Fëanáro Curufinwë (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
feanaro_curufinwe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
calling_logs2016-08-08 11:08 am
feanaro_curufinwe) wrote in calling_logs2016-08-08 11:08 am
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(no subject)
WHO: Fëanor and whoever.
WHAT: The Worst Elf Arrives!
WHEN: Round about noon.
WHERE: City of Tomorrow!
NOTES/WARNINGS: Incoming language barrier! Why? Because it's fun. Worry not, he learns fast.
A moment of despair, is what Fëanáro feels, as his fëa flees his hroa, leaving his sons and his people behind in a roar of flame, to be drawn to the Halls of Mandos, where Námo will surely keep him in a grip more stern than he ever held on Moringotto-- A moment of bitter rue, a fleeting second of regret, under the shadow and lurid red light of the fortress of his most hated foe--
And then there is light, but not the light he expects, no: it is rather a brilliant golden gleam from high in the sky above, reflecting off of a thousand mirrors around him, rising from the ground to the highest pinnacle of the sky, glittering almost like unto the Trees themselves--
And noise. As loud, he thinks, as the roar of battle, but as different in nature to it as an Elda to a Vala, vital and bright for all its volume. And. Things in the skies, soaring like bird but gleaming like machines, and the very sight of them spins streams possibility through his mind--
There is something in his hand that is not his sword, which is, oddly, hanging once more from his hip, and it is a small, light thing, barely noticeable in the face of the glittering wonder all about him.
One scorched, bloody, flithy elf, standing on the steps of MacAran.
WHAT: The Worst Elf Arrives!
WHEN: Round about noon.
WHERE: City of Tomorrow!
NOTES/WARNINGS: Incoming language barrier! Why? Because it's fun. Worry not, he learns fast.
A moment of despair, is what Fëanáro feels, as his fëa flees his hroa, leaving his sons and his people behind in a roar of flame, to be drawn to the Halls of Mandos, where Námo will surely keep him in a grip more stern than he ever held on Moringotto-- A moment of bitter rue, a fleeting second of regret, under the shadow and lurid red light of the fortress of his most hated foe--
And then there is light, but not the light he expects, no: it is rather a brilliant golden gleam from high in the sky above, reflecting off of a thousand mirrors around him, rising from the ground to the highest pinnacle of the sky, glittering almost like unto the Trees themselves--
And noise. As loud, he thinks, as the roar of battle, but as different in nature to it as an Elda to a Vala, vital and bright for all its volume. And. Things in the skies, soaring like bird but gleaming like machines, and the very sight of them spins streams possibility through his mind--
There is something in his hand that is not his sword, which is, oddly, hanging once more from his hip, and it is a small, light thing, barely noticeable in the face of the glittering wonder all about him.
One scorched, bloody, flithy elf, standing on the steps of MacAran.
So how about some cross-canon fantasy?
She, too, is immediately caught up in the lights, the sounds, that unusual constant hum of something or other running, machines working, things flying overhead, vehicles, she realizes with wonder as she sees someone exit one.
She turns and is promptly broken from her awestruck marveling by the sight of a wounded elf seemingly taken by the sights around him, too.
"Are you all right?" she asks, her hand going to the staff at her back with the intent to heal him. "Hold still, I'll heal you."
Her language is called "Common", but likely not any he would know. (In fact, considering two different characters have mistakenly linked unrelated words that only appear related in English, it's probably best to say it's Fantasy English.) Considering she's never had any trouble understanding people on the other end of network talks, she's certainly not prepared for him to not understand her.
yesss
He holds up a hand to halt her, a gesture he has so far found to be universal.
"Hold," he says, the word spoken in Þindarin, as he supposes it might be more likely to be understood.
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"What's wrong? You don't trust magic?" She lets the staff rest in its sling, folding her hands in front of her instead. Something is off here, even without that word in a language she's never heard - for all she knows it's some word in Elvish the Dalish never happened to speak around her. Little things like his posture and the timbre of his voice aren't quite right, though, and she can't put her finger on why.
Regardless, she knows well it's fair he be wary of a mage he can't understand reaching for her staff even if she's not trying to be threatening. So, slowly so he can see she's not going for a weapon, she reaches into the supply pouch at her hip and pulls out a small roll of bandages, offering it to him in an outstretched palm. If it's an issue with magic itself, he has an alternative. If he only misunderstood her intent? Hopefully that communicates that well enough.
"Here...they won't work as well as a spell, but at least anyone can use them."
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"I am, rather miraculously, unwounded, though I know not how. Behold--" He points to his eyes, and then hers, before pulling a vambrace off with the quick, easy motions of long habit, to pull back his sleep, and display skin covered in smoke and blood, but not a scratch in sight.
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Not that attempting to pick out the language is distracting her too much - she's attentive when he gestures for her to watch as he exposes his arm. And there is nothing producing that blood there. Blood, but no cuts. Smoke, but no burns.
She looks up at him again. "What happened?" she asks in confused awe. "How is this possible?"
It wouldn't be the first time she continued to speak to someone who clearly couldn't understand her - what else could she do but keep trying, after all?
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"Continue speaking, young lady." His gestures match his words. "I will learn to comprehend your words."
I'm so sorry for my slowness, RL has suddenly become demanding
She's been feeling an odd sensation in the back of her mind - a sensed presence but unlike any presence-sensing she's ever felt before. Not the taint sense of a darkspawn or fellow Warden, not the sense of magical activity, something else. And given how lost he is...
...She digs the strange little CALL device out of her supply pouch as she replaces the bandages.
"Do you have one of these?"
No worries, mine has been too. x__X
He extends a hand, displaying the near-identical device.
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"Does it speak your language? Have you touched the..." The word screen for this particular object escapes her, "the panel on the front?"
She demonstrates by tapping the screen with her finger, waking the device to display all of its default apps.
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He folds himself into a sitting position with a soft metallic rattle, still muttering, with the occasional hmm or ahh that require no translation.
In short order, a message pops up on Katherine's-- device.
un: spiritoffire would like to send you a private message.
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When her device dings with the notification for the message, she can't help a smile as she accepts. Finally, they're getting somewhere!
"Well, it communicated that part without issue! If it translates our messages between us, it should make this much easier."
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He sends the message as soon as she accepts; the text interface was easy enough to discern, and the smooth, glassy surface (he suspects glass, but will not presume so much) is responsive to the lightest of touches.
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It does! Does yours display mine properly?
It would be impractical to communicate entirely through text, but it would help act as a translator to help one of them learn the other's language. She isn't entirely sure why she hasn't found herself unable to communicate with anyone else until now, but...it wouldn't be the first time.
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The true irony of Feanor is the way he has so much more regard for the strange and the new than for the known and familiar.
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She types quickly, having learned her device generally knows what she's aiming for when her finger hits the wrong place on the screen. Somehow. What a smart machine. She hoped there wasn't a soul trapped in there like the tiniest golem in existence, watching her words and correcting them...
I was wondering how it was possible that you arrived unharmed but with signs of wounds and burns. I'd intended to heal you until you showed me you weren't hurt.
"For that matter," she adds aloud, "how did you arrive without knowing about your device in the first place?"
She then repeats that in text, to translate for him. He'd wanted her to keep talking, so he's clearly interested in learning what she's saying, rather than this particular workaround.
I am the WORST so sorry this took so long
It is good to know that you are a healer, though I hope that you have little need of that skill in this wondrous place, comes the reply, and he speaks the Quenya as he sends it, because she might as well learn the tongue in exchange for her own.
As to my arrival, I know not; one moment, my spirit was flying to Mandos, and the next, I was here. A most curious situation, and one for which I wish to rectify my ignorance with all possible swiftness.
It's okay!
And, of course, she continues to return the courtesy, speaking aloud what she sends.
What does that mean? Is Mandos something like the Fade, where spirits and dreams originate?
She doesn't like the sound of it - bloodied and burned, but no injuries to match. And a spirit flying off... She suspects, and the spoken counterpart to this text is hesitant, but she doesn't ask outright.
*phew*
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Indeed
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She says it aloud without thinking, looks down at her device and realizes they're words he'd have heard. She repeats them in text anyway.
The poor man, he'd known his spirit was bound for a place it belonged. It wasn't at all like a death she'd have heard of, where not even the spirits of the Fade knew where a departed soul went once it went beyond it.
Do you want to go back?
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Yes. No. Both at the same time, which is a mental sensation I find myself unaccustomed to.
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After repeating the words aloud, since he seems to be catching on to her language so much faster than she is his, and every sentence he hears will help, she gives him a sympathetic look.
If it means anything, I've heard that your time here doesn't change the amount of time that passes in your home world. You can spend as long as you'd like here and it would make no difference to your surroundings at home.
Of course, not having encountered someone who'd arrived after death before, she wouldn't know the transport button simply doesn't work for them at all...