|
Elendor2 - Sunday, April 29, 2007, 9:45 PM
Open Meadow - Crossroads
This is a broad meadow, carpeted with grass. A huge oak stands in the midst of the meadow, a path passing close under its branches. The old oak looks like a pleasant place to pause and rest. The path itself is hard packed earth, clear of stones. Off to the north the meadow merges into fertile fields and pastures, and to there a path branches off from the east-west way. To the south is the House, and southwest is the bridge. In the west a stand of birches grow on the slopes before the cliffs. The greens of summer give way to the flame colours of fall, as leaves turn brown or gold or orange or red. The meadow around the ancient oak is covered with leaves of all colours as the tree prepares for the coming winter. The forests to the north is no longer a mountain of green, now it is a billowing flame of all colours, and the silver birches to the west have become golden clouds resting atop silver posts.
The late morning is a cool one, though with the lack of wind, the snow wavers harmlessly to the ground as it falls, large flakes easy to distinguish as the sun slowly rises. Softly, from the rim of the meadow to the west, and the house from the south, Quendi begin to assemble within the meadow's clearing, holding cloaks closed tightly to kee the warmth about their frames.
The soft sigh of snow beneath booted feet is what heralds the modest arrival of Thenengel, dressed as one might for battle, but the armor he wears seems too light, and made of impractical tin rather than Iron, proving the leather and metal just to be decoration for his presentation. Smiling and nodding to the elves he knows as he walks more towards the apex of the meadow, scanning the populace as if looking for some in paticular. Lashed upon his back, in a custom harness, is a elegantly curved scabbard, the sweep of the blade bringing the weapon into the shape of a crescent moon, like the marriage of a scimitar to a Longsword perhaps. "Thank you all for coming, I understand the weather isn't what one might hope for to be out at this hour." Thenengel says with a soft voice, but a bright, perhaps slightly nervous smile.
Elrond enters the meadow, walking from the direction of th house, seeming unconcerned with the falling snow. He stops at the edge of the meadow, looking around, before approaching the crowd gathering in the center.
Comfortably wedged in the snowy branches of the oak, Tirloth watches the whole from above with a small smirk on her face.
Among those already gathered under the oak is Sidhel, conversing with a group of Narthanaer elves. Some of them hold small pieces of parchment which they read quickly every now and then. At the arrival of Elrond, they dip their heads politely in greeting.
Elrond walks forward, his eyes flickering to Tirloth up in the Oak, and comes to a halt not far from Sidhel.
Upon the arrival of Hir Elrond, Thenengel's lips tighten for a moment, as he walks, letting the movements loosen his body for the work he will surely endure this day. Spotting Sidhel, The Angdan smiles and begins to walk towards him, though he slows as Elrond moves in that direction. "Don't be silly Thenengel." He says to himself as he walks on, Bowing his head to Elrond as he passes him, to move to Sidhel. "Mae Govannen Mellon.. I did not expect this many people to come out this early.."
Elrond smiles at that. "A demonstration, and no word of what? You underestimate the power of curiosity!"
Tirloth's glance flickers from Herdir to the armored ellon, the hints of amusement sparking in her eyes. And she is gone, finding footholds below on the rough bark of the tree.
Annunalagos is standing amongst the throng, his hooded cloak close about him, his hood up, so as to be indistinguishable from others. He likes the feel of anonymity, in a place where often he is noticed, and engaged in some kindof communication. Although he knows that today, he may very well become embroiled in others' plans again....
Underlining Elrond's observation about curiosity, a patch of snow moves - something is digging up from under the meadow, but what animal does so is not clear.
Sidhel looks at the Master of the Valley with a smile. Then he nods assuringly to Thenengel. His gaze flickers briefly to the moving snow, then he looks up to seek Annunalagos within the crowd.
Elrond walks a bit closer to the oak, and then leans his back against it, his eyes curiously examining Thenengel; apparently he is willing to wait to be enlightened.
Eventually Sidhel steps forward and raises his voice: "Greetings and well met! Curiosity has brought us together in this place. Curiosity of what Thenengel might have to present us. I daresay we shall now see a spectacle which has likely not been seen in these lands since the Elder Days. We shall hear song and see a performance without any likeness!" He gestures at Thenengel.
Tirloth appears around the wide girth of the oak tree. "... involved practicing in the ... ...," whispers she to the Herdir, a smile on her face.
Annunalagos comes to the front of the group, and then walks towards thenengel, he says quickly after Sidhel's brief speech, "Mae Govennen. I see we have quite the gathering, well, I am prepared."
Elrond gets the faintest of smiles, but does not reply to Tirloth's whisper.
Thenengel bolsters his small amount of showmenship, and smiles bowing to the elves assembled. "I shall keep secrecy no more. Many of you have known me little since I went to the way of the hammer and anvil and left the days of guarding the valley to those who are younger and more eager. Today though, I marry both of my trades."
Looking to Annunalagos, Thenengel smiles and nods, gesturing to have him come out and join him, in the center as the elves begin to circle, but some members of the artisan's guild keep them well back, leaving Thenengel much room to move. Reaching back, The Angdan begins to draw the curved blade from it's scabbard, the crystaline fragments in the blade catching the light and reflecting it in all directions, and the first, clear note, of music sings from the steel, as the blade draws against the metal lined scabbard as a bow across the strings of a violin.
"Behold work that has consumed me, and born me on the wings of song, only to offer me rebirth upon it's completion. Behold the song of Glirangren! The Iron poem." Looking to Annunalagos "Find the rythym, and join as you feel it best please." For a moment, he lets the snow, and bright morning lay still, offering looks of the beautiful sword, before he begins.
Elrond focuses on Thenengel as he speaks, and now he smiles, still faint, and his eyes come alert.
Sidhel steps back into the ranks of the spectators, leaving the field to Thenengel and Annunalagos.
Annunalagos stands to the left of Thenengel, letting his sword start a intricate melody. After a few moments such, he raises his voice in song, to he highest reaches of the night-sky stars, and the lowliest chirping of the crickets. He wields his voice as a weapon, piercing through ears that are clogged from long days of work and toil. He sings for the life of him to get out, and bring joy and sadness and all the known emotions to the listeners.
"... I did ... ... the linnor ... ... ... ... ...," continues Tirloth in a low murmur, and falls silent.
Grinning as Annunalagos begins his song, and slowly the eyes of the Angdan close, while an almost magical brease picks up in the valley. his body, slowly swaying from side to side with the newly wroght wind, begins to move in larger motions, the blade becoming an extension of him as
Thenengel begins to move, his feet spreading out as he starts a soft spin on the heels of his feet, the blade drawing arcs through the air, each cut of nothingness bringing forth a different sound from the singing sword, the blade becoming more instrument now as the music of his dance joins with the words of Annunalagos' lips.
Laughing gleefully, Thenengel catches the eye of Annunalagos and nods, his pace increasing, as a soft song becomes closer to a tale of glory, as if the sword without word retells the glory of the Valar with the Angdan's movements.
Elrond now smiles openly as he watches the choreographed movements of the Angdan. The music of the sword fills the air around him, and his eyes shine.
Annunalagos continues singing, although he shifts with the song of the sword into that of a glorious retelling of the varied stories of the Great ones. He stays in key and in time easily, for he is a master of his trade, even if it is no-longer his favored one. He stays completely still, finding no dance needed for this particular song.
The music of sword and singer combined cause also Sidhel's eyes to sparkle with joy. He smiles merrily while watching the performance, listening to the Iron Poem's song.
Tirloth continues to watch in silence, with the grim approval like a teacher watching a student -- or is it the other way around?
And the song continues, telling of falls and rising stars, the night sky and the dawning of the light of a new day. The smile upon the Angdan Thenengel is so pure, all the strain of life is removed with the bliff of the Valar as he dances, his chorded muscles moving without pause, as a softly glistening layer of wear develops on the smiths bare forarms and face as he moves, every part of him one with the sword, the movements so precise that the blade moves meer inches from his body, but never once coming into contact with him.
Now though, he begins to walk with the sword, letting the acoustics of the valley change the blades song and picth while he moves. Flashing steel and clear notes are all about the meadow now as Thenengel continues his song, as he waits for those last verses from Annunalagos while moving back into the center, the creshendo of the music having come, as Thenengel actually throws the blade now, straight up above hm having it flip end over end four times before coming back down to embed itself within the soil, the vibrating final notes of the sword echoing through the ears of every elf listening, while it wobbles back and forth in the ground.
Annunalagos finishes out the song, as the blade hangs seemingly for ever, for just that moment. THen as the blade strikes the ground, he strikes the final word of his song. He draws it out a bit after the ringing stops, then quiets his voice.
Elrond smiles, and claps, when at last all is silence. "That is a splendid musical instrument," he says at last, "for all that it has the form of a sword. What gave yout he idea?"
Sidhel lingers silently to let the last notes flow through his mind. Speechless and awed, he simply bows to the performers and awaits Thenengel's explanation to the Herdir.
With a small smile, Tirloth nods approvingly from her place behind the oak. She waits to see what Thenengel will say.
Annunalagos looks to Thenengel as well, having little notice as to this performance, and only vaguely having known about the instrument/sword for a bit.
As quietly and unobtrusively as mist settling in from the sea a grey-clad elf joins the already sizeable gathering; sunlight glinting as readily off her flaxen hair as it does upon the snow underfoot.
Blue eyes the hue of topaz - winters stone -- dart from one elf to another, marking each face at least once before Lamatheryn's gaze settles upon the sword where it wobbles in the ground.
Thenengel walks forward, breathing hard, but smiling from ear to pointed ear. Reaching down and pulling the blade from the soil, wiping it clean before replacing it into the scabbard upon his back, which he brings off of his back once it is in place, now bolding the jew encrusted curved scabbard in his hands. "Penniavas actually." Thenengel says once he has gathered his breath about him.
"The elfling once asked me if a sword could sing, like a bell being struck. I showed him how a blade can sound when struck, but the answer seemed pale. It was then I undertook this project.. I admit it became something of an obsession for a time, but well worth the loss of a few nights rest." Thenengel explains, as he turns over the scabbard in his to show Elrond the inscription of Penniavas' credit.
Elrond nods slowly. "An excellent idea. Though ... it would not be much good as a combat blade, I don't suppose?" His eyes are thoughtful, as if he has had some kind of idea.
"it's edge will never dull, I will swear to that as well." Thenengel says with a soft smile. "though using such a sword within combat could potentially ruin the musical qualities of the steel." Looking down at the blade, with the look of a parent to their child, the Angdan bows, and holds out the weapon to Elrond. " I swore that my hands would wield this blade, only once. I now offer it to it's rightfull hand. May Glirangren protect, and entertain you while the light remains."
Thenengel drops Glirangren.
Glirangren
A weapon made never to cross with another, the entricate workings of this Damascene blade make it more instrument than weapon. Curved elegantly, the sweep of the steel moving in almost a crescent moon shape, the bend working to the blunt side of the blade. Inlaid with streams of silver, having been worked into patterns of leaves and vines, the blade of the sword seems to spark in any light, and the high polish of the steel reflects it for an almost prizmatic appearance.
The handle, and pommel are no less intricate. Made of elm, and stained with a dark polish to make the spiral gripped wood look almost to be stone. throughout the almost Onyx handle sits Gold Filigree, accenting the spiral, and all streams coming together at the crosspiece, and pommel, a robins egg of steel, with a Geode of the earth places at the bottom, the clear crystal showing what could only be a small Emerald set in it's center, it's depths endless.
A grand sword indeed, but upon further inspection of the blade, one would find what would seem to be many small impurities throughout the edge, small grooves, some filled in with small pieces of crystal. These grooves give the blade it's music, the fine craftsmenship of this blade to be a 'singing sword' one that holds a story within her steel.
Annunalagos looks suitably impressed by the presentation. He bows to Elrond saying, "May the blade serve you well, and if ever you show it to others and need a Linnor to sing by it's side, just ask, and I will be there."
Elrond reaches out, taking the proffered handle of the blade. "Thank you," he says, "and I shall examine this with great interest. That was a great deal of work you did, to make this blade."
Sidhel nods lively at this statement. "A great work indeed, mellon Thenengel," says he. "And may it delight its new owner as longs as the light remains!"
"Indeed," comments Tirloth by the tree's side, "no wonder you were practicing even in the rain to prepare your skills."
"Indeed.. How are you're ribs elleth?" Thenengel says with a knowing grin, before he looks to Sidhel and bows. "thank you." And to Elrond. "It was, but the experience of it's presentation, and the awe such work creates in rewarding." The Angdan says.
A faint smile touches Lamatheryn's lips, to see a sword whos beauty comes not just from the sharpness of its edge.
Elrond smiles then. "I look forward to examining your work very carefully," he informs the Angdan. "Even in this brief examination I see some new techniques." He places the sword in an empty sheath he is wearing --- perhaps he knew more of what was to be demonstrated than he had let on?
Thenengel grins as he watches the curved blade enter into an empty scabbard. "A few." Thenengel admits modestly, as the conversation perhaps is a bit uncomfortable now, since it brings light to his skill in his trade. " I am glad you approve of my work Hir Elrond. and I admit, it was...Liberating, to hold a sword again."
"The ribs were nothing, Angdan," says Tirloth amiably, resting one hand against the rough bark. "I see you have cleaned the mud from your boots."
"Different pair actually." Thenengel says with a grin at Tirloth.
"Talroch will be pleased to hear of all this," says Sidhel, smiling. "Alas, I could not inform him in time for the Mithlondhrim who departed from the Valley took my letter with them. Ah, he shall then learn of it upon his return."
Elrond nods, giving them all a wide grin. "Well then, I must excuse myself for now. Something to do with the stables, as I recall."
| |