fairynuff | TEST DRIVE MEME

Entry tags:

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The dreams had been coming more and more often, the roar of the Archdemon intertwined with the synchronized chittering of the darkspawn. They were dreams he had dealt with for years but now, he strained towards them, trying to wake slowly in the morning as if he could retain more meaning from it that way. And everyday, it seemed like he did, the garbled gibberish slowly morphing into coherent speech.

His time was coming, that much was clear, the taint of Darkspawn blood slowly spreading to his mind.

Except that this time when he wakes up there's nothing but silence. His mind is clear and quiet and just his. Slowly he sits up, tense, because it's patently obvious that he's not in his bed at the keep; it appears that he's sitting at some table set up for a banquet, as he if he fallen asleep after too much wine.

His back straightens, and his mouth thins, but there's also the reassuring weight of his staff over his back, and he reaches back, almost idle, stroking at the worn wood, reassuring himself of its presence. He can still feel the hum of his own power as well, another comfort. He glances up at the table again, and none of the others celebrating seem to make note of his presence, as if he had always been here.

So, he is in an unknown land, plucked away and dropped down, with no knowledge of how or why.

But he could no longer feel the taint, and despite himself, his lips curl up in a smile.]

It could be worse. [Quiet, muttered words, almost to himself.]

The elf seated across from him is handsomely attired, finely brocaded tunic, his long, pale hair gathered back into an elegant, thin silver clasp. He's bright-eyed, sharp-chinned, the slightest, most subtle aspects of his posture and gestures broadcasting casual regality.

Hearing Eiridan, he lifts the well-cut champagne flute in his hand, wordlessly toasting the sentiment.

"To hosts who free us of our demons."

Eiridan looked up at that voice, locking eyes with the man in front of him. His eyes widened as he took in the features; pale and perfect, but what arrested his his attention was the tips of his pointed ears.

An elf...but at the same time, how could he be? There was none of that servile nature, no attempts to shrink back from attention. Instead that was this cool, confidence, and the way he looked upon others was like a lord to his subjects, not a servant to his masters. Not even the Dalish projected such a manner, they seemed to be more defensive and wary than anything else. This ...elf before him was used to power, that much was clear.

Eiridan lifted his glass in return, his gaze sharpening on the elf before him with something akin to hunger.

"Who are you?" His voice is quiet, but vibrates with intensity.

Celegorm had been among the first to be pulled through; the first to be acquainted with the strange plight of the shard-bearers, the different worlds. So there's no longer any surprise at the question, no more wounded ego to work out upon his servants. He neatly sipped his drink before setting the glass soundlessly back atop the table, the line of his mouth curving cattishly.

"Celegorm, son of Fëanor, Lord of Himring, and a dozen other titles that I see by your gaze will mean as little to you as the first. Hopefully you're willing to reciprocate the effort, however...?"

He sipped at his glass again, watching Eiridan over its rim.

Names, names, names, said as if Eiridan should know who they were. Or at least, someone should. The warden-commander struggles to compose himself, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"My name is Eiridan. Warden-Commander of Ferelden." He pauses for a moment, a touch of dry amusement pushing through his confusion, "And as you said, said other titles that will have no meaning for you." He paused, and then asked, lowly, his gaze fixed on Celegorm.

"You are an elf, are you not?"

Celegorm only dips his chin in a shallow nod to confirm what Eiridan already suspects, hawkishly elegant. "Eiridan." It's not Sindar; he can't guess at its meaning. "I may not know the names, but I know what a commander is. Were you long in your service?"

He paused at the other elf's question, though, pale brows arching neatly. His answer was quietly questioning, perplexed. "I... am, yes. Of course. And... you...?"

Eiridan's breath blows out, as he takes a moment to calculate. "Well over fifteen years now." He runs his fingers through his hair, as he turns his attention to the far more pressing question.

"I am as well." He's silent for a moment longer, before his words come out in a rush. "But where do you come from. Your bearing is unlike any other elf I met. Not to mention you're a lord?" Eiridan shook his head, disbelieving.

Elf. Commander of over fifteen years. Newly appointed, perhaps...?

His mouth crimps into a small smile. "Arda is my world; and yes, I am a lord in it, though Himring was but a small domain, compared to the lands of my brothers. Why do you look at me so? Are elves more commonly kings only, where you're from?"

Edited 2014-03-26 04:00 (UTC)

Eiridan stares at Celegorm for a long moment, and then answers quietly, with a brittle sort of serenity. "No, elves where I come from are crammed into hovels, walled off from the rest of the city into crime and disease ridden ghettos. There is the Dalish I suppose, but they're just a remnant, nomads hiding in the forest trying to recapture the old ways."

Celegorm tips his chair back just a little, one pale hand lifting, neatly divesting a waiter and passing tray of two more glasses. The crystal of them doesn't even clink as he sets them on the table before him.

One, he slides towards Eiridan. He's frowning, doesn't yet look up at the other elf.

"Strange," it's just a murmur, soft as a sigh, a spare puff of breath. But he does look at Eiridan then, and tips back the last of his first drink.

"Why? What strength could mortal men have against the might of gathered elves? And you... you look too fine to have sprung up in such conditions."

Eiridan can't help but bark out a harsh laugh at that, "Gathered elves? Whatever do you mean? We have no leadership, no ruler no king. We're unwanted and dispossessed, the refuse left behind from the Tevinter Imperium." His words are black with bitterness, and he favors Celegorm with a sharp edged smile. "And I grew up in the midst of that, or at least, until the Circle took me." He pauses as he mulls over Celegorm's words, an oddness niggling at him some phrase-

Mortal men. Eiridan stares once again at Celegorm, breath trickling from his parted lips.

"Are the elves where you are from," He fought to keep his voice casual, "Immortal?"

Increasingly disturbed by what the elf before him is saying, Celegorm slowly begins to stiffen where he sits.

"Gathered elves. The elves of the Feanorian banners, drawn together in arms are... as a river of steel, stretching from one horizon to the other, a glittering host. The finest that shall ever walk the world; or it was when my father rode before it."

He pauses there, lips thinning, sharp chin inclining somewhat. "Call yourself not so, Eiridan, Warden-Commander. Whatever the state of the elves of your world, refuse is not what you are. And unless the Ainur have forsaken you, too, you are not truly dispossessed."

But Eiridan's question made his heart sink, and he wondered if the Ainur had done more than simply forsake these lost cousins of his people. "Immortal is... an improper word. We might be killed, by blade, or other treachery, or great grief. The march of time, however, leaves us only wan and cold."

Before the Tevinter Imperium, before the elves bred with humans and began to quicken their lives were endless-

Eiridan blinks the memory of that line in that ancient text, re-focusing upon Celegorm. His hand reaches up, and strokes for a moment at the old scar at his ear, gently tracing the notch. He did not recognize the word Ainur, unless it was another way to describe the Pantheon of the Dalish gods.

"I have never heard of the Ainur." He replied, slowly, quietly. "So perhaps they have." He paused another moment. "It would not surprise me." He was silent for a moment longer before adding, "Perhaps the incorrect word, but I am surely not that." He lets out a cold, dry laugh.

"The march of time leaves you feeling like that? That isn't the purview of those with endless life."

Soon Brenn.

Celegorm sat back, all his prior levity gone, looking tense and troubled. He frowned into the space between them, hand falling away from his glass.

We were only banished from Aman as kinslayers. What must they have done, to warrant such punishment...?

The thought is a heavy one, and he exhales slowly. "You have been a commander for fifteen years. Imagine centuries full of that. In maudlin moments, I think our long lives an unpleasant jest played upon us, a cosmic joke at our expense. Imagine living through centuries of war, battles the length of decades, your memory undulled, perfect in the recollection of every face you loved, and every body you pulled from the mire of a battlefield."

He is too haunted, for a moment, for his eyes to see the celebration, to see Eiridan. His perfect features crumple just very subtly, the corners of his eyes and mouth crimping in private pain.

If not a curse, perhaps it was a blessing.

[ The feast is not un-similar to the one Kaldur had been greeted with upon his first entry into this world, but at the time his thoughts had been too heavy, too filled with Tula and grief, and even some small longing for home, to think much of it. He is careful and quiet when he approaches, resting a gentle hand on the elder mage's shoulder to capture his attention. ]

Master Eiridan. [ He cannot help the formality, and he has not been given another title to use, yet. The other was too... afraid, seemingly, to find another mage who had wanted to learn. ]

You had asked that I meet you here, for training.

[ Kaldur isn't sure what to make of the drinking, though he can understand the desire to drown one's sorrows, whether it been in work or drink or some other distraction. He has known it well enough for himself. ]

[Eiridan flinches slightly at the touch on his shoulder, tensing for just a spare moment before relaxing as he realizes it's Kaldur. The skittishness is almost completely forgotten as he hears the title given to him, and the corner of Eiridan's mouth turns up; he can't help but be amused by it. He waves a hand, as if to flick it away, replying lightly,]

I told you I'm not a master. Certainly not here at any rate. [The half smile curves into something fuller.] I did indeed! [It is so pleasant to be able to practice magic away from prying eyes, without having to vindicate every bit of it.] I would love to see how you manipulate water as you do, and of course, if you would like me to teach you some of my magic, I can as well.

[If there was one thing the Blight taught Eiridan it is never too early to start looking for allies.]

It is a natural affinity among Atlaneans.

[ He smiles back, and as soon as the two have reached an open space, he draws his waterbearers to his hands. ]

Sorcery at this level is basic enough, these tattoos are specially created and designed to help enhance one's inner magic. In the case of water, these tools are used as a channel, to draw and direct the water and if need to form it into a more solidified substance.

[ It is an easy demonstration, simple to draw the water from his pack and bring it in front of him into two whips, his tattoos flaring alight. He holds it a moment, before bringing it to form a mace, swinging it down to the earth where it impacts and leaves dent into the ground. He returns the water and the watebearers, his marks fading dim again. ]

Those with great knowledge and training will have their tattoos disappear entirely, only becoming visible when they are used.

[ He pushes outwards with his fists, the light traveling down his tattoos again, his fists with sparking with electrical energy. ]

The same general effect us used for channeling electricity as well. These are natural talents, innate in near all Atlanteans, magic reserves that can be tapped and used.

[Eridan's eyes narrow as he watches Kaldur's smooth manipulation of the element, impressed. He reaches out, fingers sliding along the tattoos, bold and thoughtless, feeling the spark of power hidden within them.]

The magic that I practice has an elemental school, but nothing to the level of control that you possess. [In small demonstration, he light taps his staff to the ground and frost curls out from it the icy tendrils cutting through the grass.] The tattoos are a more familar concept, a Mage will often have a staff, [His fingers drum in his own] To do a similar purpose, to hone and focus our magic.

Can you manipulate any other elements? Or manipulate the world around you in any way?

[ The touch is unexpected, but it does not interrupt his concentration. After observing the frost, Kaldur pauses a moment, to consider the question. ]

I do not have the skill of my own to do so. My training was interrupted, and I have not had the chance to complete it due to other matters. [ It was a voluntary interruption, but as he is here he is hoping to make up for the lack, and to learn other talents as he may. ]

But others have greater talent than I, and I have seen others do more fantastical things.

I was still learning, and my focus was more combative.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TEST DRIVE MEME

The Warden-Commander (elf mage) | Dragon Age

Re: The Warden-Commander (elf mage) | Dragon Age

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

because i promised i would / somewhere more neutral

8D

c:

no subject

no subject