test drive / milliways

[gods_that_haunt_me]

A tall, lanky man, seemingly made up entirely of long lines and angles, wanders into the bar through the back door.

He's been out all day, exploring the forest. Listening to the trees.

(They were quite talkative.)

The waitrats scatter as he crosses the room. They probably don't like the hatchet tucked into his belt. Or the knife. Or the sword.

He snickers at their fright. He's harmless! Really!

(No, he isn't.)

"Lady Bar, a cup of mead, if you please," he says in Old Norse. A horn cup appears, and he takes a swig.

Comments

[starrydome]

A Man who lives in the snow. Or a seafarer. That would be his guess. The black lines might help against too harsh sun. And his skin does not look like he dwells in the desert.

(It becomes a game of sorts. Too guess at what strangers' lives entail.)

"I am," he replies, and his voice is clear and full toned. "Although I count both Men and Elves among my kin, I myself am fully of the Firstborn. My name is Elrond Half-Elven or Elrond of Imladris. Or any number of other names."

His smile widens a little.

[gods_that_haunt_me]

The elf's speech even sounds like magic.

A grin suddenly creases Floki's sun and sea-weathered face.

"Elrond," he says with a deep nod. "I am Floki of Kattegat, shipwright to Earl Ragnar Lothbrok."

It seems fitting that he ought to state his home and occupation, and proudly at that.

[starrydome]

A Man of the Sea then.

"I grew up by the Sea myself," Elrond replies. "Sometimes, I still find myself missing the sound of waves."

There is a hint of nostalgia in his voice. He does miss it at times. It is not the Sea-longing that may afflict elves born and raised among the trees. It is the longing all may feel when remembering happy times a long time ago.