FLIGHT TO THE FORD ※ RIVENDELL ※ LOG 1

[wildermods]

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.

Comments

[wildernpcs]

[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?

[likeits1999]

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. ]