driftfleet | (Open)

Who: Maedhros
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: On the planet - more particularly, in the water.
When: Early morning.

(He is the first son of Fëanor and Nerdanel and he abides by no one's commands but his own. The water calls to him in the same way that the fire repels him. He remembers the agonizing burn as the Silmaril seared through his hand; he remembers how the flames and lava licked at his body, consuming him as if he were a rare treat that should not be allowed to escape. The water helps cool those memories and he makes a pretty sight, floating near one of the Water Temples, his copper locks turning dark red as they flow about him.)

I feel as if I am in the realm of Lord Ulmo; this planet would suit him nicely!

(The image shifts as he climbs out of the water and rests on the steps of a temple. He is not wearing his customary robes, but only a tunic and pants - both of which cling to him, leaving little to the imagination.)

If you have not taken the plunge, so to speak, fleet, I suggest you do so. The water is refreshing.

(For one who is plagued by images of fire and death, it must be.)

And the race that resides here is beautiful to behold. They are fond of their ornamentations and I think they wear them well.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Why can't you be both? (He wishes to make a point.)

[Nope, point not received.]

Because I'm a sword.

Yet you speak; you have feelings of your own.

'Cause I got a body, sure. But that don't stop me from being a sword? What are you gettin' at?

Why are you so adverse to being called a man? I acknowledge that you are a sword, but there is far more to you.

Because I ain't a man.

[He lets out an exasperated sigh. How to even explain this? They never talked about it at the Citadel. They all just knew what they were and what they weren't.]

Swords kill men - humans. Even if we got physical bodies that look like people now, that doesn't make us one of them.

[He doesn't have a human heart - the soul that makes people...well, people.]

This body won't age, it can't die, it won't get sick or even stay hurt all that long. The only thing I share with humans is I get hungry and I sleep.

[And he can't really dream either. He's heard some of the other swords dream. They dream of their former masters or things they experienced. Doudanuki? He has jumbles of memories in his head, too many to sort and count. Sometimes he can see one of them clearly, but it's never pleasant. It's years and decades and centuries of sitting around, buried in warehouses, and then pain and fire and horror. Or it's death - him killing a former master, a master breaking him for fun, things he doesn't want to remember.

He isn't a man. He doesn't want to be one.]

You are perhaps more human than I am. I do not need slumber and I do not age. Elves are immune to sickness - unless a poison is introduced to our systems - and we do not die unless our bodies are utterly destroyed.

(He is silent for a short stretch before adding:) I did not mean offense. But you seem more perceptive than I would equate with a sword. You have emotion and a will of your own.

Edited 2017-03-31 08:42 (UTC)

Probably 'cause I'm technically a tsukumogami in a sword, but it's easier to just call myself a sword.

[Because trying to explain both just opens up a whole can of worms that he doesn't have the answers to.]

I'm only just startin' to understand all this emotion and "want" and "will" stuff though. Before, all I wanted was to kill stuff or fight.

As time passes, what you discover might shock you. (A sword wants to be used and what is a sword used for? Protection - defensive maneuvers - and murder. His initial desires make sense.)

I look forward to your transformation.

Eh, I'm not. Eventually, if I survive the war, I'll get retired and either destroyed or stuck in storage again.

Not exactly seein' the point of learning a bunch of stuff just so I can go back to being useless.

(Open)

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;