EACHDRAIDH

The nature of evil is such that it spreads like rot, out of sight and festering until it inevitably makes itself known. This is how it is with people of all races. Elves, Men, Dwarves ... Hobbits. [ Looking at you, Gollum. ] Everyone must decide, sooner or later, to give into this sickness or to rise above it. They know it when it touches them. They know right and wrong, yet still they covet the latter with deplorable excuses.

I have no patience with debate in this matter. I do not care for it.

[ For anyone who saw his furious exchange with the Unseelie a few days ago, it will hardly come as a surprise that the Elvenking is hard-faced and forging his ill-temper into something productive. He cannot be blamed, what with his only child a ruin of his former self. Having felt closer to his father's hot-blooded choices tonight than at any other time, he takes pride in Oropher's name and tempers a long broadcast with an even tone throughout. ]

I am Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm, Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen; formerly Mirkwood, a land few of you will know. There I raised a kingdom under the threat of a great Shadow and my Halls endured for thousands of years. As of this moment, I renounce fealty to Caer Glaem and its rulers on behalf of myself and Prince Legolas, who was brutalised at the hands of fools that would wear Unseelie colours and fly the flag of those who barter in precious gemstones for the exchange of innocent lives. They are wrong to do so. They excuse their actions in any way that seems fit. 

What a pretty war this is, so neatly stacked on either side. Shard-holders do not know one another, yet still they raise their swords and scream war-cries without hesitation.

We teach children better sense than this.

[ Or he did, at least. ]

I will rebuild another fortress away the malicious madness running rife in a location I have already decided upon. One home I lost to the sea, another to a Dark Lord and thrice have I lived in the wilds, forced to keep my people moving for years; the last, I walked away from freely in order to come here. A mistake. The fortunes of Men rise and fall and so it is here too with the Fae, yet still I offered my help. I was repaid in broken bones; as a result I now break ties. Given how simple everything is here, I suspect this will not be difficult for people to grasp.

This land would take my son from me, the last of my bloodline. I shall carve out a new home for us, in recompense, before we are hauled any further into this ruinous mess. 

[ The locket pulls back, showing the Elvenking at the Station in one of the odd tops from its endless stores (a hoodie, he has heard it called) while his usual clothing is being cleaned. His hair falls freely over his shoulders and he looks tired, no older than a mortal in their late twenties but with grey-blue eyes that are cold and weathered as tempered steel. He might seem impassive to some, but to a keen eye there is fury behind each slow blink.

Slow are his words, measured things that come from one who has lived long enough to know that if it is worth saying, it is worth saying well. ] 

For in time, all foul things come forth. These are early days, the flames of war are but flickers in the dark even with the most recent of losses shared. These numbers will grow and those who were free people ere they were tricked and dragged here will be slain together on a battlefield like so many before, nothing but stains that run ruddy across the unforgiving dirt.

It will be a meaningless slaughter. 

[ It's like looking southward toward Mordor; the threat of needless murder is a chill breath on his neck as he recalls Legolas's cries, his agonised sobbing as he could barely hold his broken arms around his own father. He cannot do it. Thranduil physically and mentally cannot commit to a pointless massacre, so in this broadcast he makes it known how he will respond to the current climate: by over-seeing the construction and maintenance of a safe-haven, one that will endure and defend at the command of a single lord that does not care to carve jewels from the chests of innocents.

With Legolas maimed in body and soul, Thranduil cares for very little else at all. ]

These will be my last words on the matter until I have my affairs in order.

[ And the feed ends abruptly because, frankly, his son needs him and is more important than anyone else. Replies will come intermittently throughout the day, while he attends his recovery. ]



( OOC: If you've ever wanted to see an elf in a hoodie, here you go. )