rest, my brother, and tell me all about the ocean

[extramural]

FORM: Sending crystal.
SENDER: The Outsider
RECIPIENT: everyone
WHAT: Poking the hornets nest.
WHEN: Nowish?
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: He creepy.

What a tumultuous time it is in this world. An empire at war, ancient protectors showing what many feel to be their true colors, strangers falling from the sky -- the more things change, the more they stay the same.

I am not of this world, though it bares similarities to my own -- namely a prominent disdain for the other and ridiculous class differences -- as much it it shows its differences. Empires rise and fall; I admittedly have little interest in wars that have played out hundreds of times in similar ways across hundreds of worlds.

However, I do want to know what you find interesting about this world, if you will share.

Comments

[rowancrowned]

[ thank you sweet eru he's been planning this melodrama for at least a month. ]

Nugs.

[extramural]

[ brofist ]

Nugs?

[ Guess who hasn't seen one yet!! ]

[rowancrowned]

They have [ pause. ] hands.

And the Men of this world think that if it has hands, it must pray.

[ thranduil you read one treatise on giants that had some lunatic suggesting as much- ]

[extramural]

[ okay but

what about the rest of the body, thranduil ]

And I take it you believe they do not?

[ WHAT IS A NUG HE'S JUST IMAGINING A BLOB WITH HANDS ]

[rowancrowned]

No. [ he scoffs. ] However, they do.

[ well, he's not. wrong. ]

... I had assumed you would agree with my sentiments.

[extramural]

For all I know, a nug is another sentient species in this world. If it is not- then no, I doubt they pray.

[rowancrowned]

[ thranduil is just going to find him and

bring him a nug

and present it to him, without comment.

(with a raised brow. thranduil where did you get a nug.) ]

[extramural]

[ did you still that from leliana put it back before she notices

The Outsider stares.

He takes it in his hands, of course; the nug squeaks in protest, but he is gentle. It is examined with unblinking eyes for several long moments before the Outsider back to Thranduil. ]

Its hands appear to be rather clearly for digging. Not praying.

[rowancrowned]

[ yes but also he took it out of the little outfit it was wearing.

he saved it

the nug is tucked into the corner of thranduil's arm, where he can- pat it. gently. ]

I would ask her, but- the clarity I had with Yavanna's creations is lost to me. I know her moods, but she cannot tell me more.

wow i fucked up so many words in that last tag

[extramural]

[ well.

that's probably true. ]

Yavanna?

[ For his part, the Outsider shifts to look at the nug more closely. ]

I could enter the minds and bodies of beasts and men, in my own world, but I did not need to do so in order to tell what they would do.

[rowancrowned]

[ it squeaks. ]

The Vala who made all the living things that do not posess the Flame Imperishable.

[ lots of Important Words in that sentence, thranduil.

he makes a gesture close enough to a shrug. ] We should be able to communicate as easily as you and I, but- in Thedas, this gift is lost to me.

[ gently, he lifts one of her little leggies to study her little handsies. the nails have been painted. ]

[extramural]

The Vala are gods? What is the significance of the flame?

[ now u gotta explain them ]

I have had- similar difficulties. I am less than what I was, in this world.

[ and. now staring at the painted nails of a nug.

humans. ]

[rowancrowned]

No. [ very, very firmly. ] The is only the One. The Valar are Eru's first creation, and better at acts of Creation than the elves- than anyone but Eru Himself. Then came the Maiar, and then the Elves.

[ and then the men but who wants to talk about them huh??? ]

The Flame is what makes us more than this nug, gifted with free will and fëar.

[ nug knows when she's being called lesser, and nips thranduil's fingers, hard. he winces. ]

[extramural]

I see.

[ He understands, at least. There are many stories of creators, of creations. That some similar ones are true in some worlds is not surprising. ]

And that is-?

[ -a startled upward twitch of his lips, at the bite. The Outsider reaches out for the nug, if Thranduil would like to hand her over for a moment. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ the nug chirps at him, and he- remembers. they can yet communicate, enough that she has the right to be displeased with him, and as an apology, she goes into the outsider's arms. she'd prefer to be down on the ground, or eating, or both, but this will do.

he makes- an elegant little gesture. ] You feel it, as I feel and know you for what you are. That is what it is.

[extramural]

[ If not for the fact that she may run off to be injured and then the Spymaster would have their heads, he would set her down. As it is, he can telekinetically pull up a bit of grass and offer it to her, if that's the sort of things nugs eat.

As for Thranduil- well. He stares for a moment. ]

I imagine, [ he says at last, ] that this is the sort of frustration many feel when speaking to me.

[rowancrowned]

[ thranduil assumes that nugs are the sort of beast that eat anything, but does consider the outside a little but more after his little trick. she delicately nibbles at the grass- and then goes for the sleeves of the outsider's shirt. much better.

wryly, because come now, he's doing his best: ] How does it feel?

[ he reaches for the nug, as if to tug the sleeve free of her mouth. he hesitates a hair's breadth away from her; reconsiders; draws back. ]

Give me your hand.

[extramural]

[ She's chewing on his sleeves. The Outsider stares for a moment, almost entirely missing Thranduil's question. So simple an action, and yet it throws him off. The clothing has been his only 'possession' for four thousand years, and it was not clothing he picked. It has seen as much as he has. It likely carries some of the same scent of Void and sea that he does, and-

And this nug is chewing on it, without a care in the world.

He strokes down her back with one long finger, head tilted to the side. For a long moment, he doesn't respond to Thranduil at all -- then, wordlessly, lifts his hand away (still careful to hold the nug with the other) and offers it to him. His eyes flick back up to Thranduil a second later. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ she stops chewing to look up at him. her priorities are simple; eat, don't get eaten. he's large enough that anything won't try and eat her while she's with him, so she's free to continue working on his cuffs.

thranduil only tilts his head- watches the nug, but gives up after a moment, and focuses instead on taking the outsider's hand, loosely clasping it between both of his own. ]

Watch. [ he instructs, because touch is only half of a glamour- the best will engage all the senses. it's a conscious effort, considering the level he knows the outsider operates at, but for one moment his hand is- as it is, and then in another, it is like the outsider's- windburned, calluses against his wrist from thranduil's fingertips, the specks and beauty marks of the outsider's own skin on the ones holding him.

and with the chance came an extension of thranduil's will, a shiver in reality in which thranduil casually reshapes it, reshapes the outsider's perception of what is, weaves a new melody into the song of all that is-- by the grace of his fëa.

softly: ] That is the fëa.

[extramural]

[ There are stories, in some parts of the world, about the Outsider swooping in to use children in magic rituals. Ridiculous, of course; followers of his have done it, but it was for their own purposes, not his own. Nothing truly to do with him at all, as the choice was theirs and the magic worked the way it worked, with or without him. But this nug does not fear the fact that he is strange, Other -- only, perhaps, that she might fall.

As for Thranduil- the words mean nothing, for a moment. The touch, the visual, those mean little either. But he can feel it, hear it; like the core of the earth, the center of a tree. It is what makes Thranduil himself. In his world, he could play with the souls of those who were gone, embed them in objects or listen to their whispers. Here, he can do none of that -- but it is familiar to him now, all the same. ]

It is how you cover your face, then, [ he murmurs, gaze still on Thranduil's hand -- now so like his own. It doesn't occur to him, in the moment, that Thranduil doesn't realize he can see through it -- nor does it occur to him that he might take offense at it. ] Few can manipulate such a thing, in my own world; can all elves do as much, in yours?

[rowancrowned]

[ his fingers curl, flinch, even while his face stays icy-bland. ] Yes. [ he agrees, ] just so.

[ he lets the glamour fall, turns the outsider's hand palm-up and resting in his own while he tugs the sleeve, the cuff of the coat, adjusts it to his liking. ] No. Some. And the methods by which it is put to use- it works as well to protect one's vanity as it is to build a wall that keeps the unwanted out- or lost.

[ he taps the center of his palm, then curls the outsider's fingers inside until his hand makes a loose fist before he releases it. ]

Yes. Craft is as all other learned skills, though some are more inclined to certain branches than others. Age helps.

[extramural]

[ Ah. It is not something that warrants an apology, he thinks, so he does not offer one; Thranduil knows, now, and if it comes up later, then it will. In the meantime, he's almost interested to see if he'll try to hide it more from him.

The adjustment to the sleeve not being chewed on is new yet again. He is being- preened, almost. Yet Thranduil is older than he is, and also not mortal; unlike so many others, he has never shown fear or discomfort at what the Outsider is as opposed to what he says. The Outsider allows this, then, watching with some curiosity at the changes that are made. ]

Magic in my world is much the same. What you are naturally inclined to comes easiest, and many never seek out other types.

[rowancrowned]

[ the temptation is there, to see how much he would have to push and layer his illusions to hide his wounds. but the outsider has seen what is, and his opinion is formed. now, such an effort would only wound his pride further.

(he fights the urge to use his hair to shield the scars, or turn himself just-so to offer the healthy side.) ]

I am set in my ways. [ he admits it readily, watching the nug as she gives the (sodden, shredded) piece of cuff a good tug until the frayed edges give and she has a mouthful of cotton for her troubles. ] But we also lack in teachers. Most have gone West or passed to the Halls. Elves born now are not as capable of great Arts.

[extramural]

[ Thank you for that, little nug. Not that it stops him from going back to petting her, or from making sure she doesn't accidentally tumble off when she tugs. ]

And there is no way to follow, no way to contact them there?

[ He imagines there must not be, otherwise surely students would go on pilgrimages, less capable or not. Humans often try to reclaim old glory, and he knows the elves of this world are -- but perhaps not Thranduil and his kin. They are not the same as the others. ]

It is fascinating, to see what people are drawn to -- the magic that picks them, as opposed to the other way around.

[rowancrowned]

The West is a journey made only one way, in most cases. [ he could list them all in the span of a single breath, but he refrains, not wanting to bore the outsider (is such a thing possible?) or flood him with too much information. he digresses, watching the nug chew her prize, and tugs his own sleeves in protective sympathy. ]

Perhaps they still teach in Valinor- I suspect they do- but in Middle Earth, we wait. We watch.

[ the sea-longing has no hold on him yet. even if it did, he would shunt it to the side in favor of other, more urgent callings. he wonders if thedas' oceans will tempt him in the same way. perhaps he will find out. ]

And what of you, my friend. What Craft draws you?