faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Fingon and open
WHAT: Open log for Wintermarch
WHEN: Wintermarch
WHERE: In and around Kirkwall
NOTES: No warnings so far, will update if that changes

I. Outside the City

After the sheer misery that was Haring's weather, even the slightest uptick in warmth is a welcome relief. Fingon celebrates by getting out of the city as much as he can during the sunlit hours, wandering the Wounded Coast as he wishes. If there's hunting to be had or monsters to be fought that's fine with him, but it's the chance to move freely and simply enjoy the sunlight that he really wants.

II. Lowtown

It's no secret that there's no place for gossip like a tavern, and Fingon's come to like a few of the ones in Lowtown. The quality of the drinks varies and if that of the food did as well it would be an improvement, but the sailors, merchants, and travelers who make up the clientele are what he's really there for. It still feels like he's piecing together how this world works, and listening to its people speak in casual conversation is as good a way to learn as any.

On his way back to the Gallows he often browses the market stalls, looking for any sufficiently interesting trinkets to bring back to his kin.

III. Around the Gallows

Fingon frequents many places in the Gallows, whether pestering his cousin in the forge or on the training grounds. But at the moment he's in the library, the history books he's been working through temporarily shoved aside in favor of lighter fare.

Or at least, what is meant to be lighter fare. Noir fiction is more than a bit perplexing if you have no context for the genre, who would have thought?

IV. Wildcard

Have a more interesting idea? Feel free to hit Fingon with it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Unlike Fingon, Elros has spent most of the snow gaily warming himself up by throwing snowballs. Now that he is satisfied his aunt is sufficiently cheered from the weather, he's turned to Fingon, eager to get to know his famous kinsman as more than just a bedtime story.

Besides, it may not be the sea, but Elros is hardly going to refuse a chance to go outside, and if they can bring meat back, so much the better.

Aranruth isn't really suited for hunting, so he's borrowed a bow, and he arrived in his hunting leathers, easily falling in beside Fingon.

"Do you know if the hunting here is similar to Beleriand?"

Oh fortunate youth, who has never known the taste of fresh seal blood and can look at people out in falling snow without the urge to organize a head count and check them all for frostbite.

More seriously, Fingon is glad for the company. The Gallows is a gloomy place even without the weather, and it's a pleasant change to talk to his young nephew far away from its shadow.

"They're not identical, but the plants and trees have similarities to parts of the South. There should be deer. Boar, perhaps, as well."

He shrugs. "Or do you mean the monster population? I hear there are spider nests in the area, if you're feeling terribly nostalgic."

Is it tasty?

Elros laughs at that.

"A bit of both? It's always interesting to know what new - or old! - beasts there are to hunt, but I've had enough to do with giant spiders to last me a few lifetimes." He mock shivers. "Brr! All those legs and eyes!"

That depends on whether you like liver. And can put up with having it regularly for thirty years.

Fingon grins back at him.

"I can hardly blame you for that. There are still the animals, then. And I hear there are caves around here that bandits and slavers commonly use."

Edited 2018-01-12 06:15 (UTC)

He doesn't mind liver but thirty years... ew...

"Hm." Elros' eyes have the same eager light that runs in the whole line of Finwe.

"I suppose it would be a good thing if we cleared out the slavers." He says innocently. "Make life a good deal easier for everyone and all that..."

The reasons no one remembers the Helcaraxe fondly are many and comprehensive, but what the Exiles had to eat at least deserves a dishonorable mention on any list of them.

"That it would be," Fingon agrees, his own eyes older but just as keen for action. "It is a terrible thing, for a country to be filled with such people."

He nods in the direction of a cave system he'd seen on a map. "I believe there's one nearby. Shall we check in to see what's going on?"

"Aye." Elros bounces a little on his feet, eyes eager.

Numenor will one day practice slavery. Elros will be long and long dead by then, fortunately, for it would break his heart, if he knew.

"Let us do so! The less of that sort of scum, the better."

That lack of knowledge is an unexpected side-benefit of the Gift of Men. Fingon could envy it, after hearing how all he loves will fare after his death.

"Then we have a plan. There's an entrance marked on some of the Gallows' maps... this way." He nods in the direction the map marked, and they wander until they reach a half-hidden cave entrance.

Elros grins and nods.

"After you, cousin!"

As they get closer, however, the cheerful young man fades to the tested warrior, Elros' clearly paying attention to keeping his footfall quiet while paying careful attention to his surroundings.

"Do you want me to scout the entrance?" He murmurs softly.