there are tall elves and small elves, nice elves and... (introduction)

[mostcraftiest]

Damn fools. Fools, all of them! If they think they will last an hour under that fool Orodreth - well. A slight change in plans only. Though the desertion of his own son - that stung, a little. He should have been firmer with the boy. Spent more time with him here, perhaps, rather than leaving him to tinker in his smithy at whatever little projects

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[elven_irs]

Here's a freshly rested brother from long vigils with other broken brother. He'll catch sight of Kurvo, sigh heavily, go on to greet him nonetheless, because he's still a brother.

"Was wondering when you'd get there," he says, as casually as possible.

[mostcraftiest]

Kurvo looks up, blinks, and then frowns. "You're far from Thargelion," deceptively mildly. As always with this particular brother, he is well on his guard, not quite wary, but aware that he has to be a bit more careful here. "I'm pleased we didn't go there, then, to find you departed. That would have been...disappointing."

All traces of disorientation wiped away, and most of the annoyance as well.

[elven_irs]

"I'm sure I would have been disappointed to miss you too," though you never visited, you don't care about me, heh. "You're far from Nargothrond, before you ask. And possibly not in Beleriand at all, so give up the act, Kurvo."

But he takes a couple steps his way, finds a smile, offers an arm clasp.

He's still a brother, despite everything.

[mostcraftiest]

...that does catch him off guard, the way Caranthir's bluntness always does, but he finds a flicker of a slightly dry smile himself, and does return the arm-clasp, sincerely enough. For him. "And just what do you mean by that, brother?" Not letting go just yet.

[lorien_gal]

You know how things just never go the way they should? Here's an example of it. Galadriel is just on her way to the Mallorn, for the first time since she recuperated from her psychic affliction.

She'll pause, and look at Curufin. And grit her teeth.

What of Turco, now?

"Kurvo." Her greeting is very quiet.

[mostcraftiest]

He's certainly not going to make things easy! But when does he ever? And when he hears someone say his name, he is well and truly surprised, by the female voice mostly - and by the fact that he still knows it. His hand leaps to his sword hilt as he turns, chin raised and every inch proud and very much like his father. But worse.

"Artanis. Is this some witchery of yours?"

[lorien_gal]

"Let go your weapons, Kurvo," she says, calmly, trying to still the long-buried hatred in her voice. "Or would you slay an unharmed woman, cousin?"

When is he from, she needs to know, did he get her brother killed yet? Did he? Oh Eru, she hopes not.

[mostcraftiest]

"I would not call you unarmed, Artanis, even if I trusted you not to carry a concealed weapon. You would hardly need it, would you?" Half mocking, sneered; half anger and hatred that is definitely mutual.

Ohhh yes he did. And he doesn't feel bad about it either. Doesn't feel bad about it at all. Finrod's choice! Didn't have to go wandering off on his own.

[ninja_niko]

Somewhere on the ground, Niko is training. He's possibly passing some of his annoyance at Caranthir off on a long and painful kata.

Feel free to interrupt, Curufin.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin is always glad to interrupt the activities of the lesser people when he requires something from them. Especially some Edain swordsman. He keeps his hand near his sword, definitely not relaxed. Even more wary of treachery, now. "You, Edain," not quite snapped. He wants answers dammit, and is going to get them. And snappy.

[ninja_niko]

Whoamanners. Niko stills, takes a breath, sheathes his sword. Then he turns, and well - doesn't show his surprise. He didn't know this voice, but now that he sees the elf, he's fairly certain that he has a Feanorian in his face. When he spots the dark hair, he decides only three choices are possible.

Celebrimbor, Curufin or Maglor. Maglor would be more polite and worldly. Celebrimbor would also be more courteous, he wagers.

He knows already who he's talking to. "My Lord?" He's carefully polite.

[mostcraftiest]

Manners with people Curufin sees as his inferiors are not his strong point. Unless he really wants something from them. He doesn't bother to assess Nik, not much, mostly assuming he won't be a threat. "This place. What is it?" It's a demand more than a question, really, but.

Carefully polite is probably the best way to go, really, for the moment. At least the air of vague disdain isn't downright hostility.

[not_snake_bite]

Because we thought nasty people should meet.

Steerpike is lurking on the outskirts of the woods, trying to look casual. He's effectively spying on you, Curufin, because you're clearly a new face.

And he wants to know if you're possibly a tool he can use, a foe, or chop liver.

[mostcraftiest]

They probably should! Curufin, however, is warier than a - something - right now, and consequently turns to face Steerpike, hand on his sword and eyebrows lifted slightly, features a little calmer, almost. It's not necessarily a good sign.

"If there is something you find intriguing, share, please," he says, not quite icily, "Otherwise I would recommend that you move on and find somewhere else to rest your prying eyes."

[not_snake_bite]

"I was merely admiring a man who seems to know what the world is about," Steerpike points out, quite politely. "Not to mention that his sword is of an intriguingly exquisite make, my Lord."

He bows, and not feeling the need to lie, gives his name. "Master Steerpike, at your service."

[mostcraftiest]

He doesn't bow, not feeling the need to lie either. "Curufinwe," he says, with pride, and with another brief examination of Steerpike, takes him at his word. "My father forged it, and he was the greatest smith the world has ever known."

Here, and only here, does reverence of a kind touch Curufin's voice. Idolizing doesn't hardly touch it.

[pandora_antioch]

Sometime after dark, Pandora can be found sitting in a couch, reading and making notes, in the corridor next to the rooms she shares with Celebrimbor.

She's still unable to use the Mind, Spell and Feather Gifts, and is trying to put her recuperating time to good use by brushing up on her Sindarin skills.

[mostcraftiest]

Sometime after dark, Curufin comes stalking inside, bad tempered and frustrated with his son, with his cousins (all of them!) and the world in general. How, he wants to know, will he fulfill the Oath from here?

He hardly even registers Pan, but she might register him. Finwean resemblance runs strong.

[pandora_antioch]

Unfortunately, Pandora is currently as close to a mortal in abilities as she's been in a long time. Still ridiculously strong and fast, but unable to read minds, it's the stride that disturbs her studies, really.

She looks up, tilts her head curiously at him, and stands before she addresses him. Golden as she is by her recent exposure, she probably looks close to human, despite the uncanny grace in her movements.

"Are you looking for some one in particular, Lord?"

[mostcraftiest]

He starts, slightly, then turns, stiffly, irritation, of course, obvious. "I suppose I might be, yes, though I would hardly know where to begin." A stiff bow. "Beg pardon for my brevity. I find myself - short-tempered this evening."

He seems to have calmed a little. Enough to recognize that he can't make everyone his enemy.