Lanfear (Mierin Eronaile) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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outer_divide2013-04-13 12:14 am
lanfear) wrote in outer_divide2013-04-13 12:14 am
First Weaving: The Wheel Weaves [Video/Action if you want it]
Well this was new. New and mildly disconcerting, to be truthful. As she stepped naked from her pod, Lanfear couldn't help but look around with wide eyes, bewilderment plain on her face. Shaking her head, she rubbed her temple, shutting her eyes as she thought back. She'd been talking to Lews Therin's reincarnation...and then the Soulless and the Trollocs came. And then...nothing. The next thing she could recall was the inside of that small cell.
No, not a cell. That was even more apparent as she looked around the chamber. A pod. Like something Balthamel might have come up with. Something from before the War. When? How? Her eyes darted around the dimly lit interior, taking it all. No, not a room. This was some sort of...ship? A Sho-Wing? Or perhaps like one of the great Observation Spheres. Surely not, though, those had all been destroyed after she'd been sealed. And those were feats far, far beyond the feeble minds of the present Age to duplicate. What was going on?
Stepping forward, she almost stumbled on the footlocker at her feet, a sneer forming on her lips as she read the nameplate. Mierin Eronaile. With a snarl she grasped the Source and felt the heat of it filling her, the gentle thrum of Saidar pulsing through her and sighed. That was always easier than grasping the Dark One's power, less painful in it's own way, though the weaves were slightly weaker. But enough for this. Liquid fire poured from her fingertips, incinerating the plaque and leaving nothing but a molten puddle on the floor. That name no longer had any meaning. And none need even know such a name ever existed.
Still holding the Power, Lanfear began to weave her disguise, her shape changing from ripe maturity to the blossom of youth. Selene. That face would do quite nicely. Wherever this was, looking a little vulnerable probably would be a boon. Rifling through the contents of her box, the Chosen found her gown, the angreal she always wore, and a few other trinkets she'd had on her when she'd visited the Stone. And a strange mirror with some sort of crude type-set attached. Like something from...so, so long ago. Before the Hundred Companions had sealed her away and Broken the world in their madness. An act she still intended to repay if any of those fools descendants yet lived. But that was a thought for another time she mused as she dressed.
The mirror was a small thing to understand, but as she perused this "network" one thing became quite clear. She was not in her world anymore. How she'd arrived and how to return were both matters that would need addressing. Which meant dealing with the local inhabitants. And that meant leaving this ship and speaking to the wretches. Or...using this network. That might provide a few answers. Yes...a bit of false distress. That would do nicely. Her gown shifted, becoming voluminous and thick. A touch of modesty would do no harm, either...
[She begins her broadcast simply, a beautiful young woman with dark hair and thick robes appearing wide-eyed over the network. Her voice trembles, from fear or despair it might be hard to say. But this woman is definitely not taking this well. The angle of the camera plainly shows the interior of the ship, the woman huddled in a corner, staring at the recording device]
W-where am I? I...have no idea where I am. Light, I was just...out for a picnic and I f-fell asleep. And now I'm here. Where...wherever here is. Can someone out there help me? Please? I'm so frightened and I-I don't know what's going on. I have gold, if you need. Just help me...
[She leans over, peering uncertainly at the feed...waiting for an answer. Inwardly, her face is a mask of amusement. Someone with a kind heart, or a craven fool seeking easy prey would surely answer that call, a noble maiden in distress. The former would be easy enough to fool, and the latter simple enough to leave in a tattered heap. And either would leave her in a better position than when she started...]
(ooc: Feel free to actionspam as well as network her, all I ask is that any action come after her little "meltdown")
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[Her voice has firmed up a bit, now more intrigued than fearful]
Is such a thing possible? Of course...it must be so, but I had...I had not considered...
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Apparently it is. In any case, the world is called Verdana. The city is called the Old City, because people are seldom as creative as one might like. The city under the enormous dome of energy is full of tyrannical lunatics. That covers most of the important bits.
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Will those in the dome trouble us? Are they the rulers of this Old City as well?
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[He's yet to see any real sign of it, but he's only been here a little over a month.]
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[That sounds like something a fool like Sammael or Demandred might do. Artless waste of resources, that.]
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[He's just taking the opportunity to speculate out loud, really. He's not much interested in her opinion unless she continues to indicate she might have a brain hidden in there. He's played helpless himself, once in a while.]
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Fear of outsiders, perhaps? Or perhaps dissenting opinions on how to deal with them? It would make sense to simply destroy one's enemies, and the fact that they have not...yet done so indicates that they either mean to use...us...or have other reasons. Do you know anything of the history of this world? As I presume you are no native, either.
[She's slipping back towards the collected (if still uncertain) behavior one might expect from a noblewoman. ]
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A little. I've been researching of late, and there are far more natives than the rabble that comes off the ship, who are really quite reasonable about our constant nuisance.
[There's a bit of ironic amusement in describing himself as rabble, along with both those friends and those adversaries he has.]
There was a war with another world, I am given to understand, and the dome was once a defense against those attacks. But now, clearly, the fortress stands against its own people.
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A war. Perhaps they consider us...rabble...to be tied to those enemies?
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Perhaps, though that seems a stretch. And my brother has told me that in other such cities they maintain reasonable diplomatic relations between those within their domes and without. Nay, something strange goes on there.
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So, ours is the exception. Perhaps because of...us, you suspect. Unless there are other such...ships near each dome.
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[Said the skinny boy in the library.]
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[Attention: grabbed. She does hope desperately that none of the other Chosen have stepped forth, save perhaps Asmodean.]
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[Even Loki can't have his nose in a book all day, every day.]
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[That is no lie, at least.]
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[Loki's not broadcasting the truth of the matter either, though Sigyn's likely made it impossible to hope for anonymity. Perhaps he can at least keep the news of a royal sorcerer from new arrivals for a bit. Sooner or later, someone will take an interest in him more pragmatic than his brother's friends'. That and he sincerely enjoys library work.]
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[Joy.]
May I know your name? You've...already helped me immensely, and I am in your debt.
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[He's in the habit of leaving off his patronymic, lately, especially on the network.]
And please, don't think on it. It's nothing at all.
[Debts can be as dangerous to hold as to owe.]
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[She has noooo trouble at all forgetting the debt. She'd planned to anyway.]
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[Good to keep Thor occupied anyway. He'll just go ahead and not mention his incivility to the lady. Whether her whinging is an act or not, it'd be against the character she presents to tattle on him.]
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