[She is shaken from being manhandled - the Lady of Imladris is not accustomed to such treatment - however she has managed to keep herself docile. Now that she has been set free to explore this Lunatia, she is doing so, carefully, barely blinking. Her steps are not audible to the ears of Men, however if one catches sight of her, she is a sightto behold.
This situation feels eerily familiar and not for positive reasons. While she moves through the streets, keeping track of where she is meant to live, Arwen searches for...a weapon. A dagger, a sword. She has no experience with a bow, but if that is all she can find, she will make do.
She will not suffer the same fate as her mother.
It has been some time since she played roughly with her brothers; thankfully Elven bodies do not lose their strength so easily! Pausing at a window, she peers inside, foregoing politeness for the time being. Necessity must take the lead.]
You're As Cold As Ice
[The beach calls to her - as it calls to all Elves of Arda. She stands just out of reach of the tide, a fierce longing in her chest. Come home the water beckons, but she has never seen that home; she knows naught of it. So she stays in the sand, her attention only flickering from the waves when ice begins to crawl up her fingers...and her forearms. The pain makes her panic and she spins, searching for a friendly face.]
What is becoming of me? [She asks the nearest beach-goer, holding out her arms for emphasis.] Why - ?
Wildcard
[Find me on Plurk at tiger_eyes if you have an idea!]
Arwen | Lord of the Rings | Sanguis
[She is shaken from being manhandled - the Lady of Imladris is not accustomed to such treatment - however she has managed to keep herself docile. Now that she has been set free to explore this Lunatia, she is doing so, carefully, barely blinking. Her steps are not audible to the ears of Men, however if one catches sight of her, she is a sight to behold.
This situation feels eerily familiar and not for positive reasons. While she moves through the streets, keeping track of where she is meant to live, Arwen searches for...a weapon. A dagger, a sword. She has no experience with a bow, but if that is all she can find, she will make do.
She will not suffer the same fate as her mother.
It has been some time since she played roughly with her brothers; thankfully Elven bodies do not lose their strength so easily! Pausing at a window, she peers inside, foregoing politeness for the time being. Necessity must take the lead.]
You're As Cold As Ice
[The beach calls to her - as it calls to all Elves of Arda. She stands just out of reach of the tide, a fierce longing in her chest. Come home the water beckons, but she has never seen that home; she knows naught of it. So she stays in the sand, her attention only flickering from the waves when ice begins to crawl up her fingers...and her forearms. The pain makes her panic and she spins, searching for a friendly face.]
What is becoming of me? [She asks the nearest beach-goer, holding out her arms for emphasis.] Why - ?
Wildcard
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