OPEN RP POST

[elfoflight]

Pretty straight forward. You have an idea you want to play out with Finarfin, throw up a starter or plotting comment and we'll go from there. Haven't threaded with me before but want to try something different than how you found this journal? That's fine too! I'm always open to new RP partners. If you have questions, feel free to shoot me a PM if you're more comfortable that way.

Comments

how does this work?

[bythewaves]

The world has changed but some things have not. Nations have come and gone, rising to great empires and tumbling just as swiftly, but Nations are part of their people, after all. A Nation may vanish into history, but what of those whose people do not? In this modern Age there is no room for a Gondor or an Arnor, but what of Mirkwood, now Eryn Lasgalen? Surely not all the Silvan have gone?

The world has changed, but here and there, its elder children remain. England remembers the scarred hands and grey eyes of Maglor as one of his caretakers, although he never sees fit to mention to anyone the fact that the Elves of his stories are perhaps a little more real than anyone else realises. Maglor travels, in any case. He may not be in England, the land he now identifies as home, for centuries. So he never mentions it to France. Besides. As much as he suspects, he still does not know what France is.

So perhaps one day France will hear it, a voice that Arafinwe once knew very well. The man on the corner singing is dressed like any other street vagrant, in blue jeans and a warm jacket, dark hair worn long and tied in a messy ponytail, he could be anyone at all.

/flips you

[swanmaid]

She'd done all she could, waited as long as she could. Too many years had passed though and each day her heart ached a little more until she felt as if her heart were entirely missing. Elves were slow to change and so too had Valinor been. Her daughter would handle things well in her absence. They didn't need her, not as she was now. She was barely the same woman she'd been before Arafinwë had left.

The change was drastic when she left, the world was so different from the world she'd known. The Valar gave her their blessings, they understood that nothing was left for her there, and gave her what she might need to adjust. And yet she had difficulty adjusting, a clear lack of confidence as she traveled and it was hard for her not to stand out, the youth of the Eldar and long silver hair that hung below her waist. Language was another difficulty. Eärwen had always been clever, she picked things up quickly, but learning an entirely new language took time and she had all the world to search as she followed their bond.

She picked up everything she could as she went, picking up key phrases to get by as she slowly learned the languages she needed. No matter how long it took, she wouldn't stop. She was determined, her husband was somewhere in this world, in a country she'd heard called 'France.'

[needscounselling]

He doesn't know how he got here, in dream-vision or reality, and that, combined with the strangeness of this place sets him on edge. Feanaro's cheeks are still soot-smudged, his hands red and tired, his apprenctice apron betraying the fact that he comes straight from the forges. He hovers uncertainly on the edge of the park, hiding (although he'll likely punch anyone who says so) amongst the trees, scowl masking his anxiety.