Elendor - Saturday, April 21, 2007, 8:35 PM
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 doors to the weapon forge swing open, as Sidhel swiftly enters the hall. A brief glance only assures him that the one he was looking for is actually present. And any absence of Thenengel from his forge would have lately have been peculiar for it had become known that he was working without pause for hours, days even - much like the smiths of old.
"Greetings, angdan," says Sidhel as he approaches the smith. "I pondered quite a lot these days and eventually I found what you were looking for!"
"Mae Govannen Arphedor. It's finished.." Thenengel says with a weary smile, his ongloved hands showing the wear of his craft, small cuts and burns mark his hands, but nothing major. Waving Sidhel back into his shop, The Smith uncovered a crescent shaped scabbard, with a beautifully inlaided hilt and pommel resting within in. Expertly lifting the weapon, he draws the blade from the steel lined home of the blade, the clear notes of several flutes being struck all at once, as he lays it gently down on the table for the Herald to examine.
Slowly the Herald approaches the workshop, awed by what he sees and hears. "That is remarkable," he says softly. "Such crafting has not been seen in Middle-earth for a long time, I am sure. Astounding!" Slowly he lets his fingers glide across the blade. "And the sound is but produced by these notches? What a miracle."
"P..Please... don't touch it.." Thenengel says, a little over protective of the blade. " I am the hand who crafted, Hir Elrond is the hand that will hold it.. such was my vow.. Please.. I am sorry..." Ackwardly possessive of his work, Thenengel lowers his head slightly. " It seems this work has consumed something of me."
Thenengel says, "Yes.. the notches create the flat tones, the crystal filled notces for the pitched tones."
Sidhel smiles at Thenengel and immediately lets go of the blade. "If such was your vow, then I shall not interfere with it. Such a masterpiece deserves my respect." Yet his mien darkens ever so slightly as the smith talks about consumption. Regardless, though, Sidhel asks: "Now, when and where would you want to name this work?"
" Once it is named, my crafting would be completed, so now would be my first request, for a good nights rest, and perhaps a proper meal, might be well to acquire this day." Thenengel says, marveling at his own work. "by the trees Mellon.. I have no idea how I made this.. it was like something within me guided my hands."
"Rest you shall, and no meal nor drink shall be withheld from you either," declares Sidhel. "For you have well earnt them! In fact I have already ordered a little snack to be brought to the oak tree in the meadows. Would that be to your liking?"
"Yes, it would. i admit Penniavas' mother's baking is what has kept me going for the past few days." Thenengel says with a soft smile. "did you know I had one young ellon come in here telling me if I didn't work so much perhaps I'd marry? Humorous no?"
Sidhel cannot help but laugh now. "And I must say that sentiment is not too far from any reason, mellon," he chuckles. "Go and wash yourself, Idaresays, then we shall eat under oak leaves."
Chuckling softly, he nods, and moves off to his washbasin, the elf suprisingly clean for someone who has lived in his shop for weeks. Washing clean his soot stained hands and face, and disappearing for a moment to pull on a fresh tunic, Thenegel soon appears again, as the proud elf he's known for. "I am as jittery as I was the day I joined the Tirith." he says. "I wonder what hir Elrond will say..."
"I am sure he will be just as awed by your work as any of us, mellon." Sidhel moves towards the door while the smith changes his attire.
"I just hope no one views this as a way to gain favor. I have never been one to seek out advancement, I meerly like to work on things that catch my fancy. Perhaps now that this is done, I may take a wife, who knows." Thenengel says as he comes out of the back to join Sidhel, stopping only to gather the sword, and scabbard, and wrap it gently in a piece of white silk, drawing tassles around each end to conceal it, making it look perhaps to be a strung bow underneath due to it's shape.
"None spoke ill of me when I gifted my Account of Travels to the Herdir and was made a Historian for that work. Nay, mellon, be assured that we shall view your art as just that - a wonderful craft." With that, he leaves the forge to walk over to the meadows.
Open Meadow - Crossroads(#3277RHXnto)
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.
At the oak there appears to be set a homely arrangement of a picnic. Baskets and blankets lie there in the leaf-covered grass. Golden brown oak leaves falling from above at times. "Here, mellon, all is well prepared for a little refreshment. We have food and wine and a whole oak tree to shelter us from any ill weather." Content, Sidhel settles down and inspects one of the baskets. "Ah, roast grouse."
"My goodness, the food is practically already within my mouth. "Thenengel says with a smile as he moves beneath to oak to rest liesurely, setting down the wrapped bundle, though he stares at it from now and again while picking through the baskets with a soft smile on his face.
A soft singing wafts down from the trees branches. The sweet soprano could only belong to Curanolas. The song is in praise of the changing of the seasons. It seems unobtrusive and gentle.
"And as you hear, there is music, too," replies Sidhel, now waving gently upwards. "Our Glirieth promised to honour the event with song, as it suits a singing blade." He fills a glass with red wine and takes a sip.
"That I do know, she and Annunalagos will sing to the blade when Elrond has moments to hear it, for I shall invite the valley, should they be so inclined to come." Thenengel says with a smile as he bows his head in greeting to the elleth.
Curanolas smiles down at the two, continuing to sing softly of the seasons' change.
Sidhel nods at Thenengel. "That is well, a duet accompanied by the sword-song should be most impressive. Now, mellon, there two names I found most fitting for your work, but it is up to you decide upon the final name."
"I understand. let such grand food, be mixed with business, for it will offer a much more savory taste to both no?" Thenengel says, though he finds himself looking up to Curanaolas, a faint smile upon his lips for no apparent reason.
"Would you then want to hear the names I came to think of?" Sidhel looks at the smith, questioning. "Two names, one which you would have to choose."
" Yes I would. let me hear them from such a learned tongue and mind, for I am sure what you have found will work well with steel.. perhaps the blade itself shall choose it's own name, for some of me is within it, perhaps enough to offer the blade life." Thenengel says with a smile, as he muches on some fruit absently
Finishing off the song with a long-held note, Curanolas pauses before lapsing into another song, praising names of old, warriors of elven kind.
Sidhel nods. "Naturally I chose two names which would point out the element of song," he explains. "Therefore I thought that either Glirangren or Laeranwar should be the name of that masterpiece."
A high, light whistle alerts those gathered to the arrival of another elleth. As she draws nearer and hearkens to the sound of a fellow singer's tune she leaves off the whistling altogether and hastens to the scene. Once in eye-sight, she pauses abrubtly and appears taken aback to have come upon so (comparatively) large a group of her kin.
"Glirangren...Iron Poem.." Seeing Nusiriel, Curanolas, and Sidhel about him, Thenengel stands up, dusting off his pants as he unties the tassle side of the silk wrap, pulling the sword from the silk, and soon the scabbard as well, the curved longsword set in the hand of a skilled smith, who once, was a skilled Magor. "Let us see.." He says, as an unearthly light flashes brightly in the Edhel's eyes, as he listens to Curanolas' song, for a moment, before he backs away from Sidhel, his body begining to sway from side to side as those bright orbs close, heavy lashes and lids seeming only to blot out the brightness beneath.
His body moving within the tempo to the Linnor's words, soon the blade slashes out, held on handed by the ellon as his heel digs the earth, spinning him around and bringing his other arm around to grip the handle of the sword, bringing the blade slicing out, the twinkling sounds of the orchestra within steel echoing into the meadow, each twist and subtle turn of Thenengel's body bringing forth color's for the ear, and flashes of light from the sun blasting from the crystal, silver, and steel all as one.
Glirangren." Thenengel whispers as his body moves faster, keeping with the tempo, as the blade moves flashingly through the air, accompanying the voice of Curanolas, before with a sweeping cresendo, Thenengel slides the blade within her scabbard, the click of the crosspiece touching the leather wrapped steel brings his body to a stand still.
"Yes..." Thenengel says breathlessly, his voice a meer whisper. "Glirangren will do well."
"Glirangren," repeats Sidhel softly. "A worthy name for a poem forged of steel. "May this blade ever tell the lays of the Eldar to those who have ears to listen," he speaks out and lifts his glass to drink from.
Pausing to contemplate the song which from strange lips emits, Nusiriel retreats into the shadow of the great oak tree at her back. Keeping a cautious eye on the hand which of late wielded such a sword, she reveals a basket which she has been carrying beneath her cloak. Removing the latter she spreads it wide upon the bed of fallen leaves and sits atop its folds, the basket balanced on her lap. Slowly, she intrudes upon the silence which the group seems to have lapsed into. "Would... would you join me in partaking of this small meal? After such hours of toil, at least the smith must be weary!"
Blushing, Nusiriel notices too late the repast that has already been laid out.
Curanolas finishes her song with a light note that fades into oblivion. She looks down at the edhel. "Beautiful name for the sword, mellyn," she says. She jumps down with the ease of an elfling and stands next to Thenengel. "May I join you?"
Laughing as gleefully as a youth as he wraps Glirangren back up in the silk covering. " I see no reason you could not." Thenengel says with a smile, before turning from Sidhel, to whom he nods to in regards of the naming cermony he just preformed in his own rite, to Nusiriel. " I would be honored to eat with you Eleeth, please, feel free to join us."
"Mae govannen, Nusiriel." Sidhel greets the elleth, then he gestures to the other singer, Curanolas. "By all means, have a seat." He proceeds to skimming the baskets for other treats.
Curanolas sits down next to Thenengel and peruses the baskets. Taking a cup and pouring herself some wine, she sips it greatfully. The linnor selects a wedge of cheese and nibbles it.
Curanolas sits down next to Thenengel and peruses the baskets. Taking a cup and pouring herself some wine, she sips it greatfully. The linnor selects a wedge of cheese and nibbles it. <re-pose>
Rather then settle in with her fellows, Nusiriel rises abrubtly and draws her slightly-soiled cloak over her arm. Approaching the trio seated she sets down her own basket. "When all is said and done, I had really better be on my way. I have forgotten some engagement or other, I am sure. Either way, I am sure to be needed elsewhere." Although this seems hardly possible from the vague look on her face, Nusiriel makes as though to depart. Before advancing very far, however, she turns about quickly on her heels and reapproaches. Stepping closer to Thenengel, she stoops to lay a neatly wrapped parcel by his feet. Rising and averting her gaze, she adds to her farewell, "I would that you knew my gratitude for the other morning's goings-on." Finally, bowing to Curanolas and Sidhel in turn, she hurries off back towards the direction of the House.
Thenengel smiles softly to Nusiriel, curious as to her hasty departure, before bending to pick up the parcel, and opening it, reveals a thick canvas apron. "A new apron. This day is full of suprises eh? strange that she wished to leave in such a hurry.. I shall never understand elleth's to the day I leave these shores I am sure." Thenengel says with a grin as he shows off the artricle to Sidhel and Curanolas.
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