Arda: A World of Dreams - Free RP

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
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High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
Posts: 2755
Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2020 7:53 am

Name inspired by Janowyn


The stars wheel overhead where all paths meet together through the thin veil. Welcome to all of Arda laid bare for you to participate in.

There is no set timeline in this thread, you are welcome to RP the past, the present or the future as you see fit.

Places you are welcome to RP: (this is by no means an exhaustive list)

The Upset Hammer Pu
b: Run by the fantastic @Baphởmet in Valinor itself before the awakening of any of the Children.

Numenor: Did the numenoreans that didn't make it turn into mermaids? They can in this thread

Mordor: Circa FA 150 what's there? We don't know but you might.


Rules:
Please adhere to all the rules for DEI Statement and Roleplaying Code of Conduct
Please keep large images to any OP style posts (such as the Upset Hammer OP) but refrain from animated gifs.
Canon characters are welcome to be played by whomever wishes to play them should there be multiple canon characters in different timelines/stories that are private that is perfectly acceptable.
Crossovers with other fandoms are WELCOME in this thread.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Sat Nov 20, 2021 8:20 am, edited 1 time in total.

Steward of Gondor
Points: 5 582 
Posts: 2650
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
@Fuin Elda
Calaerdis



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


The day began just like any other, for Caraerdis. She had dressed, then woken Radaron, got them both breakfast, then let him go run off to play with his friends. Ah, to be that little without any weight of responsibility, she thought. At least things were getting better for them, now. Much better than when they were younger.

After cleaning up their dishes, she had set out toward the blacksmith shop, where she stationed herself up in a tree across the street, and just watched. He never seemed to notice her, which was both a relief, and made her roll her eyes at how oblivious the man could be. From her post up in the tree, Cala could watch most of what he did, but she wished she could get closer. It would be better if she could work with him, asking questions, learning. But unfortunately, that was impossible, as the smith had made clear to her.

Then she saw a sign on the door post. It might just be possible, after all… Cala stared at the sign for a moment, taking a moment to read the fact that it advertised that the smith was seeking an apprentice. She felt her breath catch in her throat at the thought of it. But she knew this man; he was the same one she had worked for when she first came to this city a couple of years ago. He didn't like the idea of a girl working in his shop. More than disliked; he wouldn’t allow it. Cala desperately wanted that apprenticeship, but could she get it?


Climbing down swiftly from her tree, Cala ran through the streets, heart racing as she tried to imagine what it might be like to be an apprentice. What secrets of smithing might she learn with such an opportunity? The girl was about to rush into the house where she and Radaron had been living when she saw that there were people going inside. Cala stopped in mid-step, alarmed. Who were they? She stared in shock through the window as they began looking around, and heard comments that sounded like they were interested in buying the place.

This was horrible! Cala ducked out of sight into some bushes, holding her breath as she watched them leave. She heard comments about the evidence that someone had been living there, and the seller promised they would make sure whoever it was didn’t come back, and would change the locks and even alert the guards if necessary. That was even worse! Cala watched as the small group moved down the path, then she darted out of her hiding place and inside the house before it could be locked up. Whoever that one person was, they apparently owned the place. She swiftly gathered up hers and Radaron’s things, packing it all into an old, worn blanket, then tied the corners together tightly. All the while, she kept glancing toward the door, fearing she would be caught and possibly arrested as she packed up her things faster than she ever knew she could.

Her forge, however, she couldn’t bring with her. The girl stared forlornly at the fireplace she had converted into a small forge, feeling an ache in her heart to have to leave it. She took what tools she had, and slipped out again. With any luck, she tried to comfort herself, she would be an apprentice at the blacksmith’s forge before the day was over, so there was that, at least. Still, it was hard to leave what had been home for so long now. She ought to have been used to it; she had been leaving and going from one place to another for so long now. But still, she had never been able to stay in one place for this long before. She’d hoped to settle here for good.

Cala got out of the house and returned to her hiding place just in time, it seemed. The people had been outside talking the whole while, and no sooner had she ducked down into the bushes than the person who owned it came walking back up the path, putting an extra lock on the door. Cala’s heart hammered in her chest, reminding her of her plans to become an apprentice. She had to change, though. Somewhere in this bundle, she had an outfit befitting a boy, but she had to be able to change, somewhere, before going to apply for the position.


Before long, she had found a secluded place that was private enough for changing her clothes, and emerged with her chest wrapped tight so that it was flat like a boy’s, and dressed in the typical clothes a boy would wear. Complete with a hat, to hide her hair. She liked it long, and refused to cut it simply because some narrow-minded blacksmith couldn’t accept the idea of a girl doing smithing stuff. So long as she could hide it, she would do that instead.

Her heart was racing as she walked into the workshop. She had once worked here, some years ago, sweeping and running errands and other things that were helpful to the smith, but not quite ‘apprentice’ jobs. This time, she had a true shot at being an apprentice and she intended to get it. Clearing her throat, she tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as she got the smith’s attention. “Sir, I saw you had a sign saying you need an apprentice?”

He looked up, taking a moment as if sizing up the ‘boy’ he saw in front of him. “That’s right.” He brushed his hands off on his leather apron. “Let’s see if you’ll be of any use.” He folded his arms. “The fire need stoking, how about you run the bellows for a while? It’s right over here. I’ll show you how to…”

The smith trailed off, blinking as Cala, without a second’s hesitation, nodded and went straight for the bellows and took hold of the handle, keeping an eye on the coals as she slowly pumped it. This was far bigger and heavier than the one she had fashioned for use in her own little forge, but she knew how it worked, and had used one like this before, when the smith wasn’t around. Merely to experiment with the heat, since she couldn’t risk making any noise. Determined she was going to get this job, the girl made no complaints as she worked, and did her best not to let on whether it was easy or difficult for her.

The smith watched for a moment, and she could tell by his expression he was impressed. Soon he had gone back to his work, while Cala continued, watching the coals, attentive for his signal to stop, for she knew there must be a point where he would decide it was enough. It seemed ages before he did, and she could tell already that if she got this job, she was going to be very sore and tired for a while, but then her body would adjust to the work and she’d be alright. She could do this. Cala was determined to prove that she could do it. As he worked, he asked a few questions about forgework, and seemed quite satisfied with the answers she gave. Luckily, she knew enough to make good guesses at the things she didn’t actually know, and he didn’t seem to notice.

“Alright, that’s enough,” He said finally, and Cala stopped pumping, careful not to let her relief show on her face. She hadn’t quite expected that to be so exhausting, but she made up her mind she would not let him know that. She had to have this apprenticeship, or she didn’t know what she’d do.

“Not bad. You understand, you’ll be doing a lot of that?” He asked, while hammering on a piece of metal. She couldn’t tell what it was going to be, yet.
“Yes sir.” She answered, trying hard not to sound like she was winded or tired.
“You’ve done it before, or..?”
Cala nodded briefly. “I used to do it some, back in another town.” She answered, hoping he wouldn’t demand to know the name of the town or the smith she claimed to have worked for. She didn’t know either, and the smith didn’t know she’d used his fire.
“Good.” He finished hammering and put the item in a bucket. The hot metal hissed and steam came up from the bucket.
Cala watched, intrigued, wanting to ask more.. Like what exactly was the purpose for that? She’d been told, long ago, it was to cool the metal, but she felt somehow there was more to it than that. At her own little fireplace forge, she had done the same with a pail of water, but she still felt that she was missing out on some secret. For now, though, she held her tongue and focused on the interview. Questions could come later.

“Well, what’s your name, boy?” The smith inquired, setting the piece aside. He came forward, offering out his hand to shake.
Cala felt a thrill of excitement. That meant she’d gotten it? She could hardly believe it! Thinking swiftly, she realized she hadn’t thought about a name yet. “Calaeron,” She told him, using the first part of her own name, but with a boy’s ending. “Cal for short,” She added, knowing she’d likely not respond well to ‘Calaeron’.

“Well, Cal, you can stay for the rest of the day and if you do well, I’ll keep you on.”
Cala grinned, thrilled beyond words. “Oh thank you, I promise you won’t be disappointed,” She assured him, then noticed he tilted his head, looking at her oddly. “Is...is something wrong, sir?” She asked, pulling her hand away, suddenly afraid he might have noticed something. Was her hair still concealed? She dared not check it, but felt her heart race faster in her chest.

“Hang on...” he frowned, then grabbed the hat off her head.

Cala gasped softly, instinctively reaching to snatch it back, but the damage had been done. Her long brown hair spilled down around her shoulders, giving her a far-too feminine look for someone trying to pass as a boy. She froze, her heart seeming to stop altogether for a second as the smith saw through her disguise.

“You!” He declared, throwing the hat down angrily. “I might’ve known! You’re that same kid that tricked me before, I remember you! You’re always coming back to plague me, aren’t you girl? I’ve seen you wandering around, trying to peddle off that junk you claim you made. I don’t want you around here, ruining my business. Get out of here, now!”

Cala stared at him with widening eyes, at first frightened by the man, big and muscular as he was, but then, as the insults set in, her temper flared. “I will not!” She retorted, hands clenched into fists. “You were perfectly fine with having me for an apprentice only a few seconds ago, when you thought I was a boy! What’s the difference? I can do anything you ask of me, and I proved it just now, didn’t I? Well, didn’t I?”

“Anyone can pump a bellow, and you looked about ready to pass out anyway, that’s why girls aren’t fit to be in a place like this, they’re too weak and frail, now get out.” He grabbed for her shoulder intending to forcibly remove her from his shop.
Cala swiftly ducked, evading his grasp, and backed away, glaring furiously. “I was not! I could do that all day if I needed to,” She had been tired, but not about to pass out like he claimed, and she resented the suggestion that she was too frail to do it. “You aren’t being fai-.”
“I said get out of here, I won’t have some half-grown woman trying to make a fool of me! Apprentice, ha! No one in their right mind would take on a girl apprentice, and I sure ain’t about to be the first!”

The opportunity for which she had dreamed of for years was being snatched away from her, just when it was within grasp. Cala felt desperation clawing at her. “I just want to learn!” She pleaded, close to tears now, though she refused to let them emerge in his sight. “Why can’t I at least learn how? Why can’t you give me a chance!”
“There’s no place in a forge for a woman. No one would buy anything from my shop if they knew I had a girl working here, and I don’t want to waste any more time with you.”
“Why can’t you just give me a chance? Just one day to prove myself?” Cala exclaimed, growing very frustrated.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, no girl can work a forge and no one would be stupid enough to buy anything a girl had made. People want good quality, not some cheaply made imitation of it, and that’s all any woman could ever manage. I don’t mean any offence, women just aren’t strong enough to make things proper-like, don’t you understand?”
“But I’m perfectly capable of doing just as good as any boy! Maybe even better!” Cala protested, desperate, as she remembered that she no longer had a home, nor any way to feed her and Radaron. “Please! Just give me a chance, I’ll show you, I can-”
“I said get out!” He shouted, this time succeeding in grabbing her. He shoved her roughly toward the door.

Cala stumbled, unable to resist the force of his push, but turned to try pleading with him one more time.
“Do I have to call the guards?” He threatened, pointing to the door before she had a chance to say what she was going to say. “I’ll have you arrested if you set foot back in here ever again, now I don’t want to be bothered by you anymore. Get out!”

Cala’s frustration mounted to an all-time high, and she wanted to scream and cry and throw things at the man, just like a two year old having a tantrum, but didn’t dare do such a thing. She wasn’t two, she was fifteen, and she also wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, so instead, with her vision blurred with tears, she turned and stormed out, holding back a sob with some effort.

She didn’t see the customer who was about to enter, but when she crashed into the woman, she gasped in surprise and hastily tried to get out of her way. “I’m terribly sorry!” She managed to gasp out, with a little sob. Brushing at her eyes to wipe the blurriness away, she looked up at the lady, then saw to her surprise, it was an elf; she’d never seen an elf before, and now felt even worse for having plowed into her. “I’m truly sorry.. I didn’t mean to...” She couldn’t get another word out through the lump that had risen up in her throat. Sniffling, Cala turned to hurry away, desperate not to let that man see her crying, and she’d rather not let the elf lady see her cry, either… there was an alley not far away which was usually empty, she could run there and then curl up and have all the time she needed…
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:09 am, edited 2 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
Posts: 2755
Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2020 7:53 am
Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle

@Rillewen

Fuin had been in the East learning what she could from Smiths there about their weapons and skills as a master smith of Imladris. She'd been charged to learn something new. There was little more to learn in the west, so she had been there for well over a year but upon her return she'd gotten attacked by a small band of orcs when she drew near the southern mountains of Mordor. One of her daggers had partially sheared thanks to striking a thicker part of an orc’s armor as she fought. She'd recovered the steel from the body, as she was loath to leave such high quality steel where the orcs could get it. She headed into Minas Tirith to find a smithy that would let her fix the blade.

She heard shouting from down the road, her elf ears allowing her to hear the conversation, and her blood was beginning to boil as she heard the smith telling a girl no one would buy anything made by a girl. She opened the door silently as he threatened her with guards, telling her to get out, and the mastersmith was debating on throwing her sword down that she had crafted and ask if he could match the skill of a woman. The girl ran into her, she'd opened the door so quietly and had stood there long enough.

Her hand grabbed the young girl's wrist and held her tightly. "Stay. And keep your head up, he’s not worth tears." She said calmly, perhaps colder than she should have to comfort the young girl. But she was on a warpath now.

"How dare you. You weak-willed, pathetic excuse of a coal boy." She snarled, trying to be mindful of the grip she had in the girl's wrist. She very much wanted to grab him by his nose using his own tongs and pull his face near the coals of his forge. The smith, for his part, was taken aback that an elf would call him a coal boy.

"You misunderstand my Lady- I… she has lied…after doing an apprentice test… she-"

"Enough, I heard you from down the road. You cannot lie to me. If she did the test she'd be more than welcome in the forge of Imladris, where I - a woman unfit for the pathetic forges of Gondor, a Kingdom without a King because of the weak wills of men- am in line to become Grand Master of all of elvendom’s smiths. I could work the steel better than you with my eyes shut. You and your line of smiths shall wither and die with your foolish ideas on what a woman can do."

With that she stepped back, slammed the door, looked down at the young woman, and let go of her wrist. The rage and wrath that had been upon her face akin to the elves of the first age faded and her face was soft and caring as she took a few calming breaths.

“Are you alright?”
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:10 am, edited 1 time in total.

Steward of Gondor
Points: 5 582 
Posts: 2650
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
@Fuin Elda
Calaerdis



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala was startled more than ever when, as she went to hurry away, her arm was caught by a rather strong grip. She turned and looked in surprise back at the elf lady, eyes going wide. She'd heard elves were superior to humans, but wouldn't have ever suspected them of having such strength in their grip. The girl heard the words, ordering her to stay, and that the man wasn't worth tears, but still, she couldn't exactly help it. The tears had started coming, and it took all her willpower to hold them back now.

Having little choice now but to stay and hear what the elf said to the man, Cala struggled not to appear like she was on the verge of tears. She didn't want him, or the elf, to think she was prone to tears, after all. But one could only take so much, and she'd tried to be strong for so long. When she was little, she used to cry herself to sleep sometimes, but once her little brother began to get old enough to notice her crying, she'd had to be more mindful of that, not letting him see, and trying to only show him that she was tough and strong and that she was capable of things.

The determination behind that strength she'd tried to show to her brother was now the only thing that gave her the ability to stand quietly as she listened to the elf lady speaking to the smith, with only a little sniffle now and then, and blink back the tears that still wanted to fill her eyes. She looked again at the elf, a bit surprised to hear her say she'd heard it all from down the street. She hadn't realized they had been that loud, but then again, the smith had been yelling angrily, and Cala had been rather upset when she retorted back at him, but to be heard all the way down the street?

When the smith tried accusing her of lying, Cala got as far as opening her mouth to protest, but the elf lady cut him off, and the girl stared at her in surprise to hear the lady say that she, Cala, would have been welcome at the forges of Imladris. The elven forges! She'd heard tales of such a place since she was small, possibly even before her mother died. She paused to think hard... was it Father who had first told her stories of it? She couldn't really remember. In fact, she had forgotten what he looked like, and that made her a little sad. She had tried before to tell Radaron what their parents were like, but she couldn’t remember enough to answer all his questions.

Next thing she knew, Cala was being pulled along again, this time out of the smith's shop, and she looked up at the elf lady when asked if she was alright. Cala stared up at her, speechless for a moment, her eyes wide and still a bit damp. "Who are you?" She managed in a somewhat awed whisper. Right now, the lady seemed like a hero, charging into battle to defend her, and she couldn’t help admiring her for that. No one had ever done that for Cala. She’d always had to stick up for herself and her brother both, and it was strange now to have another do it for her… and far better than she could have!
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:09 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
Posts: 2755
Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2020 7:53 am
Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle

@Rillewen

Fuin gave a small smile having taken a few deep breaths to calm herself after being so angry with the smith and let and reached out and gently wiped away the damp tears from the girls cheeks. “My name is Fuin, and you did very well to not cry, though I know you wanted to. I hope I did not hurt your wrist. I did not want you running off while I took a piece out of that fool.” She looked the girl over, dressed as a boy with her long hair tumbling, she was quite the sight. If anything it reminded her of herself when she was young in the First Age, her mother had always wanted her to be in dresses and Fuin had always been busy being a boy, much to her mothers dismay. She had a feeling this was more because of need than want though as they stood quietly for a moment the bustle of the First Circle around them, indeed if the man had been of the mind to call the Guards there were plenty of them in this circle and they'd likely have come quickly since he probably was the source of a goodly amount of their gears repairs as it was needed.

“I’m a Mastersmith of Imladris and I was on my way home after spending a while learning to forge weapons in the Far East. I still need a place to fix this dagger, but after that " Fuin said glancing back at the shop that she'd left, "I’m fine with not fixing it here, it can wait until I make it home. I have promises to keep now - to that Smith back there and you, though the promise to you is one you’ll like, where he will not.” She said with a chuckle. She tucked away the knife that she had out to be repaired knowing full well that it would be a while before such a thing was able to be done. and started doing some math on supplies she would need to get the girl to Imladris.

“We don’t plant seeds that we don’t tend in the Valley. Let’s get you home, and I’ll speak with your parents about bringing you to Imldaris to learn if you’d like, since you’re old enough, I think, to make the journey without issue, though you probably won’t enjoy it too much if you’re not use to horseback.” Fuin said calmly and motioned for the girl to lead the way.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:10 am, edited 1 time in total.

Steward of Gondor
Points: 5 582 
Posts: 2650
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
@Fuin Elda
Calaerdis



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala couldn't help staring, the feeling of awe increasing as the lady elf informed her that she was not just a smith, but a mastersmith of the elven forges. Cala was rather speechless, the need to cry suddenly forgotten for the moment. "N-no, you didn't hurt it." She managed to reply at last, realizing at the same time that she was staring, and blushed lightly. She ought to apologize; it was rude, her mother always used to tell her, but she didn't quite get around to the apology she meant to give. She was distracted by the mention of the elf lady needing to fix a dagger, and something about planting seeds in the valley, which Cala didn't quite understand.

She was about to ask if she really meant it when she said that Cala would have been welcome in the forges of Imladris, when the lady, Fuin, spoke of bringing her there.... Cala! Or rather, speaking to her parents about bringing her there. Cala tensed, ever so slightly, her eyes going a little wider. She found herself staring again, mouth slightly agape until she suddenly realized, again, that she was staring, and shut it. Her, go to Imladris? To learn to smith with the elves?! It was an absolute dream come true!

Was she dreaming? Cala was very tempted to try pinching herself to check, but she didn't have to. She knew she wasn't, because while she had assured Fuin that she didn't hurt her wrist, Cala could still feel where the elf had gripped her. Just as the girl began to feel excitement swelling up inside, Cala felt a hesitation tug at her heart as well. Fuin had asked her to take her to her home. To her parents. She had spoken of Cala being old enough for the journey, but what of Radaron? Cala knew, even if he had both arms, that he would certainly not be old enough for such a lengthy, possibly dangerous trip.

She swallowed hard, feeling that lump returning, harder than ever, as she dropped her gaze, her hopes sinking fast and hard. Bitter disappointment washed over her as Cala realized that she could not, however much she wanted to, accept this offer. She had a duty, a responsibility, to take care of her brother. An ache filled her heart as she felt a sting of tears trying to return, but she kept her gaze down, desperately hoping Fuin wouldn’t see them. "I-I can't." She whispered, full of regret as her voice threatened to break with emotion. "I wish I could, more than anything, but I can't." She could almost hear the agony in her own voice as she quietly turned down the greatest chance she could have ever hoped for.
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:10 am, edited 2 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
Posts: 2755
Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2020 7:53 am
Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle

@Rillewen

Fuin did her best to ignore the girl staring mouth agape, not wanting to laugh at her looking like a fish out of water at the offer that the elleth had made. She was glad she had managed that because when she finally did answer she could hear the pain in her voice even as the girl whispered, and she frowned. If she hadn’t hurt her wrist..., “You wish you could.” Fuin licked her lips, this girl had fought tooth and nail verbally to try to get the apprenticeship with that smith, and now she had the chance to learn from elves and was turning it down. She stood blinking as the girl looked away, tears welling up in her eyes even if she tried rather desperately to hide them.

“Alright little one, tell me why you can’t, we’ll see what we can do about it.” She said resting her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to tell me about why on the way to your-” It struck her. She quite likely didn’t have parents, and was taking care of a sibling. She'd heard of such things happening with men; mothers died in childbirth, something so rare in elvendom. Feanor’s mother was the closest to dying, and she didn’t… really her spirit was just spent. “You don’t have parents do you? Who are you needing to take care of?” She asked softly. She wondered how long this girl had been taking care of her sibling? And where was this sibling? These crossed her mind and she hoped that her small press of a question would be enough to get her to open up a bit more, making it easier to help her.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:11 am, edited 1 time in total.

Black Númenórean
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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

She wandered alone beneath the sky, gazing ever upward at the stars, winking in their canopy. Though she cherished the companion beside whom she had awoken, it was the stars that touched her most with joy, and the songs with which all those who had awoken beside those falls adored them. They had begun to devise language and she learned of it well, contributing to the shaping of it, but still she sang often without words, having nothing greater to offer than the Unbegotten clarity of her voice and its praise. At times her voice seemed as many voices, each with its own subtle part to sing. The stars never darkened nor no cloud hid their light when under them she walked along and sang, but only illuminated her way brightly. Coincidence? Perhaps. And so she walked, the nameless nís- some of her kind had begun to devise names for themselves, or for each other, but she had no such appellation yet, and had not yet felt the need for one. They had not yet devised garments, and her skin shone nearly as silver as the rippling, shimmering length of her hair in the starlight, the latter falling well past her waist. Her feet were bare, though stained with moss, and her strange, cobalt eyes reflected the tapestry above.

Not far from the great water of Cuiviénen itself was a smaller pool, a spring that but softly burbled into existence in a glade on the edge of the woods. It was close enough that, when her people were singing, she could still faintly hear them- but far enough away that the nís could sit atop the small hill above the pool and be alone to wonder at the stars, and dance solitary devotions beneath their light. She came singing softly to the glade, a lilting melody of the things she had seen since her last sleeping, and ascended the hill at a light run. This time she did not sit, but stretched her arms high above her head, reaching towards the heavens. Then one foot released itself from earth and she arched sharply backwards, the curtain of her hair dipping and pool on the ground until foot and head nearly touched and her arms wove lazy patterns above. So her dance began, and her feet moved through unknowable patterns on the grassy knoll as her body swayed and bent and she devised the steps even as she devised the song. At length she came down from the hill and down to the pool, where she drank from its crystalline waters. It was as she stood, ankle deep in the pool, hands cupped to her mouth, that she heard a noise. It was only soft, as if some animal had made a careless footfall.

“Hello?” she called, in the tongue her people had devised, but the air was still. Then, the noise again, and a slight shifting in the tall brush at the edge of the trees. She turned to face the area from which the sound and movement seemed to have come. It did not seem to be an animal, but she could not quite sense what it was. “Hello there,” she called again, smiling, “There’s no need to be afraid.”
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Balrog
Points: 5 867 
Posts: 3513
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)

He liked going without a body, without a form. It was an expression of freedom, of rebellion, of self-awareness. Without a physical form, he could deny the responsibilities that had been pressed upon him. Each side seemed to want, to need something from him. He was being pulled in too many directions at once. All he wanted was peace, to make what he wanted, to create his own space, and to thrive in that space. None of them would let him. Either his work was too creative for the conservative faction in the west, or too complicated for the destructive faction in the north. They were all of them limited in their thinking. He was frustrated with them all. Yet each of them had their pull. The conservative faction wanted to preserve and build a new world, the destructive faction wanted to create and create and create. He was in the middle, being forced to play along with both. He was everything: tinker, builder, soldier, spy. All he wanted was peace.

He came to the cool waters here, this nameless vast lake, and found that peace. It was his secret place, a place wherein he could find rest. He could visualize his world, all his ideas, all his creations here. There would be no one to tell him no. But then something happened. Something awoke. The stars had burst forth in a brilliant display of power and majesty and something had responded to this new light. At first, he did not know what it was that had intruded upon his sacred pools. Were they spirits? Maiar? No, no none of that was right. They were different, these creatures. He watched them for a long time, using his bodilessness to observe them. It was not until he returned to the West, when a name was put them: The Children of Illúvatar. A strange sensation filled him: horror, jealous, protectiveness, curiosity, sorrow, jubilation. So many emotions that he did not know what to with. These creatures were meant to replace them, so said the power of the North. They were meant to supplant and dominate the world. He did not want that to happen, he did not want yet another thing standing in the way of his creativity. But what if the power of the North was wrong? He often was so shortsighted that he could not see a plan beyond two or three steps. These creatures were creative, it was true, they were magnificent and full of power and magnificence. What if they could be taught? What if they could be convinced to follow him? Join him? The world could be filled with such wonders! His dreams could be made manifest and his greatness would have to be acknowledged by all parties! They would have to recant all their harsh words, all their belittling looks, all their self-righteous smatterings.

For now, he would have to create a form that would not scare them off. Something that looked like them, that drew them in. They were wonderous creatures, lithe of form and function. They were beautiful in their naivety. He envied them. Their eyes had only beheld beauty and simplicity. Their ears had only heard the sounds of nature and song. Their feet had only tread upon the soft grasses and gentle waters. Their tongues had only sung of loveliness and hope and creation. Oh, to be these children. He was a shapeshifter, it would not be difficult to create something he could wear, something valiant and glorious, something regal that would befit the role he sought. He would be a new king, better than the lord of the winds, better than lord of the waters, better than the lord of the forge, better than lord of fate. He chose a form he had imagined many times, had used a variation of it in the days when there were no days, when time was a meaningless concept, alien to his very nature.

He was tall, only slightly taller than all these children, not enough to daunt them, but to present a face of power and strength. His chest was broad and his shoulders strong, his features sharp and perfect, his hair he fashioned a deep crimson, the color of the molten earth, the color of the bleeding heart of his Will. He had seen their eyes, reflecting starlight in all it’s myriad colors. He knew his eyes must be special as well. They must be as unique as the stars that glimmered above. He again chose red, as deep a red as he could imagine, his irises he formed into the likeness of a great cat, furtive and full of secret wisdom, full of ancient sorceries and rimmed it about with fires of gold and orange and yellow. None other would ever have eyes like his. They would be forever held up as an example of his power, his creativity, his right to create.

He sat in a tree, still content to watch them until he was ready to reveal himself. He had much to think about, how to approach them, how to communicate with them. He heard them use sounds with their voices that were more than musical notes. They spoke. It was the strangest of all sounds. When he wanted to communicate, all he had to do was imagine that he wanted and press it into the mind of one of his fellows. There had never been a need for communication with his voice. He had sung but his songs were wordless tunes, melodies woven within melodies, harmonies within himself. They were so different, these wonderous children. He sat in his tree and he learned the words, the verbs and the nouns, he learned the names they gave to things and nodded his approval. They were exceedingly clever. Oh, the works they could accomplish together. The mighty would upon them and despair.

One came close now. Her eyes were vibrant, cobalt, a color still rare and unique on the earth itself. He shifted in his tree. She heard, but she was unafraid. Her voice, her voice was the most melodious thing he’d ever heard, and he had been present at the Music of Creation.

“I’m… sorry for disturbing you,” he said at last, coming down from the tree. The first words he’d ever spoken. His voice was deep and sonorous, rich with melody and meaning. He decided he liked that sound. “I was sitting in the tree and enjoying the cool… breeze.” The words came to him slowly, remembering which correlated with which. It was a unique sensation. He smiled at her and his red eyes glimmered in the light of the stars.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

As she watched, someone emerged from the forest edge, sliding down from the tree where they had hidden. As the person emerged, she saw that he was like her- or at least, very much like her. His form was like those of her kin by Cuiviénen, but he was not one of them, that much she knew. His hair was like none she had ever seen before, with a color like some of the sweet fruits they had discovered, but deeper and richer. She walked towards him as he spoke, her feet leaving the lightest of wet prints upon the moss of the glade, and when he spoke his voice resonated deep within her. Her skin shivered with the pleasure of the sound, and her eyes crinkled with her smile.

“That’s alright,” she replied, “I come here to be alone too. Your voice is beautiful.” She could imagine what it might sound like when he sang, rather than spoke, and inside her mind spiraled with a thousand melodies. As she drew nearer, she could see him more clearly in the starlight, and his eyes captivated her. “And your eyes,” She came nearer than she had intended, though such courtesies were not common among her people, and without forethought raised her arms to take his face in both her hands. He was taller than she, and her chin tilted up even as she tilted his down to meet his eyes. They were similar in color to his hair, but with flashes of gold and yellow and orange and red among them, coruscating like the flames of the fires her people lit when the air was chill, to keep them safe and warm. “Your eyes are…” she could not find a word to fit what she felt; and so devised one on the spot. “…glorious.”

Suddenly the feeling that he was not of her kind intensified, and she dropped her hands. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, taking a slight step back. “There is a word my people devised about me: bold.” Her head tilted slightly to the side as she smiled again. In her mind the question what are you? lingered loudly, but instead she asked, “Where have you come from?”
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Balrog
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)

It was the first time in a very, very long time that he’d been complimented. Not since the days before days when He Who Arises in Might took him aside and showered him with affection and attention had he felt so vulnerable and so strong in the same moment. Certainly no one had touched him, physically or otherwise, since those times. The Smith ignored most of his work, most of his suggestions and idea, to be complimented so openly and so freely it felt… he smiled for the first time: glorious. He touched her hand as he cradled his face. As she looked into his eyes, he looked into hers. They were new, wild, and undaunted. There was no fear in her eyes, no trepidation, no desire to hold back. There was a newness of life, a freshness, an exuberance. He had not seen eyes like that in so, so long. He stood motionless and watched her as she watched him, both seemingly caught in a moment of discovery. Her hands were as soft as the morning dew, both cool and warm to the touch. “I think,” he said slowly, forming words based on what he’d heard and adding a few of his own, “fortune favors the bold. You have naught to be sorry for. Curiosity and fearlessness should be encouraged. And your eyes,” he paused again, trying to find the right sounds to convey his meaning. “They are breathtaking.” He was not sure if he’d heard that word yet or if he’d created it on the spot, but it felt correct.

He caught something, something she might not have intended to let him hear. It was just a murmur, a whisper blown away by a sudden wind. The more he looked at her, the more he realized how different he was from her yet also how similar they were. She was like platinum, rare and precious, and he was iridium, dense and rarer still, heavy with purpose and intent.

“I am from a way to the west,” he finally admitted, dropping his hands from hers. “I am…” the words were slow in forming, his desire to be secretive clashed with his desire to know and understand. “I am different from you. The way this tree,” he pointed to the tree he’d been sitting in, an ash tree, “is different from that one.” He pointed to another tree in the thicket, an evergreen tall and proud. “Yet we are made of similar stuff, with similar hearts and minds.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

Breathtaking.

It was a new word, but she knew right away what it was for. The sensation of the breath stilled, caught in the throat, at the sight of something that made you feel, and the sensation of momentary silence and focus that came with it, even if sound were all around. Her cheeks colored lightly with the pleasure of such a word, and the corners of her eyes crinkled deeply as her smile widened. But then he went on, answering her question, and her expression melted into something more thoughtful, pensive and curious.

“Away to the west,” she repeated in a murmur. What was the west? What more was there than Cuiviénen? She was certain there must be something, for upon the high rises nearby their home, they could see land rolling away into the dark horizon, beyond the reach of their eyes under the starlight. Keen were the eyes of the Unbegotten, but even they could not penetrate all darkness with far-sight. Her head turned involuntarily, to a direction she was not to know was the west. But again he went on, and she looked back at him as slowly he assembled the words to describe how he was different, almost as if he had lifted the question out of her mind. Had he? She nodded slowly.

“I see,” she replied, for in truth she did. Each of her kind were like the other, but different. It was not so strange that he might be even more different, while still being quite alike. Each day in the aftermath of their Awakening they had discovered new creatures, new bands of their kindred who had awoken close by appeared, and they, too, were different from those by the falls; why should it not be that there might be other beings like them? But there was more to him, and that lit a fire of curiosity and cunning both inside the nís. “Similar, but different. I wonder if you have met any of the others of my kin?” Even as she spoke, she formed another question in her mind, and this time, not quite knowing how, pushed it towards him, to see what would happen.

Do you have a name?
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Balrog
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)

He smiled as she did at the new word. He had not meant to create it, but the words that he did know did not convey feelings he wanted to convene. He laughed, high and vibrant, like the sound of a song thrush. He was a craftsman of many things, words and language, though, had never been one of them. He could feel his mind expanding, within moments of speaking to one of the Children he could feel himself becoming more and more, he could feel the goal he had set for himself coming closer and closer. She was perceptive too, this creature. Before he spoke of “the west” he had not thought that perhaps she had no concept of direction or time or anything beyond these glorious shores. But she perceived his meaning more clearly than he could have guessed. She looked in the direction of his home, the place where he had entered into the world and had first taken shape and hue. She also seemed to understand the concept of difference as it pertained to them. He had taken this raiment so as not to cause alarm, to appear as one of them, but she was wiser than he had guessed. He smiled again. In truth, the more he had observed the Children the more he felt a connection with them rather than his own kindred in their lofty white towers. Creation was happening here, chaotic, unordered, new. They were building a world that would fit them. This was all he had ever wanted. To create, to order, to master. His kindred hid from such things or wanted them destroyed. It was folly.

He could hear her in his mind again. It was a soft trickle of thoughts. She was new at such communication but she was as her kindred has said: bold. Even so, she was a stream of flowing crystal water next to his torrential river. He would not have her overwhelmed or subsumed. He strained to hear her against the rush of his own thoughts. Her voice within his head was like the sound of a silver bell, high and clear, ringing with quiet strength. The rest of his mind was iron and stone, steel and wood. But as he focused, as he bent his thoughts on her, he could hear her almost as clear as he heard his own thoughts.

Do you have a name?

A name? The word threw him for a moment. Name? The concept was strange to him. He was. A name, a signifier was something used only in context of separating himself for his kindred, to differentiate between him and not him. A name? How long had he gone without using a name, without a signifier, without a concrete sense of identity? For aeons beyond thought he had never needed it. Again, he was. There were a hundred “words” that could signify him, that could count as his “name” but he had never thought of any of them as the purest definition of who and what. So who and what was he?

Slowly, he opened his mind to her, letting her see the flooding river without stepping foot into it yet. He spoke to her the way he and his kin spoke to one another. Not with words, but with images, impressions, emotions. He showed her the first sight of creation that he had beheld, a vast primordial space, a canvas blank and open. He let her feel that surge of excitement, that sense of wander and creativity. He showed her images of his creations, his tutelage under the Smith, his work with He Who Arises with Might. He hid nothing from her, showing the frustrations and limitations he felt with both. He showed her the visions of word he wanted to create, full of art and beauty and order and splendor. All of this was who he was, what he was. But that did not feel like enough. He wanted, inexplicably, to show her who he was on a more intimate level. His… name.

In the language of my kindred, I am called Mayazōnōz.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

Rather than replying in words, he showed her eternity. She waited in his silence as he thought, and then lightly she felt something brush against her; not physically, but as if a light breeze reached out to flutter against her mind. She could still see him, and yet before her eyes she beheld an infinite plain of darkness- and then, the tiniest glimmering pinpricks of stars, which grew brighter and brighter even as, within her mind, she began to hear the soft strains of choral music. Compulsively she closed her eyes: the images solidified, and the music grew louder, swelling within her. She saw, from that starry plain, all of creation begin to blossom. From the music it came, each melody and harmony weaving a new aspect of the world and all that surrounded it together. And she beheld the full vastness of Eä, and was awed. Then came dissonance in the music, and at first too that was beautiful, and creations sprang from it as well; but then the dissonance became discord, and sought to overwhelm the rest. But the harmonies resurged, greater and more beautiful than before, bolstered by a ceaseless voice that made her tremble and when finally the music came to a peak she cried out with the ecstasy of it, and without noticing at all, fell to her knees.

The drone of the music’s aftermath and the unfathomable voice proclaiming Behold your music faded, and her mind was flooded with a deluge of other images. Her hands pressed to her face, as if to contain them; the flood was so vast, the passage of time so great; so much beyond her former comprehension. But she saw it all, everything he had ever experienced, and everything he had ever felt: the rush of creation, the frustration of refusal, the uncertainty that underscored his relationship with the one he called He Who Arises With Might; his visions of the future, of beauty and order and splendor. The intimacy of it was almost unbearable, and the sheer vastness of his thought and memory was almost too much. Almost. She opened her mind and accepted it all, drinking greedily from the flood, not merely accepting but without thought reaching back and pulling in all he would give; and beneath it all she felt the undercurrent of his deep… the new word came to her from the depths of his mind: sorrow.

She opened her eyes. After a moment she felt the soft moss beneath her legs and realized that she was kneeling. An instant might have passed, or a year; she would not know. She looked up at him, hands falling to her lap, and her face was streaked with tears. Were they from the ecstasy or the sorrow? She did not know. Slowly she straightened, and as she rocked forward on her knees thrust out one leg, and shifting her weight atop it, arose in one fluid movement. She looked at him wonderingly, but still unafraid. Again she approached, and this time, closed the distance deliberately.

“Mayazōnōz,” she said, feeling the strange sounds with her mouth. “You are so… sad. Let me show you joy.”

Her hands touched his face again, her hands this time sliding over the back of either side of his jaw under her fingers wrapped the back of his neck beneath the flaming hair, and her thumbs came to a stop before his ears, their tips resting upon his cheekbones. He had given her his thought it seemed without effort; she had never used this form of communication before, not exactly; there was an unknowable communion between her and her fellow, but it was different. Similar, but different. Still, she knew she could do it: and by the same instinctual way, she knew that she needed more than thought, she needed touch. Coming so near she could feel the heat of his body, she raised her chin, and gently pulled him down, until their foreheads pressed softly together.

The memory of her Awakening burst from that contact: the sense of emergence from thick sleep, and then sudden and profound wakefulness, and the first sight of the bright young stars overhead; their brilliance, and her immediate love for them, profound and eternal. The first sight of others of her kind, all Awakening together; the nér beside whom she had Awakened, and then, the song- the very first song ever sung in that place since the music of Creation, wordless, and in praise of the stars and the wonder of life. Then a flood, lesser than his, but a flood nevertheless, of laughter, discoveries, their own creations, and endless days beneath endless startlight of joy, fellowship, curiosity, and love. Her life and memories were of Cuiviénen alone, a life untouched by the thing she now knew to be sorrow, but only the peace and delight of the Children’s youth.
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Balrog
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)


Sad. Was he sad? It took him a moment to ask the question and understand what it meant. Was he sad? Before he could answer or protest, she took his face in her hands again, but she held him differently this time. The way she touched him was much more intimate, much closer. Bold. He smiled, the fire of his eyes mellowing to a warm glow. With her forehead pressed to his, he saw into her mind. Yet he was not probing, he was not searching. She was showing him things. Were the Children able to communicate in this way? Or was she special? He had a feeling that the answer to both questions was a resounding affirmative. Quieting his mind, shutting out the turmoil and heartrend as this woman, this Child, took him on a journey through a strange, new world. For a moment, he was able to leave all thought of the life he’d known before. She led his very soul take him where he longed to be.

The world was new, the world was dark, but the world was full of beauty and wander. The Children were not Awakened with the knowledge of all the deep things, the way he and his kindred had come into being and knew. There was fear, there was trepidation. But there was wanderlust, curiosity, passion, enthusiasm. Such things had been foreign to him and his kindred when they pressed into the world, filter down from out of the Timeless Halls and into Eä. They walked in the full brightness of their being and had no fear, no trepidation, they had not wanderlust, no curiosity, no passion, or enthusiasm. They had function. Function was not enough for him. He wanted more. He wanted art! He wanted form! His frustration must have leaked through to her when he showed her that part of his mind. It was not an easy thing to hide. He found though, the more he was taken through her mind, through her memories and experiences, that he did not want to hide things. Yet this was all something for him to think on later. He watched all that she had to show him, all the sensations and experiences she had had in her short life. Even so, he was amazed. These creatures, these Children, they were unmarred, untainted. None of the powers that be had touched them. They were uncorrupted, uncomplicated. He found himself wanting them to stay that way forever. This life was simple, but she seemed so fulfilled by it. To sing for the sake of singing alone. They had no thought of troubles or schemes. They did seek to bring the world low. They had a wonder of life. Something he and all his kin had never had. Had never had a need for. They had not been awoken, they had not been born. They had simply sprung from the thoughts of the Creator. Being created this way almost felt unfair in contrast to the Awakening of the Children. He had not had wonder and imagination until he had separated himself from his kin and wandered the earth alone.

Yet there had been one thing that had eluded him, a whisper at the edges of his thoughts, a bit of smoke blow away by a careless breeze. He had not known what that was until he had seen it through her eyes: joy. It was a concept he had never imagined, sense of peace, happiness, and contentment all rolled into one simple word. Joy. His kindred would never understand it. They were so alien to the world itself that something so simple, so profound as joy would be incompressible. He laughed, full and loud. He was filled with that peace, that happiness, that contentment. He was filled with a fiery light, a warmth from within his inner core. His chest felt light and full. He let out a long sigh. But it was not the sigh of weariness, a sigh of exhaustion. These Children. They were so lucky.

He pulled away from her and looked into her wild cobalt eyes. “I am sorry.” He realized that his presence had change this paradise. Sorrow. They had never known sorrow. Yet now, now it was here. She had never seen it, never felt it, but she knew what it was now.

He was afraid for a moment, fearing that he had broken something. No, no, he had not broken or blighted this realm of prosperity. He had brought something to it. To fully embrace this world and all that it could grant them, they must understand the fullest extent of themselves. Joy was a gift, but without sorrow, grief, anger, fear, it could never reach its full potential. Joy alone was a knife never sharpened, it dulled over time until it broke.

Another thought came to him. She had asked his name, and he’d spoken a thing out loud that he had never heard spoken. It was long and clumsy, even when spoken by a voice so rich as hers. “Tell me, what are you called?
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

His laughter filled her up from the inside, warm and rich and natural. She could both hear and feel it; something about his laughter came to her through the touch of their skin on skin as she showed him the joy of her existence, and she, too, laughed. When he pulled back from her, though, there was something else in his eyes- a momentary flicker of doubt. But then it vanished, or he pushed it away, and he asked her what she was called. She lowered her hands and looked at him, a bit quizzically, as though waiting for something to happen. But where new words had sprung to mind earlier in their conversing, nothing came to her then. “I have no name,” she replied, her voice light and untroubled, “None has spoken to me for myself, or been given to me by another. When I feel the need of one, I’m sure it will come. Some have names that found them themselves, and some have names bestowed on them. Some still have no names, like me. But that’s alright,” she smiled, “I know who I am. That’s what matters, isn’t it?” But before he could answer, she straightened, and turned her head slightly: a whisper of voices had caught her attention, and the smiled bloomed wider, her race radiant in the starlight at the voices became louder, a distant chorus from the shores of Cuiviénen. “My people are singing!” she exclaimed, turning back to him. For a moment she was torn, but then a ripple of harmony entered the chorus and she wavered no more. Catching up his hands, she pressed his knuckles to her lips. “I must go. But I hope I will see you again! I am here often, and so glad to have met you.” Releasing his hands she turned and ran, not with fear but with delight, her bare feet fleet as a pale deer as she sped back towards the shore where her kin were singing. And her heart was full, but just with the song, or the joy of friendship, but with something new that she did not yet know the full meaning of, but felt was something wonderful:

A secret.
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Steward of Gondor
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@Fuin Elda
Calaerdis



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala was feeling awful about having to turn down this wonderful offer, when the elf, to her further amazement, guessed that she had no parents, and even asked who she was taking care of. Surprised, but still feeling miserable, Cala took a moment before she was able to look up at Fuin, blinking several times to try and make the tears go away. How did she know? Cala had heard strange tales about elves, some said they could read a person's mind, but she wasn't sure about that. The girl rubbed at her eyes, trying to dry them but without success.

"I needed that job," She tried to explain, her voice a little shaky. "I mean, I needed a job, but I wanted that job." She frowned, glancing back at the smith shop. "I just want to learn,” she stated, feeling as if she were being swallowed up in despair, “but.. no one will let me." She couldn't help a little sob-like sound from escaping her throat. "I had a..a forge..sort of..but.. I can't learn how to make things, and do better, because no one will help me...they’re all like him."

Sniffling, Cala tried again to wipe her eyes. She realized that she hadn't really answered Fuin's question. Taking a shaky breath, she tried to compose herself, but it was hard. "S-sorry. It’s...my little brother." She answered softly. "He's too little for such a trip... and far too little to be on his own." She looked up again, feeling absolutely miserable to have to turn down such a wonderful chance. Still, she didn't blame her brother one bit; it wasn't his fault. "I couldn't go, and leave him. He has no one else." She hesitated, then added, "We're all each other has."
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:11 am, edited 2 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

Balrog
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)

He stared in amazement at her. No name? The concept of not having something to identify oneself was alien to him. Yet she seemed so unconcerned and apathetic to the idea that he was forced to rethink his position. She was right in one thing at least, she knew who she was, and what that’s what truly mattered. He knew her too, even without a name. What was in a name, after all? Would not the roses smell sweet regardless of the words attached to them to give them a presence in his mind? And did she not already have a presence in his mind? He had opened himself up to her and shown her things, but there was a part of her that had remained in his mind, a whisper of a silhouette. And she had opened her mind to him, and allowed him to see her Awakening. He did not quite understand why, but that felt like to something more intimate than there was a word for. He remained in her mind as well, a tiny sliver of himself. He had a name, but to her it was not as important as his hair, his eyes, his face. He was defined by that, not by what others had decided to call him. There was a strange glimmer of something, something he had no word for, no basis, no concept. It filled him with a warm in, it started in his chest and blossomed outward until he could feel it in all his extremities. Strange, this form, this hröa, there was still much he needed to learn about it, to learn about himself.

He longed to stay there in that garden. What could he accomplish here? A thousand things and nothing. What would it have mattered? They were not his people, but he had found acceptance by one of them in a way he had never found in his kindred. The Smith and He Who Arises with Might would never have been so open, so accepting, so welcoming. They demanded and they took. They rejected and the broke. That was the way of things. The kiss of her lips on his knuckles had been so simple, so innocent a gesture, but the impact on him was profound. He longed to stay in this place, by water and under stars. He wanted to sing again, for the simple pleasure of singing. He wanted to create for the simple act of creation itself.

He climbed back into the ash tree he had been sitting in, closed his eyes, and listened to the voices singing. It was beautiful.

But something pulled at him. A strong, inexorable, intractable force. He was being summoned. He sighed and opened his eyes. The stars still twinkled and shed their light, but something had changed. There was a dimness. He looked northward, the direction of the summons. He Who Arises with Might would want to know of this place. Would want to taint it, mar it, break it. He would not allow that. The Children must be kept safe from him, as well as the rest of them in the West. None of them had a right to this secret.

Yet he must away…

* - - * - - * - - *
Some months later

He returned. His time away had not been long, not through the concept of time he had held before, but even such a short time away had chafed him. The hours and minutes had stretched into days and weeks. In the darkness of Utumno, far from the reflective light of the pool, far below the stars, the works of destruction and desecration had filled his ears. No matter how far into his mind he delved, he could not find the peace of the singing of the Children by the lake in the garden, sitting in his ash tree. All he heard were the coarse shouts, curses, the breaking of stone and metal, roar of angry fingers, and the wails of pitiful victims. They were a necessarily evil, he had told himself. Yet now he was not so sure. What if there was something else? What if the paths of the Powers were not the only paths? He could forge his own with the Children, shield them and protect them from the evils of the West and the North. They deserved neither stasis nor destruction.

So, he flew back, verily in the form of a great feathered serpent. He had would not waste a single moment.

In the time he’d spent away, he’d practiced his shifting abilities. He moved from one form to another. While he liked the look he showed the Child, he was fascinated by all the forms he could take. Wolves, serpents, lions, bats, spiders, and a hundred other possibilities.

Finally, he saw the stars reflected on the lake and knew, at long last, he had returned. Would she remember him? Would she still accept him? Would she have moved on and lost all interest in him? Instead of changing from his serpentine form into the shape reflecting the Children, he remained. He closed his wings and folded them into himself until he was naught but a common serpent, albeit much larger and with the same red flame color. He would wait and watch to see if she was still who she had been. He could not know what had happened to her in these long months and it was in his nature to be secretive and watchful.

He slithered through the cool grass, smelt the sweet fragrance of the breeze as it brushed passed him. He searched for her, listened for the sound of her laughter, her singing. Even though he had only heard it the once, he knew it to be more fair then even the songs of the Lady of the Stars or the Giver of Fruits.

He searched and searched for her, longing to see her eyes, deep cobalt, reflective of stars so distant they existed as a mere memory, shimmering radiance.

On he searched until he found a small grove, the same grove, he realized, that he’d seen her the first time, beside the ash tree. He slithered forward, breeching the underbrush. Stars shimmered off his fiery scales, creating an iridescent glow about him.

Hello, is that you?
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

So much had happened.

Where before she and her kin by the falls had been alone, and then joined by their brethren who had Awoken nearby, now others had joined them. Three groups of them, in all: quendi they had all agreed to call themselves, the singers. For not only her kindred sang, but these others, too, who were also their kind. There were three néri who had Awoken first, and the third of them, who was called Enel, was the leader of her kindred; and they called themselves the Nelyar after him. The two others, Imin and Tata, had their own groups of people. They were the same as the Nelyar, but their appearances were different: so many different colors of hair and eyes, and all of them were beautiful. Tata, who was the leader of the second largest group, called the Tatyar after him, had been fascinated by her hair. His people were dark of hair, very dark, though among them there was one now and then who had a blush of red to their hair, of even a full head of fiery locks, which reminded her of her friend. She had been the first of the Nelyar of the falls to greet him, and he had wondered at the length and sheen of her silver hair, and from it had given her a name. It was a name of new words; a beautiful name, a name that felt right, despite her thought of not needing one. It was like an ornament, a crown of flowers and herbs she might wear to dance with.

The changes in her were subtle, but she had noticed them right away. Upon first gazing at herself in the reflection of Cuiviénen’s still waters after her meeting with Him, while most others were asleep, she had seen. Something was different about her eyes; they no longer merely reflected the light of the bright young stars, but it was as if the elder stars had brightened therein. It was only because of her communion with Him that she knew of the younger and elder stars, and their light was now more precious to her for that knowledge. And her hair, which had before been lush and silver in the light of the stars, now seemed to have a starlight of its own; even when gentle clouds obscured the sky, she remained undimmed. Tata had not known of the changes he was seeing when he named her, but they set her apart nevertheless. There was also more in her now than there was before: not only the knowledge of Creation and the wider world, and His experiences and feelings, but also a hint of Himself. She had taken from him more than he knew, including knowledge of the language he and his brethren used when they desired words, and a faint, treasured shadow of Him lingered in her mind.

She had returned to her glade many times, as was her wont, but not seen Him there. Each time she had been- not sad, but slightly wistful, for she had so much to share with her friend, this so different but so similar creature. But today, something changed. As she bathed in the waters of Cuiviénen, and play and leisure with many others, she felt the whisper of Him shift somehow, and the sense filled her that he must be drawing nearer. She left the waters and made for the glade, the sense growing stronger as she went. She sang as she approached. The language of the quendi, now that they were all gathered together, had rapidly advanced: but her song was without words, only a melody of delight at his return that needed none. Within the glade she did not see him, the beautiful creature that appeared as a crimson-eyed nér- but she heard his greeting in the chambers of her mind, even as her eyes pinpointed on the bright, fiery creature at the edge of the trees that she had never seen before.

“Hello,” she replied aloud, walking towards him. When they came near, she dropped to her knees, to be closer to him, smiling. “Is this your form now?” she asked, reaching out to stroke the scales of his head, “It is very nice, but I have to say, I liked the other one better.”
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)

She did not run. That was the first sign that things were still as they had been. He had not been sure of what was going to happen. That same strange warmth in his chest returned to him, joy. That was the word she had used when she showed him the things that lifted her spirits. He moved closer to her until he feel her warmth. It was a very different warmth from that of his kindred. They all burned hot with the fires of the Song of Creation. This one, she was the warmth of the distance stars. She was as an ember in the face of a roaring inferno, yet he preferred the ember. Her touch was soft and gentle, just as it had been those many months ago. It was a soothing touch, a healing touch. The rage, frustration, and angst that he had pushed down in his mind in the deepest recesses melted like summer snows. He breathed out a sigh. Inwardly, he smiled. What she was about to see was going to be unique indeed. He slithered closer, coiling himself around her arm, using just enough pressure to pull himself upward.

Indeed it is not, shall I return to that form by which you know me?

Without waiting for a reply he began to shift and change. His serpentine length began to warp and change, the scales burned away, scorched by the fires within him, revealed that bronzed, fire scorched skin of his form. His eyes shifted and moved and changed, settling back to their original position, retaining that red fire and leonine iris that had become his favorite. His hair returned, appearing as if it had simply been invisible the whole time, as red and fiery and alive as ever. His arms, legs, and torso appeared, skin burning through the scales which fell to the glade floor then evaporated into a thick mist. His hand appeared in hers, a gesture of companionship and cordiality. “It has been far too long since I’ve seen you.” Again, using his physical voice caused a stir, a sensation that rippled through him. Words instead of images and waves of feeling. He could not tell if it was more efficient or not. The air stirred and moved when he spoke, the sound of his voice was low, smooth as the rippling of a brook. He closed his eyes and showed her some of the things he seen and created in time away, a mountain sculpted from raw earth and fire. He showed her how he shaped each side, each facet until it shown in the starlight. He showed her the painstaking but beautiful way in which he created hills and mountains, changed the course of rivers and streams to accommodate it. Then he showed her the disapproval of the Smith. The frustration and bitterness at having to lay his wonderous creation low because it did not fit within current chain. Even though he knew he could create a new chain, move the others to fit better, to become more orderly, more wonderous. He showed her the many shapes he took, serpent, lion, bat, and wolf, proud of each form he took.

Finally, when he finished showing her all that he had to show her, he reached behind her to the tree beside them and presented her with a single fruit: a fig.

“I have miss you, my friend.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

High Lord of Imladris
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Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle

@Rillewen

Fuin couldn’t help but feel for the girl. She had never needed a job to survive, elven society was different than that of men, but she’d also always had her parents until she was old enough that she could take care of them if need be. She had not needed to grow up too quickly because of loss. Indeed there had been terrors - Morgoth was ruthless and war was always bitter and there was always danger outside of the Girdle where she chose to hunt… but she never experienced what this poor child was going through.

“I know you wanted that job.” She said softly, she understood fully what needed meant. She could feel the misery in the girl's voice in her body language in everything about her, and then came the information about her brother. Indeed she was caring for someone too young to be able to be left behind or taken with. She shook her head and chuckled.

“I would be upset if I learned you’d left your little brother behind. I am glad you said no to going to Imladris.” She said softly hoping that Cala would calm down enough to understand that Fuin was not going to abandon her; she wasn’t going to let all the hims like the smith of Gondor win. “You are a good person, and I am not going to leave you or your brother to struggle any more than you already have.” Fuin said with a small but kind smile. “NOW. Please let's go find your brother, go to where you call home, or wherever you’ve hidden your stuff, and we will sort it out. Even if I have to buy you your own forge so that I can teach you here in Minas Tirith.” Fuin said with a small reassuring smile as she put her hand on the girl's shoulder. She had a feeling that indeed she would be doing just what she had said, purchasing a forge, so that the girl could learn.

“Although.” Fuin did pause. “I feel like perhaps I should ask your name so that I can stop referring to you as little one, for you certainly are not little enough for that title.”
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:12 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

“I have missed you, too.”

Until that moment she had not known what it was to miss someone. She had felt something in his absence, but not quite put words to it. Never before had there been anyone to miss, with her kin all gathered around Cuiviénen’s waters. At times she had felt a kind of ache when she thought of him, and not known what it was. It was not the kind of pain one felt when stepping on a sharp rock, but a kind of pain nevertheless; something inside oneself, and strange. She had, she discovered, been missing him. Was it normal, to miss someone you had only just met? Perhaps it was to do with the shadow of him that lingered within her. His hand in hers was warm and comfortable as he showed her all the things he had accomplished since their last meeting. It amazed her still, though she had seen the music of Creation, of what he could manifest with his own will. How unfair it seemed that the one he knew as The Smith could not see the beauty of it. But then he showed her his many forms, and she was delighted. How freeing it must be to be able to assume any shape, and explore the world through different eyes? She wondered how different things must feel when he was as she had met him today, a serpent upon the ground, covered in smooth, cool scales. The pressure of his coils around her arm had been tantalizing, and the sight of his transformation, so close, in contact with her, mesmerizing.

She took a bite of the fig. It was perfectly ripe; sweet and juicy, and a drop of its nectar ran from the corner of her lips. She swiped it away with one finger and licked it back into her mouth.

“Aren’t these wonderful?” she said, holding it out to him to share, “We have found many fruits on the land, but I think these might be my favorite.” It was her turn to share, then: where before she had needed the physical connection to him to do so, this time, she thought she might not. As she chewed her mouthful of fig, she pressed her thoughts out to him, the memories of all that had occurred since their last meeting. At first the images were hazy, of other quendi approaching her kindred along the shore of Cuiviénen, but the more she concentrated, the sharper they grew, and the easier it became to will them to him. The many meetings flitted from her mind’s eye to his, the explorations of each other and lands further afield, their songs and, increasingly, their conversations, amidst the rapid development and complexity of their language. She showed him Tata’s admiration, and the word he had used to name her, which rippled off the tongue as her hair rippled through his hands in beholding it.

Tyelpelfindis.
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)

He took the fig back from her, accepting the small fruit already overflowing with juices. He took a bite and verily the fruit exploded. The sweet flavor filled his mouth, cool and refreshing. He and his kind had no actual need to eat or drink, they were being sustained by the power of creation that had indwelled within them. It was a fire that burned and pushed them forward. Food was an afterthought. They had known it would be important, that it would be an integral part of the lives of the Children. He had not eaten before, despite the urgings from his fellows. He had been too busy, too focused on his work, too eager to create and build and craft. Food and drink were unimportant in the face of his plans, his glorious purpose. Yet now, as he bit into the fruit and tasted for the first time, he knew what he had been missing. The flavor was decadently sweet, vibrant and vivacious. The sensation of the cool juices drippling down his chin sent a shiver down his spine. Was all food like this? He blinked in surprised. It was amazing. Words popped into his head by the dozen in an attempt to describe this new and wonderous sensation, but none of them fit, none of them encompassed exactly how it felt, how it tasted, it smelled, how it looked. How long had he been alive? How long had he taken a form to work and craft under the auspices of the Smith? How had he only just found this sensation. He chewed and chewed and chewed. He didn’t want the sensation to end. He wanted the flavors and textures and sensations to last forever. He finally did swallow though and smiled wide. “I think it’s the most wonderful think I’ve ever eaten.”

And then came vision from her. He was surprised. He had not thought of her, of the Children, as capable of implanting visions and memories without the benefit of touch. He had sorely misjudged her capabilities. They had only met the one time of course, and he had no recourse to believe that she was as proficient as she seemed to be. She was talented, a fast learner, bold and impetuous. Such ingenuity and aptitude should be rewarded. He watched as the Children, all the quendi, gathered and sang and mixed and divided into groups. Quendi. He considered the word. It fit them. They spoke with clear, pure voices. There was such variety in the voices, such melody and harmony. As he heard them speak and sing, he was reminded of the Sound of Creation, the music of the Ainur. Someday in the long days ahead, there would be more music of creation, and these voices would join with him and create a better more ordered world with no authority to tell them they were wrong to create as they did. A swell of pride pushed into his thoughts and wrapped around hers as she shared them. Pride in the things they had accomplished, pride in the things they would do, and pride for the simple act of being. She showed him the wonderous mingling sound of voices and ideas. It was amazing to behold. None other of his kin could experience this, it was an event that he had been invited to share in after the fact, a gift rare and precious. He saw them as they named themselves, becoming more and more of what and who they were meant to be. It was… glorious.

And then she shared something else, something more. Her name. He had never experienced anticipation before, never felt the sensation of waiting excitement, giddy with eagerness and enthusiasm. He had not even realized that she had never shared her name before. She had occupied his thoughts as a force of being rather than a named thing, she was wild and free and needed no demarcation to declare herself. There had been no words yet to define what she was and who she would become. Until now. Now there was a name. Now there was an idea. He smiled again, closed his eyes and let her name ring in his mind, louder and louder until it drowned out the sounds of his own chaos.

Tyelpelfindis. It is a beautiful word, a beautiful name. It fits you. You are Tyelpelfindis and Tyelpelfindis is you. You will come to define that name more than that name will define you. You will reach for the stars, and you will grasp them. You have seen the primordial light of existence, the great Flame. In the long days to come, mark me, you will be a flame unto yourself and gather more speaking people to you, you will gather and sing and they will sing under you and create works of art so rarified that not even my kindred can compare.

Tyelpelfindis,” he spoke the name, sending a little of his own power into the name. He turned to face the waters of Cuiviénen as he did. The waters rippled and vibrated as though a strong wind had blown against them. The sound of her name went deep, deep into the waters until it spread to every corner. “And now the Lake of Paradise knows your name. I would speak it to every tree and hill and stone so that the entire world would know you and welcome you.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Omentië
Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
(Private with Frost)

His palpable delight at the taste and sensations of the fig in his mouth still lingered around her, even as his words of praise for her name and her being rang inside her mind. Art, she thought; what was that? It was a concept too ephemeral to come clear to her from the word he used. But it must be something wonderful, to surpass even his kindred. His declarations had a feeling of… something she did not yet have a word for, but things what were meant to be, or would come to pass. When he spoke her name aloud, a thrill ran through her. The beauty of his voice was rich with the echo of Creation and his innate power, and she watched almost with giddiness as he put that power into his voice and caused the waters of Cuiviénen to resonate with her name. She laughed aloud, not with mockery at his idea to introduce her to every tree and hill and stone, but with sheer delight at the thought that he might be able to do so. “And the world so wide!” she exclaimed, “How should I ever know it all to repay that welcome? But come, the least I can do is introduce you to Cuiviénen in return.” She flowed to her feet and pulled him up along with her, leading him by the hand as she darted towards the water’s edge. Her grin flashed over her shoulder at him as they reached it. “Have you ever been swimming?”

Cool water splashed up around her ankles, then settled about her calves as she walked into the lake; then arose to her knees, thighs, and finally engulfed her hips and waist. Still pulling him with her, she pushed off with her feet from the surface beneath the water, and floated out. Releasing his hand, she turned over to float upon her back, watching to see what he did. She sculled with her arms and lightly kicked her feet to stay afloat; it was still shallow enough to stand here, but once she was satisfied he was able to follow, she struck out for deeper water, taking long, languid strokes of her arms as she lay on her back in the water. Then she turned over and showed him how to move through the water one one’s stomach, in a manner that emulated the motions of a frog, and allowed the head to remain above water. And when they had traveled some distance from shore and were in deep, calm water, she stopped and turned to face him. Treading water, she waited for him to settle similarly, and then smiled.

“Cuiviénen knows you now, though it does not know your name, and will be with you always.” She paused. “I have been thinking about your name,” she went on, almost in a tone of confession. The amount of his language she had absorbed from him when he spoke the name Mayazōnōz was great, and had enabled her to turn over many meanings in her mind that she had not known before. And though there was a beauty to the language of his kindred, its sharp edges seemed to prickle. “And how it might be put into my tongue. If I may?” She moved closer to him in the water, her hair floating about her. She had no such power as his to imbue the water with her words, nor no idea what might happen when she spoke next, but this time she did feel the need to touch him. Taking both his hands in her own, she laced her fingers through his and held them upon the surface of Cuiviénen, before meeting his eyes and speaking the name she had devised.

“Mairon.”
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Omentië
Cuiviénen, YT 1051

(Private with Moriel)

Cuiviénen. That was the name of this place. He’d just considered it to be “the grove” and “the lake”. Those signifiers had been enough for him to be able to hold it in his mind. Yet now, with a name, a true name, the place seemed so much more. It was more than a grove and a lake and fig trees. It was music, it was the cool grass, it was the stars wheeling overhead, it was the buzz of the insects, the singing of birds, the murmur of hushed voices, the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore. It was far more than anything he could have accomplished. “Cuiviénen.” He mumbled the name to himself, his voice the sound of boulders rumbling under the earth. He liked it, even the name itself was musical. All the words the Children, the quendi, had a musicality to it. The language of he and his kindred, it was not so much music as it was sound given a shape. They were beings of Creation, of Power, of Song, yet somehow their language lacked imagination and heart. He liked the speech of the quendi much more.

He smiled as they came to the water’s edge. The deep, clear waters reflected the stars, bouncing light off in a hundred different directions. He didn’t quite register her question as she stepped into the lake, the waters lapping around her ankles. He stopped. Swimming? The concept was not unknown to him, not exactly. The Dweller of the Deep, the King of the Waters, held his court in the deepest parts of the great salt waters, he and his wild servant the Foaming Dread, one-time associate of He Who Arises in Might. It was not fear that kept him away from the waters, not exactly, yet something had kept him away. Now that he stood here, with Tyelpelfindis, he could not think of what that reason was.

Deciding it was unimportant, whatever reason it had been, he stepped into the water. The water was cool and refreshing, a shiver ran up his spine. He laughed; the sound was so deep and bubbly that he even he did not know its source. He waded out in the water, following the quendi until the water was up to his waist. He could feel the heat dissipate from within him, the fires that pushed him ever further shrank back. His mind quieted. For that moment, he ceased to thing of order and creation and all the slights against him. He thought of the waters, how it made him feel light and airy, how it moved between his fingers. He laughed again, from that same deep well within him. He watched her move out into the water until she was nearly completely submerged. Yet she didn’t sink. He watched her curiously, wading further into the water. His vibrant, angrily red hair submerged, and he could almost hear it hiss and steam. He grinned and dunked his head fully beneath the surface. The world was so utterly different all of the sudden. He was disoriented at first but in such clear, clean waters it did not last long. He remerged, his body surging back up, creating a cascading wave of movement and liquid. His hair clung him shoulders, chest, and back. He did not know why, but in that moment such a thing seemed the most absurd in all the world. He laughed and watched Tyelpelfindis swim.

He learned quickly, imitating her movements and motions. Soon, he moved from the shallows of the lake into the deep, almost black portion of the lake. He treaded water, moving his arms and legs in a constant rhythmic motion. An idea came to him, a hint of mischief and fun, something he had never had time for before. He cupped his hands together, half in and out of the water, and squeezed, sending a stream of pure water directly at his companion. Again, from the bottomless well, he laughed, loud and deep.

He quieted though when she began to speak. There was much they were learning together, and he hung on the music of her voice, of the words she spoke.

But the words now were sincere and personal. She spoke of him, of who he was, his name. Then she did something shocking, something he almost did not understand. She named him, but not the name he had just known. A new name, a new part of him, a new facet of the jewel that was his persona.

Mairon.

He did not know what to say. He was confused, touched, bewildered, honored. He was silent for a moment, letting the sound of the name, spoken first by her own voice, echo in his mind. He knew that name would never leave him, that when he needed to, he would always be able to recall this moment, this echo was an eternal reverberation. What she had done, she was like him. She, she had created something. Created something not by reflection or imitation, but something wholly new and unique. Her word had created a new space within him.

Mairon…” the word sounded strange in his voice, but more natural, more personal than Mayazōnōz had ever felt. This was his name now, and it would be his until the ending of the Music.

He swam closer to her, took her hands in his and looked deep in her eyes, those eyes that reflected starlight no other quendi would ever see. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Cuiviénen. YT 1051.
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At first she was unsure; his reaction, which she both saw in his face and felt through his hands, was of shock. But something seemed to tingle between their hands as she looked into his fiery eyes, the sensation of something more than this earth, than this water, even than the stars above. And in his eyes she saw a vulnerability, starlight paling his fire, and her heart swelled to see it: the spirit within his hot-forged and defensive form, soft and full of wonder. Though she had created it, this was something that was his now, and his alone. Not to be changed or shared or judged, but only to be his. His whisper touched the tears from her eyes; the first tears of happiness she had ever shed.

“Mairon,” she repeated, and laughed her delight. Then she did a thing both bold and impulsive; a thing which she had before done only with the one whom she had Awoken beside. It was an expression of joy, of closeness, of love in all its forms; an intimate thing she suddenly wanted to share with him, this strange-yet-same friend, a thing for which her people had devised one of her favorite words: miquë. She slipped her fingers out of his and slid her arms up his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him closer until their bodies touched, then pressed her lips to his.

One or both of them must have stopped the paddling of their feet, for suddenly water closed over her head. They separated, and she came up laughing and blowing the water from her face. She swept the hair from her eyes and stroked away from him on her back, her grin flashing in the light of the stars as she repeated his gesture from earlier, squeezing a jet of water at him from her hands. “Come on, Mairon!” she called, “I’ll race you to the waterfall!”
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Cuiviénen, YT 1051

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The gesture was quick, she moved like a serpent in the water, even more than he could have in the guise of an actual serpent. She moved so fast, in fact, that he did not have time to react. She pressed her lips to his and for an instant he felt the coolness of spring on the softness of her lips, a strange and wonderful sensation. He recovered quickly and wrapped his arms around the small of her back. He’d never done something quite like this before, but the motion felt natural to him, it felt as if that was what he was supposed to do in this circumstance. It was not the first time he had experienced this act before, his kindred and he sometimes did something similar in salutation or valediction, but this was much more tender, much more intimate. He Who Arises in Might would often use the act as well, cupping his face and using his smoldering power to envelop him. Mairon liked this form much better, even though it only lasted a moment.

A moment later, by their combined weight so close together and the distraction, they plunged under water and once again he felt that weightlessness of the Void pressing on him. Yet in the Void he had always been alone. This companionship was far more preferable to the loneliness of his own thoughts. He watched her resurface, graceful as a swan. He stayed under the water, watching the twinkling of the stars. They looked so different from down here, at once brighter and further away. It was beautiful. It was artistry. So many of his fellows did not understand that and creation must be tied together. If they could only gaze at the stars as he did, from under the depths, they might understand. The visions he had for the world were predicated on order and structure yes, but beauty and artistry come from that same thought. They were not as inseparable as some believed. He did resurface, breeching the surface of the water like a shark. He flung his head back, sending a spray of water into the air higher than the trees.

He was blasted with a jet of water as soon as he landed, he looked and saw her, a smile wide on her face. Before he could retaliate in kind, she was off in the direction of a waterfall. Never one to back down from a competition, he darted after her. She was a natural swimmer, more agile and fluid than the creatures of The Lord of the Waves, yet he could be just as fast. He paddles after her, his arms dipping in and out of the water. He considered changing his form to that of a shark or a serpent, but by the time that happened she was already too far ahead. Had this race been against his own kind, he would have felt humiliated to lose and endure the mocking scorn and be forced to heap praise upon the winner. Yet when Tyelpelfindis defeated him, he felt no such humiliation, no sting of lose. Instead, he laughed and jumped through the waterfall. If he could not win the race, the least he could do was be more dramatic.
* - - * - - * - - *
15 years later, YT 1066

Returning to Cuiviénen felt like returning home. Despite his real home being far to the West. The cool waters and the sweet breezes made him feel more at ease, more like himself. He had managed to keep this place secret for years now despite moving back and forth whenever he could sneak away from the watch eyes of his jealous kindred, keeping all the quendi from the prying eyes of both Belekōrōz and Arōmēz. The Powers still had no right to know of the birthplace of the Children and the Children themselves deserved to live free of influence from either. They had grown so much in the years he knew them. They were more than just “speaking people” as their name for themselves had suggested. They were so much more. They were natural craftsmen, creators, artists, and dreamers. Even the name “Children” did not fit them anymore. They were no longer the beings huddled together around fires desperate for warmth. They never had. “Children” was a poor name for creatures born of starlight and song.

He took his form again, the tall, handsome form with the flowing red hair and burning eyes. It was his favorite form, it was a form he only used here, where he was known and understood. It was a form that closest mirrored and reflected his thoughts and desires, it had been his form during the Music of Creation when all his kindred took shape and created their music.

The grass was cool beneath his bare feet. The air was warm and welcoming. He’d come to the grove once more, the place he had met Tyelpelfindis, where he had been given his name. Mairon. It was a secret name, a name that he kept hidden from his fellows but used freely here.

For some time, he did not seek her out, preferring to sit in his ash tree and gaze at the stars, listen to the quiet lapping of the waters of Cuiviénen, hear the distant singing of the quendi either alone or in small groups. The entire region was filled with the music of their voices. It was alive and full of wander. From his vantage point, he could listen and imagine. What would it have been like to have these voices in the Song of Creation? What wonders could they have contributed to? It was almost unfair that they were left out and so many others had been given parts they did not deserve. Eventually, he climbed down from his ash tree, another of his secret companions and stood on those sacred shores. The stars twinkled and flittered as they always did. Here was a place of peace and tranquility, of unblemished benevolence, the most honest place in all of Eä. He found their fig tree and gathered a feast of them. The smell was wonderful, sweet and bright. He closed his eyes and opened his mind. Their connection was strong, especially here. He could feel her presence and by now she would be able to feel him.

I’m back he said, and I’ve picked some more figs for us to share.
Last edited by Akhenanat on Thu Sep 02, 2021 4:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Their meetings at the grove beneath the stars were intermittent, but always happy. The secret grove on that far shore of Cuiviénen with its small falls, a place of contentment and separation. Sometimes when he came he carried with him the burdens of the outside world, of his work, but they would always melt away when he allowed himself to simply be. And Tyelpelfindis told, and showed him, everything that the quendi had done and discovered, each time they met. It had not been long after their second meeting that the first children had begun to be born to the elves, a strange and exciting thing; for though Mairon sometimes referred to her kind as a whole as Children, these were true children, begotten and born, coming into the starlit world scarcely formed. Those who begat and bore them seemed to know what to do, somehow, and all learned together, but these children grew slowly in body, and the first of them even now remained so small. But they learned voraciously of language, and all else that their parents and kin had come to know. Tyelpelfindis loved them all. The first child among the Nelyar had been born to a pair of her dearest friends, who had taken the names Magarric and Trawyn. They had been late to adopt words, though they learned them all, and their son’s first language had been the wordless songs of the Awoken. But learn they did, and speak they did, and so did he, and after some time they called him Davos, and he held a special corner of Tyelpelfindis’s heart.

But today, she ran away from the Children and their children, back to the grove where her friend awaited. Mairon had returned, and she could feel his happiness. Over the years, she had found that as he drew near, she could begin to feel his presence; not when he was far to the North, and wherever else he went when he was not here, but as be began to approach Cuiviénen, the essence of him began to whisper to her like a faint breeze, strengthening like a rain about to arrive. And when he opened his mind to reach out to her, the cloud burst, unleashing its burden in a refreshing shower of life. Tyelpelfindis ran, bright eyed and merry, the hem of her robe trailing behind her and flapping silently on the breeze of her flight. Some time ago, the quendi had begun to experiment with garments, and the weaving of fibers into cloth. Many of them had now adopted the wearing of garments; not for the sake of modesty, for this was still an unknown concept to the Unbegotten and that first generation of children, but for the enjoyment of them, for the warmth, and for the pleasure of the art that they had begun to create with them.

Tyelpelfindis had been unsure at first, but a friend who was most skilled at weaving had presented her with the garment she wore now: the lightest of robes, all white, its fabric woven of she knew not what, but so light and whisper-thin as to hardly be there at all. It draped from her shoulders to the ground, and its sleeves were longer on the underside than the upper, to hang below her hands. Tyelpelfindis found that she loved it, how it moved with her, how it wrapped her body, how its single thing layer shielded her skin from the occasional cold breeze; how it billowed behind her when she ran with it untied, and how it seemed almost to float when she walked, though it trailed slightly behind her. It was a beautiful thing, and she delighted in it. Tyelpelfindis ran until she reached the grove, then slowed to a walk as she neared him, there beside the fig tree. As she came to a walk the robe settled lightly about her; it was fastened with one tie at her navel, and much of her chest was still exposed, and her legs passed through its opening as she walked.

“Hello, Mairon,” she greeted him as she drew close, her smile as beatific and joyful as ever, and put her arms about his neck to embrace him, “welcome back.”
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The warm embrace of Tyelpelfindis was a balm that washed away his weariness. She was light and airy and full of bubbling joy. The aches and pains of the body and soul could not withstand the brightness of her smile nor the light in her eyes. He returned the embrace, showing her snippets of the places he’d been, the things he’d seen. They had not yet ventured beyond the confines of their garden, but when they did (and they would eventually), he wanted her to know the world and for it to know her. He showed her green trees that were nigh as tall as mountains and reached to touch the stars, a land where seven rivers flowed together as one with sweet, crystal clear waters, grey sloped mountains capped with pristine white snow. When they broke the embrace, he looked at her with a hint of a smirk and tilted head. “Well, things have progressed it would seem.” He admired the raiment she had chosen for herself. Clothing wasn’t new to him; his own kindred would often robe themselves in fantastical colors and materials. They would array themselves in robes of starlight or in a thousand multicolored leaves. Some even robed themselves in living fire. There was no end to the creativity of garments. The same could be said now of the quendi. Their materials were more terrestrial and mundane, but that could not diminish the beauty and creativity of their works. “You look magnificent, like a star come down to earth. The heavens must be jealous.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. He began to give thought to his own raiment. Before now he’d always come clad in naught but his skin, preferring the freedom and vitality it gave him. He was not disappointed though. He was more imaginative than the Western Powers, why should he not flaunt that magnificent ability? His friend would doubtlessly be more impressed and appreciative than the traditional conformists.

He took a step back and snapped his fingers, he’d learned over the years to have a flair for the dramatic. First, his eyes changed to a pure, crystal blue like ancient ice, his left pupil larger than the other. His hair changed from the deep, molten red to a shimmering blonde, not unlike Tyelpelfindis’ own hair. The length changed as well, some became longer while more lessened and grew shorter, he conjured up a breeze that blew through his hair and gave it volume, seemingly floating as he moved. His outfit, much like hers, was dozen shades of shimmering bright white, but his stole light from the stars in the form of gems that glittered along the hemlines and a large bunch of ruffled lace at his throat. He conjured the blue of the sky outside Valinor and made a jacket of that color, equally shimmery and iridescent.

“Tell me, my friend,” he said raising his hands and turned about, “what do you think of my outfit? But tell me, what other things have I missed since I last saw you?
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She laughed softly as he compared her to a star, making envious the ether above. “I can but reflect their light,” Tyelpelfindis replied through her laughter, “and sing their praises.” She watched him as he stepped back, and his transformation began. She loved to watch him change, and over the years she had seen him take many forms and appearances. But it was one of the things that set him most apart from her and her kind, this fantastic ability to change his shape at will. Still, she did not begrudge it him. It was wondrous to behold. Tyelpelfindis smiled, taking in his new appearance, with all its flamboyance. “You are beautiful,” she said, admiring him. Within the flamboyance, though, it seemed there was something self conscious. Something inside him that demanded he be… different? Exceptional in some way? That he create something new and defiant. She understood, from all he had shared with her, why this was so, but she wished he could see how wonderful he was, as himself. She stepped towards him again and reached up to touch his face lightly with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, in her mind she formed an image of his new form, but slightly altered: in her image, his hair lengthened and grew evenly, sweeping down his back in a manner similar to hers. The pupils of his eyes evened too, allowing their icy-blue irises to shine in the starlight. The lace vanished from his throat, and the unimaginable blue of his jacket lengthened into a robe much like hers, sweeping to the ground so that the skies of Valinor swirled all around him, in all the colors of blue that did not exist here at Cuiviénen, but he had showed her inside her mind. In her image he appeared much like one of the Nelyar, but still exceptional, arrayed in all the colors of a sky none but he there had seen, and the tangible light of stars. As she formed this image she pushed it gently towards Mairon, to share her vision with him. And when she opened her eyes, she was astonished to see that her vision had become reality.

“You are beautiful,” she repeated, staring up into his eyes, now shaped like those of her fellow quendi, but alight with an icy fire.
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Calaerdis



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala took a few slow, shaky breaths, trying to calm herself. She was strong, or at least tried to be, and she couldn't be strong if she kept crying. She wiped her eyes again, trying to calm the tide of emotions. It was good to hear Fuin say she was glad she’d refused. It did make Cala feel a bit better for having had to turn down the offer, however much Cala had wanted to accept it. She still wished, more than anything, that she could have gone with her to Imladris. It would have been wonderful to see the place where elves live, and to work in the forges of the elves, learning from them. How wonderful a place like that must be, she could only imagine.

The kind elf assured her that she would not leave her to struggle alone, and Cala looked up at her in slight wonder. She'd been on her own so long, it hardly seemed possible that someone, an adult, was going to help her. An elf, no less! She even couldn't help feeling a bit skeptical. "Truly?" She asked softly, unsure if it was safe to believe her. She surely didn’t mean it when she said that about buying a forge for her. No one would go that far out of their way to help an orphan girl like her, and certainly they wouldn’t put forth such an expense just to help her… would they?

Fuin spoke of going to where she called home, and Cala hesitated at that. She was reminded that they had no home now. But she didn't want to think of that. She hadn't even told Radaron, yet, she remembered. And where would he be? Even as she began thinking of where to find her brother, Fuin's last question reminded her that she had yet to give her name! Cala was a little startled to realize she hadn't done so, and felt a little ashamed for her lack of manners. "Oh.. I'm sorry. I'm Calaerdis, but.. everyone calls me Cala," she added, not mentioning that the only one around this place who even called her by name was her brother.

"I left my things here," She added, moving for the nearby alley where she had intended to go to cry. Retrieving her bundle, she frowned as a few metal tools she had made came tumbling out of a loose corner, and knelt to gather them up. She was unwilling to leave them, as they were the few things she had left of her own making. "I have to find my brother," she mentioned, a little awkward, and suddenly wondering if maybe she wasn't the best caretaker; she had no idea where he might be, only that he would return home when he got hungry and now he wouldn't know why he wouldn't be able to get inside.
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:13 am, edited 2 times in total.
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He saw her vision of him in her mind’s eye, a type of sharing technique they had perfected over the years and the many visits. It was often how his people communicated when they did not want to use speech to convey ideas and emotions (which was often). She had taken to it quite well, as she had with so many other things he had taught her and the quendi had learned on their own. Such a resourceful people. Her vision, though, was a much scaled back image of him. There was less flamboyance in her image, less aloof and detached. There was a vulnerability within the image she crafted for him, a vulnerability he was not sure he could accept. Weakness was not something his kin, north or west, tolerated. Nonconformity had been his way of protecting himself, setting himself apart. He was a rebel against the flock, chafing at the mindless directions of the shepherd. Yet there was a beauty in the image she created that he could not deny. The robe was exquisite, glorious one could call it. The colors remained. She had seen the colors of Aman in her mind, greeted them and let them embrace her. She knew secrets none of the quendi knew, she knew of colors and lights and trees and rivers and lakes that none of them had ever seen. Should her people choose to explore, she would be a leader among them because of her deep knowledge of the world to come, he had seen to that. Her vision of him was striking, beautiful, majestic, regal. He appeared as one of her people. Deep in his heart, he was touched. Even though they were clearly different, though those differences were amounting to very little as time went on, she did not see him as alien or strange. It was as it had been when they first met, ash and oak. Different trees with different strengths and weaknesses but still the same in terms of classification. Sometimes, he wandered if it was not she who was the ash and he the oak rather than the other way around in his original analogy. Not wanting to disappoint her, he shifted his form slowly to match the vision. His eyes changed, his irises shifted to those of a cat, as his original eyes had been, but kept that radiant blue that reflected the light of the stars. His hair changed to reflect a similar style to hers, lush and swept back, billowing in the breeze, to be ever so slightly cheeky, he added a few streaks of blue amidst the vibrant, silver blonde. His clothing warped and shifted, mere matter for him to manipulate and order as he would. It matched what she had shown him in her vision, the robe was as glorious in reality as it had been in imagination.

“Is this more to your liking?” he asked with more than a hint of mischief in his tone. “If I did not know better, I’d say you were dressing me up so I could meet some of the other quendi.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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She took in every inch of him, exactly as she had pictured him in her mind. No, not exactly- she could not have imagined exactly how the form would look with his spirit behind it, scintillating in blue and silver. The real thing was alive, and vibrant, and wonderful. “Yes,” she replied without shame or guile, for this form was indeed more to her liking than the former, oddly defensive one he had occupied, all asymmetry and defiance. It was, to her, more like him, and more like his usual fiery appearance. Another facet of the jewel that was her friend, Mairon. She laughed at his suggestion that she were dressing him up, but he eyes brightened at the rest of his sentence. In all the time they had known each other, they had never ventured outside this glade, its waters, and the hill from which she watched the stars. She had never especially wanted to, and Mairon was her secret; something that was her own, among the communal life that was her kin by the shores of Cuiviénen. And he had never seemed to want more than this either, content to be and share with her here. But now, arrayed like one of the Nelyar in form and clothing, something inside Tyelpelfindis altered, and of a sudden she seized his hand.

“Would you like to?” she asked eagerly. Without waiting for his answer, she turned and fled back the way she had come, keeping hold of Mairon’s hand. Had he ever run before? Her grin flashed over her shoulder as she pulled him with her. “Come, Mairon!” Together they ran, along the mossy swards, beside the trees, between the woods and waters, until they reached the larger shore of Cuiviénen, where the elves dwelt. Some of the quendi had built dwellings near the great water or slightly back in the forest. All the kindreds mingled now, and many colors of hair shone beneath the stars as they moved about. As they drew near, Tyelpelfindis slowed to a walk, and at last released his hand. They walked along the water’s edge, and now and then one called out or waved to her, and she replied in kind. They came to a place on the bank where it swelled into a hill beside the water and, taking Mairon’s hand again, she led him up its side and around to its top, where it flattened, and there stood a small shelter, of woven pine boughs over a frame, and a ring of stones where a fire was sometimes lit. It overlooked the wide water of Cuiviénen into the far distance, and the unknowable horizon beyond, and the glittering stars above, and the banks all around where the quendi might mingle. Smiling, she turned to him.

“Welcome to my home.”
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“Would you like to?” It felt like a very loaded question. He wanted to, yes, but also, he didn’t. As soon as he revealed himself to the Children, to the quendi, the secret nature of his relationship with Tyelpelfindis would be lost. Was he ready to lose that? There would be much to gain, that was assured, but such a deeply personal and intimate relationship could be lost. Would the gain outweigh the risk? Mairon was not so sure. He’d grown so accustomed and comfortable with their secret, their glade by the waterfall on the lake. He didn’t want that to end. He and his people, despite his many differences from them, were slow to change.

It was all, however, a moot question. She took him by the hand and led him through the glade, his footfalls matching hers. There was a light joy in her eyes, in her steps, and in the way she laughed. How could he deny her that joy? It was her secret as much as it was his, and if she wished to reveal that secret, then he had no right to deny her the joy of revelation. Each step outside the glade was a new one. The grass felt the same, but it looked greener, richer, softer. He believed himself to be above the “shiny object” phenomenon, but all the newness of this place was overwhelming in the best possible way. There were so many smells, flowers, trees, fruits, and vines. There so many sights, shimmering waters, blossoming trees, and natural fountains. There were so many sounds, a dozen different voices singing wordlessly in unison here and there, the bubbling sound of water, and the rush of the wind. It was beautiful. Mairon had thought that he’d seen the beauty of Cuiviénen before, from his secret glade. That had been from the outside looking in, now that he was truly setting foot in the gardens, he was rendered speechless. Those in west did not know true beauty like this. The Smith and The Giver of Fruit could labor for a thousand years yet they would never achieve this. And in the North, well he did not care for beauty at all.

He still had his secret, he realized. Even should he meet all the Quendi that walked under the stars in this place, he would still have his secret; and they would share in that secret. He smiled and his eyes glittered with mischief and pretension. Those high-minded bastards had been searching for the Children for years now, desperate to find and control them. Yet here he was, standing in their midst as if it were nothing short of mundane. He scoffed to himself. Their posturing divinity would be their downfall.

He followed Tyelpelfindis up a hill and through a press of pine crudely but beautifully crafted into a dwelling. It was quaint, but in that quaintness and simplicity there was potential without presumption. He looked out over the edge of the hill, passed the sapphire depths of Cuiviénen to the dim glow in the west.

“Your home is of surpassing loveliness, my friend, it is something to be proud of. Thank you for showing it to me.”
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She smiled, and squeezed his hand. She had sensed his unease, his uncertainty whether coming here had been the right choice, and her eyes shone with the pleasure of his admiration of her home among the quendi, and of this, the full awe that was Cuiviénen. She too cherished their secret, but the sudden urge to share with him this place had overtaken Tyelpelfindis, and her gladness could not be surpassed.

“You are always welcome here,” she replied. Though she was overjoyed to share her home with Mairon, she did not exactly wish to go around introducing him to all and sundry; there were still very few of them, and there would be many questions that neither of them might be prepared to answer. But she had brought him here, and there was something she knew she must share with him. Tyelpelfindis turned to face him, her look intent.

“Sing with us, Mairon.”

It was not a question, not yet a command, but a simple imperative. Turning back to look out over the wide water, Tyelpelfindis lifted her chin, and then her voice. She began alone, but almost at once, many other voices joined in: it was an old song, much as any song of the quendi could be old; a wordless song of praise to the stars above, which the Nelyar of the falls had sung on their Awakening, and which had been retread and embroidered and refined many times. The Nelyar lifted the stars in song to the clarion call of Tyelpelfindis’s voice; and they were joined by the voices of other kindreds among them, who had learned of the song and brought their own praise and love to it over the years. As she and Mairon had made their way to this spot, they had heard snatches of singing here and there, but nothing like this. The choir of Cuiviénen sang in unbridled joy, as one body, one beam of light with many splintered facets contained therein. Their voices rose and fell, harmonies building and spiraling as they sang. Tyelpelfindis remembered all the anguis and frustration her friend had suffered during the song of Creation, and since, and as her voice soared high in a cascading descant, she silently urged him.

Sing with us, Mairon. Let this be your joy.

***

Late YT 1080



Something was wrong.

In the years since the time she had brought him to sing with her people, Mairon’s absences had grown longer and longer, but he always returned, and his visits rejuvenated him. They shared the happenings since their last meetings, and spent many hours together in the seclusion of their secret glade, talking, swimming, braiding one another’s hair, studying the stars, or sitting handclasped in a silent communion of the minds. The quendi continued to develop: the complexity of their language grew ever deeper, their children grew, and a third generation began to be born. They grew in skill at all things, their garments and homes becoming more refined and they began to find more and more ways to work with their hands, and things to create. Cuiviénen was their haven, and though some, like she, wandered afield in exploration, none had expressed any desire to stray into the wider world they had all come to realize must be there.

But something had changed: it was in the latest of Mairon’s absences that it began. Strange whispers began to permeate the senses of those who wandered. Not quite voice, not quite thought, they spoke words of wheedle at time; at times, words of terror. The quendi who heard them fled, returning to the comfort of Cuiviénen, and told of them to their kin. They began to see, outside the reflected starlight of the water, now and then shapes, creatures of what form they knew not, but solid and real. The quendi devised a name for them; it was an ugly word, awkward in the mouth, that forced one to slow down and carefully pronounce it, to acknowledge it for what it was: ungualaco, a wild wind of shadow. Whatever these creatures were, they were the first beings other than themselves the quendi had encountered that spoke with words, and those that spoke malevolence far outnumbered those that spoke with honey.

Some returned from encounters with these creatures seemingly convinced that they were friendly, and that the quendi should go with them, but for the most part they were convinced otherwise by their fellows once out of sight of the ungualaco. Most were shaken and fearful, and fled their encounters. The quendi began to stay closer to the waters of Cuiviénen, where it seemed the creatures dared not go. They began to sing of their experiences, for such was still the basest and most essential way of communication among them: and for the first time, the quendi knew fear, weaving it into their songs. They sang of their fear, of their questions, of their wonder at why this was happening and what they should do, imploring the stars for guidance. And still Mairon did not come. Tyelpelfindis watched her kin grow frightful of the world outside their water and she, too, felt something grip her insides, a thing she only could put a name to because her friend had showed it to her in their many silent talks: trepidation. Apprehension at what was, and what might be to come. She did not know what Mairon might know of these creatures; he had never shown them to her, but surely he must know something?

Then, quendi began to vanish. The first to be taken was a child, an adventurous youth who had slipped from his mother’s watch and gone into the forest alone. His scream had awoken the sleeping quendi, but by the time they rushed into the trees, there was nothing to find but a lingering chill. A new word had to be devised. Grief. All the quendi mourned with the parents of the lost child, and their fear heightened, for this was the closest the creatures had yet come, and the most sinister they had yet appeared. Still there were those who left the safety of the waters, and now and then one did not return. Trawyn, who had always wandered the furthest of all the Nelya of the falls, possibly the furthest of any of the quendi, made a narrow escape: she returned from an ungualaco encounter wild-eyed, her arms wreathed with marks that resembled back flame. Trawyn had always been different, as had her spouse Magarric; she, the wanderer, and he, who gazed more intently than any at the stars above, but after her encounter she was changed. Her wanderings became more erratic, as did her speech, and the faraway looks in her eye spoke of things seen and unseen. Davos had asked Tyelpelfindis What is wrong with my mother? and she had no answer. It was on a day when the light of the stars seemed to have dimmed and she could find no joy, when she had knelt weeping beneath the canopy of her shelter, that Tyelpelfindis at last threw back her head and shouted silently across the long distance between them, despairing of whether he would hear her, her thought buoyed by all the grief and fear and anger of the ungualaco days,

Mairon! I need you!

The images flashed through her mind without her will: the sounds of the screaming parents whose child had been taken, the quendi drawing close together about their fires, windows and doors tight-shut, Trawyn’s black-scarred arms, the whirl of smokelike creature she herself had once glimpsed, and the song of the quendi’s fear.

I need you! Please, come now!
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Cuiviénen, YT 1080

(Private with Moriel)

Minutes stretched to hours, hours stretched to days, to weeks, to months. Mairon counted the moments he was away from Cuiviénen until the numbers grew so large in his head he would begin to despair. He returned as often as for as long as he could, finding peace, order, and rejuvenation by the sacred azure waters. He would speak often and for long hours with Tyelpelfindis. They would speak on a hundred different subjects; she was voracious for knowledge and information about things. They would speak on philosophy and she would question him for hours on “why” and “how” and “to what end”. When they would speak of history, she would ask him “when” and “how many” and “to what end”. Those were days that he would not have traded for anything. When he was away and thought back, he gathered that he learned just as much from them as they from him. He taught them a few rudimentary smithing skills, how to find the precious bits of fallen starlight they called jewels and how to shape it according to one’s own imagination. There were so many things he wanted to teach them and show them and instruct them on, but he knew he could not be overeager and share his bounty of knowledge and secrets lest they become overwhelmed and their hunger cease. He learned the value of patience, though he ignored it as often as he heeded it. Patience was not a virtue Mairon felt was crucial to his glory.

This absence had been the longest he’d been away. He’d tried to escape the bounds of He Who Arises in Might a dozen times but had always been called back for some reason or another before he was able to make clean his escape. He feared his master was growing suspicious of him, that he suspected something was not quite right in the honeyed words Mairon used. Suspicion and paranoia were part of the nature of He Who Arises in Might, so much so that he may as well craft simulacrum children and name them for his virtues. He walked in the dark places of the world huddled and hunched, looking for ways even his most loyal would betray him.

Was Mairon betraying him? It was difficult to tell anymore. He had betrayed so many trusts, planted so many seeds of secret envy it was hard to tell really whose side he was on anymore. Something so ponderous and prosaic as “sides” seemed beneath him the more time he spent with the quendi. Yet he could not shake that seed that He Who Arises in Might had planted so long ago.

He could feel her calling to him. It was like the tugging of his cloak against the wind of his mind. There was something wrong, something different in the way she tried to reach him. Consternation and confusion in equal measures roared in his soul. He knew the Powers were looking for the quendi. He himself had been tasked with finding and possessing them too. The hypocrisy of the Powers to believe that they could own and corral the Children. It spread a corrosive fire in Mairon’s belly. It was not so much protectiveness of the Children as the anger at the Powers. What right do any of them have? He found them and yet he did not possess them, did not lord over and rule them as the Powers would. He did not set rules and laws over them dictating how they ought to think, act, and believe. He knew the Powers would; beings who, in their infinitesimal infinite wisdom, would prescribe a twisted moral order of beings that ought to have no use for such a thing. It was like teaching the wind to speak with the voice of the mountains. It was perverse and wrong.

He went. The urgency of Tyelpelfindis’ call would brook no delay. He changed his form into a fox, something He Who Arises in Might and the rest of the western Powers would not comprehend and ran. He ran and ran and ran until he felt like his form would burst and scatter his essence all over the forests and fields. The closer he came to Cuiviénen the more of the wrongness he could feel. There was something here. Something that was not meant to be in this bucolic paradise. There was a foul presence here, something like rot covered in oil, it had a greasy feel to it in his mind. It was one of the many servile corruptions of his master, a broken creature twisted and turned inside out so many times it didn’t know the earth from the stars. Perhaps it had at one point been a fox as well, but what it was now no one could truly say. It was malignant, caustic, vomitous. A spy from the subterranean halls of his master.

An icy cold finger jabbed into his stomach. It would not be long before he knew about them. The noose was tightening, no matter what Mairon had done in the past to prevent their discovery. Time, which they’d always had in overabundance, was running out.

I am here, Tyelpelfindis. His words were not soft and welcoming, but frantic and twisted with anger and frustration. He could not shake the feeling that there were things already beyond his control.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle

@Rillewen


Fuin nodded as the young woman asked if she truly meant it. Indeed she did. “It is nice to meet you Cala.” Fuin followed the young woman into an alley and watched her pick up her bundle tools falling out of a loose corner. Fuin pulled her pack off of her back, it was small and light for the time being, as she’d just come to town. “Put them in my bag, I’ll carry them for you, that way you don’t have to worry about them falling.” She said and pulled it open. A few moments later she had the much heavier pack on her back once more and they needed to go find Calas brother. It was clear the young woman wasn't entirely sure where to find him even if she didn't want to say as much, her silence about where he was spoke volumes.

“Well, we need to find him. Where would he normally meet you after you’ve had a long day of dealing with smiths being useless? That might be an excellent place to start.” Fuin said calmly and walked with Cala, not questioning her on how she was raising her brother, after all she was still a child herself and had managed to get them this far on her own. And how long had that been? Fuin wasn’t sure but she was proud of this girl for what she had managed to accomplish so far. She was trying to make it so she wouldn’t be too embarrassed by Fuin asking more questions right now. If that was all of their possessions in that little bundle then Fuin had a lot of work to do to make sure Cala and her brother were safe and set. Fortunately she had left a decent amount of money here when she had passed through on her way to the East, so she was confident that she’d be able to get Cala and her brother comfortable for a long time when she finally did leave though how long that would be? That would be up to Cala she supposed in terms of how swift a learner she was and how far along she already was.

“What is your brother's name?” She asked as they headed… somewhere. Fuin wasn’t entirely sure where they were going.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:13 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Calaerdis and Radaron



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala paused in slight surprise when Fuin told her to put her tools in her pack, but did so after only a small hesitation. "Thank you." She felt a bit self-conscious about her work, realizing how poorly-done it must appear to this master smith. But it was the best she could do, given what little she had to work with, and Cala also had not mentioned that it was her own work. Maybe Fuin wouldn’t realize it.

Once they had set out to find her brother, Cala hesitated at the question about where he would meet her. She decided she'd rather not answer that, feeling a little ashamed at having lost the only home they had. She didn't know what to say, or where to go to find him, but started walking in a random direction, with some reluctance. "He'll be playing with some friends, I'm sure." She answered quietly, a bit evasively. As she walked, she glanced around, keeping an eye open, just in case she might spot him.

Then Fuin asked her brother's name, and Cala suddenly hoped that, in selecting his name, she had gotten the elvish meanings right. As they turned a corner, she began, "His name is-" Suddenly she gasped and leaped back as a wooden cart came thundering past her and nearly plowed her and Fuin down, with a handful of children riding on it, merrily laughing and clearly having a great time.

"RADARON!" She yelled, glimpsing him right in the front of the cart, with a big grin plastered across his face. Probably the ringleader of the miscreant crew, she realized. With a groan, she dropped her bundle and ran after him, a bit horrified and embarrassed to realize the sort of mischief he was involved in... which she'd been totally unaware of and now felt responsible for. More than that though; she feared that he or the other children might get hurt, if they crashed into something!
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:14 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle

@Rillewen

She was following along quietly. She could tell that Cala was a bit worried about something. What, Fuin didn’t know, but her body language and how she was glancing around looking for something made her wonder. All of a sudden Fuin had Cala leaping back at her out of the way of a cart and yelled a name. And took off with a groan at a full sprint. Fuin blinked, a bit shocked and laughed. “Well, we found the brother.” She said and picked up the bundle of items and began following after Cala, still at a leisurely walk. She wasn’t too worried, though she supposed the little cart could run someone over, the path levelled out soon and it would lose momentum and then Cala would undoubtedly catch her little brother and then… Well then he had better earn his name making up a story as to why he thought that was a good idea.

As far as she was aware, children bounced quite nicely, as one of her father’s friends had said when she was much much younger, in terms of not getting hurt when they fell or crashed into something. As long as it wasn’t an elderly person they crashed into, she thought, casually walking down the road listening to the cart and Cala and not being able to help herself but laugh at the antics of the younger boy.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:13 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Calaerdis and Radaron



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala caught glimpses of various people hurriedly jumping out of the way of the cart as the children flew past them. She feared, worst of all, that a guard might become involved. Or even worse, that the cart might hit a bump and go flying, and the children might get hurt. Radaron was her own responsibility, of course, but the other children had parents, she guessed. Parents who would be very angry if their kids got hurt because of her brother... and since he was too little to take responsibility for whatever might happen, it would fall on her. Not only that, but she couldn't afford to pay a healer if her brother got hurt. And what if they hit some elderly person?

The girl was a bit winded as she finally caught up to the cart, which had gradually rolled to a halt, as Fuin guessed it would. Cala dragged her brother out of it by his arm, trying not to frighten him too much, but really quite upset with him. "What do you think you're doing, Radaron!" She demanded. Cala had been frightened at the thought he might get hurt, and also angry at the fact she hadn't been able to watch him, because she was so busy trying to get a job and trying to support them both that she couldn't watch him as much as she should. "You scared me half to death.. don't you know how dangerous that is? You could've all been hurt, or killed... or the guards might've come after you and.. and.." she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.

"We wouldn't get hurt," The little boy looked up with big, innocent eyes, surprised at how upset his sister was. "We done it hundres a times." He informed her, as if that absolutely made it perfectly fine for them to do this.

Cala stared at him, unsure how to respond to that. "Whose cart is that?" She asked, unable to even think how to scold him with a reply like that. "Where did you get it?" She demanded, feeling a bit like a total failure at everything right now.

Radaron shrugged. "Somewhere up the hill." he pointed with his good arm, the other dangling down by his side, covered by the empty sleeve. "No one was using it." He added, as if that made it all fine.

Cala closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "You can't just take things, Little Brother! It belongs to someone, whether they were using it or not!" She didn't know how to handle this, and felt a bit lost. "I can't..." She sighed. "You're done playing for today." She told him, frowning, noticing that the other children had quickly dispersed the moment an older person had come along to scold them. "Come on, we need to take this back where you found it, and then... I don't know..." She hesitated, quite unsure where to proceed from that point, and unsure what was to happen with her life now, and if Fuin may have changed her mind about getting involved with her, after seeing the wild antics she let her brother get up to…
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:22 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


She caught up to Cala and the little boy and saw very quickly why Cala couldn’t possibly leave. She was right, he wouldn’t be able to make the journey, he was still quite small, possibly more so from not eating as well as he should be. “So you’re Radaron.” She said looking down at the little boy, seeing he had only one arm. The woman absolutely towered over the little boy with a calm look on her face. “Next time, I’d prefer introductions to not be via near hit-and-run by cart.” She said calmly. She handed the parcel of items to Cala, who seemed to be at a loss for what to do with the young boy.

“Now, if I heard you right, you took this cart because nobody was using it?” She asked, and he nodded his head, staring wide-eyed at the tall lady towering over him. “Alright, you are going to help me push the cart back up to where you found it, and if there is someone there looking for it you’re going to apologize to them, because imagine they needed it and it wasn’t there.” She said calmly. “Like, if say, someone were to take your sister and leave with her and you didn’t know where she was… That would be pretty scary for you, and upsetting, right?” The little boy nodded, his eyes going wider as he looked up at his sister, then hung his head a little. Fuin motioned for him to go and to take the handle at the front; he’d be pulling while she pushed from the back. It would be hard work for him by himself. He probably couldn’t have done it alone, but Fuin would help, giving extra pushes over bumps and making sure that when he started to slow down that the cart didn’t roll backwards, and hopefully he’d learn his lesson. He didn’t even have time to fully comprehend that this woman was an elf, just that she was big, tall, scary and seemed to know a bit about him and his sister. Something he wasn’t used to.

The pull up the hill was long and Rada struggled a fair bit, not use to having to take the cart back UP the hill alone, normally they left it at the bottom when they’d finished playing… and when they got to the top, he pointed out where they found it. There was a little old lady crying in the street where the cart was supposed to be. Rada looked guiltily back at Fuin and Cala, and Fuin looked at him. He lowered his eyes and looked at Cala, hoping very much that she’d get him out of trouble from having to apologize.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:14 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Calaerdis and Radaron



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala watched Fuin take over with her brother, relieved that someone seemed to know how to handle this situation. Since Cala was usually busy trying to make things to sell, to buy food and stuff with, she hadn't really given much thought to exactly how her brother spent his days playing... she had assumed he played games with other kids that didn't involve..things like this.

She followed them up the hill, only just now noticing that the other children dispersed the moment grown-ups (them perceiving Cala as a grown up) showed up, and began scolding and dishing out punishments. Only little Radaron was left to pull the cart back up the hill, which Cala thought was rather unfair, but then again, it was probably his idea to begin with. As they reached the top, Cala saw that, sure enough, the owner of the cart was indeed searching for it. Cala gave her little brother a stern look when he looked to her for help. Folding her arms, she frowned at him. "You know what to do." She told him, glad Fuin had already informed him that he must apologize.

Radaron reluctantly went to the lady, sighing as he mumbled, "Sorry for taking your cart." He paused, then added as an afterthought, "but it was lots of fun riding on it." He grinned, then ran back to Cala, ducking behind her slightly as he looked up at Fuin, curiosity bright in his eyes. "Who's she?" he whispered, unsure what to think of this tall lady who had been so stern and made him apologize. "Are we going home now?" He added before Cala had a chance to reply.

Cala hesitated, realizing that she hadn't told him yet. "This is.. Fuin, a master smith from Imladris," She answered him, then turned to face him, kneeling down to his level. "No, Little Brother.. I'm... afraid we can't go back there anymore." she answered softly, looking down sadly, feeling guilty somehow, as if it were her fault that they had lost their home. Again. "We don't live there anymore. Someone..else is going to live there, and they put locks on it..I managed to get our things, but..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Radaron tilted his head, thinking about that, then asked, "What about your forge?"

Cala shook her head, uncomfortably aware that Fuin was hearing all of this, and felt rather self-conscious. "I... haven't got one anymore." She said, feeling further crushed by such a blow. To lose both her home and her forge all at once, for the second time... that was hard to take.

"Oh. Well, you'll get another one." He told her, without any hesitation, clearly not finding this as much of a concern as Cala did. "I can find you some rocks if you want? Does this mean we're sleeping outside tonight, and get to look at the stars and everything?" he grinned, looking almost excited. "We've not done that in forever!"

Cala sighed, looking down and not quite sure what to say, to him, or to Fuin. "I... really don't know what we're doing.." she glanced up at Fuin, uncertain and a little afraid that she might have changed her mind. After all, who would want to bother with a homeless girl trying to take care of an unruly, mischievous little boy?
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:22 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Fuin listened carefully as Radaron talked to his sister. He had far less reason to hide information from her, mostly because he didn’t know that what he was saying wasn’t normal. That his friends likely had a very different experience to what he had growing up. She listened carefully about how she didn’t have a forge anymore and that where they were living was no longer theirs, that someone else was going to live there.

She felt gut-wrenched when he said that they were going to sleep outside again and look at the stars, that they hadn’t done that in forever. They’d done it before though, and she had no doubt that Cala didn’t sleep at all those nights and her little brother was blissfully unaware because she made him feel safe, no matter what. Indeed Cala may not know how to reign in the unruly little boy but she was a child herself raising a child in hard conditions. The fact he was as well behaved as he was was astounding to her.

“We are going to the market; we have things to buy, and then we are going to an inn, because I do not have the time to get a forge today, and we’ll have a hot meal.” She said, looking over the two of them. “We’re all going to have a nice hot bath and get all the dirt out from behind our ears. After that, then we’ll see.” She said, and marched the two of them towards the nearest market which she could see was just further on up the path that they were on, hushing them at their protests. She was having none of it. Given what she’d seen of the parcel of fabric that Cala was hanging onto, they probably had one or two sets of clothing at best and quite frankly, they were going to have some nice clothing for tonight. She ushered both of them into a tailor’s shop.

“Right, so I need sleeping gowns for these two. A couple new trousers and shirts for the little one and once you’re done with him we should be ready for you to start on her. And NICE fabrics; linen and wool.” She said, pushing Radaron towards one of the tailors who came to see what this was. The tailor looked at the children and then at the elf, who pulled several coins from a pouch at her waist, and handed them to her. The tailor nodded before leading Radaron over to the side while Fuin pushed Cala over to a different section of the shop. To where the leather clothing was. “We need to get you leathers to work in a forge, it’ll be much safer for you.” She said calmly and pushed Cala to the head seamstress who quickly went to work measuring the young woman hearing what the elf was saying.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:14 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Calaerdis and Radaron



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala stood again, slightly stunned to hear Fuin speak of going to the market, then to an inn. Cala had no money for an inn, much less for any of the other things she spoke of. The girl wasn't quite sure what to do, fearing how much this might end up costing... she couldn't pay Fuin back for any of it. Catching hold of her brother's hand, she turned to the elf, realizing she ought to try and explain that she had no money for any of this, but Fuin just shushed her, and kept going.

Awkwardly, Cala looked around as Fuin pushed them into a shop she had never been in before. Well, she had stepped in here once or twice, she recalled, to ask for a job, but they had been rather snooty and made her leave. That was a couple of years ago now, and the only other time she'd come here was to try and sell them some pins and things she'd made which she thought they might find useful, but they said the pins weren't smooth enough for their needs, and had little interest in anything else. Cala'd had the distinct feeling they were looking down their noses at her, then. Why should they be any different now?

She felt a little bit alarmed as her brother was taken off to be fitted, unsure exactly what to expect, and then, feeling rather lost and completely out of place, she went with Fuin to another section. She had worked for people before, but never had they expected her to dress a certain way. Often she had worked for people in exchange for their used clothing or shoes, or other things like that. But now, suddenly, she and her brother were being fitted for not just new clothes, but NICE clothing. She'd never had anything like that before. "Leather? Isn't that expensive?" she asked, a bit wide-eyed, as all of this was completely foreign to her, watching a little warily as the woman started to measure her.

"Um.." Cala bit her lip, awkwardly remembering that she had a strip of cloth wrapped tightly around her chest to make it flatter, but unsure how to actually go about saying so..but she knew that would throw off any measurements the seamstress was taking. "I.. I don't.. I mean, I'm.." She looked up at Fuin, feeling sort of lost and helpless. "I had to... disguise myself.." She mouthed at Fuin, unsure what to do, with an uncomfortable motion toward her chest when the seamstress was turned away for a moment.
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:26 am, edited 4 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
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Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Fuin let out a laugh as Cala whispered that she’d had to disguise herself. “Can you give us a minute?” Fuin said as the seamstress looked at the elf in shock. She blinked and quickly headed out of the little room.
“Undisguise your chest then.” She said with a wave, and turned around so that Cala would have a little bit of privacy shaking her head at the humor of all of this.

“And yes, leathers are expensive, but burning a hole in your leg and having to go to the house of healing and not being able to work for weeks is even more expensive, as would be burning your fingertips so you can’t hold a hammer or tongs right.” Fuin said calmly, having noticed a few minor burns on the girl’s hands, that when her brother had asked ‘what about her forge’, Fuin figured she’d made some sort of rudimentary forge and had been doing something with those tools she’d had, a hammer and a crude set of tongs. Not bad for someone that slept on the street occasionally.

She could hear Cala shuffling and struggling for a few minutes before she said she was done. Fuin turned around and smirked. “No more disguises.” She said with a smile and went and brought the seamstress back in who did another once over of Cala and went back to measuring while Fuin told her the specifications, thick but supple leather, double stitched on the sides and inseam with waxed thread, the thighs from the hip, to below the knee were to be double thick, the shirt was to be light leather but she also wanted a leather apron out of cowhide, and gloves to match if they could. The seamstress finished the measurements and told Fuin when the leather items would be ready - a week and the cost of what she was asking. Fuin simply nodded and said she’d pay it upfront once they had the clothing that they were purchasing today.

Suddenly they heard Radaron charging towards them. “CALA LOOK!!!” He shouted as he swept into the room in a fancy tunic that the lady had put onto him, made of soft wool dyed a dark rich red that had embroidery around the cuffs, hem and neckline as well as new woolen trousers. The lady had even properly tucked the sleeve up so that it wouldn’t be in his way. “They’re gonna fix my shirts so that they don’t have an extra part hanging! That’s so amazing!” The tailor came after the little boy, in his arm was a sleeping gown made of soft tan linen and another pair of trousers and another shirt also marked to have the right arm tailored off at the elbow.

“Alright Cala, ready for some new regular clothing?” Fuin said, offering her a hand so she could take her to the room that Rada had been in earlier.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:15 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Calaerdis and Radaron



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala felt very awkward as the seamstress gave them a strange look before leaving, then as soon as Fuin had turned, she quickly got out of the binding. She felt far more comfortable, at least, being able to breathe better anyway. She had enough time to get the tunic straightened back before the elf turned again. Being rather unused to people measuring her and such, Cala tried to hold still, but it was rather hard.

The aspiring smith listened with intrigue as Fuin told the seamstress exactly what she ought to have, and wondered if that would be comfortable enough to move in. She didn't know much about leather, it was usually too expensive to get much of, and she'd always had more interest in metal. She knew that the smiths who refused to let her learn from them usually wore a leather apron, but she'd never had anywhere near enough money to get that much leather. The best she had was a piece of canvas she'd draped over her shoulders and worn like a backward cloak while she worked. It wasn't much protection, as she found out, but better than nothing, of course.

Suddenly her brother was barreling into the room with great excitement, and Cala blinked in astonishment at the extravagant-looking clothes he wore. She had been worried about what was happening with him; fearing those snooty tailor people were picking on her poor brother, and feeling anxious about the fact she was not there to defend him. And here he was, eagerly showing off clothing far more rich than Cala could afford. She looked at Fuin, then back at him, feeling a bit uncertain about all this. "That looks wonderful, Little Brother," She told him with a smile, though still wondering whether this was all going to be too much.

And then it was time to get herself some new clothes! "Me?" Cala looked at Fuin again, startled to hear her ask if she was ready for MORE clothing. "But I thought..." She looked a bit confused, motioning toward the leather stuff, feeling further alarmed by all of this. Leather stuff, and fancy clothes? "Isn't this all..quite expensive?" she asked softly, nervous, tentatively following them to the other room, both reluctant to leave her brother again, as well as worried about how much this was all costing the elven smith… and how much Cala was going to have to pay back.
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:26 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
Posts: 2755
Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2020 7:53 am
Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Fuin chuckled. “Yes. It is, but it would be more expensive to get you just the apron and have to replace clothing over and over and over again. This is expensive once, at least until you grow out of it.” Fuin said calmly. “You will get slag on your clothes, you will drop bars of metal, and if you are wearing anything other than leather there is a chance it will singe and ruin your other clothing. Now, I can’t tell you how many shirts I’ve permanently ruined in my life as a smith, but I’d dare say I’ve probably paid for a small house in terms of shirts I’ve ruined, never mind the pants.” Fuin said offering her right hand to Radaron so he could grab it with his left hand. He was still beaming and bouncing around in his new clothes. “Now, I have no plans on spending that much money on new shirts or new pants for you, and you both need to look like you are the apprentice of an elf, not some lowly blacksmith from the first circle. Your brother is going to have to learn to sell your wares for you, as I imagine you are going to be quite busy.” Fuin said with a chuckle as she pushed her into the room where she would be fit for her normal clothing.

The tailor looked her over not even bothering to measure as he had with Radaron and began pulling clothing. “Now young lady, do you prefer...” He looked her over, “What you’re wearing, in terms of fit, or would you prefer some dresses?”

Fuin for her part sat on a plush seat and crossed her left leg over her right and patted it beside her so that Radaron would hop up. “You, sir”, Fuin said looking at the young boy, “are in charge of how many times she asks if this is expensive, she’s already at two. When all of this is done, you let me know, understand?”

Radaron for his part looked up at her curiously. “Is she going to be in trouble?” He looked worried for his sister.
“Yes, but I promise she will get over the punishment eventually.” Fuin bent low and whispered something in the young man's ear and he squealed happily and bounced in the seat looking very excited. He wasn't entirely sure about exactly what she was talking about but from the sounds of it it sounded good.
“Remember, we’re at two already.”

With that the tailor started handing Cala clothing that Fuin had requested, in vibrant reds, and greens and rich greys. Some were made of wool, others linen, they even brought out one that was made of silk. All of which was embroidered and trimmed and would be tailored to fit the young woman properly before they left. Just as Radaron’s clothing was currently being tailored.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:16 am, edited 1 time in total.

Steward of Gondor
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Calaerdis and Radaron



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Cala had so many questions and not enough time to ask them in. So much was swirling around in her head as she was pushed into the room to be fitted. "Apprentice..." She echoed, a little dazed. "I'm an apprentice..for real.. and to an elf!" She could hardly believe it. "I set out today to become an apprentice, but I never imagined..."

The tailor, she realized, was waiting for her to answer a question, and she hastily thought about what had been asked of her. "Oh..." She paused, considering, then remembered Fuin's words, 'No more disguises.' "Dresses, please." She answered, feeling more comfortable in what she was more used to. She stared in amazement at all the lovely, rich fabrics, unsure she was worthy to wear anything out of something like that. She was afraid to even touch the silk, fearing her hands might snag the fabric. "I'm not sure about that one..." She told the tailor, feeling that all this was a bit too much, especially all at once. "Those must cost a fortune," She murmured softly, a bit overwhelmed.

After making sure to remember the count of two, Radaron tried to sit still while Cala was being fitted, but it was so hard. After waiting for what seemed like forever, the boy pulled a little puzzle toy from his pocket which Cala had made for him, and showed it off to Fuin, proudly telling about how his sister made it, and all his friends had begged for one and that he'd gotten them each to buy one from his sister. "I'm still trying to get it apart though," He added, fidgeting with it while waiting for his sister, showing how he could manipulate the nails around each other with only one hand, when other kids would have used both hands.
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:26 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
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Fuin
September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Fuin elbowed Radaron - “Do you think we should include “those must cost a fortune” in the count?” As he was playing with the nail puzzle which Fuin was rather impressed with. You had to actually twist the nails in a very specific manner to a specific angle or they wouldn’t work. She was impressed at the puzzle.
After a moment of pondering while he played with his puzzle, Radaron nodded in answer to her question. “That’s three then.” he said, and kept playing while Fuin watched calmly as Cala seemed to be in shock. There were several dresses that fit her well and wouldn’t need too much work, a little tuck here and a quick hem at the bottom for the length.

“So which ones do you like, Cala?” Fuin asked. She’d informed the tailor that Rada could have two full outfits for now. Cala would be getting the same outside of the leather pieces that Fuin was getting for her, as those would be for work. “Or which ones do you find the most comfortable?”

They still needed to get the two of them shoes and then… depending on Cala they’d need to go to a bakery and get some fruit tarts. Fuin had a feeling they would get a good number more by the time they had their shoes as well.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Sep 02, 2021 8:16 am, edited 1 time in total.

Steward of Gondor
Points: 5 582 
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Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
Calaerdis and Radaron



September 1, 2615 - TA
Minas Tirith - First Circle


Still rather overwhelmed by all of this, Cala kept half-waiting for herself to awaken from this dream. But it wasn't a dream, she kept reminding herself. In fact, she'd never had any dreams this wonderful. The best dream she recalled having was that, in the dream, Cala went to a smith and asked for instructions and he then accepted her as an apprentice and began teaching her the mysteries which so far remained hidden to her. Then she always woke up and found it was only a dream. But she wasn't dreaming this time. She didn't even think her brain could have come up with a dream as wild and unbelievable as this.

"I don't know..." she answered, still slightly dazed, as she looked up at Fuin. "I've never even touched fabrics like these, let alone worn them... I fear my hands will snag the silk... I... perhaps I'd be better off with less... extravagant clothing?" She'd done enough work at her own little forge to know how easily clothing could get dirty, and she hadn't ever thought much about having anything to wear other than whatever she'd work in.

She couldn’t think of any possible reason she might have for getting a dress made of silk or velvet; those were for rich people, and those who didn’t work for a living, she’d always thought. Cala thought it would make a little more sense to have more plain clothes, so it wouldn’t matter if she got it dirty. The same for Radaron, honestly, as he would be going to play in them. She’d seen him come home covered in dirt and mud often enough to know what sort of treatment the boy was likely to give whatever clothing he wore.
Last edited by Rillewen on Tue Mar 19, 2024 4:26 am, edited 3 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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