Imladris Weapon Forges(#23339RHnt)
The ringing of hammers and the hissing of steam are a near constant din in this great chamber. Though it is lit by sconces at regular intervals along the walls, and a bank of skylights along the eastern edge of the ceiling, much of the room's illumination comes from the forge-fires, which cast a reddish hue on everything here.
At least a dozen forges dot the walls of the chambers, although not all are lit, and twice that many anvils and heavy wooden tables are set up for the smiths to hammer out their various swords, suits of armour, or other creations. The centre of the room is filled with rack upon rack of tools; hammers of every size, tongs, awls, shears, and still more implements whose purpose is not immediately clear.
Raised on a small platform in a niche in the northern wall, a tall bronze statue of the Vala Aule watches over the forge rooms, patron to all those who toil here after his example.
The day is warm for the time of year, the windows within the Smith Thenengel's shop are flung wide to let in the sun and fresh air of the outside. Here is where Thenegel has been, for days now, Judging by the cot and half eaten platter of fruit on a nearby end table.
Ting Ting Tang!
Ting Ting Tang!
Such are the sounds of the smiths trade, but unlike the smiths about him, so does whistling enter and exit Thenengel's shop, each of a different note, some clear as day, others warbling and unsure, but it is easy to tell, they come from no set of elvish lips.
The hesitant steps of an elleth's gait are just audible over the clinking of the forges. Squinting to acquaint her eyes to the strange lighting within the chamber, the parvasson Nusiriel emerges from the entrance into the armory and searches--rather with her sense of sound than of sight--for the source of the noises that echo within. A relative stranger to this region of the Valley, she seems more than a little uncomfortable.
Slipping in quietly, Penniavas pauses for his eyes to adjust to the strange lighting within. He slides to one side, out of the way and watches for now. He had a basket in his hands and a bag looped around his wrist as he waited, watching.
"See, this is the place to ask," says Sidhel as he follows Nusiriel. "Among the smiths there should as well be a bowyer, now let us see..." Skimming the busy Eldar, he nods a greeting to Thenengel. "As busy as ever, Arphadon?" He asks the smith.
" A whim within my mind alas Mellon, something that must be completed before I find rest again." Thenengel says without looking up, a file in his hand, and a slender, strangely curved longsword leys on a work table infront of him, while a chain of silver rests on a hook, the bottom weighted with something that remains submerged within a pot of slightly boiling water, cooling.
Running the file along the forte of the longswords Curved blade, Thenengel seems to notice nothing else in his shop, before the file stills, and the Arphadon blows some shavings away from the worked metal, to look up his eyes widening slightly with embarressment to see how busy his shop has become. Pulling thick leather gloves from his hands, he walks around the forge at the back to come up behind the small desk to the front, and he wipes his sweaty hands and forarms on a towel. " Mae Govannen Quendi. What can I do for you all?"
Light feet bring Penniavas towards the boiling pot, although he stops three feet away, and merely tries to peek within, never touching, remembering the earlier warnings. That, and its boiling too! He then looks back at the others and moves towards the table where the food was, setting his basket alongside the plate there.
"Spoiled suprises bode ill for young elflings Penniavas, especially for potential apprentices" Thenengel warns, without looking behind him.
Istafalas slips in midst other entrances. The elleth pushes back a strand of hair that has covered her eyes, and shifts of bulk of a black bag hanging on her shoulders. The Rochdur lingers near the entrance, waiting for others to be helped.
With a quick glance backwards to Sidhel, Nusiriel steps forward. Blushing--whether from the heat of the forge or from the awkwardness of the situation is uncertain--she addresses the Angdan. "As you may have inferred," she begins, waving vaguely in the direction of her companion, "I am in need of a bow. Well... perhaps 'need' is too strong a word. 'Desire,' perhaps..." Here she falls silent for a moment's time, looking altogether confounded. Clearing her throat at last, she begins again. "If there might be a craftsman I could speak with, to plead my case?"
Properly chastisted yet again, Penniavas darts away from the boiling pot much faster than he intended to originally. After sheepishly placing the basket of offerings, he steps back, waiting his turn, the purse still hanging from his wrist.
As she waits for some reply, Nusiriel offers a secretive wink to the young elfling, and barely manages to contain a smile at his constant habit of mischief-making.
"Yes, yes, the elleth would like to comission a bow," confirms Sidhel. "Are there any fletchers or bowyers around, mellon? Oh, and what is that talk about an apprentice, if I may ask?" Curiously he looks back and forth between Thenengel and Pennaivas.
"You are welcome in my shop Elleth" Thenengel says with a soft smile, the one time warrior seemingly still one with his skills from that era of his life. Looking to Nusiriel, he nods. "alas my skills are with Iron and silver, though i might know a man who could work the wood for me, and I could finish it for strength and beauty for one such as you."
Smiling and nodding to Penniavas, before eyeing the basket, for now he leaves it be, others in need of aid. Looking to Sidhel after a moment of contemplation, Thenegel prone to those as of late. "Young Penniavas has shown an interest in my craft." he says simply.
Nusiriel fairly beams with gratitude, murmuring a word or two of thanks. Assuming the smith will refer her to said artisan in due time, she takes a quick step back and resumes her position when first she entered the forges.
Now Elleth, you're presence here inspires me." He says, as he smiles and turns around, the pot with the silver chain hovering above it has stopped boiling, and with ungloved hands the Smith pulls the chain away, showing a beautifully crafted pendant with a emerald of unique cut set in the center of it. "A Linnor such as you should have beauty about her to match what comes from within." he says warmly as he sets the pendant down on the desk for her to view.
"Yes, that is what I hope! "The young elf nods "I would work for him as an apprentice and he would make me a singing sword!" he looks quite excited, and his eyes glance to the pot, gasping softly at the necklace brought out. "ooh!"
"Has he?" Sidhel nods slowly at Thenengel, then glances at the elfling. Yet as the smith addresses Nusiriel with fair words and even shows the necklace to her, he smiles brightly. "Hear, hear," he says. "The words of a jeweller."
Nusiriel withdraws slightly as if to shield herself behind the greater girth of Sidhel. Slowly, she approaches the table to admire the handicraft and offers a brief, if hesitant, smile as she replies simply, "It is truly lovely. Such work is not often seen, I am sure."
"No no, just a weapon smith with a hidden soft side, I asure you." Thenengel says with a bashfull smile.
"A singing blade is not yet tested nor made Young Penniavas, I need to work the design first, but perhaps a sword to learn with before something of such grand craftsmenship aye?" Looking to Nusiriel, Thenengel smiles, and lifts the necklace again, holding it out to her. " it is your's, a gift from me to you, I have no wife nor children, I made it knowing only that I would know the one who's neck it was to be bound to."
"Maybe we could ask the Bards how it may work? If they can make strings sing when you draw a bow across it, they could make a way for metal to sing when you wave it about." the young elf notes ponderously, scratching at his chin. He turns now to look at Nusiriel, beaming widely.
"A singing blade?" Sidhel looks clearly astonished. "Now sounds intriguing! What would this be, Thenengel, please tell me?" He beholds the forge where Thenengel had been working before with great interest. "Is it that one there?"
Nusiriel blushes violently and stares for some time at the dark shadows that flit across the stone floor about her feet. Returning to herself, she raises her gaze to meet that of Thenengel with a quick shake of her head that sends the curls framing her face into disarray. "I could hardly be expected to accept such a thing. Please... let it be given to someone who might do the piece more justice. " This said, she returns her eyes downward once more.
"The beginning of it Aye." Thenengel says as he turns to grasp the curved longsword, showing it to Sidhel, the notches etched into the blade " I am still working some of the details out, but.." Stepping back, he turns the blade through the air with the ease of one who used such a weapon for hundreds of years, each arc at a different angle, bringing the singing notes of the blade to life, for the demonstration, before a few of the warbling ones come through, which has the proud craftsmen set it back down on the table.
Thenengel smiles "Is the work not to you're liking then? I think it is. Please, I insist." Thenegel says as he turns back around.
"Hardly!" the elleth exclaims, her discomfort matched only by her desire to give no offense. "No finer piece could have been wrought in its place, I assure you. Only..." Rather than continue, she seems to realize the futility of her arguments and sighing, accepts the trinket reluctantly.
Poking Nusiriel in the ribs, Penniavas starts to press on her too "Take it! It very much suits you! It would look beautiful I know! Why NOT take it? It looks lovely and you are as well!"
Thenengel grins like an elfling as she takes the necklace. "thank you Mellon"
Penniavas stops poking as she takes it, beaming as well.
Nusiriel coughs pointedly, and shoots a menacing--though harmless--glare in Penniavas' general direction. Regaining an otherwise pleasant countenance, she smiles brightly to the smith. "I promise it shall be a treasure always. But if you will forgive me..." Without further ado, she curtseys cordially to those gathered hence, places a hand on Sidhel's shoulder briefly, and hurries back into the armory and, assumedly, back towards the House.
Sidhel seems rather fascinated by the rawly wrought sword. "That... is remarkable," he exclaims. "Oh, and this is even more remarkable," he adds as Nusiriel accepts the jewelry from Thenengel. "No finer piece could have been found, indeed." And only the firstborn would notice the wink he gives Thenengel.
Thenengel smiles again, and actually shrugs, a very...unelflike thing to do. " and now I feel I have embarressed her." Thenegel says with a grin. " I intend to present this sword to Lord elrond once it is finished, but perhaps once I have it more completed, You would aid me in working the motions for each note? I think it could tell an amazing story once I have it finished." Thenegel says, gesturing to the tomb on his desc, a tale of the battles of Beleriand.
Looking to the tome there, the young Elf looks back again, nodding quickly "I would love to help test it as well! Elrond would want only the one which sang on-key." he states, then pauses to think "A singing sword... that would be wondrous! Especially if you had more than one!"
Sidhel looks very delighted as he replies to Thenengel: "The Herdir will surely be awed by such a performance, and why not have a singer tell the lay while you wield the sword? A singer such as - Nusiriel?"
For more information on the Singers, type +IMNEWS GUILDS SINGERS or contact Curanolas.
Thenengel blushes at the suggestion, since Sidhel seems to perhaps see some alterior motive. "Am I that transparent friend?" he says with a grin as he gestures for Sidhel to join him in the back. " I think such a job of aiding in the test should fall to one with more experience young Penniavas. Don't you agree?" He asks the elfling kindly.
His face falling, Penniavas looks a little dissapointed. THen he brightens once more "I can learn then!" he determines. "I know some of staff... ooh, I wonder if you can make a singing STAFF... " he pauses, now lost in his own thoughts and nutty ideas.
Sidhel laughs brightly. "Why, I am but suggesting what would greatly help your performance before the Herdir." Still laughing he says to Penniavas: "But you have a singing staff. Is not your flute a kind of staff as well?"
"Weeeeell... I suppose so." Penniavas admits "But its not a staff that you could use as a weapon, though I suppose you could poke an orc;s eye out with it. Not that I would WANT to." he grimaces at the thought "But I meant a true staff... The Beorning Erik was showing me tricks he did with his crutches, and I've been practicing them with staffs instead. I think i am getting pretty good at it."
"Right Mellon...Right.." he says with a grin, as he goes back to file and hammer, working a few more notches into the blade, and widening some of the warbling ones carefully, testing it from time to time, with a billows he's set up beside his work station. " So is there I can do for you, or were you just accompanying Nusiriel here? Interesting you should bring her to my shop when you know I have not worked wood since I was a child."
"We'll see Elfling alright? but let us concentrate on one task at a time yes? Have you spoken with The Herdir yet?"
"Well, we came to find a bowyer," replies Sidhel to the smith, "but your work drew both of us to your shop rather. I for one have no need for smithing, my blade and bow have returned unused from my latest journey across the High Moors."
"No, I have not. He was busy when I went bakc to the House." the young elleth responds at that. "But I spoke with Father and he is fine with it if the Herdir agrees. He sent you these too!" he notes, holding out the rattling pouch. Then a pause, and he sets it on the table instead, by the basket of treats.
"True, but you'll find a blade can lose such a fine edge, eve through the jostling of it within the berth of a scabbard." Thenengel says with a smile, as if he's talking to someone who wouldn't know that.
"He did did he Penniavas? and what might these be?" The smith moves to the pouch, and basket, opening both with a smith. "Very kind of your father." he adds.
Sidhel shakes his head. "Nay, the blade sits as fast as ever. Else I would long have sought you out, mellon. Hir Talroch will be pleased though to hear of your work, I shall send a letter to him with the first Mithlondhrim who are to depart from the Valley."
Beaming, Penniavas states "Oh, the food is from Mother. Lunch." he notes "The stones are from Father yes. He said they are going to waste sitting in his own shop so he gave them to me to give to you. He said something about 'placating' though I am not sure what he meant... "
Chuckling Thenegel nods to Sidhel "No need to bother him, he can be just as suprised as everyone else upon his return." The smith says to his friend, before turning to Penniavas " well be sure to thank your mother for me then, and these stones will sit well, I'll tell you what, assuming you are able to work with me, i will show you how to set the best of those stones into the pommel of our singing sword once she is completed yes?"
Eyes brightening yet again, Penniavas gives a little hop "Ohh! Would you? I would love to learn how!" a pause "We should find out what stones Elrond likes best though, because it WILL Be his sword after all. But then I do not think he will mind any color at all... "
"We'll not ask him a thing youngling. Else the suprise be ruined. I think I will know what stone to use, such things jump to the mind of a smith during his work, you will learn to do so as well." Thenengel says kindly.
"Such a sword must have a name, by all means," declares Sidhel. "But do not hasten that, I daresay, mellon. Test the sword where none can see and hear it, then find the proper name for it, no?"
Thenengel nods " I agree, but naming such a blade is the last thing once should do, and requires a scholar to do it justice."
Furrowing his brow, Penniavas nods at them both "Can I help today? I am done my other lessons." he notes, looking hopeful "I can go change into somethng that will not get dirty as much in a few minutes."
"Agreed, smith," says Sidhel. "Will you accept the help from a historian then, once it is time for the namegiving?"
Thenengel shakes his head "not yet, though your impatience is commendable. there are a few secrets of my trade that must be done now, and you are not ready for such knowledge." looking to Sidhel, the smith smiles " I will indeed."
Penniavas sighs "There are too many secrets! Someday, all the secrets will be held by one elf, and when he is gone, they will all be lost to the stars!" Penniavas bemoans, mostly to himself.
"That day will surely only come when Arglin leaves these shores," laughs out Sidhel. Then, to the smith, he says: "Very well, call me in time then." With that he bows and walks out of the hall.
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