(Open)

[castintoflames]

Who: Maedhros & Open
Broadcast: Marsiva
Action: On the Marsiva.
When: Evening

(A voice, beginning softly and then rising in volume, can be heard aboard the Marsiva this eve. Technology brings it to others - the ship is large - not that the singer entirely notices. A bright tumble of fiery hair obscures the picture momentarily before a certain tall Elf steps back. Yet the singing continues and Maedhros's eyes are distant, lost in memory.

The notes reach pitches that are almost keening, but the melody always softens, always returns to a pleasant level. Until the end, that is. The keening returns, then, and the Elf shows his prowess with song - something he will deny until death and beyond - by singing notes that are quick and passionate like flames. His eyes reflect despair and grief before assuming a look of grim determination.

But every song must end and his cannot carry on. He absently brushes back his hair - which is loose from all braids - and finishes securing his prosthetic arm in place.)

Comments

[castintoflames]

(The coaxing is met with the barest flicker of fire dancing in that wind. He is a candle with a single wick in his surprise; his timidity. But that flame has a lot of emotion to feed off of and though Maedhros tries to dampen it, the need to let it spread overwhelms all. His voice rises like a proud bird and there can be no Darkness. He commands the Shadows to flee.)

[twilightminstrel]

[These are flames he'll coax to brilliant life. Daeron challenges that flame to full life. His voice is the wind that helps the bird soar. The wind that helps chase shadows and darkness away.]

[castintoflames]

(He sings for the brothers he lost; the father; the cousins; his men. He sings for himself, desperately alone inside of his head that is never silent; never kind. The flames are not as bright, but they are fierce. The bird too has talons and a beak that it is ready to use in its despair. On the enemies and on itself.)

[twilightminstrel]

[And Daeron's voice is a buoy. Giving Maedhros an anchor while expressing all his pain and misery, though it hurts. He's used to pain himself, but he sets that aside as best he can and is even mostly successful. Wind is easy to rend and tear, but difficult to deny.

Notes of the forest, of wood, enter his song. Giant, magnificent trees offer shelter and perch.]

[castintoflames]

(He will not tear the wind with his fire or his wings. He sails on it, following instinct or perhaps not wholly caring where he goes. He has no home; no place to call his own except...

With the water. While he can never mimic the water in all its beauty, he does try, paying homage to the only brother he has left. There is a river near the trees, bright and glistening under the hot, fiery sun.)