o p e n 。l e g o l a s ( l o r d o f t h e r e a l m s )

[nightshades]

i would die for mirkwood.
i would kill for her and her people.

open rp | memes | psl | random

Oh, How the Songbird Sings

The shadows reach far; the Elves of Greenwood are driven from Alfheim, banished for meddling in the darker side of the Arts, for their behaviour unbecoming of an Elf.

They dwell now in Svartalfheim, where the dark and the fallen Elves live, and here is where Legolas was raised for going on 600 years. Those who have anything to do with Elves fear that the this same fate will befall the country of Lorien, and soon, too, Rivendell. But the Elves of what was once Greenwood keep to themselves.

And now, they serve only Mirkwood.

Comments

[snaketrap]

There was no way in. There was no way out. Only those who knew it would know it, Svartalfheim. It was not cold but it was cruel. The shadow's crux upon the bark of Yggdrasil so impossible to find and the life here moaned in the illusions of a world that embellished the dark. It was so dark, always so dark. Anyone who stayed herein was certain to lose themselves to it -- but Loki was made of dark. He was made of dark and ice and all things bitter and hate, it was his calling.

And thus his feet made way from the very edges of it's darkened forest at Yggdrasil's heel. He has heard tale of the Elves from Greenwood and their once bright lure now a darker shade. Once could not help but be ever the curious sort. Yet if a Prince of Asgard could fall -- well that weren't true at all, was it?

Since the catastrophe of Midgard, he waited. Waited for the next piece to be played because the mortals thought they had won and Thor believed he would reform. Imagine that swell of anger when he find the dungeon empty. No word, not a whisper, not a soul know where he hide now. Here he wander and here he come to approach one who once were so great, so bright.

"Good tidings, son of Mirkwood."

[nightshades]

He remembers little of Alfheim. Though he was born in the land of the Light, he is raised in the land of the Dark, the land of Shadows. What he misses most are the songbirds, the deer and the wolves of his childhood. They exist here, in Svartalfheim, but it isn't the same. Darker colored, mottled, for hiding under the dark eaves of these forests. Everything here is dark, and the light of the Elves have dimmed to match it.

This one is known to them, as most of the Æsir are. The child of chaos, though the use of child is sparse, for few are older than the gods, if any. A man of great standing, as the stories go.

Fallen.

"Greetings, son of All-Father." Elves are good people, they say in Midgard. It makes him laugh every time he hears it. But Legolas greets Loki openly and without his hood-- he bows, even, almost mocking, before pulling himself upright. His stance is stiff, but he isn't drawing his weapons, at least.

"What brings the Lord of Chaos to our humble abode?"

[snaketrap]

Loki tips his head a little as his stance stops, "Oh, you know that's not true."

He was no son of Odin, and once a long time ago he might have wished to have been. This skin he wore now of their color was a burden. The Odinforce, however, was quite powerful. Yet he carried the winter with him not yet certain whether he would return to his home lands after all that had been done. Not yet certain of anything, simply traveling.

"I come with no ill purpose," he merely bows his head with a tiny tilt. His hands, however, are open -- but as if that meant anything from a mage. "But to learn, I would wish. Your most esteemed works of magic do intrigue me."

[nightshades]

"Is it not?" His laugh, though changed from the musical lilt of the Elves of Alfheim, still holds the same quality; light, airy, but low and dark, as if in relfection of Mirkwood itself. "Then I must apologize. Rumors circulating the higher realms do not often reach us in a timely manner."

Not that they've made much effort to increase that efficiency. It is of little importance, however, this bit of information. The doings of the Æsir concern Mirkwood little for the time being. Until now, perhaps.

He presses his fingers together in front of his abdomen; not a regal bearing, but one ofpride nonetheless.

"We do not make a habit of learning others to our magics, Lord. Asgardian or otherwise." If he sounds a bit testy, he is. "Nor are they terms for barter."

He may not have yet been born then, but he has heard stories of the years when Greenwood began dabbling in the darker side of magic. How they were shunned when they began, banished when they had mastered what they could. It has been an age since they were bothered for their knowledge, and they would have it stay that way.

"You would do well to seek them elsewhere, in places where it is not so dark and foul. Where your instructors may be more inclined to instruct, and less inclined to having you lose your way before the lessons even begin."

[rottings]

[ this isn't his domain, or even a realm of his brothers. but there is little that can stop Hades when he wants, or when he is simply curious. he is a patient god, but when he has a desire, the world tends to shape itself around him.

and dark calls to dark, after all, so the shadows are familiar. on the borders of the dark forest, he stands still and quiet, watching the trees and flickers of movement within. ]

[nightshades]

[dark calls to dark; so does the stranger (or not stranger) draw from the depths of the woods a resident. he seems always to be greeting the visitors lately. first the green wizard, and now... who? what, even?

the eyes that peer from the shadows are not those of the ents of vanaheim-- huorns, perhaps, dark and misleading, but they are deep in the forest and are not quick to rouse, for there are few arrivals that may surprise them.

wood-elves, however, are not accustomed to visitors who seek refuge, or visitors at all. he speaks from the trees as he has many times before, low and unthreatening, but not entirely welcoming either.]

Who goes there? What business have you with this realm?

[rottings]

[ Hades never needs refuge, for there are few who can find black among darkness. he doesn't look to see who calls to him, simply tilts his head downwards at his feet. ]

I do not doubt that you know of others, but I seek no fulfillment.

[ he lifts his head. hair falls over his shoulder, and his eyes do not seek but land on the wood-elf immediately despite the lack of light. ]