Out of Destruction

Looking to Explore...

Fri, 18 Feb 2005 06:07:14 GMT

Elrohir's lithe shoulder supported his weight as he leaned against a pillar along the porch of his modest backyard. His young elven form was draped in a loose robe of silver and navy blue clenched about his trim waist by a simple leather belt. Ebony tresses were pulled back from his high features by a single, simple braid from the crown of his head to mid back where his hair ended. Pale eyes roved over the newly worked grasses and shrubs, tender saplings stretching newly planted roots to the soil and young branches to the sun, the small arbour planted with seeds and a fountain whose moulding was still drying beneath morning's coaxing warm rays.

His new home was finalised.

He had selected a building unfinished which sat at the edge of the city, the back overlooking the land below from the high plateau on which the city nestled. The structure was small and made of polished white stone as was near all the buildings in this city. The main floor was rectangular and opened with arched windows in a style that brought the comfort of Imladris to his heart. the curving windows and pillars decorated with entwining marble vines were left open, but could be shut to the elements with solid, bolting shutters. Entering the building there was a small kitchen to the left, and a reading room lined with white stone shelves to the right and a simple desk with chair. Beyond the reading room was a sitting room consisting of a large fireplace facing a plush, green sofa and two matching chairs with a small table between them. Nestled between the reading and sitting room was a spiral staircase, intricate marble leaves decorated the arching rail upwards. Beneath the stair lead to a small cellar, above sat the second story of the small home which was half the size of the main level. The entire length of the entryway, which lead from the front entrance to a wide back porch was adorned with flowing swaths of sheer cloth the colour of paled green apple. The sheets separated the rooms, acted as doorways and whispered gently against the windows, trailing from their source in the high ceiling. They mimicked the moving greenery that was part of the living elven city to which Elrohir 's elflinghood belonged. In the very center of his dwelling a small pond lay within the white and grey marble flooring, the soft rustle of the clear waters bringing a piece of the soothing sense of the waterfalls to his heart. A number of small silver and gold fish flitted in the water, glimmers of light beneath the green canopy of cloth held in white stone arms. The far left corner of his home was contained by the cloth, within the privacy of the whispering drapes, a screen closed away the room from the house. Yet the large windows remained open to the sunfilled room, dappling light over a white stone alter, arranged with padded cloth and pillows. A basin and towels lay neatly upon a table, a cupboard was filled with a number of small vials and candles. This was the room in which Elrohir would practice one of his most skilled crafts. the art of healing massage.

The second floor was his bedchambers, simply furnished with a few trunks and his wardrobe, a side table and a large ornate bed draped in black sheets. The frame seeming to grow from the wall and into the ceiling where it seemed as though branches reached into the night sky. Once again the soft green cloth hung over the windows and draped around the room, separating the sleeping area from Elrohir's windowless marble bath.

The young peredhil now stood on his porch relaxing with a cup of tea resting in his hands. The soft tendrils of comforting steam caressing his cheeks in affectionate warmth and bringing colour to his hands. Gently he places his temple to the cool stone on the pillar that held his weight and sighed.

He was restless and the soft alluring songs of the young trees called to him, inviting him to come and dance with them in the night. He wished to learn the curves and plains of this land as he had known her before. Such as a lover relearned his partner's body after years of unwanted an parting with excitement and fear. Knowing well 'twas the same being and yet much had changed since last they had met mingled with the fear of finding oneself lost.

A brought the cup to his lips and sipped quietly.

He had a yearning to know her again and to see what of her children had returned. He also wished to know what herbs and roots were near, for certainly their medics would have need at some time. He was in search of a number of ingredients for his oils which he had yet to find in the market.

Straightening slightly he gazed out to the world beyond his doorway. Yes, he would make ready to explore the region...mayhap a number of others would endeavour to join him?

Getting on?

Tue, 25 Jan 2005 20:46:10 GMT

Since nothing's happening in community meeting thread, I'll just pretend Fëanor was there until the end (to whatever end ;)) and has now returned. Or something. Because I miss playing, dammit. Where is everybody?

Fëanor looks around contendedly. By now, his small premises begin to resemble a smithy; although his small stock of wood and metals will hardly suffice for much of the work he already has planned. But he intends to go on an excursion into the surrounding mountains and forests soon. Hopefully, he will find ores there; for the dwarves only grudgingly agreed to sell him some of their supply, and the price was exorbitant.
Kindling the fire of the forge, he ponders what to do with the materials he got. It cannot be more than a small work, a finger exercise, a revision of his abilities. But what? His gaze wanders to the table, the only bit of furniture he has allowed himself beside the equipment for the smithy. On it lie a few small lumps of molten and refined silver and iron, clay and wax, the remains of the fabric he used for his clothing; and the single shard of a mirror. It catches his eyes, and he walks over to the table, picking up the small piece of metal and glass. He inspects it closer, then nods to himself. A mirror, then. That way, he can kill two birds with one stone: Initiate his workshop, and pay the woman for her service. Hopefully, she will then leave him alone; the way she spoke up for him at the town meeting had slightly perplexed him, although he would never admit it. He brushes all thoughts aside, picks up the clay and begins to form a mould.

Several hours later - it is already night - when he has finished the frame and cut and fitted the glass, he lets the fire cool down. Long, soot-blackened fingers bend the interwoven flower-laden silver branches of the frame into place, so that they hold the class securely. After sanding down the edges and polishing the whole thing, he leans back and looks at his work. Yes, it will do.
He tidies up his tools, washes his hands and face, then lays down on his bed, although that may be too noble a name for the three blankets spread out on the floor. This night, he sleeps better than he has for a long, long time.

Come next morning, he wraps some pieces of fabric around the mirror - he certainly doesn't want it to break should anyone decide to run into him for a change - before ceremoniously dressing in the courtly clothing of a Noldo in the years of the trees, braiding his hair laborously (this is, after all, a formal occasion). Then he leaves for the marketplace and hopes that he will be able to find Lossë.

TOWN MEETING

Sat, 01 Jan 2005 23:21:46 GMT

Celebrian entered the hall, eyes wide, actually surprised to see how many people actually turned out. She took a seat near the rear of the building.

Lothiriel is seated towards the front, arms crossed and green eyes set intently on the floor. Go her.

Faramir, meanwhile, is leaning on a pole towards the back with his arms crossed. Why'd he come, again...? There had to have been a good reason.

Pippin had stationed himself near the front as well, mostly due to his height. He was looking with a modicum of curiosity at the faces around him, but saying nothing.

The tapping of Rieka's staff could be heard as she neared the hall

Finduilas remained in her seat, watching all those who entered around her, occasionally scooting to make room for others.

She entered the hall, taking a moment to look around

Lothiriel spotted Finduilas in the crowds, and so stood and made her way over to her. Once seated in the chair beside her aunt, the once-queen of the Riddermark seemed much better settled.

Rieka moved to the far side of the room and took aa seat.

Nimloth entered the hall and remained standing in the back, by the door. She definitely preferred the solitude of a forest to crowds.

"Quite a crowd," Finduilas tilted her head a bit, "I don't think I realized there were so many people in the city."

"Yes," she nodded, looking around. "...So many people seem to be concerned about the city. It is wonderful."

After feeling enough people had been present, Celebrian decided someone might as well get this thing running. She slowly, and carefully, made her way to the front of the room.

Rieka's gaze followed Celebrian. "So we are starting?" she said, half to herself.

She looked back to Rieka, with a smile and a nod. "Join me at the front? I may nee dyour help."

Rieka nodded, taking up her staff and following Celebrian. "I'll be glad to help."

Pippin smiled a little as he saw Celebrian making her way past his seat. He recognized her from his first day in the city, and was glad that it seemed to be her who was running the show- or, at least, starting it.

Faramir seemed to take more interest in the meeting, now that somebody was starting all of it. A small smile crossed his lips as he realized that it was Arwen's mother.

She gave a slight sigh of relief, glad she wouldn't have to do this alone, seeing as her husband and son decided to take a trip or what not.

"Well, how do we want to do this?" Rieka said quietly

Findulas smiled a bit, more than happy to see the women take up such a task.

Celebrian shrugged. "I'd imagine not by being shy?"

Rieka nodded and tapped her staff on the floor loudly

Lothiriel looked up from twiddling her thumbs, a bit of expectancy in her eyes.

Faramir moved his eyes to the two women, sighing slightly. Well, it begins.

Nimloth looked around in search of familiar faces -- not that she knew many people in the city, but maybe there were some from before whom she had not met yet. No such luck. She approached a mortal man who was watching the front.

"Go ahead," Rieka said as the room began to quiet.

"What exactly will be discussed here?" she asked

Celebrian blinked a bit, watching everyone's eyes move up. "Well," she chuckled, "Welcome, everyone. I'm glad to see so many of you join us this afternoon."

She raised an eyebrow, "Well, the future of our home, mostly."

Nimloth blushed. Her question had been directed at the man, and not to the women in front.

Rieka nodded. "The Valar have hand picked everyone in the city. We should do something with that advantage."

"Anything in particular?" Finduilas asked, arms crossed across her chest. "That sems a bit vauge to me - to do 'something' that is."

Rieka looked around. "That is not a decision for one being to make."

Celebrian nodded. "And before we share our ideas, we would like to hear from everyone else."

Rieka nodded. "It must be a group effort."

TOWN MEETING

Tue, 28 Dec 2004 23:01:58 GMT

Finduilas was walking about the city, it was late afternoon, but she wasn't ready to head home.

She leaned on a stone fence, and saw a crow around a small posting board she'd never seen before. Deciding to make herelf a fellow gawker, she walked toward the board to see what it was all about. There was a sign, thankfully written in a common script, which read:

Citizens of Entulessë, in order to live as peaceful equals, we should all be acquainted. A town meeting will be held this evening at the center hall of the town. Please try your best to attend.

- A Fellow Citizen

With nothing better to do, Finduilas made her way to this hall, and sat with the others who found their way there as well.

Sun, 19 Dec 2004 16:33:34 GMT

It had been a while now. A month in her own time, but no one had really been keeping track. If she seemed settled before, Théodwyn must have appeared quite at home by now. She had her routines, daily, and weekly, new faces, names, and places. She was still missing her family, but convinced herself that they would return over time.

Something seemed different though. Today. Or she at least never noticed it until now. The people that were so happy and bright, were starting to bore, and become frustrated - some more than others. While she did still see some who were in a sort of, bliss, Théodwyn was still concerned.

Hoping this feeling was something that would just pass, she continued walking, softly smiling to herself, making her way back to her home.

... anyone wanna play?

Mon, 13 Dec 2004 14:22:25 GMT

After his rather unedifying meetings with Finduilas and Nimloth, Fëanor returns to his premises. Morosely, he looks at his preparations, angry that he did not get any further and practically wasted the day.
Then, with a sigh, he sits down and begins to transform the fabric he bought into clothing; not the sweeping, meticulously cut robes he saw people wear in the streets but the simple, multi-layered, flowing sets of tunics and plaids he is used to from his former life.

Only a few days later - now dressed in a way that feels more appropriate for him - he leaves his rooms again in the hope to find tools, or the Dwarves, or both. Taking in his surroundings, he wonders at people's calm ways of walking about, meeting, talking, buying food, without ever seeming to do anything else. Nobody seems to work here, nobody seems to look for order, and everybody seems to assume that things are going to stay this way. He shakes his head; he cannot imagine that. Yes, most people appear to be reasonably happy; but once everything has settled, once they all get so used to being alive again that their open-eyed gratitude subsides, once they run out of the money they are now spending so readily - then, certainly, they will no longer be happy; chaos is certain to come out of this. As far as he can see, there is no one here who looks after the proceedings in the city, to order things; no king, no lord, not even a council of citizens. Again he shakes his head.
Briefly, he wonders whether he should point that out to the people around him. Would that be meddling with the Valars' great plan - he is not so certain of its greatness, but he will not voice that openly, at least not until he has regained his treasure - then he will refrain from it; but what if it would be a help from them? Then probably they would be cross with him for not speaking up in time, accusing him of waiting self-contentedly until chaos struck... he groans. This probation business is more complicated than he first thought.
He decides to think about it some more. For now, he merely wants to get his workshop running.
He walks on, not quite knowing where he is going, but hoping that he will find what he is looking for.

For whoever wishes to cross paths...

Mon, 06 Dec 2004 02:51:55 GMT

Pippin soon found himself rather finely dressed; a gold-embroidered jacket and vest outfit he’d found in his room. He awkwardly adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as he stepped out of the building, looking around the eerily empty street.

Silently he meandered from corner to corner, giving nervous smiles to every unrecognizable face... And for a while, exploring the corners and alleyways of the city was satisfying.

Eventually, however, he sat down on the front steps of a building, resting his chin in his hands, grey eyes scanning the square. Throughout his life he’d learned not to feel so small as he once did; at the moment he was finding it a bit difficult. This near-empty city seemed to be full of almost nothing but Big Folk, and while the occasional dwarf was a welcome sight, he had yet to see any other hobbits, or indeed anyone he recognized.

He sighed, his spirit sinking. In one sense he knew where he was, and in another... What am I doing here?, he thought to himself, looking towards the sky.

A Hobbit's Awakening

Sun, 05 Dec 2004 20:49:49 GMT

For only a moment he thought he was waking up again in the Shire, Diamond beside him in bed, the sun’s first light streaming through the window.

And then he remembered. Remembered... dying. His body at last frail and withered, his hair white, his eyes faded; he remembered lying upon his bed at Minas Tirith for the last time and fading away.

But then why did he feel so... young?

Peregrin Took bolted suddenly upright in bed, looking about with the sense of fear that had all at once overwhelmed him. His breath came in deep gasps. Shakily he lifted his hands to inspect them. He touched his face, the skin once again smooth... and then he caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall.

Immediately he leapt out of bed, intent on finding out where he was and just what was going on. He squinted against the light coming through the window as he approached it... and when his vision cleared, he gazed upon a grand city, one he had never seen in life or in dreams.

“What’s all this, now?” he wondered, as a confused smile began to slowly spread across his face.

Tue, 23 Nov 2004 20:49:22 GMT

It is a beautiful city, almost as beautiful as Tírion (maybe more so, but you always love best what you left behind). It is teeming with life now, and it is full of goodwill and laughter, people happily reuniting and making new acquaintances.
He has not yet met many people, neither those he once knew nor new ones. He has had work to do. For his hands cannot rest for long; after the first few days he felt boredom and annoyance rise up in him at having nothing to do. So he has found himself rooms at street-level; and there he has begun to establish a workshop. Certainly the inhabitants of this city will need metalwork, ornaments, jewelry; and how can he better show his repentance than by working hard to create beautiful things for their (and yes, his also) delight?
After some basic preparations, he reaches a point at which he needs tools. And proper robes, he decides, glancing down at the simple off-white tunic he wears.
His nascent workshop is located in one of the side streets of the alley leading to the southern gate of the city; from there, he must but walk a short while to find a marketplace. It is no big deal to find cloth in fiery hues of red and orange; however, the vendor cannot tell him where to find a tailor, what with things still getting set up everywhere. With a sigh, he buys a few needles and yarn; even if he has to sew his robes himself, he will not walk around like a serving-boy in nothing but a loose shirt and trousers.
These matters attended to, he turns towards the acquisition of tools, searching for a black-smith's stall amid the vendors of fresh fruit and baked goods, cloth and crockery.

Late Night scares.

Mon, 22 Nov 2004 01:27:55 GMT

Mirrors. Everyone looks in them every once in a while. Everyone's a little vain. Celebrían never took herself a the vain type, but this was different. The scars were still deep within her, if not physically, mentally.

She woke from a dream - actually, a nightmare. Her space in the bed soaked with sweat, sheets and blankets more on the floor than keeping her warm. The absence of her husband was no help. She had been dreaming of that journey. She felt, all over again, her skin tearing, bruising. She knew she must have screamed out loud, and wondered why no one had come.

"Why when I find myself to be happy, do they remind me of the things that hurt me most?" She asked aloud, and she rose from her bed. Her feet carried her to a basin, where she splashed her red face with cool water.

The mirror. Celebrían looked up as the the water dripped back to the basin. She knew the scars weren't there, but she swore she could feel the soreness where they should have been. Pulling at the cloth of her night slip, she became frustrated, yet satisfied having not discovered any wounds.

A heavy sigh flew from her lungs, and she sunk down against the wall beside the mirror, letting her head fall between her knees.

"All I want is to forget."

. . . and I know you wont let me down

Tue, 09 Nov 2004 00:19:47 GMT

Sitting on the balcony with her attention any direction but east, she longed for the sea in the west, but could barely see but a glimmer of it for the mountains. A light tug was felt at the hem of her skirt, and she gently smiled and turned to her youngest. Faramir gazed up at his mother, and from behind his back appeared a white flower, that in its transportation, had become withered and lined. She wryly smiled at his frown, and took the flower and his hand, leading the five year old indoors. Finduilas tiredly sat in a large chair, and pulled her son into her lap, and placed the flower back in his hands. He sat up and placed the flower in his mothers hair, and then returned to her shoulder, with a thumb in his mouth.

“That is a bad habit, that is very hard to break love.” She said tugging at his hand. Faramir frowned, and balled his small hand into a fist, and placed it at his side.

Apart from when she was with her youngest son, Finduilas was quite distant. She dreaded what would come of the renewed strength in Mordor, and continued to ache for her old home. She often thought of leaving, and taking Faramir with her, but she knew in the depth of her mind that Denethor would send someone after her - only her.

“Mummy,” Faramir’s voice rang, “what are you thinking about?” He asked as he fooled with the long necklace she often wore.

Finduilas looked to the window, the late sunlight shone on both their faces, and barely smiled. “I’m not quite sure.” She turned and looked to him, and placed her arm over his waist. “You. Your brother. Your father.” The child’s face grew dark, and he turned himself, facing the direction his mother faced, crossing his arms. Finduilas pulled him close to her and whispered in his ear, “You should not fear, nor hate him, he is your father, alas his love for you is far less than any father should have for his son. That is why you have me; and you will have me for as long as I can hope, and you can dream.” She placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and brushed his hair back behind his ears. Faramir returned to a lounging position on his mothers lap, and she smiled, placing her gaze back over the mountains.

----

Days passed. She could see her children’s faces as she faded in and out of the darkness. Her will had diminished as she saw Sauron’s fire grow, but she tried as hard as she could to bring herself back for her children. She could hear Denethor “talking” to Faramir in another room in the callous tone he often took with him. She looked to her oldest son, telling him to look after his younger brother, wiping the tears from his cheek.

She sat on a large rock, not far from where she’d found herself awoken, looking out over the sea. Finduilas looked over into the clear water to see her reflection. She looked just as she had remembered, yet felt all the weight she carried had gone. She pulled her bare feet up on the rock, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“My hope failed young one, but your dreaming has brought me here.” She said aloud as the wind carried her words off and through the trees.

Awakening

Sun, 07 Nov 2004 23:28:03 GMT

To die with honor, to die defending the lives of the people that he loved. The sounds of battle echoed in his mind, the harsh clang of swords, the whistling of arrows flying through the air, the cries of men falling to the ground and then silenced forever. But amid all of that chaos...there was a softness that began to filter through. The tender light of the sun entering through the windows of his home. A gentle smile and caress from a familiar woman. The joyous laughter of a young man...Bergil...'my son'.

Brown eyes fluttered open and he found himself gasping for air as if he were a newborne babe. His senses were assulted by the scent of the fresh wind, the wet dirt, the smell of jasmine. The sight of a lush green garden confronted his eyes. An ethral music was barely heard as it wove itself softly through the air.

'Is this death?'

Moments passed by...but he lay there, staring into the bright blue sky. Not too long ago, I was surrounded by blackness...by muted silence...by unfeeling.

The scene of a battlefield flashed across his mind and he could almost smell the stench of blood, the grime on his body, the smoke in the air. Then the flash of red-stained steel and...

He let out a gasp and flew up, his chest heaving.

"I do not remember such a place as this...I do not remember...who am I?"

His voice echoed in the garden, and he was started as a voice answered back, "Do you not remember brave soldier? You are Beregond."

'I am Beregond.'

Are you pleased to see me? It is quite cold out.

Mon, 01 Nov 2004 04:29:57 GMT

Huor's body shot up, and screaming, his hands flew to his eye trying to save it. He felt no arrow coming from it. In fact, he felt no pain, at all. He distinctly remembered turning and seeing that arrow, too late to do anything about it. Had someone healed him? Was he dreaming the beautiful landscape around him? He knew for sure that none of the landmarks he saw were familiar.

After sitting in one place for quite some time, Huor pulled himself to his feet, brushing loose grass from the golden locks of the House of Hador, and scratching his head, he then looked down, raising an eyebrow, “and I do remember being clothed.”

Slightly embarrassed, and at a loss of what to do, he walked a ways, then returned to sitting in the grass. Yes, it was night, but the moon was quite bright, and there were few view obstructing objects near. He laughed to himself, “I suddenly find myself alive, and all I can think about is not being seen?” So he sprang back to his feet, and with a child-like aura about him, he began to sprint, shouting of his return, not wanting to understand it, just celebrating it.

Then he stopped.

“I’ve brought a cloak for you…” a woman’s voice rang. “It’s a bit chilly out here at night.”

Returning to a more subdued, not to mention, embarrassed, position, Huor rubbed his face, and gladly took the offered cloak. “I was expected?”

“Of course you were.” She smiled, “The lights will lead you into the city. You will find shelter to your liking, I’m sure.” The woman turned and walked into the darkness.

“Wait, who are you…” He finished his sentence realizing she’d disappeared. Sighing heavily, he pulled he cloak tightly around himself and followed the lights into the city.

Now I've found you, there's no more emptiness inside.

Sun, 31 Oct 2004 18:28:55 GMT

Opening her eyes, warm in her lovers arms, she smiled and laughed softly, remembering the nights events while unwinding herself from his hold. Celebrían stood, and after pulling a robe over her body, her sleepiness tugged her over toward the warm sun pouring through the window.

She was back to her old self, it seemed, something that could only be said with the return of her husband. No longer aimless, Celebrían finally felt as if her life was finally returned.

But then she felt guilt.

"Could I be happy for at least a few days?" She asked frustrated. Her boys. She hadn't forgotten them, but she felt as if she cast their importance aside.

Sitting on the ledge of the window, she watched Elrond sleep comfotably in bed with a weak smile on his lips. Her voice rang softly, not wanting to wake him, "I can see them in your face love. My twins. Would the Valar bless me just once more, and return them as well?" She pointed her gaze to the bustle of people below, carefully searching for familiar faces, perhaps a lingering voice would carry itself to her tuned ears; all she heard was the morning song of the birds and the laughter of children that weren't her own.

Smiling sadly, Celebrían pulled her knees close to her body, and lay her head atop. She continued the song that had been interrupted the night before, not so much to remember, but as a call. Do you hear me? She thought. We are here. I will wait for you.

The days are long.

Sat, 30 Oct 2004 22:51:01 GMT

She felt some connection to this field, to everything in it, especially the horses. She was determined to direct a great deal of her attention to taking care of these animals without making them beasts of burden.

She missed riding. It was what she did. It was in her blood. Théodwyn made her way out toward the team, trying to be steady, not mkaing too much noise, she didn't want to startle them. She wore a rather large sun hat, made of straw that she'd gotten from one of the shops in town because the sun was quite hot that afternoon. As she got closer to the horses, her hands began to reach out before her, toward their bodies, but they all just backed away.

"Oh, well that worked." She said out loud to herself. She then felt a slight tug on her head from behind. It was the same mare she'd been watching from her room. A warm smile tugged itself across her face, taking her hat off and making a face at the large teeth marks in the rear. Setting it aside, she slowly reached her hand forward, surprised that the mare let her do so. She walked closer, and beside it, gently rubbing her back, remembering how a rider was to aqaint themselves with a new steed.

Théodwyn blinked.

The mare kneeled for her. "You knew what I wanted?" She said in an astonished sort of voice. As gently as possible, Théodwyn was let on, and it was all very comfortable. She began a lopsided conversation as she was guided along the edge of the field.

"You inspire me. You live with your herd, yet you're so independent. I was very much like you in my old life. Now I sit at home hoping for more of my kin to return, watching life pass by through my windows. There is also Lothíriel, she stops by, brings me things, keeps me company. I'm so boring, I feel bad. So I decided that I needed to change all of that." The mare huffed and gave a strong nod. Théodwyn laughed, "I'm glad you agree." She continued as the sun fell over the trees, and the evening set in.

Fri, 15 Oct 2004 19:29:02 GMT

It was a happy sort of fate for Arwen Undómiel, and yet not so. For years, she had spent her time as Queen of Gondor, along with Elessar... Her Estel, her Aragorn, her King... Her love and life. The one for whom she had chosen a life of mortality, and would never have changed as such.

She'd awoken that day to a peaceful garden - not so unlike that in Lórien, where she'd passed - and wondered silently as to what was to come. The beginnings of a new world, as a phoenix is reborn from the ashes of their flames, this city is also her new beginning.

Arwen holds the Evenstar lightly in one palm as she walks through the garden, shapes and images passing her by... Images so familiar, and yet so different. Almost identical to that of Lórien, this garden was, but she knew somehow that it was not so.

She finds her way to a street, filled with people and the beginnings of businesses. It brings memories of Gondor back to the once-Queen's mind, and surprisingly they are not painful, but joyous.

Fri, 15 Oct 2004 03:47:46 GMT

A sharp intake of breath. A new sensation as the cold air filled her lungs. The dark-haired woman shivered and instinctively pulled her crimson robes tighter around her body, though she had no primal instinct to speak of. She stood, slowly, and took a few steps, nearly stumbling over her newfound physical shape.

"This is odd," she muttered. White puffs of vapor filled the morning air before her. She reached for a wooden staff that happened to be against the wall. That was helpful, the staff. She put a bit of weight on it first, again testing those things that mortals would call feet and legs.

A few tenative steps brought her to the window. She could see the sun from this spot, rising up over the brilliant buildings before her. The light would soon filter into her room, making it warmer, she knew.

Turning away, Rieka went back to sit on the bed. She turned her head to examine the rest of the room, but she was tired and unused to the effort of walking.

Straight ahead was a small fireplace. A chair stood in the other corner, and blank parchments from some other place lined a desk to her right, along with a few writing implements. Where did this all come from? she thought, I must be in the new land.

She turned her attention back to the fireplace, already lined with a log. Concentrating slowly, she imagined the log alight, like the sun. She tapped her staff once unintentionally and her vision sprung up before her eyes.

"Very odd," she muttered again, "but welcoming." She could already feel warmth fill the room. "Later I will have to look around more."

Rieka leaned back on the bed, her eyes wandering. She could not help but ponder her situation. It was very odd.

the awakening

Tue, 12 Oct 2004 05:45:40 GMT

I walked from the grandiose halls of rest amid a million tangible dreams and lived emotions. Murmurs of loves and losses slide against my ears as I pass the souls cradled in existence here. Far behind me lies the warm touch of the eternal hearth, yet still the joys and woes of elven voices reach me. Here we share in peaceful death the wonders of what was life a million or more mortal sons gone by. Time does not exist here for us. A century could be a day within the vibrant halls we now inhabit beneath Eru's eyes.

We of elven heart who passed in Arda's life were gathered in Mandos' halls to await her end. We are bound to her unlike the other races in soul and our existence would end with hers. We stood amid these halls and among the evergreen lands of Valinor and awaited our end. For immortal beings such as we, 'twas a desperately fearful thing to know that our existence was about to be forever stifled. Some would envy the race of man whose souls would continue on, unbound by the same bond we shared to our planet.

Yet, that moment of cold oblivion arrived not as the land vanished from our touch. All elven souls gathered in awe within these waiting halls and wondered of the reason why. For surely our wait was ended with the end of our bonded world.

We gathered in reunions of bitterness and sweetness and watched through a portal in wonder as our world was remade in the skillful hands of the dwarves. Our world was not gone, simply reforged anew. Our bond still remained to her and our souls would be reborn to her life.

Now I leave the Waiting halls after being chosen for a reason I can not fathom. There are many more worthy in deeds and accomplishments as well as those more deserving to live once more than I. My feet carry me from the warmth into a passage of darkness which grows more chill as I progress. I wrap my arms about my robed form and swallow back my fears and uncertainties as best as I am able to of entering a new world alone and unfamiliar with her workings.

The dark cold envelops me and penetrates my skin driving all gained warmth from my existence in the Halls away. I shiver as I lose my sight and the familiar voices disappear from my ears. A tinge of panic drives my heart and my feet forward. No longer can I feel my skin, not even my fingers against my arms, as I become so numbed with the paralyzing cold. My breath comes raggedly and my eyes dart for some source of comfort.

Just as I fear I no longer can hold back a scream of panic, a doorway appears directly before me and I am blinded by white light. I lift my arm to my face and step through the opening. There is a moment of white heat as sensations spike through my mind and body as hot needles. It lasts for but a second as I pass through into the light.

In my ears as I leave the Halls a deep voice bids me the best of luck.

My pale eyes fly open as the light fades and all is a blur. I am utterly stunned for a moment as I discover myself once more in living form just as I was in my youth. Then my mouth fills with water as I gasp. Promptly I am aware of the fact that my blurry vision is due to the fact I am submerged in cool waters. Instinct takes over and I surge towards the fragmented light, erupting from a river's surface sputtering and gasping for breath.

I swim to the water's edge and pull myself up along the banks. The water is clean and untainted, the earth beneath my fingers soft and fertile, fresh growth already beginning to sprout. I remain upon my hands and knees still sputtering I cough and clear my lungs. My drenched ebony hair hangs limply over my shoulders and face. Once I am once again breathing regularly I sit back upon my heels and raise my face to observe my surroundings. Instantly I am struck in awe of the land. Scents, feelings, songs and sighs overwhelm me.

I am in utter rapture and captivation as I relearn the beauty of a single leaf whispering in a light breeze. The comfort of the soil beneath my knees, the heart-breaking song of the river, the delicate perfection of a pebble's form. I remain motionless in wonder for a time ungauged or remembered to me. My hair and bared skin dry beneath the sun's warm touch and the gentle caress of air long before I choose to move.

Silently and elegantly I rise to my feet and take my first steps into the world. I am neither clumsy nor awkward; each step is familiar as is the motions and rhythms of my body. My sharp eyes glance about in search of a destination for my feet to carry me.

It is then that I see it, far in the distance, glimmering as a pearl upon dark linen. A great new city with the curious movements of inhabitants new to life once more. I direct my light steps towards it, me head high as I move into the young trees and smile as they sing of their excitement.

Abruptly, caught up in their energy I laugh and my walk turns into a run of freedom and abandon. For the first time ever I understood how the elves of the first awakening must have felt. But that was in a life far from the one I now began…

Wed, 29 Sep 2004 19:26:26 GMT

Silence rang out for the briefest of moments, voices that were once so clear were jumbled, light prevailed all around. Gimli felt the first pains of death. Then, suddenly, they were taken away from him. All he felt was warmth and love. Undying love.

He left the earth for only a short time when he was called back to it. He had understanding of what he was to do. He knew that everything was destroyed... that all that was left was darkness.

So, together with his fellow dwarves, he set about to rebuilding the world. Long and hard he worked, sweat dripping, never ending from his brow. Yet, he felt no exhaustion. He knew the Valar would not allow him to be tired... too much was to be done. Many days and many more night the dwarves worked until at last their chore was complete.

A time of rest came for Gimli, son of Gloin, and rest he did. He slept for many moons until he awoke in a room in a city he had helped build.

Looking out the window made for the size of a dwarf, Gimli smiles at the beauty of the world. No unease on any face, no worry creasing any brow. Just pure happiness.

((I dont know if this is acceptable, so just let me know if I need to change it.))

Back to Life

Wed, 29 Sep 2004 09:16:23 GMT

The aftermath of a battle, Aragorn ponders, is a strange thing. After all the hustle, the rush and haste of parrying and attacking, advancing and escaping, always follows silence. No peaceful silence, mind you; it is broken by the wounded men's cries and the mourning of those whose dear ones did not survive; filled by the crawing of the carrion-birds and the creak of dispatched armour. Afterwards comes reconstruction, revival; but the direct aftermath is silence. A broken silence, still reeking of battle and filled with pain, but silence.

It is quite silent now.

Aragorn's reign was widely considered a reign of peace, but he never has forgotten the battles that preceded it. And how could he? They were the greatest battles of his age. Yet, in comparison to the battle that has ended now (when? moments ago? hours? years? ages?), the War of the Ring was but a petty skirmish. One would think that this battle's aftermath would last forever. There was no place in Creation where its power was not felt, after all; the dead, the living, all were swept into it, struggling, fighting, falling.
Strange that he cannot still feel the sky shake from the force of the clashing armies. Strange that the very earth is not torn by the violence of the battle. Strange that there is no mourning, no cries of despair or pain.
But of course, this was no ordinary battle. And it has shaken the sky and torn the earth so completely that nothing was left. There was no silence, no mourning: Reconstruction followed at once. This, he reminds himself, is an all-new World.

It is, he has to admit, leaning on a white window-sill, overlooking the silent white city, probably all the better for it. All he feels and sees seems so... calm, so perfect. The stones under his hands, the breeze playing with the curtains, the impossibly green leaves of the trees lining the white street below, the warm sunlight bathing the houses: They all feel perfect.
This is not a perfect world, the former king of Gondor and Arnor thinks to himself; humans are imperfect, and as long as they inhabit a world, it can never be quite perfect. But it is probably as close to perfect as anything can be.

He smiles.

When Aragorn's time to die came, he accepted it calmly. He did not try to prolong his life, or rage against his fate; he simply lay down and waited for death to take him. He knew, after all, that there was no point in fighting it; and he knew, or at least hoped, that it would not be followed by nothing. Aragorn died peacefully, and, for the most part, happily.
Yet, to live again pleases him. To live again in a new, un-marred World pleases him all the more.

The streets below slowly fill with the sounds of people, with birdsong; with life.
It has begun.

Tue, 28 Sep 2004 16:20:39 GMT

For a moment he thinks he is blind. But this is no darkness. There are shadows, subtle shadings that drift across his vision. Mostly, however, there is light. Bright and warm, a myriad of orange hues that shift and dance in front of him. He strains to see, to make sense out of the abstract forms. It is as if there is a veil...

He opens his eyes, and for a moment he truly is blind. The light pierces his eyes and he flinches. A scrap of memory crosses his mind, of blue banners raised to the wind, and the first, startling rays of light peering over the horizon's edge, the entire world on fire with its brillance...

This is a different dawn. This is a different world, he realizes. He can almost hear the last fading strains of a faraway melody, sorrowful and yet hopeful.

Soft ground gives beneath his hands as he pushes himself into a sitting position,. The smell of dirt and flowers assaults his nose. The scent is so harsh and unfamiliar that he nearly gags, until the scent softens, blends into something much more familiar and enjoyable.

The waking pains of a new world. He nearly laughs at the thought.

He pushes to his feet, expecting frailness, expecting dizziness, and getting nothing more than the familiar movements of his body. The sight of young trees greet him. Young and fresh, with pale tender limbs and leaves that glint with dew. A swallow sweeps by him. He turns, and there is the city, golden and pale.

He walks toward it, moving without thought. He lives again. More memories threaten to flood his mind, and he shoves them aside. He had wanted rest. Instead he is given life, with all its strifes and heart aches. Perhaps this is not a blessing, after all.

Another memory, one he cannot still.

Aredhel, her deep eyes sparkling as she laughs at something only a young girl would know, drowning in merriment as she looks to her father.

Well...

Perhaps it is a blessing.

Tue, 28 Sep 2004 13:34:23 GMT

Nimloth dreams, and her dreams are woven of dark and light; of fire and destruction and a fight that shakes both earth and sky. Of a battle of the powers and of the moment her hands again grip the hilt of a sword. (Menegroth, is she in Menegroth still and has to fight demons in elvish form?) No, she is elsewhere and this is the ultimate battle, and whatever happens, it will result in the final end of everything -- and everyone. This is Ambar-Metta, the end of the world, but nonetheless she wants to live and fights, but darkness towers over her and engulfs her as she is slain for the second time. But even this darkness, which seems so complete and everlasting, is at last overpowered by light, and she is swept away.

Her heart races, she tosses and turns in her sleep, and then, suddenly, her eyes clear and she wakes.
(It was a dream, everything was a dream, the battles and fights and the fires. Oh thank Eru, it was not real.) She rises from her bed and looks around in the room - she does not know where she is, but everything looks so new, so surreal, and the very air smells different, clear and fresh as only in the briefest seconds before dawn, but outside it is bright day and the sky is of a cloudless blue.

Two steps bring her to a high window. Her lips open to let out a soundless 'oh' of wonder - and she has to shield her eyes from the sunlight. She has glimpsed perfection, the land outside is perfect, unblemished, unmarred.

The scattered pieces of her memory fall into place.

Arda unmarred. The final battle has been fought, Arda marred was unmade and she is here and she is alive, she is alive. She wants to shout, to laugh, to cry and to dance all at once, but she fears to disturb the perfect silence.

Eventually, her vision clears, and the scenery outside remains. In the West, far far in the distance, is a glimmer that can only be the sunlight on water -- the sea. In the East there are hills and mountains, and to her feet, before the walls of this city with the many towers is a plain of lushest green, and woods of tall, young trees.

Nimloth laughs, and dances, skipping around in the room like a newborn fawn that has just learned to walk. And in a way, that's what she is.

Let there be a Beginning.

Mon, 27 Sep 2004 10:51:06 GMT

Light.
There is nothing else.
Not the Halls of Mandos; not the Everlasting Dark; no world; not even the Void.
Only light.

It is not the gentle, moving light of the Trees, nor the distant white light of stars; not the burning sunlight, nor the cool silver sheen of the Moon. It is tangible, audible, a light made of song and taste and smell, of existance itself. Even through his closed eye-lids, it seeps unfiltered; it seems to flow through his body as much as it encompasses him.
This must be the Flame Imperishable, he thinks, before his thoughts, too, turn to light and he is swept away. The End. The Beginning.

And then, suddenly, the light grows less.
It still lingers in his eyes, but it does no longer move through all of him. He feels hard ground under his back, earth, gravel. His hands grasp strands of grass and three lone stones.
For an idle second, a second that rushes through him like the light, he thinks he has found the Silmarils again.
Then he remembers.

This was it: The Final Battle. The End of the World. Good victorious, and the Fallen banished forever.
And in this new World, he may redeem himself. And if he does, he may receive his jewels again, after all.
If he does.

Blinded by the light, overwhelmed by the Music, in the presence of the unveiled Ainur and, maybe, of Eru Himself, he could do nothing but accept. Yes, he would redeem himself. Yes, he would accept this most gracious offer.

Remembering, he feels slightly embarassed. But that is as it is. Decidedly, he lets go of grass and stones. He sits up and opens his eyes. And the last lingering beams of that all-encompassing light flee and give way to shadowy meadows, hills, mountains; a city at dawn.

Fëanor did not look back when he left Tirion, all those millenia ago.
If he had, he might have seen a sight much like this.
But unlike on that fateful day, the sun is rising today; and the darkness, that darkness that had left even the Valar at a loss, that darkness that had robbed him of his dearest treasure, is fading rapidly. The sun touches the white walls and towers with golden light. Trees sway in the morning breeze, and suddenly, as though some unseen conductor had entered the stage and tapped his baton upon the pulpit, birds begin to sing, carefully at first, then more confidently.

With a smile that might be both content or regretful, Fëanor rises and makes his way towards the city gates.

In the beginning...

Mon, 27 Sep 2004 03:09:05 GMT

Her eyes twitched, and she groaned rolling over.

She could roll over. Her body leapt and inhaled sharply while her eyes flew open, only to be blinded by what little light was in the room. Nothing was familiar, just the face she saw squinting in the mirror across from the bed she'd been sitting in. Crawling to the foot of the bed, her body shook with fear and desire. Where am I? What's happened? She thought. Sitting back, she mulled over all she could remember and thought aloud.

“The sky flew,” she said, “and the stars fell; light and dark had finally dueled. The maniacal symphony was made.” The realization was beyond belief, but she continued to relive the experience, “The steady, angelic strength of Manwë could be heard above Melkor’s harsh, reckless malevolence. Then there was only light.”

That light was the last Celebrían had seen until now. The harmony that was never meant for the ears of the children of Ilúvatar would be her most beautiful yet painful experience.

But how have I returned. She thought. How is it that my body is intact, not scarred? Had the Fëanturi placed me in some beautiful dream? Will my children and husband soon fly through those doors?

Climbing out of the bed, she made her way to the window and slowly pulled the curtain. The new city fought for space in Celebrían’s eyes beside the tears as she looked on all of those who had awakened below.

ooc:

Sun, 12 Sep 2004 23:23:33 GMT

Hello Everyone!

Uhmn, very first order of business: this section of the journal (the community page) is to be used for interactive posts and responses. For example:

post (via user: sally)

Sally walked into the store and ate some pickles.

response (via user: pickles)

The pickles were eaten. Woe.

... except that this is LotR, so there's probably not a Sally or Pickles, and your writing will probably be a little more detailed and eventful, lol. But you get what I mean? Stylistic elements such as tense are to be decided by the person making the post-- past or present, either is fine, just stick with it if you're going to respond. Also, if it's a backdated event, thats absolutely fine, just specify the approximate time. This section can also be used for in-character announcements, such as those made for social events, etc. So if your character is throwing a feast, post that proclamation right up here. :)

That’s about it for this section of the game. Much more info will be posted to the OOC journal. Since we are unable to add the OOC journal as a friend of the main community (both are communities, alas) the super important mod-type posts will be x-posed to the OOC one AND the mods journal, so that they’ll appear on the friends page of this place as well.