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milliways_bar2005-11-27 06:12 pm
gorlim.livejournal.com) wrote in milliways_bar2005-11-27 06:12 pm
Entry tags:
Out Into Darkness
[ooc: Pre-post warning for one large but G-Rated image below the cut and probably R-Rated descriptive writing.]
Sunset.
There is a man by the lake, and a trail of footprints in the confused snow that lead to him. His toes are at the edge of the water. A sprig of gorse is clutched tightly in one hand.
He’s been there a long time.
For today, the lake is haunted. There is very little of a man left – only a body and a ghost. And it watches the sun set, and feels itself swell.
A star above.
And another.
The wilting flower drops to his feet, where it is caught by a ripple and swept out into the dark, frozen water.
One step forward.
And another.
Until the water reaches half way to his knees – ah, to not fear! It feels warm to him. Warmer, at least, than death. The tiny sliver of his mind still left to feel it clings to it, strains, cries out until it, too, is shattered.
The man raises one hand. From his fingers suddenly shoot strands of bright grey out over the lake, and where they stop at its centre, a second shape takes form. And them man falls, a slow tumble into the shallow water. The gorse laps at his brow like a golden crown.
Far out over the lake, beneath where the Seven Stars rise, a shadow-mirror of the man glides nearer to the shore. The closer he comes, the darker it gets, until the woods are covered in cobwebs, the trees parched white, the grass withered or grown long and stringy. A vast moor takes shape behind, and large stones shoot from the ground and loom out of the shadows. The rippling of the water is like a toll of doom, and a woman’s voice seems to cry out in between.
Thou canst not have forsaken me.
Then slain, alas! thou slain must be!
And I must linger cold, alone,
and loveless as a barren stone!
Twelve ghosts on the shore, seven stars above the Wraith’s head. He stretches his hand to the one standing separate among them. He can see no one else there, no other forms but these.
Beren!
A fell voice, a hollow cry, a harsh scratching like chalk on shale.
The separate figure steps forward. By now the Wraith hovers above his fallen body.
Gorlim I was, but now a wraith
of will defeated, broken faith,
traitor betrayed. Go! Stay not here!
Awaken, son of Barahir,
and haste! For Morgoth's fingers close
upon thy father's throat. He knows
your trysts, your paths, your secret lair.
Then he revealed the devil's snare
in which he fell, and failed; at last
begging forgiveness, wept, and passed
out into darkness…
A high screaming howl from both shadows. The Wraith points, and behind the scene has changed. The eleven men standing on the shore have fallen, butchered brutally by enemy swords. Their blood shows bright red in the trampled mud. In the trees come birds – ravens, cawing, their beaks dripping with the flesh of the live one’s fallen comrades, the Wraith’s betrayed brothers. Their bodies are utterly broken. Torn. Unrecognizable. All but one, tall, long-haired, his face scratched at by the birds, the fleshy of one arm torn where the hand is missing.
Beren reaches down and picks up the gorse from the fallen Gorlim’s brow. He turns and carries it to his father’s spectre, and crowns him with it instead.
And then he turned, and did not weep:
too dark his heart, the wound too deep.
Out into night, as cold as stone,
Loveless, friendless, he strode alone.
There is a flash of light that’s blinding, and a feral cry as if from all the souls of the dead who paid the price of destiny. And the scene is gone, all else unchanged but the man in the lake and the water lapping at his blueish skin. His shirt has been torn to shreds by the ghost’s force.
And for the first time since before the war…
…there are no scars.
---
[ooc: First and most importantly, Here is what you can see if your character is by the lake:
Nobody who doesn’t want to be a part of this needs to be a part of it!!! Anyone who wishes to be able to view the scene need only come up with an arbitrary reason of your own – you could be psychic, you could see it because you’re LOOKING for it, you could see it because you know Gorlim, you could see it because you think witnessing the carnage of Middle-Earth war might provide a nifty character-expanding opportunity. You will see what is described above, but will not be able to interact with it. Nothing except the gorse sprig is actually there. Try to touch a rock or a ghost, your hand will go right through it, and they can’t see you.
If you wish NOT to see it, you can similarly come up with a reason. Your character is not prone to visions of the supernatural, not open to dreams or whatever, doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know, has gone inside to get a drink, what the hell, it’s cold out.
This post is loosely LOCKED – You can reply to it with character reactions, but please do not go over and interfere with Gorlim directly without pinging the mun first – which of course you may do by all means. People are prearranged to drag him outta the water and make sure he doesn’t drown or freeze to death, but anyone in desperate need of explanations for what the hell just happened may certainly join the little group and trail us around until you get them. Ping “Ven badger” if you want in. Heck, you can ping if all you wanna do is trail them around. Party party. Or something. >.>
At any rate, for those who DON’T care for the trailing around idea, there will be an IC note left in the bar tomorrow to direct people towards those who CAN explain.
…just nobody tell Random about it. IC thing. Otherwise, we’re cool. Right? Right. Have at him.]
Sunset.
There is a man by the lake, and a trail of footprints in the confused snow that lead to him. His toes are at the edge of the water. A sprig of gorse is clutched tightly in one hand.
He’s been there a long time.
For today, the lake is haunted. There is very little of a man left – only a body and a ghost. And it watches the sun set, and feels itself swell.
A star above.
And another.
The wilting flower drops to his feet, where it is caught by a ripple and swept out into the dark, frozen water.
One step forward.
And another.
Until the water reaches half way to his knees – ah, to not fear! It feels warm to him. Warmer, at least, than death. The tiny sliver of his mind still left to feel it clings to it, strains, cries out until it, too, is shattered.
The man raises one hand. From his fingers suddenly shoot strands of bright grey out over the lake, and where they stop at its centre, a second shape takes form. And them man falls, a slow tumble into the shallow water. The gorse laps at his brow like a golden crown.
Far out over the lake, beneath where the Seven Stars rise, a shadow-mirror of the man glides nearer to the shore. The closer he comes, the darker it gets, until the woods are covered in cobwebs, the trees parched white, the grass withered or grown long and stringy. A vast moor takes shape behind, and large stones shoot from the ground and loom out of the shadows. The rippling of the water is like a toll of doom, and a woman’s voice seems to cry out in between.
Thou canst not have forsaken me.
Then slain, alas! thou slain must be!
And I must linger cold, alone,
and loveless as a barren stone!
Twelve ghosts on the shore, seven stars above the Wraith’s head. He stretches his hand to the one standing separate among them. He can see no one else there, no other forms but these.
Beren!
A fell voice, a hollow cry, a harsh scratching like chalk on shale.
The separate figure steps forward. By now the Wraith hovers above his fallen body.
Gorlim I was, but now a wraith
of will defeated, broken faith,
traitor betrayed. Go! Stay not here!
Awaken, son of Barahir,
and haste! For Morgoth's fingers close
upon thy father's throat. He knows
your trysts, your paths, your secret lair.
Then he revealed the devil's snare
in which he fell, and failed; at last
begging forgiveness, wept, and passed
out into darkness…
A high screaming howl from both shadows. The Wraith points, and behind the scene has changed. The eleven men standing on the shore have fallen, butchered brutally by enemy swords. Their blood shows bright red in the trampled mud. In the trees come birds – ravens, cawing, their beaks dripping with the flesh of the live one’s fallen comrades, the Wraith’s betrayed brothers. Their bodies are utterly broken. Torn. Unrecognizable. All but one, tall, long-haired, his face scratched at by the birds, the fleshy of one arm torn where the hand is missing.
Beren reaches down and picks up the gorse from the fallen Gorlim’s brow. He turns and carries it to his father’s spectre, and crowns him with it instead.
And then he turned, and did not weep:
too dark his heart, the wound too deep.
Out into night, as cold as stone,
Loveless, friendless, he strode alone.
There is a flash of light that’s blinding, and a feral cry as if from all the souls of the dead who paid the price of destiny. And the scene is gone, all else unchanged but the man in the lake and the water lapping at his blueish skin. His shirt has been torn to shreds by the ghost’s force.
And for the first time since before the war…
…there are no scars.
---
[ooc: First and most importantly, Here is what you can see if your character is by the lake:
Nobody who doesn’t want to be a part of this needs to be a part of it!!! Anyone who wishes to be able to view the scene need only come up with an arbitrary reason of your own – you could be psychic, you could see it because you’re LOOKING for it, you could see it because you know Gorlim, you could see it because you think witnessing the carnage of Middle-Earth war might provide a nifty character-expanding opportunity. You will see what is described above, but will not be able to interact with it. Nothing except the gorse sprig is actually there. Try to touch a rock or a ghost, your hand will go right through it, and they can’t see you.
If you wish NOT to see it, you can similarly come up with a reason. Your character is not prone to visions of the supernatural, not open to dreams or whatever, doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know, has gone inside to get a drink, what the hell, it’s cold out.
This post is loosely LOCKED – You can reply to it with character reactions, but please do not go over and interfere with Gorlim directly without pinging the mun first – which of course you may do by all means. People are prearranged to drag him outta the water and make sure he doesn’t drown or freeze to death, but anyone in desperate need of explanations for what the hell just happened may certainly join the little group and trail us around until you get them. Ping “Ven badger” if you want in. Heck, you can ping if all you wanna do is trail them around. Party party. Or something. >.>
At any rate, for those who DON’T care for the trailing around idea, there will be an IC note left in the bar tomorrow to direct people towards those who CAN explain.
…just nobody tell Random about it. IC thing. Otherwise, we’re cool. Right? Right. Have at him.]
no subject
She does cry out.
They're not the apparition's familliar words, those that haunt him so, but a simple quiet tune.
She knows better than to try and hold him here, she has to let him slip to where he is so he may return.
But she plays a part.
She won't leave it.
no subject
He hears the woman's voice that he recognizes as his sister-in-law's crying out over the lake and tears his eyes away from the bloody, brutal scene to see if she's all right--
Sees her standing there, not screaming, and his heartrate skips a confused beat and begins, tentatively, to slow.
And when he turns back, it's only his brother, whole, unscarred, floating in the lake.
Amid the chaos still swirling through his mind, one coherent thought intervenes. Fucking hell, he's going to fucking catch pneumonia. Goddamned lake.
He wades swiftly out into the icy water, heart still pounding too fast for him to be able to fully feel the chill of it, and takes his brother in his arms, wrapping his sweatshirt around Gorlim.
"Come on...have to get you out of the water..." His voice is shaking a little.
no subject
From the trees, still reeling from the moment of absolute silence and absence of Gorlim in his mind, Námo approaches Gorlim and Lee.
Tall. Calm. And as collected as he can be.
He knows it is too cold for both men to be so wet. Without thinking, he unties his thick wool cloak and wraps it around Lee's shoulders. But he has no cloak for Gorlim.
"We must get him in the Bar." A glance to Eilinel. "Both of them. Now."
Heat. They also needed heat. Again, without much thought, Námo shifts his form, falling to the ground silently as a massive six hundred pound white tiger. His body heat high, his form strong.
I can carry him upon my back, Lee. The Lady, too, if she cannot walk. But I am warm -- and warmth is important.
The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere, but unmistakably Námo's.
no subject
Her disembodied doppleganger doesn't, but there's nothing she can do --
-- and, finally, "She can. But she will not move from him. You would have to force her and wound her to make her move."
She's got a shawl -- she always does -- and, trembling from the cold, she takes it off and wraps it around Gorlim, singing softly, and not letting go.
"Tha na crodh a's an eadraidh, 's iad ri freagairt nan laogh ... cha tig Mór o'n Dùn-bheagain, 'S cha fhreagairt i 'n glaodh ..."
no subject
"Please, Ellie, let Namo help him back inside. It's below freezing out here and he's going to get sick. Nobody's saying you can't go with him."
no subject
Eilinel.
The first time he has addressed her in many weeks. He swings his blue feline eyes to her, willing her to simply trust him in this one moment. She never has to again.
Allow Lee to place him on my back. You mount behind him. Hold him to you, press yourselves to my fur. Remain warm. I am not taking him from you, I am not leaving you behind. Let us get him inside, Lady.
no subject
"I will not freeze. I don't feel it."
no subject
"Ellie, he can't stay on without you to hold him there." He hands her the cloak, though he's only wearing an undershirt. He's only half as wet as Gorlim is anyway.
"I know you can walk...but please help him stay on?"
no subject
Let her walk beside me, Lee. I am not waiting here for further discussion. Put the cloak back on for you shall freeze, and let us be gone.
With Eilinel at his side, a hand on Gorlim's shoulder to steady her husband and her other hand held tight by Lee, the tiger walked as swiftly as was comfortable for his human companions.
His eyes on the door. All that mattered was getting Gorlim inside.
no subject
He nods to himself as he sees his brother guide the three humans back into the safety and warmth of the bar, keeping his gaze on them until the door closes behind them.
Then, he turns his attention back to the lake and the lingering images superimposed over reality like a double exposure. With a heavy sigh of half-resignation and half-relief, he waves his right arm in a wide arc across his field of vision, exerting just a glimmer of power to wipe away the last of the wraith-vision.
The lake reasserts itself quickly to the more serene wintry scene that should be, and Melkor turns and walks into the forest, alone and unnoticed.
no subject
Because Sheila, after noting the current state of outside, squeaks and grabs at her companion's hand.
no subject
Slack stops.
And blinks.
"What is that. Doing here. Last I checked, we're still in Milliways."
no subject
Sheila looks a little more than mildly disturbed. "So how ..."
no subject
The almost-Deadite-proportion of simulated nuclear winter gets another Look, and at Sheila's rather horrified glance, Slack just nods.
"Really. Just run."
no subject
"Oh, fuck no."
no subject
Ash would probably know!
no subject
"Uh... no?"
no subject
Slack says this like Shiloh won't kill them.
no subject
Nevertheless, he slowly moves closer to Sheila.
Damn protective instinct.
no subject
"... can we go inside, now?"
no subject