TEST DRIVE #6

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

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Thorin Oakenshield (The Hobbit) | Seelie

[melhekhul]

[This is not Mirkwood. That is to say, he doesn't believe it to be so. They'd been warned about the very air within the forest being heavy with illusion, though considering the source for the information, and how he'd (unwillingly, he'd claimed) abandoned them at the edge of the forest, Thorin had originally disregarded it.

And surely no illusion of any kind can be this strong.]

001 - Arrival Party
[There are tales of fairies even in Middle Earth, and while they're (as far as Thorin knows) nothing more than that - tales - it's with great distrust and a heavy helping of suspicion that he keeps to the very fringe of the merrymaking. This isn't his world, and this isn't the quest he and the company have been on for months now, with the clock ticking down to the final hour, so to speak. And as such, he is in no mood for revelry, for even the revelry itself is against his will.

He's seen no one he knows, and while there's still the nagging doubt that perhaps this is the illusion Gandalf had spoken of at the edge of the forest, he's paid no heed to those doubts. There are others here, however, that he does not know, as newly-minted in this place as he himself, though for his part he certainly has no interest in joining in, choosing to even mistrust food and drink, if illusion this be, instead making sure to keep his back to the wall, and one eye on the others. He doesn't like it; not the explanation he's been given, nor the expectation that he's supposed to accept it all and disregard the quest to reclaim Erebor for some otherworldy beings' whims.]

002 - The Smithy
[The smithy is, at least, something familiar. It's a double-edged sword (to wit), shaping metal into something usable and recognizable, dredging up long-time memories of working in the forges of Men to survive on the long trek from Erebor after Smaug came, and after the absolute bloodbath that was Azanulbizar. Of surviving as little more than beggars.

But at the same time it's a familiar, soothing rhythm, doing something useful with his time and his hands. It's grounding. He still rebels, internally and with a hot, silent rage, at being here, but there's always been comfort in hammer meeting red hot untempered metal in the process of creation. That is, after all, what dwarves are made to do. Even crownless kings, it seems.

There's a pause in the rhythmic hammering, before he drops the piece in the slack tub, steam hissing upward from the cooling metal, a noise catching his attention before he realizes he's no longer alone with just his thoughts for company.]

If you've something you wish to say, while this cools would be the time to do it.

003 - Choose Your Own Majestic Adventure
[Find Thorin somewhere out and about. Mention the dwarves in the mountain. Go wild.]

002

[errour]

[Hild gives a breath of laughter, shutting her eyes, embarrassed to be caught watching. A tall, thin woman with reddish brown hair bound up in a scarf, the skin of her face drawn tight over angular bones, she carries herself with a tight paucity of movement. Her laugh comes only with a taut and short smile.]

Nothing to say, Shardbearer. Metal won't be tempered by my compliments on your handling of it.

[Her address gives away that she is a native inhabitant of this place; and despite what she's just said, she continues, delicately—]

Do you smith to arm yourself? Or will another wield it?

[melhekhul]

[That word - Shardbearer - is enough to make him stiffen slightly, and with slow, deceptive calmness he places the tongs and hammer on the anvil. The words that follow do little to improve that, and he finally glances up, reaching for a nearby rag to wipe at the soot on his fingers and palms.

And yet he chooses not to address the first at all, instead bluntly bulldozing into the second.]

That has yet to be decided. For all this place speaks of war, it is not what I would consider well-armed.

[And does it matter? Whether he keeps his future creation - a short knife (though at the moment the shaft of metal is deceptively long), meant to be tucked away for emergencies in a boot - for himself, or gives it away, is of little concern to anyone else. He creates because outside of war, it's what he knows, and that is another thing he doesn't feel needs to be shared.]

[errour]

[Her eyes slide from the cooling knife to Thorin, the air about her prickling a little. Interest. Subtle offence, though only a tinge.]

Perhaps. Many of those freshly-arrived have different ways of war. We do not seek to disregard them. What do you call well-armed?

[melhekhul]

[It's something he does, pushing at those buttons he knows will get a rise out of others. Bluntly shoving fingers into wounds that he has no business poking.

For the most part, it serves him well, getting the other party to reveal their hand in a fit of temper.

His smile is small, tight, and not at all genuine.]

I have seen my fair share of war. [Azanulbizar, a century and a half in the past, is still fresh in his own mind.] Technique and armory is not the issue.

2 it's the day for Cate Blanchett faces in the forge, apparently

[inafadingcrown]

[Galadriel had her own business in the smithy, but it's true, she had lingered a little longer when she noticed Thorin there. For several reasons, really, but there's one she's more swift to offer when her presence is mentioned.]

Nothing save my compliments, Thorin Oakenshield. It has simply been too long since I have watched a master smith at work.

You'd think he'd see it as his lucky day. Dwarves.

[melhekhul]

[He glances up, at his name, giving the owner of the voice a once-over, his eyes narrowing and lips thinning to a line at the ears. Elves, even here. He's been lucky, thus far, to have encountered none, but given how many others there seems to be from various regions through Middle Earth (as has been explained to him), he shouldn't be surprised.

He's not, really, if he's being totally honest with himself. Of course there will be Elves here as much as there are Dwarves and Men and Hobbits.

There's a quiet, tense moment as he pulls the cooled metal from the water and shoves it back in the coals, to reheat to a working temperature once more.]

I would ask what an Elf knows of our smithing, but it would be waste of a question.

[inafadingcrown]

I know less than I might wish of your particular practices, as you may well guess; my own background is in Noldorin metalwork. It was my kinsmen who worked more closely with others of your race. Yet I am not so unfamiliar with the craft that I may not be appreciative.

001

[rangerandking]

{He spots the Dwarf easily enough - it helps when you tower over most people - and he wends his way to Thorin's side, holding an extra goblet in his hands. The possibility that he will not be remembered does not give him pause. Introductions can be repeated.}

It is good to see you. {And he means it with all his heart. He can only imagine the happiness that the other Dwarves will feel upon seeing their leader and friend returned again.} I am one of many who rejoice to see you in the Drabworld once more. If you do not recall your last visit, I am Aragorn.

{He offers the Dwarf the extra goblet.}

[melhekhul]

[The goblet that he glances at but doesn't take, not right off.]

Indeed, I can't say that I recall a previous meeting. [Though a statement like that opens a floodgate of other questions he considers and then discards. After all, are such things common? Do people return for a second time, with no memory of the first? And if so, if this is a second meeting instead of truly a first, what other strangers will have the advantage of knowing him. Because as he stands, the name Aragorn means nothing to him.]

And who are these many you choose to speak for. [Though at this point he does, finally, take the goblet, a touch warily.]

01

[somethingprecious]

[He hadn't intended on visiting the feast, not one to appreciate the large crowds of mostly Big People who can't seem to see a small Hobbit trying to move along. Even if the smell of food and drink was terribly inviting he still made a point to steer clear. He had his share of accidental foot-stomps to last three lifetimes.

So when a faerie snags a book from his hands and runs off with it into the crowds of new arrivals Bilbo has no choice but to follow after it, yelling for it to come back-

... and then suddenly he was stuck in a sea of bustling people with no faerie in sight. Grumbling to himself he worked on moving himself towards the wall where at least then he didn't have the chance of being stomped on in someone's pursuit for the food table.]

[melhekhul]

[All things considered, a very familiar voice in the crowd milling before his spot is not among the things he's expected to hear. The tone itself is even familiar - as the one it belongs to is grumbly for all those polite Hobbit manners - but Thorin knows for certain that he must be clearly hearing things. Or it's the illusion. Either way, he's fairly sure he's completely misheard, until he actually catches sight of the owner himself, and for a moment (though he certainly won't admit it) he's very, very confused.

Their burglar, last Thorin laid eyes on him, had been talking to Gandalf, about the wizard's leaving, certainly not in this strange place.

And for a moment, he simply ponders those implications, watching the Hobbit draw closer, before speaking up, just loud enough to be heard.]

Master Baggins. [The Hobbit is here. That could, perhaps, mean the others are as well, and while that does none of them any good with their quest, it somewhat lends credence to this being somewhat real (if still an illusion, though he's quickly being swayed to the idea that it is not).]

[somethingprecious]

[Bilbo jumps in surprise, eyes widened as he processes the familiar tone of voice when he connects the voice to the face and his blood runs cold.]

... Thorin? [The faerie thief and book forgotten thanks to Thorin standing right there Bilbo steps forward with his brows furrowed and a frown set on his face.] You're- [He stops in front of him, eyes glancing over him before finally focusing on his face.] You're here. Why are you here?

002

[viikinki]

[ Ragnar stood there watching Thorin for a moment before making himself known. it was purely out of pleasure seeing someone work iron so well. he recognizes skill when he sees it and he appreciates it. unfortunately this isn't a social call. due to the circumstances of finding himself on unfamiliar territory with very unfamiliar faces Ragnar decided it best to pay the local smith a visit. currently he has no gold on him, but that is no obstacle to doing business, so to speak. why else would he have entered the building so quietly? after watching Thorin move around the place he came to the conclusion that the short man isn't the owner and decided to find out what's really going on in here. ]

[ his response to Thorin is short but fully loaded with both admiration and veiled threat. his eyes are watching him very closely. ]

It is a fine sword.

[ the way his body blocks the exit seems to be unintentional since he appears quite relaxed, but you never know. ]

02

[sweetestsmile]

[Now that Ronin isn't likely to be set on fire from a stray spark, he comes closer in a series of athletic leaps, and he chooses to perch on one of the nearby tools that it doesn't look like Thorin will immediately need. He raises his voice so that he'll be heard and is careful to speak a little slowly--there have been less troubles here with being understood by the larger folk, but he suspects the size difference still distorts his voice higher and faster than it should be.]

I'm not an expert, but that looks to be excellent work.

[A pause, and a slightly self-deprecating smile] I came here looking for assistance, but I'm starting to suspect the fairies were playing a joke at my expense.

[Because he doesn't see anything tiny enough to manufacture or repair tools the size a two-inch-tall person would need, which is a little disappointing, because his sword hasn't seen a proper sharpening since he arrived.]

1 slams into this late bc of work, sobs

[firith]

[ He makes every effort to be at the Seelie feast, time and again. Not only is it a precaution against rogue members of the Feanorionnath popping up and having to document those Elves, even just by sight, but he hopes to meet interesting individuals with whom he can strengthen his realm here, tradesfolk and rulers that now mean more to him than they have before in the Drabwurld. Even the kings without a throne can be useful, if appealed to correctly.

He absolutely doesn't expect to see the most notorious of the throneless bunch right there when he turns a corner.

Thranduil's approach is measured without being slow, giving Oakenshield time enough to spot him (and that isn't hard when the Elvenking is dressed in glinting silver, flanked by four armed guards) so as not to spook him. Unblinkingly, his stare rests on the dwarf until he can come to a spot a couple of feet away, letting everyone keep their personal space, and even with that short distance between them the noise of the party seems to fall to the wayside. ]

Your sister-sons have need of you.

[ More than anything else, more than wondering what exactly Thorin remembers, Thranduil tells him the most important details first that he assumes he will want to know, his voice low and unhurried but not without earnest. I held your Shard in my very hands, he privately wonders. Yet here you stand. ]

They are to be found in Cothromach, more often than not. A city away east of this castle.

GRABBY HANDS AT also late i am sorry ugh ALSO choosing my own adventure

[kilimanjaro]

[Training with Bryndis is going well, all things considered. The direwolf pup is growing almost frighteningly large in the short time Kili has had her, certainly the size of a small warg now,and her energy hasn't abated in the slightest. It's time to take her out hunting.

It's not a surprise that she takes her first time out in the woods to explore and bound about, too eager and energetic to hunt quite yet. That's fine; Kili will let her wear herself out this time if that's what she needs. But then the wolf freezes in place, attention focused and her ears twitching. She lets out a great howl, and takes off faster than Kili has ever seen her move.]

Bryn--Bryndis!

[He runs after her, following her howls and the trampled underbrush she's leaving in her wake. What could possibly get her this riled up? He's only seen her get this excited when she's greeting Fili or Gimli after a long day.]

[ooc: i hope you're okay with this...I was thinking Thorin would get tackled by a massive overexcited puppy.]