Last year, I posted a picture drawn by Larry Elmore. With that picture, I included a description of what I believed was happening. Tonight, I attempted the same thing, though with the below image by Michael Whelan (I’m not profiting off this; please don’t sue me!). I enjoyed the exercise, because it was something I have been promising myself I would do again someday, but always found a reason to put it off.
There are many more pictures for which I’d like to write descriptions, but I’m going to settle for “baby steps” for now. I hope you enjoy it.
Riding the Storm… or Embracing a Primal Lover
As Gwenyth, High Lady of Silmara, stepped onto the battlement, she smiled at the vista before her. A roiling black mass of clouds was creeping across the sky, devouring the remaining daylight. The lightning that arced through the storm front was a living thing, darting down to strike the ground of the valley below like an elemental viper attacking its prey. Even the Silmaran Mountains, the largest mountain chain on this side of the continent, seemed to huddle down in fear of the primal entity that was invading from the east.
The winds began to sweep over her perch at the top of the castle keep, plucking at her hair and heavy robes like a lover trying to entice her into bed. Closing her eyes and lifting her face to the sky, she pulled at the sash holding the robes together at her waist. As she shrugged off the bulky garment, a gust caused her diaphanous nightgown to cling to her supple form, revealing every curve, from her toned legs to her ample bosom.
The storm was closer now; the wind was blowing more fiercely, lightning was illuminating the courtyard below as the servants were scurrying around, bringing in what they could and tying down what they couldn’t. Here, in the foothills of the mountains, storms were always more intense, and everyone assisted in preparing for the worst. None spared a glance toward their queen, high above, for they were long since familiar with what they thought of as her tempest-borne dalliances.
Above, Gwenyth removed the silk ribbon binding back her hair and cast it into the air, where the wind grasped it and flung it about like a cat with a new toy, before casting it over the side of the castle. As lightning cascaded around her and rain began to fall, she drew a trembling breath, exulting in the feeling of raw primal energy surrounding her completely. Stepping up onto the crenellated ledge of the battlement, she cried out words of power that would allow her to control the very elements that sought to dominate her in return.
Spreading her arms wide, she opened herself to the raw, violent energy of the storm. She was momentarily silhouetted by a particularly powerful lightning bolt, which forked several times and struck the ground explosively just outside of the castle wall. The rain intensified, lashing her skin until it turned bright red. Her screams echoed around the keep, terrifying nobles and commoners alike.
When she felt her mind merge with the storm, she laughed with unbridled joy. Weeks of research and countless attempts did not prepare her for the sensation of utter dominion over the weather. The ritual was complete, and High Lady Gwenyth of Silara had fulfilled her destiny.
She had become a Stormwalker…