze of glory.
Wherever he looked, the dazzling light sparkled and shone, leaping over the surface of the water and flooding the giant chamber with silver.

Taking an involuntary step forward, his hooves clipped something, sending it rolling. He watched as it rolled towards the lip of the platform, glinting and sparkling as it went. Carefully, he examined the object; an almost perfect water droplet formed out of bright, shining crystal.

A gift from the moon itself.

He straightened, gift carefully tucked away, thoughts turning in thanks to Gealach, senses trembling and stretching, feeling himself reflected in the pool and in every point of blazing light.

He felt small and humbled, as though he were spying on something meant only for Gealach to see, but the call of the water had been impossible to ignore.

Wourcount: 603

Description

Ok. So. I'm trying a new thing where I try and sketch environments for about 20 minutes, focusing on colour and feel, instead of trying to get everything perfect. I've always felt a bit lacking in the background/colour department, and I keep getting a bit too 'tight' with everything and losing all feel.
What better to practice on than my woefully neglected fawnlings

Featuring Bast|Stag|Aspiring Shaman
Spring, Year 767 of the New Age
Oakfern, somewhere under the tunnels

The tug of the water was insistent. It wound through his dreams and tugged at his mind follow, follow.
Waking slowly, still half in a dream, he could not help but heed the call. Somewhere below his hooves, a secret river flowed, a secret that wanted to be heard.

Quietly he left, waking none as he passed, taking no heed of the ever present guards. What he did was of no concern to them.

Something told him that silence was appropriate this night, where usually a tune or song would be bright in his mind, pale velvet lay to deaden all sound.

Delicate hooves picked their way carefully over loose rock, finding their way deeper into the tunnels. As faint as a memory, the sounds of dancing water still called to him, that hidden river felt like a writhing snake beneath him.

An almost invisible crack in the walls held the key, a new one, perhaps caused by some tremor an unknown time ago. Only someone as slight as he would fit, and even then, not comfortably. Carefully he squeezed through, barely able to breath the walls were so tight. A fleeting thought of a lonely death flitted past him, only to be chased away by the river in his mind.

The walls widened, the floor becoming slippery as it angled ever downward. No moonlight shone here, no glimpses of the comforting sky, tiny creatures slithered and scampered away from the light he brought with him, wary of this glowing stranger in their home.

Darker and darker, no helpful moss grew here. Deeper and deeper, none had come this way.
Down and down he went, the weight of the mountain heavy above him.
The blanketing darkness around him slowly gave way to a pale light seeping out from far ahead.
He forged on, the call of the water was beginning to weaken as he approached its source, but the scent and the sound of it were almost overwhelming after the cold, stone nothingness of the earlier tunnels.

Then, as if it had appeared from nowhere, he turned a corner and stepped out into a behemoth of a cavern. From his rocky platform overhanging a deep, still pool, he stared around in wonder.

From above, far far above, a beam of moonlight penetrated, illuminating this place for his eyes alone.

This was surely Gealachs chamber. Roughly round, deep and still, a circular pool lay at the base of jagged rocks, reflecting the silver light of the ever glorious moon.

On dark days, this cavern would remain unseen, for there was no other source of light here, only this close to the full moon was it able to be found.

Bright, tiny crystal points embedded into the rocks soaked up Gealachs light and reflected it back to him in a blaze of glory.
Wherever he looked, the dazzling light sparkled and shone, leaping over the surface of the water and flooding the giant chamber with silver.

Taking an involuntary step forward, his hooves clipped something, sending it rolling. He watched as it rolled towards the lip of the platform, glinting and sparkling as it went. Carefully, he examined the object; an almost perfect water droplet formed out of bright, shining crystal.

A gift from the moon itself.

He straightened, gift carefully tucked away, thoughts turning in thanks to Gealach, senses trembling and stretching, feeling himself reflected in the pool and in every point of blazing light.

He felt small and humbled, as though he were spying on something meant only for Gealach to see, but the call of the water had been impossible to ignore.

Wourcount: 603