Ithildin RPG's Journal
| quest thread: part I | |||
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 calm[music] the libertines // i get along. Perhaps the time is nigh. The twisting bark, the infiltrating shade is familiar -- comforting, disarming -- and she must cup her hand to shield her gaze from Arien's brightening rays. She walks past Lalwen with a smile, a nod for Celeborn, winking at Nienor as her fingers find the edges of Ulmo's parchment and tracing the faint lines, she rips it down and rolls the paper in her hands. Reality, once so stark and unforgiving, unfurls like a wave that breaks over them in silent sucession. Dry blades of grass dissolve into dunes, trees begin to shrink -- suddenly the leaves lengthen and undulate, seagrasses tickling the sky, the hushing sound of the sea; sparkling water manifests itself in her vision. Profundity reigns in feet that want to explore the shore line, a desire to experience all as she catches her first glimpse of their ship (blue sails sway cool lovers in the breeze). She turns, looking for those around her. "So. Here we are." | |||
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| Stay by my side, guide me... | |||
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 contemplativeThere was more noise in Menegroth than there had been for a long time. Sauron had channelled his distraught emotions into work, as many needed their metal objects repaired or remade in preparation for the journey, but now he judged both his voice and his thoughts steady enough to visit his Master. They needed to plan, now that the Valar had made their move. The chessboard was set. And as usual, we're playing black and they got the first move, he thought with a smile. Lost in contemplation, he absently touched the door to "Malbeth's" chamber and opened it without knocking. | |||
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| Swan Song | |||
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 determinedElros paces in agitation. The misive of the Valar having left him in a state of harsh worry - worry for those not in Doriath who do not know what is to come. Worry for his twin. He has been feeling too much like the crowd gifted by his forefather nothing but a burden weighing him down and as foolish as it may seem he no longer cares for it. In a move that would likely get harsh commentary from all sides of this company living with Doriath Elros has decided someone needs to find how those in the other elven havens - particularly the seaside ones - are and warn them. Elros can admit to himself the ulterior motive there, that he wants to find his twin once again, but the need to do so is too strong. He takes one last look at his quarters before heading to the throneroom and pinning his own message on the door. We are not the only ones cursed by the Valar's wrath. Someone needs to warn those at risk and I feel I should be the one. Call me fool, if you will, but I'm sure you will be able to cope without one half-elf in your midst. I would hand leadership back to Nienor but I would not be surprised if you argue and fight over it anyway. Do what you will, I must do what I need to do. - Elros Eärendilion Peredhel | |||
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| A Farewell to Arms | |||
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Having heard the edict of the Valar read to the denizens of Doriath, Celeborn carefully ponders the words. "Are we ourselves culpable of the destruction wrought by the hands of the Lords of the West? What have we done that have made the Powers wroth with us?" Leaving the main square, he strolls down the paved streets until he reaches the gardens of Menegroth once fashioned and nurtured by the loving hands of Melian the Maia. Shaped into works of art by the Queen, the fragrant blossoms of this bower allow him to forget for a moment the impending doom pronounced by the Valar, should they fail to act. One tree catches his eye. In the midst of all the blossoms of porphory, blooms a tree of immaculate whiteness, like the snow capped peak of a mountain. It reminds him of the white garments so favored of his beloved Galadriel. His thoughts now turn to her. "Perhaps I have let my anger get the best of my in this matter. Instead of letting my wrath rule my words, I should allowed the situation to simmer down and then attempt to speak with her. I believe I am willing to compromise. Lately due to her absence I find my thoughts muddled. She always brought clarity and insight when it was needed. Now with this demand of the Valar, I find myself in need of her counsel." He reaches up into the branches of the tree and plucks one of the white flowers. He pauses for a single second and smells its fragrance. He is reminded of the days in Lothlorien, before the calamity inflicted upon the world of the Valar and the constant kinstrife and wrangling between the Noldor and Sindar here in Doriath. Those days are gone and there is no return to them. "We have to do what is set out for us and follow that course, if it be the will of Eru." Tucking the blossom into his jerkin, he heads back for the palace. Walking towards the chambers of Galadriel, he no longer fears a confrontation. He will say what he must without malice or regret. He knocks on her door and awaits her reply. | |||
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 dorky[music] radiohead // street spirit (fade out) The caves echo silence, still in the nearly grey morning but for the collective sigh of sleep that swirls gently around Ulmo. He smiles -- gently, sadly -- for these people. These Children who stretch out before him like small waves in the midst of the Belegear. Who are not even aware of their tresspasses that caused... this. With his hands (and oh, the skin) traversing the veinwork of polished stone, he tacks a parchment: Children of Ilúvatar:( YOU'RE FUCKED, <3 THE VALAR ) | |||
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| it cuts both ways | |||
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The recent cataclysms and news of the wolf hunt disturb Elwe Thingol deeply. He is concerned about his daughter and her family dwelling out in the woods. He muses to himself that there might be a way to help Luthien and perhaps find himself in her good graces again. An idea sparks in his mind. Relishing the thoughts he hurries to the smithy. He tells them to craft a dagger out of the precious metal mithril. On the pommel of the dagger, he requests that two nightingales be crafted and set with a sapphire. On the blade itself were engraved in the elvish script the words "dusk singer" When the work is completed, he looks at the weapon pleasingly. He calls to his manservant to deliver the dagger to Luthien in the forest with this note. My beloved daughter, I know we have been unfriends as of late. I know I cannot do anything to alter this situation. However the recent disasters inflicted by the Valar are of grave concern, as well as the wolves spotted in the forest. The kingdom of Doriath grows more dangerous. I realize that Beren and Dior are more then capable of defending you and themselves. Yet in the event that you must defend yourself or the twins, I bequeath to you this gift. I know you shall use it wisely. Your loving father, Elwe Thingol He hands the letter and dagger to his page, who sets off to bring the gift to Luthien. | |||
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Galadriel enters the throne room, a delicate smile on her face. Her gray eyes search over the room, lighting upon one. With a few determined steps, she makes her way towards him. " My lord, Elros..." ((ooc: looking for a little rp. Anyone can step in.)) | |||
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| All that glitter is not gold.... | |||
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 morose[music] the scientist: coldplay He rubbed his tired eyes, yet he knew he must complete this letter. Dipping his pen in the ink he began to write...( thoughts of you echo in my mind.. ) | |||
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| And so it is... | |||
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 drainedIn the far West of the World there is a house made out of sorrow. It is gray as the twilight of the world and sways with the music of the Valar. In the far west of the house there is a wall made out of windows. There sits Nienna, during the dark hour of destruction. Her gaze is stormy and unblinking, and from her sitting room in the West she sees all the grief of the world. And the Lady of Tears finds that she has no more voice to lament. Winds drift wild across the far seas and tear through the lands of Arda. Their voices howl so loudly, piping up in vain and I know not how to answer them. I've been here too long, that I know now. Too long have stayed as Queen of my bleak borne rather than venture into the bright and glittering Valinor. I would say that it is time to play my part in this reckoning of the Valar. Yet I have no part to play. Wrath and vengance are not of me, no, I am forgiveness and always my precious grief. So why is it now that there are no tears left to cry? Why now is there weariness in place of grief? Perhaps because... I understand. At least a little, and am grateful it was not my hand to strike. Tearless eyes shut, she rose in grace and looked not out into the bleeding world. Tired and cold, Nienna left her home in the far West to see Valinor once more. | |||
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| mod post. :O! | |||
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Cats, dawgs, homies. The Valar need to chill. We're not out to destory Middle-earth, just give a heads up, a "yo, man, I need your attention STAT." Nobody needs to take any actions back; just ease off on those destructive urges. ;) | |||
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| how they shine for you | |||
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 satisfiedIt was her turn. As she gazed onto the torn Doriath, Varda clenched her once-soft hands, trembling. The gentle queen’s wrath had been stirred for the first time in an age. She watched as a lone bird ascended from a fallen tree. Its song was mournful ; it hadn’t heeded Manwë’s warning, and was let to linger in the dreary land. Higher and higher it flew, winding a convoluted path through the disturbed air. As it came level with the horizon, the sun slipped below it. The twilight revealed the Star Queen’s beloved creations one by one. The shimmering bodies called out to Varda in sorrow, and she rose to meet them. A particularly troubled star lingered near her hand ; she stretched out her palm and took the orb between her forefinger and thumb. Suddenly, the star erupted in a flash of heat and light, and Elentári dropped it with a cry. The radiance of the sphere was extinguished as it fell, spinning ever downward as nothing but a hot rock. Closer it came to the earth, and the ground recoiled beneath its immediate demise. When it struck the ground, it did with such force that a mile-wide crater was formed. Satisfaction. Another star twinkled at her ; she plucked it from the sky, and tossed it toward the world below. The second crater was larger than the first. Then one final time she grabbed a star from the sky, this time hurling it to the ground with all her anger and frustration, thus permanently pocking the skin of the earth with a hole miles deep. She was done, her job complete. The children of Ilúvatar would be blind and deaf to ignore this warning. | |||
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| and the most she will do is throw shadows at you. | |||
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 predatoryAs a rule she had carved for her own life she refuted to look away from the eyes of the chaos when it splintered the silence around her. Wrapped in the disquiet of the raging streams and winter’s chill, her form seems blurred at the edges, seemingly melting into the stretching grey and white of the world. The sun doesn’t warm; the sky doesn’t quilt. In the deprivation of peace, she can feel tremors ripping the heart of the earth and a brutal smile seizes her as she treks through the wild with blood stained clothes – hardly taking notice of the haphazard pattern dried into an undistinguishable shade of russet brown on her worn white clothing as well as her skin, making of her some primitive creature caught in the static of its own thoughts. And wasn't she born restive? This angry one, the one who let herself so easily sink into the thrill of rage and then always countered it with her own brand of scathing cold now walks detached from the world, which she knows in her incisive meanderings has suffered yet another blow by those who would never dare ascend into the circles of this proverbial hell so far away from home to feel the very life crawl upon their skins as merely a passionless [loathed] kiss before darkness snuffs it all. Once a curse for the dispossession, twice the words for the stroke that fell and thrice the admonition for herself for letting the least echo of the past still affect her as it does. And in the euphoria of unleashed senses, the world unfolds before her vision in a flat singular line, which can be followed to a distinct end now. Laughter. Then there is nothing. | |||
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| and the mountains shall tremble... | |||
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 pissed offResponding to the silent call of the Valar, Tulkas stands atop the Mountains of the Pelori. He gazes over the vast exspanse of the kingdom of Ulmo, seeing the first handiwork of the Pourer and Manwe, Lord of Arda. Funneling the fires of his inner rage into his curled fists, he pummels the mountainside. The force of the blow coupled with the rage of Astaldo sends shockwaves all across the face of Middle Earth. | |||
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| A step further: | |||
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 cynicalSilence lingers like a ghost in abandoned hallways, not a leaf stirring in the expanse of Doriath. In the muted grey and blue waning just before dawn – mist curls and descends as quiet as a dream upon the land, capturing every tree and vine within its unrelenting grasp while the sun making its ascent in the skies seems to be choking on its own yellow –weary and tired. Removed from vision [and thoughts] of those who remain within the circles of the physical world are in his thoughts [within his sight] as he stands motionless, still as the fading colors around him. A pale flicker of sadness melts into an expression of anger, collected minute by minute by standing witness to every small detail of man and elf’s nature at its worst. Manwë lifts his hands with tenderness yet the sudden shudder that runs through the forests as a gasp of a wind rushes through them is neither gentle nor pliant. The mists thicken, the wind picks up the jarring noises made by the wild animals as they protest against the bone-chilling draft and birds shoot up from trees like spent arrows, frantic in their flight as they are lured away from the forests of Doriath to a safer destination by his will. Eyes far gazing into the sapphire blue horizon, he nods, contemplating the reaction of the Children. This catastrophe of raging winds and a forced silence in nature being issued on his command is no wanton use of power. It is a sign and it is just a singular piece in the puzzle, which is slowly being unfolded. | |||
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| from the start: | |||
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 sore[music] sondre lerche // counterspark. There is disquiet in the air. Clouds gather at the edges of the muted sky, piling in vapid towers; choking on withheld moisture. It harps in dissonace on frayed strings, it grates on nerves. Flocks of seabirds darken the sky, the gentle rustling of their wings drowned out by the droning silence of the land. The air hangs heavy. Lurid. ...it is heard first; a massive rending that starts as a rumble in the earth. Then, as the clouds finally lash the coasts in torrents, the earth shakes. Tremors course over the countryside, into the heart of Doriath. One by one, Valar are given the message. The earth is angry. The Circles of Arda have been flattened. And its Children, both First and Second born sons and daughters are called upon to find those culpable. And set things right. This is only the beginning. Ulmo's fingers shake; the origins of rage glinting in his eyes as he paces the coast, stinging rain whipping in his face. With one breath, giant waterspouts writhe over the roiling surface. Perhaps they could all fall off in one grand, delirious thrust of megalomanic pride (in blood, in ancestry...in gender?). He smiles and feels the rivers seep over their banks. | |||
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 peaceful[music] ryan adams // firecracker. Returning to Menegroth quite casually with Galadriel and Snail in tow, Nienor leaves a present for Elros as a showing of goodwill, hoping he would like ( them. ) | |||
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 cranky[music] the golden republic // great communication. Okay, guys. I feel the need to address some stuff, here: 1) Until the plot picks up, we are going to freeze member adoptions. This isn't because you're inactive or because things aren't going well--it's just to keep the level of what will be going on manageable. This will be lifted in the future. 2) The plot (which was posted much earlier here.) is going to begin very soon. Read: within the next few days. Be looking and be ready. And the actions of characters (far and wide, omg) are going to come back to haunt them. The Teleri may not be the only ones who are culpable. 3) It's very important that we all work together. Unity, in a game of this nature, is very important. Don't bunny. For the love, please don't. And don't step on someone else's toes plot or otherwise. I've noticed it. Let's just not do it again, ok? The rules in this game are simple for a reason; we expect you to have enough respect for fellow players that this sort of stuff will just come naturally. On that lovely note, you are all doing smashingly. And I'm looking very forward to what's coming in the future. Anything you need; please don't hesitate to get in contact! -Chel | |||
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She paces, slow flutters of material chasing after her rapid strides. Irate eyes fall fatally upon a notice. 'And so Thingol returns to sanity. Could not the Valar have spared him a couple more weeks out of his right mind? He has just screwed up everything I have been working for. A damn half-breed to rule? No.' Her hand snaps out, smacking an intricate vase off its designated spot. It crashes to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. She stares at it for a moment before shaking her head. 'And a vase represents the demise of my dreams.' With a growl, she slams out of the room. And a cool expression marks her face as she walks the halls, a plan brewing in her mind. 'Sometimes things must be done for the good of the people...' | |||
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| toys for tots | |||
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 chipperHaving recalled how he used the twin's toys to trot around Doriath in kitchenware, Thingol wishes to make ammends. He is not angry at the twins for coloring the frescos of the palace. How can he be? He himself had a hand in the changing of the paintings. Why stop them? They had suffered so much, the children deserve to have a little fun. He tells the craftsmen of Doriath to construct a set of 4 toy knights and a dragon so that they may remember their great-grandfather's escapades and learn a valuable lesson from it. Family is more important than always being right. Sometimes your arrogance alienates you from your loved ones. After recieving the detalied craftsmenship of the toys. Thingol walks to the nursery to give the twins this new present. | |||
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Caranthir walks among the trees of Doriath. Child-voice. A boy - no, two boys - and an adult. Familiar. He investigates, a low chuckle escaping him as he walks. ((Twins, Dior, anyone else who wants in - tag, you're it!)) | |||
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