We called upon ourselves the Everlasting Dark if we kept not our oath [ audio / video / action]

[so_dark_a_road]

[ On the seventeenth of March, Curufin collects his harp and flute and picks a nicely reverberating corner of Sorrow's temple. He sets up his phone and then begins to play. If there are other members of Team Sorrow who can make music, they are welcome to join him, and in that case, there will be multiple instruments playing. Imagine any or all of the following: Peter Kater's My Beloved, Georg Deuter's Dämmerschein, or Deuter's Moon-silvered Clouds, except played with harp instead of piano.

What this music means to Curufin is the hour of his life when that life was coming to an end. He got himself and two of his brothers killed while attempting to destroy the Kingdom of Doriath, in order that he might keep a disastrous pledge that should never have been sworn in the first place. And, of course, he slew a lot of innocent people before he and his brothers died. He dimly remembers, as though it were a painful dream, the departure of his spirit on the winter wind, on a day in which there was a blue sky and vast white gray-edged clouds drifting above the forest, first under the sun and then by moonlight. He remembers his sorrow and that of the four brothers he left behind to weep and to bury their family. And he remembers his grief because now there could never be a reconciliation with his estranged son.

Elves have a certain magic -- they describe it as putting their thought into all that they make. This goes for music as well as for material artifacts. Curufin, as well, has a gift for casting a dark spell on others, transmitting a dark dream to them. But the dream he transmits here is dark but not evil, only profoundly sorrowful. It is not a sorrow without hope, however, because he himself is no longer hopeless. His post-death experiences have given him back his heart, and so his vision has a thin gleam of something positive in it.

Any listeners who are susceptible to this kind of performance will feel their own emotions, of course, emerging from their own experiences. It could be memories of loved ones cherished and lost, or other experiences of being grief-stricken. How they react is up to the individuals who hear. They should feel free, if they wish, to let him know how the music affects them. ]

[ OOC: Whoever wants their characters to be directly affected by this magic is free to do so, but of course it is not obligatory. Curufin's not a bad musician even without the magic. Also, OOCly, if your character tags in and allows himself or herself to become sorrowful, I will send Curufin to your post to experience the emotions of your character's team, or it can happen in this log. Fair trade! Everybody benefits. XD ]

Comments

CW: Mentions of Death; Manipulation; Abuse

[deceiving_is_believing]

Shuuya was delightfully exploring Hadriel, trying to learn the layout. And he's having fun figuring out the GPS and is currently exploring around each of the Temples. But, as he approaches Sorrow's Temple, he hears a melody. It's unfamiliar but haunting, and he pauses to listen. And he swiftly finds himself wishing he hadn't as he's pulled into a reverie, unwillingly. The song strikes a massive chord with him, surfacing up the memories of losing his mother, his adoptive mother, and Ayano.

He finds himself unwillingly recalling every detail of them, the way his mother took the gunshot to spare him, despite all of his years of abuse under her. How he took her image after it happened and it freaked him out because he couldn't make the curse end until he fell down the stairs.

How kind his adoptive family was, and how the mother had taken up research that had to do with his, and his other "siblings" abilities. She had loved all of them, and she ended up dying in an accident. And he didn't find out that the reason why she lost her life, because of that research for them, to save them from it, until Ayano discovered the research notes some time later and asked him to help her save their father.

Or how Ayano had sacrificed herself, in the face of Wide-eyes Snake possessing her father, and she jumped off that building, to save Shuuya and disrupt the cycle of the Eyes abilities. And how Wide-eyes Snake manipulated Shuuya to play the part of Ayano's corpse, under the threat to kill the rest of his family.

And how all three of their bodies had been claimed by the Void.

Before he can stop them, tears start falling down his face and he quickly buries his face in his hands, trying to hide the shame as much as he can, being where he is. Every detail, every last moment, it stung. I really am a monster. It's all my fault!

He curls into himself as he crouches to the ground, desperately scrambling to put the mask back into place, but with the lull of the melody always pulling him back in, he's in agony.

action

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin pauses to take a break, going to the door of the temple and looking out. He sees a figure approaching. He's met this person before -- who drops his face into his hands and then slides to the ground. Curufin hurries over, because he feels responsible.

"Shuuya?" He kneels down and touches Shuuya's shoulder.

[deceiving_is_believing]

He reacts to the touch as though a painful jolt through his body - his eyes widen intensely and he smacks the hand away, the force of which causing him to tumble to the side. He stares at Curufin, not recognizing him for the first moment as he makes a face somewhere between panic and grief. Although he feels paralyzed, he can feel his hand shaking against the ground he's trying to support himself on. And he can feel the tension tighten his chest so hard he can barely breathe as he finally recognizes the Elf.

He wants to, so desperately wants to, put a smile on his face and pretend nothing's wrong, like he always does. Hell, he'd give anything to pretend he doesn't even exist right now. He wishes he could disappear from sight and not be a problem to anyone anymore.

A few painful breaths escape his lips, as he attempts to muster up even a ghost of a laugh, only to completely fail at that, too. He gives something broken that he's praying resembles a smile as he bites his lip before finally speaking.

"It's all my fault, y'know? They're all dead because of me." He holds his arms out to the side, gritting his teeth, clenching his nails into his palms. "It's all my fault! I'm a fucking monster! You should really hate me, y'know? Before I end up killing you, too!."

He'd swear he can feel his nails breaking the skin in his palms, and he honestly couldn't care about the sting.

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin jumps back when his hand is smacked, though he is not angry. He can't blame anybody for reacting to the music, and he knows that in Hadriel, people are typically carrying their secrets around like a basket full of hot coals. If they spill out and burn somebody beside the bearer, that is not necessarily the bearer's fault.

"I don't know your history, but it can't be worse than mine. I don't hate you." He disregards the threat, hearing its desperation. "Your palms are bleeding." He removes a clean kerchief from his sleeve and offers it to Shuuya.

"I am sorry. The music was meant to create sorrow, and I'm afraid it does exactly what it was composed to do. This is not your fault, it is mine."

[so_dark_a_road]

"I can't go back because. . . where would the Door send me? To my original world? Not back to my life. I'm dead. To the Halls of Mandos, where dead Elves are supposed to go, but where I refused to go? -- it's where I was supposed to be but wasn't. To the Void, the emptiness surrounding my world that I explored but did not remain in? To one of the two lives I lived after my death, after I re-embodied myself? I wasn't supposed to have done that, either, but I did. Or if not to my world, then how about the different version of it whence I journeyed to in search of my brother Maglor? But that was not my world either, just a future version of it, and furthermore. . . "

With a look of humor, he stepped a little closer and lowered his voice as though to conceal this information from any overly curious ears. ". . . how could I go back to that future version of my world, when I'm still there? There can't very well be two of me!"

"No, seriously, I have a history that I would think any self-respecting Door would find impossible to sort out. I think it would give up in frustration or disgust if it tried to deal with me."

"So it isn't me I'm worried about, it's my son. He came directly from a terrible situation, and he must not go back. At least, not without me -- and I doubt the Door would be so kind as to send us both, even if it could. So, neither of us can leave."

"And besides. . . there is someone else here whom I would not wish to leave." His voice had grown much quieter and more contemplative.

But in a minute, his attention returned to Shuuya. He became aware of the young man's silence surrounding Curufin's questions, all but the one. And not wanting to pry, he only looked at Shuuya with a kindly expression, acknowledging the silence and silently telling him with his eyes that he might keep his secrets or tell them, as he chose.

(Action)

[handofsilver]

(It doesn't happen at first and the figure beside Curufin might go unnoticed as said Elf spreads his sorrow. But in perfect counterpoint, another harp will begin to harmonize with the song Curufin weaves. Scarred and callused fingers pluck the notes and a dark head is bowed over the instrument as the spell is woven and strengthened in the air.

Celebrimbor is remembering the deaths of his father and uncles. He is remembering how their people suffered and he had, inevitably, added to it. Sauron's face looms before him, flame bright and taunting him for all his failures and his weaknesses. Then he feels his leg throb, echoing the sensation he had felt when it had nearly been crushed by a large hammer, wielded by none other than the Maia. His wrists, his ankles too pound as if they are being restrained by hard, unforgiving metal. Then he feels the collar around his neck...

All of it would almost be bearable - agony or not - if, while trussed, he hadn't seen his wife and his daughter murdered before his eyes. The notes begin to wail and their rhythm is wild, wrapping around Curufin's melody so intricately that the two cannot easily be separated by even a trained ear.)

(Action)

[so_dark_a_road]

[ Curufin is so engrossed in what he is doing that he really doesn't hear his son's quiet feet as Celebrimbor slips into the temple and sits nearby. But when Cel's harp joins in, Curufin looks up and smiles through his tears. It hadn't occurred to him when he started this that both he and anybody who joined him would feel the sorrow as well. He doesn't know whether it is worth it. But he appreciates greatly that Celebrimbor has come to help, and Curufin knows well the price that his son is paying for this. ]

Cel.

[ He reaches out a hand to caress his son's shoulder. And then he continues to play, and there is a sort of joy in this, the two of them weaving the melody and the counterpart together, so that neither musician is clearly the lead for long, and both make a tissue of sound that wraps the listener in a sparkling, shimmering veil of feeling. ]

(Action)

[handofsilver]

(The caress is felt through the web of grief that they have built and Celebrimbor lifts clouded silver eyes to gaze at Curufin solemnly. While the pain is strong and far nearer than he likes, he is also finding the simple act of playing therapeutic. His fingers never rest over the harp strings and they follow and lead effortlessly as if the two Elves have always performed together.

What is music but an expression of the heart? Of the fëa? Celebrimbor knows his father's heart and his father knows his heart. He shifts to his left - for he sits on Curufin's right - to brush their shoulders together. Camaraderie. There are no words necessary for him to say, letting the music swell under his fingertips, that he loves his Atar and that this spell will not only touch their hearts, but the hearts of many others too.)

(Action)

[so_dark_a_road]

[ Curufin, too, finds the playing in concert soothing and healing. They do indeed have a most extraordinary rapport when they take action together, but it seems particularly strong when they are making music. He turns his dark eyes in his son's direction and radiates love out of them.

Strange, their eyes are both silver. Just different colors of silver. Celebrimbor's are still full of light, despite all the terrible things he has experienced and witnessed. They glow softly like the bright edge of a rain cloud at the end of the rainstorm, heralding the return of the sun. And Curufin's are dark like hematite, as though the darkness that once he was immersed in left a permanent, visual mark on him -- and yet, though he too was born with eyes of a light, cloudy gray, they have been this dark since he was a little school-aged Elf. Maglor used to call him "little crow" because of those dark eyes. And now, those eyes are as loving as they were when he was that little person, only now he's an adult who is experienced in love and hate, and he knows the difference, the power of the one and the cost of the other, and it is love that shines from his eyes when he looks at his son.

Their shoulders touch, and the power flows from one of them to the other. Yes, there is a magic in this weaving, winding, sparkling music. It is born of sorrow but infused with love, and because of this, a spell is created. This music will touch hearts in ways that neither of the musicians can predict, for once such a magic is let loose, it goes its own way, and it interacts with other hearts in no predictable way. But there is a goodness in it, the same way there is goodness in a powerful rainstorm -- for it waters the earth and allows things to grow. ]

[dragonsgrasp]

[Kain is looking around for more people to confuse, of course, wanting to continue spreading his gods' emotion to the other residents. He has it in the back of his mind to find and talk to Curufin anyway, and while he doesn't know him personally, he vaguely recognizes him as someone else on the Guard.]

[But as he approaches, Kain finds himself overcome by a feeling of despair. The music is bringing to mind the most sorrowful times of his life... He thinks about the heartbreak he'd suffered when he'd found out Rosa loves Cecil... and he finds himself thinking ahead even further to more recent events of Cosmos and Chaos' war. The moment of his own death overcomes him next... it's as if he's there, falling on the battlefield beside his comrades. He's thought about it, of course, even had dreams, but nothing compares to this. He's instantly brought into the moment, remembering every bit of pain... and fading away beside the other five who'd died with him...]

[He's so overcome by the music at first that he barely notices the real world anymore. He just stands there, absorbed in the music.]

[so_dark_a_road]

[ After a few hours of this, Curufin has been checking the outside of the temple periodically to make sure nobody in the environment is being significantly traumatized by the concert. He set his harp down against the temple wall and comes out onto the front steps. Somebody is standing on the grounds, still, lost in whatever memories have been evoked. He knows him by sight, though they don't know each other well. ]

Kain? Are you all right?

[dragonsgrasp]

[While he'd come here for a reason, he's gotten far too distracted at the moment to do much else. He'll return to the matter at hand eventually, but for now... all he can think about is loss. The loss of the love he'd wanted, the loss of his life... all of it. He's very absorbed in it all, but the moment he hears another voice speak, he snaps out of it a little.]

[He looks over abruptly, trying to shake off those feelings of despair. While not one to cry, his eyes have watered up, and he quickly blinks them to clear them away.]

It's nothing, I... it's just... I was thinking about some things I shouldn't have been.

[so_dark_a_road]

The music was pretty much guaranteed to have that effect. I'm sorry.

[ With every person who is affected by it, Curufin feels less happy about having done it. What is the prize worth, anyway? There isn't much he or his team could ask the gods for that would be uniquely useful, anyway. He could probably find the materials for and manufacture most anything they could think of to request. He shakes his head a little in exasperation with himself and this contest. ]

Can I help?

[hotspurred]

As part of his patrol Henry passes Sorrow's temple, though ordinarily he does not cross the threshold. It is on one such occasion that he makes the mistake of investigating upon catching the distant sound of music.

Standing right at the entrance, he listens more closely—

He is stricken by a thrust of grief sharper than any blade. He can smell and taste ash, smoke and the familiar iron of blood, as for a moment he is overwhelmed by the agonising memory of Champagne. He feels the stutter of Iamarl's breath as she stops walking, and hears the weak thread of her low voice as she speaks her last words. You must... watch the Prince... He sees her violet eyes glaze over as her soul departs her mortal flesh—

Henry flinches violently and closes his ears to the song. he lifts a gauntleted hand to wipe a small trace of wetness from his cheeks before scrubbing it over his face as he tries to suppress the terrible ache in his heart.

After the demons, he'd promised himself that would remember her life, not her death.

Hurt by the lingering phantom of his mourning, he takes refuge in his temper.

Stepping back from the accursed temple he angrily snaps, "What enchantment is this?!"

action

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin hears the angry exclamation and comes out of the temple. There is a glimmer of moisture in his own eyes, because he cannot make this kind of music and not feel the effects himself. He sees it's Henry who is standing there demanding to know what is going on.

"It's sorrow's music, played by myself and my son, and I boosted it a little bit with some Elvish enchantment. I was hoping to win the prize for Sorrow's team, though I suspect it will be Team Tranquility that bears away the victory."

[hotspurred]

When he sees Curufin emerge, Henry's brow furrows. Retaining his discontent, he listens to the explanation. Elvish magic used to wound the heart? He knows Celebrimbor better than Curufin. This is the first time that he's been reminded of the folktales back home about fairy kind, in which they possess an underlying cruelty.

He considers summoning his grief to the forefront of his mind a violation.

Oh, Iamarl. God rest her soul.

His tone of voice is cutting.

"Why?"

As far as this contest is concerned, to him Hope, Delight and Tranquility are different. They do not torment the populace to get the emotions they desire, therefore making them safer victors. He considers his own participation a counterattack against those who would see the remaining gods empowered.

Bitterly, he adds, "Have we not miseries enough?"

action;

[feelslikeimspilling]

[ Will was passing by the temple as he took Winston for a walk. The dog slowed down and started to walk closer to Will's side, looking up at him with wide eyes. It seemed the music and magic were already affecting the dog before it worked its emotions on Will himself.

He slowed down and tilted his head. The music, be it somewhat melancholy, was hauntingly beautiful. Why, it almost took Will's breath away. He found himself wandering into the temple itself.

Will's empathy made him more susceptible to others emotions and feelings most of the time, but now? Now he was feeling everything. He could tell there were loss and death, the longing and sorrow of things that had passed and things that could never be. He huffed out a sigh as tears welled in his eyes.

The harp was beautiful and Will was enchanted by it, drawing as close as he could without disturbing the one playing it. ]

action;

[so_dark_a_road]

[ After finding out how strongly people were being affected by the concert, Curufin was keeping half an ear open to steps in the temple or outside. He genuinely did not like making people sad. Not in this life, anyway. He looked up. ]

[ He smiled a little at Will and his canine companion. ] Will and Winston! Hello.

action;

[feelslikeimspilling]

[ As he was greeted, Will didn't speak. He couldn't! His breath had been taken away by the wonderful music that filled his ears. Lips parting but no words left them. Winston, however, gave a small howl before wagging his tail and rushing over to greet Curufin, pawing at him lightly.

It took Will a moment to compose himself. Awkwardly and nervously drying his eyes with the back of his sleeve before moving closer. ]

I've never... That was beautiful... What is it? Did you write it yourself?

[ Having been moved by the music, Will was intrigued to know more about it, it's story, it's meaning and why Curufin felt to share it with everyone. ]

action.

[dedikated]

There are places in Hadriel Kate prefers not to tread if she doesn't have to, but curiosity and emotion pull harder than one's own preferences sometimes. She follows the sound that filters out of Sorrow's temple when she hears it, drawn to the memories drawn out by each note as it echoes across the walls and through her body, down past muscle and into bone.

It sounds like loss. It sounds like the soul escaping the body, transcending to somewhere else, if a person believes in such things (if pushed, Kate will always say she doesn't, but the childhood stories of a dimension beyond perception, a world where the departed watch over the living stick deep in the recesses of her mind, keep her wondering all the same). She steps closer, her footsteps their own quiet beat, underscoring each note before she eventually finds the source of the song. Without saying anything, Kate sits nearby, draws her knees into her chest, curls into herself like a child listening to her mother's stories.

It isn't blood or death the song draws out, but the smaller, quieter moments. The smile of her mother and the sizzle of eggs cooking on the stove. Her uncle flicking paint at her and Marc with a laugh, telling them to stop trying to look at what he's working on. Her aunt picking Marc up and hugging him when he aces another test. Her dad, standing in the crowd with an elephant toy in his hands, cheering her on at another race. The things that were and the things that could have continued to be. Moments of innocence, trapped in glass and ignorant of the darkness outside. Moments of happiness that came like blips and were swallowed by that encroaching blackness.

She waits until he finishes playing before speaking. "You make up that song?"

action.

[so_dark_a_road]

He looks up and smiles a little. "Hello, Kate! No, I didn't make it up. I wish I had! But I heard it performed once, and I remembered it."

He'd be pleased to know that it was the kindly memories that were evoked for her. The sort of recollection that affirms that human life is not in vain. The tender, ordinary human moments oppose the dark with their small, sweet lights. Whether they are swallowed up by that darkness or not, they leave their traces on the face of the universe.

"Did you like it?" He's noticed her posture. One of the things he remembers clearly from his own childhood is how he loved to hear stories told by the adults, whether they were happy tales or not. And his own son was the same.

[dedikated]

They hurt in their own way, but better the small things than the things that already make up her nightmares. Better the things long forgotten than the ones that never will be. Remembering what could have been back when there was all this hope still available, shining like a promise rather than a sharp blade ready to hurt her. When hope meant good things rather than an expectation of loss.

Typical, that she'd be on Team Hope, isn't it? Somehow expected to spread the one thing that she approaches like the child burned by fire, cautious and fearful. But no one's forcing her to do so, so she won't try. Doesn't want to. Doesn't even know how she'd begin to if she tried anyway.

She hums and nods, straightening up a little. "Reminded me of being a kid." Actually being one, something she hasn't thought about for too long, so often preferring to ignore those times when she doesn't have to think about them. Easier to pretend the happiness never was than remember it and miss it.

But it was there, and still is, somewhere. A warm ember deep down that stops everything feeling so pointless. She had something worth everything that came after, something that warranted the anger and hurt. That's more than some.

Video / OTA

[drabsolutelynot]

Music has always been vital to the way Rosen ticks. Just as the humanist physicians of medieval Italy believed music existed in the very human pulse, Rosen feels it in his core. A fast track to his nervous system. His sensitivity to it is akin to that of insect wings to a breath of air, and he cannot help but be alternately aggravated by discordant melodies or soothed by harmonious ones.

Since his marriage fell apart, music is one of the few things outside of his work that make him feel, well, alive.

Because of this, he cannot ignore the melancholic vibrations of the harp strings or the sobbing sighs of the flute. For a long while he listens with his heart aching as though it is being held hostage by the lungs who refuse to breathe for fear of taking in the sorrow.

However he eventually does move. Lee gathers up the harp lent to him by Curufin, and after turning on his phone, he begins to play in response. Perhaps without Curufin's elegance, but he focuses more on trying to get the heart across. And to do so he begins with Puccini's 'O Mio Babbino Caro'. A song that, at least to him, always offered a serene and reflective escape.

video

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin would not agree that Rosen's playing is less elegant. He lays aside the flute and leans against his harp and simply listens. Slowly, the feelings of sorrow that assail him when he plays his own music diminish. He is calmed and enchanted. The song that Dr. Rosen is playing is a moving one, but here, it does not come off as sorrowful. The music sparkles through the air as a shower of bright, serene notes, like sunlight glittering on quietly rippling waters. Curufin is rendered tranquil.

"You are quite the musician, Dr. Rosen!" he exclaims, softly, when the piece is finished.

[ OOC: Was looking for a tranquil rendition of "O Mio Babbino Caro" on YouTube, and I think I like this harpist's version of it. Also, this little kid sings it more movingly than a lot of the adult opera singers! IMHO, anyway. XD ]

Re: video

[drabsolutelynot]

Rosen sets his chin against the bridge of the harp, fingers coming to rest at it's column as the song winds gently down. His expression is pensive, brows low and lips drawn thin. At this juncture, Lee would normally feel compelled to uncomfortably dismiss the complement with a polite statement of thanks and insistence that it is untrue.

But his thoughts have wandered elsewhere.

"You are on sorrow's team then, Curufin?"

[OOC: Those are lovely :) I adore this song (also most of puccini, haha)