Alagaësia AU [private;;WWB]

{alright, yeah, I like the idea of them having hatched a while before Klyn and Dhvani. :3 That all sounds good to me! Btw, sorry it took me so long to reply! Honestly, I totally forgot we were doing this rp ^^; but I'm glad we are, it should be epic! And I suppose Círdan will have kind of messy or windblown super dark, straight hair (going with his almost gothic/loner personality) and he can have light, like minty leaf green eyes. He'll have a quite fair complexion and high cheekbones (like all elves...ya know, the Fair Folk and whatnot), and he'll be tall and skinny but not quite as tall as Bhara, and he's more the lean and...quick I guess? Like he's real skinny but the normal healthy kind of skinny, not the spindly kind. Ya got me? He gets angry real easy and does tend to shrug people off and he's a bit rude, as I've said xD and he's a pretty skilled fighter but he sucks at anything that involves charisma and persuasion and talking and whatnot. and I guess....they're like human-teen equivalent in age, right? They're young elves? Just makin sure. And I kiiinda wanna make Círdan have a younger sibling or something but I feel like that's weird because elves like never have kids...and idk extra person to rp. Maybe though....what do you think? I mean they wouldn't be around alll da time...I was thinking a younger sister..}


.: C í r d a n :.

Círdan flipped yet another page in the tome he'd taken from the extensive library of the great hall in Ellesméra. He was scouring the knowledge of the city for anything concerning lore of the great dragons. Being from Ília Fëon himself, Círdan had been on a long journey throughout Du Weldenvarden to visit the remains of the once-beautiful elven city *Éwayëna. He finally came across it, one morning about three weeks ago...
~Flashback~
The elf stood wonderstruck, gazing at the scene before him. He could see the scorch marks and rending of claws on old structures and trees, the once-great buildings reduced to so much tinder by the Dragon War. It was a scene of destruction, but also one of absolute beauty. Renewed red lilies blanketed the area, swaying in the light morning breeze with dapples of sun glistening off the dew on their deep petals, giving the illusion that the whole city was forever on fire. The light of the place, the absolute fire of life shone with a gorgeous intensity, radiating into the young elf who stood, frozen despite the warmth seeping through his limbs. After a time, as Círdan was finally able to break the spell of awe that had struck him, he began exploring amidst the brilliant red lilies, touching their smooth petals with care. As he stepped nimbly through the rubble and the flowers, he caught a glimpse of something the colour of a sunset, adding a hint of shining orange flame to the red inferno. Círdan advanced towards it, thinking it must've been an orange lily that was leaning against the old stone wall of what might have been a blacksmith's forge, struggling to show it's colours in the midst of it's red cousins. Círdan stepped forward, and upon closer inspection he realized it was not a flower at all. He felt his heart quicken--something that altogether never happened--but he would not let into his mind the thought that it so badly wanted to tell him. Crouching, the elf gently weaved his hands between the stems of the red lilies, caressing them aside to show the brilliant sunset orange rock resting in a bed of lily petals. He raised a hand, long pale fingers extended slightly, and touched the face of the stone ever so gently. His green eyes opened wider than they ever had, and it seemed like the forest around him came alive with light. He revelled in the moment, the sun's rays striking the egg, brilliantly illuminating the lighter orange of the body of the egg; hints of yellows and reds and even pinks dappled throughout were now discerned under Círdan's gaze, his pale eyes alight as they'd never been before. Brilliant orange veins criss-crossed through the perfect oval, a wondrous work of natural and mythical art.

After an indescribable amount of time, after the noontime sun had hidden behind the high treetops of Du Weldenvarden, Círdan rose. He left the egg, finishing his exploration of Éwayëna, documenting and sketching the site in a leather-bound journal he'd brought with him for when he finally had found the ruined city. His work took him well into the night, and so he slept with the red lilies, right next to the orange dragon egg that had been resting there in secret for decades. Círdan awoke early, and he sat until noon by the egg, or exploring the nearby forest and contacting the animals nearby. He played with a bear cub for a while, but before long it's mother gave him a gentle cuff on the head to tell him they had to be on their way. He affectionately ruffled the fur on the cub's head and stroked his mother's mighty neck, bidding them farewell. Once the sun had risen right above Éwayëna and the land caught fire in the petals of the lilies, showing the history of the city's destruction, Círdan withdrew a large slate tablet from his bag and placed it on the ground before him. He focused his energy and his mind, bringing forth his memories of the sunlit ruins with flowing red lilies and--most importantly--a shining golden-orange egg glimmering among the blossoms. Círdan painted his fairth with long, shining tendrils of magic wielded by his mind. Once he had finished, the elf rose from his place. Just as he lifted his work to the scene before him in comparison, the sun fell behind the trees and the clearing was once more shadowed, with only occasional dapples of sunlight. All the same, Círdan allowed a small smile, his satisfaction showing as he gently placed his beautiful fairth back into his bag. It was a perfect rendition of the scene, the colours perhaps a bit more brilliant and the egg slightly hidden by red petals but all the same clearly visible to one who looked close, the hues of the ruins and the lilies seeming to glow with life. But none more than the dragon egg. The picture was just as striking and gorgeous as he'd seen in his mind's eye. Círdan left Éwayëna with a strange feeling in his chest. He couldn't quite place it, but it felt like something...new, something he'd never felt before. Círdan thought quite a lot to himself as he lept over a large tree root, carefully grasping the dragon egg that he had covered with spare clothing, not daring to hope that the egg might ever hatch for him.
~End Flashback~
And so, here he was, pouring over ancient books on ancient matters, the egg still firmly enclosed in his spare tunic, protectively kept within his bag. The thought had crossed his mind that he ought to turn it in, but he just couldn't bare it. Not yet. He would, he reasoned, once he'd found out a bit more about it, so he could perhaps be it's caretaker until they found the one who would become the dragon's rider. He couldn't be parted from it yet. He knew if he turned it in, they'd give care of it over to one of the elders, one of the nobility or some such. He had to prove he was worthy of the position before he let another know he had it. Círdan glanced at his bag, as he did so often now, his face it's usual inexpressive mask. Blinking pale green eyes, he huffed his dark hair out of his face and turned his attention back to 'On Dragon Eggs and Hatchlings'.



{* it's apparently an Elven city famous for it's red lilies, that was burned down during the Dragon War and abandoned by the elves. I'm not really giving a location, because there isn't one that I can find, but basically in my mind's eye Éwayëna was fairly deep into Du Weldenvarden, so Círdan was on a pretty long travelling trip when he found the egg. Why was he on the trip? Cuz..he....likes history..? >.>; because the place sounded pretty? xP }

{okays. I think I may as well not for now :/ you're right, they are rare, I don't really want him to have a sibling. And nuuuu i thought it was kind of meh :/ but thank you...I was trying to paint a picture with it but I didn't think it worked well at all....but I'm glad you thought so <3 your writing is so much more fabulous than miiinnnnneee xP also, I was just thinkin, I feel like maybe Círdan and Bhara ought to at least start developing some sort of rivalry before their dragons hatch....I think it might help make character development more natural as we go through our rp. What do you think? :3 }



.:c í r d a n:.
The young elf finally closed his book, having gleaned all the information he felt would be useful. Over the past five days, he'd been absolutely ransacking the library of Ellesméra, and now most of the books upon dragons and their care that were held in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of that beauteous hall were laying on the grass beside him and his egg, open to various pages and full of petals of flowers or pieces of grass from where he'd marked important passages. Sighing, Círdan hefted his books again, carefully looking through each marked passage to scour over the information again  before removing the page-markers, putting each book in a stack as he went through it for the final time. By late afternoon, all of the tomes were free from marks and Círdan felt almost confident in his knowledge of dragons. He had known a decent amount about them before--as much as every elf knew, which was far more than any other race--but researching in the great scrolls and tomes of Ellesméra certainly expanded his knowledge. He easily balanced the stack of books, gently lifting the strap of his bag over his head and across his shoulder, securing it around his sinewy, lithe body. The elf started back towards the main section of Ellesméra, walking calmly. He passed several Ellesmérian elves on his way, to whose happy greetings he responded to noncommittally. They all wore similar garb to his own--Círdan himself was modestly fashioned with a dark forest green tunic with beautiful intricate yet simple brown stitching in flowing, leafy patterns near the V shaped neck-line. The tunic itself was several hues darker than his pale green eyes, and underneath it he wore a simple off-white undershirt. Black-brown leggings covered his thin but well-muscled limbs, and dark-coloured light-weight leather travelling boots reached high on his calves. A brown belt rested across his thin waist, its beautifully engraved silver buckle adorning the front.

Before long, the young male elf reached Ellesméra's library hall. He immediately headed for the section where he'd gotten the majority of his dragon books, slipping them back into their vacant places on the undisturbed shelf. At one point, he had to climb a ways up the shelf to reach the spot where two of his tomes belonged. A few times the young elf stopped to browse a bit, enjoying the vastness of knowledge that hadn't been available in his own home. After some time, unburdened by heavy books now, Círdan made his way back through the library. He passed through one of the smaller sitting areas, spotting a single elven male absorbed in the tome he was reading. Círdan wouldn't have thought anything of him, if the book's title hadn't caught his eye. Dragons: Early Life was inscribed on the front--the first title that Círdan himself had put back on the shelf after having gotten there an hour or so ago. What were the chances that a young elf would be examining the same material that he was, the same time he'd been searching for it? 'Do not be a paranoid fool,'Círdan thought to himself, 'he is inclined to take out any book that catches his fancy. Dragons are a great reverential and historical topic to all elves.' Shaking his pale green gaze from the seated young elf--for Círdan realized he'd been staring--he quickened his step and left the library, choosing to head to the training grounds to see how the elves of Ellesméra participated in training combat compared to his own, much smaller home.

{{it's fine darling!! <: ) that'll work for meeeee if it works for you! I really liked your post btw :3 }}


.:c í r d a n:.
Stepping nimbly, Círdan lashed out at his enemy, then stabbed his staff behind him and over his head, jabbing through an imaginary enemy's skull. He could almost hear the crunch of bones, the splash of hot blood as his enemies fell. Turning on the balls of his feet, he sliced and stabbed out as his enemies surrounded him, always moving. After about a few hours, he had felled them all, and he was just beginning to start breathing hard. He decided now would be the time to rest, and to check on his egg. He'd been peeking at it out of the corner of his eye every few minutes while he trained, but now he discarded his staff beside the battered dummy and walked over to slide down into a sitting position by his egg. He reached in his satchel, slipping his hands under the cloth that covered the egg  until he could feel it's smooth surface, cool but warm with life at the same time. Looking nonchalantly about with his passive gaze, Círdan noticed a young elf pratising in the training grounds who hadn't been there before. He'd realized someone had come in a while ago, but hadn't cared enough to really look--after all, there'd be no one he knew in Ellesméra. He didn't have many friends. Any, really. But there, locked in combat with ferocious 'enemies', was the very elf that Círdan had seen in the library reading the book on dragons. He had dark brown hair and a thin body--not wiry like Círdan himself, this elf had a more lanky physique. He brandished his staff with clear skill, and Círdan couldn't help but feel a small wave of competition rush through to the tips of his fingers. He itched to pick up his weapon and continue practising now that he'd seen this young elf fight. He watched the other young male for a while, observing his practise tactics and his stance. Eventually, when Círdan thought he might've seen him staring, he averted his pale green eyes from the other's orange-brown ones, instead looking back to his bag where his hand protectively rested atop the spot where his egg lay.