therookery | (But the dawn is brief and the day full often belies its promise.)

Entry tags:

(But the dawn is brief and the day full often belies its promise.)

FORM: Sending Crystal
SENDER: Maedhros
RECIPIENT: Anyone with a crystal.
WHAT: Manic? Did anyone say manic? This can't be good.
WHEN: Spanning a week? (7-10 days?)
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Someone is afflicted with a strange Flu.

(The fires are high in the Forge and someone is working at all hours. Have they come out for food? Water? Air? Well if you wondered, he does make a quick message.)

Whoever thinks knocking on the door is a good idea, will not leave unscathed next time!

(There is a strange light in his eyes - and if anyone knows of his father, they will recognize it immediately. Abort mission!)

I am on the cusp of making something spectacular and I do not need any interference. Do I make myself clear?

(What happened to the gentler Maedhros? Some might claim he has been swallowed by the flames of ambition.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Go elsewhere." his voice dropped dangerously, "I have no need for your coin. There are plenty who understand my expertise." and if that stopped being the case, he could live off the land. He had centuries of experience in that regard!

"I am Maedhros, first son of Fëanor; Prince of the Ñoldor, Lord of the House of Fëanor and Lord of Himring. I decide what I craft; not you." his temper was nearly boiling, the fuse lit by Loki's arrogance, "I suggest you leave."

The rifter makes it through around half of his tirade of names and locations before Loki loses interest. His expression goes flat and he draws a long breath as he settles his hands on his hips. The rifter elf is positively fuming and, by dint of that, is unlikely to be truly helpful.

Elves, they were remarkably contrary creatures. Why anyone tolerated any of them, he couldn't say.

"Very well, continue your hobbies and I shall hire the next elf who desires to live apart from squalor," Loki informs him and strides back toward the door.

"I am certain you will eventually stumble upon more...lordly accommodations without the use of gold or influence. That is, after all, how it works, isn't it?"

He had enough. Loki had gone too far and his body was a bundle of tension. Some of it needed to be released. Usually, Maedhros was the picture of control. He knew his temper was bad and, from experience, he knew to be patient with himself and others. If he felt his anger riled, he would take himself away from others until he calmed.

Unfortunately he was too far gone to do that now. With his hand balled into a fist, eyes flashing with a fire of their own, he aimed a punch at the stranger's face. No. He was beyond words.

This was what you thought of your wit, Loki.

Loki is given to expect quite a lot of violence, in fact, he's rather paranoid about it. He doesn't drink anything he hasn't seen prepared or paid exorbitantly for, food is the same, and he never turns his back on someone who has something to gain by injuring him. He, however, rarely affords lower classes, servants, or craftsmen the level of paranoia he probably should.

He is already headed for the door when his barb falls and, by the time he notices the fist sailing for his face, it is too late to deflect it. He dips to the side but all that manages to do is turn a full blow to a glancing one and this rifter elf, Madross or whatever he was called, was exceedingly strong. Loki, being slight as he is, was thrown against the door frame and halfway out into the street. He stumbles but manages to catch himself before he's put on his ass.

His glower is positively venomous.

"An unwise move, creature," Loki spits and adjusts his jaw to make certain it isn't broken--he's unsure. His face will probably swell considerably by the evening.

"I shall not forget that."

"There would be no point to it if you forgot it so easily!" Maedhros snarled through clenched teeth. He was only sorry he hadn't made full contact. The crunching of Loki's bones would have been...satisfying.

You are not a monster.

The voices of his brother, Fingon and his foster-son combined in his head, heaping guilt upon him. Guilt that was sorely due. He was too old - had seen too much - to be undone by mere words!

"Creature, am I? I can promise you, you will never wield a weapon worthy of the Elves of Arda!" he grabbed a sword at random from behind him, unsure what he intended to do with it.

Put it down, Maitimo.

Nelyo...

His hand shook and his knuckles were white.

Loki sneers openly at the threat--why he would want an elf forged weapon was beyond comprehension. He wielded the finest Tevinter steel; no filthy knife hewn by some second rate imported elf could possibly compare.

Quality aside, however, that sword was much larger than his knives and Loki was no battle mage. He would not come out victorious if he was forced to fight this mountain of an elf in single combat. How fortunate then that he had been turned out into the street. The street where common folk walked and wandered.

"Ah then you do me a kindness, keep your blade and your filthy hovel," he snaps at the redhead and stands to his full height, straightening his robes. Kirkwall did not have much love for Tevinter, nor for mages, but they loved them far more than these demon creatures that fell from the Fade. Even now, he was certain this little show would gain him better prices at the next craftsmen and some small renown among these petty people.

"I shall seek out respectable, Maker loving workmen to assist me." He takes a moment and, for good measure, spits on the ground. It is uncouth, almost painfully so, but this is not Hightown and being refined will gain him nothing.

"Go back to whatever rock you crawled from beneath and take your Elves of Arda with you."

His blood was pounding through his veins like countless wild horses. He gave his head a sharp shake, unable to hear the voices of his loved ones holding him back. Well so be it. He stepped out of the Forge after Loki, bringing the sword up, holding the blade level with the man's chest.

"You are not running." he warned, pausing before he advanced with the graceful ease of his kind. Yes, he was tall, but he was no oaf. Loki should be honored to have such an opponent - though it seemed unlikely he would appreciate Maedhros's form.

Or the fact he is - was - will always be royalty and one of the first Elves to ever exist on his world.

"I suggest you do."

Frankly, he did not care if anyone was watching. He would crawl under no rock! He was not the one in the wrong! Or so he felt.

Damn, his plan has backfired entirely.

He had expected the elf to have some semblance of actual sense in his head but, apparently, asking for that was a bridge too far. He stepped clear out of his shop, into the open street with Loki, and hefted that sword up like it was made of feathers and spun dreams. Loki had just stabbed himself in the foot--he couldn't use any flashy magic now to try and escape, not with a crowd watching, and he couldn't very well flee--his reputation would never recover.

He shifted his wrists and, abruptly, where his hands were empty they suddenly both held black bladed, serpentine daggers. It was not a wise choice of weaponry to contest a large sword, but it was the best he had.

"I shall not run from the likes of you," he snapped, with more bravado than he felt, in a last attempt to win the crowd to his side. They, unsurprisingly, seemed unwilling to fight a very tall, very muscled, sword wielding smith on his behalf. Double damn.

He'd lost Loki, but he wasn't too concerned. His brother would be fine and Thor had a city to learn. In fact, he's casually strolling, casually shivering, and casually smiling at people all the way up until seeing Loki again... backing away with daggers from a very tall figure with a sword.

Everything is very, very simple in this moment.

"Brother!" He shouts, forcibly shoving his way through the crowd and pulling his heavy hammer off his belt. The staff is for out in the open. This? This is what you use in the city. It crackles with lightning as he steps between the man, no. Between the giant elf and Loki. The shirtless, impressively built, giant elf.

"A moment," Thor says as he takes the time to undo his own shirt and pull it off. There. Now they can be impressively built and impressively armed together, because that's quite the sword in the elf's hands. "Now. I believe you were threatening my little brother?"

Damn the crowd! Maedhros could hear the sound growing louder about them. Interference. That was all it was and it just made him angrier. There were few he had ever wanted to cut down so badly - a dubious honor for Loki.

The shout aggravated him further and he swung his sword, cutting it through the air with deadly accuracy.

"This is not your fight! If he can spew such barbs, he can accept the repercussions." he glowered as the man readied himself, "Why defend the indefensible?"

The hammer was an intriguing weapon and it brought him to a pause. But Maedhros was a Fëanorian and that fire could not be quenched by the unknown. He brought his sword down, connecting it with the hammer.

"Move."

"Because he is my brother," Thor repeated as if that was going to make matters clear, holding his hammer steady and pushing back against the sword.

"He is sometimes stupid, but he is my blood." He'd never seen such strength from an elf before, nor form. This had to be one of the rifter elves he'd heard about and he didn't entirely know what he thought about them yet. "I will not move. You will stop, or you will fight me."

And later he would have to find out what 'barbs' Loki had spewed. They were probably something about this elf being an elf, and thus probably something entirely defensible, but many here didn't understand the limits of elves.

"I too have brothers! And if they acted so abysmally, I would let them fight their own battles." he held his own easily with one arm, "You do him no favors in allowing him to do and say as he wishes."

Manners, Thor. Loki needs them. Maedhros would like to show them his "limitations" as an Elf. This pair had never visited Arda; they had never stood in the light of the Two Trees. They had never seen the radiant beauty of Maedhros's kin or enjoyed their talents.

Limitations, huh? What limitations?

"Since my fist had no effect, I wield a sword instead." because that made sense. It didn't matter if Loki was not properly armed.

"So you struck him first and then drew on him." This elf does not understand brotherly duty, clearly, or maybe he is the youngest. What older brother would stand back when the younger is threatened by someone who is likely too much for them to handle? Loki is not a direct fighter. That is Thor's ability, his position, and in a way his promise to his brother.

"Will you be attacking or will we be standing here posing all day? I am certain many of the audience would not object to the latter, but I will not swing first." He is a guest in the city. So far his movement has been defensive and it will remain that way until and unless he personally is attacked... but he really hopes he gets attacked. He's bored.

"Brother, much as I appreciate your timing and witty repartee, would you mind dispatching of this creature so we can be off?" Loki asked in a quiet hiss, well it was probably Loki. Given that they had taken their eyes off of him for a few seconds, it was truly impossible to say if it was him or an illusion standing behind Thor.

"I have no desire to linger here, waiting for him to surge forward and stab me. That is not generally how I prefer that to go."

He exhales heavily. If Loki is talking about someone surging forward to stab him, he is absolutely not there anymore.

"We are guests because you could not see fit to exert yourself! I would like to not be removed from the city before we have accomplished anything."

In Marnas Pell he could get away with public murder depending on his target. Here, he's fairly certain it won't be so easy.

"Fight me or walk away," Thor says to the elf. "You will not get to stab him today."

"My name is Maedhros. If you prefer another, how about Nelyafinwë? Or Maitimo? I will also answer to Russandol." though the last two were more intimate than he liked to admit. Still. They were names. If he didn't cut down Loki because of that attitude, someone else would.

"It is all you deserve." his gaze shifted between the brothers and his lips were set in a hard, angry line, "There will be other days...and other encounters for him. I don't envy your job."

Giving Thor's hammer a furious shove with his sword, he turned away to re-enter the Forge. Who knew what he could make in his fury. Something deadly and beautiful too.

Edited 2018-01-27 11:50 (UTC)

He sighs, disappointed, as he lowers his hammer from where he'd been holding it, shove not having fazed him.

"That is two rifter elves I have met now. The woman wasn't as I expected, and this one is not worth taunting." Thor isn't even looking at where it looks like Loki would be, though he's turned to have his back to the forge. "Let us go to the estate."

At the very least he can make sure his brother gets home alive.

The illusion of Loki is gone when Thor turns and, at once, another Loki comes up on his other side. He has conveniently put Thor between him and the door to the forge.

"Well wasn't he unpleasant," Loki proclaims and folds his arms across his chest. His hands are empty save for the various gold jewelry he wears. Where his knives have vanished, it is hard to say.

"Yes, lets, I have several more cooperative craftsmen who should be arriving today."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(But the dawn is brief and the day full often belies its promise.)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject