folklorish: (somber)
[personal profile] folklorish
[ Judging by the room's feminine decor, Nuada is not in his own suite. Blues and golds and pinks, close to the brilliance of an Irish sunset, line the walls and brighten the area around him. He is settled on the floor, legs stretched out in front, and back pressed against the side of a canopied bed. Pale fingers idly turn a shard over and over, as if the repetitive motion is capable of summoning its bearer back. ]

It is with much regret that I inform those who knew the princess, [ Nuada's voice is quiet, and as bleak as the black outfits he prefers. ] that my sister is no longer ... she is gone. My condolences to any who considered Nuala a friend.

[ He bows his head and switches off the feed. ]
chromosomes: (grill.)
[personal profile] chromosomes
[ John is in a stranger position than he's usually in when he makes broadcasts. Sprawled out on his stomach on the floor, locket in front of his face, he looks- not relaxed, but at the very least less active than he usually is. On his back rests the head and front paws of his female saber-fanged cave lion, her toes flexing every once in a while as if she's kneading his back.

There's a loud sigh. ]


God damn, but this place makes me feel old sometimes. I'm in my thirties and here we all get triple the lifespan -- I'm way too young for this. Don't know how you elves and other long-lived people do it.

[ Granted, with his enhancements, John may very well be long-lived even without the lifespan boost of the Drabwurld... but that's not the point. ]

Of course, this could be part of what happens when you join the military at seventeen and see several lifetimes of war stretch out in front of you. Not that I assume the life expectancy for most shardbearers is that high...

[ And he's being morbid. He grimaces- and then swears again. ]

Buttercup, watch your claws!
seidhe: (ɴɪɴᴇᴛʏ ғɪᴠᴇ ❯)
[personal profile] seidhe
[ The elf is found amongst the trees, so high as to be consumed by the foliage. He sits with a lap full of arrows to be fletched ( as well as one more important arrow set a part from the rest, feathers weather worn ) and scowl upon his lips. This is the first he as appeared in such a manner, and he does not do so with a smile and warm words. ]

Watching you all scurry around preparing for war is much watching ants; curious for a moment but boring swiftly after. [ Ants so easily crushed, decimated. Mindless drones in service of a queen, ha. ] Glosse, que bloed raenn aig a' cuislean dhe weddin. They will bleed you dry and the fault shall lay with you for letting them.

[ Single eye looks away from the locket, hands busying with his self appointed task. ]

I wonder, once the smoke has cleared which among the swine shall climb on top the pile of corpses and proclaim 'I win.'

[ Such a happy fellow, aint he? Ah, but before ending he picks up the separate arrow and holds it for the locket to record. ]

Your arrow, Elvenking. [ Inside joke, none of you will get it. ]
firith: (venenio ·)
[personal profile] firith
[ Mirkwood was always a land of assimilated cultures, both forming a cohesive whole. The unification of a number of Elven clans in the Drabwurld is no different and they march as one force under their Sinda king, clans merging like frail twigs wrapped into a durable, strong bundle. They balance each other well, artisans and crafters — and warriors. Thranduil is armoured in silver, as is his preference, while the army riding normal horses behind him (only two-hundred or so, a small cadre that poses more of a show of intent and force than numbers yet as capable as twice as many mortals) is decked in gold-like metals that are nothing near as soft. He himself is atop Gelefn, his war-unicorn who is likewise clad in armour that extends right over a vicious-looking, metal-tipped horn.

The use of Sindarin by a Laethanian Aelf says a lot, even if you can't understand the brief exchange that passes once the locket is flicked open. ]


I dass carnen, Taidron? [ An assent from the captain who serves under Legolas, and Thranduil nods dismissively. ] Agorel vae, a si nadath nâ i moe cerich. Gwaem hodo ennas! Boe ammen veriad lîn, andelu i ven.

[ Jerking his chin in a direction to the meadows ahead of the northern forest-eaves of Breagha, the second-in-command rides off to direct the troops where they might rest awhile. Thranduil glances back to the locket. The tromping of hooves remains constant in the background, picking up as sections veer off to set up camp for a few hours in strategic positions. ]

Legolas and I shall arrive at the plains of the Cathraon within days. [ Gelefn snorts a hot cloud in the winter air, the view shifting as Thranduil keeps his tempestuous steed steady with one hand about the reins. ] If you are a vampiric Seelie Shardbearer, steer clear. You may be slain on sight.

[ The Elves under Thranduil's rule haven't taken kindly to a war being waged on them in particular by the vampires that have launched attacks on them here and there, and are heading north to join Ridire's camp to sort this matter out once and for all. Off snaps the locket as another call draws the Elvenking's attention. ]



( ooc: a log for cathraon-based shenanigans will be tossed up in a few days! c: )
curser: (Dark - Look 1)
[personal profile] curser
[Maleficent appears to be at the Falls as she makes one of her rare broadcasts, seeming to also be calling from her nest. Interwoven branches and greenery were her background and her soundtrack seemed to be the echo of the Falls interspersed with birdsong.]

Greetings to those who bear a shard and dwell within this land. For those not familiar with me, my name is Maleficent and I reside at the Hidden Falls to the southeast of Caer Glaem. I'm sure that by now we've all heard the... call to arms, as it were. I've made no secret of my desire to keep myself out of this war that I have no stock in. Fairy fighting against fairy is... well, it's an abomination. If those that reside here wish to clash their clans together, that's their prerogative, but that was not what I agreed to when I arrived.

I know there are others here who share my thoughts on this. Who wish not to fight or make war with those they might be friendly with -- or even related to. Asking blood to fight against blood is another cause I cannot support.

So I would offer the Falls as a safe haven of sorts to all those who would wish it. Seelie and Unseelie alike. Those that wish to pick up arms and join the fight, I only hope that little blood is shed. Those who have no heart for war or who do not know where to go, you are welcome here. There is no keep and no castle, but the climate is temperate and you are welcome to make a place for yourself here as you need it. All I ask is that you respect the lives of those that live here as well and do not cause strife or discord while here.

[With that, she gave a slight nod of her head, a signal that her address had reached its end and she waited for those that might accept it.]
undividing: dark-arch-icons | lj (Default)
[personal profile] undividing
[ when the video begins, there's a woman peering into it. she's a contrast to her brother-- all pale gold and ivory, soft and a little ethereal. she hesitates a brief moment, then sits back, folding her hands lightly together in her lap. ]

Good day. My apologies for not introducing myself before now. I have been.. recovering. [ from what, well, it's not something she's sharing. she offers a small smile, though, entire face seeming to brighten with it. ] I believe my brother has already made quite an impression, though, so perhaps it's time. My name is Nuala, twin to Prince Nuada and daughter of King Balor of Clan Bethmoora. Our people have long been called elves, and it is with that thought in mind that--in particular--I wish to hail our otherworld kin. [ her smile widens faintly, and she has to duck her head for a moment, fingertips coming to her lips as if a little overwhelmed. she takes a breath, then, and lifts her chin again. ]

I beg your pardon. I am simply.. very glad. .. Which is not to say that I am not equally glad to meet those of other races, mortal and otherwise.

[ she presses her fingertips together in her lap, glancing down at them briefly as she considers what else she wants to say. ]

If I might also inquire.. is there a need for healers? I typically work with the land, but.. it feels relatively healthy here. The bodies of people, then-- though I must confess that my strength is not currently what it was. [ a brief pause, then a polite bow of her head. ] Thank you for your time. [ and the feed ends. ]
folklorish: (level stare)
[personal profile] folklorish
[ The feed flickers on, displaying an elf seated in one of the more comfortable seats that the library of Caer Glaem has to offer. Nuada is garbed in his customary black, pale hair hanging loosely over his shoulders, and stares straight at the locket. ]

Good day, gentlefolk. I seek the fell beast known as Greenleaf. If you are near the environs of Caer Glaem, my lord, I can be found in the library. I would like to meet you.

[ And now that the invitation (or challenge, depending on point of view) is out of the way: ]

I also seek stories, or information, from those who may share their worlds with my kind. My name is Nuada Silverlance, son of King Balor, of the Clan Bethmoora. Some of my people - our gods - fled from home many years ago, and I have long searched for their location.

Therefore, if anyone would like to share their legends, I would be a most appreciative audience.

[ The feed shuts off a moment later. ]
kilimanjaro: (pic#7468445)
[personal profile] kilimanjaro
[The feed comes on sideways, and gives a good view of a big black nose. Bryndis, loyal to her master, has found some way to turn on Kìli’s dropped locket. There’s a brief snuffle from the pup and she draws back to her master’s side, who is lying on the ground with his eyes closed, looking half-beaten and certainly nowhere near sober. He is apparently completely unaware of the locket being on and is slurring out words in a mixture of English and his own native tongue. There’s a nice cut down his forehead, blood trickling down into a black eye, but he’s too gone to care.]

Thatrulkhud fandùna, bunmel, ulnas... She’s gone, Bryn, she’s gone... [He curls in on himself, giving a small little whimper. His fingers curl into the dirt.] I am makarfûn. Mahal, I...this is...this is... kherkhar.

[The pup whines, sitting down beside him. Kìli reaches for her, one hand stroking her fur before pausing in her scruff and tightening there.] Zusul, Bryndis. I...I thought...I thought she was my sabrel, that I could...ihrêr.

[The direwolf pup shifts, her wagging tail hitting the locket and sending it skidding another direction as she comes closer to comfort her master.]
inafadingcrown: (Counsel)
[personal profile] inafadingcrown
[The infirmary in Caer Glaem]

[Finally, after weeks of silent sleep, Galadriel begins to stir. Her eyes open and for a moment she looks about her in confusion.]


Where am I?

[...the infirmary. She does know it; she's been here before, though more often as a healer than as a patient. But recognizing the place doesn't answer the larger question-]

What has happened? [There has to be a reason that she's in the infirmary, after all, and she doesn't remember being injured.]

[Video, open to both courts]

[After she has had time to make sense of the situation, catch up with those loved ones who were nearby when she awoke, and make herself presentable, Galadriel opens her locket long enough to offer a short little message. She opens with a warm smile and nod, as always.]

It seems that I have missed much whilst I slept. I fully intend to learn what I can through other means, but first, it would ease my mind a great deal if my kith and kin would assure me of their safety.

To those who have arrived while I was indisposed, I would offer my welcome, were I under the illusion that most were pleased to be here. As it is, it seems it would ring hollow. Instead I will offer the simple hope that your time here does not prove too trying.

Galo Anor erin radeg- May the sun shine upon your path. [And with that, she will reach over and shut the locket.]
orcsurfing: (pointy ears)
[personal profile] orcsurfing
[ A video, again, from the resident chatterbox, though this time he will attempt to be more... ah, concise in his words. It's a delicate matter, after all, and he needs to be careful.

There's little reason to smile, all things considered, and so he doesn't, though his expression remains gentle and with visible concern to every line of it. ]


There are two that I seek. Two elves that do not bear shards, but that have been in my service nevertheless.

[ They are one and the same, but with appearances different and names also different. And so he skirts around the subject of Celegorm, though there are some that will know no matter how he poses his questions, how he gives the descriptions. ]

One of the name Andrion, with hair black as the night and sun-kissed skin, his face fair, his features soft, his attitude earnest and merry though wary of strangers all the same. Naruthir, a pup barely grown into adulthood now, was his constant companion.

The other is of hair fair, cut short at the nape, sharp featured and imposingly tall and broad in the way of a fine warrior. What name he would give a stranger, I cannot tell you, but he is a hunter through and through, a wolf trapped in the body of an elf.

[ His pulse quickens, though it does not show outwardly, and Legolas gives a small smile, the perfect cover for some nerves. ]

I would welcome any information on their whereabouts- [ A pause, weighed with little hope- ] or on their fates; and of course I could reward for it, should you desire so.

[ Done with his request, he snaps the locket shut before his features twist in pain, from the way the scar on his chest flares up with a dull ache of memory. ]
disheartening: (pic#7779027)
[personal profile] disheartening
This is disgusting -

[ a voice that's rich in sarcasm and annoyance is heard and then a loud thud as a book slams against a table. a moment later regina mills comes to view, white silken blouse, black woolen coat, dark pants, impeccable hair given the situation and an expression that reads that she is, without a doubt, 120% done.

She stares at the book as if it had personally offended her and with a flick of her hand it goes flying across the room. ]


To those who call themselves the High King and Queen -

[ there is poison on the very way she pronounces those words. ]

Expecting me to fight for you is about as stupid as you interfering with the very weapon I would need even if I had wanted to. I have little to no idea what you or this misshapen world had done to magic.

[ or why as this makes no sense to her. ]

But I want it fixed.

[ and then she looks around her in distaste and mutters to herself ]

Looks as if this place is managed by farmers if to judge by this inner decor.
wolfskin: (oh the sea ran dry)
[personal profile] wolfskin
[ Rob was determined to look as much like the king he is when he appears on the locket, but the nervous energy rolling off him in waves makes him looks little more than a boy. Behind him a mass of grey fur and yellow eyes paces around the room. ]

I have been lead to believe members of House Stark are among the numbers here, two boys and two girls. It is imperative that I speak to them. [ Has to know if they are here, if they are safe.] Please tell them Robb is here and needs to see them. None of you are under any obligation to seek them out, though you will have my gratitude if you do.
cinnamoned: (Contemplates)
[personal profile] cinnamoned
[It takes a moment, given these things are a little different from a phone, but Snow figures it out, thanks in part to some memories as Mary Margaret. She peers at the locket, a slight frown initially as she hopes it is working, brushing some long dark strands behind her ear in some small hope of looking presentable. If her trademark dark locks, bright red lips and pale skin invoke any sort of familiarity, well. They're supposed to. Though she may not necessarily be the Snow White from the fairytales in the most traditional sense.]

Right. I assume....this is working now. So. For those I haven't yet met, I'm Snow White, in the Seelie Court. And I've got a--no, actually quite a few questions since I recently arrived here myself. First and foremost regarding this war. I can hardly decline anyone a hand when they're in need, but if I am to help fight, I'd like more details. How large a conflict is this? Is there to be limited or no access to speak to friends or family that may be in the Unseelie court? I ask because I know if some others from home show up, they won't all be placed in this castle accommodations, from what I gather.

The other thing is I'd like to use this to ask about if there are any weapons around? Unfortunately, I wasn't exactly brought here with my own bow, so if I am to fight and there is no other way around this, I'd like to at least be able to defend myself. And I imagine I'm hardly the only one curious about this hunt.

Of course, there are plenty more questions, but I think for now that covers the main two for now. I'll just end this here and thank everyone in advance for the help.

[Snow purses her lips and her hand moves to end the video, after a little fumbling.]
gloinul: (My Axe)
[personal profile] gloinul
[He really doesn't like using this thing for anything more than responding to others but. Well.

Gimli starts the feed up and he has three of his five axes out in front of him, sharpening a fourth.]


Thought I might as well let the world at large know that if you are at all interesting in helping to rebuild the gates of the Cothromach, I'm the Dwarf you should speak to. I'm fairly certain anyone interested is already here, but. [And he shrugs] I hope you have people to vouch for you if you're interested. I do not tolerate slackers or liars on my jobs, nor do I tolerate saboteurs.

[Well, that explains the show of axes.

And he is done with this very painful task. The feed just cuts out]
vaccinations: (bloodied and looking up)
[personal profile] vaccinations
cut for length and some mentions of violence )

Ellie exhales and stands. It was a dream. It was a fucking dream. This place was just fucking with her. She wasn't back home. She was still in wonderful, magical, fucking fairy land. She spits. The taste of blood is strong in her mouth from where she bit her tongue after being knocked to the ground. In her right hand, is still her pistol. Slowly, cautiously, she pulls the trigger. The barrel clicks empty.

She kneels and grabs the locket that had fallen out of her pocket in the struggle. She was painfully aware of the fact that it was on. She looks straight into the camera, as if daring anyone to ask what that all was, and asks-

"So. Forget magic and fairy shit for a second. Where can I get some more bullets?"
firith: (daucus ·)
[personal profile] firith
[ Thranduil hasn't vanished off the face of the Drabwurld again, contrary to popular belief, despite keeping his head down since Samhain. Ensconced in the Caer Glaem library pulling up certificates, maps, and all the other ridiculous paraphernalia required for a legalised contact to take place, he flicks on the locket from his desk in a corner of the vast halls, surrounded by stacks. There he sits sipping a goblet of the last keg of leftover Dorwinion which is currently under strict guard in the cellars (looking at you Samhain revellers). On the table are scrolls and books, all of which have been tidied, while in front of him lies a black leather-bound folder, ostensibly containing the point of the broadcast. ]

The High-King and I have come to an arrangement. In exchange for fair recompense, I have bought the rights to the woodlands south of the forest river and west of the Hidden Falls, within a crux of the mountain-range, to be easily identified on any common map. [ It's not quite as simple as that, of course, but he'll save everyone the pointless politicking. That, and he doesn't want to bring up Celegorm's shard in public; it would be bad taste. ] Aelfen and Elven tribes alike will be travelling to Caer Glaem over the next week or so to replenish their supplies, tools and gold, well within their rights to do so, before continuing on to their new homeland. Please show these former refugees every kindness.

[ As dapper as he looks, he clearly doesn't intend to faff about chatting idly about inanities; someone wants a nice long sleep. ]

If you have business in what will be renamed the Maechenibryth, come the turn of the winter season, or have done in the past which you wish to pursue in the future, you may bring the matter to myself, Thranduil, or to my son, Legolas, who will pass it on accordingly. There is much yet to do and I have little enough time to spare.

[ Sipping his wine, he shuts off the locket. ]




( ooc: if you'd like to continue anything from samhain just pop me a pm and i'll get on it, otherwise i'll take this opportunity to declare tag amnesty on that front as it broke my inbox and burned me out, sobs. tagging will generally be slow until after the weekend because of work. ty for waiting! )
kingsdaughter: (That was way too surreal stop)
[personal profile] kingsdaughter
[The locket first shows the broad wee face of a grinning fairy, who then vanishes to keep it propped up and pointed at a very relaxed, very drunk Sigrid. She is sitting at her little table with a glass and a bottle of sparkling rainbow champagne open before her, cheek resting on a hand spread out on the tabletop. She watches the bubbles in the glass. Another fairy sits atop the bottle and seems to be asking her questions from a list on a piece of paper.]

How old are you?

Fifteen, silly. Sixteen in exactly two months.

Next...what color is your hair?


[Sigrid pulls out a loose curl and goes crosseyed looking at it.]

Never been able to say. Sort of brown, sort of yellow. More yellow. What color would you say it is?

Ah... [The fairy casts aside an entire sheet of the questionnaire and skips ahead.] What do you look for in a romantic partner?

More questions behind the cut )

Mee, what's Yuu doing with my locket?

[The feed cuts off abruptly.]
orcsurfing: (fluffy)
[personal profile] orcsurfing
private to Thranduil; )

private to Celegorm; )

public;
[ It is the lush room appointed to a prince that's visible behind him and Legolas looks far more bright, lighter and more at ease than he had the last time he addressed his fellow shardholders. His hair is unbound and so very long now, longer than it has ever been in all his life in truth. And this is already after he had cut off a fair amount. The mass of it spills down his shoulders, smooth and akin to threads of pale gold more so than hair. It gleams in the pale autumn light that filters into the room through the window. His face too, fair as is the way of the elves, delicate almost, is alight from the small smile that has always been the most default expression to him.

Legolas looks a carbon copy of his father, indeed, but far more delicate and gentle in appearance and manner. ]


There is much that I have missed, though I have awoken to joyful news that the moon has been returned and so all is right in the world once more. The scent of autumn is so strong on the air already and a mere glance beyond the windows of my room tells me it is for a good reason. [ He glances briefly outside that window then, a sense of longing to be travelling again, to be among the trees, slipping through. ] The green is nearly all gone, replaced by garb more fitting to the season where all land readies to take its rest.

Barely have I returned to Caer Glaem and yet this sight makes me wish to set out once more... To sit in the strongholds of rock and stone, it is dull and my nature is to wander and glimpse all that the world, this or any other, has to offer.

[ And he does not feel particularly at ease here, not anymore. Yet that's something he keeps closely guarded, but from a few. ]

Yet it is not all that I wished to speak to you, fellow shardbearers. I have thought a while on this, and my forced rest has delayed me further, but I must ask! A riddle? A question? Has any the answer as to how to harness the power that simmers just beneath the surface of the shards we carry?

I thank you for your time taken to listen.

[ He bows his head slightly in a gesture of thanks, but then a realisation dawns on him, causing him to jerk his head up once more- ]

Ah, but there is one more matter I have offered to look into for a couple of dear friends of mine. The dryads of Greenwood the Great they have all but vanished... a reason for a great concern of their sisters who have chosen to travel with me.

( ooc; alternatively an open log! )