Red Flows the Sirannon Planning/Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

Timeframes:

This game takes place in the Second Age around the year 1695.

The storyline itself or plot covers: possible gaming of events leading up to the war between Sauron and the Elves of Eregion + the weeks during which the city of Ost-in-Edhil was besieged and destroyed.

Further note about timeframe for game from Durelin:

The game will not be starting in SA 1693, but rather 1695. Unfortunately, that means that we will not be dealing with the hiding of the rings, but that really cannot be fit in. Rather, the game will begin with the following:

• Sauron will have invaded Eriador
• A council in Lindon will decide to send a contingent under Elrond's command to Ost-in-Edhil
• Lorien will send a small contingent to Ost-in-Edhil to participate in the defense
  • shortly, this contingent will be met by the dwarves who will join up with them and lead them through Moria
• 'refugees' from the outlying lands of Eregion surrounding Ost-in-Edhil will be arriving at the city and the inhabitants will be preparing for battle, mustering forces
• the baddies will not have entered the picture yet

(Note: if you'll notice, we must start the game in 1695 to be able to get things moving properly.)

At some point, we will be making a transition where we jump a period of time to get to the battle itself in 1697. We wil assume that the battle occured early in that year, and that we will be starting late in the year of 1695. A little over a year later, the battle will begin, but, of course, we will have to skip some of that. What I propose is this: an almost 'journal' style rush through time. We could begin with December of 1695, and then after a week, with a post from me, I suppose, the game would move to February of 1696, skipping every other month.

That could get really confusing, though. So, the simpler way is to simply say that we will spend about a month and a half (RL time) in 1695, and then jump to 1697. That jump would not land us in the battle immediately, but then there would be only a week or two (RL time) until the battle (unless of course we wanted to spend longer on the battle).

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PLEASE NOTE:

This game requires a time commitment of 2 1/2 months from me, the game owner, and from the major players.

Depending upon ongoing interest in plot development, the game may extend beyond the 2 1/2 months, so that the storyline can reach a suitable conclusion, agreeable to the Owner and the other gamers.

[piosenniel]

Elves of Eregion


Durelin's character

NAME: Maegisil

AGE: 1552 at the time of the forging of the Rings, 1655 at the beginning of the War of the Elves and Sauron

RACE: Elf, dwelling in Ost-in-Edhil in Eregion

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Maegisil carries a long, slender elvish blade that he crafted himself, forging the blade from mithril gifted to him by his master Celebrimbor, and using wood from the mallorn, among the material traded from Lórinand. When in battle, he carries a large war shield bearing the crest of his lord, an emblem that Celebrimbor had designed himself, refusing to bear the Dispossessed of the House of Fëanor, as he had renounced the deeds of his house following the death of Finrod, caused by the many effects of the Oath of Fëanor, and only he remained of that house by the Second Age. Maegisil carries the sign of his lord in great respect and admiration, feeling it a part of his duty.

APPEARANCE: Maegisil stands quite tall, even for his people, at about 6’5”. He is not at all heavily built, but has notable muscles in his legs and arms, as a fine swordsman. He has a very agile and supple body, and is quick on his feet. His hair quite dark, nearing black, and is kept to fall only a few inches below his shoulders. He has grey eyes with a tint of green to them that can make his eyes look completely green if he is wearing a green tunic or the like. His face is a slender oval; his nose is perhaps slightly on the large side, but fitting his face; his lips thin; his chin rather prominent, and his ears rather small and, of course, pointed. (And though his ears are small, he has excellent hearing.)

Maegisil usually wears a shirt of a light, misty grey color under a tunic a dark blue that hangs to about midway down his calf. He wears fitted pants of the same colour as his shirt, black soft-leather boots, and a dark leather belt at his waist that his sheathed hunting dagger usually hangs upon.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Duty is very important to Maegisil, sometimes seemingly the most important thing to him, and it has the greatest effect on his personality. He is very passionate about the people and ideals that are close to him, often so much so that he can be very close-minded, and his judgment can be clouded by his feelings. He is undyingly loyal to those he loves, as well as his people and his beliefs, and can be naïve about this.

His passion and loyalty are a part of his overall strength of character, as an elf with a strong and loving heart whose perseverance drives him to great accomplishment as a warrior and a servant, and makes him always ready to rise to the occasion, no matter what is demanded of him. His faithfulness and his fervor and deep capacity to love are also a large part of his relationship with his wife, Sairien. He is very trusting of the people that he sees as trustworthy, but everyone must earn this view from him, and this is not an easy thing to do. When it comes to whom or what Maegisil places his deep-rooted faith in, he is not at all naïve.

He is also not at all the kind of person who loves ‘freely’. Perhaps it would strengthen his character if he was such a person, but it is in his nature to show love for a very select few, and to show only the amount of respect that seems proper for everyone else. He is most often outwardly stern and dutiful, and has been told to ‘loosen up’ on occasion. This appearance sometimes makes him initially disliked, though most often those who get more acquainted with him warm up to him quickly. Maegisil may not be an open book to anyone but Sairien and Celebrimbor, but he can easily lose his severity and show a warm face to others.

HISTORY: Born in SA 38, Maegisil was one of the first born in Lindon. He was raised as a both a warrior, a defender of his people, and as a craftsman, who could serve his people in many ways. In SA 750 he was among the younger, adventurous elves who accompanied Celebrimbor in the founding of Eregion. In those travels, Celebrimbor came upon the young elf practicing his swordsmanship (mainly, in his brashness, to show off what he had recently learned from an elder, more seasoned warrior – one of Celebrimbor’s personal guards), and examined the blade Maegisil was using, in curiosity. When the young elf informed the lord that he had crafted it himself, Celebrimbor became even more interested, and they spoke for a long time. This was, of course, not the last time they spoke, and it came that the elf-lord practically adopted Maegisil as a son.

In the many years that followed, he became more of a brother than a son, growing wise and strong in both mind and heart, as well as body, through the help and simply the observation of one such as Celebrimbor. His crafting skills were also drastically improved, as we was personally instructed by the elf-lord. Soon, Maegisil was appointed by the lord to a position in which he acted as a personal assistant to Celebrimbor, though his job was less like a servant’s and more comparable to that of a counselor, though Maegisil would never be as bold to consider it such. Around SA 1200, however, Maegisil began to counsel his lord less, as a person named ‘Annatar’ had arrived, and, following this, the elf-lord began to spend quite a bit of his time in the forge. Still, Maegisil saw much of Celebrimbor and aided him many a time until around 1500, when the elf-lord grew even scarcer. The one called Annatar was always coming and going, and by the early to mid 1500s, Maegisil did not see him at all, and was gladdened by this. He assumed that he would see more of his lord with Annatar gone. But he found himself to be wrong.

The Lord Celebrimbor still performed all his usually duties, and spoke with his friend Maegisil, but did so less and less, slowly. Late in the year 1590, Maegisil asked for the lady Sairien’s hand in marriage, as he had long been acquainted with and had spoken to her, as she was part of Celebrimbor’s court. But, soon after this, Celebrimbor disappeared for 6 days, working constantly in the forge. When he finally emerged, he acted strangely, speaking of Rings and of his creations. For years Celebrimbor hid what he had crafted, until late in 1692, when the Elves were on the brink of war with Sauron, who had grown much in power. Following this, he sent the Three to Lindon, where it was determined where to hide them, so that Sauron would never possess them. As Celebrimbor prepares for defending Eregion from Sauron’s forces, Maegisil aids him in every way that he can, and readies his sword for the defense of Ost-in-Edhil.

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Durelin's post ------- FIRST FOR THE GAME

The Three ~ A Prologue

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

In the Second Age of Middle-earth, deep within the heat of the forge, the rhyme was fulfilled. Sauron, under the disguise of one named Annatar, had come to the Elven-smiths, the Gwaith-i-Mírdain of Eregion. Dark magic bred deception, and Sauron the Deceiver seduced the Elves, taking on a body fair and majestic. The might of a Maia and the skill of the elven craftsmen brought into the world a new power, a power which few knew the true greatness of. It is unlikely that even its creators knew its full power, besides perhaps the great trickster, the servant of Morgoth. Might and authority, fueled by deep magic from the dawn of time, was poured into the molds in the shapes of rings, and these creations, the greatest of crafts forged by the Noldorin smiths, became the Rings of Power.

The magic of all nineteen of these rings, and one other, would be a part of Sauron’s greatest treachery. Only three would survive and make the journey to Valinor with their bearers. These were the greatest of the Rings, named Narya, Nenya, and Vilya, which had been forged by Celebrimbor himself, Lord of Eregion.

~*~*~*~

c. SA 1590

“It has been quite some time since I saw Lord Celebrimbor…” The Elf trailed off, an unspoken question hanging on the silence that followed. “It has been some time for me as well, Master Annúnfin,” Maegisil replied, speaking as if he was only lightly commenting, but answering his companion quite seriously. He knew it was important business when Annúnfin wished to speak with the Lord Celebrimbor, and when the Elf-lord had been absent from his normal duties for so long. “I will be sure to inform him that you wish to speak with him, when I do see him,” he finished, his last words bringing many thoughts to his mind. When…I hope that shall not be much longer.

It was difficult for Maegisil to explain to all those who wished to receive an audience with the lord that he could not even speak to his master, and had not been able to for many days; this was unexpected, as Maegisil had served Celebrimbor as the lord’s attendant for many years now. Though Maegisil would never be so bold as to say it, he was also a close friend, and an old friend, of the lord.

Celebrimbor had been spending almost all of his time in the forge, sweating over his work, and conversing mostly with the visitor, Annatar. The strange elf – at least, Maegisil believed he was an elf; he was certainly of a fair race, though it was impossible to say which he belonged to for sure – seemed to be some sort of a magician. What business this elf had with the Lord of Eregion was a mystery to Maegisil, as well as to all those who had never even had a chance to speak to the lord before, and those who knew him well. It was bewildering to all except those who worked in the forge with Celebrimbor and this ‘Annatar’, some of the greatest of the Noldorin craftsmen, second only to Celebrimbor himself. For almost seven days now the forges at Ost-in-Edhil had been burning, it seemed, day and night, and had been kept off-limits to most of the city dwellers. Maegisil had ventured to speak to his lord the previous afternoon, and had briefly watched several of the smiths at work. There had been much noise emerging at a constant rate from the forge for those past 6 days, so that Maegisil had barely been able to hear his own voice over the clamor, but now all was quiet, and only the barred doors told anyone that they were still hard at work. Hopefully, though, the silence meant that their task, whatever it was, was nearing completion, and Maegisil would no longer have to wait in his Lord Celebrimbor’s antechamber, spending hours pacing and straightening gemmed statues and chests, and delicately woven tapestries on the walls, and rich cloths over table-tops…none of which needed any straightening whatsoever.

Annúnfin muttered some kind of thanks with a slight bow of his head in simple respect, and turned to go. But Maegisil watched as the elf turned back in one swift motion and looked him in the eye, and he prepared himself for more questions that he could not answer. He was surprised when Annúnfin simply said, “I was pleased to hear you have found yourself a wife, Maegisil.”

Maegisil stumbled on his thoughts for a moment, his mouth open to reply but words coming out. Finally his mind caught up with his mouth and he responded. “Thank you,” he began, a little uncertain, and obviously caught off-guard by Annúnfin’s comment. “It has been wonderful, very wonderful.”

A small smile formed on Annúnfin’s face, his eyes full of an understanding that Maegisil believed he would never have. Master Annúnfin was decidedly his elder, and never left any doubt of this in Maegisil’s impression. The elder elf turned to go again, and this time, Maegisil watched him walk away through the large gilded doors that exited into the great hallway that led up to his chambers. Maegisil’s mind traveled to thoughts of Sairien, his wife. But he did not have long to dwell on these, as they were interrupted by the flinging open of the doors of the antechamber. Immediately Maegisil looked up from the patch of beautifully tiled floor he had been staring at, knowing before his eyes even had a chance to see who was entering the chamber that only one person had ever flung those doors open before, and normally in excitement.

“Maegisil! My dear Maegisil!” Celebrimbor was practically shouting, seemingly frantic with excitement, full of energy, and obviously quite happy to see the elf that he had just found waiting in his antechamber. “I have much to tell you!”

“As have I to tell you, my lord,” Maegisil responded, maintaining an outwardly calm and dutiful appearance, though he was full of happiness to see that his lord was quite safe and healthy, and to finally be able to speak with him. He also felt a certain amount of excitement following Celebrimbor’s entrance, matching the elf-lord’s manner.

“Please, Maegisil, there is no necessity for any ‘my lord’s. These are my chambers, and so you may call me what you please.” Maegisil knew this, though he did like showing what he felt was the proper respect, and was prepared to respond, but he was ran over by Celebrimbor’s words, which rushed out in his enthusiasm.

“But you must know…I have finished them, and they are the greatest of all things I, or anyone, has ever crafted. Perhaps they are great enough even to relinquish my cursed House’s honor, though I doubt there is anything even an immortal can do in this Age or any Age to come that would out-do the power of the Oath of Fëanor.”

The lord paused long enough for Maegisil to speak quickly, “What have you finished, my lord?”

In his haste, he had forgotten to leave off the ‘my lord’, but it seemed that Celebrimbor no longer cared, as he was too deep in thought, seemingly enthralled with this new accomplishment that he spoke of vehemently. “Why, they are the Three. They are the greatest of the Rings of Power, of all 19. Yes, 19, after 90 years. And I fear there must be more to come. They truly are like nothing this world has known, even in Ages past, even with the War of the Silmarils long behind us. Of course, the creation of most of the rings was made possible by Annatar, and now…” He trailed off, his excitement slowly turning from confusion to what could only be fear. That was not something Maegisil was accustomed to seeing on the face and in the eyes of the elf-lord.

“Now what? I do not understand…” Maegisil trailed off, realizing that he really had nothing to say, though there were hundreds of questions running through his mind.

“Now, I am afraid I have made a grave mistake. A mistake that will affect the lives of many in both this Age and the Age to come, perhaps even Ages to come. I am very afraid, Maegisil, very afraid of what I, and my craftsmen, have done, and I am even more afraid of what the one I know only as Annatar has done, and what he will do. O by the Valar, Maegisil! For the first time in my life, I do not know what to do.”

Maegisil felt very uncertain in the silence that followed; he was confused, as well as uneasy and afraid, though he did not even understand why he was at all at unrest, except for what he saw in the look in Celebrimbor’s eyes and what he heard in the tone of his voice.

“What should I do, my lord?” he asked, cautiously, breaking the silence.

“I do not…” he stopped in the middle of this thought, took a breath, collecting himself, and started again, his thoughts renewed, “Soon, the Three must go from here. They must be hidden; they cannot be kept here. Though Annatar is gone, and he has been gone for some time, they mustn’t be within his reach. There is no way to undo what has been done, but, though they seem a curse to me now, the Three will not leave the house of our people.”

~*~*~*~

c. 1600

Maegisil bowed before the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn next to an elf he did not know the name of and their dwarf companions. He and this elf had traveled through Moria at the direction of the dwarves to exit through the eastern gate and make their way to Lorien, where they had recently been welcomed and led to Caras Galadon. Maegisil had been told very little by Celebrimbor, and was given only the instructions to guard his elf companion, and not bring any attention to themselves or their movements. Following orders, Maegisil did not ask the elf his name, and spoke to him only to make suggestions as to what paths they should take to avoid different obstacles of the land. Now that they had reached their destination, Maegisil did not speak at all.

The strange elf rose from his bow as the Lady Galadriel came forward. He turned to give Maegisil a look that clearly meant to stay out of his business. So Maegisil backed away to stand some distance from the elf, gesturing that the dwarves following him. Of course Viss Stonecut and his companions did not like this at all, and they grumbled a bit before joining Maegisil. Viss was the first to move, and the rest followed his lead. At least two of the dwarves present were certainly related to him, and younger, and obviously they held some kind of respect for him. There were only four dwarves, but even four of that race was enough to be quite the crowd, and they looked odd standing in a clump in the domain and presence of so many elves. Maegisil remained removed from them and watched in wonder as Galadriel accepted a small wooden chest from the unnamed elf. The Lady’s face was marvelously frightening as it scanned the faces of those who surrounded her, meeting Maegisil’s eyes for a moment. She did not smile as she had when she greeted them.

Suddenly she spoke, and spoke to all present. It seemed she was not as keen to hiding the proceedings. “Remember that there will always be light in Lorien, as I will bear this Ring, Nenya. You will always be safe here.” And as she raised her hand aloft just slightly, all present realized she had opened the chest and already donned what it contained. The beauty of Nenya startled them all, and left them full of wonder. Soon, far away upon the western shores of Middle-earth, the Elven-kings Gil-galad and Cirdan would wear the Rings Narya and Vilya, and the Three Rings for the Elven-kings, and Queen, would remain as powers of good in Middle-earth until they passed over into the West.

~*~*~*~

Late in the year SA 1695

Maegisil rushed up several flights of stairs only to stop and cautiously enter a pair of gilded doors, his mind filled with memories, all that he recalled from a day over a century ago. It did not seem that long ago, and yet the thought that the day he recalled was only several days after he had asked for his Sairien’s hand in marriage was nearly unbelievable.

Entering the chamber behind the gilded double doors, Maegisil found, of course, exactly whom he was looking for, reclining on a long couch and examining a game board with many small, flat, rounded stone pieces on it in designated positions. It was some kind of strategy game that the elf-lord had once tried to teach to Maegisil, praising how consuming it was and how much it put the mind in a struggle, forcing it to think as quickly as it could under pressure. Just what a general needed, he had said. As Maegisil had no interest in becoming a general, and simply wished to remain in his place at Celebrimbor’s side in battle, he had quickly given up on the game.

“My lord,” he began cautiously, interrupting Celebrimbor’s thoughts so that the lord’s head snapped up from the game board with a perturbed look on his face. His face softened quickly, though, and he asked Maegisil what had brought him here.

“Well, sir, we have received word from the King Gil-galad that the servant of Morgoth, Sauron, has grown in power enough that his armies have begun to terrorize the eastern part of these lands.”

“Sauron…much have I heard that name of late.” The elf-lord rose, a troubled look on his face, and began to pace. “He has even been in my dreams,” he paused in his pacing, and in his words, to look Maegisil in the eye, urgency written upon his face.

“It was only a matter of time before he would attack and strike back at our people.”

“But we still are in possession of the Three, and they are safe.” Maegisil cut in, reminding the elf-lord that there was at least one possible advantage.

“I can only hope that they will be more a blessing than the curse that they seem to be,” Celebrimbor quickly said in response to Maegisil’s statement, still unsure of whether or not the safe existence of the Three was in fact a good thing.

“They are not a curse as long as they are safe in the hands of Kings and a Queen of our people," the younger elf assured his lord. “And Lord Elrond has been sent to our aid with a considerable force,” Maegisil said, hoping to bring some kind of relief to his lord, uncertain of what the elf was so afraid of, and quickly growing afraid himself.

“It will be some time before he will reach us here, and Sauron will be moving quickly. Not too quickly – he is too wise for that. But his armies will arrive in Eregion, and they will march upon the gates of Ost-in-Edhil, and he will call upon me. But he does not know where the Three are, nor of the oath I have sworn…”

“We will be prepared for Sauron’s attack, my lord," Maegisil said, again trying to give his lord confidence in the situation. “Sauron is very strong, and our strength here does not match that of Forlindon and Harlindon, but there are many in Eregion that will fight for you.”

Celebrimbor laughed slightly, leaving Maegisil confused. It was almost a bitter laugh, and was the kind of laugh you hear from someone who is distressed and yet finds something to be darkly laughable. “I know you will fight for me, Maegisil,” the elf-lord said, “but I ask it of you and others to fight for our people, for their families.”

Maegisil only nodded, standing grave and silent before his lord, and recalling the day over century ago when Celebrimbor had first told him of the Rings. He was again afraid as he had been on that day, and when he looked at Celebrimbor, tall, fair, and brooding, he knew that the lord felt that same: afraid and uncertain. The biggest difference to Maegisil this time was the more prominent presence of Sauron. Since around the year 1200 of that age, word had it Sauron had been establishing his fortress in Mordor, and now the threat of the Dark Lord was even more of a reality, and all were learning to tremble slightly at that name, most likely to the pleasure of its bearer.

Celebrimbor asked Maegisil if he would bring the King’s emissary to him, feeling it of course proper that he receive them and speak to them himself. The younger elf quickly obeyed and left the elf-lord alone, deep in thought. The master of the Elvensmiths had much on his mind, and few of his thoughts were pleasant.

As he had sworn, the Three Rings, the greatest creations he had ever crafted, which he had hoped would be a blessing to himself and to his people, would never fall out of the hands of the Eldar, as they were hidden safely. They had been for close to a century, as he had long awaited the time when Sauron the Deceiver, or ‘Annatar’ as he had known him for a time, would strike with the power of his Ring. But the other rings were all in Sauron’s possession. Celebrimbor kept coming back to this thought, the knowledge of just how far the Deceiver’s power extended. But, as the elf-lord kept telling himself, he would never have the greatest, the Three. They would be a powerful defense for his people. Or so, at least, he hoped the future of these rings would unfold. I beg of Ilúvatar, let not the Oath of Fëanor mar this.

[piosenniel]

Elves of Eregion


Amanaduial's character

NAME: Narisiel Mirdain

AGE: 1210 at the time of the forging of the rings, 1313 at the beginning of the War. (born in SA 380)

RACE: Elf, originally from Harlindon, now dwelling in Ost-in-Edhil

GENDER:[ Female

WEAPONS: As a woman, Narisiel was not formally trained with weapons, but her father taught her more than a little practical knowledge with a sword and arrows, somewhat more than simply self-defence. Her husband, Sirithlonnior, a soldier, echoed this concern that she should be able to use a weapon, and so subsequently Narisiel is fairly proficient with a sword. She therefore crafted for herself a sword that can be used double-handed but also works well when used single handed: she is strong enough to wield a heavier weapon due to years working in a forge and is therefore strong for a woman, but knows that in a battle situation when she might have to use her sword, there would certainly be others with simply more brute strength than her, and so the skill that can be gained with a lighter weapon may be favourable. Hers is therefore lighter than a traditional double-handed sword, but a little heavier and longer than might be expected of a single-handed short stabbing sword. It is more a thing of beauty than weaponry, with the finest leather binding its hilt and a pommel and guard laid over with silver, and alfirin leaves winding a slim, delicate chain down the blade to the tip: Sirithlonnior teased her that such a flower is too associated with death, but Narisiel simply smiled and pointed out that did that not make Alfirin all the more appropriate for a weapon?

APPEARANCE: Narisiel’s features could have been crafted by her own delicate fingers, her fine boned face symmetrical and certainly striking. Her skin is pale due to the hours hidden behind a guard in a forge or in her workshop poring over some delicate piece of finery, her chin a little pointed and determined, her sharp, intelligent eyes solemn and thoughtful yet quick to flash with amusement: they are surprisingly dark and so are all the more striking when set in her pale face. Her pale face is framed with almost black hair, again making a stark contrast against her light skin; it falls down to her waist, although this is not particularly practical for her work, and so is usually tied up in a long plait down her back, or twisted in several plaits to keep it out of the way: this means that whenever she lets it loose, her hair retains a permanent series of waves all down its length. Narisiel is not especially tall for her people, standing at about 5’9”, and she is quite slender but muscular: outside of her forge or workshop, she wears clothes similar to any other lady of high standing, for her profession has taught her to love beauty, and such dress belies her muscles to an extent, lying in context with her delicate features; but in the forge she wears clothes much like any of the other smiths but obviously with a few adaptations: dark, sturdy clothes, often of leather or similar primarily practical, hard-wearing materials: a jerkin worn over a shirt, whose sleeves are usually rolled up above her elbows, breeches of a softer, more easily moveable material, over which a long apron is worn, which reaches down to mid-shin. These are the clothes that are usually only seen by other smiths, however: in public she dresses as a lady.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Narisiel is a woman of natural intelligence that she had done her best to use in her studies to become one of the foremost smiths of Eregion. This also required a fair amount of determination of course, and determination she certainly has: she is not one to back down from a challenge or from something she believes in or loves dearly, and her determination reaches to the point of stubbornness. However, that is not to say that her heart will always rule her head, and her prudence and wise advise is valued by Celebrimbor, as is her quick wit by both her Lord and her husband. It is a wit that is not always seen, however: in public, Narisiel remains quite quiet with those she does not know well or yet trust, and she is quick, often too quick, to judge other people. Her quiet, often solemn nature probably came initially from her father’s own rather sombre personality when she was growing up, always in comparison to her dead older brother although he always valued his daughter for what she was. The quiet, modest understanding that existed between Narisiel and her father is something that remains in her relationships in the present as well, and she is not, as some are, afraid of silence in a conversation. But that is not to say that she is always so: she is quick to show her amusement or her love when in private, and her son’s birth has perhaps extended her capacity to love, and love him she does, with a fierce, protective love that, for almost the first time in her life, overshadows her work. Maybe some of the fire from her forge has slipped into her nature, for her fierceness often shows in other areas as well, and in a debate her quietness can quite vanish in place of powerful and heated oratory skills. She is a skilled smith, a wise counsellor, a loving mother and a good wife, all at once a very private person as well as a public figure.

HISTORY: Born in Harlindon, Narisiel was the only daughter and eventually the only child of her parents, her mother and brother both drowning only a few weeks after she was born. Her father, an elf much older than his young wife, never blamed his daughter for surviving in place of her strong, intelligent older brother, and neither was he consciously disappointed in his only child being a daughter, but nonetheless Narisiel always felt the pressure, his need for her to succeed in place of her brother. As she was female, Narisiel would not trained as a warrior, as a brother would have been; but her father was not an especially affectionate or excessively extravagant man, and subsequently his way of showing his love for his daughter was not to spoil her as an only child, but to instead lavish upon her a gift that would last her far longer than material goods: the gift of an education. Instead of being given jewels, Narisiel was to learn how to make them – to earn a living and, at the same time, to earn a way of making her father proud. Subsequently when she came of age, Narisiel was sent East to Eregion to a friend of her father’s, for where better to learn to be a smith than from the Mirdain themselves?

Narisiel studied hard and her natural intelligence and hard work paid off as she rose in renown in her profession, being unusual both as a female and as a foreigner, but always with the backing of her father, although he remained in Lindon, and her mentor, an experienced jewelsmith – Narisiel in turn specialised in jewellery especially. The great effort and time she put into her profession often left the young elven woman with little time for herself, but, coming herself from the ‘land of music’, she had a love of music and kept this up – and eventually it was through music that she met her husband, Sirithlonnior, a captain in the army of Eregion, who she married in 1482. But Narisiel continued to rise in renown and skill, reaching the dizzy heights of the innermost forges in which Celebrimbor himself worked, and there faced her greatest challenge yet: working on nineteen rings, the greatest rings that would ever grace the face of this earth. Like the rest of the smiths and craftsmen who talked to Annatar of the rings, Narisiel fell under the spell of the magic and wonder that these rings would be, and so with those select few, she threw herself into the creation of those rings. To an extent, maybe, she was jealous of Annatar, his skill so great that he was immediately welcomed into Ost-in-Edhil without question, rather than having to work his way up as she had; on the other hand, maybe part of her wished to impress him, and to impress the Lord Celebrimbor. But the best was not yet to come: in the year 1590, Narisiel, along with a few more select jewelsmiths, was to work on the pinnacle of nearly a century’s work: the forging of three rings, three rings that would almost cast the others in shadow, fire, water and air; the three greatest elven rings.

Her enthusiasm in those last six days almost turned to an obsession, and not for any of the three men in her life would she come out of the forges – or reveal her work to them. Narisiel barely stopped to sleep or eat, so determined was she to prove herself as one of the Mirdain, to live up to the honour that had been bestowed on her. But as she had worked on the rings, from about halfway through their forging in the 1540s, she had felt some sort of unease, something…not quite right about the making of these nineteen rings, and in the last six days as Celebrimbor locked himself away with only those few smiths and the mysterious Annatar, she realised that she was not the only one to feel that unease: Celebrimbor had the air of a desperate man, a man working to forge paradise but with the worry that it would simply yield only an empty utopia. And as the three rings were finally completed, their delicate finishing touches detailed by Celebrimbor himself, the pride in Narisiel’s heart was somewhat overshadowed – overshadowed by a doom sense of ‘what have we done’. Things that powerful could not be all good…but little did she know the power of what those beautiful, perfect creations could do.

In the last one hundred years, the elven smith continued her work as a jewelsmith, but also extended her expertise into other areas of crafting, working secondarily on armoury, often fine, ceremonial pieces, as close to jewellery as possible; for how could she work solely on jewellery when she knew that she could never create something as perfect and powerful as those rings? She tried to put them out of her mind, but seemed haunted by them: she was blessed with a son, and Sirithlonnior gave him the name Artamirion, noble jewel, and although the name seemed to fit, her son being the only thing she could imagine more beautiful than those rings, she was unsure if she liked such a comparison, the dread that it seemed to entail. After the creation of the rings, Narisiel became an advisor to the Lord Celebrimbor, and at the same time a friend, but it was a somewhat wary, almost guilty friendship, both elves unable to forget the three elven rings. In time, the memory of them dimmed, and Narisiel was able to get on with her life as a counsellor, as a wife, as a mother, and as a smith – but little did she know how those rings would stir the folds of history, more than a century after their creation…


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Amanaduial the archer's post

Seated gracefully on the banks of the river, Ost-in-Edhil spread it’s elegant almost lotus-shaped leaves out over the River Glanduin. Bordered on one side by mountains and surrounded by rivers on all others – the Glanduin and smaller Siranon, glancing off the larger river, the tributaries of Nin-in-Eilph, and the majestic Mitheithel – it sat harmlessly in the South of Eregion. In the capital of the ‘holly region’, all was hustle and bustle as always: the year was drawing on yet above the heads of the elven inhabitants the holly leaves still swung gently in the winds, and the sound of the elvensmiths in their forges, always, always sang out among their evergreen leaves. From a birdseye view, little could the eagles that circled regally overhead have guessed what busy little bees had been working on inside those forges – and what evil their creations would bring from over the mountains of Mordor…

As Maegisil was rushing hastily down the stairs of Celebrimbor’s regal dwelling from his master’s rooms on his master’s errand, one of the Lord of Eregion’s other advisors was also working hard, but far away from the finery of Celebrimbor’s rooms, where her lordship played games of strategy. Hers was another type of work indeed: the work that Ost-in-Edhil’s Mirdain were famous for.

The clang of Nerisiel’s hammer rang out again and again on the anvil, the flat-ended instrument chiming out almost musically. The elf took careful aim each time before she clashed iron against steel, but the force with which she smashed down her tool seemed to convey anger more than anything else. Eventually, her pale face glinting in the firelight of the forge, the elvensmith set her hammer down, with a pair of tongs, lifted the object of her attentions from the anvil; and after close inspection, she nodded slightly, her delicate features satisfied, and took the item over to her workbench. Setting the article – a new sword blade – carefully down on the bench, Nerisiel seated herself beside it, her feet curling up around the chair leg in an almost lady like manner that was somewhat contradicted by the loose, dark workman’s trousers that they were clad in, overlaid with the shin-length leather apron common to working smiths. Not that any who came to see the Master Smith would have commented on it – or not out loud anyway. After all, in Ost-in-Edhil, female smiths were not entirely uncommon – but for one to reach her standard of craftsmanship: that was.

Humming softly to herself, the elf studied the blade she had made closely, holding it almost delicately in the tongs although it had now cooled sufficiently to be touched. It was a commissioned blade from one of her husband’s colleagues, a Captain in Eregion’s army, as a gift for his son, and would therefore be rather more ornamental before she had finished with it. After all, her own blade, which hung proudly over her forge as an example of her work, was testimony to the fact that simply because a weapon is a tool of violence, it cannot also be a thing of beauty – and having known the boy to whom the sword would be bestowed since be was a small child no more than about ten summers, she intended to make this article just such. Nothing less would do for Nerisiel, for she was after all a jewel smith above all else. A profession which had come back recently to haunt her… The elf pursed her lips grimly and turned back to the task in hand. Yes, the blade would have to take another heating before the engravings that she planned were carved on it, but not too much: she could begin them today, it was not too late in the day…

“Who is that for?”

The voice came from the entrance to the forge and was one so familiar to the smith that it did not make her jump but instead prompted a smile on her pretty features. She turned, smiling, to face the young elf who leant with his arms nonchalantly crossed against the door post of her workshop, the leaves of the holly that was trained around her doorway lightly brushing hair as dark as his own. Her finest work of art: her son.

“It is for a friend of yours actually, Artamir – Leneslath, Captain Rimborien’s son. A gift from his parents, a reward for his recent promotion?” Artamir nodded, coming slowly forward into the dim of the forge, the light glinting mischievously in his eyes, lighter than those of his mother, as he examined the blade from behind his mother’s shoulder. She turned to watch her son proudly: he would be fifty summers this year and had truly grown into a beautiful young man, a son who both she and her husband were proud of.

Artamir smiled at his mother, stepping back slightly, and then nodded towards the beginnings of a hilt that lay further down the bench. “For the same?” When his mother nodded, Artamir raised his eyebrows. “Silver? Will you be using rubies with it?”

She smiled and shook her head. Although he was bound to be a soldier, as his father was, she was glad that her son nonetheless did not dismiss his mother’s art and had come to appreciate her craft – even to the point of knowing some of her designs. “Emerald. His previous sword was made of the same, Rimborien informs me, and besides, they will suit his nature more: he is a far less fierce young man than yourself, Artamir!” she chided teasingly.

“And where did I get such a trait, I wonder, mother? Not from my father I think…” the younger elf grinned and raised a sardonic eyebrow at his mother. “Am I then to have rubies?”

Nerisiel kept a straight face as she replied, “What makes you think you shall receive such gems in your sword, my son? Why, I had intended simply a plain design for you – nay, in fact, your current training sword shall do just fine, I shall model my design on that!” she teased, referring to the sword that Artamir used for sword training, a plain, blockish instrument that the smith’s trained elf regarded critically as the bare essentials – that is, it had a blade, a hilt, and not much else. Her son’s eyes widened – he still had the innocence of youth enough to be surprised – then he put on a mock sad face. “As you wish, mother…”

Nerisiel laughed and embraced her son fondly before sending him on his way out of her workshop – he had come by on his way home from training with a few of his friends, and he proudly informed her that Rimborien’s son – a boy no few years older than himself – had complimented him on his style. Nerisiel smiled at the doorway that her son had just left. Style, they said? And style his gift would most certainly have, once his coming of age was reached next summer – as Sirithlonnior, his father, would certainly have been able to tell him, had Nerisiel not sworn him to secrecy, for a light came into her eyes whenever she spoke of the sword’s details. The blade she made as her son’s first sword would be one of her finest weaponry creations yet…

Her finest creations yet…

Nerisiel sighed heavily and rubbed her tired eyes with the back of one hand. The thought of those rings, those finest of all pieces ever created, and her part in their making had returned more and more often to her mind of late. Pushing away the sword blade she had been working on, the smith walked across her workshop and stepped out into the street outside to behold the view from the city walls. Although she had the privilege to work for and with Celebrimbor in the innermost forges, she had not wishes to give up her own workshop at the East side of the city, for the memories it had of her earliest days with her mentor, and for the view it held over the Sirannon and the mountains to the East. Maybe this siting was no longer such an advantage: every day, Nerisiel was reminded of the darkness that was growing in the East, over those mountains in Mordor…

Sighing, the elvensmith returned to her desk and, after a slight hesitation, she put aside the soft cloth that she had her hand on with a mind to wrapping it up. No: she had people to see but what use would it be to brood on the dark thoughts on her mind? After all, Leneslath’s blade would not get done itself… Picking up the tongs again and resuming her humming as she tried to lighten her heart, Nerisiel returned to her forge to heat the blade – the engraving would be next. As her humming continued, the elvensmith’s heart lifted as she turned once again to the business in hand – weaponry, rather than those three, beautiful pieces of jewellery…

[piosenniel]

Elves of Eregion


Esgallhugwen's character

NAME: Fëaglin Lómë

AGE: 1, 587

RACE: Elf of Eregion

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS : A long sword, light yew longbow, elvish rope.


APPEARANCE: Usually has a stern contemplative look on his face. Which only adds more severity to his clear grey eyes that some say give off an odd glint of light. His long blonde hair is plaited along the sides in intricate if not eccentric braids to keep it out of his face. He is well built but thin and lithe enough to pass by unnoticed. His garb usually consists of the colours crimson and black (very eccentric indeed) of course he does wear a customary leather apron when doing his silver smith work.


PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Fëaglin has a cool and collected head on his shoudlers. He is a reliable and loyal friend with a cunning mind and a keen skill in silver craft. He hopes to someday be true to kind and noble deeds. But for all his good qualities he can be a bit of a loudmouth on rare occasions when he over indulges in the finer vineyards of wine housed in the cellar.



HISTORY: Having lived in Eregion for quite some time Fëaglin was accustomed to the peacefulness that came with it. He often spends his time deep in thought about his next venture in silver smithing, whether rings or ring mail he considers the designs with a tacticians grace. He has a sharp eye and deft fingers to detail and throughout his career has never missed an oppportunity to show his skill with a master's flourish. His father was somewhat of a military man and showed his young son the art of sword and bow in case they would be needed some day. His mother was a kind hearted soul always willing to give to others and often spent her time in the garden tending to flowers and singing with the birds.


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Esgallhugwen's post

Fëaglin's hammer made a sharp tinging sound as it struck the silver, flattening it into a wide band. He then took a small pair of pliers and twisted the metal to his desired effect, plaiting it along with two other strands in an intricate fashion of spirals and curves, similar to the delicate knotwork of vines.

He laughed heartily as he finished his commisioned task, a spiraling necklace for a bride to be, and nine circlets for the maids in waiting. A fellow silver-smith across the street with a bright young apprentice had made two beautiful rings for the couple. Fëaglin had been close to the furnace all day, so it was no suprise that he thought he deserved a nip of fresh air along with a nip of some fine wine.

The lean Elf cleared his work area, and set the finished silver pieces along a long table made viewable through a window so that others may admire his work, and be inspired to commision or buy some of his pre-crafted vendibles. The sun was setting as he locked up his shop for the night, and made his way into his house, just spacious enough for himself and one other. He shook the stiffness from his fingers.

But there was no other, not yet at any rate and at times Fëaglin grew heart sick in the dark of his room playing with the silver trinkets he had fashioned in his spare time in his forge. One in particular was special to him, a device of curious beauty.

Many loops of silver were strung together with subtle gems interlaced in the finery, and when one would push the outer most ring the others were set into motion, revolving around one another in a dizzying harmony. And if the light of the setting sun were to hit the gems just right an efflorescence of watery colour would sweep across the vaulted ceiling.

He had not revealed this creation to anyone, this creation of his helped to sooth his troubled thoughts and helped to clear his mind. Fëaglin was not blind to the encroaching darkness nor was he insensitive to the greater weight it was now pushing onto his Kin, threatening their very way of life.

Rumours had come of orcs along the borders and of Eregion's impending doom, but also the rumoured hope that help would arrive before all came to naught. Fëaglin hoped with all his will that that were true.

His grey eyes gazed steadily at the sword and bow hanging from the far wall, a growing knowledge came to him that they would have to be used before the end. He stood and walked down into the cellar picking a glass and small bottle of home made wine.

He made his was into the well kept courtyard and uncorked the bottle with the intention to finish it before he crept into bed under the starry sky. His head would be clearer in the morning.

[piosenniel]

Elves of Eregion


Mithalwen's character

NAME: Losrian Lindiel

AGE: Born 1645 SA So 50 (borderline adult in elf years) at the start of the action

RACE: Elf (Noldorin/Telerin)

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS : Good sharp knife, long bow (will acquire sword later)

APPEARANCE: Has reached what is likely to be full height of 6 Feet. Although of mainly Noldorin blood she has inherited the silver hair of her Telerin grandmother. She has the pale complexon and grey eyes of her people. As a craftsperson she cares deeply for the appearance of the things that she makes but has not yet developed any interest in her own appearance. She wears the clothes that are most practical for what she is doing and her long hair is usually pulled back into a loose and untidy plait. Generally looks quite scruffy especially by elvish standards.



PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Seems quite "difficult" stubborn and awkward but this masks a little suspected shyness and lack of confidence. Very determined and will usually find a way to acheive her ends. Very loyal and will usually do theght thing even if she grumbles about it. Basically a very young elf who has some growing up to do.

HISTORY:

Born in Lindon in to an unremarkable family she is the daughter of a carpenter / woodcarver and a musician. she is descended from refugees from Gondolin and Sirion. All though she has a fine singing voice (hence her "mother name" of Lindiel) her shyness has given her a horror of performing and to her mother's great disappointment she was determined to become a smith. Her reply to her mother's protests that women did not become smiths was that one of the greatest smiths in Eregion was a woman. As soon as Losrian had heard of Nerisiel it had been her ambition to be apprenticed to her and finally her parents relented. Her elder brother was already at Ost in Edhil, working as a carpenter like their father and while they grieved that both their children woujld be far away, at least the elder could keep an eye on the younger. In 1690, Losrian arrived in Eregion and had been delighted when she was accepted as an apprentice. Losrian is devoted to Nerisiel to the point almost of worship,and has shown a side of her personality that would surprise her family. In the forge and design rooms she is diligent, hardworking and eager to learn as much as possible as soon as possible. At home she resents the domestic duties that keep her from her craft.


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Mithalwen's post

Losrian passed her mentor's son as she left the workshops; she had given a swift smile in acknowledgment but although they were almost the same age (indeed Losrian was the elder by a few months), Artamir had the confidence of his rank that made her feel a lot younger, even though he always treated his mother's apprentice with the greatest courtesy.

She did not go directly back home, she had her bow with her and there was just enough light to go to the buttes for a while first. Nearly five years into her apprenticeship she was still a beginner as Elves rate such things, and with conflict threatening her skill, such as it was has been directed into the consumables of wars. However she was not downcast by her task - she knew that it would be long before she had the skill for sword smithing, and her interest in archery, and a knowledge of wood learnt from her father and brother meant that making arrowheads had a certain fascination. Her trip to the archery practice grounds was to test different designs.

She fitted an arrow and drew it back to anchor point, grey eyes focussed on the target though it was the flight of the arrow that interested her as she released the string.

"That bow is too short for you now, Lossie" said a familiar voice. Losrian did not need to turn in order to know her brother, Ferin, stood behind her. It would have been risking the next arrow through the throat for anyone else to address her thus...

"Indeed, but in current times, I doubt it will be the bowyer's priority to make a bow to fit the stature of a humble apprentice - and if you come to rebuke me, I will be home to scub floors or whatever in a few minutes". Their last private conversation had involved a thinly veiled "suggestion" that Losrian should shoulder more of the household duties to spare her pregnant sister-in-law, Laswen.

"That was not my purpose", he sighed, "I saw you by chance and thought we might walk home together- though we will all have to do more and make sacrifices unless things turn for the better unexpectedly. Those who dwell in the out lands will seek refuge in the city.... You should have stayed in Lindon, you would have been safer there".

"I do not regret my choice, for I have learned more in five years here than I would have learnt in fifty anywhere else - but here, fifty years would not be enough to learn all they might teach me ....."

"Enough, enough.... how anyone can prefer shaping metal to wood is beyond the understanding of a mere carpenter - and I do not want it explained! Let us get home and eat - and find you a floor to scrub since you seem to have your heart set on the task."

As it happened she was spared it, for once they had eaten, she had exchanged a task she hated for one she did not mind. While Laswen took over stitching the dress she was to wear at the feast to mark her fiftieth birthday shortly (her uncommon winter birthday was as much a reason for her name as her pale colouring), Losrian kneaded the bread, singing softly as she did so. She soon finished her task and offered half heartedly to take back the stitching since in Laswen's expert hands more progress had been made in an hour than had been made in many weeks, and it now looked like something that would in time become a dress rather than a random bundle of fabric, ..."unless, there is something else I can do while you sew ? " Losrian added hopefully.

"All is done for today, but I am happy to sew ..." said Laswen, and the pile of tiny garments already awaiting the birth of her child in the spring were a testament to this .."however it would give me joy if you were to fetch your lute and play while I did so since, I fear there will be little enough to sing about in the days to come.

Privately, Losrian agreed with her, and doubted that any would be in the mood for celebration when her birthday arrived. While she would be pleased by the result, hating as she did to be the focus of attention, the cause scared her as much as anyone, and so she did as she was bid and fetched her lute - a parting gift from her parents - and returned to play the simple songs she had learnt as a child, ignoring for that time the many that told of sorrow and war.

[piosenniel]

Elves of Eregion


Alcarillo's character

NAME: Cainenyo Nession

AGE: 1767

RACE: Elf of Eregion

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Cainenyo uses an antique sword inherited from his father, who was a guard of one of Gondolin’s gates. Named Angereg, it is slightly curved and has a blue leather binding on its long hilt. Cainenyo also has a hunting bow made of yew. He normally hunts animals with it, but it is strong enough to kill orcs. He has no formal weapons training, but hunts regularly. Cainenyo feels that he is ready to fight if he must.

As for armor, Cainenyo usually wears a very polished breastplate, very polished vambraces, and very polished greaves, all of steel, and all made by himself. (Cainenyo is a blacksmith) Underneath it all he wears chain-mail, which extends down to his knees. On his head he wears a helmet with a green plume.

APPEARANCE: Cainenyo is tall, about six feet and two inches, and very strong, having worked at an anvil for most of his life. His hair is dark brown, and extends down to his shoulders in long locks. His eyes are steel grey, like the metals he works with. As for his garb Cainenyo likes to wear dark green, usually embroidered with elegant designs about the edges, and when working he wears a leather apron and gloves. During cooler weather Cainenyo likes to wear a long grey cloak, fastened with a dwarven brooch.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Cainenyo has a friendly, pleasant and open personality, and does not like to become angry at people. He is a loving husband and father, and would die for his family if needed. This love can turn to worry in troublesome times, and he can be over-protective.

In his business, Cainenyo likes to learn from others’ mistakes, which has helped elevate him to the status of an expert blacksmith. As for his own mistakes, Cainenyo often tries to hide them, and sometimes feels angry at himself for failing. He sees mistakes as failures at his expertise in smithy-work. When Cainenyo is saddened or angered he sees his wife, who consoles him and soothes his troubles. Sometimes Cainenyo can be suspicious of others, and often relies on mere intuition. This can make him unreliable when advice is needed.

He does not like to interfere in the affairs of the mighty and important. He just wants to lead a happy life and go on as a blacksmith.

HISTORY: Cainenyo was born in FA 511, right after the Fall of Gondolin. His father was a guard of Gondolin’s Gate of Writhen Iron and his mother was a seamstress. The entire family survived the destruction of the city and lived until the end of the age at the Havens of Sirion. It was during this time that Cainenyo learned most of his skills in smithy-work from Angandil, a survivor of Gondolin’s destruction who moved to Tol Eressea at the end of the age, and many lore-books his parents saved from Gondolin. Cainenyo’s love for metals was first in his heart until he met Alassante, a beautiful elf-maiden whose parents had both survived Gondolin. They fell in love and married. They were thinking of children when the War of Wrath occurred, postponing any plans of a family.

At the beginning of the Second Age they fled to Lindon, which Cainenyo’s family chose as their new home, but ships and the sea did not interest Cainenyo, so he and Alassante decided to follow Celebrimbor to Eregion, attracted by the knowledge of the dwarves and the many opportunities for a new life. Cainenyo has met many dwarves while living in Ost-in-Edhil, and learned much from them. His business as a blacksmith grew, and Cainenyo is considered one of the foremost experts in working with iron. Cainenyo’s son, Arenwino, was born in SA 1598, and is apprenticed to a silversmith across town. Cainenyo has already taught two apprentices, now on their own, and now he mostly makes iron trellises, candelabras, and other things to embellish the home. Lately though, he has been asked to make many swords and armor. Cainenyo has made a sword for his son. Alassante is currently pregnant with her second child, who she and Cainenyo hope to be a girl.


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Alcarillo's post

Cainenyo’s hammer struck a glowing rod of iron, casting sparks across his forge. He was as happy as could be while working; there was little he loved more than to create something usable out of what previously wasn’t. Cainenyo turned the long rod of iron over with tongs, and struck it some more, creating a shower of sparks. He plunged the rod in a bucket of water, throwing steam up into the air. After heating the rod to a warm glow in the furnace, set into the wall and where he heated his iron to make it malleable, he resumed striking the iron on the anvil, gradually forming a distinguishable shape out of it.

Cainenyo’s forge was open to the streets of Ost-in-Edhil, separated by only a few arches and two steps downwards. People could come and go as they pleased, purchasing wares and asking for specific items to be made. The forge itself was focused around the anvil, like the centerpiece of a table set for a feast. Cainenyo’s wares were spread about his forge. They lay displayed on tables and hanging to the walls, examples of the blacksmith’s skill. Cainenyo made things to beautify or serve a purpose in the home: trellises, small slender tables, candelabras, braziers, and elegant grills to cap drainage pipes. But Cainenyo could also make knives, swords, armor, arrowheads, spearheads, and other less domestic goods. Cainenyo, as an expert in iron, was not limited to what he could make.

Cainenyo continued to beat his rod of iron, manipulating it with heavy black tongs and crafting it into a delicate shape, resembling a long blade of grass. He was creating a knife, one to be used in self-defense against an attacker. He plunged it into his bucket of water and held it firmly in his hand, swinging it about for a moment and testing it against an imaginary orc. Cainenyo found the knife to be suitable, and placed it in an old chest near the furnace. He would perform the finishing touches tomorrow. The sun was beginning to set and he decided to finish for the day and enter the house to see his wife, Alassante.

Cainenyo wiped his gloves on his leather apron. Removing the gloves, he noticed a tall figure standing in one of the archways. It was his son, Arenwino, who was apprenticed to a silver-smith across the city. Arenwino was not quite as tall as his father, but more slender, with the wavy dark hair of his mother. He wore the gloves and apron of a silversmilth, and hoped to work with the Mírdain when his apprenticeship was finished.

“You’re back. How did today go?” Cainenyo asked his son.

“It was fine. Today Celebdur taught me more about making molds and such. We made some rings for an engaged couple.” Arenwino said, descending the steps into the forge. He looked about the strewn instruments and noticed the flaming furnace and asked, “Were you making something?”

“Yes, a knife.” Cainenyo answered, “There have been a lot more requests for weaponry these days.” He continued after a short pause, “That reminds me. I have a gift for you.”

Arenwino waited in anticipation as Cainenyo moved to a table to the side of his anvil. There he delicately picked up a long sword. Arenwino stood closer, gazing at the long, curved blade. The flames of the furnace danced on its smooth surface. It was handed to Arenwino, who held it admiringly.

“Thank you, Father,” he spoke, “But what is the occasion? I don’t deserve a sword like this one.”

“Well, there is no occasion, as of now,” Cainenyo answered, “But there may be. I hear of orcs harassing the edges of Eregion, and I don’t want my son to be caught without defense if he happens to be traveling abroad and is ambushed. And besides, who knows how far the orcs might come. What if they attack the city?”

“But surely they won’t. We have soldiers aplenty, and why would they attack Ost-in-Edhil?”

Cainenyo picked up the bucket of water. “Well, I’ve heard that that Annatar, who helped Celebrimbor create those rings, has turned against him. He’s sending orcs against us, or so I’ve heard from the refugees entering the city each day.” He doused the flames of the furnace, sending steam everywhere.

“Will you be asked to fight?” Arenwino looked concerned. The sun was now setting.

“I doubt that. I’m more useful staying here and making weapons and armor than going off to battle. But don’t worry. If I am asked to fight I’ve already made armor for myself and I have a sword. It’s getting late; let’s go inside.”

Cainenyo hung his apron on a peg by the door that led into his home and put away what tools were left laying about. They entered the home’s courtyard through an arched doorway. The courtyard was a small space mostly taken up by a square pool for collecting rainwater and a few bushes of fragrant flowers. They were greeted by Alassante, Cainenyo’s wife and Arenwino’s mother. She was pregnant, and the new child was due in four more months. Alassante’s wavy brown hair fluttered in a slight breeze coming through the open doorway. She wore a light, simple dress, comfortable and loose. She kissed both her son and husband, and led them towards the entrance to the house.

Then Alassante noticed the sword in Arenwino’s hands. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

“Father gave it to me,” said Arenwino, “He told me that orcs were crawling all over the edges of Eregion, and that refugees are coming to the city. He said that the orcs might come here, too, and that I shouldn’t be unarmed. Isn’t that true, Father?”

“It’s certainly a possibility,” Cainenyo said, and his wife frowned at him as they entered the house. Arenwino smiled, despite the future’s uncertainty.

[piosenniel]

Elves of Eregion


Nurumaiel's character


NAME: Erinlaer

AGE: an Elf age... say perhaps somewhere past one thousand

RACE: Elf of Eregion

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Erinlaer carries no weapon, and has never been trained to use a weapon, but no doubt she would be able to use one sufficiently if the need
arose.

APPEARANCE: Tall, slender, after the fashion of Elves. Long, dark, silky hair, again after the fashion of Elves. And, once more after the fashion of Elves, grey eyes and fair skin. She has a very light and graceful bearing, more than is usual for her people. She walks about in a way that is almost a dance, and seems constantly to have a sweet melody in her head that she must move with. The expression constantly on her face is very innocent and sweet, almost childish.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Erinlaer is not a dreamer in the strictest sense, but she does have a certain atmosphere of dreams about her. She views all the world in a rosy light, and she disbelieves the existence of evil, not as a willfull choice, but simply because the thought never occured to her. Her mother deplores her naiveness, and her father is delighted with her innocence.

She may constantly be found playing at her harp and humming. She seems to live in a world of light and song, which, though charming to new acquaintances, keeps her from what duties she might have, even the duty of being a joy and affectionate to her parents, though she loves them dearly.

Briefly, to some she is considered sweet, charming, and innocent, and to others she is considered absent-minded, excessively dreamy, and rather simple.

HISTORY: Erinlaer was born to a rather poetic father and a rather common-sense mother. Her father had been renowned for his skill at music and song, but though he was a good husband and father he had the capability of frustrating his wife with his inability at times to look gravely upon the hardness of life and set his hands to hard labour. Music and story was his delight, and he raised his daughter to have a great appreciation for it.

As she grew older her mother searched for and found one who would make a suitable husband for her... a fairly well-off, strong Elf who would appeal to her light-heartedness and innocence by his easy-coming laughter and nobility of heart and mind, but also one who would be a good provider for her by his lack of absent-mindedness. Heledharm himself fell deep in love with her, and she with him, and it was not long before they were wed.

It has not been many years now since their marriage, and they are quite content with their lives, she happy to wile away the hours playing upon her harp, and he more than content to overlook the occasional slips in the housekeeping for the sake of seeing the innocent joy shining in her eyes as she sings.


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Nurumaiel's post

Erinlaer touched a few strings on her harp and the beginning of a haunting tune drifted to her ears. Her eyes brightened keenly, and then softened and gazed absently off into the distance. She kicked her feet very gently back and forth, but aside from that she was motionless. In every respect she seemed to be entirely in another world, one that held nothing but the music she played.

A tall, smiling Elf entered the room and looked fondly at her. She did not even notice him, so he sat down to watch her. Very softly she began to hum, and then she sprang lightly to her feet and began to dance about the room in a very sweet, childlike way. It was not until she tripped on his foot that she became aware of his presence. Her face lit up and she laughed rather shamefacedly.

"I didn't see you, Heledharm," she said simply.

"I came to tell you that your mother intends to visit us," he said. "Your father, too, but this evening. He wants to hear you play and sing."

"And I wish the same of him," she said. "We shall have to play and sing together." She ran her fingers lightly over the well-crafted wood of her harp and smiled gently. "I still have much to learn from him," she said gravely. "He can decide what tune he would like to play and then play it. I can merely play according to what is in my heart and mind. I should learn to govern my music better."

"No, no!" cried Heledharm. "Play as you always have."

A radiant smile swept over her features. "Very well!" she said. "If you wish it."

He could not explain to her how much her music touched him. The quietness or the swell of her emotions translating easily into melody was, he felt, a rare gift, and he would not want her to unlearn it. The light, merry tunes as she skipped happily here and there... the tears that were spilled in music... and the times when she would sit by his side, playing a melody of peace and contentment, that turned to a sweet unswaying love when her eyes fixed on him. He would not have her unlearn that.

"When is mother coming?" she asked, setting her harp down upon the table. "I should be sure that everything is neat and well-ordered before she arrives." She bent down and inspected severely a little stain on the floor. "I fear very much that I've neglected the house these past few days," she said with a sigh. "I hope you have not been bothered much by it." She looked regretfully into his face, and then began to dance from the room. "Never mind!" she said. "In a few minutes everything will be set proper. Mother shan't find fault when she arrives."

And not too long after there was not much fault to be found, for she had danced hither and thither and, though she had gazed several times longingly at her harp, she had set her face grimly and dutifully cleaned house. And once again she was sitting atop the table, singing light and merry.