wilderlogs | THE LAST HOMELY HOUSE ※ RIVENDELL ※ LOG 2

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THE LAST HOMELY HOUSE ※ RIVENDELL ※ LOG 2

THE LAST HOMELY HOUSE
OOC POST
The group is told to take a week of rest in the Last Homely House as the injured and sick among them heal. The Elves promise them that at the end of that week, there will be a great Council, with representatives of several peoples in attendance.

Until then, they can wander the peaceful halls of Rivendell, which are filled with travelers from all over the Wilderlands who are making a rest stop while they travel through the lands of Middle-Earth.

The most notable part of Rivendell is the Hall of Fire, a great feast hall where people can eat, drink, and be merry. This is the great social hall of Rivendell, where the Elves and their visitors share news of lands far beyond, tell stories, or perform music. The music here almost sounds divine, especially when the Elves sing and play, but they're just as eager to hear songs from other lands, so if any of the squad decide to share, they'll be glad to listen.

Some of the hall's guests are a touch more lively than the others, like a party of dwarves staying at Rivendell. Their stories are a mite more adventurous and if you get in their good graces, they might be willing to share some of the beer they brought with them. Listening to their stories or their talk about their craftmanship is a way to get into their good graces.

The Elves love learning, so there are libraries the group is allowed to browse, though they mostly only contain tales of Middle-Earth (for now), though the Elves seem to be collecting what books about other lands they can. These libraries often have viewing stations with telescopes pointing at the sky. The Elves have been almost delighted by the changing skies, enjoying the challenge of trying to understand how the sky has been knitting itself together with the addition of new worlds.

There are also beautiful balconies here, overlooking the gorge and the waters below, and terraced gardens filled with flowers, bushes, and flowering trees. Their rooms are open to the outdoors and have beds that seem grown into the shape of bed-frames instead of carved. The bathrooms actually have running water. The Elves have figured out how to direct the clean running waters of the gorge in primitive indoor plumbing. Water for hot baths has to be heated first in brass cauldrons over coal braziers before getting dumped into the bath.

It's time for the squad to rest, eat, and regroup. If a great Council is going to be called involving them, it might be a good idea to make sure they go into it as a united front, lest decisions about their fate be made for them.

NOTES
✦ Joint log: Since this camp period won't be particularly long, everything will take place in a joint log. Players can post starters with prompts for others and tag into other players' prompts.

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

✦ Cursed Weapons/Powers: So they know about how they'll be treated: those with cursed weapons and dark powers will be tolerated by the Elves after entry. While they'll get the same general treatment, the Elves around them may at times seem uncomfortable. Those with cursed weapons will only be distrusted a little, as the weapons themselves will seem more suspicious than their bearers. Those with dark powers or some kind of dark nature (such as being a vampire, Necromancer mage, werewolf, etc.) will be treated with the greatest distrust.

✦ Fairy Swaps: The Elves may be slightly alarmed by the Brugh fairy swaps but get over it easily. However, if the character swapped in is one of the "dark" characters, the swap might be extra cause for alarm. (A potential prompt idea).

✦ Npcing: There will be two npc threads. The "Random Encounters" thread is for characters to have a totally random encounter with an npc. These npcs will be fellow travelers from lands beyond. While they can't give much information about the group's status as Chosen Ones (that will happen during the Council) they can provide info about events in the Wilderlands beyond that may come to affect the squad in their travels. The "Specific Requests" thread will be for more specific issues your character might want to discuss with the Elves. While they'll push any Chosen Ones discussion off to the Council, they're willing to discuss issues with the characters, like if they have questions about having received magic, about being bound to their weapons, etc. The Rivendell Elves have heard a lot of gossip from all over and can potentially provide info based on things they've heard.

✦ Clothes: The group will not yet be fully equipped for their travels (that will happen upon leaving) but everyone will at least be given new clothes since theirs are dirty and sometimes torn. Characters without appropriate travel footwear will also be given light and sturdy boots that will somehow be in their size without their size being asked. They'll also be given basic toiletries like scissors that can be used to cut hair and beards. There are no razors, however, because the Elves don't need to shave so they don't keep them on hand.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

How it should be... certainly. [Bitter? what? She's not bitter at all. She continues to pick at the books, but she knew the truth of the speaker's statements.] Though in practicality, that is almost never the case. Especially when it comes to xenos of this wicked type.

[She practically spits the last words out. She hasn't yet turned around to address the speaker, as her attention has been caught by a gold-glided tome in particular.] They hoard their true knowledge like gold, and certainly with weapons. This must be a distraction, but I must admit that it is an effective one.

The master of this house claims to be a crossbreed of eldar and man, and his daughter promised to one. We are on a strange feral world.

By your words, I recognize one of my own, I think. No one else here has called them that they are. [ xenos and witches, that is. ]

Knowledge is power. Information is victory. All the primarchs say such things, it seems. Well, all but Angron. I think even.amongst the undoubted lies there will be truths we can use in this place.

[His attempt at defending her tail's honor makes her laugh, but it's the 'with him not at him' sort. Having someone care about her tail is even better than people just not hate it.]

I don't know if I can say anything about their ears. But thank you anyway. [She gestures at her ears which aren't quite as long as the elves' but are definitely just as pointed. She's a very good hypocrite about some things, but this particular thing seems unkind seeing as they're guests of the elves and all.]

It's very quiet. I don't know if I could get used to that after everything, but if I could, I wouldn't mind doing it here. I hope we get to stay a while, too. [Her 'a while' means maybe a week or two, of course, not forever. She'd hardly judge him for it, though. Some people are meant to find a place and make it their own. It doesn't make them bad or wrong, just different. And then there are people like her who... aren't.

Of course 'forever' for her means something a great deal different than it would mean for him, too.] The elves might not like us moving in permanently.

[About four thousand years outdated from where Trance is coming from, unfortunately.]

Oh. [The answer gives her another pause but then she shrugs.] That's okay, then. Where I'm from, a sir would be a man. Usually. Not a lot of people bother being polite like that anymore.

[Well, there's only a few of them on a really big ship, and on the Maru is just seemed more important to let him do whatever he needed to not want to eat them. Fair tradeoff and all.]

You... forget yourself? How do you remember yourself again, afterwards?

[She might not look it, but Trance is definitely a people, purple skin, pointed ears, and tail notwithstanding. She'd thought they'd all arrived together, but she's noticed how other people just appear sometimes. Like she had herself. Or maybe this is a person that's not one of them, but she looks awfully confused for someone who lives here.

She also looks awfully barefoot, and that's just no way to be wandering around a forest all alone.

Trance hurries up to her, trying to look as safe and not dangerous as she can, which is really a pretty impressive amount. She practically exudes 'not a threat!']

Hi! Hello! Are you okay?

[Rei notices Trance almost immediately--it's sort of hard to miss her, honestly, and despite Rei's exhaustion and Trance's attempts to be nonthreatening, Rei still takes a startled step back. PArtly it's due to being approached in the first place and partly because, even with all she's seen, Rei's never seen someone who looks like Trance.]

Uh. [Good. Good answer. Great start. She shakes her head to clear it and crosses one arm over her stomach to hold onto her opposite elbow, body language screaming caution.]

I think so? [She...feels pretty okay?] I'm not dead, so... [That's a start and a good sign, right?] What is this place?

One of your own...?

[Primarch. Angron. The former is common information, but the name of a traitor Primarch? Mita doesn't mind so much having line of sight on people, since she relies on her mind's senses - perhaps too often. But she turns around at that to properly address the stranger, and her blood runs cold (or hot?) as the broad-faced countenance of a space Marine stares back at her.] Space Marine? [She freezes for a second out of sheer surprise, then rationality takes over.]

Excuse me sire. My greatest apologies for addressing you so. [But she doesn't bow or scrape, only a slight faltering in her voice, which strengthens from then on.]

You have nothing to apologize for. Least of all here. [ He makes a dismissive gesture, eyes alighting on what isn't there. A missing arm with no augmetic replacement. ]

We prefer to be called Astartes, for what it's worth

Of course. [Her cheeks flush slightly, but her spine remains strong. She had started to forget the manners of High Gothic after a year of mingling with lowlifes and other such strata of society that would interact with her company.]

May I ask your name sire, if that is not too forward? [Mita asks this cautiously, because even she cannot forget how dangerous, or capricious moods can be. Or perhaps that was only because of her interaction with one of the only Astartes she knew. She raised her head and examined his face. Strong, fair, handsome. Not mutated in any sense, but from that nothing could be concluded, since neither was Sahaal.]

[Mita senses a shift of now motion. Action. Whether it's closer is debatable, but they are definitely on the move. She stands rooted to her position, unsure of whether to bolt or to stay where she is. There is something she doesn't like about her location being connected like this. Paranoia, likely. A paranoia that is not stayed by the ripple of reassurance.]

[She sends a flicker of curiosity and keeps the edge out, an emotional medley of what why move. And then, who.]

Garviel Loken. And your name, Mamzel?

[ Loken seems a bit more at ease now that he realizes someone likely from his own time is here, instead of the comparatively ancient figures like Dixon, or people from who knows where like Revan. ]
No need for sire or other formalities here. We are wanderers in a land of sorcery and darkness. Best not to trip over our words too.

[Her face sours somewhat at hearing the word sorcery lumped in with darkness. But she restrains it, with only slightly thinned lips to reveal her displeasure. But she must respond.]

Mita Ashyn. [she says, somewhat shortly. She almost tacks on Interrogator of the Ordo Xenos, of The Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition out of habit, but keeps it shut. She hasn't been, in a long time now.] It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance - as much of a pleasure it can be under these circumstances.

Indeed. So, find anything of interest within this place? [ he gestures to the many, many shelves of books.]

Edited 2018-06-15 21:06 (UTC)

I - no. There seem to be many books on gardening. While helpful, not exactly so for people like me. Or you, I imagine.

[She turns to the book in her hands, then glances up at him again.]

May I... May I ask what Legion you are from? I see no insignia.

[ Garviel smiles. A small, sad thing and says. ]

As it happens, there was a time fairly recently where a garden was all I had to maintain, and my wars were confined to swarming ants.

[ He inhales and exhales a long breath, then answers the question in two parts ] I have no Legion. Not anymore. But I was once a captain of the tenth company, Luna Wolves.

Edited 2018-06-15 22:44 (UTC)

[Mita exhales in return, a little 'oh' of relief, that could also be mistaken for surprise.]

Oh. I see. The Luna Wolves! [A sentence that could mean any number of things, but yes, she sees. This reveals much about him. She gives him a bright-eyed look, eyes shining with something not quite decipherable as her body language falls into something less cautious. Luna Wolves turned to the Sons of Horus, turned to the Black Legion.]

[The thought sends a remembered thrill of fear down her spine, the stories and record of the Black Legion's burning crusades echoing in her head. But it is difficult to reconcile that knowledge with this well-mannered man not even in war-plate, and one who speaks of gardening and armies of ants. But either way, he is like her. She can be more free with what she says. More reason to be cautious, but just in different ways, and ways Mita prefers.] You are an exile. Or a survivor. We are truly well met.

[They can't very well have a decent conversation when they can't even use words, now can they? Unable to assuage Mita's nervousness with mere emotion, Revan navigates around the garden beds, hot on the trail. She replies to the curiosity with a mental image of herself, a dark-haired human woman wearing knee-high boots and a plain, unassuming tunic and robes in shades of tan and brown, metallic cylinders hanging at each hip like weapons...which, she realizes too late, is her self-image, not what she's wearing right now, the Rivendell elves being given to finer fabrics and far more embroidery than the Jedi.

Oh well, close enough. Her face is the same.]

[Oh. Mita takes this all in. She's human, which is the important part. Hardly dressed unusually, in the style of psykers and Administratum scribes galaxy-wide. What an unusually focused person. What wouldn't Mita give to have that kind of sense of identity. She's very pretty, she notes.]

[Mita tries to respond in kind, but her mind tastes the self differently. A cloud of cloying incense. Silks, parchment, wet ink and rags. Stars, a wet ribbon of the Warp that winds its way into your mind and out again. A spark of a sound, of bones crunching. Ceremite shrieking-]

[Perhaps that's enough. Mita has enough control to reel it back and leave it at that.]

[All that vision-sharing with Bastila had given Revan a crash course in how to control a mental exchange, though even as she "learned," she now realizes, she had merely been remembering. Besides, her sense of self had been strong enough to survive the combined might of the Jedi Council attempting to crush it. A friendly chat is nothing.

Combat doesn't surprise or shock her. What stops her, figuratively and literally, is the taste of Mita's power, an alien thing that seems separate, dangerous, not the warm immanence of the Force that sings within Revan like her own voice joining a mighty choir when she seeks it. She echoes the unsettling sensation back to Mita, attaching her curiosity, and then offers her own experience. Warmth. Belonging. The weight of a lightsaber hilt in her hand, the snap-hiss of ignition, the hum and glow of the blade as welcome as an old friend. Her own body, moving with the naturalness and inevitability of the tides as the world slows around her. Joy, by turns fierce as Tatooine's twin suns and profound as Manaan's ocean depths. And underneath it all, the peace which passes understanding.]

[Mita feels something wet trickle down her cheeks, and she reaches up to find that she's crying. She puts her hand up to her mouth, covering it. The moment passes, but the warmth of the other's fleeting experiences lingers. If only to live that comfort and sense of belonging for a second - to Mita who had lived her entire life feeling the outcast, having never once been comfortable with herself - that taste was enough.]

[How did it feel when she experienced her visions? The pater donum was the rare reward, the feeling of warmth and contentment that would follow a scrying trance. But she had asked. And Mita will answer.]

[The deep, crushing power of the Immaterium. The second world. The horrors on the other side of the veil. The abyssal nothingness, shadows lurking in the dark. Danger, always danger. Nausea, vomit. Disgust mixed up in your stomach with pride. Vulnerability, the soul and self on display for vultures to eagerly pick at, how tiny you are. How truly tiny. The screams of a Navigator, echoes and echoes and echoes of suffering, picking up and rippling like a disturbance in a pond, thousands and thousands and millions of souls, scratched upon the raw flesh of her flayed brain and scarred forever.]

[Explaining radio telescopy to Dixon is not a labor Revan wants to undertake at the moment, or ever, and she lets his misplaced surprise slide into his next question without comment beyond the slightly skeptical expression she gets when someone breaks out with something baffling. He's probably familiar with it.]

Maybe not the ones here.

[Not that she'd recognize his homeworld's night sky to know. Revan steps aside to give Dixon a turn.]

[Whatever quasi-meditation she had dropped into to summon up her perspective on the Force, having Mita's psychic garbage can of sensation upended on her head knocks Revan right back out of it. An unremembered lifetime of discipline keeps her from breaking contact, but the sudden mental distance is as clear as someone physically recoiling in horror.

Her fault for asking.

Revan shudders, not letting that through to Mita, and forces her mental presence back into equilibrium--apology/solemnity/acceptance/sympathy--locking away her other, less worthy feelings behind her formidable will. It's not the other person's fault. Probably. She hopes.]

Edited 2018-06-16 03:47 (UTC)

[Sitting amidst the dwarfs was one very large man with muscles to spare. Not sculpted bodybuilder muscle, but the hard earned muscle of someone who works for a living. And he is, for better or worse, coming towards Rei the moment he sees her. His expression is warm, welcoming, and perhaps just a little appraising. A lovely woman in a nightgown would have his attention even if she wasn't obviously a new arrival.

As he reaches her, he bobs his head in greeting and offers a hand, palm up.]

Good evening. [His voice is one of those amiable rumbles you'd expect from a confident man, light and friendly.]

Perhaps this is not the best place to be standing around in our night clothes, so permit me to guide you. I know a place where you can get something more covering.

Not your usual line of work, I take it?

[Wow, you must be an NPC.]

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THE LAST HOMELY HOUSE ※ RIVENDELL ※ LOG 2

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