Tingdain

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
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High Lord of Imladris
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Far into the Valley away from the serenity of most of the other buildings and homes of the Valley a large building rises up from the trees many chimneys reach skyward, wood smoke coming from many others the shimmering mirage of pure heat raising from them making the sky and trees behind them ripple.

It's windows are ever open the heat from the fires burning inside keeping it warm even on the chilliest of days,it's heavy wooden doors stand open and you can hear why it is tucked away from all other buildings. There is a loud ringing present every day from at least one Smith busy at work.

Inside them you can see a polished desk, the reception area a stack of papers neatly weighed down with a beautiful sculpture keeping them in place when no one is tending the reception area and beyond it great blazing forges for working iron and steel, and smaller ones less hot to work precious metals to create beautiful pieces of jewelry and trinkets.
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Fuin the Tingdains Grand Master is busy at work, welcoming those that wish to learn the craft of smithing, or simply place an order.

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Master Smiths

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Smiths

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Journeymen

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Apprentices
Erfaron Sílûgnir
If you were a smith of old please let me know in OOC and we will get you your rank once more, without having to go through all the training - unless you'd like a quick refresher
Rules:
1.Please put all OOCs in the Rivendell Activities Thread HERE
2. Smiths please post your RING and your task/location at the top of your post
3. Guests please head for reception/the sitting area and flag down any smith you see in the forge!
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Oct 22, 2020 3:08 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Grand Master
Steel for Coin - Market Prep
2 daggers


Fuin was half sitting half standing on a stool near the work bench just behind reception the forge near her was hot but cooling down with the bellows locked shut. She was going over a list of the items that she was to bring to the Market in Bree when she went that way later this month.

1 Long sword
3 Short swords
3 daggers x2 FE
2 sets Leather Bracers
Necklace
Eating Utensils (fork, knife, spoon x4)
Quiver and Arrows
Arrow heads
Bow
Scabbards (Daggers, short sword)


She was trying to get at least one item a day finished for the stall as they did not often take weapons and armor to sell to Bree. It was a rare thing and the men of Bree and those surrounding had heard that they were coming and the Grand Master did not want to disappoint. Of course there was always a risk of disappointment, especially for late comers to the Market but she would do her best to make sure there was enough stock that everyone could get something. Today was a utilitarian sort of day daggers were the order of the day, she could get a couple of those done today at least. Possibly even three.

She put a small mark on the list denoting that she would be making daggers that way if any other smiths came in and wanted to work on the list which was quite sizeable they would know that they were being worked on.


She headed to the back room and brought out two steel ingots and headed for her forge. She set the ingots down one beside the forge the other on the anvil before pulling on her long leather work gloves and putting the ingot she'd left on the anvil into the forge with a set of tongs happy the metal was nestled into the bed of coals near the bellow she headed for the massive leather contraption and unlocked it and began to pump them in a smooth and steady rhythm waiting patiently for the steel to get hot enough to shape. The first heating was always the longest from a cold ingot.

The steady clack of the wooden boards of the bellows coming together and the hiss of air. The forge itself was quiet, started before she had picked a project so she wouldn't have to wait for the coals to ignite once she had decided was nothing more than white hot coals glowing brightly even in the noon day light that came filtering through the many windows, it was only once she started to get bored of working the bellows that she decided it was time to check the ingot, normally that was a pretty good indicator for her on the first heat and she was perhaps a minute later than need be but the ingot was a beautiful orange red and she set it on the anvil, and quickly put the other in the forge so it could heat while she was working on the other and grabbed her hammer. The heavy soft thud of metal stretching out filled the tingdain with the odd ring as she let the hammer bounce of the cold hard anvil, giving that crisp ringing sound that so many people associated with working with metal. she managed to get the ingot stretched out and flattened nicely towards the shape she wanted, with it being steel rather than pure iron she did not need to fold it to give it strength the way she would an iron dagger.

It was too cool to keep working and so she turned to see how the other ingot was doing and to get it started, that way she could make two identical daggers. The ingot was about half way to where it needed to be while the coals had been coasting and so she quickly went to work putting the other dagger off to the side of the forge where it wouldn't get too much heat for the time being. Once the second one was to heat she treated it the same way she had the first moving the partially shaped blade into the heart of the coals again, at this point a few pumps of the bellows after sitting in the heart would get it warm enough to work with as it was now much thinner.

The pace and work was constant, and melodic between the heavy thuds and the high light ringing, and slowly both blades began to take shape, the straight shape with a bevel on the one side that tapered down nothing that would curve making an elegant soft shape for something that was so sharp and could cut so deeply once she was finished sharpening it. its tang was weighted so that the blade was balanced in hand, these would not be good for throwing overly, they could manage but these daggers would be better in hand. She looked over the shape of both daggers they were almost completely identical. She stuck one into the briny bath the flat side of the dagger first so that the edge would be longer and curved like a knife the end was sharp on both side but the main cutting edge was on the one side and a great hiss and bellow of steam rose up from the barrel and she could feel the metal shift in the tong and knew it had curved She pulled it out and looked at it it looked like it had formed properly so she slipped it into a smaller oil bath to let it cool slower than it would in the air and then repeated the process once more for the second dagger. Once they were cooled she would clean them and begin working on the handles for them. She was thinking a nice beech wood would be nice.

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Aigronding Mordagnir heaved a sigh of relief, finally having arrived at Rivendell's esteemed forge. His close friend, Fuin Elda, was its grand master. He was late for their meeting; she was likely getting her products ready for their upcoming visit to Bree. When Aewrusca, his youngest daughter, saw he was leaving Linyamaril with many chests of glittering gemstones, she had, of course, wanted to inspect these troves herself... Needless to say, it had taken him nearly an hour to get underway. Aigronding chuckled though, knowing Aewrusca was partly the reason why he was here today. "I'm relieved but you look terrified, mellon," Aigronding remarked, noticing the pale look of Tharmáras. They were both richly attired, had an imposing stature, and were famed for their gallant nature. Strong, blue-eyed, and golden-haired, they could have passed for brothers. They were, in fact, related. Aigronding's grandson, Hadron, was married to Limaewen who was Tharmáras' daughter by Crabanel, his late wife.

"I'm pondering whether battling Leviathan is more likely to live through than telling Nariel I spent a fortune on her anniversary necklace," Tharmáras admitted, actually slumped on the sea of the cart. Again Aigronding laughed. "You know she will be ecstatic. Nariel will delightfully show it off at every ball from the palace of Cirdan to the castle of Earenolwe. It's your mother's discovery you should dread rather."

Tharmáras grimaced, following Aigronding out of the cart. They approached the august chimneyed edifice towering above the trees seemingly rippling in the heat emanating from the forge of Fuin. Aigronding staggered to a halt, shocked by the sight of his nemesis whom he saw through one of the many opened windows. Wreathed in smoke and illuminated in surrounding flame stood Hatholdir Nârroval in animated discussion with Fuin, two smiths passionately discussing their trade. He was darkly handsome and clad in black. His raven hair, cut short like a human's, was crowned with a reddish-gold circlet lightly crusted with black diamonds. The High Elf opened a carved box with his moleskin glove, showing Fuin a collection of scarce black opals and rare meteoric peridot. "Ela elmenda! ("Behold, wonder!")" exclaimed Hatholdir in Quenya. The Mole King turned toward Aig with the subtle hint of a sly grin, his sapphire eyes glowing effulgently through drifting steam.

Tharmáras shook Aigronding's shoulder, jolting his fellow Elf-lord from his disturbing hallucination. Hatholdir was nowhere to be seen. It was Aigronding's fear and recurring dream that the Mole King would finally entice Fuin. That if he couldnt' twist her mind like he did long ago then he would try bribing Fuin instead. There was no danger though; Fuin would not betray him. She was stronger than she had been when Hatholdir attacked her vulnerable, damaged mind with his devilish silver tongue in the Elder Days. Fuin would not let that happen again.

Aigronding nodded, composed himself, and came to the polished desk. He alerted the Elven greeter that he neded to speak personally with Fuin and waited for her to appear. An easy smile broadened his lips when she came to reception. "Better late than never, meldis ("[female] friend",[/i] Sindarin)," he told Fuin and gestured at the cart outside. "I've brought you jewels from my caverns in the Hithaeglir. Beryl of all colors, emeralds, rubies, pink spinel, lemon opal, and deep green chrysoprase. I haven't brought you wood in a while but I have some loads for you today. Oak and hickory from the Chetwood of Bree. Imladris beech and Lindon cherry. Rhudaur yew and apple from my trees of Linyamaril. Nenmallon gave me mallorn though unfortunately not so much as before but you understand how rare it is." The mother of his son-in-law had been generous as she could with giving Aig mallorn wood for Fuin's forge. Now since she was miffed that her precious boy had moved to Rivendell, she had given Mordagnir fewer stores of the lovely timber than before.

"I've also bought some lebethron for you from a farmer in Imloth Melui." Aigronding laced his gloved hands behind back. "Now that our business has been taken of, I hope, I'd like to request a weapon...for Aewrusca. As you know she's been learning skill with a blade and martial arts so she can protect herself in dire straits. She will accompany Calselda on her guard missions as a healer and there's no doubt she'll face danger abroad. I would like to commission you to make her a scimitar." He gave a sheet of parchment which detailed the order and design of the scimitar - a lebethron grip covered in leather with a bird's head pommel in silver and a mallorn scabbard with mithril inlay. Aigronding had given Fuin what little stores he had of old Moria silver which the Dwarves had gifted him in the Second Age; she housed the mithril in a protected room stocked with precious ores and crystals.

Tharmáras held Fuin's forearm with a strong grip before speaking. "Well met, friend. I would like to make a request as well. My wife and I are having an anniversary soon. I would like to surprise her with jewelry of the Tingdain. A white-gold necklace with a blue topaz heart set in a mithril pendant." The Lindonese Elf-lord showed Fuin a sketch of the heart bound in a sideways figure eight, a shape which mortals usually referred to as an Infinity Sign. Tharmáras gave Fuin a pouch filled with pearls reckoned as high grade in Lindon markets as his payment. All of them were gleamed with a lustrous magnifience, varying in size and some of them larger than a robin's egg.
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

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Grand Master
Restocking the Forge/Taking Orders

Fuin heard the voice at the front desk and did a quick check of the daggers she had been working on, they would be fine on their own now cooling and perhaps when she got back she would be able to get their handles on them. She headed for the desk and smiled seeing Aigronding and a sheet white Tharmaras.
"Mellon" She said with a smile. "I do not think I would hear that phrase from you if it were for dinner! If I invited your family and you were late naught would be left but the bones, and even those might go to the hounds." She said with a laugh peaking at the cart. "I am grateful for the jewels and supplies were have been running low on many of them, especially mallorn." with a host of Galadhrim in the valley she had needed to use much of it to craft bows for the archers though she had kept the heart wood and best pieces aside, as there may ever be some new member of the Galadhrim becoming a captain or earning a treasured bow that would take long days or weeks to craft to the standards of Lorien.

"Oh proper business," Fuin said and took the piece of parchment with the order on it. "This is why you have gotten me both mallorn and lebethron and jewels, I was wondering what payment you would ask for these gifts." She said teasingly. and looked over the request. "I still have a hard time seeing that sweet child as a swords woman. You will have to let me teach her to bow sooner or later even if it is my little hickory bow that we start her on." She said with a nod certain with no doubt that that was an order she could easily see done.

She gripped Tharmaras' arm with a smile and spoke asking for mithril work, and white gold and jewels. "Ai! That explains the white face, I had thought you were about to pass to the halls of Namo and questioned if there were a balrog crawling from one of my forges! It is a sweet gift, and I promise I shall not let your mother know of your gift to your wife, for while she is not as dark as a balrog she can certainly be as terrifying some days!" She said as she glanced at the contents of the bag, she did not count nor inspect the pearls, knowing that there would be plenty and in high enough grade that she may use some of them in the future to make more jewelry and inlay items that she knew would be requested especially if it got out that she had pearls.

She was a bit of a dragon in terms of the precious items of the Tingdain, some she needed to be, Mithril was rare, they had not gotten any in many many years, since Khazad-dum had fallen, Fuin had for a long while rationed the mithril they had to only the Host and those that were getting gifted daggers for their deeds by the Commanders, it had eventually run out and then Aigronding had taken over the Host, and had gifted her the Mithril he had, and she rationed it just as fiercly though she would not deny Aigronding such a gift for his daughter for it was his Mithril to begin with, and if Tharmaras was there he approved of such a piece being made so she could not deny either request.

"The two of you wish to put me through long hard work with Mithril, tis a good thing you are my friends or I would have words for you both coming at the same time!," She said marking the two items for either herself or some other Master smith if they wished to work on them, for no regular smith was trained in Mithril anymore, as working with it was so rare. "Shall we unload the cart so that you can be on your way?" She said and tucked the small pouch into the folds of her heavy leather apron and headed grabbed the mallorn from the cart several smaller pieces and one big piece as well as the small chest that held the jewels after she peaked in to make sure she was not stealing the Tar-Taidrons lunch, though she may have done that as well if given the chance. "I'll put these under lock and key for now if you remember where the rest of the wood goes?" She asked Aigronding remember that he had once had time to be a smith in her forge, now though the Noldo was far to busy to work in the forge.
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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Stalking Reception

As a heartbeat it had summoned him, the ring of hammer upon steel. The unspoken song forsook in days of yore now swelled against the Elf’s heart despite that he would deny all capacity to stand so moved. It was past come present. It was future promise. It was undeniable, the siren song of a functional, working forge. So along the winding paths he hunted, and amongst a beard of trees the mystery unearthed. A forge indeed.

He was not surprised to hear the clear tones of Aigronding, for that Elflord had a finger in, it seemed, every conceivable industry about the valley, and some further still beyond. It was rather more of a surprise to observe him in the company of Tharmáras, so far from the shoals, though the two lords were kin and kind alike. Strange that the latest arrival could admire one Elf so, and begrudge the other with an equal measure.

They had not observed him, being engrossed in some conversation with the forge master. And it lit the newcomer’s intrigue to note that she was not Elf, but an Elleth. Which at least explained the motive behind one of the blonde Elflord’s visit. The Mole refrained, but barely, from stealing away, with thought to return at a later date. Still found his feet unmoved, his will quite obstinate and his curiosity quite piqued.

He was not a lord of industry himself, had eschewed even the dust-ridden noble family name which was barely known outside of Aman. The Elf’s late father though had schooled him in the greater benefit of assets that could not be easily discarded. Talent was a currency which demanded tolerance, and since the Mole was often bereft of the one, there was a compelling need to develop the other. Time had demonstrated those obstinate few who would withhold even their tolerance, for the sake of reputation. Well, reputation worked both ways. The great and wealthy could keep their ostentatious halls, their grandiose resources and their copious landholdings, He had witnessed cities come to ruin, he had outlived dynasties fallen to fell corruption. He knew, that to be truly self-sufficient was the most that any wise soul could seek in this world. And he did not intend to count himself so by boasting ownership of aught he could not keep always within his hands. He also was aware that to be so self-sufficient often required much hard work in the obtaining of essential skills. Hard work was thus unavoidable, but if that labour was less tiresome than ever bartering with others, .. well, he would rather debase himself a brief time to hone a new craft, than beg for eternity from those who were more learned.

So, it seemed, his mind was set.


The conversation of those folk here, those affluent and fair, made brief mention of Nariel, and so his ears were keen. Thankfully, those making words had much to entertain them in the way of stores and supplies. So he was able to hang back, drawn by instinct to admire the sculpture that sat upon the desk in the reception. A generous soul might have offered his peers to assist with their extensive delivery, but that might serve a false impression if the Guild Master then believed she had anything but a Mole at her door. It was not the case that Erfaron was never courteous, but that people tended to be more suspicious when he was. More often than not, it was not worth the trouble to try. They usually made up their minds without any help but hearsay regardless.

There was little need to bear the dark garb in this age, for most in the valley were elseways aware of Sílûgnir’s allegiance and there was enough already to mark him out. His hair, if he had cared to groom it, might have rivalled a cascade of stars, yet having spent good time roaming the wilds of the lone lands, it was on the whole rather less striking and rather more dulled. Like a dirtied puddle reflecting a mockery of stars. His eyes, if you stood close, could lure you to believe they bore no colour, so pale were those gems that lit his skull, but a far off blue barely tinged their observant orbs, like a rimed border of ice. Neither over tall, nor over broad, the Elf wore an uneasy blend of the strong Noldor frame and yet the leaner Teleri guise all at once. He was not the sort of Elf that people looked for, but tended to be remembered, for no good reason that even he might recall after.

Having come hence with want to ask favour, there would need to be managed the niceties which most folk preferred to sheer honesty. Rallying what memory he could resurrect of such things, Sílûgnir readied for the moment he might make his own approach to the busy guildmaster. Guildmistress ? He was not in any particular rush. In fact, the being here at all was proving quite more educational than he might have thought possible in so little time.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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"Oh, be careful about inviting my family over," Tharmáras warned Fuin, chuckling. "Anarondo and Caramírië may want to visit you more regularly. Nariel and I could use more babysitters in Imladris..."

He was joking, of course, but the hysterical notion drew a guffaw from Aigronding. "Probably not the best idea," he assumed then gave Fuin a broad grin. "I imagine it clearly." Aigronding paused for a second, giving the absent child a gimlet stare. "Rondo, do the Bad Thing again and I'll get my hammer!" The High Elf mimicked Fuin's voice flawlessly. His eyes suddenly widened, mouth agape. "You wouldn't!" he insisted in a high pitched shriek, pretending he was Nariel's son. Aigronding's eyes narrowed, slowly raising an imaginary hammer as if he was Fuin lifting said instrument.

"Varda's stars, would you stop?" Tharmáras groaned, shaking his head refully although he, too, was laughing.

"I wanna slice of pie, Fuin!" Aigronding continued, imitating Cara's sweet voice. "No pies for naughty girls," Aigronding answered with blithe ease. He became animated suddenly. "I'm a Princess of Lindon!" he protested with hysterical stridency like Fëapoldië's granddaughter would naturally do. He stomped his tooled boot like Cara would have struck Fuin's kitchen floor with her dainty slipper and stood akimbo.

"Then Fuin grabs a pair of tongs..." Tharmáras supposed with foreboding dramatic flare.

"You'll be a Noseless Princess of Lindon!" snapped Aigronding.

"You want a nose pulled off your face, girl? Because that's how you get a nose pulled off your face!" Tharmáras parodied a stern countenance of Fuin's, speaking with acerbic vehemence.

The Elven men laughed and promised Fuin they'd give the acting a rest. "It's a pleasure to supply you with any resources, including specialty supplies like mallorn," Aigronding assured Fuin.

"It's a pity few of the Eressëa Fragrant Trees gifted to Númenor flourished here on the mainland then she would have more quality wood," lamented Tharmáras. All of them perished in the destruction of Westernesse but some blossomed in Middle-earth like the malinornë of Lothlórien. A grove of pale aromatic Lairelossë grew rife at Tharmáras' coastal estate. Taniquelassë of white leaves and alabaster bark thrived along side Yavannamírë, red as the globed scarlet fruit it produced, in the gardens of Elrond and Aigronding. Mordagnir usually sent boughs from both trees to Fuin's forge once every few years.

"I figured if I give you valuable jewels in the rough and exotic wood from beyond our borders I would have fairly met the mithril expense," said Aigronding, beaming as Fuin teased him. "I promise you the next time I'll ask for something more reasonable built of gold or silver, brass or platinum...."

"Rose-gold or copper, bronze or electrum..." Tharmáras conceded, nodding as he rambled likewise. "I suppose we can't make your life hard all the time, Fuin," Tharmáras assumed wryly. He heaved a dramatic sigh with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Aigronding quoted the an old mortal adage when Fuin admitted she couldn't see adorable Aewrusca wielding a sword. "Luckily the friends of her parents are talented in many ways and often teach them well," Aigronding acknowledged warmly. He surrounded his children around certain friends for specific reasons, usually educational. "I'll encourage 'Rusca to ask you for archery lessons in the valley. Yes, we'll help you unload the cart." Aigronding followed Fuin outside. "My wife wants some time together before you and I leave for the Bree-land with my daughters."

"Yes and I must return to playful children having the penchant for escaping their nursemaid," said Tharmáras with a fearful look at the Last Homely House in the distance. "There are times Cara either forgets that she's an Elf, not a bird. It's not inconceivable that she may try vaulting over the terraces of Elrond's home to make certain of the former" It shouldn't have jolted Tharmáras to have seen Erfaron randomly awaiting Fuin's attention but he was still surprised nevertheless. "How long have you been skulking about in silence here, Sílûgnir?" he asked, letting Aigronding grip Erfaron's forearm for a fleeting moment before helping Fuin. He didn't say this impolitely though he would have over a decade ago. When he was courting Nariel, Erfaron had been fiercely protective; his interactions with Tharmáras were tense almost to the point of hostility until the mariner eventually proved his worth to her and won trust from his wife's surrogate father. "I commissioned Fuin to make jewelry for Nariel which you may have heard," said Tharmáras, lacing hands behind his back. He arched a brow with a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "I expect you'll keep mum about that so I can relish her surprised reaction myself? I suppose I should ask you, considering you tend to blurt out the most private information on a mere whim..."

"Has Ospiel realized her greater freedom in the Hither Lands yet?" wondered Aigronding with an innocent facade, striding by Erfaron. Aigronding believed if she left Hatholdir for good, her removal could inspire Erfaron to neglect his Tol Noldorë visits permanently. Wishful thinking perhaps. "I'm confident the mallorn and lebethron -" he nodded down at the lustrous black wood he carried " - should be stocked in the Precious Supply Storage rather than the Basic Supplies chamber, considering its foreign origin and beloved by carpenters," Aigronding responded to Fuin, briskly advancing toward the room. Immersed in aiding Fuin, a part of him wanted to be here more often. Aigronding enjoyed the work when he had been her apprentice but his domestic, military, commercial, and family duties had made him incredibly busy over the years. Still though, he found a blissful measure of peace again surrounded by the steam and the fire and ringing music of industry. Here were many marvelous works of wonder which only Fuin and the smiths of the Imladris Forge could produce
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Reception

The merry friends were so caught up in their play that the Mole moved on from inspecting the sculpture, to reading (upside down) of what the papers on the desk might share. A smile graced thin lips nonetheless as the Elflords’ ‘acting’ prowess carried on the breeze, and so it was a smug expression which met the shock of Tharmáras shortly afterwards.

Long enough to hear about your latest conquest,” he assured Isilherven. “The ‘Princess of Lindon’, is it now ?Erfaron turned and found Aigronding’s greeting with great mirth, ducking into an exquisite but mocking bow toward his old friend’s latest ‘alias’. Did the mighty Mordagnir really think he would let that one pass without mark ? “Your majesty,” he smirked, grasping Aigronding’s forearm in return and much amusement. When the Tar-Taidron swiftly diverted himself with further loading for Fuin, the anaemic newcomer turned and raised his eyes to draw down the great frame of Nariel’s husband. “Let us assume that I am always listening, and I hear .. everything,” he teased the Elflord of Lindon. “But please, do ask away,” he smiled. “I know how fond you are of secrets, after all. And I swear, the next time I catch somebody in keeping one from you, I may even hold my tongue. If that be now your preference.


He knew that the other Elf would know exactly of what he spoke, even if all others within hearing distance puzzled. The ‘friendship’ between Nariel’s two fiercest male protectors had been lengthy, sporadic, and, after they realised she was a mutual acquaintance, certainly bellicose. The foundations of a compromise were still fresh, planted firm in sand upon the sea-kissed shore. But Tharmáras had courted a friendship with Hatholdir for a long time and was better braced than most to know that Moles were fluent in insulting even their closest of friends.

At any rate, Aigronding’s passing comment earned more impact than any threat that his kinsman might have tried in response. The reference to Ospiel .. Erfaron’s amusement withered on his face and for an incredible moment he was rendered quite speechless. The subject of Tol Noldorë was far too precarious. In the end, he merely shook his head in recognition of his old (and very clever) friend. Mordagnir was even more clever than that, returning to seamlessly converse with innocence and with Fuin, after performing his hit and run.


Not more than a glimpse or a glance had Silugnir so far obtained of the elleth who ran the Tingdain. He recognised the name, as one of the countless whom Mordagnir regularly raved about. And so Erfaron decided to make question of the other Elflord while opportunity allowed, for Tharmaras (he knew for a fact) was not so inclined to see the good in all people until it was genuinely earned.

I imagine the skill of your friend the guild mistress, must be some thing,” the Mole changed the subject, rather tellingly for anyone who knew him well. The blizzard of his gaze came full circle back to the sculpture on the desk, although his mind was now very much elsewhere. “For you to have come all the way here to make order, when surely there exist many fine smiths still in Mithlond ?” he idled over this testament to the Smith’s own prowess, without confessing his cause for coming to the forge. It only sounded halfway like an accusation of Tharmaras seeking out new stomping grounds behind his wife’s back. Yet it had to be said that finding two Elves who always demanded only the best, making their elaborate requests here, strengthened the Mole’s own reason for loitering.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Grand Master
Restocking the Forge/Greeting Erfaron

Fuin crossed her arms and smirked at Tharmaras. "You do not want me babysitting your children. Unless you want them coming home with small daggers and untamed dogs. And that is if you're lucky friend." She said with a laugh "Or have you not heard of the exploits of both myself and Aewrusca?" Fuin said with a good humored jab at Aigronding after the theft of the raspberry pie filling by the two of them from the Last Homely House. The Guild mistress tucked the chest away in her office while the two elves joked and acted out their idea of what would happen should Fuin be in charge of the children. More than once she rolled her eyes.

"Honestly I'll take the tongs to both of your noses." She said as they promised not to act any longer. "As for the wood from other trees, I will happily take any cut off branches you can give me from the trees in your estates for that is all that I can get for there are no grand forests of them." She said happily.

"And better archery than how to steal pie fillings." She said with a smirk as Aigronding and Tharmaras headed back out before her, She could hear them talking to someone, and she quickly finished up putting away the gems properly so that they were easy to pull out when she needed them. She laughed at the joke for apparently whoever it was had heard Aigrondings comment about being a princess and she laughed loudly as he was called 'his majesty'. She slipped out of her office and rounded the corner and only just kept her footsteps from faultering as she saw who was around the corner.

A Mole.

While she managed to keep her face schooled in a smile from her laughter, her throat felt tight and her breath caught in it and she thought her heart was in her head with how it was thundering. "Sounds like you know these two well enough." She said as she came forwards to meet Erfaron who was standing at the reception desk. "Yes go get the Lebethron and Mallorn and put them in my office she caught the change in face of the new guest at Aigrondings question her response was as much of a dismissal as it was an order to go finish unloading the cart.

"I would like to think I am in fact a great smith rather than a fine smith, I train fine smiths in hopes that they will be greater smiths eventually better than myself and that I am smart enough to keep quiet about the orders I get when asked. I've been doing this long enough that I don't think Aigronding even remembers the Smith that was guild master afore me that taught me the craft." She put her hand over the order that Erfaron was reading fortunately the top order was not Nariels but Aigrondings order for a blade, she'd heard enough from the back room to know he'd been listening, her storm blue eyes fixed on him, a small half smile on her face as she observed him partially in challenge at his words. "What can I do to help you?"

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Reception/Meeting Fuin


The question put to one was answered by another, though no doubt the better informed. Erfaron knew the raking gaze of the Guildmistress before ever she threw out words to cover her surprise to see him. The Mole was not surprised, either that Fuin clearly recognised him for what he was, nor at the restraint in her reaction. Neither were a new experience, particularly in the Valley. Though he had to admit, she managed to withhold from the usual ensuing contempt, which boded well. Perhaps wisely seeking to weigh him up before administering her opinion. That, thanks to the likes of Erestor in particular, would be a new experience in the Valley.

So his silent nod confirmed her own keen observation of his friendship to her friends. As testiments to character went, it maybe shouldn’t have been required. But there he could not blame her. He could blame Erestor, for a start. Or perhaps his own past choice to physically ‘correct’ certain history books in Elrond’s library, so that they better reflected the ‘truth’ of certain events …. But accusations of vandalism in the Homely House were besides and beyond the matter of this day. A casual departure from his intrigue at the forge’s papers allowed the Smith fair chance to gauge him as no threat. Well, not to her. Well, not yet. But the stoic authority of the Elleth was clear in her very tone, her purposeful protection of her work. This forge was her kingdom, her world, and he had better state his intent, be it friend or foe. A mutual acquaintance would only take him so far, after all.

I heard about this place from Quennar Tarcelmë.Silugnir admitted. “I have heard much about you .. from our mutual acquaintance.” Before she might wonder .. too long .. over which acquaintance, he flicked eyes in the direction that Aigronding had followed. “And it appears that while I have seen no proof yet of your aptitude for teaching, the repute of your own craft is not unimpressive.” He glanced sidelong toward Tharmáras which made clear suggestion for that Elf to mind not what did not involve him. The Pale Elf all but shooed the Mariner away from any chance of eaves dropping, by way of an unrelenting stare.

Another acquaintance of mine is a self—proclaimed genius of metallurgy, but one far more of wont to show off his skills for his own sake, than to share his knowledge with others," the explanation resumed. "So, what you can do, if you are sincerely of mood to help me,” the pale Mole tilted his head and waited, in case she needed to collect herself, “is to live up to your own assertion. You train Smiths in the art, you say. How would you like an opportunity to prove that ?

The request to be educated was disguised quite deliberately as a challenge. Somehow this Smith struck Silugnir as unlikely to turn down a challenge and if she knew in fact of which Metallurgist he spoke, as was his sure intention, then the Mole doubted she could resist the temptation to do what that other talented Elf had not.
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Greeting Erfaron

Fuin watched Erfaron, he was - reserved, quiet, yet bold enough to show up here, that tended to bode well for an apprentice, especially one such as him. There were quite a few that were intimidated by her, after all a female Guildmaster was rare in such a field She listened quietly to him as he let her know where he had learned of the Tingdain from, Quennar had taken over from her long years ago when she had been bitten by wanderlust so that was a good place to learn it from. Where he had learned of her catching the quick flick of his eyes and knowing well enough what it meant. Aigronding had been speaking of her to a Mole. She'd have to have words with him over that but this Mole at least was - polite wasn't the correct word for it he was not entirely polite, he was not rude, he was a fairly steady neutral thus far. Though she did smirk at him as he made reference to having no judge as to her skills in teaching. Indeed there had not been an apprentice in the Tingdain in many years, most had gone off to their own things, or had gotten busy like Aigronding. Somehow she doubted keeping Mordagnirs hands in one piece while teaching him to play with fire was the skill set the Mole was looking for, though it was a skill in itself most days.

She did not hold back on a barking laugh when he mentioned another acquaintance of his, the self-proclaimed genius, there was but one Mole that she knew instantly fit that bill and this Moles words were on the mark. She settled herself as he continued his challenge to her before leaning forward. Sizing up the ellon before her as a great eagle would a new lamb it was about to consume. Her eyes wandered over his hands and his arms as well as his clothing judging him and his make.

"Yes the King of the Moles is a greedy creature with his knowledge even if you do not name him outright I know him well enough, it would surprise me if he did teach anyone save perhaps his most inner circle and then I would think they would still need to be the fruit of his loins to even have him consider such and even then I feel he'd keep secrets." She said with a chuckle at his attempt to challenge her into helping him to learn. "You need not challenge me I teach all that wander in here with the will to learn, Mole or otherwise. I'd probably even teach your King a thing or two, though you've not properly introduced yourself, though I heard Silugnir from Mordagnir I shall use that if you wish and I shall take you on as an apprentice and I shall see if you can be made into a fine smith, or perhaps a great smith, or if you are like Aigronding." She paused a small smirk on her face, "where it is a fine days work if I keep him from scalding his fingers off. You are welcome to call me Fuin, I do not demand titles be used, only those that question their own skills need declarations of titles each time they are spoken to." She pushed back from the desk her head tipped slightly to the side and she reached under the desk having sized him up well enough she thought.

"If you wish to be an apprentice you may." With that she put the plain brass ring upon the reception table before him, she was certain it was his size. "You will learn all the skills of the Tingdain, not just that of metal, for we work with wood and leather here as well and it is often what I start apprentices on so that I can better learn they think and how well they learn without wasting metal. Now come, that is yours until you wish to end your apprenticeship or you pass into being a journeyman." She picked up the two pieces of paper that had been tucked under the statue and put them in her apron pocket. "We shall get you an apron and gloves and you will begin by creating bracers to sell in the Market of Bree, you shall make a set and I shall make the other." With that she took a step back away from the reception desk giving a nod to Aigronding and Tharmaras as they were getting ready to leave before stepping towards the back of the Tingdain and to the basic supply room where the leathers, forms and all the aprons and gloves one might need for apprentices and guests were stored.

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Reception. With Fuin


A female Guildmaster was rare. A female Guildmaster who presented so straight-talking as Dwarves he’d known, was a rare delight. For a moment he was back in Eregion, facing the very first Iggy of that clan. Now, as then, he did not exposit his history or why he felt this artisan ought take him on. Now as then, there was no call to speak any of it aloud..

Hatholdir is not my king,” he did want to make clear though, and he smiled, now amused for his own part. “He is my friend,” the clarification was important, but it also was the problem. Because he was not subject to Narroval, that skillful Metallurgist was ever seeking to entice him to come so. To stay on Tol Noldare. Which meant that when Sílûgnir bemoaned the lack of skill to gain himself a weapon, Hatholdir did not offer him that means of independence. He made for Erfaron that coveted weapon and in doing so he sought to make Erfaron grateful. To him. “And I owe him as much as I owe Mordagnir.

He did not like owing other people but a certain few made it worthwhile. He was envious of Aigronding for many reasons. He was envious of Hatholdir for very different reasons. For like his nefarious friend, Erfaron had worked the Mines of Anghabar so long ago; he had become a weapon himself so oft had tools become the torment of his foes, once in his hand. But that pesky in between step; to take the raw material itself and make it worth it’s weight .. that was the step which the younger Mole had never embraced. Not until now. The Pale Elf could take the fruits from the earth and he could take lives out of the world. But he was not practiced in giving anything back. And there were not many who would give anything to a Mole these days. But then there were not many like Fuin. Who would give him a chance. Unless this was all a ploy to lock him in her store cupboard or trip him into her furnace.


You will have to forgive me. I have not had to introduce myself for a very long time.” It was only part of a boast. Part of the surprise was sincere. He decided to play along for, as was much of their exchange even thus far, it was refreshing. “Sílûgnir will work. Or Erfaron. There have been others but I would not recommend you find out what response will meet them.

There were some who would have took that for a threat. She did not seem afraid though, allowing a brass ring, something to start from. His left hand clenched to a close almost instinctively. Suspicious, .. that she was saying ‘yes’ to what he had asked for. He had hoped of course, but part of him had assumed still .. he was so used to the word ‘no’. The reassuring silver of his lonely, ancient ring, the only item of wealth that he had never discarded, pressed against it’s bone-white finger. It’s longtime companion. For a moment, his eye laid it’s thought upon the forge. He had played with fire, long long before he’d even contemplated smithwork. Unafraid for his part also then, he accepted the token, the apprenticeship.


Then I will,” he shrugged, to accept her given name and take up what had been his goal for the day. “My Father set me toward wax and ice before he let me work his precious stone,” the Mole remembered, apparently complicent, as the Smith began to outline their curriculum. No Elf, no artist, could replace that first mentor in his mind. But this one, she seemed cut from a not dissimilar cloth. He could appreciate that. He did, appreciate that. And he was not looking to replace his teacher of stone. There was no going back. But forward, he could try that.

I promise you that I am not like Aigronding,” he vowed. It might have been some try at reassurance, it could have been another threat. Most would assume the latter. It did not matter. “He was right about you,” he conceded finally to Fuin, without clarifying who, as he shadowed her steps slowly toward that back room. And with that it began.
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Apprenticing Erfaron
Leather Greaves


Fuin gave a chuckle and shook her head at Erfaron's insistence that Hatholdir was not his king, but his friend. The later if anything was worse in her eyes, as him being King of the Moles was not something that changed depending on if a lesser Mole believed it or not. All orders came from him, in some round about way. That said him being a friend of Hatholdir likely meant the elder Mole would most certainly see Erfaron's ring if he kept in on before his 'friend' that could cause an interesting reaction. For Hatholdir and her got along ill at best, and like a Huan and Carcharoth at worst. She said nothing though who her apprentices were friends with was of little importance to her, as long as they were eager to learn and not apt to put a blade in her back once she was finished teaching them.

She led the way to the back room nodding approvingly of his fathers tasks to teach him with precious stone, she liked his father already. She pulled open the basic store room and there before them lay shelves and shelves of goods, several shelves were made of iron themselves holding up a great number of ingots of all sorts: iron, steel, copper, bronze, tin, a few tiny tin spools of silver and gold wire, and two tiny bags marked with Silverleaf and Goldleaf, so that she did not need to run constantly for such decorations when the smithrs and journeymen got excited and wanted to decorate the scabbards and such. Beyond that were stores of dried hickory, and yew, as well as maple and elm and many good strong hard woods for making bows, shields, arrow shafts, quivers, scabbards, blade handles. and beyond that further still was the shelves and hooks bearing the leather. and the tools to work it and several large pots of pure wax that had scoops taken out of them but no real containers for it here. She motioned to the side of the door.

"Grab yourself an apron and some gloves then join me at the leather rack." She said continuing on into the storage He caught his comment about someone being right about her and her head tipped slightly. "Well I suppose that is depending on who you are speaking of as to what they are right about." She she chuckled and picked up a piece of leather and looked at it. until she found a piece that she liked. Once Erfaron had his apron on and his gloves she held up the piece.

"Look at this piece of leather, notice the smoothness of the grain, the lack of scuffs on the top grain, the uniform thickness and the size." She held it out for Erfaron to look and touch, it was heavy if he tried to hold it and she was happy to let him feel it's weight as well. "Find your own and bring it out to the work bench where you'll find all your tools." She headed out of the storage room, showing the Mole the same trust she placed in every new apprentice letting them be in the store room on their own. She went to her own work bench and grabbed her leather kit from it and brought it back to one of the rear tables. She wanted him to learn where to tools were and where the lasts he would need were. She was a kind teacher but she expected a student to learn where things were swiftly and she did not like repeating such things.

The work table she was at was a public use one, which meant it's drawers were stocked with supplies to work on almost everything, one of the drawers had the leather kit, including a small partially filled bowl of bees wax, though it was not quite as nice as her own, but it had everything he would need. There were also leather forms for putting the leather against and working it so that it would hold its shape on the shelves under the table and many soft thin furless skins cut into the various patterns she had every intention of letting him find his tools on his own. She sat calmly her hand on top of her tools much like a dragon guarding a treasure.

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Tharmara' Order - Necklace part 1

Erfaron was taking his sweet time finding leather and she headed to get some supplies from her office knowing that Tharmaras' order was one that she could do swiftly while teaching Erfaron, or while waiting to teach him as it were. She pull out a few small rods of white gold, a mixture of gold and silver she heated it gently in a smaller jewelry forge and began the extremely tedious and long task of drawing the ingot out until it was thin enough to be made into links of the necklace.

Heating, hammering, heating hammering, until the ingot was down to a sliver of a wire for a few feet then she'd cut it and start again repeating the process until she had a tiny bundle of the sliver thin wire. She looked them over running her fingers over it already cooled making sure they were all nice and round before she slipped the end of one into a thin metal rod perhaps three times the width of the wire itself and began spinning it making tint tight loops that would be painstakingly woven together to form the chain. She cut the wire into a small dish with a magical sounding ringing like rain upon the fine earthenware dish. In the end there were thousands of the miniscule rings and she made a few bigger rings to make clasping the necklace easier as well as to hold the pendant to the necklace itself. She raised her eyebrows and picked up a few delicate tools and began the mind numbing task of weaving a delicate chain.

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Tharmaras' Order - Necklace part 2

Hours passed and finally the delicate chain was finished it would need a good cleaning before she was finished but the actual weaving of the tiny links together was now done and the chain sparkled as it spiralled gracefully on the work tables top. She rolled her fingers over it gently watching it and feeling for any lose links in her work but there were none. She carefully picked it up and set it aside where it would be save and not lost and headed to her office and found a topaz in the colour and rough shape that she wanted. She would need to get the gem cut as it were before she could begin shaping the pendant itself for she would form the pendant to hold onto the gem itself leaving the back of it open mostly to save on Mithril since it was precious and so rare.

She sat and looked over the gem for a good long while making sure that it didn't have any issues inside of it that would make it look wrong once she had cut it into the heart shape that had been asked for. Happy with it she began the task of cutting the gem, using a similar stone to the one that she used for sharpening sword blades except this one was set on its side and spun about like a pottery wheel. Her eyes were focused on the gem as she worked and slowly the faucets and shape began to take place until she had to set aside the wheel in favour of a hand sander to get the tighter corner for the heart. When it was done the gem sat sparkling with over 40 different faces causing it to shimmer in the flickering light of the forge and she couldn't help but be proud of how beautiful it looked. Yes it would be a perfect gift.

With that it was time to create the pendant itself which she began sculpting the tiny meticulous work was far swifter than the rest of it for it was a fairly simple shape, with the hardest part being getting the sizing correct so that the gem would be held and look stunning. Happy with the small teeth for holding the gem, the shape of the backing and the exceptionally important infinity symbol that the heart shaped gem needed to slide behind she was ready to cast the piece.

She set it into a form and tapped the finest sand, which was more like a powder than a sand into the form until the piece was completely covered. Then she needed to get the mithril which was locked away far more securely in her office than the gem had been. She brought out the smallest bit she could find, and set it into the jewelry forge in a tiny crucible to heat the metal. She pumped the smaller bellows of the forge, these much easier than the great bellows that required so much strength for the iron and steel forges until she could see the crucible itself was glowing red hot which would mean the mithril was now liquid. She said a quick prayer to Aule, more because she did not want to waste any mitrhil and pulled the crucible out with her tongs and held her breath as she poured it into the form the wax melting away in an instant as the molten metal took its place.

As it cooled she went back to the task of finishing and polishing the white gold chain, the ends of each side of the chain completed with a delicate clasp that would clip together with ease and allow the pendant to be changed out if it was so wished. With that she began polishing the chain gently until it gleamed as bright as mithril itself while she kept an eye on the form that had the mithril pendant in it. It was still cooling when she had finished so Fuin went and fetched a box and began the task of creating the display box for it so that it could be presented to Tharmaras' wife properly with out her friend needing to go and find some fancy way of showing it to her.

The pendant finally cooled enough she took a deep breath and broke the mold open to show off a dull pendant, it had no luster but as Fuin inspected it she was happy with it, It simply needed to be polished. With that she started buffing it gently until all of the film that was caused by the wax interacting with the mithril was gone and all that was left was a gleaming pendant. She slipped the gem into place and carefully bent the teeth making sure it was held tightly in place and would not be lost before sliding it onto the waiting necklace and gingerly placing it into the box. She looked over the presentation and smiled and took it back to her office locking it away for the time being until Tharmaras came for it.

She tucked away the order form in the finished pile and then looked over the work station and set to work putting away everything that she did not need for making the sword for Rusca as that would be her next order until Erfaron was ready for instruction.

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Aigronding - Ruscas Scimitar

It was time to begin work on the scimitar that Aigronding had asked for. Fuin sat at her work bench a piece of charcoal in her hand and Aigronding drawing nearby. It was a good idea, but it was not... It was not what Rusca needed no Fuin could do better than that. She refined the lines and drew out the guard and pommel and handle until she was happy with it. She looked it over one last time certain of what she was doing.

She gathered up all the materials that she could possibly need, steel and iron and lebethron and leather, she no longer cared what Erfaron was doing, or if anyone entered the forge, she was focused utterly now, she slipped the steel and the iron into the forge and began heating them until they were hot enough. She pulled them both out against each other and hammered them together welding them into one before stretching them out and folding them and putting them back into the forge. This process repeated time and time again the steady rhythmic clacking of the bellows working were almost like a lullaby in the hot forge, the air shimmering as Fuin worked on this blade her concentration absolute despite a breeze that seemed to be endlessly blowing in towards the Grandmaster. The bellow matched Fuins breath in and out the constant flow of air keeping the forge at the perfect as the steel and the iron folded and welded so that the blade was the perfect mixture of hard and malleable.

Shaping it took less time as she began making sure the blade was the perfect length for the young elleth that was learning to wield the blade, she also had to make certain it was light enough so that it would not be too heavy. On and on she worked, the breeze keeping her from feeling the worst of the heat, and the dull hammering punctured by the odd ringing tone a march towards the completed blade until the thin blade was perfect. inspecting it she put it into the dull bed of coals once more this time to harden. She sat pumping the bellows for hours her eyes never leaving the pile of coal the blade was under keeping it at a low temperature making it stronger and harder. Hours passed before she pulled it from the coals and quenched it in oil. The blade had remained perfect thus far and all that was left to do before polishing it and sharpening it was now to temper the edge. She plunged the quenched blade into the forge again and brought it up to heat, this time much faster than she had when she had been hardening it. Again she quenched the blade in oil this time leaving it there to cool entirely.

With the blade finished, she needed to make the guard, and pommel, the guard she started on shaping the softer iron until it would fit over the blade sliding up the tang and resting against the shoulder she tested this and began the task of decorating the small guard, it was in the shape of a sparrow wings open in flight as the main part of the guard with it's tail swept up onto the broad side of the blade creating a rain guard for it and it's head tucked up so that it would not be in the way of her hand when she used it. Fuin worked tirelessly shaping and sculpting the iron until it too was perfect and put it in the oil quench to cool The last metal work to do shaping wise was the pommel and it too was to be shaped like a bird It to was shaped like a sparrow, swift and graceful like this blade would be in Ruscas hand, it's feathers each carved individually and it's eyes set with gems that were white but reflected and refracted the metal and the colour of the leather making them shimmer depending on the lighting. Its beak was missing for the time being, it would be made from the tang when it passed through and was permanently set in place. She felt so tired suddenly as the work began to come to an end, but she wasn't finished yet.

No she still needed to shape the lebethron and wrap it with the red leather she'd brought out. The wood she shaped quickly sanding it down and using the bow drill to hollow a path for the tang, her muscles were beginning to ache and she felt as if she couldn't breath enough, as she assembled all the pieces together in a test run before heating the tang one last time. Each pump of the bellows felt like the breath was stolen from her very lungs, she took her time though fighting the exhaustion and put the blade together, the guard slid on nicely and then the pommel the sweet scent of the wood charring as she pressed it on to fit leaving it tight and unmoving for the grip before the sparrow head followed. It was only a few strikes later and the metal smithing was done.

She began polishing the blade revealing shining patterned metal on the blade and the shining silvered polish of the guard and pommel. She sharpedned the blade, she could feel her sight diminishing even as she neatly wrapped the red leather about the guard. She looked it over, it was flawless and light and seemed to shimmer before her as she carried it to her work bench and set it there not realizing that it had been three days since she had had anything to eat or drink or sleep. Her voice was hoarse from the lack of water as she moved to set the sword down beside her drawing, naming the blade as it tumbled from her hands onto the work bench as she collapsed entirely.

"Súrëlírë"

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Candidate for worst Apprentice in the Living World
Store Room >>>>>> Reception (some time later)



His steps were swallowed by the sound of her own as the Mastersmith led a way into her cache. It was not unimpressive, to say the very least; a virtual ecosystem of supplies. A slow turn within that chamber allowed Erfaron some proper glimpse of untold possibilities. Even employing all senses, the Elf failed to take in quite all of the resources present. His pale eyes rested on Fuin herself, last of all.

She didn’t say a word about the gathered hoard, did not crow, did not boast. There was no need. They both knew it and he respected her the more for it. So on to other things. She bade him shield himself for the task ahead, allowed him to find the means himself. He did so. A snake sheds its skin often, and he had worn and discarded several disguises over the long ages of the sun. From several army transfers, to whatever the situation may call for, .. the range of situations had fallen quite wide … The nobleman’s son, the soldier, the lover, the traitor, the Mole, the .. whatever .. Sílûgnir glanced down at what new camouflage he had decked himself out in this time. Did not recognise the fact that he had obeyed without question.

The apprentice did not lend words to confirm whom he had referred to, when last he had offered words. But he did lend sight toward the leather which Fuin presented next. It had been well worked to show off such a flawless rind, testament to the amount of care and attention which had been employed, evidence of the quality that was catered to here. The newcomer had borne far heavier, far poorer scraps of hide before this day and made still use of them. But that had ever been for meanest need. There had been little attention put to aesthetics, no thought for what an appraisal might make of his efforts. Those few unhappy souls who had seen his works put to their use rarely lived to give account of it afterwards. The projects worked, that had been all that mattered. And like the Mole himself, they had nurtured little thought of impressing an audience.

His teacher left him to select his own material. His teacher left him unsupervised. For a moment this inspired confusion. He waited for the door to click shut, he waited for the assassins to spring out of the shadows, but then he scoffed at the idea. This Smith clearly cared enough for her materials that she would not risk them damage. This was a place she cared for and he doubted she would sully it with hate.

… your tools ..” The Smith concluded her expectations. Her newest apprentice blinked, rolled his neck upon one shoulder as though subduing some errant itch. But it was not an itch as itches were. It was a memory, or a dozen, or more still than a dozen memories. It was the demanding aroma of a past he had never asked for, and a future he could barely believe. And he was left, he was unsupervised, he had been for the longest time, answerable only to himself.

Sílûgnir stalled in that storeroom so long that Fuin made herself busy at her bench. It was while she slipped into her office to fetch up supplies for a necklace, that he calmly strode out of the storeroom, and the forge, with no words or delay, or else proper understanding of what he had been thinking. What had he been thinking ? That he could prove .. respectable ? He didn’t realise that he was still wearing the apron and gloves until he let himself in to his own home, and Iggy Steeljaw stared to observe him.

You stole those ?” the dwarf assumed.

I was told to take them,” he defended himself, automatically. And it was the truth. But also, he had every intention of returning, so it was not stealing per se. He had never promised he had time to start his education straight away, after all. Could be he had very important things to do first. Could be there were things which needed removing from mind, so that that mind be primed and ready to receive proper instruction.




A few days later, he could no longer convince even himself this was the case. The brass ring he had accepted clashed against the silver one of old. ‘Two broken promises’, they silently taunted him. So much for learning better. So much for learning anything at all … And so, with thought of naught else but, at worst, returning the garments – he would not give folk the satisfaction of proving him a thief. He set out for the Tingdain. There was though no sound of hammer nor some spray of steam on this occasion. There were voices, he noted, inside. The more clear as he made closer to the scene of the crime. It was not even the ‘crime’ he had expected to walk back into the scene of.

Tharmáras and Aigronding must have returned, no doubt, for their ordered wares. He spared himself the sauntering inside to meet their sting of disappointment. He had, from where he stood, a sight enough, of Fuin, sprawled out upon the floor. Wracked by the knowledge that they, that anyone, would surely blame him, if they were to catch sight of him here, the Mole drew back beyond the doorframe just as the closest Elf within turned at the merest sound that escaped his position. Either Erfaron had given himself away, or the someone else had, who was now approaching from outside. Wheeling to his back against the outer wall, the Mole met the latest arrival to the establishment with an unflinching stare..

His pale fingers coiled like osseous roots around the folded apron and gloves in his grasp. “Ask me not” he shrugged, as dispassionately as he could, when broached. “I just work here.” Was that even the case any more ? A chill slid the length of his spine as he considered the chances, that he had bade Fuin to teach him, instead of going to Hatholdir for help. How she had spoke with such scorn for the Mole King. How she was now laid out upon the ground. Sílûgnir blinked away the very sort of suspicion for his friend that he knew others would endow him personally with. He ought not play that game.

Is she dead ?” he meant to ask. He could not look and knew he could not help. He didn’t waste time telling them he hadn’t been responsible. For one thing, people tended to make up their own minds what he was to blame for. And for another thing, on this particular occasion, he was not properly sure himself. If he had been here, perhaps he could have stopped whatever had happened. If he had never come at all though, maybe whatever had happened would not have happened at all.

The knowledge of the Smith having worked herself to a swoon never occurred to him. Which proved he knew as little of the Moriquendi’s tolerance as he knew about working a forge at all. It remained to be seen if he should learn better of both.
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"A hundred gold coins Fuin has Erfaron by the nose," wagered Aigronding, approaching the Forge of Imladris. He chuckled, imagining the Grandmaster gripping his childhood friend's nose in a pair of tongs, telling the sarcastic Mole to mind his manners. Erfaron's mouth had no filter.

"One of my boats he's asked her where she keeps all the ice to sculpt with," joked Tharmáras, hardly finishing his sentence through golden peals of laughter.

Aigronding grinned, shaking his head ruefully. One of their favorite passtimes was grossly exaggerating how mordant Erfaron could be. The humor nearly quelled his nerves. Whenever Elrond's Herald was home in the valley there was seldom a day when he didn't speak with Fuin. Ever since her recovery from the Fell Iron campaign Aigronding checked on Fuin habitually asking her how she felt but not too often; he didn't want to be so annoying she'd try to assassinate him again. Aigronding hadn't seen her at all this week which was an unprecedented surprise and it worried him. Aigronding visited her house but found Fuin absent with alarming regularity. He even peered through her windows reluctantly hoping he'd discover Fuin in a drunken stupor with Taurina, a mutual Silvan friend who was notorious for her drinking; unfortunately, he saw niether Wood Elf. Adab Nestad was not spared Mordagnir's desperate search; he assumed Fuin was busying gardening medicinal herbs or concoting elixers with Annamíri. Apsatari was mildly upset that she hadn't seen Fuin at the Last Homely House; she occasionally demanded, er, asked her to try samples of her gourmet cooking. Aigronding thought of sending messengers to the Tingdain but he didn't want to disturb Fuin if she wanted to focus on his order for Aewrusca or Nariel's jewelry. Aigronding could no longer bear the mystery of Fuin's disappearance and Roina had all but shooed him out of Linyamaril to inquire her whereabouts at the Forge.

Inside, Aigronding felt an icy fear gripping his spirit. Fuin laid seemingly comatose near the floor of a work bench where Aewrusca's beautiful scimitar rested in burnished splendor. Aigronding realized there were tears in his eyes when Tharmáras gently wondered if he would be fine. "It's just the heat," he insisted, lying, quietly.

"Erfaron will answer for this!" Tharmáras viciously decided, pacing now in righteous anger. "I will drag him to the nearest mountain and give him the Gondolin treatment!"

Aigronding mildly rebuked Tharmáras for suggesting he'd execute Erfaron, even by the same means he had thrown Maeglin's father whose fate the Dark Prince himself had suffered at the hands of Tuor. He gazed at Fuin's lifeless body in abject failure. Twice now he blundered to save her. "I trusted you, Sarnirion," muttered Aigronding just loud enough to be heard by Tharmáras....and Erfaron who lurked in the doorway. Behind him, walking toward the smithing chamber, was Lhaindir who smiled awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. Tharmáras backed away from Aigronding when they heard a footstep. Though he resembled Elrond's Herald - a formidable of great strength and imposing stature - even the mighty sailor gave Aigronding wide berth when he whirled with startling swiftness to pin a glacial stare at the Moles.

"I didn't do it," Lhaindir insisted simultaneously with Erfaron who claimed he "Just worked here" as they said in Bree. Lhaindir grimaced when Erfaron gave him an unflinching stare and wilted under his elder's penetrating look. "I swear I have never ventured here before...but I do have a reason for coming...it's got nothing to do with murder." He took a black envelope from his sable coat. The cabossed head of an elephant was featured on its red seal.

"What is he, Sílûgnir, your accomplice?" accused Tharmáras, folding his muscled arms across his broad chest, ignorant of Lhaindir's giving Aigronding the message. He took a threatening stance in front of Erfaron, a contempuous sneer distorting his noble countenance. "You killed Fuin and wanted Lhaindir to get rid of her body?"


"They are innocent!" Aigronding assured Tharmáras, afraid the tense situation would escalate to blows; he remembered how the Elves almost became violent with each other following the arrow incident at Sad Erthad years ago when Tharmáras was courting Nariel. "She is alive!" Aigronding exclaimed, having knelt and discovered her breathing. "The sword of Aewrusca must have some fell potency Fuin imbued it with." The white gems Aigronding's delvers mined for the Imladris Forge and King Thranduil's pleasure reflected the metal and red leather making them shimmer. The sharpened blade itself was glistening radiant. Aigronding didn't want to let Fuin go, comfortably holding her gently in his strong arms upon the floor, but he opened his soul to the Unseen World to look upon the sword. Its metallic appearance vanished, replaced by a glowing ethereal bird. It ascended into the air of the forge with astonishing Phoenix-like agility and gracefully beat its vibrant wings, meeting Aigronding's awed stare with Fuin's blue-grey eyes.... Yes. Fuin had exhausted her energy in the sword's arduous making and a piece of her lived inside the blade, a vessel of sorts. He wondered how it would be wielded. Enchanted weapons were special; Aimira, Aigronding's mother and a loremaster, told him Fingolfin's sword Ringil was ice magic of Elvish arts, piercing enemies with a cold sting.

"Anything I can do to help?" Lhandir asked, looking more desperate than concerned. He was Aewrusca's lover. No doubt he wanted Fuin to approve of him.

Aigronding ordered him to retrieve water from the fountain. "Food as well," added Aigronding. "Be still a moment. Fuin will tell you what may suffice..." Aigronding, a basic healer, removed a cloth from the medicinal pouch on his belt and applied oil of peppermint to Fuin's face gingerly, coaxing her awake with his spoke-spoken voice. The oil usually opened airways instantly and act as a scented wake-up call; it also treated sore muscles. "I have a feeling you need breakfast, lunch, and supper," Aigronding suggested to Fuin cheerfully, chuckling. "Tharmaras and I have come for our orders but more so to inquire where you've been. I imagine you've worked for days..."

"Literally," muttered Tharmáras.

"The Mole-boy will get anything you desire from the rest area," Aigronding assured her, "just let him know what you'd prefer." Aigronding sighed when Lhaindir recommended pie. "Let's not discuss pies," dryly replied the Herald.
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Apprentice


He remained unmoved by Tharmáras’s passionate outburst. Yawned, and closed his eyes in fact, to show with what little regard he took the Sailor’s threats. Not at all seriously. He feared the Sea Elf not one jot; had long since learnt that the greatest danger that fool presented was to any lady who had the misfortune of becoming attached to him. Wives, lovers, their unfortunate tales stained the sailor’s very shadow. And what did Tharmáras do then but merely move unto the next ? Of course, it was true that recent events had rather strained their relationship … further. The news of an errant boat for one. But even there, what was one missing boat when the noble had so many ? The Mole was most surprised that the sailor had even noted it’s absence, he had so many toys at his disposal.

There is not a lot of call for the skills I specialise in,” he sighed, feigning boredom in the accusations. “And I would not teach them even if there were,” he rolled around the frame to meet the other Elf face on. “But if I would have anyone to death, you can be assured, .. it would not be the Smith.” This last he drew out in it’s meaning and the delight which he took from watching Tharmáras receive it. Where there was not a thing the reputable Elf could do about it here. And they both knew it.

Aigronding’s reaction was harder to shake off. It was more than simply their having been childhood friends. Aigronding had chosen not to end Erfaron’s life, at a moment where the former had found himself at the advantage and means to do so. Not to mention steeped in the peer pressure to perform as did all his fellows. Somehow this seemed to have convinced Mordagnir that he was somehow responsible for anything that Sílûgnir did since, and all that he would not have had the chance to do, if he had not been given that second chance. It was not as if the Mole tried to make his friend regret that ancient kindness. It was more that he would seek to convince himself he were not subject to anybody. Ever again. Not since he had lost all those he’d cared to listen to, to serve. He had grown accustomed to his liberty and independence.

Still. He could not meet Aigronding’s expression now. He was not guilty of the crime that his old friend feared, but he was still … holding a few cards close to his chest that conscience prickled him about at times. The recognition that Fuin had not been felled by some malice was a great relief. More than he had expected to experience, and so attributed it to the fact he needed something still from her.

Lhaindir’s arrival was unexpected but the Elder Mole had his eye fixed more upon the seal on the message that was delivered, than on the messenger boy. The Youth was perhaps the only other of their ilk who did not reside on Tol Noldare. But the boy was second, if not third generation. Edan had spoken for him, Aewrusca had thrown her support behind him. He probably didn’t even know what Hatholdir had been up to recently. He certainly hadn’t anything to do with flooring Fuin, or he would not have come here to present himself as a suspect.

She gave too much of herself into her work,Erfaron understood, belatedly, seeking confirmation from Aigronding as he edged closer, doing his utmost to look not like he was. “I would have stayed if I had known she was attempting such a thing,” he assured his friend. “It would be a thing of wonder to observe,” he recovered quickly, unhappy for even Aigronding to suppose that he cared.

Now that he was actually privy to some work that Fuin had achieved herself, he had to admit: even the storied reputation had done her no justice. Such masterpieces she was undertaking truly had the stamp of olden days about them. He had not seen the likes of the sword made, not since Eregion.
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She heard voices around her and she wanted very much to tell them to be quiet she was trying to sleep, she the voices came louder and the scent of... peppermint.... Her brow creased in annoyance and she groaned wiping the scent away from under her nose recognizing Aigrondings voice and then she realized that she was in someones arms. Her blue grey eyes opened barely the act of opening them stung and her head throbbed terribly and she pressed the heel of her hand into the bridge of her nose trying to get her mind off of the pounding in her head. It was then that she realized where she was, and she had no recollection of going there - the floor by her work bench with Aigronding Lhaindir and Erfaron standing about looking at her.

She felt weak and dizzy even as she tried to push herself up "What happened Aigronding that you are hovering over me like a nurse maid?" She looked at him and Lhaindir who was standing by somewhere between nervously and expectantly, "AND why is Edans charge standing about like an idol school boy looking for praise." She didn't realize he was waiting for her to tell him what she wanted for food until she ran over what Aigronding had said about breakfast lunch and supper. "Some Ginger tea for now." She said as she tipped her head up to regard the boy much like a great panther looking at a rodent and off he scampered. She narrowed her eyes at Aigronding "Keep it up nurse Mordagnir and I'll send you for pie from the last Homely House for me!" She heard that she had been found sprawled upon the ground by her work bench and that they had been worried she'd been killed and she had to wonder how long had she been working on the sword? Time had had no meaning to her and then how long had she laid on the floor of the Tingdain.

"Honestly who is going to kill me? The only person that doesn't like me - is terrified of me and rightly so." She said with a snort. She moved to stand up and soon had Aigronding hovering about worried and she narrowed her eyes at him about to chide him that she was not made of glass - something she'd needed to convince him of after she'd finally recovered from the morgul blade that had almost killed her years ago- It took her several minutes to climb back to her feet too proud and just as stubborn as a mule to ask for help in standing up. Finally she braced her self and stood looking over her work bench where the scimitar lay.

"The blade is ready, I've not finished the scabbard for it yet though." She said lifting the sword gently though she was weak she still had strength enough to lift the graceful blade. "Rusca will have a time learning to control it properly I think, but it will help her, it's forged in the ways of old not seen often in this age - it's powers should be most apparent with Rusca, though I suppose any elf with enough strength could draw them out." She said calmly even as she held it the blade seemed to shimmer with light and one would swear that they could feel a gentle breeze circling about them as Fuin held the sword. "I'll need to keep it another day or two to make sure the scabbard fits properly but then it should be ready for her to use and train with." The scabbard would not be infused with magics at least so it would not be terribly draining for her. it would just be a matter of shaping the wood properly and inlaying it with mithril and getting the fastenings correct so the sword would be easy for the elleth to pull when needed.

"And I've finished Tharmaras necklace," She craned her head looking for him only to see him off sulking, over what she wasn't sure -they'd left out the part where they'd accused Erfaron and Lhaindir of murder wisely as she'd have pummeled him with Ruscas new sword for it, she would get an answer sooner or later she was sure she was happy to see that Erfaron was back and gave him a smile. "Are you ready to learn now?" She asked sitting down on her stool at her work bench, undoubtedly the offer to teach Erfaron while she was still very weak from imbuing the sword with elfin magic would bring protests from Aigronding and likely Tharmaras. Possibly even Lhaindir though he currently was hovering Ginger Tea in hand.

"IF you're going to hover so closely you might as well put on an apprentice ring and start working." She said taking the tea and sipping at it

"And if you are that worried Aigronding, go find me some raspberry pie or something from the Last Homely House." She said with a smile knowing full well that Rusca and her had in fact stolen the raspberries the last time there had been an attempt to make raspberry pie. "Forging blades like Ruscas takes a lot of energy and I have not done it often enough to be use to it." Of course she also didn't know that elves of old tended to work in teams so that the power that lay in them tended to be imbued by multiple people so that no one person was overly drained and left weakened.

@Ercassie I figure you could put the end of the post where you're talking about Fuin being made of forged steel (It will be short obviously) but then we should be able to just go back to posting back and forth until we're back at where we were aside from Fanes posts (have not seen him on so if he comes back that's fine, if not we'll just continue and he and I will pick up when he returns.)

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Apprentice

His wonder fought to equal his amusement, when the ‘invalid’s first waking sentence was offensive, and Erfaron smiled for the first time since he had returned. Before he could wonder if Fuin was speaking of Narroval, as the one Elf who had cause to hate her – for indeed, such skills as she possessed would surely make Hatholdir envy like he had not since the days of Rog – the Mastersmith was already working her way back to her workstation.

In seconds then his new mentor was all about business, as though she had not recently instilled such a fear for her demise in so many at hand. Recognising one who likely did not relish being fussed over, the apprentice gave her space enough to get around to him in her own turn. So when Fuin asked if he was now ready to learn, a silent deflect of chin spoke wordless accordance. He raised the hand which bore both apron and gloves, to share his intention.

Fret not, Mordagnir,” he sought to console his old friend, who might be concerned at their mutual acquaintance foregoing a rest. “This one was forged of steel as strong and splendid as that she can shape” he decided, as Aigronding was dared to try to improve on Lhaindir’s refreshments.

If there was a hunger in the elder Mole’s eye, it was not for pie, nor for vengeance against the nobles who had not seen fit yet to apologise, either of them, for their assumptions. He was more of mind toward the sword that had been the unassuming cause for such excitement. For he had to admit that, although noone had in fact died, yet; the blade was a weapon that surely would see many lives to their end.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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(Some time before the scimitar was started because this was the post I forgot I'd made lol)
Market Dagger Set
Part 2


She sighed looking at the drawing that Aigronding had brought her, her finger tracing over the delicate drawing of the birds head, similar in a way to a blade she knew long ago. Her face while it was calm and controlled, something she had learned long ago, anyone that looked at her eyes could see the rolling torment behind them, the last birds head sword she had ever seen up close was Afarfins. A blade that as far as she knew Aigronding still held in trust waiting one day perhaps for when they would sail beyond the sea and take it back to Afarfin. She licked her lips she was not ready yet to work on her weapon and the daggers she had been working on earlier would be ready to be finished at least.

She returned to her forge and pulled the daggers from the oil bath with her tongs. She looked them over carefully and then polished the blade slightly and measured the tangs before going and fetching pieces of beech wood as she'd decided when Aigronding and Tharmaras has shown up to make their grips. She worked quietly keeping an ear out for her apprentice as well as any other people that might be entering the forge. Slowly the grips took shape a gentle oval fitted beautifully to the dagger, and carved down with a spiral to give it more texture to keep it easier to grip in the hand than a smooth grip. She sanded them quietly until she was happy with them, and then... it was time to attach them permanently to the daggers themselves.

She tested the tang to the hilt and marked them and took them to the bow drill and drilled down the centers of the hilts, the hole was slightly small for tangs that she had made but that is how they needed to be. She took the daggers and set them beside her forge and worked on bringing up the near dead embers back to the orange hot glow before putting the daggers in tang first keeping the blades out of the heat as much as possible. She stood working the bellows steadily until the first was ready she slipped the dagger blade into a vice and clamped it tightly before pushing the first hilt on, the beech wood let out a hiss and smoke as the heat of the blade seared the hilt into place as she forced it into place tamping it down with a hammer until part of the tang stuck out and she grabbed her hammer and struck that hot tang still orange hot flattening it out making a pommel for the dagger. She worked it a few more minutes until it was nice and even across the entire end of the daggers hilt and put it into the water bath to cool it before doing the exact same thing with the second dagger.

She set both of them on her bench and sharpened the blades to a fine edge that was fantastically sharp by the time she was done she could oil the hilts giving them a rich finish. She picked them up and set them away for when she would take them to the Bree Market.

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Aigrondings Scabbard/ Dagger Scabbards


Shifting her weight slightly to get more comfortable while her head still occasionally felt like spinning she looked Erfaron over as he stated she was forged of steel of the same quality that she forged and smirked, flattery was nice. She didn't get that often enough she thought and drummed her fingers on the work bench waiting for Aigronding Tharmaras and Lhaindir to do... Something. They'd figure it out eventually she was certain of that but she did not like sitting idly when there was work to be done.

She turned to Erfaron who still seemed to be eyeing the sword she'd crafted yet still, it was after all a masterpiece of elven smithing which was so rarely forged now so she could not blame him. "I was going to start you on bracers but, I could use your help with the scabbard for this blade-" She said motioning to the scimitar as she set it down on her work bench. "Though I'll deal with the inlay as it is going to be mirthril which I'll do myself but you can help me shape the lebethron, and then when I am doing that you can make a scabbard of your own inlaid with copper the same way I'll be inlaying mithril for the daggers I already made to go to market." She said with a smile.

With that she pushed herself back up onto her feet and looked at Efaron expectantly. "Alright come on I need help moving around I have no wish to bounce my head off of one anvils, we'll go to my office get the lebethron and the mithril as those are rarer, and we'll get you some ash or hickory to work with and you can grab the copper wire from the store room, you were in there long enough thinking I figure you should be able to find both of those fairly fast and easy." She said with a laugh.

She looked at Aigronding - "Ohhh and maybe some whipped cream with that raspberry pie."

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Apprentice, with Fuin - Starting with Scabbards/Supplies



For all that he had recently deemed her hardy, the Mastersmith declared that she would need his help now. Which, granted, he could scarcely refuse, having just said all he had. Erfaron was glad to find her smirking, to apparently find somebody who could take what he said at sheer face value, without looking for any ulterior motive behind a given compliment. That said he was equally glad that it seemed to encourage her to live up to the flattery. As Fuin turned back toward her recent craft, the Mole pursued. So much so that he was forced to quite reluctantly tear his gaze away from the bird-sculpted blade grip, in order to pay her further heed. It was truly a magnificent weapon, in it's entirety, and if the scabbard was to equal it, then best ensure it did not literally kill the Smith now to conceive that. He did try, after all, not to be accused of murder more than once a day if he could help it. Still .. inviting it was habit.

Mallorn.” he mentioned, quietly. “The order was for a scabbard of mallorn inlaid with mithril. The lebethron was only for the handle, to be wrapped in leather.” The words were not hurled with smug pride, but a certain matter of fact. “I know you saw me putting eyes on the design,” he added unashamed.

There was an awkward moment when another breed of apprentice may have worried that it was unwise to correct his instructor. But the Mole was neither unobservant nor prone to agreeing with what he knew not to be the case. Probably this was some test to mark his character but to be fair, it had been only old friends who’d doubted him this day. Not her. Not yet.

Might be of course that a mastersmith shall tell me some good reason that she means to use the lebethron, again, for the scabbard, rather than use mallorn ?” he imagined, offering some modicum of humility. It was not that he was well versed in woodwork enough to know so after all. Not yet. “Is it the better choice ? Or did you just want to see how much I’d spied ?


The other alternative, that they were lacking in such a rare wood supply, was discarded even as it was considered. For the matter of mithril presented itself. It had been an extremely long time since the Mole had even seen such an asset and if he had expected to learn some change was required in the materials, it would be that no such metal would be so available here. Another pleasant surprise then come of this little arrangement. He tried to veil the amazement on his face, which was timed ironically with her asking him to help her mobilise.

If you promise not to swoon again, I promise not to tell,” he offered a fair trade, and one arm. As though a dare for her to actually take him up on it. “I was in there long enough,” he agreed, hiding a smile at her smarts, without confirming for quite what exactly he had delayed.



The private office, it transpired, held those stores not showcased in the main storage room. And it was an even more astounding cache than that other room had cast. “Mordagnir” he understood, a moment later, of course who must have supplied it. When Aigronding had found him in Eregion, he’d tried to talk Erfaron into working at some mine he had financed in the Hithaeglir. Hatholdir had done exactly the same thing. Which told their mutual friend that whether he wanted a job was not the question they were really putting to him. Rather than disappointing either one, he managed to disappoint both equally. By accepting a chance for some cultural exchange with local Dwarves instead and in (then) Khazad-Dum. He’d met their like before, when travelling Beleriand with Earenolwe in the First Age. Dwarves he liked. They didn’t always like him. But there again, he was used to that.

Now though, Dwarves were not the issue. The apprentice was not sure how they should know quite how much of wood or metal to bring out of the store room. Was it a case of stopping to check measurements, or could Fuin put her experienced eye on just the right amount ? She was an archer, or so he had heard. He had made sure to ask the right questions of the right people to learn what he required. Without their ever requiring to know why or quite what they may have just told him. But now it was time to see what she could tell him for her own sake.

"How much do you require ?" he put to her. Which was one way of offering to carry it for her, without assuming her unable, or yes, admittedly, seeming too excited at the prospect of even working with such a prized resource again.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
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Aigrondings Scabbard/ Dagger Scabbards with Erfaron

She took the Moles arm and steadied herself she used him simply as a balance when she got a bit shakey, after all she still hadn't eaten she cast a short glare at Aigronding who still had not gone to fetch her pie and then looked at Erfaron "Do you like pie? I think he should bring you a slice of pie too. With whipped cream." She said as she caught him staring at the sword she'd crafted with the bird hilt and chuckled. "AIGRONDING! Get my Apprentice some pie too he deserves it." Before they started towards her office in the back.

"Mallorn."

She blinked and looked at him and frowned and thought for a moment than laughed as he continued on suggesting that perhaps she had switched to lebethron instead of Mallorn for a various bunch of good reasons. None of them were of course true. Nor had she been testing him.
"Sharper ears than Aigronding." She said with a chuckle. "No I'm afraid the only reason I said it is likely I bounced my head of my work bench, or the floor and things are a bit jumbled. It is Mallorn we need and will work with. Good work on catching that though I'd likely have gone in looked at the lebethron and thought it looked wrong compared to what I see in my head." They slipped into her office and there the stores of the truly precious goods in safes and on shelves in chests depending on just how precious they were. "It is good when an apprentice pays attention to things like that and is not afraid to call out the Master. It means they are paying attention and if the Master gets mad at you for it." Fuin chuckled. "Let them fredegar up - it is their hides then not yours they are the master." Once she was in her office she used the shelves and gripped them looking over the Mallorn that had been put in there not too long ago as well as the older better aged stores and pulled a particular branch out it was about 4 inches in diameter and over 2 and a half feet long with the slightest bend in it. Fuin looked it over closely making sure there were no secondary branches that had been coming off of it before handing it to Erfaron.

"We are blessed the Lady Galadriel sends us Mallorn regularly when we are in need of it though Mallorn heartwood..." Fuin nodded and motioned to a singular piece on the shelf that had a big piece of parchment on it and the words NO! Fuin will hang you by your toes over a fire written on it and tied to the piece of wood with a cord of leather. "The heartwood is rare for us to get indeed it is the strongest and the best for bow making. Scabbards work well from branches and the outer trunk wood though and that is what we are doing." She said calmly "As for measurements. That sword is etched in my head, and I have been making blades and scabbards long enough that it is now just second nature. For you though it is good to take take the blade that the scabbard will be housing with you. See the shape you need see the width and length." She said calmly and moved to a great safe that was behind her desk. "An inch or two longer and at least a half inch to start as when you shape it and smooth it it will be much smaller in the end. For the wood the wiring... that depends on your design Copper is soft and with stretch and press into the inlay grooves and take less than you think, but it is easy to make too much is better than not enough."

There she unlocked it and pulled out a small box. In it was a few chunks of raw Mithril. Here there was no great store - this Mithril had been gifted to the Tingdain by Aigronding himself, and it was the last of the Mithril that he had gotten and this was the second time in several days that she had pulled it put. For the moment it was crumbling and shone with a dull glint hinting at the silver splendor that it could become. She measured out the tiniest amount that she could, crumble in her palm that might weight half an ounce in total before putting the last of the precious ore away and locking it and standing up carefully. She motioned to two daggers sitting on the shelf marked for the market to him. "Those are the daggers you're making scabbards for, grab them You will be able to use a lot more copper than I will Mithril, he has asked for Mithril but I will band it with mithril plated iron, for there is not enough to make bands and inlay the design I have in mind. While the Mitrhil is Aigrondings and this is his order it is all that we have, it is scarce - and it took me a long time to learn to shape it in the ways of the dwarves of old. I do not even know if they remember now. And there is no Mithril mine that yet draws this ore from the earth. There is still some in Moria the fallen dwarf hall but those mines..." She said looking at the crumbling dust of mithril in her hand - something so brittle and flakey that could become so hard and strong. "Those mines are as mithril before it is worked in terms of saving you from ill intent. Useless." She made her way carefully back over to Erfaron once he'd collected the knives. She kept her cards close to her chest, indeed this was Mordagnirs Mithril in her hand and there had been more of it once upon a time however, she had no intention of telling a Mole that there very well may be a new source that she had found three years ago... It was not confirmed yet and boasting of something that one had no access to... Well that's what got Hatholdir his nickname the King of Dirt. She was not foolish enough to make the same mistake as him.

"Shall I show you the beginnings of how to process Mithril though it will be a long time before you get to work with it before you go and fetch the wood and the copper wire you will be working with?"

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Apprentice, with Fuin – Starting with Scabbards/Supplies


I have heard it said that he is a far better warrior than cook,” Pale eyes had considered some unseen, distant thought as Erfaron considered Fuin’s suggestion for Aigronding. “There again, the same could be argued too of Apsatári herself.” He betrayed his own knowledge of the kitchen’s Staff, though not his private contemplation of the Herald battling the cook in order to seize one of the prized pies the Smith so dearly desired. The Mole might have volunteered to ‘find’ a pie from the Homely Houses for Fuin himself, but beyond the matter of Erestor and Arwen having banished him from the Homely House, that was not why he had come here.

It was an effort to not look like he was searching out her head for dents, when the Mastersmith spoke of bouncing it off anvils. The Apprentice’s father would have bounced Erfaron’s own head off anvils, had he dared to speak out such corrections to his mentor, back in that apprenticeship, in the old country. Of course, that had been then, and this was now, and if his Father had met him now, he might not recognise the son he had tried to teach, years and years ago. The Mole raised one amused eyebrow to hear Fuin cuss, like she was a corsair or the like, and could not imagine where she’d learned such language. But she released his arm then, to gather up supplies and he was forced to ready, in case she fell, or threw things at him to carry for her. Either one seemed just as likely as the other at this point.

Arms soon suitably encumbered, Sílûgnir paused to heed the written warning that the Mastersmith pointed out. If she saw his face change at the reading, she might take the odd twinge of that expression as noted fear. But if she had known him as well as say a certain Umbarian zealot, then she might have more concerned at the association he took such time to mark. But there was no cause, not here, not now. And her lesson on the timber that had been delivered was a good lesson to learn indeed. The teacher answered questions before ever her student found a need to speak them aloud. This uncanny ability to second guess him might have been unnerving, if the Mole had not already been schooled, that she had taught others before him. No doubt countless others at that. No doubt they all had started out with the same questions to be answered. No doubt she could write a book of what to expect from expectant trainees.

The mithril though, he doubted she, or anyone, could grow accustomed to handling that. Not in these days of such scarcity. “If the Dwarves of old remember the old ways of working mithril, their bones will not share it now,” he mused, almost sad to acknowledge the mortality of that race. “And few will walk in what is become Moria, who saw it once as Khazad-dûm. They would rather rob and melt down all the helmets of the Citadel Guards first !” This careless omission that he was aware where some at least of the mithril in Middle Earth was stowed these days, led the Elf to add swiftly. “I haven’t tried,” in case she thought he was as rich as his acquaintances. Whatever the cause that had headed him down toward Gondor years before, he had found greater priorities to lead him away before ever arriving proper.


Pausing to take up the two small blades that he had been directed, Erfaron said naught, harnessing his thought toward what Fuin had spoke of measurements, and the art of knowing how the metals worked, how they changed, and how that affected how much was required from the outset. Mentally, he sought to compare the dagger length to Aewrusca’s sword, and began contemplating the conversion, when it should come to collecting his own supplies. Such mindful things had carried him to places far from where both stood a time. But unsurprisingly, Fuin very soon recalled the business at hand. Blinkered she was, it seemed, about her work. And best he ought pick up that particular skill, straight off, if they were going to get on !

I had better test my ears, and eyes, to see if I may fetch an adequate supply of copper wire and hickory, to start with,” Erfaron supposed, of the options that were laid before him. “Will you be requiring any iron fetched while I am in there, to plate your mithril upon ?” a bold try at second guessing the Smith proved he would not mollycoddle her, lest she cease with imparting her treasured knowledge, in favour of rest. At the worst, it proved he had been listening. “It shall take you that long after all, to walk back to your workbench, slowly, without an arm to hang off, and no anvils to bounce off,” he smirked a little impertinently, and a little also more quietly, as he deposited her goods upon her bench and made his return to the larger storeroom.

Once there, keen glance was made about the daggers he had brought with him. The day might one day come that he would be able to gauge size so easily as Fuin had, but it was not this day. Not yet. So it took a piece of time to consider what he’d been told, and apply it accurately as a novice might make guess. He was well aware that if he loitered, the Smith was not the type to wait for him, but find better things to do with her time. So, yearning for learning, he managed to hasten. At least more so than he had the last time, which was not so difficult. Fearing that she might indeed have hit her head as hard as she had joked, or that she might collapse again .. he soon returned, letting the new supplies down upon a bench, reserving it for his own attempts to come. Sílûgnir then found Fuin before recalling belatedly that he had out of habit still a dagger held in each hand.

Wordlessly, he stashed these too back on the bench, to await their own turn to be dressed after instruction. “By all means, do show,” he invited her when done.
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Grandmaster Fuin
Starting with Scabbards with Apprentice Erfaron


"From your lips to the Valars ears, that's why he's fetching pie not baking it." Fuin muttered just loud enough so that Erfaron could hear it with a cheeky grin.

She looked him up and down once he stated he had not tried to steal a helm from the citadel guard. She clicked her tongue and raised an eyebrow. "Pity I'd have liked you more if you had - I did steal one" Not something that she would normally admit to an apprentice but she was in a mood and she was having a good laugh already at Aigrondings expense about his baking skills and honest to goodness how long did it take to get a piece of pie with whipped cream? "Turns out they aren't all Mithril so you have to get the older ones." Fuin said with a chuckle.

She motioned for Erfaron to find his own supplies and heard him ask if she'd need iron to make the banding. "No, as my master would have said - 'I'm lazy' - I keep banding I've made at my work desk since I use it too often to be bothered going and finding it in the store room all the bloody time.' Brilliant elf, always aim to be lazy where you can be so you can devote your energy to more important things than finding iron banding!" She called with a laugh.

Indeed this place was probably far more relaxed than anything he was use to as a Mole, and she wondered if he might actually have a breakdown from not being yelled at or cuffed upside the head for his comments, indeed it did take her a bit of time to get back to her work bench her little bit of mithril still in hand. She set it into a clay bowl as she heard him finishing up she and rushing back to her work bench. She waited for him to get back and took the bowl to one of the precious metal forges that was burning low, which was perfect for the Mithril. "We need to heat it slowly, Mithril needs time and low heat especially at first." Fuin said and then headed back to her work bench a bit more sure of herself in terms of her foot steps. Grabbing her wood and opening the drawer to her bench.

"Right so first trick get some charcoal draw your shape on ONE piece of wood then I like to cheat." She said calmly and dabbed a bit of glue from the work bench pot on the wood at the top middle and bottom just a single dot and she sat and waited for several minutes. "We wait for it to be sticky enough it will hold but not dry enough that it will be permanently set. Then we use the treddle saw." She said motioning to a contraption of her own design that had a fine but course wire strung vertically with a a treddle on it similar to a treddle drill but made for sawing precision cuts instead. "AND we cut the two boards at the same time with the glue holding them together so we have the same shape on both and the match perfectly."

She began the work of pumping the massive treddle and the saw began to work the wire moving up and down rapidly and she pressed the wood against it and it began to cut until she'd cut all the way about her design and she pulled the mallorn back and pulled the pieces apart. "Glue always to the inside because if you out it to the outside you'll mess up your stain when you are finishing the scabbard." She let Erfaron take a look at the work, indeed there was a lot left in shaping it but the basic shape was there. "Now it's all slow and tedious I'm afraid with carving tools and sand paper. to get the shape smoothed out, and carved as well as hollowed out for the sword or dagger, you're welcome to cut the shape out by hand using a hand saw or you can use the treddle saw just.... keep your fingers away from the wire or you'll be missing them, the wire is sharp and moves faster than you would think."

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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Apprentice, with Fuin – Starting with Scabbards


It was a tightrope of intrigue that he was forced to walk, as the Mastersmith pottered her way gingerly with a bowl of mithril for the nearest forge. Despite all of her bravado, Fuin’s apprentice feared that a new faint might pitch his mentor fast into the flames at any point. It went beyond his being though to bring forth words of warning, or to offer aid. He could only bite his lip, and refrain from calling out to take care; for her safety and well .. of course for the preservation of such a rare metal.

Well now if ever I do try, I may be some more successful," was all that he affirmed as to the mithril, as the Mastersmith came back to hold sway (or hold fast from the threat of swaying) over her workbench. Erfaron was not used to giving care whether other people liked him but the insight into an effective mithril theft showed Fuin had real pluck about her. Somehow he did not believe that she was bluffing. For any Elf who laughed at her own admissions of laziness was not likely to bother with establishing false auras of intrigue.

This new Mentor’s approach was certainly vastly different to how he recalled learning from his father, or from Herumacil for that matter. Admittedly he hadn’t paid much attention to Macil’s teaching, quite on purpose. For he would have rather failed and blame it on a bad teacher, than to ever succeed and let Herumacil take any credit for the instruction. But his father too had shared more criticism than encouragement, when educating. Back in the day, Erfaron had learnt less of what to do, and far more of what to not dare ever be so fool enough to do again …. A somewhat scenic route of developing good practices, designed to ensure a career was fostered of self-doubt and expectant disappointment. When approval was gained though, it had been as rare as mithril was become, and for that same reason, ever the more treasured. Each meagre memory which involved his parent and which lacked complaint, was well worth the remembering. And those others, the memories wracked with shame and guilt and errors, were so deeply imprinted that their lessons would never be forgot.


Fuin’s novel way of cutting the scabbard was deviously cunning, and if the Mole’s father had ever used such techniques, Sarnir would certainly never have admitted it aloud. Maybe that was why he’d sent his son out from under his feet at times, so that work could be done … and the secrets of his skill secured a day yet more.

You do know that you are sabotaging my entire understanding of your art as skill here,” the Mole half-laughed as the Mastersmith outlined her workings. Like a magician showing how she performed magic, it left Silugnir feeling both privileged and also disillusioned to recognise the truth of her talent.

But time proved that she perhaps was just making it look easy, as all master craftsfolk can. The treddle saw, Fuin showcased her talent on, and offered that he try .. Well, he had come here to learn new things, and that was certainly proving so, thus far, so it would be fool to turn down the opportunity. Dangerous tools were not like to intimidate one with such friends as he held dear. Erfaron had long ago learnt the significance of how to handle that which had potential to see him to a nasty end, and the thrill therein. But enough about his lovelife. Precision also was not something that the son of a sculptor was unfamiliar with. Still, the introduction to Fuin’s treddle saw was a rather meticulous affair. The apprentice took his time at sawing outside of the lines he’d mimicked of her first example. The first shave with the tool was a hint of a thing, the second superior in confidence as he garnered more experience and control over the contraption. In a rather tiresome amount of time no doubt for his instructor, the student gradually glanced close enough and still not quite touching the outline of the shape he’d copied. It was a performance not unlike peeling a tree, one handful of bark at a time.

Sílûgnir had planned initially to gather hickory from the captivating storeroom but, recalling what Ospiel had taught him of it’s tendency to warp and shrink in altered climates, had opted for ash. True, it had similar a tendency to devolve to a bad form, given opportunity, but he doubted that Fuin would have allowed any bad wood, of any type, into her storeroom. Neither timber he was toying with though properly compared to the quality of mallorn which the Mastersmith had capably manoeuvred. For a first attempt, the Mole was not overly concerned, as he could only improve from modest beginnings. If he possessed no other attribute, he could be patient.

Much of this elaborate attention had been so long ingrained, he scarcely realised that he was literally skinning the scabbard out so slow, as might an overzealous torturer drag his heels in play. Fuin had spoke of the ‘slow and tedious’, of the monotony involved in carving out the scabbard’s shell, but the elaborate attention to such detail might just see her immortal life wither and wane before he felt this piece might be come close to finished. Carving, shaping, slowly, smoothly .. that much he knew he could manage. The son of Sarnir had spent long portions of his life in Aman carving. From ice and wax to stone and then, in the long years after, where there was only war, flesh. Meticulous and precise, it mattered to know which parts of anatomy would hold up and which would collapse if their foundations compromised. The care and attention given to the carving was not far beyond a parent tending to it’s child. With sharp tools. But in a way, the shapeless form in front of him would (one day) be his creation, his work. As much as he had ever been considered his father’s.

He was close to gauging the result again with a ceaseless critical eye and might have fallen back to affording still further attention to try and ‘perfect’ his work ... when it happened to occur to him that his Mentor might well have succumbed to her delicate state, or outright boredom, in the time since he had last checked to put eyes about her. So reluctantly he stalled at least for long enough to check.
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Grandmaster Fuin
The Scabbards with Apprentice Erfaron


Fuin snorted at the comment that she was sabotaging her art as a skill, and were her head not threatening to spin she'd have shook it but she was smart enough to know that that would be foolish and her apprentice would undoubtedly have to catch her as she fell over from the world spinning faster than the sky was - right now it was only a little off but the more she moved her head the more she saw it. "I'm afraid all great artists are frauds those that hold the mystic the best are the ones that don't teach anyone. But then their art is dead, able to be destroyed by long years and the march of change should they die. I have students that are teaching their own students already in many places. Even if I were to be killed tomorrow - I would guarantee that my art, my knowledge all of it... would be passed on it would live I hope until the very changing of the world." Fuin said calmly.

"Smithing.... is a legacy as much as it is an art." She calmly explained as he worked on cutting his scabbard shapes free with the treddle saw. Indeed it was a long and boring process to her, he was not bold with his cuts, especially the first but he grew a feel for the tool even if he was clumsy and slow with it in comparison. She could say though that at no point was she worried about him maiming himself and then having to in her condition stop the bleeding and get him to Elrond, for she could not in her condition help more than slowing down the bleeding. And then she'd have to explain to Elrond why she was working with a concussion. The whole affair would have been nasty so she would take slow as the Anduin Delta after a decade of drought to that. She gave her apprentice a nod and the two of them began the task of hollowing out and carving the scabbards which was a long task. but one that she swiftly finished before gluing the two pieces together so that she might carve the scabbard as a whole before banding and inlaying it with the mithril.

She was still busy at work carving meticulous song birds in all their detail among swirling eddies of wind made visible on the wood when she heard Erfaron moving about differently and she turned to look at him to see if he was having problems with his task or if he needed some encouragement. She glanced at his work it was smooth and well shaped and she couldn't help but grin. "Either you're worried I'm dead I've gone quiet or you're interested to see what I've done in the same time you've done. I hope you'll be done long before me, the details for this scabbard are enough that it will take me days to fully finish it."

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@Fuin Elda
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Erfaron Sílûgnir
Apprentice


He could not have said how long he stood there, close enough to watch her, yet serving no distraction to call Fuin’s attention from her task. Pale eyes seared themselves to the fleetest movement of her hands. Ears turned to mark the nigh inaudible gnawing of working tool against wood. The words and wisdom which the Guildmistress had served up, had not been dismissed by her apprentice, but cloistered away until such time they might prove of worth. And here, in quiet regard, Erfaron turned them over in the silence of the crafter’s shadow.

Until she was ready, or else bothered by his merely standing about idly. It had been said before that he could make folk uneasy, merely through the act of waiting, watching, wondering. But this instructor had already demonstrated just how perilously immersed in her task she could become, that she forsook all else in the world.


He was rather certain, anyway, that she had become aware of him long before she admitted an acknowledgement. And it was toward his efforts that she looked first, and foremost. But she spoke neither of disappointment or delight in response. As far as opinion went this seemed satisfactory. He had not come here for praise, and if he presented some fault, then he expected she would not keep it to herself.

If you were dead then, by your own admission, there are others in this world already whom I might find in your stead, to teach me what you have imparted to them aforetime,” he shrugged. As indications went, it at least proved that he had been listening to what she had said earlier. “I have been accused of murdering you at least once already and, I dare say, would survive a repeat performance. If only to see their faces when your stubbornness reminds all that there is no easy end to Fuin Elda.


For all his apathetic remarks, the Mole tucked his chin stiffly toward his throat in a nod toward respect, and cast colourless eyes about all that she had managed, while they each had been left to their own devices. “Days it may take, you say, to complete what mastery you are already begun. A dedication to the order made, and no denying it. But in such a time, I might meanwhile devise any design of my own whim ?” he supposed, voicing his options. “To which there has been, I will admit, dismay found as a consequence by a wider reception before now.

The ask, the warning, each had been delivered with a lot of words. And it took a moment before Erfaron recalled that this was a soul of clear purpose and drive before him. “Do you have any advisement as to the design you wish me to make play at ?” he enunciated, slowly. “Or shall I risk wasting your prized materials toward some end that may displease you ?


As far as requests for instruction went, his was far from the customary style. But, as far as courtesies went, well .. he had cared enough to ask. Which was a courtesy he did not afford to just anybody. Since the Smith had commented that he ought to be finished before she was through, it seemed that she had attributed some thought already upon the matter of his project. Perhaps she was not truly intending to pair the scabbards she had set him to, with the daggers she had already readied to sell. The blades might be standing only for a model, to serve for shape, and practice. He had chosen some of the most accessible resources as a consequence, just in case.

For all he knew, she expected him to go fetch her pie. But he was disinclined to abandon the Smith. And her gathered quota of mithril that was waiting close to hand.

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All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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