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

*pokes through her art folder*

[bythewaves]

Maglor swings once, wildly, but the punch turns quickly into a grasp that pulls him forwards into his brother so he can make sure Maedhros is actually here.

"No. But you shouldn't have gone!"

[corusce]

A thousand ways to answer that, each sharper than the last. Maedhros only stands mute, his arms at his side — perhaps Maglor needs this. The catharsis of it. Perhaps he needs it, too.

"Peace," he says, once the echo of Maglor's cry has dimmed to silence. "It's done."

[bythewaves]

Maglor shows no signs of letting go, even as he weeps into Maedhros' shoul...no too tallchest.

"Do not leave me behind again." The plea is soft and broken.

heh. squirt.

[corusce]

Maedhros stands uncertainly. For a moment, for too many moments; he has always been the sword of the Feanorian power, grave in manner and bearing, aware of his duties and little else. Maglor has worn the emotions for both of them, strung like pearls across his gentle brow.

Finally, Maedhros breathes out through his nose; his shoulders drop as he slides his arms over his brother's narrow back, clasping him near.

He cannot make promises that may not hold. "All will be well," he murmurs, as kindly as he is able.

abnormally tall giant

[bythewaves]

Maglor is painfully thin, and even in the brief time they have been parted, Maedhros can see the signs that he has started to Fade, ever so slightly.

"Where you go, I go" is the rejoinder (to his shirt, because Maglor has no intention of letting go). "I have lost you twice now. Do not send me away."

[corusce]

Perhaps it might have been easier, if Maglor did Fade. If he washed up on the shores of Valinor again, found their mother and their host of brothers, dipped his heart into the warm hearth that had borne it forth. If it could have been so — yes, Maedhros would sunder their bond, a thousand times over.

He says none of this.

"You are as stubborn as an ox," says Maedhros. "Even if I send you away, I've no doubt that you will appear again as soon as I've turned my back."

[bythewaves]

It might have been easier, but Maglor is stubborn - and when have any of them ever done things the easy way?

He thumps his brother weakly and snorts. "Yes. So do not do that to me again. Or this time I will hunt you down from Mandos' halls myself."

[corusce]

"Will you?" Maedhros draws away, enough to offer the cant of his brow. "I'd like to see that — you and Námo himself, doomsaying in equal measure. You might find a suitable match with him, if Vairë would only forsake her claim."

[bythewaves]

The thump this time is more solid - the indignant younger brother, rather than the grief-wracked one, and Maglor finally pulls away in turn, although he doesn't quite manage to let go.

"I resent the implication that I only speak doom, and Lady Vaire would likely be equally indignant."

"But how came you here, if you walked in Mandos' Halls?"

[corusce]

Maedhros only smiles. A flicker of an expression, glowing bright one moment and fading to naught in the next.

"It was not the work of Mandos, I know so much. Perhaps Eru Allfather found reason to offer us a new chance." Even as he says the words, he cannot feign belief in them. The sons of Feanor are no more deserving of divine forgiveness now than upon the day they drew blades against their own kin. "Have you any insight, o doomsayer?"

bedtime~

[bythewaves]

The jaundiced look he gets in return is one that Maglor had almost forgotten he knew.

"No more than you." But then he shudders a little as he looks around the halls and pulls his hands free with a wince. The right is the worst, burnt black with white edges, and he knows that that one will scar. The left is still red and weeping. "I... threw the Silmaril into the Sea. If... does that make me foresworn?" Because if it is his fault they are here...