TEST DRIVE MEME

[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!

Comments

Maglor | Silmarillion trying him out in Unseelie

[bythewaves]

Pain is a refrain so strong in him that Maglor almost didn't register the small imps and their catching hands. What are they to him now? Father's Silmaril is lost, cast to the sea, and Maedhros is... Maglor cries out and crumples to his knees, his hands burnt and bleeding, and his eyes are empty. Sooner rather than later, however, instinct forces him to his feet - where is he, and is he in danger? When he sees the creatures and shadows around him he chokes back a cry - is this the Everlasting Darkness then?

Turning, he flees.

[corusce]

The flame still devours the landscape of his mind, though his body is new and untouched by its heat. Maedhros wanders the halls of the Unseelie court, half-insensate with disbelief, anger warring with terror in the gloomy cast of his heart.

"Macalaurë—" his brother's mother-name torn from his throat before he fully recognizes the timber of the cry that echoes hollow in the chamber about them. The darkness parts, and there flies the dark banner of Maglor's hair as he runs fleet-footed through the echoing halls.

"Brother!" shouts Maedhros, his calm voice rising like a torrent.

[bythewaves]

No no no no no! Maedhros is DEAD, Nyelo can't be here Maglor falters only briefly, a stumble on normally graceful feet, but he doesn't stop.

[corusce]

Maglor is quick, but Maedhros is the quicker — and he has spent longer wandering these halls, he knows their undulations better than that of his newly-arrived brother.

He cuts off Maglor's escape around the bend, standing as a dam before the haste of a swiftly-flowing river.

"Will you not heed me?" says he, in the booming tone that once marshaled the forces of Himring.

...suddenly I need more icons

[bythewaves]

Swift Maglor, they called him once, but he is wounded near to breaking and the sight of his brother draws him to a halt with a wrenching cry.

"No! No no no no!" He shakes his head, eyes wild and fey. "You can't be here, I saw you..." and he breaks, crumpling to the floor to weep.

the eternal problem with playing book characters ...

[corusce]

Maedhros crosses the distance between them, silent of footstep and of bearing. He kneels before the crumpled heap of his brother's form, but does not reach to touch him.

"Aye, as I felt the flame strip bones from flesh, and as I then walked the shadows of Mandos's halls, ashamed to show my face to all who followed me hence." Now Maedhros does reach out; Maglor's shoulder is too thin under his grasp. "Will you not look upon me? You of all, who has shared in both the good and the evil we have committed?"

[rekhyt]

[There is a thing crouching in one of the trees, with glowing eyes and a twitching tail, a form spun of darkness. Its voice does not entirely match its appearance.]

Finally up, are you? Good, I was beginning to wonder if the imps had broken you on the way over.

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor spins with a snarl, eyes bright and feral, hand dropping to his sword before pulling it away with a pained hiss (he forgets his burnt hands, the mental agony is so much worse) ]

Who is there?

[rekhyt]

[The thing, which blended in well with the canopy, tsked and jumped down to the ground, graceful as a cat.]

Hurt yourself? You'll find that's dangerous in these parts.

[bythewaves]

[ the left is only minor burns, as compared to the right, so Maglor draws the hunting knife instead and glares ]

What concern is it of yours Shadow-beast?

[rekhyt]

[It stretched luxuriously, fur like mist blending into the darkness.]

Judging things by their appearance, are you? That's a mistake, here. Anywhere, actually, but it's something that most people seem set on doing.

Oh, no concern of mine, actually. I just happened to see you getting dragged in and figured I'd stick around. It's also some of the friendliest advice you're likely to get in the near future, though obviously I can't make you take it.

Re: Maglor | Silmarillion trying him out in Unseelie

[avisionofwar]

Or flees just half a stride, barreling into his younger brother hard enough to send them toppling to the floor in a long-limbed tangle of arms and legs.

"Maglor!" Spat Celegorm, shoving at his brother to rescue the long tail of his braid from beneath his greater weight. "By Eru, don't you look where you're going?!"

[bythewaves]

Hey Celegorm, ever wondered what older brother looks like when he's going to faint? No? Well. Maglor goes utterly bone white and still, staring with wide eyes, that famous voice silent. You'd think he'd seen a ghost

[avisionofwar]

Celegorm barely seems to notice, wrapped up in his own sentiments, which he was happy to loudly communicate. "It's no wonder you were always such a terrible hunter, always so loud-- almost as loud as Curufin, charging off hither and thither with no concern for what's around you. Head more full of music than sense."

The vitriol of his words faded as he picked himself up, dusting off his neat clothing. Rolling his eyes, he offered a hand down to his brother. And then squinted at his face.

"... what? What's wrong?"

bedtime for me

[bythewaves]

You'll have to forgive him the tears, Celegorm - the last time he saw you he was holding your body after Dior killed you. Maglor still can't manage words, only lunging up to grab for a hug, never mind his hands (his right is the worst, burnt black and charred with white patches, the very nerve endings scorched, the left still a weeping red).

sweet dreams!! /tucks in

[avisionofwar]

Celegorm staggers a little under the heavy hug- but he needs no urging to return it fiercely and tightly, one of his long-fingered hands lightly stroking Maglor's dark hair.

All the heat of his upset dissolves, and instead he clutches Maglor to him, gently consoling; as if they are both children again, and his brother has woken from a nightmare. The reality-- that they are all men grown, and life the nightmare from which there is no waking, no relief-- he tamps down to the back of his mind.

"It's alright. It's alright, I'm here, it's alright. We'll get your hands bandaged and seen to, and they'll heal good as new, you'll see...!" He'll ask what happened later, but the reassurance seems important to him: a musician's hands were almost as important to his work as a scribe's.

uncle /weeps

[lastoftheline]

Celebrimbor has barely any time to react when the figure slams into him, full tilt, knocking him back, and nearly over. A snarl is already bubbling at his lips, eyes narrowing as he begins to unleash his sharp tongue on whoever it was who didn't bother-

But the harsh words turn to ash in his mouth, and he stares, and he stares as the panting, wild-eyed figure. His own hand snaps up before he can stop it, gripping at the other elf's arm, holding him still.

"...Uncle?" His voice comes out very small.

sob y'all gonna break his heart (more)

[bythewaves]

Maglor shakes his head and bites back another cry as he lands on his hands, the shock of the collision breaking some of his shock. The familiar voice has him looking up in shock.

"Tylpë?" He goes pale(r) - why is Celebrimbor here? He left them, didn't he? Hadn't he managed to escape their curse? "What... what are you doing here?

dittooooo

[lastoftheline]

Celebrimbor barely flinches at that nickname, turning away from it cutting down the agonized path through his memories it will take him. He forces himself to focus on the only slightly less painful appearance of his uncle. Maglor, who was lost, never seen again.

But then again, he himself was supposed to be dead.

"I...I don't know." The smith admits lowly. His fingers tremble slightly, but he doesn't release his grip. "You...We thought you were lost." He adds softly.

[bythewaves]

Maglor, for all his own distress, catches that flinch and curses himself - Celebrimbor, he must remember to use the right name, he hates being called by his nickname, he'd said so (loudly. and repeatedly) when he'd left.

"Celebrimbor" he corrects himself apologetically. "Lost? I..." Has it been so long then, since they left the camp of the Valar? It might have been, Maglor supposes - he really hasn't been in any fit state of mind to tell.

"I... no. I live. But... Maedhros..." he cannot bring himself to speak of Maedhros yet. "But why are you here? If this is the Everlasting Darkness - you, you escaped that." Pleading, please tell me at least one of us got out.

[lastoftheline]

Slowly, Celebrimbor shakes his head, continuing to stare at Maglor. "It is not the Everlasting Dark. Nor is it the Halls." He slowly loosens his grip on Maglor's arm. "It is another place, unknown to any of our people. And there are many others here, some faces familiar, some not." He shakes his head, but his gaze devours the elf before him. His family had always been a difficult subject for Celebrimbor but in this strange land, seeing the uncle who had been kind to him, momentarily pushed those difficulties to the side.

"I escaped, Maglor." He added softly. From your Oath perhaps, only to fall into a curse of my own making.

Setting: NIMH GLEANNE | Enter SEELIE, stage left.

[waterbearer]

[ Kaldur is still not sure what he makes of this new world, and the task before him. The task does not settle well across his shoulder. Surely, evil must be stopped, but natures can be changed, for good and for worse, and to recklessly condemn and kill is something that does not sit well upon his shoulders.

All death, even the most noble of sacrifices, is something to be mourned.

So he has taken to walking. And walking.

The forest he finds himself in is cool, and somewhat familiar, bringing to his mind the nostalgia of team camp-outs and bonding, missions and lifetimes. It's almost funny, he'd never thought that he would consider his life as a hero uncomplicated.

He isn't expecting to find another in his walk of solitude, not to mention in this deep level of distress. Instinct, perhaps, gives him caution, but Kaldur is not one to let another suffer alone. ]

Are things all right with you?

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor is no wood elf, but the woods are soothing, irregardless. He does not know how far he has run or how he has got here, only that he is so very tired. Kaldur will find him standing by a cliff edge because the mundane is a horrible person singing softly about loss and pain and grief.

When Kaldur speaks he startles and spins, eyes wary and wild, hand dropping instinctively to his sword only to pull it away with a hiss of pain. ]

Who are you, stranger?

[waterbearer]

[ Kaldur's hands go up, placating, though still closer to his waterbearers at the sudden movement of the other. After the flinch, his focus is on the injury, mentally trying to think of the quickest way to get the other to safety and healing. ]

Peace. I am Kaldu'ahm, of Shayeris, better known as Aqualad on my world. [ He looks to the other's hand again, his face filled with concern. ] You are injured; allow me help you.

[ The water in his pack is fresh, newly-refilled from a stream, but instead of directing it with his waterbearers, he dips a cloth in the cool water and moves forward, offering it outward. He knows enough first aid for this, that the burn ought to be covered quickly, and medical attention sought immediately. ]

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor almost visibly tenses when Kaldur moves closer - the left hand twitching closer to the knife hilt (it is the less injured, he can still fight with it, if need be) but he does not yet make any other move ]

Kaldu'ahm. I would say well met, but I fear I do not know you, or this place, well enough to give such greeting. [ he does not give his own name ]

What are my injuries to you, a stranger?