AUGUST RIFTER ARRIVAL

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters, rescuers, and anyone else
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-August
WHERE: Southern Tevinter, then the Gallows
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, which are closed to new rifters and to the characters involved in the catacombs escape/rescue team in the Tevinter plot. It also contains a new QUARANTINE prompt that is open to everyone.

Comments

RIFT

[lil_lion]

Most of his armour is intact after Anduin has dragged himself to shore, all but his heavy pauldrons and helm. He walks toward the battle in a muddled haze. He had thought he was dreaming of father, of drowning, suffocating in his failure to rule wisely and bring peace. Now he finds himself once again on a battlefield...

Trying to make sense of it all, he looks back into the river and spots a bright figure in the waves. They seem to be making their way to dry land too. He looks around and immediately spots an upturned tree, probably a victim of recent storms. He artlessly hacks at a sturdy branch with Shalamayne, its centre still burning like a miniature sun.

"Father wouldn't mind," he reassures himself. Anduin hurries back to the shoreline and extends the branch toward the man in the river. "Take hold, friend!"

[ooc: Shalamayne is the result of two elven blades accidentally merging magically. It's an asymmetrical sword with two blades and an orb of pure golden light in the centre. It is up to you if Legolas would intuit its nature, since Elves in Anduin's setting are only loosely inspired by Tolkein's.].

[tofindthesun]

((ooc: thanks! i don't think he'll sense anything magical about it, except maybe 'hm. fancy shape.' since magic doesn't work much the same in tolkien.))

He doesn't hesitate to grab the extended branch; the rocks are slippery and the rubble loose, even for someone with exceptional balance. Pulling himself in is a bit difficult with just one hand, but doable.

"Thank you," he says once he reaches shore. Strangely enough, he's already feeling some strain on his body, or else he'd have said a lot more. Although to be fair they did just more or less fall out of the sky. "I hope it is not a burden on your blade, to do the work of an axe."

It looks strange enough to be something unique; perhaps a commissioned piece, like Anduril, or Sting. It is glowing, after all... sort of. Fancy. Interesting, for its shape, but Legolas has little attention for weaponry in the best of times. He's more concerned with the battle in the water, and whether more of those things will show up.

"Do you fight with them?" He can't tell if they're all acquainted or not, and this man at least seems set for battle.

[lil_lion]

Anduin smiles despite everything. His face seems even more youthful, bright, when he smiles, as though a shroud of care has lifted. "Shalamayne? It has seen worse days." According to Greymane's account, his father had struck down a colossal construct of animated steel with two blows... He has noticed not a scratch on the twin blades to evidence the tale. He follows Legolas' gaze back to the battle. "And, no... This place and these champions are unfamiliar to me." Anduin looks back at his companion.

"I am Anduin Llane Wrynn," he inclines his head. "King of Stormwind." And then, sincere concern brimming in his eyes he asks: "Are you injured?"

[tofindthesun]

"My condolences to Shalamayne." Is he bowing to a sword? He is bowing to a sword. And smiling. Smiles are contagious and he's very prone to smiling. "It has my thanks, for saving this humble life."

It's hard to tell if he's being serious. The last time a fancy sword existed in Middle-earth, it mourned the death of someone it killed and had a penchant for being evil and drinking blood. Legolas can't tell if this sword has any form of sentience after having known it for 2 seconds, but it never hurts to be careful..... But, most likely, he's only jesting.

"It seems we are both strangers in a strange place." Legolas doesn't seem too frustrated. After all, there are people over there that they can question later. He does fall into a bow, though, one much more cordial and formal than the previous one, and with little surprise at meeting a king. "I am called Legolas, Your Highness. I hail from the Mirkwoods of Rhovanion."

He looks himself over briefly and shakes his head. "Some scratches from the fall, and my knees may bruise, but this much will heal quickly enough. Are you?"

[lil_lion]

He laughs cheerfully, looking even more like a little boy. It surprises himself, just a little. It's not really a sound that he's familiar with. "Shalamayne counts it as no burden to perform such a service. Well met, Legolas of Mirkwood."

He tilts his head, considering the rest of what his companion has said. "I am unfamiliar with that land, but it sounds..." He looks him over again, with some curiosity. "Is Rhovanion a region of Quel'thalas?" The man doesn't quite look High Elven, but there is something of Vereesa's people about him. He resists asking if he is, perhaps, one of those rare people who are of human and elven parentage. That can be a delicate matter to broach.

"In any case, I can soothe your knees so they will not bruise, if you would permit it. I am a priest of the Light."

[tofindthesun]

"A good and just sword it is," Legolas says agreeably. He's pretty sure Anduin is being serious, which is all the better. "And my thanks to you again for your aid, King of Stormwind."

He tosses the name Quel'thalas around in his head for a moment. It doesn't sound like any elven language (or elven derivative) that he knows, but Legolas isn't familiar with the High Noldorin dialects. Or Quenyan.

"I do not think I have ever heard of that land, nor do I recognize the tongue it is in... But I am not familiar with too many to begin with." He scratches the back of his neck, not at all embarrassed by this. The offer makes him curious though. A priest? An a king? That sounds a bit like a novelty. "Are you a healer as well?"

[lil_lion]

Even as he stands before Legolas, the enchanted sword at his side, and clad in such fine armour, it is clear that Anduin is wrong. He shouldn't be as he is. It's as though this is a mask he is wearing unwillingly. "It is my vocation," he says earnestly. His lips part and he begins to sing, very quietly, in an unfamilar language. He opens his hand, as if to gently cup rain water, and his face relaxes into a soft and tranquil expression. The warrior mask slips away from him. Pure sunlight gathers into his open palm, golden. It almost seems to flow as water in the air just above. Anduin looks clear-eyed at Legolas and speaks as if of a dear friend, a parent. "It is the Holy Light, which is everywhere and in all things."

[tofindthesun]

If Legolas notices the dissonance, he does not speak of it. It is not his place, and he has known other to-be-kings in the same situation, who seemed more than their current stations or did not fit their crown immediately. The healer-king Aragorn was one of them.

"'Tis an honorable task and duty," Legolas says, with more than a modicum of reverence. The singing has a visible calming effect on him, though he doesn't understand the words, and is more a response to the singing itself than any intention Anduin may have had. To hold light so easily, and as a manner of healing, if that is what this is, he does not think even the Lord Elrond would have been capable of it. Truly a strange world he has come to, that this man has come from.

Curious, Legolas raises a hand almost to touch the light, only to pull back just short of it as if fearing the heat of a flame. He chances a glance at Anduin, though, and it's clear that he's only wondering if one is even allowed to touch it or not.

"How does it...?" He's not sure how to word his question. There's A Lot to ask. Instead he settles for a rueful, "It would be a shame to waste it on such minor wounds."