wilderlogs | FLIGHT TO THE FORD ※ RIVENDELL ※ LOG 1

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FLIGHT TO THE FORD ※ RIVENDELL ※ LOG 1

FLIGHT TO THE FORD
OOC POST
The foot paths are thin but seem to lead somewhere. Not far ahead, there is the sound of rushing water.

Someone is following them in the woods. They move with perfect quiet. If leaves are rustled, at most they sound like they're only shifting in the breeze. They keep circling around them, scouting to the front of them, scouting behind them.

They notice the great evil approaching from behind. Scaring away the horses of the Nazgul slowed them down, made it so they could safely rest in the city, so they could reach it without a fight, and so the magic encircling it went unchallenged by their evil. But they weren't going to stay behind forever. As they close in, the figure that has also been stalking them eventually reveals themselves.

A woman suddenly appears before them, leaping into the path ahead with a swiftness that is inhuman. She is shrouded in a silken cloak of light green. A sword is at her belt in an intricate silver sheathe. She calls out to them with a calm voice that rings clear like a bell.

"Hearken, weary travelers! Your coming was forespoke to my people and my kindred and I feared that you were in danger upon the road. I come offering refuge and succor."

She draws away her hood and reveals pointed ears and braids of black hair drawn up into silver net of gems. Her clear face is flawless and smooth, as if carved from the purest marble. The light of the stars burns in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night. Her bearing is that of a queen, fair and just and fierce and kind. Even among her kind, who are known for their beauty, she is counted among the most beautiful.

Her father is displeased with her willingness to travel forth into danger, but after the death of her mother, she too was trained to fight just like her brothers. In the strange new world that has been thrust upon them, Arwen Evenstar is no longer content with wiling away her days with needlework and song. There is too much that has changed in the world, too much that must be protected, and her long neglected skills with sword and bow have already been put to good use, sharpened by the many dangers of the Wilderlands.

"I can tell that some of you carry grievous injuries but you must hasten. The Servants of Sauron approach! The house of my father lies just beyond the swift waters before us. Once we pass over the ford your enemies can no longer pursue you."

Not far behind them there is suddenly an inhuman screech that makes the bright daylight seem as perilous as the darkest night.

Arwen unsheathes her sword and starts to run, leading them, moving swiftly but taking care to not outpace them entirely. There is no time for questions or explanations.

"Fly!" she calls out as she runs. "The enemy is upon us! Fly, ere all is lost!"

The waters of the ford are only knee deep when they cross it and the moment the last of them reaches the other side, the Nazgul appear on the opposite bank and then start crossing the waters, moving through them with mechanical ease.

Arwen raises her sword, glinting in the sun, and cries out:

Nîn o Chithaeglir
lasto beth daer;
Rimmo nîn Bruinen
dan in Ulaer!

In a great crush of frothing white, flood waters rush forth, and it seems as if the waves comes in the shape of prancing horses. The waters crash into the Nazgul right as they get close to the other side of the ford. They screech as they go under and get swept away.

She resheathes her sword.

"This way."

As they walk, the path descends into a gorge filled with warm sun and cool mists. The walls of the gorge are streaked with waterfalls pouring over the edges and the air is filled with the gentle sound of many rushing waters. Some of the streams thread through arches under the Last Homely House. The Elven settlement is spread over garden-covered terraces, with open buildings that mingle indoors and outdoors. The Art Nouveau style architecture is intricate, every bit of the buildings looking like a masterwork. A single stone bridge is their entrance to Rivendell.

Many Elves rush out as soon as they arrive in the first courtyard. Their clothes are made of fine fabrics, most of them colors found in nature, and some of them have silver ornaments in their hair. All of them are tall, slender, graceful and beautiful, almost exuding an aura of goodness, and the light of the stars and the moon is in their eyes. Their ageless faces are filled with genuine worry. Though the Elves are sometimes an aloof and distant people compared to mortals, they detest all evil, and seeing the haggard nature of the group seemingly has them deeply concerned for them.

The lord of the house leads them. The face of Elrond is ageless, neither old nor young, though in it is written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair is the same color as his daughter's, like the deepest shadows of twilight and upon his head is set a circlet of silver; his eyes are grey as a clear evening. He carries himself with the aged dignity of king crowned with many winters, yet there's a lightness in his step, like he carries the energy of a young warrior.

"Daughter," he says, reaching for her first, taking her hands in his own. "I started to fear the worst."

"Father, some of them are badly injured."

Elrond nods, his expression stern and beckons to the squad.

"Quickly, bring the injured this way, to the Halls of Healing! I can sense a malaise in some of you, the taint of the Dark Riders, and know this must mean some of your number must have felt the bite of a Morgul-blade. You haven't much time; the shards must be removed and the wounds treated before you pass into the shadow-realm."

He gestures for some of the Elves to attend to the squad. Some offer a stable arm of support to the injured or any weak with hunger or illness, if they need to take it. Others offer cloaks to those who were sent into the Wilderlands under-dressed. Others bring gilded water jugs and golden ladles to those that appear thirsty, and offer to lead them to places where they can eat or where they can find creature comforts like baths and beds.

"My people will attend to your needs. The masters of those who pursued you are the enemies of all free people, and those innocents they would harm can find refuge in these halls. We will eventually hold Council, and all questions shall be asked and answered by all parties, but rest and healing must come first."

NOTES
✦ Arrival Log: This is a log for people to play around arriving to Rivendell, so some characters can react to the Elves and players of injured characters can play out any drama of them reaching the last leg of the journey.

✦ Post in actionspam format. Plots and mod-run events in the game are meant to be in actionspam format to keep a brisk pace.

✦ Free-for-all Post. This event will be in "free-for-all" format, meaning that threadhopping is encouraged and that threading should be treated in the same conversational way as network posts.

✦ Cursed Weapons/Powers: Players don't have to play it out unless they want to, but the Elves can sense cursed weapons and "cursed" beings, such as Necromancer mage types, vampires, werewolves, etc. If players want to play out their character having to talk the Elves into letting them in, they can and the mods will npc the Elves. Please hit the "NPC ENCOUNTER" post if you want to play this out and describe what your character is in the action brackets.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ooc: Hit this post if you want to play out something specific with the Elves.]

[Elves. Actual, real elves, and not whatever horrifying creatures were present in the Brugh. Hiccup wasn't entirely sure how to deal with that, but a healthy amount of respect would probably help. He bows, lightly, towards Elrond.]

Thank you, for the help and food. I'm Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, and this is my friend and partner Toothless. If it's not too much trouble, could you tell us how you knew we were coming?

[Yes, he had introduced the dragon next to him as his friend. He hoped that they wouldn't have much reason to fear dragons.]

Edited 2018-06-02 21:14 (UTC)

Hail and well met. I am Elrond, Lord of this house.

[Elrond gestures for Hiccup and the others to move towards Rivendell itself. Their injured must be attended to, which means he'll be called away as soon as they're inside, but he can answer a few questions as they walk.]

[He eyes the dragon with a raised eyebrow.]

Friend and partner? These are strange times indeed if dragons can be called "friend" by any. But perhaps the tales told by travelers from lands beyond about peoples who are friends to dragons are true. With so many other worlds being drawn together, I suppose not all dragons are alike.

[There is caution as he regards Toothless, but he sees how calm the dragon is - in the presence of Elves, no less - and he's wise enough to at least give the dragon the benefit of a doubt. The Elves love nature and the prospect of a dragon being something that is part of it like a large lizard, instead of an insidious unnatural element created by Morgoth, is a novel one.]

As for how we knew of your coming, there are some among my people with the gift of prophecy. We've also had visitors to Rivendell who have brought tidings of prophecies foretold by those who share similar gifts among their own people. In anticipation of your arrival, two such oracles even came to Rivendell in person; their people are known to us to have even greater gifts of foresight than the Elves.

All of these oracles believe your presence in the new world we've found ourselves in is of great import. They believe your actions will decide the fate of us all.

Edited 2018-06-03 01:07 (UTC)

[That, at least, means Huginn and Muninn weren't full of it. Hiccup hadn't thought so, but it was always good to check. He chooses not to mention it as information they've heard before, as he doubts that the ravens would appreciate their names being spread around.]

It's a recent development where I'm from. Toothless and I are actually the ones who proved it could be done.

[And it had only cost him a leg in the process. A pretty fair trade, as he saw things.]

Is there anything about the dragons you're more familiar with to read here? I've spent the last five years trying to prove to everyone I meet that dragons aren't the monsters we all thought they were, but I'm guessing things may be a little different for you.

[Alacruun's ability to speak and shapeshift had been proof enough that dragons on other worlds wouldn't necessarily be the same as the ones he knew. Evil and monstrous dragons weren't hard to imagine, even if Hiccup didn't like thinking about. He'd seen it with the Red Death, after all.]

Edited 2018-06-03 02:35 (UTC)

[Elrond regards Hiccup and his dragon with even more respect upon finding that they were the ones that forged such an alliance - an alliance that would be impossible in Middle-Earth.]

Remarkable. Though the joining of lands in this world is unnatural, sometimes it brings strange new wonders alongside new dangers.

You are welcome to explore the libraries here but you will find no tales of similar alliances between dragons and other peoples. They are not natural creatures. The Dark Lord Sauron, creator of the Dark Riders that pursued you, was but a protege of the greater evil that created our world's dragons, breeding them in the black pits of his fortress ere it fell. Since then they have plagued the good peoples of Middle-Earth with their cunning and malice.

[ Loken freezes and stares at the Eldar, his fists clenching and opening spasmodically. He is too tired from travel and the effects of the morgul blade to offer much resistance, but as the elves approach he is clearly a mixture of angry and worried. He hunches, as if ready to sell his lives dearly, and rumbles. ]

Don't come any closer. I am sworn to protect humanity. And the gifts of your kind always have hooks in them.

[ He doesn't mention how often he's fought them. They don't need to know that, not yet. ]

[Elrond is the one that speaks to him. The Elf is known for his wisdom and diplomacy and more than that, he recognizes this man for what he is: of the race of Men, and clearly someone similar in strength and fortitude to the Dunedain.]

Stranger, I know not what enmity can be found between the races of your own world, but in ours, the Elves have founded an alliance with the race of Men, and though there have sometimes been times of conflict between our peoples, long have Elves and Men stood together against the evils of our world.

I myself am of mixed blood. The king of Men that sits on the throne of Gondor is a distant relation and betrothed to my daughter.

[He gestures to Arwen who nods in agreement.]

Rivendell is meant to be a haven where the people of many lands can stand as equals and take counsel and forge alliances. There are enemies greater and darker than us all and only through bonds of fellowship will we survive the trying times that lie ahead.

Let us help you. The healers here have experience tending to the wounds caused by Morgul-blades. Our gifts carry no hooks, as long as you do not oppose us in our struggles against foul enemies like the Dark Riders.

Edited 2018-06-10 06:47 (UTC)

[ An alliance with Elves? Sounds fake. Still, the words seem... to make some sense, if nothing else. He folds his arms over his chest, and rumbles. ]

I'm here to protect these people. I... can never trust you, but I'm dying without assistance.. I will accept your help.

[ Kevin is just on his way in, trying not to stare too much, and in full unassuming-ordinary-teenager mode. He's good at that, it comes naturally to him and he's had years to perfect the nonthreatening, background-presence slouch.

There's nothing to say here, he's just one of the group, it's Fine. ]

[He's not just one of the group and it's not fine. The Elf that accosts him almost radiates a bright energy, as if he's something more than the other Elves around him.]

[Glorfindel is not like Elrond or the others. Ages ago, he led his people away from the Elven city of Gondolin as it fell to the forces of Morgoth. Then he successfully killed a powerful balrog and his body was broken as it dragged him off a cliff as it fell.]

[After his soul waited for a time in the Halls of Mandos, the Valar gave him a new body and returned him to life as something stronger. Like Kevin, he died, and like Kevin, Glorfindel rose again.]

[Perhaps it is his brush with death that makes him perceive Kevin is like him, someone who died and was brought back, but he also senses that perhaps he came back...wrong.]

Hold. There is an evil air about you, as if the dust of the grave clings to you. [He draws his sword but does not attack yet. He's alarmed yes, but he's not cruel.] I can sense a beast within you, a hunger for blood like that of Sauron's servant of old, Thuringwethil.

You are no ordinary man and yet you come here with those who are rumored to be the saviors of this land and the many beyond it. You truly were chosen to stand with them?

Aww shit.

[ Kevin mutters it under his breath. He’s being singled out. Great. ]

I don’t know about Sauron and stuff, man, but yeah? I’m dead. And a vampire. It’s kind of a thing that happened.

[ He manages to shrug casually despite being faced by a radiant elf dude with a drawn sword. He’s not quite scared, but this is awk, bro. ]

I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t get picked for the team, I guess? We got a system though, so it’s cool.

[ It’s still not cool overall, and Kevin knows that. But it’s as close to cool as he’s been in years. ]

[ Alacruun is, of course, a dragon. A black dragon. Which means he doesn't exactly look like he belongs, especially since he's also brimming with those good ol' necromantic energies.

He doesn't stop to ask for permission, of course. He belongs with the rest of the group, doesn't he? ]

These are truly the strangest of all times, when dragons are chosen to save worlds instead of ravage them, and come expecting to freely walk my father's halls.

[The speaker would be clearly a son of Elrond even if he hadn't said as much, with his twilight-dark hair and night-grey eyes, narrowed in suspicion at Alacruun.

Another elf, identical in appearance to the speaker, joins him in barring Alacruun's way into the Last Homely House. The brothers arms are crossed, their stances not inviting battle, but neither do they invite Alacruun to pass.]

Am I not a guest?

[ Alacruun cocks his head to one side and then the other, examining the pair of elves with bright eyes and just a hint of a smile in his voice. ]

Or are elves, too, given to ignoring the rules of hospitality?

Whether you are a guest or not remains to be seen.

[Elrohir folds his arms beside Elladan, the brothers' expressions identically stalwart as Elladan takes up his brother's speech left off.]

It may remain to be seen until such time as you have left this house. One who comes to our door in the form of a dragon we can hardly assume is our ally. No one whose magic carries such an air of death has ever passed these doors.

I was born a dragon, so I hardly think that it's fair of you to judge me on such - anymore than it would be on me to prejudge you for being elves.

[ Alacruun's voice carries the hint of a smile. ]

As for my magic - well. Death is a part of life; we all die. And if my magic taps into it, does that truly make me worthy of scorn?

In our experience - yes.

[The two brothers have not unbarred the way yet.]

Do you expect us to judge by your experience, or by ours? We would protect our father's house from that which has been nothing but a threat in the history of our world.

[Elladan nods as his brother speaks.]

If you are not that threat, then you are not worthy of scorn, yet necromancers and dragons in our experience have been worthy of only far worse. Your words say you have considered the same for elves, yet this is our father's house to protect, not yours. Understand, then, that we will be watching.

Edited 2018-06-18 05:20 (UTC)

Of course. You have... a right to be wary of your halls. But I would like to be treated with courtesy, all the same.

[ His eyes flicker between them, studying their faces. ]

We come from vastly different worlds. Things are... not quite the same.

[The Elven settlement is indeed very pretty and very impressive and certainly very novel. Under better circumstances, Phos would be curiously poking around already and likely pestering the locals.

However, they're not too thrilled at the moment. Still seated on a bench in the first courtyard they'd all been lead into, Phos is frowning at their legs unhappily, rubbing at their surface with a golden palm. The "skin" on their lower legs seems...well, discolored is a very mild description. The even, pale fleshy color they normally have is patchy and dripping off around their knees and entirely washed away below that, revealing a surface that's striped with wide spiraling bands of bone white and a black that seems to sparkle with a rainbow of colors where the light hits it. It's a striking effect. Phos looks more than a little irritated with it.]

Ugh...come on...

[They hadn't exactly had time to worry about the water while the group was rushing through it, nor any other options, but still. They'd hardly expected it to wreck their powder this badly. It hadn't been that long a dip, but they guessed it was probably because of how the water had been moving, rushing in a way unlike the calm gentle ocean waves and still ponds they're used to.

Phos picks up a folded cloak they'd left lying beside them on the bench, mouth twisting uncertainly. One of the Elves had pushed the garment on them, apparently worried by their normal state of dress. Phos hadn't bothered with it, seeing as their uniform wasn't really damaged or anything and they weren't really interested in draping themself in all that excess fabric, and at the moment they'd at least like to tidy up their coating as best they can and wipe off the ugly lingering streaks and drips of half-dissolved powder.

But it might stain the fabric, and that doesn't sit well with them. Even with the great excess of supplies these locals seem to have, carelessly ruining items like that seems wasteful. They were raised to take care of even simple items. It's such a nice fabric, too, soft and smooth. Red Beryl would lose their mind over it.

Groaning in frustration, they settle for burying their face in the bundled-up cloak instead.]

You seem to be having some trouble.

[ Ever observant, Alacruun. He's settled for his humanoid form, if only because he doesn't want to have to spend all of his time peering in through windows and sleeping out-of-doors. He's still recovering a little himself, but at least this place is civilized.

And in any case, Alacruun is interested in they're appearance and learning a bit more about Phos. Information is power, after all. ]

What seems to be the problem...?

[ Please, tell him more. ]

[Face buried in the cloak, Phos doesn't notice anyone approaching until there's suddenly a voice addressing them, and they startle a little and tense under the sudden attention.

They're...a little self-conscious about how much they stand out, maybe. It was uncomfortable enough back home that they started powdering their legs in the first place after going without while alone all winter. And here, they're even more "unique", and it's not that they would want to look more like these humans and whatnot but they spent 300 years being solidly part of a group and these days they feel more and more like an outlier.

Glancing up, however, it's mildly comforting to see that this is the person with horns. That's...better, in a way. They can't help but feel slightly better around the others that also don't match the bulk of the group.

Adopting a sheepish little half-smile, Phos drops their hands and the cloak back onto the bench and lifts one of their legs in demonstration, as if the issue wasn't clear enough just by looking.]

Some of my powder got washed off when we were running through that water, and now it's ugly and I don't exactly have any powder with my to fix it.

[Not that anyone else here seems to use powder -- the people with similar coloring seem to be just naturally that way -- but surely it's pretty self-explanatory, right?]

[ Alacruun's used to all sorts, honestly. He's a dragon and he's run into many, many strange creatures and people over his many years of existence. Someone with a bit of sparkly (strange) skin doesn't do much to phase him. He is interested in why this person uses powder. Some sort of cosmetic? Are they considered ugly where they're from? So many questions. ]

I'm afraid I can't be of much service to you. I don't typically carry that sort of powder.

[ Well, not that he usually would be, but there are times he's actually helpful to people for his own reasons. ]

-but dare I ask...? Ugly? It's certainly eye-catching, but I wouldn't call it ugly.

[Phos sighs and they lower their leg again, unsurprised but still bummed.]

Yeah, I figured...

[Frowning dejectedly, they rub at a patchy spot up near their knee with a thumb, idly trying to at least get the edge cleaned up into a solid line. The alloy alone isn't really the best substance for trying to clean anything, but they can't bring themself to soil the elven cloak and they don't have any water immediately on hand to better tidy it up.]

You just don't know any better. It's weird. It's not how we're supposed to look.

[The boat's kinda long since sailed on that front, since they can't powder their arms like they can their hands -- it just comes off when the alloy shifts, and they couldn't bring themself to waste supplies like that either.]

[ The poor creature looks positively despondent. Alacruun cocks his head to one side, then the other, watching as Phos rubs at their own leg. He still doesn't quite understand the perspective, but he's not from their world, so how can he really say one way or the other? ]

And how are you meant to look, if I can ask? I haven't the faintest idea of what your expectations are.

[ Apparently covered in this powder, judging by their reactions so far. ]

Normal.

[Not that this guy can really know what normal is by gem standards. Phos makes a soft, frustrated groaning sound and extends their legs.]

These aren't normal. We had to replace my original legs. But they look like everyone else's when I put powder on them.

I'm not a good judge of what might have been "normal" in your world, so I'll take your word for it...

[ Alacruun makes a noise of interest and glances down, as if he'd like to get a better look. ]

Replace them...? Did you have some sort of accident?

[Obligingly, they lift a leg again at his curious glance. He's being polite and not just grabbing without permission so it seems alright enough.

Besides, he's weird-looking too. People probably both him about those head growths a lot.]

Yeah, something like that...

[They trail off with their leg still held up, looking a bit pensive, until it strikes them that that might have sounded like they were just brushing him off. Grimacing, they shake their head and wave a golden hand.]

Sorry, I'm not being vague on purpose! I just, kinda...don't remember.

[ Look, the horns are very decorative and fetching. That's how he likes to think of it, anyway. He's a bit biased, though. ]

That's quite alright. Memory problems can be... tricky. I have a few myself.

[ He inclines his head in a slight nod. ]

I am Alacruun, by the by.

Phosphophyllite.

[Idly holding onto the edge of the bench between their legs, they peer up at Alacruun with new curiosity. They can't see any obvious replacement parts like Hiccup has, and they didn't think the organic types could relace limbs and whatnot so seamlessly just based on that (and their strange body structures in general). But if he's missing memories, then...]

Did you lose some part of yourself?

Not exactly.

[ He nods his head in response to the introduction, filing the name away for later. Always good to know who you work with. And what makes them tick. ]

I spent a great deal of time locked away and sleeping. Coming back to the world is a bit of a challenge.

Are you okay?

[Trance has a cloak of her own, given to her by an elf that seemed strangely off-put by her outfit. It's like elves don't have catsuits or something. It hides her tail, something she's not sure she likes, but it's warm and not wet, so she's wearing it for now. The elf had seemed uncomfortable with her in other ways, too, so she'd been quick to wander back into the group, such as was left of it, and now here she is.

Not that they've met or anything, but she's pretty sure anyone who looks quite so out of place has to be part of their group. And if not, it's just being polite. This person looks like they could use some polite kindness right now.]

[Polite kindness is nice. Glancing up at the strange voice (and half expecting another elf, they kinda seem like busybodies), Phos decides polite kindness from someone else who looks so obviously different is even better.

(They think she's probably pretty different, anyway. They haven't seen anyone else with that kind of coloring yet.)

With a rueful half-smile and a shrug, they drop their hands and the cloak into their lap and lean back, sighing dramatically.]

That depends on whether you have any powder on you.

[That's...horribly vague to most people, probably. But unfortunately they don't really have much concept of all the different kinds of powders that could possibly exist in the multiverse.]

[Most people haven't seen anyone like her. Different is putting it very mildly.

She'll take the lack of hostility as an opening to join them on the bench. The comment gets a curious head-tilt.] Powder? What kind of powder?

[She doesn't really know that many different kinds herself, but she knows about makeup, more or less, and she's pretty sure you can cook with powder... something... and there's probably other kinds, too, since the word is just about something being tiny enough, right? She's pretty sure she's heard snow called powder, too, but that she definitely doesn't have. Maybe this person's from some kind of ice planet?] Are you too hot?

[Obligingly, they even scoot over a little to give her more room, but they definitely can't follow her train of thought judging by their perplexed expression.]

Eh? No, temperature doesn't bother me...

[They frown, a little frustrated, and lift a leg indicatively to point ouf the edge of the powder coating where it fades just below their knees.]

Powder. [Because putting stress on the word totally helps in clearing it up, good job Phos.] Like, to cover yourself? Do you people not do anything like that?

[She leans forward to look more closely, figuring it can't be rude if they basically offered.] My people don't. There's probably some that do, but I don't really know them. I know people that use makeup, but that's usually just covering your face or something, not all of you.

But I don't have any of that, either. Sorry. What happened?

I don't know what you may be thinking, but I don't like this.

[True, running away from the beings that'd clearly want to kill or at the very least kidnap them is good, but she's not happy. Ange's looking around with suspicion, looking at every detail around as if she wants to memorize it]

Good things don't come with such ease. There are reasons to be wary of this place and its people, don't you think?

[She's definitely not going to trust anything nor anyone easily]

Edited 2018-06-02 20:13 (UTC)

We just fought people who are clearly their enemies, and are probably going to be fighting more of their enemies by the time this is all through. I wouldn't call that easy.

[The squad wasn't just a group of random vagrants. They were, at least for now, allies against beings who would do this settlement harm.]

And they offered us hospitality. One thing you do not want to do without an insanely good reason is break hospitality.

...I guess you're right. [She crosses her arms] It's just that from experience usually this leads to a trap of some sort. It doesn't mean it'll always be a trap, but I can't see this any other way.

[Not a fun life, this girl had]

But it is better than...whatever our pursuers were going to do to us.

Pretty much. I can understand suspicion. But at this point? Between the injuries and the fact that we're so under-equipped that some us don't even have shoes, we can't afford not to trust them.

[There was always going to be risk in trusting others on this journey, but they'd have to do so if they were going to survive it. The elves hadn't given them any reason to suspect them of wrongdoing.]

...alright, I guess...staying here is okay, for the time being.

[Not that they'd all turn around and go back just because Ange said so. They'd have to stay here anyway, and Ange knows it. At least she's going to be here willingly, that's all anyone can ask for.

Time to take good decisions!]

At least it'll be a chance to obtain some valuable supplies -- with them providing everything willingly, of course. I'm not so crass as to go around stealing from those who are giving aid to us.

[...she is crass enough for that]

Oh, absolutely. I'd hate to find out someone betrayed the elves welcome like that. It'd ruin what little rep we have and make things a lot harder than they need to be.

[Hint hint. In Hiccup's experience, someone feeling the need to explain that they were definitely not planning to steal something usually meant they were. Ange was not being as subtle as she though she was.]

If I didn't know better I'd say you don't believe me.

[Hah! As if she doesn't know how shady she was just now]

Regardless, you don't have to worry about that. I know having a good reputation helps a lot when it's about getting people to cooperate with you, and since we're all strangers in this world...we're going to need all the help we can.

[Their survival comes first, though. That's the priority, and if to achieve it there are certain actions they have to resort to, then she's not going to be held back by morality. Cold pragmatism!]

[When he starts to feel a creeping fullness in his lungs, when he starts to grow more and more exhausted, when he starts to develop a crackling cough he knows what it is. It makes sense. His tools spontaneously stopped working, even despite being completely intact and looking physically unbroken. There's something messing with technology here, and if it's messing with more simplistic technology like his tools then surely it's messing with the various medical nanites Rommie usually keeps his system pumped with. Ever since he'd become part of the crew of the Andromeda, barring the radiation thing and the Magog larvae thing, his health has been the best it's been in, oh, his entire life. Gone were the weird rashes and little skin infections, gone were the low-key coughs from infections that lasted weeks. Only the odd catastrophic event has affected it.]

[This is a whole system crash and he gets sick almost immediately. It's no surprise everything would hit him this badly when the group is probably crawling with a whole cross-contaminated stew of microbes from multiple worlds. It's like being in a multi-dimensional spaceport and he doesn't have so much as a zinc supplement.]

[So he gets sick and he quietly hides it because he doesn't want to be a burden. It grates on his pride and makes him worried he'll wind up even more on the outs with the group. Instead he quietly asks one of the healers to help him out with his chest cold.]

[Not Trance. She's (rightfully) Disappointed in him and he still feels equal parts annoyed back and guilty. So he goes to one of the others.]

[It's not enough, though. The cough abates for a little while and then comes right back with a vengeance and he realizes not only did it not get stopped, it probably is even worse, the equivalent of not getting a full round of antibiotics. Just his luck, winding up with some kind of resistant other-dimensional superbug.]

[He debates bringing it to someone else's attention but then things get pretty heavy, they're probably getting chased, they start picking up the pace. They meet the Elf babe and he's so breathless he can't even hit on her. Holding the coughs in to hide being sick and to not make too much noise, while trying to run, has taken its toll. His lungs burn and feel too full, like there's not enough room for air, his breathing is shallow. Now he can't hide the lack of oxygen he's getting; as they rush along, his skin suddenly grows ten times paler, dripping with sweat.]

[By the time they reach Rivendell, he's wobbling without realizing he is, and too disoriented to realize how disoriented he is. He barely tracks what the Elves are saying, and just starts trying to take the stairs along with everyone else through sheer force of momentum. There aren't many of them but by the time he reaches the first little balcony, blackness starts creeping in on the edges of his vision. He takes a wobbly few steps forward, making it so he at least won't fall down the steps. Then his legs buckle and he collapses, pitching backward without a word.]

[One of the Elves is close, and with supernatural reflexes she reaches out to catch him and lower him to the ground, calling out to Elrond, "My lord! I fear this one is injured or ill."]

[Harper tries to hit on her almost reflexively.]

Heeey, beautiful, wanna be the photon to my photosystem so -

[He doesn't get to finish before he breaks off into uncontrollable coughing and can't hold it in anymore. The Elf turns him on his side in something resembling a recovery position so it's easier for him to cough and breathe. What comes out is somehow very green and very rusty colored at the same time which is probably bad.]

[She is disappointed, and hurt, and a lot of things. To her credit, she'd resolved to make up with him as soon as they reached a new camp, but until then she'd done her best to avoid both him and Dixon, something like one of those Time Outs Beka liked to threaten.

Which is all well and good until she almost literally stumbles upon Harper on the ground, being helped by an unfamiliar person. She'll yell at herself later, but she knows she couldn't have foreseen this. She can't foresee anything.]

Harper!

[Then she notices the coughing and realizes he's not hurt, he's sick, and maybe she couldn't have foreseen it, but if she hadn't been ignoring him the last few days, maybe... But no time for maybe. Later.

She drops to her knees at his side, barely sparing a glance for the woman.]

Harper? Are you- No, okay, you're not okay. Oh, please let this help.

[She places a glowing hand on his shoulder, holding her breath. If this magic couldn't save her friend now, what good would it ever be?]

[It does help a little. He coughs out a lot more gunk all of a sudden, breathes a little easier, gets a little more coherent. But it's not enough to heal him all the way. There's a sharper pain in his left lung when he breathes than the right, like he's got some kind pleural effusion or abscess, and the infection's already in his blood.]

[Maybe if he survives this, his beleaguered immune system can go back to toughing it out on its own but it's been heavily reliant on the nanite boosts. It was a major shock to his system to have them all taken out of commission at once.]

[The Elves hustle around, Elrond signaling for some of the others to get stretchers, but this situation is devolving a little. Harper's not the only one that's sick or injured and some of the others are worse. The female Elf even lets him lay his head in her lap and for a moment he looks like he's going to drop another line or at least finish the one he started, but he's too tired, which is...not good. If he's going to say anything at all when he's in this state, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, it's going to be to Trance anyway.]

[And it's a little too nice for him to crack wise or act egotistical or drop a pick up line or get cranky. It's nice here with his best friend hovering over him and his head in the soft lap of a beautiful babe, and the sun and the leaves and the sound of water and the sweet calls of birds.]

[He can smell earth that isn't spoiled with chemicals or fallout. It's just...earth. He likes that he can feel dirt when he presses his fingers against the stone. Maybe it's not mud under his feet, but it feels right.]

It's beautiful here.

[This might be a pretty place to heal up and get better, but if not...then it's a very beautiful place to die. He's not particularly set on thinking the latter is going to happen, he's not that defeatist, but every time he's gotten this sick, he's come awfully close. Before the Andromeda, the Maru crew'd needed to drag his mudfoot butt into a hospital and scrape together enough scratch to pay some terrible doctors to bring him back from the brink more than once, and it'd been a close call each time.]

[And it's so nice that it feels almost too nice to live in. He doesn't feel lucky enough to survive in a place like this, only just lucky enough to die in one.]

[As much as spaceships feel like home, as much as he'd never give up being an engineer for all the green earth in the world, he's still an earther at heart and a part of him has always longed to exist for just a little bit in the Earth-that-was instead of the Earth-that-is. It at least would've been a nice place to visit sometimes.]

We seriously live in the wrong genre. We should consider making a switch.

[Not that their world is anything but the present but he's partly named after a sci fi author, for crying out loud. He knows that their present was once someone else's speculative future. And even if they'd be fighting back the night all the same, this seems like a much nicer place to do it in.]

[The jokes fade. He's a little scared. ~~He's almost always scared.~~]

I know I disappointed you. I'm sorry. [It's rare he apologizes but he's pretty sick.] But in my defense that guy's face is extremely punchable and I feel like I've shown a lot of restraint in not punching it. (Yet.) [And he stops trying to defend himself.] And I'm not cut out for this noble hero stuff, Trance. I can barely manage any thrilling heroics when I have a slipstream drive in front of me, a nanowelder in my hands, and Dylan calling the shots, and I'm batting 0 for 3 in this place.

[It's so much easier to be a good guy when he has a niche and someone else can figure out the nitty gritty morality bits for him, and maybe he has been lashing out a little at a convenient target over having that taken away.]

Edited 2018-07-14 21:10 (UTC)

[Her lips press flatter the more he talks, and it's only proof how worried she is that she doesn't try to interrupt him at all. She only gives the lady an awkward smile, not quite sure how to thank someone for not being creeped out by her sick best friend being weird in her lap.

...Of course, considering how many ways Harper can be weird, this is a pretty mild one.

She takes her hand back when it's obvious the light isn't doing anything else and the effort is leaving her short of breath, taking his hand in both of hers instead.]

It is really pretty, but you're not making any sense, Harper? [Isn't a genre like something with Beka's music? How do you live in one? And she isn't touching anything about Dixon with a mile-long pole right now.] You're a good guy, even if you forget it sometimes. That's why I'm here. To remind you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

FLIGHT TO THE FORD ※ RIVENDELL ※ LOG 1

NPC ENCOUNTER

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cw: slight coughing tmi

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