nuadasvengence: (reading is fundamental)
July 13,

Nuada sat at a table in the rec room most often used. While not seeking company, he was not spurning it either. He was eating a bowl of noodles and reading the last chapters of "The Lord of the Rings" paperback when the lights flickered. For a moment he thought it could have been his own sight as he had been reading for a while. Then it happened again, more obvious.

Nuada looked up. Perhaps the lights were damaged or in need of replacing. And where were they to get replacements if needed?

He froze when he heard a child's laugh. The sound was not that of Newt. He turned his head and saw a momentary shadow on the wall of a child with one too many sets of arms holding up a toy. The shadow flickered out much as the lights had.

Yellow eyes quickly scanned the room. With a shrug he went back to his noodles and his book. He was not about to play this game. One more in a long list that the station or their jailors designed to test them.
nuadasvengence: (training left)
June 18

Nuada felt the strange pull of the transporter. Oddly it didn't further aggravate his wound as he materialized prone on the transport pad. Doctor Baltar was standing in the transporter bay right next to him.

The station felt cold. Uncomfortably so in his soaked clothing. He looked about and saw Newt just past the transporters, kneeling next to Kasumi.

"Looks like another round of crazy went through," Newt looked at the painted walls and signs of destruction. "See, I was probly safer down there."

"Still in house arrest," Nuada stuttered out. "Doctor, can you get the Acrobat to the science lab, or do you need assistance?"

Not that Nuada could assist even if the small woman looked 90 pounds drenched, but someone could be found. Shepard and Arturia were sure to be along any second.

He, himself, just needed someone to keep him from falling over as he walked. Blood loss was making him light headed. Combined with the small level of iron poisoning he was also nauseous and if his shoulder did not pain him as if afire, his head would be his undoing.


Jun. 6th, 2012 06:32 pm
nuadasvengence: (nuada is not amused)
June 7

Nuada allowed his fear feed his rage. His rage he directed equally to the jailors and himself. Bashir was gone. His eyes had deepened to a dark orange with the anger.

He'd checked on the good doctor after having missed him at the gathering. Partly to complain that if HE had to attend Bashir could have at least made an appearance. The doctor's wound was healing, but not as it should, resulting in reopening the stitches and sterilizing the enflamed area adding a drain. Bashir wasn't comfortable attending.

He'd been withdrawn a bit since then. Nuada was not one to force another to talk. He just checked on the man who could become a friend.

This morning he was gone. At first Nuada had thought he was out, so he checked the lab, then every other place Bashir was known to frequent.

Then Nuada had searched, with and without help, every accessible section of the station. The Mouse had reported all access ways were clear, up to the point where even the Vents and maintenance ways cut them off from the locked down sections of the station.

They had to find a way to get into those sections. Their fellows may be held there, hopefully alive.

Bashir was gone and beyond reach at the moment. No wonder he had failed to save his people. He couldn't even save an individual.

Unable to even contemplate sleeping Nuada went to the sparring room with the equipment. Punching bags, dummies, and other such paraphernalia.

He did not tape his knuckles before he started at a large punching bag. He needed to beat something, and he needed to feel the pain. Fists, elbows, knees, kicks, the impact was numbing for now. But it could not numb inside.


Jun. 5th, 2012 01:05 am
nuadasvengence: (Pride)
Nuada was unsure what to make of the note he found on his dresser. His first reaction was pure anger that someone had gotten around the lock on his door and violated his sanctuary. His golden eyes had immediately darted to the vent near the ceiling that had had more than one conversation through.

The scrap of paper was definitely not from the Wall Mouse.

The problem was that the paper roses left behind made his chest tighten. The note indicated the author knew something of him, but it was a fact that was no secret. He had no idea who would have left such a strange, yet touching gift while breaking into his rooms.

He sat on the edge of his bed and examined the paper flower. Origami and masterfully done.

Nuada had been thinking of moving part of Bashir's garden here to have that small touch of nature near where he slept, and to both honor and remember the Doctor.

He had told no one. But this gift was serendipitous.

He was still uncertain of how he felt, or should feel, even as he wondered if he could nail down the rich velvet and embroidered cloak come bedspread he had claimed.
nuadasvengence: (reading is fundamental)
Despite Jane Shepards joking, Nuada did NOT spend all day training. Only six hours split up. That left 18 hours that he was awake to occupy.

He had found a silent solitude in the first level observation deck. Perhaps because he had added something of beauty right in the middle of the wall opposite the view the second week he was here. The Life Tree was an important part of both Fae and Human history, even if only the Fae seemed to remember.

In the solitude, with the view across from him, Nuada sat with his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed. He was reading an actual paper book. A thick paperback containing the three novels of Lord Of the Rings. Three months ago he'd found it insulting and tossed it into the room with other found items. Now... he was still a bit insulted, but he had craved an actual paper book and so he suffered through it.

His afternoon in the schoolroom trying to learn the basic mechanics and physics of space travel had held no pleasure, only purpose.

The only sound in the room was the whisper of a turning page.
nuadasvengence: (silverlance action)
There was a certain peace in preparing for war. In his long life he had spent all but the first 200 years becoming the warrior the Fae needed. In the last two thousand years he pushed himself harder, longer, becoming the best... and the last Warrior Elf.

As was his custom he had stripped his shirt and left on his leather bracers protecting against strikes at his wrists.

He used a long bow stick and a a bamboo short sword held above the cross-guard to manage the best approximation of his lance. The shortened version was what he worked with now. In his mind he recalled battles past. He envisioned four humans in the old armor, the time of Arturia. The steel in their hands being as dangerous as the elf silver was to them.

He spun hos shortlance in a figure eight movement before slicing at an invisible opponent to his left before performing a jumping spin that would force multiple opponents back or slit their throats. He felt slow. He knew he was still faster than a human but he was still moving as if against a current. He scowled even as he landed still twisting to slice open the gut of an enemy standing to the right of where he started. His hair whipped about, fooling others into thinking it would blind him, but in fact it kept others from seeing where he was looking and unable to guess his next target.

He dropped onto his shoulder and lifted his legs into the air, kicking out in a spin as he placed his body beneath normal weapon strike and still did kicking damage before rolling into a stance on the balls of his feet.

He ran to the wall and two steps up it pushing himself in a stabbing leap. He should be able to make six steps up the wall and make a flip over an enemy's head, but the lack of strength and speed cut that from his repertoire.

He was in a place with little thought, just the pushing of muscle and ligament of his entire body to it's current limits. His weapon was an extension of himself, not a separate thing. His movement as fast as he could now manage. With the battle he imagined inside his head he became unaware of anything around him that was not in his way.

He was somewhat at peace.
nuadasvengence: (fight2)
6:00 am, in the first level sparring room, as it has no equipment, only an empty padded floor. 2 hrs, training.

8:00 Shower than break his fast.

9:30 In the science lab molesting the plant life. :) (small passive magic making them grow fuller and healthier, but NOT faster. Congrats, he is now walking Miracle Grow.)

10:30ish Working out logistics and value system for the trading post, or physically getting a space ready with Zoe Washburne (if Zoe's Mun is agreeable)

12:00pm** Sparring room, same one as day's start. Spar with Klaus, teach two sword fighting, Arturia or Shepard and any other comers (if Muns are agreeable)

2:00pm Portable lunch -Putting to use the school room

5:00pm Common room, reading

7:00pm dinner, usually in rooms

7:30pm Back in school room

9:00pm Sparring room for two more hours training

11:00 Try to watch something educational in a rec room

12:00 lights out

** By now Nuada is willing to teach all sword styles and advanced hand to hand out of boredom as much as personal enjoyment. He leaves self defense to Briscoe. He is also always willing to spar. If any character needs a sparring partner, feel free to tap him. I mean, on the shoulder... you can't tap that. Not yet anyway.
nuadasvengence: (emo pain)
Nuada entered the lab the day after returning from Venice. It was empty for once and he walked over to the plant boxes and lights Bashir had set up. He had brought the seeds of the raspberries and strawberry with him and set the small bowls he'd separated them into beside one of the boxes.

The makeshift garden seemed to have been a success. Some sprouts were peeking through the soil, young and the fresh to the world. Nuada reached in and gently touched one. Where he had not been able to sense a thing from the soil, he could sense the life of the plant, feel the two hair thin roots protruding from the halved seed beneath.

Being able to sense the plant was a relief. He couldn't feel them from the doorway, and he had to be almost touching the greenery, but there was still a connection. He was still a Son of the Earth.

He decided to experiment, choosing the four seedlings closest to him, tomato. Closing his eyes, Nuada spread his fingers and touched the soil around the plants. He called to the seedlings, asking them to grow for him, weaving the spiderweb thin tendrils of magic he could call. It took total concentration and he began to feel his personal magic drain from him as the seedlings uncurled slowly and stretched upwards as tiny leaf buds started to sprout.

But it was taking much too much effort and he felt his energy pour out, making his cease and grip the table as a wave of dizziness and weakness crashed into him.

He wanted to hit something. He should be able to coax a seedling into full bloom within minutes. These four had only advanced perhaps three or four days worth of growth and it took all the magic he could access.

So engrossed had he been in his own experiment he never even heard someone else enter the room. And knowing Nuada's constant awareness, that said much.

(*from: A Seed by William Allingham)
nuadasvengence: (Default)
Nuada knew before he arrived that he was in trouble. He saw not one troll, one boggert, one glamoured creature of the realm, when there should have been dozens moving unseen by human eyes, or cloaked in human guises.

He had forgotten the scents of Venice in this time period. The filth dumped into the waterways to act as sewers, the lack of hygiene, the drunken smells of vomit and piss. All around it mixed with the scent of wine, beer and street foods, frying or charring. Humans wearing too much perfume to hide their own scent pushed and swayed all around, laughing and occasionally fighting.

When he reached the Palazzo Barbarigo the slowly sinking feeling in his gut hit bottom. The stones he pressed in sequence did nothing. There wasn't the slightest trace of a feeling of magic.

"Ciach ort, mac an striapaigh agus an duine ghalraithe!"** He slammed his hand on the unmoving masonry.

Nuada made it to a bench and sat heavily. This was not his Earth, not the Venice he knew. It was almost exactly like it. How many mirror universes were there in the multiverse? What were the chances of ever getting back again?

There was a potted plant beside the bench and he tugged off the black glove he wore and placed his fingers in the soil. It was close to his Earth, indeed, but there was a distinct lack of the mystical in the soil. It was not yet so polluted by chemicals, and the waste in it was fertilizing instead of harming.

Just feeling this gave him a headache behind his eyes, and he should not need to touch the soil to do this much. The plant itself was a clean spot of purity. Refreshing to his mind and soul. But as the headache grew stronger he withdrew.

No, he was not home. That meant he had to find the others and return to that thrice damned station. His first thought was to return to the costume shop they had all come from. But he recalled so many people talking about a major party. At the very least he'd wager on finding Klaus there. As well as any of the others seeking to lose themselves in festivities.

Dusk was starting to fall and he gained his feet once more and pulled on his glove. At least he had a place to start seeking the others.

*Poem by Philip Larkin
** Damn you son of a whore and a diseased human.
nuadasvengence: by goldenrod1034.  Please follow the link and enjoy her amazing work (Thinking)
(April 10)

Nuada looked at the length of metal in his hand. He had thought to attempt to forge it into a sword or spear with burners in the labs. However, it was not a proper metal. It was some bastard amalgam of plastic, metal and resin. It could not be forged, and it would not hold any kind of edge. Indeed, it bent if hit too hard and too often.

Wooden stand in weapons did well in practice, but he felt all but naked without a proper blade. The scalpel he kept tucked in his sleeve was not a proper weapon.

"Mr. County said you're a person like anyone else," a childlike female voice came from the wall, "and that you aren't scary."

He had seen the child briefly from time to time. She seemed, on the whole, to stay out of sight of anyone.

"He is mistaken," Nuada set the useless pole aside, "for I am not like anyone else, and I am very scary. Some of my closest friends would eat human children to wet their appetites. Especially nosy little creatures who spy on others. I am one of the monsters under your bed."

The child had the audacity to laugh. "I've seen scary. Seen monsters. You aren't either. What are you?"

Nuada felt his pride stung. A child found nothing to fear in him?

"I am elf, human child." He looked right at the vent near the floor. It would be almost impossible for an adult to fit in there, but a slender child... "And I do not speak to the walls."

There was a shuffling noise and then silence. Apparently she had tired of him.

He was proven wrong in moments when there was a knock on his door. He had seen to it that his rooms were locked and coded. He debated ignoring the girl.

"'M not going away," she knocked again.

"Come in," he half growled. The door slid open at the invitation and the girl walked in, looking around and assessing his seating room. She was dusty and had dirt smeared across her face. Her forearms and the knees of her pants were blackened from crawling about. She spotted the Father Tree he'd added to the wall and stepped closer to it. "It's pretty. You drew on the wall in the first level 'servation room."

He just raised a brow.

On the table before the couch dishes full of gears, springs and screws sat along with a set of handmade tools. "You take things apart."

"I put things together," he corrected.

"You don't look like an elf," the girl turned to face him. Impertinent little thing.

"I assure you, I am. Have you ever met an elf before me?" the challenge was in his tone.

She shook her head. "You don't like humans very much."

The girl apparently crawled everywhere and overheard more than she likely should.

"I've had no reason to. Your kind destroy my kind. I destroy your kind. I protect my people." Matter of fact. He would not play to childish ignorance.

"There aren't any of your kind here, is there? So we're all one kind. I guess that makes us on the station your people for now." The child smiled brightly.

"Do you have a name?" She peered closely at him, obviously taking in the royal scars.

"Of course I do. Doesn't everyone?" He teased as he tilted his head.

"I'm Newt," she announced.

"Nuada," he relented.

She smiled and backed towards the door. "So, I'm part of your people now."

She darted out the door and left him with a headache and far too much to ponder.
nuadasvengence: (action jump)
(March 20)

Fury had run hot before turning a much more dangerous cold through Nuada Silverlance.  Dishonorable and low attacks from the halfling and the cowardly drugs of the human had left him to plot how best to be rid of both of them.  He had hoped the halfling would show more of the honor of  his higher blood, not sink to human lows. 

He would give them their due, in time.  Nuada had learned patience long ago.  He may not prefer it, however it was often the best strategic move. 

Patience and waiting for vengeance did not alleviate the need for the physical release of violence.  He was able to wait long enough for the loosely scheduled sparring match with Klaus Mikaelson. 

The man was a satisfying opponent.  His speed and strength were a good match.  He was recommitting long unused techniques to body memory and his improvement was steady.  In a month or less he may even be able to become Nuada's equal.  Their techniques were different, but each held their own advantages.

Today Nuada had brought some of the primitive weapons the rat infestation had apparently inspired.  More than one empty living quarters had been demolished to make weapons of wood and metal.  Wood was best for practice.  He had four poles four feet in length at the ready.  As he awaited his sparring partner he spun two of them as if they were swords, acclimating himself to the weight and balance of them.

Nuada was disgusted to find his new, slower healing required two days between sparring for deeper bruises to heal.  What should have taken a few hours took two days.  He desperately wanted to know what they had been dosed with.  But not enough to ask either of the cowards currently occupying the lab.  Perhaps the tattooed one would be able to work on such in the future.

So it was that Nuada was lost in thought and absently moving through a double sword kata when Klaus arrived.


Mar. 16th, 2012 12:51 pm
nuadasvengence: by goldenrod1034.  Please follow the link and enjoy her amazing work (Thinking)
Cut for those who wish to skip )

After the third week he'd completed the art on his wall and decided to start one on the wall behind the seats of the observation deck, as it was one of the public places he spent the most time. He worked on it late at night (or what the computers claimed was night) when most were asleep so no one could see who was doing it. Some may have figured it out, but it was amusing to hear others try to answer the riddle.

The riddle he tried to answer was how the marker seemed to have an endless supply of ink.
nuadasvengence: (come get me)
[March 5]

Having cleaned the sparring room earlier Nuada now found himself in the middle of it bare to the waist.  He knew he was not as he should be, and he needed to know his limits.  He needed to find them before he faced a fight as surprises in battle could be fatal.

Starting his usual training routine he found himself, again, feeling as if against the resistance of water.  While still fast, he was still disturbingly slowed down.  It was frustrating to a person already on edge.  He spun, struck, ducked and leaped. There was another problem.  He couldn't attain the height he wanted in a simple leap.  His legs didn't seem to have the power they should. 

Not caring about the mirror he made a run and kicked off the wall in a spin, his hair flying about him.  The mirror did not break.  He could do a simple kick off at least.  He tried for a slightly harder move.  Again running at the mirror he used momentum to carry him  as if running up the surface.  Only three steps and he felt the oppressive pull of gravity.  Way too soon.  He pushed backwards into a flip only to find himself too close to the ground and needing to use his hands to push off the floor  to land standing.  A single flip and not even properly clear.  He should be able to climb half way up the wall and get at least three airborne flips in before landing in a ready attack.  He tried the move again, and again, and again.  On the third try he managed a single flip without using his hands to push off.  Subsequent tries left him frustrated and dismayed. 

He tried a simple backflip from the floor without using his hands.  He could usually leap at least his own height.  He was glad he was alone because he had to tuck into a roll to land on his shoulders in a somersault that left him sitting on his ass.  Dusting himself off he tried again but still managed to leap four feet and needed his hands to complete the move.  He found he couldn't manage a single consecutive flip either.  Useless.

He moved into a strenuous kata, imagining his spear in hand.  He could manage simple moves, far too slow for his liking, and acrobatic moves he was sure a fit human could manage.  Alright maybe marginally better than that, but he was feeling demeaned and disgusted.

Worst of all after what he could guess to be ninty minutes he had worked up a sweat and his breathing became more labored.  His legs trembled from the strenuous use.  He should be able to keep at it for four or so hours.

Finally he moved to set his back against one of the cool mirror surfaced and slide down  to sit, his knees drawn up.  He was fading, weakening.  Would this continue until he was nothing?  He would never admit to the frisson of fear that crept up his spine.

"Feic, Tá mé ag cursed faoi dhó." He spoke the words aloud, feeling their truth sink in.


Mar. 6th, 2012 09:20 pm
nuadasvengence: (emo pain)
[March 4]

It had been days since had come to this hell. He was unsure of how many. When one lived as long as he time sometimes got away from one. Days, months, what did they matter but to measure sleep or plan an attack in darkness?

When he had set off to explore he'd eventually found a weak flashlight. It helped a bit. His night vision was not as it should have been either. It had always been marginally better than humans. Now, it was just another way he had been diminished.

When he first saw the giant window to the stars he had stood there, hand against the glass, for hours. It had driven reality home. He was really in the vast, unknown blackness. No soil, no green anywhere, most likely for unfathomable spans. It would account for his connection to his sister being gone. Such was never meant to endure such unimaginable distances.

The stars. He recognized none of the constellations, but why would he from a different angle and remoteness? From all he had heard the others were all from different times, different worlds. Different realities.

In some what he had long witnessed had come to pass. Humanity had greedily used up the world and went off to devour other ones. The realm of the unseen had passed.

He had made a perfunctory examination since then. He'd found living quarters where some of the others had settled themselves, and then found his own as far away as possible. In cleaning the place he had found a gold ring on the sink in the bathing room. It was the kind humans used to mark themselves married. They were sentimental of such things and he wondered why one had left this. He had also come across a infant's pacifier in a hallway.

He'd hears the soft scraping in the walls and on occasion sought sight of small movement in the shadows. Likely rats. Where vermin went other vermin followed.

In the poor light he had mapped the corridors, noting maintenance plates and testing doors.

He had found this treasure. It was as dusty as every other area which is why he was working now to clean it. The padded floor spoke of it's purpose, and the size was impressive enough to allow free range of techniques. He considered the mirrors foolish. Any decent use would shatter them. At least if there were made of common glass.
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