eachdraidh

[The forge had echoed loudly from the sound of hammer on steel. Such had been the case for a week now, ever since Gendry had discovered the forge and learned he had the freedom to use it and its materials. He had fallen in love immediately. At the Crossroads, he had suffered a shambling forge that he'd had to largely put back together himself. The forge in Harrenhal had been better, but he was one of many who worked it. Tohbo Mott's own forge came close, but it lacked the size of this one. It was expertly crafted and spoke of a skill he could only imagine. His old master had talked of the forgs in Qohor and Volantis and how great they were. He could only imagine them being like this one.

And so Gendry had set to work. His half finished sword was completed. The blade was made sharp and glimmering. He did not bother himself with anything but the most basic of hilt and crossguard. Why should he? The sword had been forged from the only steel he could acquire. Now he had superior metal to work with and he imagined how he might forge himself a sword of the finest steel as could be found. And then, armor. A new helmet. Greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget. And why not? They were generous in their provisions and Gendry though to himself that when he had finished, he would look more a knight than even Ser Loras Tyrell. And then he would be more than just King Robert's bastard son born in Fleabottom. He would be a self made knight, secure and confident in his own armor.

A week in the forge. Drenched in sweat and smoke, with nothing but a damning heat as company. It suited him fine. He was hard at work creating a new helmet, after all. Indeed, he was so utterly devoted to his craft that he had not even returned to his bedchambers. He found the hard ground of more comfort than the feather soft bed provided to him and the distant heat of a cooling forge like a friendly reminder of home. And though he could not claim to have friends among his fellow arrivals, there were at least people of note that concerned him. Even if some, like Arya Stark, thought him as little more than a stranger.

And so he tried the locket.]

[Audio]

I found a forge. A good one. Better than any I've ever seen, at least. These fairy folk might be a queer sort, but they make for fine things. So I've been doing the same.

[He paused and wondered at his own message. Did he want to offer to craft armor and swords for others? No. And certainly not for charity. He only wanted to arm himself and make himself a knight. Once he had, he'd only need the forge to maintain what he already had or replace what might be damaged. So he keeps himself from offering something foolish.]

If there's other smiths about, you might find the place of use. [And then he lingers after that, unsure if more should be said. And so stupidly he can be heard lingering. Breathing.

And then it cuts out.]

[Afterwards, Gendry resumes his work at the forge, where he has discarded his shirt and set himself to the first steps of his new helmet.]

(ooc: prose and brackets are both welcome.)

heroyic

[ A patchwork of imagery: first, the slope of a nose, flared nostrils. A neat white line of teeth beyond lips drawn into a snarl.

Then, darkness. (His finger pressed to the surface of the locket.)

When the image returns, Roy's face can be seen in its entirety. His cheeks are sunken and glistening with sweat; his hair is tucked behind his ears like a schoolboy. He's laughing in the loose, slow manner brought on by intoxication. There's a faint trail of red from the corner of his mouth (red wine, richer and thicker and sweeter than he'd ever tasted before) that gives him a strange vampiric cast. ]

Who — what sort of tupped-to-hell bastard thought this was a good idea?

[ The laughter catches in his throat, and he coughs, just two heaving shorn-off breaths. A wide sweep of his arm across screen, his loose shirt billowing; he tilts his his head back and takes a long swallow from a nearly-empty decanter of wine. ]

Well, I'm ready. What am I fighting? Who am I fighting? Come and get it — I'm the Bandit, the nastiest of my kind. You'll see me and you won't know what to do with yourself. My mother was Medusa. My father was Hades. My hands are steel blades. I breathe hallowed flame.

[ Another attempted swig of wine, but the decanter is empty. Roy gives it a wounded look, and promptly flings it over his shoulder. It lands in the grass behind him with a soft thump. ]

Don't you want it? My head as a trophy? Come on, you stinkin' worms, come on, I'll fight all of you at once. The Bandit Cripple! The Scourge of the East!

[ Suddenly, the image dips, revealing that he's sitting in the grass before a wheelchair. The right wheel has somehow broken off; he's holding it in his lap, the fingers of his left hand blackened from where he'd been clutching the mud-encrusted rim.

The image jerks back to his face. He's still grinning. ]

Roy Walker's the name. Who's brave enough to come slay a dragon?

actually112

[It's helpful that so many people have been fiddling around with their lockets, and that Aang's given himself some time to try figuring the thing out. There are only three false starts before he manages to properly turn it to video.

A twelve-year-old bald boy with arrows tattooed on his head, arms, and legs sits in a lotus position. To those who would recognize it, his clothes seem similar to those of Tibetan monks.]

Is this thing on...?

[The locket's also upside-down as he works on it, his tongue sticking out with concentration, before he blinks.]

Oh! Hi!

[He puts the locket down upright and tries to look like he knows what he's doing, but the image is kind of ruined by his somewhat sheepish smile and the way he waves.]

I'm Aang! [He puts his hands in his lap, gray eyes bright and curious.] I don't really know many of you, but I'd like to! I kind of what to say something to everyone on both sides of this.

[The smile begins to fade.] In my world, there's been a war going on for a hundred years. I still don't know why it began. From what I hear, one nation attacked the others, and the others are now just trying to protect themselves. I've always wondered why that first nation attacked. [The smile's completely gone now. The eyes have lost some of their brightness.] But now... we have these lockets. So we can talk to each other, and we can find out why we're being told to fight each other.

So I came on here to ask... [He puts his palms together and closes his eyes. Just a twelve-year-old boy, trying to fulfill his duty to achieve peace and harmony.] that before we start fighting, that we talk first, and we compare what our separate sides have told us. That we try to learn about each other. I'll start.

[The boy unfolds his legs and picks up a wooden staff from the ground, using it to get to his feet and leaning on it while he speaks.] Like I said, I'm Aang. I'm an Air Nomad. That means I'm a monk, and I was taught to respect all life. [Perhaps conspicuously to those who know him, he doesn't mention his status as the Avatar. That seems like heavy stuff to tell people who don't even know what that is.] When I came here, I was told that I had to kill people who were chosen by the Unseelie to steal their Shards, and if we didn't do that, then everything I ever loved would be destroyed. They said that this is a kingdom that represents light in the world--things like honor, courage, love, justice... that kind of thing. And that the Unseelie are going to destroy all of it.

So... what about everyone else? Seelie and Unseelie? Who are you? Where are you from? Why did they tell to fight?

orcsurfing

[ Taught by witnessing his father's trial and error with those little devices, Legolas' own attempt is a little less disjointed. It's a clear picture of him from the very beginning with a fairy accompanying him that some may already find familiar as she would return to Legolas' side time and again ever since the welcoming feast days ago. Though unlike the many times before, she does not seem as happy.

His eyebrow is cocked a notch, the corner of his lip curled subtly in an expression of bemusement that is not devoid of amusement, or simple cheerfulness. Something like this will never be a preferred method to simply speaking face to face with another, but he can see its uses and he can see how convenient it is as well: to address many all at once, without needing to gather them all in one place or hunt down each and every one personally. Exactly as his current purpose requires. ]

I am Legolas, son of Thranduil. My father's purpose with you was with regards to the fortress itself. My own is with what we may find beyond it and along the borders.

I am to set out to travel into the Great Greenwood forest to investigate our borders within a day and I am looking for volunteers to accompany me. [ Not out of necessity, for he can travel by himself just as well, if not even more efficiently being an elf, but more so out of a wish for company as well as an attempt to build trust among the many various individuals gathered, all that were to be allies. Foster a sense of cooperation, rather than alienate himself. ] Such that are capable of travelling swift and light, riding hard and handling a weapon efficiently.

It is a short notice, but preparations are all too easy thanks to our hosts.

[ He offers a smile, dark lashes lowered over bright eyes, such a contrast to the pale gold of the hair framing his face. ]

If you wish to ride with me, you may come in contact with me by the means of the lockets and I will let you know of the time and the place.

[ That is all as far as parting words go, the feed is closed with a snap of the locket. ]

espouses

When my mother told me tales of magical creatures and monsters under the bed when I was a child I always thought they were just stories to teach me a lesson - you know, 'don't sleep under the bed with the dog, Marian, the monsters will get you'! I didn't think they were real, I thought she meant fleas.

[ She's lifting her shoulder, now, almost a shrug, even as she's grinning. Humour is her forte, her defence, and waking up in a place where she has to fight another war for people she barely knows, other than as a whole, as stereotypes. It's not that she minds fighting, of course, as that's what she does for a living, but she likes having a definite reason to fight. Someone was murdered, a child was kidnapped, mages were being tortured, elves enslaved - that sort of thing. She needs a little more than 'she's special'.

Because, in her mind, she isn't. ]

But here we are and here they are. We're here to help, right? ... Unless this has something to do with the looters in the Wounded Coast or that Qunari patrol, in which case... I didn't do it? Really, I promise it was an accident. Honest.

[ The little smile on her face is proof enough that it obviously wasn't an accident - but she continues, crossing her arms over her chest. Jokes and humour are all well and good, of course, but she does have a point. ]

If you've seen a dwarf without a beard, tell me. Or a scary glowing elf. Actually, if you see scary glowing anything you should definitely let me know. I'll take care of them.

Entries tagged with danielle de barbarac: ever after

Forge One - (Audio)

i. ( video ) → the meadows outside caer glaem.

1st Element ☲ Video

video. can never really keep the wood elf out of the forest

video - one.

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