Sweet dreams are made of these...

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for A-M characters )

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

A Abigail Hobbs Aiya/Gray Nightingale Adrasteius Anor'thalion Ahsoka Tano Alex Russo Allen Walker Anders Anthony Crowley Asteffiel Axel

B - D Belthazar Spellscry Beverly Crusher Bran Stark Caesar Zeppeli Cayde-6 Cheese Sandwich Clay Terran Coil Cole Davesprite Duke Pantarei

E - I Elecman.exe Elena Gilbert Elize Lutus Felix Harrowgate Fenris Finrod Haruka Tenoh/Sailor Uranus Imperator Furiosa Isabela Issac Lahey

J - M Jade Harley James Barnes/Jim James Barnes/Winter Joseph Joestar Katara Katniss Everdeen/Nova Kirito/Kazuto Kirigaya Kurt Wagner Leanne Loki Maladict(a) Max Caulfield Megaman Mordin Solus

Comments

Finrod, potential mentions of war, imprisonment, physical and mental trauma

[faithfulwisdom]

[Finrod's calibration room is deceptively mundane at first glance. There's nothing grand here- nothing to indicate the royal status of its owner. Nothing even to hint at his other-than-human nature. In fact, it's almost disappointing in its ordinariness.

The light is dim and the air has the musty smell of old books and papers. But it is the most noticeable aspect of the room that instantly confirms its function; rows and rows of shelves filled with boxes, stretching back as far as the eye can see. This is a storage room.

A very messy storage room, as it turns out, which seems to frustrate this version of Finrod to no end. He's working constantly, predominately occupied with four or five specific boxes that just won't seem to stay where he places them. Repeatedly, he stows them away in the back of the room. And repeatedly, the end up right back at the front.

Finally, there is one box that lies alone, away from the shelves, in a dark corner of the room. It's a small container, filled with plain white candles, and marked simply 'Estel.'

Explore as you wish.]

[child_of_bhaal]

[The smell is comfortable and familiar. Homey. But it's not a library. Syeira wanders quietly a few steps, looking all around.

She steals a peek in a box or two, not really searching but just seeing what's being stored. Then finally she turns to Finrod, coming up beside him as he deals with a box.]

Can I help?

[faithfulwisdom]

[The boxes seem to be organized by theme, though it's difficult to say what, precisely, each theme is. In one, there is a series of portraits. In another, an odd collection of objects- a lock of light golden hair, a harp, the pressed leaves of a tree. In yet another, a stack of books, a dagger, a blacksmith's apron, a series of maps.

The boxes Finrod is trying to stow away look quite different. Dark red stains can be seen on the edges, as if something was seeping through from inside, and some of them were charred in spots. It's one of these Finrod is dealing with when Syeira approaches. He frowns, picking at a burnt corner.

"I would not ask you to bear my burdens."

[child_of_bhaal]

[She's not put off by the appearance of the box. She's as eager to assist as ever.]

You need not ask for help when it's freely offered.

[She holds her hands out, palms up, ready to accept the weight of the box.]

[faithfulwisdom]

[Finrod hesitates for another moment, looking almost nervous. But eventually, he nods and places the box in her hands.

The contents of this box are more sinister than the others Syeira has seen: a ragged blanket, a pair of bloody shackles, a harp with the strings cut and mangled- all coated in a fine layer of ash, peppered here and there with dragon scales.

Strangely, it's much heavier than it should be.]

[child_of_bhaal]

[Being unprepared for the weight, she sags a bit before readjusting to support it properly. She gives him a reassuring smile too. Nothing she can't bear!]

Where are these supposed to go?

[She does notice the contents. It's hard to miss really. But she doesn't ask, yet. If holding the box doesn't do anything strange then perhaps she can get through one of these events without being thrust directly into someone's private life without their permission.]

[faithfulwisdom]

I try to keep them in the back, where they won't trouble me. Or anyone else.

[While Finrod would be more than happy with Syeira's solution, it seems that the calibration room has other plans. The box rips along the blood soaked seams and the items go tumbling to the floor, the blanket floating down and landing atop her feet.

As it does, the world around them seems to go white and Finrod himself disappears in a flurry of windblown snow- at least for a moment.

Gradually, the wind slows and it becomes clear that Syeira is in an encampment of elves. Elves who are doing very poorly, by the looks of things. Bloodstained tracks in the slow lead to a series of small fires where frostbitten men, women, and children huddled together, clinging desperately to any trace of warmth.

Finrod sits at the nearest fire, surrounded by four other elves with that same golden hair. They have clearly been having some sort of debate, but it seems to have died down and most are just staring into the fire. Finrod himself stands and changes seats, settling down next to the only woman of the group and draping a blanket- the blanket- over her shoulders.]

Keep it, Findaráto. [She started to hand it back, frowning.] Your people need you.

[They both glance back at the huddled masses, but Finrod shakes his head and refuses to accept the blanket.]

And they do not need you? [She still hesitates.] Please take it, if only for my sake. I could not bear it if-

[That's enough for her to take the blanket and interrupt him.] For your sake, then, brother.

[But she seems grateful, moving closer and doing her best to cover both of them with it. It's not an easy task; at over six feet tall, neither of them are small people. But she manages the best she can. And there's something to be said for the emotional comfort of closeness too.]

Each time I sit down, I worry I will not rise again. So many do not. [The woman releases a slow, ragged breath.] I am frightened, Findaráto.

[Finrod takes her hand and squeezes it, but there's no comforting smile on his face. Even he cannot manage one now.] As am I, Artanis.

[Another gust of wind, another flurry of snow blocking her vision, and the figures are gone. Syeira is back in the storeroom once more.]

[catamite]

[this room, at least, is comfortable.

the other elf might be having trouble, but Nel takes a moment to just soak up the dim mustiness of the place, grateful to have the rest of the world shut off somewhere else.

so, he's only a little bit shy by the time he finally approaches Finrod. hanging back to give him plenty of space to work, he only watches for a minute or two before speaking.]

...What are you doing?

[faithfulwisdom]

[Finrod places the box he was holding on a nearby shelf.] These belong in the back of the room. But they never seem to stay there.

[His tone is almost apologetic, as if being caught in this position is embarrassing for some reason.]

[catamite]

...What do you mean?

[it doesn't dawn on him that the boxes themselves could be at fault here, so he's pretty sure he's missing something.

and he edges closer to subtly try peeking in the box (or any others within sight) but there is every possibility that he's too short.]

[faithfulwisdom]

Wait a moment. You will see.

[And sure enough, within a few minutes a second box appears at Nel's feet. There's no noise, no pop, no obvious sign of magic. It's just... suddenly there. And if Nel could not see into the other boxes, he certainly can see into this one.

It's a gruesome assortment of objects- reminders of torment, death, and dying. A model of a white ship, charred at the edges, as if rescued from a fireplace. A pair of blood coated shackles. The withered remains of sapling tree, still kept in an elaborately painted garden pot. A pile of dragon scales, interspersed with ashes.]

[catamite]

[he gives a little gasp of surprise when the box suddenly materializes at his feet, but he's dropping down to sit on his heels and peer inside almost immediately.

he doesn't even think to ask permission. he just reaches right inside for the sad little sapling--the least frightening or breakable of the objects. he feels sad for the thing; it reminds him of the plants that used to be on his mother's windowsill. he carefully goes to pick it up out of the box.]

What is all this stuff...?

WELL that took me long enough. I hope this makes sense

[faithfulwisdom]

[Finrod opens his mouth to answer, but whatever he might have said is lost as the storehouse dissipates around Nel.

What follows is a vision in two parts. The first, beautiful as it is fleeting, is an image of two trees, one of silver and one of gold, each emitting a soft light which is somehow more than simply light. There is a power here that can be easily felt, strong, pervasive, and utterly profound.

But this sight does not last long. It fades out, a new segment of the vision gradually taking its place. It's a feast, held in Halls almost too large and grand to be believable. Scores of elves sit around the tables, happily engaged in conversation, and interspersed among them are beings of a different nature, similar in form, perhaps, but greater in stature and power. Finrod, if Nel can find him in all this, is sitting with a group of similarly golden haired elves. From their appearances and the familiar way they are speaking, it's not too hard to guess that they are family.

All seems to be going well; there is the general feel of contentment in the air and there even seems to be a reconciliation at works. Two brothers stand before a throne, where one of those great beings is seated and all eyes shift to them, as though this were some long awaited event. Even Finrod, from his spot in the crowd, pays rapt attention, almost a little tense.

One of the brothers, the one with a more kindly appearance, holds out his hand for the other to take.

"As I promised, I do now I release thee, and remember no grievance."

The hand is accepted in silence and with a stony face. But this doesn't seem to deter the first elf too much. Or at least he seems to expect it. He speaks on anyway. "Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart will I be. Thou shalt lead and I will follow. May no new grief divide as."

Finally, the stoic brother speaks. "I hear thee. So be it."

With that, the tension in the room seems to melt away. Finrod, in his seat, leans back and takes a deep breath, seemingly relieved things went as well as they did. And- as if to mark the moment- the mingling of the Lights comes. It is an ordinary thing for the citizens of Valinor, but for anyone else, it would seem a wondrous event. It is the moment when the light of Laurelin and Telperion intermingle- when gold and silver both dot the landscape.

But just as suddenly as the lights appeared they are gone. In fact, all light is gone, replaced by a thick, impenetrable, malicious blackness. This is not just the absence of light, oh no. This is the presence of something much, much worse- the kind of ill will and dark magics that you can feel right down to your bones.

Whatever calm had begun to spread through the crowd is utterly, irreparably gone now. People begin to stir, at first little murmurs of fear and discontent, but the longer the Dark lasts, the louder those murmurs become.

Finally, achingly slowly, the Darkness passes, leaving the frightened crowd milling about looking for answers. It's then that the memory once again begins to dim.

The third and final vision is swift but meaningful. It is the crowd gathered around those same two trees, the source of that wondrous light. But now the trees are dead- withered and barren, as if the life itself had been drawn out of them.

And with that, the memory fades, and Nel is back in the storehouse, holding the sapling in his hands.]

[dancingmd]

[At first, Beverly doesn't see Finrod, only the multitude of shelves and boxes. She wanders through the aisles for a minute before she sees him carrying a box to the back and looking rather harried.]

Finrod? Do you need any help?

[faithfulwisdom]

[Finrod looks at Beverly for a long moment before he decides, obviously considering something. But then he nods, albeit somewhat reluctantly.]

There is no point in hiding this from you. You have seen me do this before.

[He sets the box down on the floor and sighs, running a hand through his hair.]

I wish to keep these in the back, where they won't trouble me. Yet they always find their way back to the forefront of the room.

[And it's fairly obvious why this particular box would be troubling; its contents are more than a little worrying. A pair of bloody shackles leaves a large stain in one corner of the box itself. There's a ragged, threadbare, blanket, also slightly stained with blood, carefully folded up and placed in another corner. A broken jar had clearly once contained a collection of dragon scales and ash, but its contents were now spilled throughout the bottom of the box. And a small model of a white ship, charred almost beyond recognition, sits on top of the blanket, as if to cushion it.]

[dancingmd]

[Beverly blanches a bit when she kneels down to look at the contents of the box. Though she doesn't know exactly what memories are associated with these objects, she can make an educated guess. It's unsurprising he is trying to keep this hidden, safely tucked away in the back. No doubt Deanna would have a lot to say about that.]

Perhaps you are going about this the wrong way then.

[faithfulwisdom]

[By his expression, the thought has never (or perhaps could never, given the way these calibrations go) occurred to him.]

What would you suggest?

[dancingmd]

Well...[She hesitates, fairly certain that he's not going to like her suggestion. But she also knows he appreciates her being straightforward with him so she continues.] You're trying to hide them, keep them where no one can see. Yet the box keeps moving to the front. Maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe you ought to be confronting these memories, instead of burying them.

[faithfulwisdom]

[She's right, he really doesn't like it. Finrod looks deeply uncomfortable at the suggestion.]

I can see the wisdom in it. [He admits slowly, reluctantly.] Yet I would not know where to begin.

[sinuosity]

[ Nyssa strides in with purpose. Never mind that this is some new trick of the Atroma's, whose standing in her eyes appears to sink lower and lower than she even thought possible. This place smells like a library — for forgotten things. ]

What is this?

[ She's standing in front of the box labelled Estel, watching Finrod. He's touched everything except this one. ]

[faithfulwisdom]

[When Finrod looks over and notices where Nyssa is standing, his expression changes entirely, softening into a smile.]

It is something which is all too easy to forget in our darkest moments.

[He fishes around in a nearby container, pulling out a couple of tinderboxes, before crossing over to Nyssa handing her one.]

You should light one.

[That's apparently what he intends to do. He kneels and pulls a candle out of the box, striking at the flint and sending sparks in its direction.]

[sinuosity]

[ Her eyes narrow for a moment, ascertaining if it's genuine, and when she finds his smile guileless, her expression softens. She does not smile in turn. ]

[ She does as he says, lighting the candle. ]

It is not dark in here. Are these scented?

Nyssa picked the cryptic Elven bullshit box

[faithfulwisdom]

There is light and there is Light.

[He manages, before the light of the candle intensifies, becoming bright enough to be blinding, if only momentarily. When the moment passes, the storehouse is gone and Nyssa will find herself outside in a meadow, observing a conversation.

Finrod is one of the two parties. The other is a human woman, strong and proud, probably somewhere in her late forties. They walk side by side, apparently deep in debate. But the conversation fades in partway through, with the woman obviously distressed.]

Have ye then no hope? [An earnest question from Finrod.]

What is hope? An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known? Then we have none. [An equally earnest response from the woman.]

That is one thing that Men call 'hope.' 'Amdir' we call it, 'looking up. 'But there is another which is founded deeper. Estel we call it, that is 'trust.' It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhin, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves.

This is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy. Amdir you have not, you say. Does no Estel at all abide?

[There the conversation fades out again, that blinding light returns, and when it passes, Nyssa is back in the storehouse, candle in hand, with that last sentence still seeming to hang in the air: Does no estel at all abide?.]

of course she did

[sinuosity]

You speak of faith.

[ She hadn't moved or spoken at all save to eavesdrop on the conversation: though the panache of a thief was unnecessary. Their voices had been clear, their sentiment clearer. There is light and then there is Light — Nyssa has lived in the shadows and greys all her life. There is only one kind of light, to her. ]

[faithfulwisdom]

I do. [He gives a slight nod in affirmation.] I have found it vital, both here and in my own world.