An Artist's Abode
(( soundtrack ))
[ Birds were singing at a windowsill, the noise of their sweet song trickled in through the ajar glass, filling the room with sound and light. A few candels were flickering their last as the day broke, clear and crisp, the early morning sun beaming in a few shards of pale warmth. The sunshine inched across the room, illuminating each scribble on the wall, each half-finished drawing and finally settling on a man, laying face down, on a poorly dressed matress.
The man stirred, his breath a heavy sigh, waking now as if releasing himself from the slumber of ages. Dressed modestly in pain-stained clothes his pale, blond hair pulled back into a messy braid. Legolas began to feel again, the sensitivities in his fingers and toes returning, the numbing sensation of pins and needles tickling up his legs. His brow furrowed, his body felt heavy, weighted and stiff, a rather unfamiliar feeling for an Elf.
Legolas sat up with a start as he noticed his surroundings, the painted walls, the oddly shaped furniture and the piles of materials (clothes, paints, papers). Everything about this room was unknown to him but had an odd, familiar feel to it. Silently, he looked about himself and saw no one near by, none of his companions or foes were in here with him. But despite not having sensed any of his friends he could not stop himself from calling out to them in the hope that they would answer him. His voice was firm but gentle, clear as it penetrated the early morning songs of Pari. ]
Aragorn? Gimli?
Is anyone there?
[ But met only with the response of those twittering blackbirds Legolas knew for certain now that he was alone.
Finally he began to move, pulling himself to the edge of the bed he felt his head ache. The world was spinning, as he moved to stand it felt as though he had been plunged underwater. His balance off-set he stumbled to his feet and managed to clammor to a near by bookcase for support. ]
Ai! (Alas) What misfortune has fallen upon me now, my footing is uneven.
[ He cursed in his mother tongue, and glanced up to spot a looking glass, delicately balanced in front of him. Before anything else, he noticed the curved, round tops of his ears and stumbled back. Balance slowly returning he groped the tips of his ears nervously. A horrible feeling of dread washed over him and without a second thought he spotted the door to this artist's appartment and he headed for the exit. Where was he? What had happened to him? How fear and panic struck him as he stumbled out the front door and clumsily made his way down several flights of stairs. Hearing neighbours speaking in foreign tongues at him as he went.
He burst out of the the building's entrance and felt fear-stricken, grey eyes widen at the world around him. Metal carts moving without horses to pull them, men and women walking the streets with pained skin and revealing half of their bodies in exposing clothes, the babble of an unknown language washing over him. ]
Heren aica! (Bad luck!)
What land have I found myself in. And what has become of me?
[ooc: This is Legolas's first post! Be gentle with him! :D Everyone is welcome to try and calm down this nervous Elf man.]