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Feanor of the Peredhil · 09-16-2006, 04:37 PM

Within a Mordorian amount of unspecified but unnecessarily lengthy, just to be obnoxious, time, Aimè was clean, sober, and smelling deliciously of feminine swoon inducement. It took all of Alli's will to keep her mind on the subject at hand.

"Aimè, we have a problem. We killed Mario... the Dweomer brought him back, as well as J.Lo. Whether or not they are wolves still eludes me, and I am not cool with that lack of knowledge. Illamatar is silent and my sources are unaware of the problem and therefore do not know to look for anything.

"There was an attack in the palace, Aimè... last night... my Ranger died. It was not Mario... he has an alibi... something to do with mushrooms and a princess, and that doesn't much sound plausible, but we're in Mordor, so quite frankly..." She trailed off for a moment, sipping some Jack and Coke. "I do not know where Lopez is... she could be anywhere. So my options are that Lopez attacked last night under my very nose, or that the third wolf, never identified, is in the palace slaughtering... or... there are more now.

"Aimè... what in Eru's name am I supposed to do? I'm in danger... if they find out I'm the Seer... they'll kill me. I'm their biggest threat... Aimè..." her voice fell to a whisper. "I don't want to die."

Celuien · 09-16-2006, 06:20 PM

Panakeia shivered in the small yellow building, her soaked dress clinging to her in folds while the wind drove yet more stinging raindrops under the roof of her inadequate shelter. Anakron's departure left her numb, and she stared blankly at the rapidly overflowing fountains. The courtyard flooded, and might have continued to flood until the entire Guard Ton was swept away if not for an outflow at the end opposite Panakeia where the rising waters could spill over to join the Sir Pen Time.

All was lost. Panakeia felt that her final battle with the Blue Istari for Anakron had been fought to a bitter end. She could do nothing more. That knowledge settled into her, and all the warmth she had felt turned to a leaden ache. Half dazed, she walked into the rain, not knowing or caring that the rain poured in ever greater torrents. Lûndûn moved past her. The streets were filled with columns of marching Orcs, chanting in an incomprehensible rhythm. They joined the muddle of scenery, and Panakeia did not learn until much later what they meant.

At the end of her walk, Panakeia found herself back in her flat, looking like nothing so much as a recently bathed cat. With no clear plan in mind, she opened a chest in her closet. Reaching into the bottom of the chest, Panakeia pulled out a faded green traveling dress and hooded brown cloak, relics of her first journey from the ruins of her childhood home. For many long years, they had lain forgotten in the trunk, but now she put them on as old friends. She had left one ruin, and they would join her in her flight from her latest tragedy.

The trunk did not remain emptied long. Panakeia's valuables soon filled it to the brim. As she was about to close it, she took a final glance around the flat. One more item caught her notice. She wrapped it in a scarf and gently slipped the package into a corner of the trunk before locking the lid.

Then came a flurry of packing. Much was left behind, but Panakeia forgot nothing of importance. Venturing into the rain again, she waved down a taxi, took her bags, and left Lûndûn.

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09-16-2006, 04:37 PM	#1
Feanor of the Peredhil La Belle Dame sans Merci Join Date: Feb 2003 Location: perpetual uncertainty Posts: 5,517	Within a Mordorian amount of unspecified but unnecessarily lengthy, just to be obnoxious, time, Aimè was clean, sober, and smelling deliciously of feminine swoon inducement. It took all of Alli's will to keep her mind on the subject at hand. "Aimè, we have a problem. We killed Mario... the Dweomer brought him back, as well as J.Lo. Whether or not they are wolves still eludes me, and I am not cool with that lack of knowledge. Illamatar is silent and my sources are unaware of the problem and therefore do not know to look for anything. "There was an attack in the palace, Aimè... last night... my Ranger died. It was not Mario... he has an alibi... something to do with mushrooms and a princess, and that doesn't much sound plausible, but we're in Mordor, so quite frankly..." She trailed off for a moment, sipping some Jack and Coke. "I do not know where Lopez is... she could be anywhere. So my options are that Lopez attacked last night under my very nose, or that the third wolf, never identified, is in the palace slaughtering... or... there are more now. "Aimè... what in Eru's name am I supposed to do? I'm in danger... if they find out I'm the Seer... they'll kill me. I'm their biggest threat... Aimè..." her voice fell to a whisper. "I don't want to die."

09-16-2006, 06:20 PM	#2
Celuien Riveting Ribbiter Join Date: May 2005 Location: Assigned to Mordor Posts: 1,767	Panakeia shivered in the small yellow building, her soaked dress clinging to her in folds while the wind drove yet more stinging raindrops under the roof of her inadequate shelter. Anakron's departure left her numb, and she stared blankly at the rapidly overflowing fountains. The courtyard flooded, and might have continued to flood until the entire Guard Ton was swept away if not for an outflow at the end opposite Panakeia where the rising waters could spill over to join the Sir Pen Time. All was lost. Panakeia felt that her final battle with the Blue Istari for Anakron had been fought to a bitter end. She could do nothing more. That knowledge settled into her, and all the warmth she had felt turned to a leaden ache. Half dazed, she walked into the rain, not knowing or caring that the rain poured in ever greater torrents. Lûndûn moved past her. The streets were filled with columns of marching Orcs, chanting in an incomprehensible rhythm. They joined the muddle of scenery, and Panakeia did not learn until much later what they meant. At the end of her walk, Panakeia found herself back in her flat, looking like nothing so much as a recently bathed cat. With no clear plan in mind, she opened a chest in her closet. Reaching into the bottom of the chest, Panakeia pulled out a faded green traveling dress and hooded brown cloak, relics of her first journey from the ruins of her childhood home. For many long years, they had lain forgotten in the trunk, but now she put them on as old friends. She had left one ruin, and they would join her in her flight from her latest tragedy. The trunk did not remain emptied long. Panakeia's valuables soon filled it to the brim. As she was about to close it, she took a final glance around the flat. One more item caught her notice. She wrapped it in a scarf and gently slipped the package into a corner of the trunk before locking the lid. Then came a flurry of packing. Much was left behind, but Panakeia forgot nothing of importance. Venturing into the rain again, she waved down a taxi, took her bags, and left Lûndûn.