Feanor, Not Lord High King of Anything (feanor_lite) wrote in untold_logs, @ 2008-06-09 19:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | aragorn, beruthiel, caranthir, faramir, feanor, maglor |
Maybe it should be nieces. This family has far too much testosterone.
Who: Caranthir, Feanor, Maglor, Aragorn, Beruthiel, Faramir. (and the kitchen sink)
What: oi... uhm. Maggie!teasing about Ithiriel, then metal and a Witch is sought out, discussions, good news, and bad news.
When: Yesterday.
Where: uh.... where else would we be?
Note: 1 of 3 parts.
Caranthir: When do you think I'll have nephews?
Maglor: *digs hole so he can crawl into it, and hide*
Feanor: Answer the woman's question, son. *smirks*
Maglor: *or wants to, at least* It depends.
Maglor: On if my sweet, beautiful, even-tempered MOTHER... *looks at Feanor* ...is going to make me a shiny new sword, or not.
Caranthir: Maybe it should be nieces. This family has far too much testosterone.
Maglor: ...... *sighs*
Feanor: Do you want your sweet, beautiful, ... *eyetwitch* ... even-tempered MOTHER to slide down a slippery cliff of greediness and end up sending the rest of you on yet ANOTHER bloody quest?
Maglor: You are both in your mortal prime. Go make nieces. *shrugs a little* And it is only a slightly...enhanced...sword, so that YOU are not left with someone else danging it over your heads.
Caranthir: I will not be spawning!
Feanor: *grumbles* But you need not get such a twitch to your eye, Kanafinwe, for I have spent most of this night drawing the plans up in my head. And AYE. I will also, NOT be spawning, thank you.
Feanor: But you and that lovely elf, you aught to.
Maglor: .......
Maglor: *eyes one of them, eyes the other, looks...very embarassed and is flustered and brain is cluttered just thinking about it*
Caranthir: *admits* Be more than I ever did.
Maglor: *mindfully states* If it is done in time, and if it works, then I might...take some time to, perhaps...dwell on it...further.
Maglor: You are both doing this just to tease me, again. e.e
Feanor: You lend yourself to teasing so well. *smirk*
Maglor: e.e;
Caranthir: I can't tease copperhead or the twins, so you're all that's left.
Maglor: *feels like he's stuck in one of those "I'll take that forest over there and that big wide open space that's not easily guarded? we'll give it to Maglor." moments*
Maglor: *is pretty much giving them both that same look, although only Caranthir would probably recognize it*
Caranthir: *innocent*
Feanor: *is giving him a completely innocent look in return, like he's got no idea what Maglor is going on about*
Maglor: *takes deep, cleansing breath of plz give me patience* How long would it take for this sword.
Healer: *comes in, hands bitchy easterling woman IN BED a mug of tea* Drink that. No complaints!
Caranthir: *gags, drinks*
Feanor: *blinks at healer*
Maglor: *blinks at healer too*
Healer: *makes a face at both of them, shuffles off*
Maglor: ...I think they need more elvish healers.
Feanor: .... Mortals are amongst the most rude creatures ever to grace Arda, and why Eru decided to create them is beyond me, except ... well... Eru is HORRIBLY flawed in my mind. >.<
Maglor: You think everything and almost anything, is horribly flawed, to your mind.
Maglor: *is not 'blown away' hearing that come out of his father's mouth, no.*
Feanor: ... That is not true, I find that little elf that tended us yesterday quite suitable.
CAranthir: Unless you created it by your hand and your hand alone.
Maglor: You didn't create her.
Feanor: *snorts* I did not create her, and there were plenty of my creations that were NOT what I intended.
Caranthir: *thinks Feanor is laying it on a little thick**eyes hi...her*
Caranthir: Like your sons.
Feanor: ... That is not what I meant, either.
Maglor: *makes with the classic uh huh sound*
Feanor: Many of the gems I cut, for instance, were horribly flawed.
Caranthir: *disbelieving look*
Maglor: "I want to play the harp and sing." "No, no, you want this smithing hammer!"
Feanor: And I can still recall to mind several of my swords which I were never, ever happy with.
Maglor: .....
Maglor: So, Caranthir. How are you feeling today? *looks guilty looking at broth---...sister-type-thing*
Feanor: *rolls her eyes* No craftsman is ever extremely pleased with everything they create. We have very high standards, which we hold ourselves to, and yes, sometimes, hold our SONS to, as well.
Maglor: A SMITHING hammer? You tried to convince me that it MADE MUSIC SWEETER THAN ANY HARP.
Feanor: Which apparently was a very large mistake that you will feel appropriate to drag out at every opportunity.
Feanor: IT DOES.
Feanor: .... The sound of a hammer banging against metal ... it is the most beautiful sound in the world ... except for your mother's singing voice.
Maglor: *one gloved hand? meets his face.* *massive facepalming* *maaaassive*
Maglor: I agree about mother's singing.
Feanor: *snorts* *chucks a rolled up parchment at Maglor's head*
Feanor: I sketched that up while you were off, likely snuggling that elven healer of yours. See if you like the design.
Maglor: *is pinged in the head with rolled up parchment, removes hand from face, bends down and picks it up, looks at it*
Caranthir: *enjoyed smithing well enough, preferred hunting and wood carving, but try to give one's father the best damned wood carving one could make? Then watch him throw it in the fire of the smith. Ouch*
Maglor: *ignores the 'snuggling elven healer' thing entirely....is trying to just...go zen now, like he used to, when the teasing started up*
Parchment: *has several preliminary sketches of new sword, with a really rather nice, elegant design to it. Matching knives were also drawn up*
Feanor: *threw it in the fire of the smith because the wood carving could have been better, alright, was pushing son TOO HARD maybe, but wanted him to live up to his potential >< *
Maglor: *nods* I would rather weild a harp, but I somehow do not think that some witch from the east would...fall victim to it. I like these, very much.
Feanor: *points at the sword* The important part is the crystal in the pommel. I need to work with your king and perhaps find that witch to get the right thing made up.
Maglor: Find the witch that raised you? o.0
Feanor: But when put all together, it aught to deflect fire. And nay, the other one. The one in the city that I am supposed to go to, so that I do not burn the entire city down in a fit of rage.
Maglor: *makes a :/ face and nods at the crystal being mentioned* Go find her, then. *gives the parchment outline back to his father* I suppose.
Feanor: Well you do not want me to make such a thing myself.
Maglor: They let me in at the gate, and I am certain that king would let you in, to speak with him, but you would have only to tell your real name. Or that name he gave you as a suggestion, that I will not use.
Feanor: Anyway I think if we can find an already cut gem,and just imbue it with snow from the nearby mountains. That requires little magic of any kind and certainly does NOT require anything from me.
Maglor: *shrugs at Caranthir like he doesn't really know a thing about embuing stones with snow*
Feanor: *takes the parchment back*
Maglor: *if he didn't want them to...stay...andhopefullynotdob adthings...would not have volunteered for this*
Maglor: Do you want me to see if I can lure their witch out, and bring her here to speak with you?
Feanor: *doesn't see Maglor doing any bad things now, either*
Maglor: *hasn't done bad things in a v. v. v. v. v. long time*
Feanor: *hasn't, either!*
Maglor: *because was insane*
Feanor: *because, was dead and stuck there*
Maglor: *stalemate, until the next fight breaks out?*
Caranthir: *watching all this pissily*
Maglor: *boot meets bedpost, like he's trying to somehow knock the pissy look off of his 'sister's' face*
Feanor: *clears her throat* It did not sound like she was the type who would be willing to just... scamper about speaking to strangers wherever they wish it.
Maglor: Then come with me.
Caranthir: *rolls eyes*
Maglor: Caranthir does not need to go. His sour face would scare thousands of witches off, in droves.
Feanor: *stands* *gives Caranthir a look* Take care of yourself, sister.
Maglor: *gives Caranthir a smirky look* Stay in bed, sister, and get your rest.
Feanor: *chuckles*
Caranthir; *lifts teacup as if to throw at Maglor*
Maglor: *looks ready to duck*
Maglor: *runs out of the room*
Feanor: *watches the two of them, quite entertained*
Feanor: *follows Maglor!*
Caranthir; *calls out* Your dress sticks to your arse!
Feanor: *shouts behind her* At least I fill mine OUT!
Maglor: *ok, tried not to snerk at all that* *waits for Feanor to catch up* He is less like the honey and more like the bees.
Feanor: *pauses a second* .... I am not sure that was the right insult.
Maglor: ...I'm not sure that I want to wonder if it is or is not.
Feanor: We are both less like the honey and more like the bees. *wrinkles her nose* At least I am willing to admit this now.
Maglor: He did calm down for a while. *shrugs* A small while.
Maglor: *starts to walk out of the healing house, in the direction of the citadel gate*
Feanor: *follows* He ... she ... speaks often of a woman, some mortal he met. *snorts* He is very much like his father in that respect. Trust a woman to calm him down.
Maglor: I think it is Haleth of Brethil, if I remember correctly. *looks like he is NOT going to even touch the subject of him needing a woman to calm him down, since its just...embarrassing*
Maglor: *will muddle through THAT on his own*
Maglor: *though expects it to be brought up via remaining family every ten seconds. e.e*
Maglor: *its easier to tease others anyway* I think Caranthir was smitten with the mortal woman.
Feanor: He was. *has this look of distaste on his face* He might have at least tried to become smitten with an elf.
Feanor: *pats Maglor on the shoulder* Like you!
Maglor: *hangs his head down while walking, like, yes...every ten seconds*
Maglor: What makes you think that I am smitten? *>.>*
Feanor: You allowed her to stare at your lip for no particular reason for almost an entire minute, and then when you realised that you, also, were staring, your eartips went pink.
Maglor: They did not. o.O
Maglor: Most certainly not!
Feanor: They did, and I am not the only one who noticed. Her ears, also, were pink.
Maglor: No, no, that's a mistake. It was warm in the room. I was more wary that she would try to sew my lip shut, and that's Caranthir's fault for punching me that hard, anyway.
Feanor: And she MUST like you, as she allowed herself to put UP with us.
Maglor: Well, she knew already that you were returned, since...she was present when I told that king. *picks up pace to get to the gate faster* So it was no surprise.
Feanor: Nerdanel was the only one that could pull me away from my work. *remembers, fondly, even though the parting? Yeah, not that great* I liked to pretend we were NOT in love for at least 3 years ... or was it four?
Feanor: Who was counting? *shrugs*
Feanor: Grandchildren who get to MEET her would be nice. *teasingly*
Maglor: *now just looks depressed*
Maglor: I did not think we would not be allowed back and the only reason you are here, is because of those witches.
Feanor: *rolls her eyes* I think if you bothered to look further than the end of your own nose you would find that the world and the realm beyond it are much changed.
Maglor: *is not so sure, but is willing to just...let it drop* *has come to terms with being where he is*
Maglor: *...* *sort of*
Maglor: *doesn't want to think about it anyway, is on...priority elvish business!*
Maglor: *states his name at the gate, after his father's done picking his dress out of his bum being a slow-poke*
Feanor: *mutters*
Feanor: *scratches at something on her face*
Feanor: I swear I am breaking out in some kind of ... allergic boils or.... Mortal bodies are just CURSED.
Maglor: Mortal bodies are cursed. Stop itching at it.
Maglor: *is let in through the gate!*
Feanor: *itches at it again, just to spite Maglor* *makes a face at him while she does so*
Feanor: *slips in behind Maglor*
Maglor: *develops eyetwitch* *on purpose* *stops in the courtyard* ...I do not know this witch's name.
Feanor: The KING never gave it to me.
Maglor: He did not give it to me, either. Perhaps I should ask for a witch.
Feanor: Oh aye, that is a most brilliant plan. Simply walk up to one of these guards and ask them if they have seen a witch lately, and watch them point at ME.
Maglor: ....then we will have to ask this king, I think. *heads to king's office* *really thinks this guy is going to get sick of them really quick*
Maglor: *knocks on the door*
Feanor: *tends to agree* *is NOT going to admit as much*
Maglor: *tries the Sindarin thing like he was reading last night* ...king, it is I, Maglor, and... *thinks, tries to rearrange in his head* ...I have bring a...moose...with me.
Maglor: *raps knuckles on door*
Feanor: *stares at Maglor* .... what IS that language?
Feanor: It sounds like some sort of .... dumbed down Quenya.
Maglor: Sindarin. It...it is rather like that, I think. *totally agrees* But is more common.
Feanor: *smirks* You are catching on to her language very quickly, you must be speaking with her often.
Maglor: She gave me a book to read, and it is easy to understand, at least. With a few things switched around, here and there. It does cause one learning it, to want to pull out their own tongue, or to cut it off. Its easy to understand, but frustrating if not accustomed to it. I still prefer Quenya.
Feanor: Gave you a book? *arches a brow* Indeed...
Maglor: Luthien and Beren's tale.
Feanor: *is somewhat familiar with parts of it, only because he was there for the parts that happened in Mandos's halls* *blinks*
Feanor: Hardly light reading.
Maglor: No, it is not. e.e
Aragorn: *blinks* Moose? Enter?
Maglor: *even though it was a banned language, STILL PREFERED IT, so screw Thingol* *has been using pretty language that he MISSED for a very long time* *just got...stuck in...very unfortunate long PHASE when other such speech was...not used, and...*
Feanor: *opens the door while Maglor has some sort of inner-dialogue moment* *peeks head inside* *Quenya* Apparently I am a moose?
Aragorn: *laughs* Have you need of something?
Maglor: *is grinning as he enters, like he's very proud of himself right now*
Feanor: *nods her head, comes in* ... Several things, in fact.
Aragorn: Go on.
Feanor: *holds up her hand ... notices nails are jaggy, needs to fix that* *eyedarts at her own thought, blinks* .... ..... Ah. Yes.
Feanor: *ticks things off* What passes for the best in smithing metals these days? First. Second, I am going to need a quantity of that. Third, I am in need of a light blue crystal, or gem of some sort. Fourth, I require an audience with that witch of yours.
Maglor: ... *had mouth opened to ask about seeing the witch, in the first place, but was cut off*
Feanor: *smiles at Maglor*
Maglor: *clipped sigh, shakes his head, just looks at the king*
Feanor: *thinks for a few moments and adds, with a sheepish grin* ... Please.
Aragorn: Steel, mostly. Mithril is very hard to come by and absurdly expensive if you can find it, even though a dwarven ally
and friend of mine has recently found a rich deposit. He might be able to provide a gem though, from the same deposit...
Maglor: *casts a hopeful look at his father, since that's good news, indeed* *...for once.*
Feanor: *nods her head, looking thoughtful*
Feanor: *holds up the roll of parchment, and sets it on Aragorn's desk* I drew these up last night, for Maglor.
Aragorn: *picks it up, looks it over**looks impressed!*
Feanor: I know I stated I would not forge magical items, myself, but he seems rather forceful on the issue of going against that witch alone, and ... to be honest, I want to see if I can handle it, once.
Feanor: He has my permission to kill me or punch me if I get greedy or bloodthirsty, or ... well anything unsavory at all, really.
Maglor: ... *like he's reminding in a tone vaguely reminiscent of his mother's tone* ...after speaking to the witch.
Aragorn: *nods his head**might give Maglor a crossbow >.>*
Maglor: *and nods like, indeed, he will be punching him if he starts to get either greedy or bloodthirsty* >.>
Maglor: *has no idea about this, at present*
Feanor: Yes. The trick is ... taking the crystal, and putting the qualities of ice in it.
Feanor: I am not about to go cutting or creating an ice gem myself, but I wanted to discuss imbuing an already cut gem with ice and cold. With your witch.
Maglor: *reminding patiently while standing in the background* ...binding your powers...
Maglor: *is pushing wee elven envelope, no?*
Feanor: ... and yes...
Maglor: *nods a few times*
Feanor: *nods*
Maglor: *grins at father?* ^^;
Feanor: *gives him a scathingly sweet look*
Maglor: *grin starts to look somewhat snark-cheeky*
Maglor: *but only for a few scant seconds, before its back down to a run-of-the-mill grin*
Aragorn: This witch is married to one of my Stewards. You will likely find her in his room, office, or the libraries.
Feanor: Does she speak Quenya?
Maglor: ... *is like 'eeeeeeeh that's a good question'*
Aragorn: That is a ...very good question o.O
Maglor: We might be in need of a translator. But I feel well-versed enough to do this myself now. *after only one night's reading? go him. and his moose.*
Feanor: But that would only work if she speaks Sindarin.
Feanor: *eyes Aragorn* Does your steward know? Does HE speak Quenya?
Maglor: Oh. And what if she is one of those from the east, too? Or the south. She would not, then? I think not. I do not know.
Maglor: *has a 'well?' look at Aragorn*
Aragorn: Faramir is much like his father, and more than capable in various languages. *nods his head*
Maglor: Ahhh, where would we find him, then?
Feanor: Is he likely to be in the same location we find her? *smirks*
Maglor: *looks like he wants to blend into stonework walls, at father making with the innuendo stuff*
Aragorn: *avoids smiling* His office is down the hall, to your right.
Feanor: *nods her head, and rises* Thank you.
Maglor: *nods to the king and is out of the office like someone lit his pants on fire* Why did you not also elbow him and go like this? *winkwinks at Feanor, then rolls his eyes* Am I the only one with a shred of tact left?
Feanor: *gives him an innocent look* I have not the faintest idea what you mean, son.
Maglor: *sighs, walks down the corridor, keeping to the right* *lets it drop in case father tries to bring up Ithiriel again, too* They seem to like to make others walk to and fro, don't they?
Feanor: It is always like this, with castles and the like. At one point I thought I had designed a better style of castle that minimized the walking from all the important places, but that was long ago and I do not think I was successful, even then.
Maglor: *dryly* Maybe you should tear this all down and fix it for them. *knocks on a door that he thinks might be the right one, but isn't quite sure, it looks 'official'*
Maglor: *luckily? legs do not get tired, like mortal legs must* *it does seem...well, its not really time-consuming either* *just knocks*
Faramir: >.> *adjusting tunic*
Beruthiel: *fixing hair* >.>
Feanor: *leans against the wall next to the door, as HER legs? DO get tired*
Maglor: I do not think there is anyone in this room. Maybe we should try that door. *points at less offical looking door, that's nearby*
Feanor: *eyes the less official looking door, goes over to it, and knocks on it*
Faramir: >.> *@ knocking*
Maglor: *starts to follow* There is another door. Maybe I should knock on that one, too.
Feanor: No one is answering this one....
Maglor: *goes and knocks on really less official looking door, since its more or less a room the size of a walk-in closet*
Faramir: *ohshit*
Maglor: *does not know this, though*
Beruthiel: Hmm.
Feanor: *knocks on her door louder*
Maglor: *knocks on that door with loud rappy knuckles*
Maglor: No answer. We are out of doors. Oh wait, there is one.
Maglor: *walks over, knocks, listens*
Feanor: Perhaps we aught to try the one we knocked upon the first time, again. *walks back over to it, raps knuckles against it*
Beruthiel: *purses lower lip, finishes fixing her hair, and smooths hands down over the dress so its less wrinkled*
Faramir: *peers out closet door, and sneaks out ranger!quiet and darts down the hall in order to walk back towards his office and be 'surprised'*
Maglor: *is at end of hall, knocking, still*
Faramir; *gestures for Beruthiel to sneak!join him, from safety of adjacent corridor!*
Beruthiel: *moves like a sloth and couldn't care less, so just slowly walks out of the closet, closes the door behind her, and starts walking*
FAramir: *would facepalm but that would echo*
Beruthiel: *gives him a look and shakes her head* *much like sitting near Karigan, can sort of...pick up a bit that there's someone nearby that's harboring a bit of...witchery...just like she is, even if its...vague.*
Faramir: *comes around the corner and takes her arm, and starts walking towards his office, like his original intent had been, to fake doing just that XD*
Feanor: *knocks, again, then sighs, and looks quite put out*
Beruthiel: *one of those 'can't put my finger on it' moments, like when first meeting someone and getting an odd vibe off of them* *links arm in his, ignoring knocking behind them*
Maglor: *still in the same corridor, but is like e.e at all the knocking he's having to do, and doesn't think that anyone is IN the rooms there.* *peers out a window at the dead-end of the hall, so has his back turned* *yes, that's right*
Faramir: >.> *calls out* Can I help you?
Beruthiel: *silent* ... *stares at the easterling with intense scrutiny all of a sudden*
Feanor: *stares at Faramir, and the woman on his arm* Ah .. we are looking for the Steward, and his Witch Wife?
Beruthiel: *VERY intense scrutiny now*
Feanor: *tries not to flinch under Beruthiel's scrutiny*
Feanor: *in fact, meets her eyes, like it's a personal challenge*
Maglor: *oh good, hears father asking for a witch-wife, so comes back down the hall behind them, and encounters...a stare-off*
Faramir: *raises an eyebrow* You've found them. *glances at Beruthiel. Glances at Feanor. Sees Noldor**remembers Aragorn's latest 'guess what' message to his stewards had entailed**eyes widen a little*
Beruthiel: *recalls this, yes, but is not staring to intimidate, but more of a...little mental inspection list*
Feanor: *tilts her head* Have you gotten the measure of me yet?
Faramir: *looking at them both, a bit studiously*
Maglor: ....... *looks at father, looks back at witch and steward, then looks back when father says that and fights off the urge to FACEPALM*
Beruthiel: Perhaps. *finally looks at Faramir* This conversation is best not held in the corridor.
Feanor: *looks slightly relieved that the woman speaks the same language*
Maglor: *is giving the witch an odd stare now, not because of what she is saying in the least, for obvious reasons, but because...well, is wondering if she's raised any dead people lately*
Beruthiel: *the word 'perhaps' on her part* *...and it also sounds like butchery*
Feanor: *well look of somewhat lessened relief then, but still relief, since... speaks it about as well as that elf Maglor's in love with at least, maybe*
Maglor: *.......can we possibly just get this over with? x_@* *since can be horrified and embarrassed when it gets mentioned aloud, yet again*
FAramir: *leads them into his office, and offers them a seat**switches to somewhat rusty Quenya, spoken like someone who only ever reads it in books, all formal and stiff* Pleace, have a seat.
Feanor: *enters, and has a seat, still looking at the witch woman from time to time*
Maglor: *is doing the same thing, looking at the witch still, but does sit down*
Beruthiel: *appears unfettered by such an inspection, sits down, perfectly straight-backed, in a nearby chair* *so she can stare some more*
Faramir: *waits until everyone else is seated, sits himself**incredibly intimidated by PEOPLE RIGHT OUT OF HIS SCROLLS STANDING IN FRONT OF HIM! Well, sitting. ANd one of them is in the wrong body. Still!*
Feanor: *turns look from Beruthiel to Faramir* I am not going to eat you for dinner, for pity's sake.
Beruthiel: *isn't exactly from an Elf friendly place, either, but still, looks unbothered by the whole thing*
Faramir: *laughs stiffly**normally loves elves. But eru-damned FEANOR!*
Maglor: *hesitates like he's thinking it over, then speaks in Sindarin* ...we had questions. For the witch.
Maglor: *can totally do this, no problem*
Maglor: *unless its the word 'father' and then is going to, for some odd reason, inadvertantly turn it into 'moose'*
Faramir: What sort of questions?
Maglor: ... *holds up one index finger like he's thinking it over* ...uhm...about the witch body...and if gem can...be made, to hold ice? Oh. I forgot, almost.
Faramir: Witch body?
Maglor: If my moose...can stop the witch's power, from...getting in the way of... *exhales*
Feanor: *raises a hand like 'That'd be me'*
Maglor: ...getting in the way of hammering. *there! definitely made it through that*
Maglor: *makes like he's tink tink tinking with an invisible hammer, then points over at Feanor and smiles?*
Beruthiel: *asks Faramir in plain westron, in a flat whisper* I suppose his moose is... *stares at Feanor, also* ...I am not correcting this.
Beruthiel: *Sindarin? knows*
Faramir: *chuckles* What is it you want, specifically, Lord..Lady? Feanor.
Feanor: To stop being called a moose
Maglor: *looks over at Feanor* Try it, its easy. You simply pretend like you've sipped tea that was too hot and it scalded the tongue. *oh yes, its NO problem.*
Feanor: *looks at Maglor* I think I will stick to Quenya, thank you.
Maglor: *shrugs a shoulder like its his call*
Feanor: *holds up plans* I have plans here to build a sword. It requires a magic gem. I would like help with the magic gem, since I feel you can appreciate the fact that I aught not be making magic gems.
Faramir: *glances at Beruthiel, as if asking if she understood that*
Feanor: Further, I appear to be a witch, and everyone seems very concerned that I will go into a rage and burn the city down. We want to ... make that not happen.
Beruthiel: *eyes narrowed a bit* I do believe, enough to know what he is asking for...but you will have to respond for me. *staring at the plans, in particular*
Faramir: She understands.
Feanor: *nods, pushes the parchement over to her*
Faramir: *gets a look at it, as well*
Beruthiel: *took it, and looked down at it, and seems to...somewhat understand what it is for* ...for warding against fire, though naturally the symbols are different than that which I would use.
Faramir: *translates* She would use different symbols for warding against fire.
Feanor: *gets up from chair, starts pacing*
Feanor: *nods her head at Faramir* Ask her if it matters, which symbols would be used in this age?
Faramir: Does it matter, which symbols in this age?
Beruthiel: *speaking to Faramir while studying plans* Such a gem must be without flaw, inside, and then would need to be etched with a symbol upon the surface, and left in snow or ice, to absorb such natural energies.
Beruthiel: *takes up a quill and marks down two symbols, that might represent 'cold' or 'frost' on the paper* *in one corner, where it won't be in the way*
Feanor: *gave her a look like 'how dare you mark on my parchment!?' until she noticed where the marks were going, then nodded*
Feanor: *goes over to take a look at the marks*
Beruthiel: *draws what is more like runes of a sort, though more ones of the south, than of dwarvish make* *finishes and hands it back to Feanor*
Faramir: It needs to be a flawless gem. The symbol needs to be etched, and it left in snow or ice to absorb the natural energies. *last part to Beruthiel* For how long?
Beruthiel: Overnight, should suffice, when the weather is at its coldest.
Faramir: *nods* Overnight.
Feanor: *twitches his nose, and appears to be deep in thought for a moment* We do not have a great deal of time. *points at Maglor* He is facing this witch very soon, I think. Can we easily get to the snows on your mountains?
Maglor: *is still sitting and waiting, but is listening, and nods like he agrees about being pressed for time...justwantstogettheirswor dsbackforthem.*
Faramir: *nods his head* Very easily, and it is still frostbitten up there. You wish to fight a witch? *to Beruthiel* Maglor will be facing a witch.
Beruthiel: *frowns ever so slightly at the elf that's sitting there, and looks at Feanor when she speaks* ...a fire caster, it seems. And as he is one of the elves, it may work..as long as the stone is the only thing marked as such, and the etchings on the blade are of your own kind.
Feanor: The witch raised me with my sword, and Caranthir as well. Maglor wants to take her down and return the swords to us, so that we cannot be used.
Faramir: *nods his head* So long as the stone is the only thing marked, and the blade's etchings remain elvish.
Beruthiel: *is gathering this is what they are going to try to do, and finds it...interesting*
Feanor: *nods his head* Is marking the stone something I might try without ... getting attached to doing such things, more frequently?
Feanor: *looks at Beru when she says this, even though she knows it will require translation*
Faramir: He..she..blast..fears becoming what she once was. Addicted to crafting, greedy, hunger for more, and so forth.
Beruthiel: *is staring back at her and waiting, and now its not quite so...scrutinous a stare, more like she's...highly interested in the outcome* One can not change what they are, at the core of their being. If she knows to be wary, she will be wary of repeating past...transgressions.
Feanor: *looks to Faramir like, 'well?!'*
Beruthiel: Tell him, that I am in like circumstances, to what she and her...son...are finding themselves in.
Faramir: One cannot change who they are, at the core of their being. But if you are wary of repeating past mistakes....She is in like circumstances.
Feanor: *thinks all this over*
Beruthiel: *nods slowly to Feanor*
Faramir: *adds* She is returned as well, though in her proper body. And she has done bad things, in her previous life.
Feanor: .... Not anywhere near what I have done, I think you know. *nods at Beruthiel, though*
Maglor: *staaares at her, can't help self* *and no, probably not in comparison to them, so finally looks away*
Feanor: She has not fallen prey to ... temptation?
Faramir: At first. She has..improved.
Feanor: *scratches at her cheek again, and nods* *points at the symbols on the parchment* One of these etchings, or both?
Beruthiel: *holds up a hand to show him two fingers, is guessing at this, but nods like it should be two*
Faramir: One of those etchings, or both? *to Feanor* Both.
Feanor: *nods*
Beruthiel: Tell him, to be wary of that vessel he's been placed in.
Faramir: Be wary of your...body. *looks at Beruthiel like 'explain?'*
Feanor: *looks at Beruthiel like 'huh?'*
Beruthiel: *appears to be quietly waiting, herself, and then speaks in a soft whisper* It is easy for one witch to...sense...another. Something in the air grows heavier, like a gauge of one's power against another.
Beruthiel: Thus the conflicts, as there are in Umbar. Witches will ally with one another, but they want power for themselves. And this one. *points at him* Was strong, strong enough to withstand flame.
Faramir: Witches can sense another. Air grows heavier, almost like a guage of one's power against the other. Witches tend to war with each other, even when they ally.
Faramir: This one was strong enough to withstand flame.
Feanor: *runs a hand through her hair* *looks at Maglor* *owes an apology* *really, really, does NOT want to apologize*
Maglor: *is looking back at his father, stuck in said body, like its not...even...worth apologizing over now* *just shakes his head and says in a low voice* Can it be...locked away, this...witch's powers?
Feanor: *will deal with that later, looks back at Faramir and Beruthiel* I cannot control whatever...witch...powers...are here. I do not know them, I am not ... ... *points at Maglor* What he said.
Faramir: Can they be locked away? Before she does the very same thing Karigan has done?
Beruthiel: *said in utter complete calm, even if her voice is a whisper* No. A female born with this, either has such powers, some powers, or is useless. It is in them. They can be bound, but it does not last, and relies on the will of another witch, to continue doing that.
Faramir: *translates that, very grimly*
Beruthiel: Tell him to watch his temper. Lest mistakes...happen. And they will, but that is not their fault.
Faramir: *adds* Watch your temper.
Feanor: *sinks into a chair and...face? meet palm!*
Maglor: *looooooong sigh*
Faramir: *rubs his own face* We'll assume this warning goes for the other one, as well.
Beruthiel: *reiterates* Once in the blood, it is always in the blood, so to speak, carried down through families. They will make mistakes, Faramir, but it can not be helped.
Feanor: ..... *swallows* My temper. Is legendary.
Beruthiel: They did not ask for this, just as I did not.
Feanor: Caranthir's is also legendary.
Maglor: We are doomed.
Feanor: .... I agree.
Maglor: *trying to squash down moment of inner panic at this, had hoped it could be...contained or helped somehow*
Faramir: Once in the blood, always in the blood, carried down through familes...
Maglor: *tells Feanor, though, after hearing that* If you lose your temper...or if Caranthir does...I will forgive you. *this time* *quiets after that and looks downtrodden*
Faramir: Perhaps there is a method to contain one's anger. This never worked with my brother, but perhaps it could work for you.
Feanor: I do not think that will be enough. Though ... I do appreciate the sentiment. *to Maglor* *looks at Faramir* What would you suggest?
Beruthiel: ...tell him, though I do not know the ways of those to the east, that in the south the witches tend to have their spheres of influence. Weather, shadows, fire, and the likes.
Faramir: When upset, count backwards from ten. When angry,20. When absolutely enraged, 100. Feel free to do it in multiple languages as well. Outloud, or inside your head.
Faramir: *nods at Beruthiel* In the south, witches tend to have spheres of influence. Weather, shadows, fire, and so on.
Beruthiel: If he should lose his temper and not be able to stop himself, to be watchful of what happens around him. In that way, he can try to...control it, as best he can, or keep his thoughts from straying to such things.
Feanor: *itches at that spot again, and takes all this in* *blames mortal frailty for being extremely overwhelmed about now* Can she get the measure of what sphere mine might be? *looks at Beruthiel*
Maglor: *interjects* Can we try not to burn any boats or the likes, possibly? *hopes that does NOT happen again*
Faramir: *translates what Beruthiel said, then what Feanor said!*
Feanor: *gives Maglor a scathing look*
Beruthiel: *shakes her head slowly* A witch might know another witch, but they would no sooner tell what they are, to give a potential rival an upper hand. It is...something strong, and...
Beruthiel: *tilts her head very slightly, while staring* ...not necessarily dark. If it can withstand fire, perhaps the opposite. But with this, the emphasis is almost always on the destructive or harmful side of things.
Faramir: Water?
Beruthiel: Stone can burn and withstand it to a certain extent, also.
Beruthiel: It is never easy to tell, unless...it is seen for one's self.
Faramir: *translates!* It is virtually impossible to tell, without a witch actually sharing. It's..strong, and possibly an opposite of fire. Stone, or water.
Faramir: Emphasis on the destructive side of both, usually.
Feanor: *gives Faramir a look* This is not a good thing for this city. Do you agree?
FAramir: A very bad thing, I think.
Feanor: *debates* I wonder if it would not simply be best to kill me, now.
Faramir: There are those that would prefer this.
Feanor: I can think of no one would have it the other way, in fact. *snorts*
Feanor: Why not send Feanor back to the blackness from whence she came? It would be so easy to do it, would it not? And perhaps she deserves it. I am very certain I do.
Faramir: *Shakes his head* There is remorse there.
Feanor: *blinks* *referred to herself as a she*
Feanor: Of course there is. I made a horrible mess of things, especially my own son's lives.
Faramir: If you realize this, than this is a good thing. A very very good thing. Perhaps something worth living for.
Feanor: *sighs* I wanted to... try and do something of worth, this time around. Perhaps the most worthy thing to do is simply kill myself before I break all the stone holding this city up, or drown it in the sea....
Faramir: We're a tad far from the sea, and the stones have held up to worse *winks*
Maglor: You are not killing yourself. -_-
Feanor: >.< This is only a very small comfort.
Maglor: *stands finally, since had been in ever-deepining mood-fit* *nods to Faramir* I will speak to him.
Faramir: *nods his head* Thank you.
Maglor: I do not know if it will WORK, if he is not willing to listen. *said knowingly but nods in thanks to both the steward and the witch*
Feanor: *stands, rolls up the parchment, and sighs* *nods at Faramir, and .... bows a bit to Beru* Thank you for the aid.
Faramir: You are aiding us, it is the least we can do. *mustnotpissoffubernoldor*
Beruthiel: *bows her head to him* If he needs aid, or wishes for runes for water rather than ice, he needs only seek me out.
Maglor: Father. We should... *looks at the door and then looks antsy to get out of there*
Feanor: *glances at the two seated people, then back at Maglor, and nods* *follows Maglor out*
Faramir: *sits back in his chair, slumps, and exhales**jokes* Always thought he'd be taller.