Oltha an Ithilgal
folder
Sailor Moon › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,062
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Sailor Moon › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,062
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Sailor Moon, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter One
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership for Lord of the Rings or Sailor Moon
CHAPTER ONE
As he crouched silently in the deep green underbrush, he slowly reached his arm up behind his head, grasping the feathered end of an arrow, and withdrawing it from the quiver of arrows resting on his back. He nocked the end of the arrow, fitting the taut string of his bow into the small groove carved into the end of the wooden shaft. He cautiously raised his bow, the arrow pointing directly at his target. The deer with a proud rack of antlers upon his head and a snow-white coat that gleamed and shone in the shadows lowered his head to nip at the long untamed grass growing on the forest floor, unsuspecting of the nearby threat. Ancient oak trees held their branches high above, their thick canopies hiding the clear blue skies and the mid-day sun from view. Here and there the sunlight slipped through the thick growth of leaves and branches to play upon the smaller plants and the thick coating of dried leaves from countless autumns blanketing the forest floor. The silent hunter dressed in light shades of green and brown slowly pulled back the end of the arrow pinched between his fingers, pulling the string taut with it. The wooden bow held in his left hand trembled with the tension, almost as if it restlessly anticipated its release. He pulled back the already strained string back another inch as he prepared to release the arrow to swiftly meet its target.
Suddenly, a sensation of powerful magic swept over him in waves as he cried out in surprise, accidently releasing the arrow. It struck the trunk of an oak tree, the sound of its contact reverberating throughout the peaceful woods. The white deer\'s head shot up, searching for the source of the sound. Its bright eyes flashed and its nostrils flared, before it turned and leaped away into the forest, its white tail held high. As fast as the feeling of that incredibly strong power had come, it was gone.
What was that? The startled hunter thought to himself as he rose from a crouched position to turn and swiftly run silently and effortlessly, through the woods in the direction of the source of the power he had sensed. He ran lightly, sprinting over fallen trees and thick underbrush, to slow as he drew near. He cautiously crept up behind an especially wide oak tree to peek from behind it. A shaft of light fell from above the green canopy to play on a form lying on the forest floor. The form huddled on the ground was shrouded in silver that glimmered like fine gems caught in the sunlight, and softly shone in the shadows. The young elf sensed no malice or ill will from the silver figure, and his curiousity overwhelmed his instincts as he stepped from behind the oak tree to move closer, his dark grey-blue eyes studying the strange sight before him. He slowly reached out with his right hand, the other hand clutching his bow tightly at his side. He was just about to touch the strange silver substance, feeling the gentle warmth that it gave off, when the silver figure moaned quietly, barely escaping the notice of his sensitive ears. He quickly snatched back his hand and leaped back, climbing swiftly up the trunk of the nearest tree to rest on an overhanging branch while still keeping watch. The silver form shook slightly as it coughed, the smell of fresh blood reaching his nose. A single trembling hand extended from the silver cloaking the form, the hand and wrist small and delicate, the fingers long and graceful-looking. The flawless white skin softly glowing like an immortal\'s was marred by deep cuts red with blood and large blue and purple bruises. Thick blood clung stickily to fingertips and underneath long oval-shaped nails. The hand grasped an object lying hidden in the leaves, a long silver chain escaping the delicate fingers to brush against the ground. Foreign words gently chanted reached his ears as the small hand tightened its grip on the object, and a strange white light shone brightly from between the fingers. An audible gasp filled with pain was released, as before his eyes the deep slashes closed and the ugly bruises staining the fair skin faded, leaving only the deep redness of blood behind as evidence. The silver figure then collapsed with a moan.
The elf sat perched on the oak branch, frozen with shock for a moment, before he gathered his resolve (and strengthened curiousity), and leaped from the tree to land beside the fallen silver figure. As he reached out his hand towards the form for the second time, he realized that the silver substance that he had first mistaken for fabric, perhaps of a cloak, was actually hair! Long tresses of silver in gentle waves that glimmered and shone brilliantly. The hair curtained the figure completely, and pooled on the forest floor. Hair that was warm to the touch and as soft as fine silk, he realized, as he gently pressed his palm against the form. A soft perfume of vanilla and jasmine intermingled with the metallic scent of fresh blood enveloped his senses, as he breathed in deeply, inhaling the sweet scent. He sat back on his heels as he gently rolled the form towards him. The silver mass of hair slipped off the unconcious form, its length piled next to him, revealing a face that made his breath catch in his throat and his heartbeat quicken. He stared, his eyes wide in wonder. The skin of her heart-shaped face was soft and dewey-looking, the whiteness of it contrasting beautifully against the long black eyelashes of her closed lids, curling gently against her high cheekbones. Her small pink rosebud mouth was full and soft-looking, slightly open to reveal white teeth and the tip of a pink tongue. Her wide forehead and cheekbones gently tapered down to a small, delicately pointed chin. Slim silver eyebrows curved gently high above her closed eyes. On her brow was a softly glowing golden cresent moon, its horns pointing upwards to her head of soft silver tresses. Silver bangs framed her face, brushed off her forehead, curling softly against her brow. A long, slim neck widened into soft, round shoulders that lengthened into smooth arms ending in small, delicate hands and fingers. Her chest swelled fully, covered by intricate embroidery done in golden thread. The loose white fabric of her dress clung softly to her gentle feminine curves. The white dress consisted of several layers of very fine, slightly translucent fabric that glowed gently in the shadows and shone crisply where the light touched it. On her wrist was a string of small round white pearls, and she wore a fine chain circlet of tiny silver links \'round her head. Her fine clothes were dirty and torn and stained darkly with blood. Her small feet were bare, the bottoms soiled with dirt and mud. The only sign of her previous injuries was the fresh blood on her skin and clothes, only now beginning to dry and harden. Her exquisite silver hair sat loosely in his lap before pooling in a mass on the forest floor. He was amazed at its length and silver colour, unheard of even for the immortal elves, who were widely known for their beauty and grace. As his steel grey-blue eyes drank in her beauty, he noticed a thin strand of shimmering silver swept across her face, and clinging to her soft pink lips. Unable to resist, he swept it away gently with his fingertips, tucking the strand behind her ear adorned with a double pearl drop earring. He stared in disbelief at her ears. She had the round ears of men, not the delicately pointed tips of his own people that he expected.
Who...what are you? His shocked mind numbly exclaimed in dismay.
CHAPTER ONE
As he crouched silently in the deep green underbrush, he slowly reached his arm up behind his head, grasping the feathered end of an arrow, and withdrawing it from the quiver of arrows resting on his back. He nocked the end of the arrow, fitting the taut string of his bow into the small groove carved into the end of the wooden shaft. He cautiously raised his bow, the arrow pointing directly at his target. The deer with a proud rack of antlers upon his head and a snow-white coat that gleamed and shone in the shadows lowered his head to nip at the long untamed grass growing on the forest floor, unsuspecting of the nearby threat. Ancient oak trees held their branches high above, their thick canopies hiding the clear blue skies and the mid-day sun from view. Here and there the sunlight slipped through the thick growth of leaves and branches to play upon the smaller plants and the thick coating of dried leaves from countless autumns blanketing the forest floor. The silent hunter dressed in light shades of green and brown slowly pulled back the end of the arrow pinched between his fingers, pulling the string taut with it. The wooden bow held in his left hand trembled with the tension, almost as if it restlessly anticipated its release. He pulled back the already strained string back another inch as he prepared to release the arrow to swiftly meet its target.
Suddenly, a sensation of powerful magic swept over him in waves as he cried out in surprise, accidently releasing the arrow. It struck the trunk of an oak tree, the sound of its contact reverberating throughout the peaceful woods. The white deer\'s head shot up, searching for the source of the sound. Its bright eyes flashed and its nostrils flared, before it turned and leaped away into the forest, its white tail held high. As fast as the feeling of that incredibly strong power had come, it was gone.
What was that? The startled hunter thought to himself as he rose from a crouched position to turn and swiftly run silently and effortlessly, through the woods in the direction of the source of the power he had sensed. He ran lightly, sprinting over fallen trees and thick underbrush, to slow as he drew near. He cautiously crept up behind an especially wide oak tree to peek from behind it. A shaft of light fell from above the green canopy to play on a form lying on the forest floor. The form huddled on the ground was shrouded in silver that glimmered like fine gems caught in the sunlight, and softly shone in the shadows. The young elf sensed no malice or ill will from the silver figure, and his curiousity overwhelmed his instincts as he stepped from behind the oak tree to move closer, his dark grey-blue eyes studying the strange sight before him. He slowly reached out with his right hand, the other hand clutching his bow tightly at his side. He was just about to touch the strange silver substance, feeling the gentle warmth that it gave off, when the silver figure moaned quietly, barely escaping the notice of his sensitive ears. He quickly snatched back his hand and leaped back, climbing swiftly up the trunk of the nearest tree to rest on an overhanging branch while still keeping watch. The silver form shook slightly as it coughed, the smell of fresh blood reaching his nose. A single trembling hand extended from the silver cloaking the form, the hand and wrist small and delicate, the fingers long and graceful-looking. The flawless white skin softly glowing like an immortal\'s was marred by deep cuts red with blood and large blue and purple bruises. Thick blood clung stickily to fingertips and underneath long oval-shaped nails. The hand grasped an object lying hidden in the leaves, a long silver chain escaping the delicate fingers to brush against the ground. Foreign words gently chanted reached his ears as the small hand tightened its grip on the object, and a strange white light shone brightly from between the fingers. An audible gasp filled with pain was released, as before his eyes the deep slashes closed and the ugly bruises staining the fair skin faded, leaving only the deep redness of blood behind as evidence. The silver figure then collapsed with a moan.
The elf sat perched on the oak branch, frozen with shock for a moment, before he gathered his resolve (and strengthened curiousity), and leaped from the tree to land beside the fallen silver figure. As he reached out his hand towards the form for the second time, he realized that the silver substance that he had first mistaken for fabric, perhaps of a cloak, was actually hair! Long tresses of silver in gentle waves that glimmered and shone brilliantly. The hair curtained the figure completely, and pooled on the forest floor. Hair that was warm to the touch and as soft as fine silk, he realized, as he gently pressed his palm against the form. A soft perfume of vanilla and jasmine intermingled with the metallic scent of fresh blood enveloped his senses, as he breathed in deeply, inhaling the sweet scent. He sat back on his heels as he gently rolled the form towards him. The silver mass of hair slipped off the unconcious form, its length piled next to him, revealing a face that made his breath catch in his throat and his heartbeat quicken. He stared, his eyes wide in wonder. The skin of her heart-shaped face was soft and dewey-looking, the whiteness of it contrasting beautifully against the long black eyelashes of her closed lids, curling gently against her high cheekbones. Her small pink rosebud mouth was full and soft-looking, slightly open to reveal white teeth and the tip of a pink tongue. Her wide forehead and cheekbones gently tapered down to a small, delicately pointed chin. Slim silver eyebrows curved gently high above her closed eyes. On her brow was a softly glowing golden cresent moon, its horns pointing upwards to her head of soft silver tresses. Silver bangs framed her face, brushed off her forehead, curling softly against her brow. A long, slim neck widened into soft, round shoulders that lengthened into smooth arms ending in small, delicate hands and fingers. Her chest swelled fully, covered by intricate embroidery done in golden thread. The loose white fabric of her dress clung softly to her gentle feminine curves. The white dress consisted of several layers of very fine, slightly translucent fabric that glowed gently in the shadows and shone crisply where the light touched it. On her wrist was a string of small round white pearls, and she wore a fine chain circlet of tiny silver links \'round her head. Her fine clothes were dirty and torn and stained darkly with blood. Her small feet were bare, the bottoms soiled with dirt and mud. The only sign of her previous injuries was the fresh blood on her skin and clothes, only now beginning to dry and harden. Her exquisite silver hair sat loosely in his lap before pooling in a mass on the forest floor. He was amazed at its length and silver colour, unheard of even for the immortal elves, who were widely known for their beauty and grace. As his steel grey-blue eyes drank in her beauty, he noticed a thin strand of shimmering silver swept across her face, and clinging to her soft pink lips. Unable to resist, he swept it away gently with his fingertips, tucking the strand behind her ear adorned with a double pearl drop earring. He stared in disbelief at her ears. She had the round ears of men, not the delicately pointed tips of his own people that he expected.
Who...what are you? His shocked mind numbly exclaimed in dismay.