DH art foreseen, snippet from The Lost Realm (working title)
K, this is exactly (or pretty damn close to, anyway) what I saw when I read chapter 34 (The Forest Again). For an idea what it was all about, do check my icon :*)
http://www.edgeworlds.com/finished/hp_guardians2.html
Oh. My. God. I've been in love with this artist for a while now and it just occured to me now that this was painted like... after OotP came out. Man, she foresaw that scene happening. Lose the wings and the flying and there you have it... Argh crazy!
Of course, I'm not sure if that was really Sirius and Remus, though, but omg you know?
In other news, I'm looking for inspiration to design a baby christening invitation. Been scouring my fave haunts for the past hour and... not much really. Hmm. Ideas? I'm thinking maybe I'll dab my hand at watercolours again (after a year or so! oh god that's scary), do something soft and warm and cute. Good idea? It's a boy by the way :)
I'm also typing some bits from my Lost Realm fic (that's the Scottish fantasy-kinda-historical one). It's actually a bit funny how I jump from one fic to the other when I'm out of inspiration lol. Guess my head's just too full of stuff to do. Besides, with new canon I feel kind of bad not to write according to canon, even though that thing (Two Aurors & A Bookworm for one, The Guardian for the other) has been in the writing for years. Blah. With LR, though, I'm only just typing in at this point. I'll let the ideas come when they come.
Alasdair found his cousin going at it in the weapons training chamber, dust and hay flying in every which direction. If the young man of ten and seven had not been so accustomed to this daily exercise, he might have been dazzled by the spectacle the snow-like effect before him displayed. As it was, he merely sat on a bench and grinned at his oblivious, disheveled cousin. He waited for Conall to finally notice his presence.
It had not gone unnoticed. Conall soon walked toward the wall and sat down heavily, out of breath. He offered a feeble nod in greeting.
"Ye’d think the devil was afoot with the way ye swing at empty air so," Alasdair quipped. Then he watched the dust and hay settle, the room becoming a safe haven of quietude once more. Many, like Conall, came and had a parry or two after dawn.
Conall looked down at his hands, weighing the heavy claymore within his palm. "It clears my head."
Alasdair scoffed playfully. "When I fight like that, I’m thinking of a fast way to cover my arse and that’s it."
The older lad smiled. "Well, I ken someone needs practising their parrying method!" He slapped his young cousin on the shoulder and planted himself before him, cocked eyebrow and all. "Ye asked for it, Sandy."
Cringing, the latter cursed himself even as he stood, easily catching the sword Conall threw at him. A large circle had been drawn into the earth to indicate the boundaries for battle. Grumbling, he walked toward it and the skilled warrior, shedding the coat and waistcoat he had been wearing so that he the trews and a clean leine shirt he wore allowed for more movement.
Conall was waiting, eyeing him critically. "At this pace the enemy would have already declared triumph, ye great poof."
The young man muttered some more, loud enough for Conall to hear. "Blasts," he said dramatically, "he found me out." Then, even louder, "Oi, I dinna ask how ye feel about a certain title, aye?" That closed all discussion instantly. Pursing his lips, ruffled and annoyed, he drew up his arm in a fighting stance and eyed his cousin carefully.
Conall stood poised for attack, both hands holding his weapon firmly. He watched the boy like a hawk, studying his weaknesses which he already knew even as they both stood quite still, unyielding. Finally, the dark young man initiated the attack with a smooth slice through the air toward Alasdair’s waist. The latter immediately jumped aside and parried back.
"Too slow," Conall called. "Ye want to tell my game before I even attack, aye?"
It went on for quite a bit, until the youth, panting from Conall’s successive attacks, suddenly lost his footing. Dust flew about him as he gasped and sputtered for a moment, giving enough of an opening for Conall to get closer. The dark young man shouted, giving notice of his presence, and struck down.
The younger boy rolled away, still gasping for breath, and jumped to his feet, even as his eyes watered, blurring his view. He held up a hand, gaining his composure, and the older one waited, a pleased smile upon his face. When Alasdair was ready at last, Conall gave his instructions: "Excellent, now remain balanced… and breathe."
Red-faced, Alasdair nodded. He parried once more and went for another attack upon his cousin. Conall was quicker and went for the shoulder. The youth lost his footing again. The fabric tore, gaping, but the flesh remained untouched as he moved away just in time. The dark-haired man gave a satisfied nod and help his cousin to his feet.
"Generally, ye still have me proud," he said. "But," he added gravely, "ye think too much."
The young boy sighed and bruched at his matted hair in frustration. "I canna do it, Conall," he said pitifully as they retrieved the rest of their garments by the bench and made their way out of the weaponry. "I see every attack coming and think, ‘God get me out of it.’"
Conall frowned. "Och, well, the heavens dinna always grace us with counsel." He nodded toward the castle ahead. "I think I smell Anna’s bread."
Bah, not the greatest scene in the world, but hey, it's swordfighting! *whoosh-whoosh* Look ma, I have claymore! Me great Scottish warrior!
By the way, rich text sux. I've had to edit this three times now sheesh. Going back to my old coding ways then!
http://www.edgeworlds.com/finished/hp_guardians2.html
Oh. My. God. I've been in love with this artist for a while now and it just occured to me now that this was painted like... after OotP came out. Man, she foresaw that scene happening. Lose the wings and the flying and there you have it... Argh crazy!
Of course, I'm not sure if that was really Sirius and Remus, though, but omg you know?
In other news, I'm looking for inspiration to design a baby christening invitation. Been scouring my fave haunts for the past hour and... not much really. Hmm. Ideas? I'm thinking maybe I'll dab my hand at watercolours again (after a year or so! oh god that's scary), do something soft and warm and cute. Good idea? It's a boy by the way :)
I'm also typing some bits from my Lost Realm fic (that's the Scottish fantasy-kinda-historical one). It's actually a bit funny how I jump from one fic to the other when I'm out of inspiration lol. Guess my head's just too full of stuff to do. Besides, with new canon I feel kind of bad not to write according to canon, even though that thing (Two Aurors & A Bookworm for one, The Guardian for the other) has been in the writing for years. Blah. With LR, though, I'm only just typing in at this point. I'll let the ideas come when they come.
Alasdair found his cousin going at it in the weapons training chamber, dust and hay flying in every which direction. If the young man of ten and seven had not been so accustomed to this daily exercise, he might have been dazzled by the spectacle the snow-like effect before him displayed. As it was, he merely sat on a bench and grinned at his oblivious, disheveled cousin. He waited for Conall to finally notice his presence.
It had not gone unnoticed. Conall soon walked toward the wall and sat down heavily, out of breath. He offered a feeble nod in greeting.
"Ye’d think the devil was afoot with the way ye swing at empty air so," Alasdair quipped. Then he watched the dust and hay settle, the room becoming a safe haven of quietude once more. Many, like Conall, came and had a parry or two after dawn.
Conall looked down at his hands, weighing the heavy claymore within his palm. "It clears my head."
Alasdair scoffed playfully. "When I fight like that, I’m thinking of a fast way to cover my arse and that’s it."
The older lad smiled. "Well, I ken someone needs practising their parrying method!" He slapped his young cousin on the shoulder and planted himself before him, cocked eyebrow and all. "Ye asked for it, Sandy."
Cringing, the latter cursed himself even as he stood, easily catching the sword Conall threw at him. A large circle had been drawn into the earth to indicate the boundaries for battle. Grumbling, he walked toward it and the skilled warrior, shedding the coat and waistcoat he had been wearing so that he the trews and a clean leine shirt he wore allowed for more movement.
Conall was waiting, eyeing him critically. "At this pace the enemy would have already declared triumph, ye great poof."
The young man muttered some more, loud enough for Conall to hear. "Blasts," he said dramatically, "he found me out." Then, even louder, "Oi, I dinna ask how ye feel about a certain title, aye?" That closed all discussion instantly. Pursing his lips, ruffled and annoyed, he drew up his arm in a fighting stance and eyed his cousin carefully.
Conall stood poised for attack, both hands holding his weapon firmly. He watched the boy like a hawk, studying his weaknesses which he already knew even as they both stood quite still, unyielding. Finally, the dark young man initiated the attack with a smooth slice through the air toward Alasdair’s waist. The latter immediately jumped aside and parried back.
"Too slow," Conall called. "Ye want to tell my game before I even attack, aye?"
It went on for quite a bit, until the youth, panting from Conall’s successive attacks, suddenly lost his footing. Dust flew about him as he gasped and sputtered for a moment, giving enough of an opening for Conall to get closer. The dark young man shouted, giving notice of his presence, and struck down.
The younger boy rolled away, still gasping for breath, and jumped to his feet, even as his eyes watered, blurring his view. He held up a hand, gaining his composure, and the older one waited, a pleased smile upon his face. When Alasdair was ready at last, Conall gave his instructions: "Excellent, now remain balanced… and breathe."
Red-faced, Alasdair nodded. He parried once more and went for another attack upon his cousin. Conall was quicker and went for the shoulder. The youth lost his footing again. The fabric tore, gaping, but the flesh remained untouched as he moved away just in time. The dark-haired man gave a satisfied nod and help his cousin to his feet.
"Generally, ye still have me proud," he said. "But," he added gravely, "ye think too much."
The young boy sighed and bruched at his matted hair in frustration. "I canna do it, Conall," he said pitifully as they retrieved the rest of their garments by the bench and made their way out of the weaponry. "I see every attack coming and think, ‘God get me out of it.’"
Conall frowned. "Och, well, the heavens dinna always grace us with counsel." He nodded toward the castle ahead. "I think I smell Anna’s bread."
Bah, not the greatest scene in the world, but hey, it's swordfighting! *whoosh-whoosh* Look ma, I have claymore! Me great Scottish warrior!
By the way, rich text sux. I've had to edit this three times now sheesh. Going back to my old coding ways then!