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thearena2015-02-17 10:45 pm
theevenstar) wrote in thearena2015-02-17 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
may it be an evening star
Who| Arwen and open
What| The Arena gets an elf princess
Where| West, toward river and mountains
When| Week 3, Tuesday
Warnings/Notes| tbd
a:
The snow is what stands out to her the most, balanced as precariously she is on the little podium, just a breathe away from trying to crawl back down the tube to relative safety or leaping forward and taking her chances on the ground. So different from the eternal summer she left behind. Arwen chooses the latter after another moment's hesitation, reminding herself that she needs to get to cover. Her brothers are not here to save her, nor is her father. Or Lord Glorfindel. Or, anyone, really, who possesses the warcraft that she does not. Why has she been chosen? Of all those who could be here this moment with a far better chance of surviving battle. The concept of a death-game is still one she's struggling with -- and, frankly, anyone taken from the environs of Rivendell would be doing the same thing -- but the people who brought her to this place were very adamant about getting her into the Arena. She's also still sure that magic was somehow involved, despite any protests to the contrary. How else could they get past her father's defenses?
Unless the game makers are allied with the Dark Lord.
She suppresses a shiver and the idea lest Fate be tempted, moving as quickly as unfamiliar shoes will carry her, until the treeline looms ahead. Every second feels like a minute or, agonizingly, an hour. Like she's waiting for a stranger to burst forth from underneath the snow, or drop down from the sky like a fire-breathing dragon and attempt to take her life. But Arwen does make the shelter of the pine forest, such as it is, stooping to make herself less of a target. She settles near several close trees to get her bearings - and listen.
b:
Eventually Arwen decides to take a chance and head west, toward the mountains. She's traveled through those before, knows the general sort of terrain even though the ones in the Arena aren't the Misty Mountains. She finds a fallen tree branch, far too small to fashion into a bow -- and that would be a useless endeavor anyway, she's not a bowman in any sense of the word -- but it is large enough to use as a makeshift weapon. As the elf walks, she strips off tiny branches from the main trunks, smoothing it out into something more useful. By the time she's done, it closely resembles a quarterstaff; though not nearly as tall.
The humming starts innocently enough, just something to keep her spirits up as she travels, but soon it transforms into a full-blown song.
"*O Star-queen. Star-kindler, glimmering white, sparkling like jewels. The glory of the heavens slides down from the firmament."
Technically, it's a prayer to Elbereth, but she feels better just saying the words out loud. As if the queen of the Valar is protecting her from even this distance. Though she is not Luthien, capable ensnaring the unwary with the power of voice alone, hers is still lovely and crystal-clear. She's aware of the exact moment when she's no longer alone in the immediate area, but continues singing - both as a distraction and to keep her own spirits up. "Having gazed afar at the distance from tree-tangled lands of Middle-earth on this side of the ocean, here, great ocean. Fanuilos, I will sing to you on this side of the ocean, here, great ocean..."
Arwen lets the tune die away, her heart pounding a little too loud to ignore, hands gripping the tree branch like a lifeline. When she speaks again, her voice is pitched to carry a fair distance.
"Friend or ... not friend, I would entreat you come out, that we might speak face to face. It would set my mind at ease to know who has followed my path."
(*lyrics by jrr tolkien)
What| The Arena gets an elf princess
Where| West, toward river and mountains
When| Week 3, Tuesday
Warnings/Notes| tbd
a:
The snow is what stands out to her the most, balanced as precariously she is on the little podium, just a breathe away from trying to crawl back down the tube to relative safety or leaping forward and taking her chances on the ground. So different from the eternal summer she left behind. Arwen chooses the latter after another moment's hesitation, reminding herself that she needs to get to cover. Her brothers are not here to save her, nor is her father. Or Lord Glorfindel. Or, anyone, really, who possesses the warcraft that she does not. Why has she been chosen? Of all those who could be here this moment with a far better chance of surviving battle. The concept of a death-game is still one she's struggling with -- and, frankly, anyone taken from the environs of Rivendell would be doing the same thing -- but the people who brought her to this place were very adamant about getting her into the Arena. She's also still sure that magic was somehow involved, despite any protests to the contrary. How else could they get past her father's defenses?
Unless the game makers are allied with the Dark Lord.
She suppresses a shiver and the idea lest Fate be tempted, moving as quickly as unfamiliar shoes will carry her, until the treeline looms ahead. Every second feels like a minute or, agonizingly, an hour. Like she's waiting for a stranger to burst forth from underneath the snow, or drop down from the sky like a fire-breathing dragon and attempt to take her life. But Arwen does make the shelter of the pine forest, such as it is, stooping to make herself less of a target. She settles near several close trees to get her bearings - and listen.
b:
Eventually Arwen decides to take a chance and head west, toward the mountains. She's traveled through those before, knows the general sort of terrain even though the ones in the Arena aren't the Misty Mountains. She finds a fallen tree branch, far too small to fashion into a bow -- and that would be a useless endeavor anyway, she's not a bowman in any sense of the word -- but it is large enough to use as a makeshift weapon. As the elf walks, she strips off tiny branches from the main trunks, smoothing it out into something more useful. By the time she's done, it closely resembles a quarterstaff; though not nearly as tall.
The humming starts innocently enough, just something to keep her spirits up as she travels, but soon it transforms into a full-blown song.
"*O Star-queen. Star-kindler, glimmering white, sparkling like jewels. The glory of the heavens slides down from the firmament."
Technically, it's a prayer to Elbereth, but she feels better just saying the words out loud. As if the queen of the Valar is protecting her from even this distance. Though she is not Luthien, capable ensnaring the unwary with the power of voice alone, hers is still lovely and crystal-clear. She's aware of the exact moment when she's no longer alone in the immediate area, but continues singing - both as a distraction and to keep her own spirits up. "Having gazed afar at the distance from tree-tangled lands of Middle-earth on this side of the ocean, here, great ocean. Fanuilos, I will sing to you on this side of the ocean, here, great ocean..."
Arwen lets the tune die away, her heart pounding a little too loud to ignore, hands gripping the tree branch like a lifeline. When she speaks again, her voice is pitched to carry a fair distance.
"Friend or ... not friend, I would entreat you come out, that we might speak face to face. It would set my mind at ease to know who has followed my path."
(*lyrics by jrr tolkien)