driftfleet | First song

Entry tags:

First song

Who: Maglor
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: Now until shuffle

Broadcast

He comes awake in a gasp, hands flying immediately to weapons that are not there as he rolls into a wary crouch. The man is slender, almost beautiful, long dark hair and clear grey eyes that seem to glow from within. He is dressed in what are best described as robes - once fine but now faded and worn, if clean due to the efforts of whoever put him there. Almost innocuously compared to the shabby state of him, there is a silver eight pointed star pinned to his clothes that looks impossibly untarnished and is obviously of very high quality.

"Who is there?"

Action

Maglor moves silently through the halls, no sound of his footfalls. He is wary, anxious - this is something totally outside his experience. But then he passes a window looking out and he stops, a cry of wonder breaking from his lips as he falls to his knees. A hand comes up to his mouth, the other gripping the harp that seems to have been the only thing that came with him, as silent tears run down his face.

"A! Elbereth!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh she can utterly empathize with this kind of waking up. It's what she did too. Only...less gracefully. She feels a little bad, because speaking up may startle him, but there's no help for it. The best thing for it is to get it over while. So.

"No one at the moment. Not physically. At least, not at this very moment." The voice might come from about anywhere. She recalls that experience too. Waking up with people just talking out of the ether. "There should be some kind of small device around you. Probably on the bunk or the floor by it. You can use it to see who you're talking to."

"Who?" Sharp eyes dart around, before settling on the communicator.

"What sorcery is this?" He murmurs, coming over warily to look at it. "And who do I speak to?"

"Not sorcery, actually, though it tends to look about the same in the end." If and when he decides to pick up his comm device, the young lady, with a mass of wild blood red curls, gives him a little wave.

"I'm Syeira. And for what it's worth, welcome to the Fleet. Though that probably isn't worth very much at all to you just now. And you've my sympathies for that."

He blinks down at the image and waves back tentatively when she does.

"Well met, Lady Syeria. Maglor, at your service." The manners are ingrained, the answer automatic, although no less sincere for that.

"This is... some form of remote viewing device? Which... means you are not here, I suppose. Thank you for the welcome. Can... you tell me ought of this... 'Fleet'?"

She nods back politely. "It's a pleasure, m'lord." It's a gamble, the title. The last time she'd made a guess about someone's lineage because they sounded and acted the part, she was scolded, if kindly.

"You are very correct. You are on a ship that sails in the void between planes, called the Marsiva. I am currently on another such vessel called The Red Fish. There are several more, all in tow behind the ship you're on at present. There's a great deal more to explain. You may want to sit and be comfortable."