eachdraidh

There is a magic here that I have never encountered in all of my journeys across Middle Earth. I do not know what to call it or even where it originates. {His anger over having been taken from the final battle at the Black Gate has diminished. In its place, Aragorn looks solemn and paler than usual.} I can only ask that it returns me from whence I came. It is of the utmost importance that I do not -

{For the first time, his voice cracks and he falls silent.}

There is a battle. It will decide the fate of my world. If I do not fight within it; if I do not lend my strength to my men, more of them will perish. {Perhaps they will lose heart. Perhaps all of them will die in the face of their greatest fear. All of the possibilities are incredibly grim.} I must return.

My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn and I am the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor. My place is with my people and my friends.

{No feast can distract him; food is naught but a texture against his tongue. Now isn't the time for joy and festivities. Rather, his entire attention is fixed upon that which he can't see anymore.

The Black Gate.

How far has he been transported? And by what sorcery? He holds onto his sword - the reforged Narsil - tightly, ready and waiting to draw it free from its sheathe.}

gloinul

[Not a video, just audio. It’s clear, however, that the person on the other end is inspecting the locket]

--hmph, thought as much. "Say a phrase and the magic will work", hm? Ridiculous. Who ever heard of speaking over distances with a locket.. Not even Legolas with all his fanciful Elven stories would have come up with something so foolish.

[More tapping and poking can be heard]

There’s nothing special about this at all. No gems, not even made of precious metals...and those creatures expect me to believe their stories? [A snort] I’d sooner believe there’s a man in Rohan afraid of horses! [He pauses, and then scoffs] Bah, listen to me, talking to myself. Legolas must be rubbing off on me more than I thought!

[Click goes the locket.]

vrykolakas

[If anything, the Brucolac's voice sounds worse than ever, painfully scratchy and distinctly weary. The reception isn't perfect; he's sitting in the garden of the fortress at Redgate, where the lockets work, but the blood granite is still causing some interference.]

What languages do you speak? And what language would you say I'm speaking right now?

fiercestwarrior

[ The video shows a young woman, her face framed by slightly wavy hair the color of rich soil. Unseen is the weight of many centuries that lie upon her strong shoulders, and would make her ancient rather than young in the eyes of some.

Her large, hazel eyes are sharp as those of a bird of prey as she fixes them upon her locket. ]

I am Lady Sif of Asgard, my allegiance is to my king and my home, and much as the rulers of this court seem to wish it, that will not change simply because they imagine themselves to have some manner of claim on me.

Do not think me craven, I have no fear of battle, but I will not seek it out merely because a stranger tells me that it is my duty.

So I put the question to you now, my fellow recruits: Why do you fight?

powerful

( The fresh-faced teenager that appears to the network should -- repeat, should -- be full of life and exuberance. She's a very pretty face, with sunshine-blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and her expression is dripping with irritation, frustration, rage; it's tinged with fear, too. But there's also something darker, lurking beneath the surface, flickering behind those eyes. )

I don’t appreciate being black-bagged. ( She scowls into the locket. ) In fact, I don’t appreciate any of this. The kidnapping, the dragging me here, the fact that I can’t seem to leave despite my best efforts... The way every single thing in my family’s book is conveniently just slightly out of the range of reasonable difficulty with only one person... You brought me here alone on purpose, didn't you? What is this? What are you planning?

( Then, in that darker tone, as her face takes on an almost shadowed expression, she murmurs. ) Do you have my sister?

sundroplet

how many people does it take to braid hair?

assuming there is a lot of it?

think before you answer this is REALLY important!

bird_brain

[Aubri looks far more composed for this message than he did the last time he addressed the locket. His feathers are neatly groomed, all traces of dirt and blood gone. The alertness in his gaze is less stress-induced and more of genuine curiosity. The brand above his left eye -- a simplied Unseelie sigil -- is visible, though well on its way to healing. All in all, he looks much better than he did when he warned of Celegorm's march on Caer Glaem.]

It has not been so very long since many of us found our memories plucked from our minds and given to the public. Perhaps it is not so for some of you, but for me, it is rather unheard of.

[A pause] I wonder: do any of you know why this happened -- and why it happened to some but not to others? I was otherwise occupied during much of that time and, if it was said, I missed it.

[[This also serves as an open ACTION post: Aubri has taken up residence, for a good part of the day, on a patio at the Station. He has laid claim to a nice, warm sunbeam. For the price of good company, he'll share it.]]

fell_to_hell

[Nico opens up a video on the Locket for the first time since the memory-sharing incident. He still looks like he’s going to be sick, and is still tired from his summoning the dead stint during the battle a few days ago. At least he’s more alert and not fighting to keep his lunch down today.]

I wanted to share at least one story from my world, gods know there are plenty to tell, and I had some…encouragement.

[He looks off to the side to give an annoyed look at a certain someone who happens to be in the room with him. That someone happens to be Jason Grace, son of Jupiter and moral support extraordinaire.]

Also...when I’m done, I suppose I’ll answer any questions people have regarding my powers. I don’t know if I’ll be able to answer all of them, but I can try.

[Within reason. He’s not about to give away his weaknesses to potential enemies.]

( Story Time!!! )

orcsurfing

[ Legolas has waited several hours to make this announcement. Grieving, weeping with quiet tears for the half of it, gathering composure and thoughts for the other. He still hardly feels the strength needed to say what he has to say, hardly feels himself having the competence, yet it must be said and he makes a good show for it.

His shoulders squared, head held high no matter the shame he still carries with his hair cut short as it is, his face seems carved out of stone into an expression of firm neutrality, yet not without the soft edges of gentleness. What suffering there is is hidden deeply and out of view. The light in his eyes has dimmed, and with the usual cheer and laughter missing from the picture he makes, his presence seems hollow.

A shadow of his usual self, yet he holds himself together all the same. The Prince he should be, his father's son though not once in his life has he been truly prepared to take over his father's role.

He never wanted to either and especially not like this. ]

Elvenking Thranduil has vanished from this world, leaving behind his shard.

[ His lip doesn't tremble, there is no pause, his voice is even. ]

What he has set out to do, I will carry out in time. 'tis a promise to the shard-holders and the natives of the Drabwurld alike. What begs to be repeat now, with my own voice, with my own words, is that I have forsworn all allegiance with either Court and I will build a home for all who wish not to be drawn into the madness of this foolish war.

[ Time for play is over, time for growing up at last has just begun. He takes no title, names himself no Prince nor King nor anything much really. ]

Those who had unfinished business with him are welcome to bring it to me, his son Legolas Thranduilion.

[ A beat of a pause then in a tone far gentler, yet at the same time tired, he adds. ]

And to those who are to partake in the upcoming battle, I wish you luck.

[ Be safe, he wishes he could say, but the words get stuck in his throat. Then mimicking his father's attitude, he shuts the locket without another word.

In what little time he was speaking the sharp edges of the shard in his hand cut through skin with the force of his hold on it, blood trickles down, painting red flowers on the floor, but he barely feels it. Body numbed to pain with the agony of the soul, he feels himself cracking and crumbling and shattering all over again. What strength that returned over the weeks spent at the Station, seems to be now fizzling out with every quiet breath.

He feels more alone than he has felt in all his life, not knowing if he'll ever see his father ever again. Not even knowing what has happened, in truth, just that today he was simply gone and on bed there lay a shard.

This isn't Arda, this is Drabwurld, will they ever see each other at Aman again? Or has he lost his father for all the rest of his life? ]

( ooc: there'll be a delay before he begins responding and all responses to this post will be in voice only. Thrandaddy is gone, babyleaf's gotta grow up asap and pull his act together. :c )

kilimanjaro

He doesn’t mean for it to happen. It starts out as just a tiny thing, a few sticks rubbed together until it bursts into flame. Kili smiles triumphantly, dropping the round, egg-shaped rocks he’s found into the middle of the fire. He’s young, only thirty two, just a child.

When he turns his back to look towards home, the fire starts to grow, consuming the small kindling that the young dwarf left around the fire. There’s no pit to keep it contained, nothing to keep the flames from starting to engulf the forest around it. Kili looks back to find what seemed like half the wood aflame.

He reaches into the fire, wanting to reclaim his rocks, but they’re too hot and he withdraws with a cry of pain, his palms an angry red. He’s lucky at least that there’s scouts on watch that spot the fire, and soon enough half the settlement is swarming about with buckets of water.

Dis spots her child in the middle of all of it, no surprise, and ushers Kili back home, tearing off strips of her dress to cover his burned hands.

“Foolish child!” she scolds fiercely, tying the fabric around the burns. “Don’t you know you could have gotten yourself killed? What were you thinking?”

Kili’s eyes brim with tears, his lower lip trembling. “I-I was just trying to make you prettier, Mama.”

Dis stops short, giving him a long look. “Oh?” she prompts, clearly puzzled.

The dwarfling nods, sniffling. “I heard Uncle Thorin talking about when you lived in Erebor an’ you had all this treasure, how you always looked so pretty with all those shiny rocks in your jewelry, an’ Bofur told me and Fili how some rocks have crystals inside ‘em. S-so I thought I’d...melt the rocks to get to the crystals, so I could make you nice jewelry for your birthday.”

Dis’ hard expression softens as she finishes with the bandages on Kili’s hands and draws him into a tight hug. “Oh Kili,” she sighs, releasing him to hold him at arms’ length. “I’m going to tell you something very important.”

Kili’s brown eyes are wide and still sparkling with tears as he watches his mother closely.

“Jewelry is only rocks, my child,” Dis tells him gently, running her fingers through dark hair. “You and your brother, you are my treasures. A shiny rock is only a shiny rock. Family is what is truly important. Promise me you’ll remember that, little wolf.”

The young dwarf nods solemnly and Dis pulls him into another hug. “I promise, Mama.”

goldsickness

( This is practice. )

orcsurfing

[ All around is white, snow whips across the picture along with long strands of pale golden hair. A pace or two away a couple figures stand huddled together, pressed against a wall of a mountain. Two tall men, four hobbits whose heads barely stand above the surface of the snow, A DWARF* that stands a little taller yet still, and a greying man dressed in greys in a pointed hat. The image, oddly enough, shows them from somehow above all. ]

If Gandalf would go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you.

[ For some, perhaps a familiar voice, for others perhaps not. Light of heart and little troubled by the storm. The man in the pointed hat answers him. ]

If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us.

[ But no matter the wizard and elf exchanging jabs at each other, there are still Men with ideas here. One speaks: ]

Well, when heads are at a loss bodies must severe, as we say in my country. The strongest of us must seek a way. See! Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we came up, turned about that shoulder or rock down yonder. It was there that the snow first began to burden us. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more than a furlong off, I guess.

[ Another - the tallest - answers him: ]

Then let us force a path thither, you and I!

[ And for a moment there it seems that would be the end of the conversation, the camera - so to speak - follows the toiling men, the way they work through the snow with great trouble yet also with some success. Yet not before long, Legolas speaks up again, his voice rising easily in the noise of the snow storm. ]

The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf, or over snow - an Elf!

[ With that said, he springs forth nimbly. The camera briefly showing his feet on the snow, sinking but only a little, leaving little imprints in the cover of snow. And he runs light and easy. ]

Farewell! I go to find the Sun!

[ He says with a last look to Gandalf first, then to the toiling men, Aragorn and Boromir. For them, he has a wave of a hand, before he speeds off. ]

( ooc; paraphrased book excerpt, sassing off to a maia, have at! visual aid, I mean what. *blanche is a loser kill me now I FORGOT GIMLI )

mulletrock

[If you've met Dean in person you know he's not the type to do networking. He'll comment around every once and a while but since his initial arrival he hasn't made any updates on his own. He prefers audio and text, and doesn't screw around or waste time being social. He's not that guy.

When the camera opens focus he's not in clear view. Instead a 1967 impala in metallic black trimmed in chrome is in focus. There's no hum, no clear sign she's occupied or on, Dean doesn't even give a clear view of the license plate. Why would he? That's like asking to be caught.]

Ain't she a beaut?

[In case people were wondering who was on the other end of the recording Dean whirls his lock around toward his face at an angle where only his face can be seen. He doesn't have too much experience with camera work. Or at least the kind of camera that is attached to a necklace.]

I mean- goes without saying, too bad she's benched.

[There's no shot of the car instead it's just Dean, looking pretty bored with everything. He wants to get his hands dirty, but not with some stupid fantasy feud. There's more important things. He's been separated from Sam for too long and he's starting to wonder what the kid was up to or if he was even okay. Every angle he'd tried to get back to real time fell flat, and he wasn't sure what it would take short of cozying up to the seelie fairies and he wasn't ready to get in bed with those assholes yet.]

In case we haven't met.

[Dean indicates to himself in front of the camera and then back at whoever might be watching.]

Which is probably most of you. I'm Dave. Class-C citizen and mechanic outta Louisville. War? So not my thing.

But I couldn't help but notice a lot of you are juiced up on magic steroids, and since I'm outta my element I thought I'd ask a favor. These mooks were nice enough to bring me with my girl. [Read: The car. He's not shy about the fact that he puts this car above mostly everyone unless they're family or close to kin.] She gets around but she doesn't run on fumes. If someone can figure out a way for me to find a replenishing fuel source or I dunno, do some hoodoo so she doesn't need regular refills I'll make it worth your while. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. Trust me, I've got my own skills to offer.

[The camera pans up to the sky and then back down, there's a distinct pause. Like something distracted him but there's no evidence on what that is yet.]

And since after two months the clowns in the penthouse suite decided to be generous, I thought I'd put this message out there. The station's getting packed, and I don't do communal living.

Thanks.

goldsickness

[ It takes little time for Thorin to realize he must learn as much as he can about these lands. If he can't leave, if he can't go back, then at the very least he ought to make sure he finds a safe place for him and the few he keeps close. He has not met many so far he would ask questions, and even the few he did ask could only tell him so much.

Library it is, then. However, this becomes a problem when, after almost an hour of looking through the castle, he can't find the place.

Not only that, but he also ends up getting lost through the corridors.

When he speaks to the locket, he is not actually asking anyone. He is asking the locket itself for directions. ]

Tell me the way to the library.

[ He frowns at the locket for the longest time, waiting for some kind of immediate response, frown deepening when it doesn't come. ]

This useless-- [ And it shuts off. ]

((ooc: open for action at the seelie court!))

Entries tagged with thorin: tolkien

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