Hot Water

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Rhûn Darkmoon and Lihan Taifun

Aulë folded his arms impatiently across his chest as he watched two of his remaining Maiar carry the steaming hot water into the chamber.  His brow was in its now habitual thunderous scowl.  The more time that had passed since his return to the Halls of Mandos, the less he liked any interaction with others outside of the chamber.  Although they provided a necessary service for his sweet Nienna at the moment, still their mere presence in his rooms irked him.

Aulë did not even think to question his thoughts at this point.  To him it was as natural as breathing that Nienna should be here with him.  Over time, less and less had he left the chamber until finally he had stopped leaving it at all.  What purpose was there?  No one kept faith with him out there.  No one believed in him as this sweet soul did.  His eyes strayed to the object of his thoughts, for in truth he could rarely bear to tear them away from her.  Nienna!  Her name shimmered through his mind like a cool breeze on a summer's day in the mortal lands.  His scowl eased a little as he watched her prepare for her bath.  No, what could possible draw him to leave her side?

Nienna watches impatiently as the Maiar carry in the pots of water.  "Is this hot enough?" she asks sharply.  "Yesterday the water was barely warm! Is heating water so difficult?"  She tests the water in each pot with her hand. While some physical pleasures, such as eating, accept a wide range of sensations, bathing is only pleasant if the water temperature is exactly right.

Aulë watches as the Maiar set the last of the steaming urns of water beside the bath.  His eyes narrow at Nienna's words.  These people would become more incompetent daily if it were allowed.  Still, he could see by how they cringed before her now that they had learned their lesson after yesterday's debacle.  Oh yes, he had made sure they would never bring lukewarm water for his Nienna again.  Now as he watched them hastily retreat and close the chamber doors after them he smiled a small cold smile.  It was about time someone brought some discipline to this place.  Maiar needed to be kept in line.  One only had to look at that insolent puppy Eonwë to see what happened when they were indulged.    Now again he turned his gaze to his adored Nienna.   He stepped forward and slipped his arms around her, drawing her close to him as he leaned down and whispered in her ear, 'Do you need help taking these things off, my dear one?'

Nienna lets her fingers drop from the fastenings of her shirt, and looks up invitingly at Aulë.  In truth, these complicated "fastenings" on clothing are still difficult for her.

Aulë's teeth flash white against his dark skin for by now he knows that look well.  Slowly he undoes the fastenings of her clothing, leaning down to lightly kiss each piece of skin as it is revealed.  Gently he eases the clothing from her body as though unveiling a great artwork such as are known in the mortal realms.  Finally the last item drops from his fingers to the floor and he stands back and gazes down at her, speechless. Her naked form held a fine and delicate beauty that took his breath away.  For a moment his purpose in disrobing her was forgotten as he simply stood completely enchanted.

Nienna stands without embarrassment.  She smiles knowingly at the hungry look in Aulë's eyes.  "Later, my sweet," she says, touching his shoulder lightly.

From a tray by the side of the bath, Nienna picks up a handful of dried lavender and rosemary.  These have been brought from the far side of Aman, for few such cheerful plants grow near the Halls of the Dead.  She rubs them in her hands, and inhales the pungent odor, full of summers of which she was never aware.  No matter.  She is living in this body now, and taking in a lifetime of experiences, at the hands of her most kind an gentle guide, her sweet Aulë.  She crumbles the herbs, and drops them into a pot of the fresh boiling water, sending up a cloud of fragrant steam.

Aulë's smile flashes again at the promise in her words.  He stands and watches her graceful movements as she crumbles the herbs into the water and bends her head to gently sniff at their aroma.  His smile softens at the pleasure upon her face.  For too long this little one had been used and used for the sake of others.  Seeing her discover the joys of physical form was something that never failed to move him.   Now he stoops and effortlessly adds the last urn of steaming water to her bath.

Aulë sets the empty container down and tests the temperature of the water carefully with his hand before turning back to her.  With a mischievous glint in his eye in one swift movement he stoops again and scoops her up in his arms.  She is as light as a feather to him, and the soft skin of her body is warm against his bare chest as he cradles her to him.  He lightly kisses her delicately shaped ear and whispers, "Into the bath with you, my lass!"  With infinite gentleness, he lowers her into the steaming scented water.

This is a common gesture among the families of the mortal beings, but the immortal Valar were never children.  Nienna squeals in mock-surprise as Aulë lifts her up, and then giggles. She sinks gratefully into the clean and fragrant steaming bath, completely submerging herself for a moment. She holds her breath under the water, as Aulë has taught her to do.  Surfacing again, she undoes the braids in her hair -- so much easier to undo than to put up -- and lies back, letting her hair float and the water soak against her scalp.

Aulë lets his hands linger lovingly on her body a moment after setting her in the water before withdrawing them.  He goes down on one knee next to the bath and leans his elbows on the edge, his dark eyes a mixture of delight and desire as he watches her dip beneath the water and emerge again, skin glistening.  He reaches out a hand and delicately trails one finger down the silky soft skin of her upper arm for a moment before he whispers, "Would you like me to bath you, my sweet love?"

Nienna smiles up fondly.  "That would be delightful, dearest.  You are so thoughtful.  Unlike," her forehead creases in a small frown, "some others I know."

Aulë frowns momentarily at her words.  He reaches for the bar of sweetly scented soap and dips it in the water to wet it as he mutters, "Those others we know can all go to the deepest depths of Mount Doom for all I care.  They have used us enough.  We have sweated for them through all the Ages yet with what result?"  His dark eyes rest of her sweet face as his fingers turn the bar of soap end on end unthinkingly, "Me they doubt and you they work like a mule, never thinking you might deserve a life of your own.  No, sweet love, we are unlike them."

Aulë smiles as his eyes drop again to her skin, glistening wet and steamy before him.  He reaches out the hand with the soap and gently starts to run it up her arm, trailing it slowly over the round curve of her shoulder as he whispers, "And you, sweet love, are as unlike them as night is to day. Your beauty and gentleness shines from you like a radiant light."  His hand with the soap slowly glides across the fine outline of her collarbone and slips sensuously across the damp skin below her throat across to her other shoulder before circling back towards him.  The hand continues to move back and forth, slightly lower with each circle as he continues to whisper. "I will never ill-use you as they did, sweet love." His hand circles lower again. "I will always treasure you."

"You are a treasure yourself, my dearest," Nienna replies, sighing contentedly as the soap slides across her skin.  Her muscles relax in the steaming water, and the frown fades away forgotten.  Languidly she takes Aulë's hand in her own, guiding the soap lower.

Far above, outside the Halls of Mandos, Aman lies bathed in the gentle light of eternal twilight. A battle is fought and an island saved. Messages are sent and arrive. Absences are noticed and wondered upon. Words of sorrow are spoken and wrath speeds forth on fleet feet. Unnoticed by either of the two lovers, dark laughter echoes softly around the chamber.

> Next    

Divergence

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AelKennyr Rhiano

"Please, my Lady, whatever Eonwë is now, know he is your friend...too." 

He, Eonwë, the Maia, the one who once was the Voice of the Lord of the West, had said that and to she who brought into being the first animals and plants, who created the Two Trees, and with gentle hands and voice nurtures, still, all growing things. In those eyes the color of new spring leaves were tears unshed and in her voice, the burden of a terrible sorrow. Yet for his promise of friendship, he was no better than her faithless spouse, the Dwarf-Maker, the Oath Breaker, the Smith. Aule.

The twilight of Aman never fades, never rises nor falls, never gives way unto the light of Arien's vessel. Yet, as he runs, all about him, he sees the lush and flourishing flora and fauna of the Undying Lands.  He runs, and as he races about the base of the sacred mount, Taniquetil, once more her stricken expression rises unbidden before his eyes. "Do you run to, or from, something?" she had asked.

"I was running without thought to neither destination nor reason," he had answered.  But that was not true.

He sees that now. He sees and understands as he slows his pace to match that of the fleet-footed puma whose path crossed his.  Too long has he run without thought, without purpose, he who proposes to be a true and faithful Maia in the service of the Lord of the West.  The gentle touch of Yavanna's fingers under her chin, her sweet voice, betraying the sorrow that the Smith has caused yet all the while offering kind reassurances to a lonesome and lost Maia brings him up short of the path he normally takes back to his home.  Blinking, he stares at the structure which has served as a home for him for centuries. He knows every vein of every piece of marble, the wood grain of the doors, the tiny crack upon the first step, the gold gilding on the ceiling,  the smooth hardness of gold doorknobs. 

No, his path now does not take him to this familiar place. It does not lead to Manwë's throne, not now. Now it leads him forth from Manwë's sacred mountain. "What do you know of Aulë?” Yavanna had asked, believing his answer. Now he will justify her faith in him and expose the faithless Smith unto the Breath of Arda himself.

Eonwë, with a mere thought, clothes his physical body, the familiar and comforting weight of a sword in its sheath strapped to his back bringing to his troubled heart a sort of peace. Straightening his back, the Maia turns away from his home and speeds away into the cool darkness.

> Next     

The Mind of Ulmo

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AelKennyr Rhiano

Olwe felt his heart hammer painfully in his chest, and little spots of white light appeared before his eyes. It was then he realized that he had been holding his breath. One moment he was standing, head held hight, blue eyes flashing, his carriage that of one who beheld his death rushing to tear flesh from bone and yet would not quail or run.  Then the waters of the harbor churned and foamed, and from its depths emerged no other than the Lord of Waters. Ulmo had heard the prayers of the elven king.  Alqualonde was saved.

Mute, transfixed, Olwe watches as from the sea a solid wall of water rises, and in a voice deep as the sea, as loud as thunder, and as uncompromising as the worse of sea storms, Ulmo commands the Balrog and his dragon mount  to leave the Swanhaven, claiming the eternal home of the Teleri as under his protection.  As sudden silence fell across the island city, and only the swirling woosh of the wall of water mingled with the roar and crackle of several dozen fires could be heard.

Once the dragon and the balrog was no longer even a distant dot on the horizon, the wall of water rose into the clouds and a few moments later, Alqualonde was bathed in a cleansing rain, dousing the fires spread throughout the Swanhaven. The drops of rain mingled with the tears upon Olwe's face, and as the Lord of Waters descended, the Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea sunk to his knees, bowing his head.  "My Lord," He greeted. his voice thick with emotion.  "I.." Olwe stops.

Tearing his eyes away from the horizon and the direction in which the foul, twisted creatures had fled, the look Ulmo turned upon the Lord of the Teleri was dark and wrathful. As Olwe struggled to give voice to his relief and gratitude, he lifts his face up to behold Ulmo and saw the expression, so dark and dread.  It was a look that Olwe had never seen upon the Lord of Water. "My Lord?" he starts again, in his words a quiet and respectful tone.

Ulmo starts and finally sees the elf kneeling before him, blue eyes looking up with complete trust, with an emotion Ulmo cannot name. Slowly, his anger seeps out of him, and the Lord of Waters's gaze becomes calm and still. "Olwe." he says.

Olwe bows his head at hearing his name, his silver hair plastered against his head as the rain continues to fall.  "You heard us, my Lord, in our great need. By your hand is Alqualonde saved. We are grateful, my Lord Ulmo."

 Ulmo gazes about the Swanhaven. Slowly the fires were being extinguished. His eyes rest upon the destroyed Tower of the Maia, Tilion for several moments. Dimly, he hears Olwe's thanks, as thought from a great distance. I have disregarded Manwe's  admonishment against interference in the affairs of the Children," Ulmo realizes. He, the one among the Valar who was most like a friend unto the Breath of Arda. He who prefers the caress of the waters of the worlds to the surface of the land, who knew of the Children and their habits only as they sailed upon the seas, who watched them from afar and wondered at the things which often occupied them.  He has crossed an uncharted boundary and without a second thought, discounted the will of Manwe to save the elf now kneeling before him.

"Rise, Olwe of Alqualonde, past, present, and future King of Alqualonde," he says, his voice gentle now, his eyes filled with a warmth few ever find there.

But Olwe has seen that warmth before, and his face lights with a radiance. Gracefully he stands. "As Lord Ulmo commands," he says. 

Ulmo tilts his head, and a overlarge hand reaches up to stroke his chin as he grows silent for a few seconds. "The spawn of Melkor's desire will not seek to strike in Alqualonde in so bold a manner," Ulmo says," But  know, Olwe, that this is but the beginning."

Olwe opens his mouth to ask "beginning of what?" But, in truth, he knows the answer. The Darkness has tried, twice now, to end the life of Olwe of Alqualonde. It will try again.

And Olwe needs be ready.

> Next Olwë     > Next Ulmo    

Fireside Chat -- Villains, continued

Present:

Almara                       (lamilliara)

Carleen Luckstone  

Lihan Taifun            

AelKennyr Rhiano 

Belenos                    (belenosstormchaser.magic)

Shawn Daysleeper 

Rhûn Darkmoon    (zu.dragoone)

Rajani Milton          

Summary:

Villains need motives, just like everyone else. “Being evil” is not a motive – neither a realistic or an interesting motive. A character “being bad for the sake of being bad” comes across like a spoilt child, and give the other players very little to interact with. If your character is angry, why? Is that one event in the past really enough to be a driving force years later?

Think beyond the cliché villain. If you do use “the jealous ex-husband, jilted mistress, or guy made fun of in high school back for revenge” at least give them a unique backstory so they have some dimension. We consider Leo's balrog as an example of “not your typical dumb brute balrog.”

Realistic and interesting bad guys have weaknesses, flaws, and soft spots. They are seldom “bad” through and through. We consider Aulë under the influence of the chamber as an example of a “partly bad” character. “Every villain was once someone's baby...er...hatchling...um...something little and cute...cuteish”. A villain doesn't spend every waking hour “being bad”.

A villain probably doesn't think of him/herself as being “bad”. It is a matter of perspective, who is telling the story. Súraumo is just looking out for his own interests.

Meanwhile, don't make the villain's weaknesses and flaws immediately obvious. Let the heros find out that information gradually, in the course of the plot development. Unless you deliberately want a “bungling” bad guy, the villain should be intelligent. What fun is it if the hero can always predict what the arch-villain is going to do?

A villain shouldn't give up and “become good” — not without a plausible, life-changing reason. Even then, it isn't likely to be a sudden, complete change.

Like any other character, give the villain some distinctive mannerisms. What style of speaking does your character use? (Remember Yoda?) Villains don't have to dress in black leather. They don't have to be ugly. They don't have to be rude and abusive. A sweet-talking manipulator could be much scarier.

If your character has inflated ideas about his/her own abilities, be very aware of the distinction between what your character says (opinion, perhaps inaccurate) and what the narrator says (intended to be fact). There is a big difference between a character saying “We are unbeatable!” and the narrator saying “They are unbeatable.”

If you are playing a bad guy, take extra care to be polite, out-of-character, to the other roleplayers. Playing a villain is never an excuse to be rude out-of-character.

“A good villain cannot rescue a bad story. A bad story cannot support a good villain.”

AelKennyr Rhiano:  ok...well...let's get started? Talking about bad guys again :) Where should we start tonight?
Almara:                       I beleive we left off with motives for being "evil"
AelKennyr Rhiano:  yes, we did :) lol I believe we had decided that "Being evil" was seldom a motive for a true villain, yes?
Almara:                       Not any one worth being too interested in, unless it's far more complex than such a simple motive.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Right.
Lihan Taifun:            villians would have the same motives as anyone else. Just expressed in less socially acceptible actions
AelKennyr Rhiano:  True. You want other rpers to react to your villain. It is hard to "react" when your rp character is just being bad to be bad. That is more the characteristic of a willful child.
Belenos:                      and really.. I would imagine it would get boring to RP in time too
AelKennyr Rhiano:  You want a powerful rp character, and that is where a lot of rpers get into trouble because they see power in a rather limited scope. So many times rpers fall into the trap of playing a cliché. Many times we see the jealous ex-husband, jilted mistress, or guy made fun of in high school back for revenge. If you are going to do this, make them stand out by being different. Give them a life of their own so they don't become one-dimensional.
Belenos:                      that makes sense
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Take the balrog...Leo in our rp decided to make the Balrog intelligent, cunning, a being who remembers his past.
Rhûn Darkmoon nods, 'He did.'
Lihan Taifun:            Leo's balrog is a character with depth
AelKennyr Rhiano:  But he is by no means a "fallen angel." We have seen no hint of redemption or guilt from him.
Belenos:                      no.. not at all
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Rhun, tell us about Aule. You could have made him a simple bad guy with no redeeming qualities, but you didn't. Please tell us why not? Althought under the influence of dark magicks, he could have become just a bad guy.
Rhûn Darkmoon:     'Because if he had no redeeming qualities I'd be role playing myself into a corner. If he became just bad through and through, what future would he have in the story? Not only that, but bad guys rarely ever are bad through and through. They always have their soft sides or not so bad features. It's more realistic.'
AelKennyr Rhiano:  the best rpers at being villains suggest that you try not to make your villain TOO evil.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Twist the character's personality and create a little sympathy or at least empathy.
Rhûn Darkmoon:     "Well, why should they be? After all, are all the good guys angels? In life, is anyone a perfect angel? So why should a villain be overly evil? After all villainy is in the eye of the beholder, so to speak.'
AelKennyr Rhiano:  yes, Rhun. If your villain goes around causing terror to everything that crosses his path, then he will become boring to play and the rp story will lose its appeal, or becoming rather flat.
Belenos:                      yes.. it would be ho hum, more doom and destruction.. move on the next bit
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Every villain was once someone's baby...er...hatchling...um...something little and cute...cuteish
Belenos:                      LOL
Rhûn Darkmoon grins and pictures a baby Aule, 'Did you say cute?'
Almara:                       I have a hard time believing a Balrog was ever cute...
AelKennyr Rhiano:  ok...maybe not EVERY one.
Belenos:                      oh i don't know.. a cute little fluffy fireball? Belenos <--- is a dragoness and thinks little fireballs are cute
AelKennyr Rhiano:  lol!
Lihan Taifun:            he was once a pure spirit -- though that was a veyr long time ago
Belenos grins.. are we talking balrog or Aule?.. :P
Rhûn Darkmoon pokes his tongue out at Belenos
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Keep your villain strong until the end. Too many times we see stories that end with the villain giving up and wanting to change his or her ways. A powerful villain never gives up and will fight to the finish.
Another thing...if your villain is an angry character...like the dragon in the attack...give them a reaons to be angry. And make the reason plausible.
Belenos grins.. toothache and a hungry dragon works.. :D
AelKennyr Rhiano:  If Aule was stood up at the Ainur prom in the First Age, that is not necessarily a very creditable reason for stalking the Vala who turned him down in the 4th Age.
Belenos grins... no.. it's not ..
Rhûn Darkmoon grins, 'Who would stand up such a handsome and debonair Ainu?'
AelKennyr Rhiano coughs and chokes a little.
Rhûn Darkmoon grins some more
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Make your villain intelligent, unless the situation calls for a bungling villain. And know the motivation for why your villain has the personality he or she does.
Belenos:                      after all, if you haven't figured it out and don't really understand it.. how can you play it well?
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Exactly. But nothing is more boring that an arch villain who is, quite frankly, stupid. One whose every move is predicted by the hero is very boring.
Rhûn Darkmoon nods a lot
Lihan Taifun:            There are jokes about the predictable stupid mistakes stereotypical villians make


{Rajani arrives. Greetings.}
{Shawn leaves. Farewells.}
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Any questions or comments so far?
Belenos:                      no.. it all makes sense to me..
AelKennyr Rhiano:  A thing that a lot of rpers overlook, too, is physical characteristics.
Belenos nods.. yes
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Adding physical details is very important. Not only the way the character looks but the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies that reflect the emotional and mental state of the rp character. That adds to the believability.
Rajani Milton:           nod nod
Belenos:                      like Aule and his frown?
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Belenos...the dragon's bad teeth is an example..yes, Aule's scowl
Almara:                       Or you could just focus on one characteristic and include that in every single post. </sarcasm>
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Well, you could if that characteristic has a purpose and you were subtle enough.
Belenos:                      and the way he kept rubbing at his forehead when he was away from the chamber
AelKennyr Rhiano:  yes, like that, Belenos.
Rajani Milton:           it doesn't have to be all black leather and metal studs :P
AelKennyr Rhiano:  for the quest coming up, in the little rp stories I release, there are two characters, the thieves who stole the seal.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  how would you guys describe them?
Belenos:                      inept and bumbling with a dash of cunning and more than a little greed?
Lihan Taifun:            and no loyalty to each other
AelKennyr Rhiano:  they were smart enough to steal it, yes. absolutely NO loyality.
Lihan Taifun:            off a table, I think it was
AelKennyr Rhiano:  pretty stereotypical in alot of ways. but each one was unique from the other. And they are meant to be somewhat comic.
Rhûn Darkmoon smiles, 'and they are.'
AelKennyr Rhiano:  There is something a lot of people forget...No one is 100% consistent. A bad guy will not be cooking up ways to be bad every waking moment.
Rajani Milton:           :D
Rhûn Darkmoon grins, 'He has to eat sometime.'
AelKennyr Rhiano:  He will get hungry. He will get sleepy. He will get thirsty. He may plot the destruction of an entire village but love baby kittens.
Rajani Milton:           He may not even see himself as evil
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Probably not.
Belenos:                      I know Suraumo does not. he just sees himself as trying to survive and look out for himself
AelKennyr Rhiano:  After all Lucifer never considered himself a "fallen angel." God did.
Rajani Milton:           most people don't
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Villainy is in the eye of the beholder. And victors write histories. Seldom do the losers.
Rajani Milton:           nodnod
Rhûn Darkmoon nods, 'That is very true.'
AelKennyr Rhiano:  you don't have to make your villain ugly to convey the inner ugliness of the character. You could have a beautiful villain with a single scar on her wrist for example.
Belenos smiles.. yes..
AelKennyr Rhiano:  You don't have to be obvious with physical deformities.
Rajani Milton:           if she has a scar, probably there is a story behind it
AelKennyr Rhiano:  nod nod nod
Almara:                       You could go even further and say that the scar was always kept covered by a glove or something similar.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  yes
Rajani Milton:           although I am sure there are villains who just fell off a front porch when they were twelve, but have spun the story to sound scary
AelKennyr Rhiano:  lol
Belenos:                      LOL Rajani
Rhûn Darkmoon grins
Rajani Milton:           it was really an epic battle! with zombies and Luke Skywalker! I swear!
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Actually, that is brilliant. lol!
Rajani Milton:           street cred, you know
AelKennyr Rhiano:  there is another aspect we have not discussed. Your character's "voice" in the rp. His manner of speaking. Most people equate giving your rp character a cockney accent as the height of giving your character a unique voice.
Almara:                       Well since Raj brought up Star Wars, I feel compelled to mention Yoda as an example, though his alignment is on the other side of things.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  yes. perfect example.
Belenos:                      LOL.. like those goblins or orcs or whatever they were in the LOTR movies..
AelKennyr Rhiano:  nod nod nod Perhaps your villain is very precise in his language. Perhaps he like to gloat and is wordy...gods help us. Perhaps he stutters. Perhaps the language. incorporate his trait into his speech.
HOWEVER, there is a pitfall... let's say your character is arrogant, haughty with a belief in his own superiority. You have to be careful to keep that tone in his dialogue, not in any narrative. When you describe the character's feelings or thoughts, show it there. But don't make statements like : The drow are superior. They are unbeatable, unstoppable. Not unless you are making it cleat that is from your character's perspective.
Rajani Milton:           nodnod
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Please, comments, thoughts, questions?
Rajani Milton:           You can have hir argue with people. sometimes people's opinions show up best in contrast. like, he might sound reasonable, if harsh, until you get him talking to someone a little more compassionate
AelKennyr Rhiano:  nod nod nod
Belenos:                      if it were something like the drow being mostly superior. it could be a comment about the pleasure the character takes each time their strength is proven again over a foe...
Rajani Milton:           that can give you context for what else is going on in the world, too...what opinions are common and pass without notice
AelKennyr Rhiano:  yes, it could.
Rhûn Darkmoon:     'If one makes sweeping statements like a person or race being unbeatable or unstoppable it actually undermines the credibility of the story I think.'
Rajani Milton:           you definitely have to support it
Rhûn Darkmoon:     'If one WERE unbeatable or unstoppable, then why are they not the ruler of the world?'
Rajani Milton:           yeah
AelKennyr Rhiano:  it undermines the rper as well. And over time, people won't want to rp with that person.
Rajani Milton:           Only the Sith deal in absolutes ;)
Lihan Taifun:            unless you are portraying that your character is a bit delusional
Rajani Milton:           yes
AelKennyr Rhiano:  and you can do that, Lihan. And it would be very effective :)
Rajani Milton:           a lot of the effective villains aren't crazy (not contradicting you, agreeing with you)
Rhûn Darkmoon:     'I think a really good baddie should actually be shrewd enough to see the strengths in his opponents, because it is those strengths he has to overcome.'
AelKennyr Rhiano:  There is something else, I should mention.
Belenos listens with interest
AelKennyr Rhiano:  You do not have to be insulting, verbally abusive, degrading to others rpers to be a villain.
Belenos <-- thinks Ael has brought up some very good points today
AelKennyr Rhiano:  There is no excuse for badgering, belittling, or harassing folks. If you do it, do it IN the rp,. Make it clear that it is the rp, make it consistent in the rp.
Almara:                       The truly fearsome villains in my opinion are the ones that are able to sweet talk people onto their side.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  nod nod nod
Lihan Taifun:            yes, the sweet-talking ones are the most dangerous!
Belenos grins.. oh yes.. it's the charming sweet talkers, the charismatic leaders, who are often the most dangerous
Belenos grins.. snap


AelKennyr Rhiano:  there is one last consideration. The villain...the quality of the villain depends alot upon the dedication of the rper to the character. But it also depends upon the rper's dedication to the story and upon the quality of the story.
Rajani Milton:           nodnod
AelKennyr Rhiano:  A good villain cannot rescue a bad story. A bad story cannot support a good villain. Any other comments, questions, thoughts?
Rhûn Darkmoon:     'I would think that a good story cannot long support a bad villain either. For the bad villain would weaken the good story.'
Carleen Luckstone shakes her head
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Very true! Good point!
Lihan Taifun:            whereas a good villain will strengthen a good story
AelKennyr Rhiano:  nod nod nod
Belenos:                      yes.. it would
Lihan Taifun:            give the other characters something to do, the other characters can't sit around sipping punch all year, they need a challenge
Belenos:                      lol.... I like how you and aule have played his villainy.... it's not the usual doom and destruction, rape and pillage type of villainy...
Rajani Milton:           hee yes!
Rhûn Darkmoon blushes, 'I.. I don't think I could have played it that way at all.'
Lihan Taifun sniffs. I'd have had something to say about that
Rajani Milton:           my other thought here is that if your character is a terrible, terrible person, you should take care to be especially pleasant to the people you play with
Rajani Milton:           for example, I think Rhun and Belenos have that down really well :D
AelKennyr Rhiano:  as a rp leader and a sim owner, nothing turns me off more than a rper who ims me and tell me "I am bored. Such-and-such rp sucks. I have played villains in 8 rps this year. I don't care what the story is. I just want to play my Queen of the Vampires, Victorian alternate universe rp on your sim. Give me a spot and 500 prims."
Rajani Milton:           ahaha that's a strange mindset, to me
AelKennyr Rhiano:  omg...me, too.
Rajani Milton:           wanting to do that
AelKennyr Rhiano:  I have had rpers im me :"Your sim is empty. I went there to rp my story."
"Oh...shame that...move along."
Almara:                       I absolutely hate people that tell me they are bored, as if they expect that it is my job to entertain them.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Yes!
Almara whispers: "I'm bored." "Okay, what do you want me to do about it?" "I'unno, something?" "Alright, would you like me to sit beside you and tell you a bedtime story?"
Belenos grins
Lihan Taifun:            heh heh, I've been a mommy
Belenos:                      I tell them that if they want a home entertainment unit to go down to the hifi store and buy one for themselves..
AelKennyr Rhiano:  A last note...there are a lot of rpers who have no respect for the effort it takes to maintain a sim. There is no little effort, and money invested, and I have heard a lot of rpers on group chats be downright rude and demanding as to what they expect.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  I am always sure I never invite them here. I noticed the other good places to rp do not either.
Rajani Milton:           nod nod
Almara:                       Being an owner, admin, or leader of anything online is one of the most thankless tasks one can possibly undertake with their lives.
AelKennyr Rhiano:  rpers are fickle.
Belenos:                      oh yes.. not just to sim owners.. but to RP group owners too.. demanding their established RP fit with the newcomer.. and calling them rude and exclusive if they refuse to change their successful, established storylines to fit newcomers who have clearly failed at their RP on multiple sims
AelKennyr Rhiano:  Oh yeah, I have had that. I have had people show up, announce they will be glad to be our arch villain. "Hello, do I KNOW you?"
Belenos nods nods nods.. like they are bestowing the ultimate blessing upon us by their offer
Carleen Luckstone:   I beg your pardon. We seem to be finished with the main discussion, and it is late. I must be going now. Safe paths, all

Twilight Paths

< Previous Eönwë     < Previous Yavanna   

Belanos and AelKennyr Rhiano

Yavanna, Giver of Fruits

Yavanna's journey was nearly at end.  The lofty heights of Mount Taniquetil loomed above her, and already her path took her through the gentle glades on its lower slopes.   Although not really that far from her home, still the journey had seemed to drag on forever for her.  How many times along the way had she tried to reach out with her mind to her beloved Aulë, only to find a nothingness that she had never experienced from him before.  An echoing silence where once there had always been a warm welcome and the intermingling of minds.  So rather than reassurances or explanations, she only had the memory of his harsh words. Harsh words that seemed to resonate in her head with each footstep.

Beneath the twilight sky, the verdant grass at the base of the sacred mountain was dappled blues and greys and purples as Eonwë raced the frightened deer. The wind tore the breath from his mouth, and this physical body protested the punishment the Maia was inflicting, but still his feet flew over the land. So it was that the onetime Herald of Manwë danced upon wind rather than actually touched the earth. Under stars that neither knew nor cared for what was heavy upon his heart or burdened his thoughts, he found but little more solace than he did in the constant sword practice or sharpening of already sharpened blades. The visit to Manwë's throne room days ago had but made Eonwë more disconsolate. Finally, the legs of the physical body could bear no more punishment, and Eonwë has to stop, panting, bending over at the waist and placing hands, palms down, on trembling thighs, sucking in a lungful of the cool clean air.

Yavanna was so lost in thought she was quite startled at first by the appearance of another upon the path in front of her.  She had been so absorbed in her contemplations she had not noticed the passing of the herd of deer as they fled into the shadows of the nearby verdant forest.  Now before her was another being, bent double with hands on knees as though trying to catch his breath, long dark hair hanging forward and hiding his face.  For a moment she stood uncertain of what to do.  Such indecision was new to her, for she had always known her mind and had known what to do in any situation.  Hesitantly she decides to stay where she was on the edge of the forest shadows.

Several moments pass as slowly, the tightness in his chest eases. He stares at his hands as they rests upon his upper legs, wondering how it is the Children manage with such limitations. Slowly he uses his hands and his back to stand back up. Blue eyes widen as he finds he is not alone here, on this path. For a moment his eyes take in the form before him, even as the delicate scent of sweet blooming flowers fills his nostrils. Reverently, slowly, the Maia goes down on one knee and bows his head, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment. "Hail, Yavanna, Giver of Fruits, Lady of the Green and Growing," he greets her, his voice falling into that soft and velvet tone so familiar.

Yavanna 's green eyes flared wide as the other stood up, and she recognized the familiar form of Eonwë, the Herald of Manwë.  Familiar, yes, but in a most unfamiliar setting.  What was Eonwë doing here, of all places?  She raised a hand to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear as she watched him kneel gracefully in greeting.  There was none of the supposed impudence of which Aulë has spoken in his missive, only the careful respect that one always associated with the Herald.  "Hail, dear Eonwë,”' she greeted him. “Please, do not stand upon ceremony here for we are both but travelers upon the road.  Rise, please.”

Eönwë

Her voice was clear, like the waters of a brook, and gentle was the tone, soothing. Here stands the consort of Aule, the Maker, the traitor, but she spoke him fair, and as he dares to glance up before he raises, he sees nothing but a slight puzzlement in her green eyes. He rises, though less than gracefully, as the legs, exhausted by the brutal pace at which he had run, shake and tremble, and  so the Maia was forced to stagger a little. "I-I thank thee, my Lady Yavanna," he says as he recovers his balance. Then he looks down upon his raiment and says, in a voice surprisingly shy, "I had thought to meet no other here at this hour. Forgive how I must present myself to you." Blue eyes look up and into hers, and he swallows hard.

Yavanna watches the other rise, noting the slight stagger as he does so. Her gaze takes in his slightly disheveled clothing, the hair blown by the wind, and his sweaty brow.  This was not how she was used to seeing him, for as Herald of Manwë, Eonwë had always been immaculately attired and never anything but physically graceful.   Her brow creased even more with concern as she noticed his hesitancy as he spoke.  She took a step closer, her sorrows temporarily forgotten beneath her concern.  She smiled reassuringly and made a small dismissive gesture with her hand as she answered him, "There is nothing to forgive, dear friend.  Are you to be on duty eternally without respite?  But still it would seem you drive yourself even when not on duty for it would appear you have been running hard. Do you run to, or from, something?"

Eonwë watches her as she steps closer, and catches his breath as green eyes, filled with care, sweep their gaze over his sweaty face. She smiles, and with that smile, in that instant, Eonwë could feel a sigh of contentment sweep through every living thing and then gone, like a soft breath. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, aware even more of how he must appear. "I," he pauses and drops his gaze. "I was running, with thought to neither destination nor reason.”

Yavanna watches as the Herald drops his gaze. This was so unlike him. He whose gaze was always serene and level now seemed.. unsure?  Yes, she thinks to herself as she again tucks that rebellious lock of hair behind her ear. Yes, he seems unsure of himself. But of what would Eonwë have to be unsure?  Aulë was right. The Herald certainly is not himself, but not in the manner in which Aulë had implied.  The thought brings to mind again the letter that had spurred her journey to this place, and for a moment the sorrow returns.  Determinedly she pushes it aside.  Perhaps if she could draw the Herald out, she may discover more about what had passed between he and her husband.  She lifts a hand and gently reaches out to raise his chin so his gaze must once more meet hers.  Her voice, the same voice that has whispered so many things to life, is gentle as she speaks, “The Eonwë I know has always had both a destination in mind and a reason for that destination.  Tell me, friend, why now he does not?”

Tender is the long, tapering fingers as they touch his chin and lifts it so that his eyes meet hers. He cannot remember being so close to the Lady of all growing things, and yet he is standing this close to her, now, feeling her touch, breathing in the floral scent that always proceed her and  remains after her passing, the voice, so tender, so gentle and yet….sad?  He finds his voice and tries to keep it level and even as he answers her, "My Lady, it is true that Eonwë was always sure of himself and his path for so it was that his path was beside his Lord and his steps as his Lord directs. But this Eonwë is not that Eonwë." He takes a breath and then dares to ask, "But Lady Yavanna, many times have I been on this path of late and seen you not. How may I be of service to you?"

Yavanna's sorrow again rushes to the surface at the Herald’s question.  Her eyes are suddenly liquid with unshed tears as somehow the necessity to speak of that which drew her here makes it even more real. No more could she imagine it only a misunderstanding. Now she must voice it and make it real.  She lowers her lashes as she begins to speak, for she cannot bear to have another see the pain she knows would be reflected there.  Her voice, moments ago gentle and encouraging, is now husky and low as she answers, "I.. I travel this path because I must.  I seek counsel with the Lord Manwë.  I.. I.. " Suddenly she lifts her gaze back to his and words tumble from her lips. “What do you know of Aulë?” she asks. "You saw him recently, I know.  What happened? What do you know?  Will you tell me what happened between you?"  Her flood of questions peters out, and she can do no more than stand and wait for his answers.

Eonwë watches, alarmed by the transformation that comes over her face, her manner, her being: he takes a small step back.  He starts to reach out and touch her arm, but then he remembers who and what she is. Helplessly, he clasps his hands behind his back.

"What do you know of Aule?" she asks, and the question brings a sharp intake of breath from the Maia. Her words pour out of her, like wine from a jug. Then she is silent and waiting.

Aule! His blue eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. "The Maker, " he says, his voice hard. "I did see the Smith recently, as did my Lord bade me. Would that the Smith be half so faithful to the wisdom and wishes of My L-- of Lord Manwë," he finishes hurriedly. He looks at Yavanna. Her voice brought to life all living things. Yet, standing here, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her voice so broken, it is hard to remember what power is at her command and see only she who has been hurt by a faithless spouse. "Yes, my lady," he says, his voice softer now, "I have seen your Lord, but what I know of him would comfort you little, Lady Yavanna."

Yavanna tilts her head thoughtfully as she listens to Eonwë's reply.  Even through her sorrow she notes the muscles tighten in his jaw and the eyes narrow.  So there had been conflict between them?  It was beyond imagining.  Her gentle  Aulë and this usually serene Maia had clashed.  It was inconceivable. But then to her it was inconceivable that Aulë would ever write to her as he had.  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.  Now she gazes at Eonwë a moment longer, searching that ruggedly handsome face for... she knew not what.  At last, she drops her eyes and stares at the ground, shoulders slumped as she whispers, “I seek not comfort, Eonwë, but truth.  I.. I would know what has happened for I fear my husband is not himself.”

Eonwë's eyes widen as he watches her shoulder slump and her gaze drop. Her voice, so soft, so filled with pain, speaks to the sorrow in his own heart. He reaches out and tentatively he touches her forearm. "I know not the Maker half as well as you, Lady Yavanna. For your gentle sake, I pray to Eru that it is a change that may be reversed."

Yavanna 's unshed tears can no longer be held back at the gentle touch of the Maia.  Silently they glide down her cheeks and fall to the ground.  Around her, unnoticed by either of them, the living things become still, ceasing the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the whispering of grasses in the wind, for all that is growing feels her sorrow and weeps with her. The trees seem to stand not quite so tall and their leaves droop and fade. The grasses no longer bend and flex beneath the breeze, but rather once blown flat simply lie there, defeated and unwilling to rise again.  "Tell me, please," she raises her eyes to his as the tears still spill heedlessly down her cheeks. "Tell me please, what happened that you, too, believe he is changed."

Eonwë looks down into the green eyes, brimming with tears, and the  world around them falls away from his awareness. He reaches out his other hand and stops just short of brushing away her tears. His face flushes as he realizes what he is about to do and he drops his hand down to his side. Bowing his head, he answers her softly. "I was sent by my Lor--- by Lord Manwë to Mandos, to the old prison of your fallen brother, for the Maker had written unto .." he struggles not say "my Lord." for it falls from his mouth so easily..." Lord Manwë that discovered  upon the walls were dark incantations and arcane symbols. Lord Manwë sent me to record carefully what I saw there, but by the time I had arrived, The Maker had cleansed the chambers and destroyed the markings. If, indeed, there were ever markings."

Yavanna blinks in confusion as she listens to the Herald's words, the action sending the last of her tears scattering down her cheeks.  Why was he insisting on referring to his Lord as Lord Manwë?  What was there that made him doubt Aulë's word. Her green eyes, as changeable as the depths of the forest, become dark with concern again as she looks questioningly at the other's bowed head, "But had not Aulë already begun recording the symbols and cleansing the chambers before he heard from your Lord?" she asks. "Might he not have already completed the task before his missive arrived?  I.. I do not understand. What makes you doubt his word?"

Eonwë clenches his free hand into a fist, and his other hand upon Yavanna's arm tightens its grip for a few seconds." My lady, if he had recorded those writings, he deign not to share that information, and Lord Manwë made it clear in a missive he directed me to write that nothing was to be touched. Moreover, the very manner in which the Maker greeted me left little doubt of his disregard for the wishes of my Lo--- of Lord Manwë." He raised his head and gazed into the face of the Vala. "But, my Lady, I am used to having my words discounted. After all, I am but a Maia, and for my speaking unto the Lord of the West, that which I knew to be true, I have been thrust from my Lord's...from Lord Manwë's service."

Yavanna's mind reels in shock at Eonwë's words. Questions flood her mind and tumble from her lips, "What.. what do you mean your words are discounted, dear friend?  You are held in high regard by all.  Being Maia does not make you lesser.  Are you telling me that you no longer serve Lord Manwë?  How can this be so?  You have always been his loyal Herald. None doubt that, surely?” She pauses a moment and takes a steadying breath before she continues, her voice low as she asks the question closest to her own heart. “But.. what do you mean his manner?  What about his manner?”

Eonwë slowly drops his hand from where it had rested upon her arm. He gives her a self-conscious look before he shifts his weight from one leg to the other and lifts a leg to rub the back of it. "I..this body.....the muscles feel as though they  are drawing up."  Then he catches himself and gingerly lowers the leg. "Forgive me, my Lady," he asks and then stand before her, still, as he continues. "Am I, Lady Yavanna, your 'dear friend?' For I tell you now, that the Maker treats the Maiar called to assist him as little better than mindless servants. I tell you now that Lord Manwë refused to hear the words of a Maia warning him that again one of the Vala has taken upon himself to consider himself higher than the Breath of Arda. Even I, who have served him always, love him better than ever I could myself, revere and wish for naught else but to be by his side and do his bidding...even my words were held as little account. None doubt me, my Lady? All doubt me, and so here I am and here I come, to see if I can outrun the emptiness inside."

Yavanna flinches as she hears the words tumbling so quietly yet so ruthlessly from Eonwë's lips.  Beyond the words she could feel his despair, the crushing emptiness for it was a despair and emptiness that had an echo inside her own heart.  "Aulë!  My Aulë, what have you done?" she cries silently in her mind, "What has happened to you my love that you should behave so?"  Yet it was not only herself whom he had shattered by his words but this gentle soul who stands before her now.  Taking a step closer, she reaches out to the Herald who is Herald no longer and lays a hand upon his cheek. "You are my dear friend, Eonwë.  You say all doubt you?  I do not.  I.. I cannot say why Manwë has made the choices he has but.. but I know you speak truth about Aulë.”

Yavanna's skin flushes in a delicate blush and she drops her hand, clasping it before her with the other.  Her eyes stare are her clasped fingers a long moment, and her voice is filled with shame when she continues. "He.. he has spoken to me harshly also in a manner which I have never heard from him before.  He was sharp and.. and hurtful with his words.  So..so I know what you say of him to be truth.  I do not doubt you.”.. She lifts her head and looks him levelly in the eye, “I believe you, dear friend.” The last words are spoken with emphasis.

Eonwë gasps at the touch of her hand, so gentle, upon his cheek, the cool, feather light weight of her fingers. None have ever touched him so. He has never missed the closeness others seem to need, seem to share so effortlessly. For it to be Yavanna --whom the Firstborn long ago dubbed "Queen of the Earth," not understanding yet that their worship should be for Eru alone-- for it to be she who touches him now, when her own sadness is great, stirs feelings in Eonwë for which he has no words. As she speaks and drops her hand from his cheek, he raises a hand to touch where her hand had been, his eyes a little wide. As she reveals to him how she, too had been ill-used, he sets his jaw, and his eyes narrow to mere slits. "How dare he treat you so, my Lady," he says, with heat in his voice. "You of all, he should adore and cherish. It is not meet he should treat you with disdain or hardness." He stops for a moment and flushes as she calls him 'dear friend. She believes me, he realizes. Then his thoughts turn to the Maker, as he last saw Aule. "There is no faith in the Smith, my Lady.  He cannot be trusted beyond satisfying his own desires."

Yavanna seems to almost crumple in on herself at Eonwë's words.  All around her now the forest and glade is utterly still.  The trees seem suddenly older and more frail. As though they shed tears of sorrow, leaves begin to flutter to the ground, brown and lifeless although here in Aman there are no changing of the seasons such as in Middle Earth.

"There is no faith in the Smith."  The words hammer her heart ruthlessly.  For a moment they threaten to overwhelm her.  It is then that her shoulders square and she lifts her chin.  Her green eyes are emerald bright and hard as she says, "I thank you, my friend, for your honesty with me.  I.. I would think a while alone upon your words, if I may.  And you, you dear gentle soul, must find a way to make Manwë see the truth of your words also.  For now though, please, I would ask you leave me, so I may think on all that I've heard before I continue my journey to seek out the Lord of the West."  She somehow manages a smile to soften her dismissal of the Maia, although the edges of it are brittle. "Be safe, dear friend, and may you be back at your Lord's side soon."

Eonwë watches her. He has seen solders, among the Children, upon the battlefield, suddenly realize their cause was lost and defeat would be their bitter bread. But rather than submit to the crushing knowledge, they rise up. They grip their swords tighter. They lift their heads higher. They call out to companions to fight on, fight on, even when death is the only victory. And so now, as he watches Yavanna, he recognizes the squaring of her shoulders, the look in her eyes. He knows the dismissal and hears it clearly, yet pauses. "I know, my Lady, that Lord Manwë will not forsake you," he says softly. "I know it in my heart.  I have had no joy of my words, I pray you know that." He bows his head and murmurs, "Were I but aught else and could bring your errant Smith to his senses." But aloud he says, "Of course, my Lady, I shall take my leave, and pray Eru grants an answer that will lighten your heart. As always, may the will of the Valar be done." He steps back and bends his knee to her. As he rises, he finds his anger rise against the Smith once more. How dare he treat the Giver of Fruits so! "Please, my Lady, whatever Eonwë is now, know he is your friend...too." Then the Maia backs up two more steps, turns and runs  once more into the night, his heart torn between the angst he feels for the pain in Yavanna's heart and the hatred which sits like a dark, carnivorous beast inside him.

Yavanna's gaze softens a little as she watches Eonwë disappear into the night. 

In all the Ages she had known few more loyal and trustworthy than this Maia who had until recently always stood by the side of the Lord of the West.  What had happened to the world that he should have been dismissed?  What had happend that Aulë should behave so?  Her eyes hardened again at this last thought.  With a heavy heart she steps slightly off the path and takes a seat upon the soft forest floor with her back against the bole of a tree.  She sighs heavily as she closes her eyes to meditate on all she had heard.  If any had listened there was a faint susurration rustle through the forest as though it too sighs with her.  Try as she might to calm her mind, she cannot calm her heart for it clamours with the words, "Aulë, my Aulë, what have you done?"

> Next Eönwë     > Next Yavanna     

Awakenings

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Cinnamon Raymaker

As she sleeps, Elwing is annoyed by the incessant buzzing of what appears to be an insect. She brushes the insect away, turns over in her bed and snuggles down beneath the sheets. To her dismay, the buzzing does not stop but becomes louder and more insistent.

She moves through the dreamstate and starts to awaken, puzzled by the sound of Aztryd calling out her name and shaking her awake.

"Lady Elwing! Lady Elwing" calls Aztryd.

"Hmm, what is it Aztryd?" she mumbles, still dragging herself from her dreams.

Her faculties still foggy from fatigue and the remnants of her deep sleep, Elwing gradually awakens, pushing down the blankets covering her and rolling onto her side in an attempt to stretch her muscles and alight from the bed. As she does so, her legs crumple, and she sprawls to her knees on the rug beside the bed.

From somewhere outside, Elwing hears a rumbling, which shakes the floor on which she is sprawled. Somewhat shaken by a familiar feeling of dread, she starts to crawl to the door in an effort to vacate the room.
"We have to get out of here," she croaks as she tries to scramble for a safe haven.

As she forces her body to obey the command to stand on her two feet, the sounds of destruction continue. There is a crashing and a deep rumbling, shaking the foundations of her uncle's palace, though it seems nothing inside the palace has fallen as she struggles through the halls and passages to find a way out. Her limbs feel as though they are made from lead, causing her to exert great effort in order to move one foot in front of the other.

Finally she reaches the balcony on which she had surreptitiously landed on her return from the Blue Mountains. Looking around the Swanhaven, she notices something flying overhead towards the harbour. There she spies a small group gathered, looking up at the approaching danger. The acrid smell she had experienced on her trip home from the Blue Mountains lingered in the air, and as she turned she saw the source of the rumbling and crashing she had heard. One of the towers next to her uncle's palace had been brought down and lay in ruins. "Blessed Iluvatar! Have I brought danger on us all?" she wonders to herself.

Just as quickly, and to her utter joy, she hears a familiar deep, rich voice ringing around the Swanhaven. It appears Lord Ulmo, Singer of the Waves, her benefactor and friend to the Teleri has come to their aid once again!

"BEGONE!" She hears Ulmo's command to the dreadful creature flying overhead, in her mind obviously an evil, despicable servant of the Dark Lord. Had the Dark Lord returned to the world then? Last she had heard, he was captive in the deepest, darkest dungeon in a place no one could enter save those charged with guarding over him.

And then all becomes quiet as the flapping of huge wings disappears beyond the wall of water Lord Ulmo summoned to protect the Swanhaven. She looks around and sees her uncle is safe at the harbour. She breathes a sigh of relief. Then a radiant smile lights her countenance as she sees the formidable form of Ulmo. She nods reverently in thanks for his timely intervention.

> Next    

Dawn of a Different Age - Part 3

< Previous   

She did it again! I know you have been sitting on pins and needles for this new installment (wait, that would be SOOO painful, in addition to incredibly stupid!), but here it is at last! that little bit of wackiness brought to you by Teleri Tequila....and Lihan Taifun.

Enjoy!

Lihan Taifun

PROLOGUE

*{muttering}* "Yes, Chapter 3 is named 'Prologue'.  Deal with it!  I'm the Narrator, not the Editor."

This is how it happened:

You know Nienna and her brother Irmo work as counselors at Ainu of Mercy Hospital.  Mostly inpatient stuff, but every now and then they get sent out on some special assignment.

This happened while they were down at that classy resort, “Alqualondë”, looking after the old dude who ran the place.  He must be, like, 6000 years old, and he had had some kind of attack, and gone all mental, and the hospital had sent her and Irmo down to look after him.

"Alqualondë” – seriously, that is the name of the place.  They really write that on the envelopes of all the letters:  “Alqualondë, 50827”.  It's the old Native name of the place, y'know, she explained to the gnome.  Means “swan haven”.  They even have that painted in big white letters on a blue sign when you come into town:
          “Welcome to Alqualondë
          The Swan Haven”

Anyway, Nienna had been down in Alqualondë, and then she had to run back to Valimar to talk to the big guy, Manwë.  While she was in town, she had been walking a couple of blocks to a restaurant she knew, and had run across her cousin Aulë in the park, and they got to talking.   Aulë really understood what she had to put up with in her job.  And people had been dumping garbage on him, too.  So they talked some more.

They had come home from the park in the middle of the afternoon, hungry and thirsty.  So they had a couple of beers.  Aulë dragged some stale corn chips out of the back of his cupboard, and something claiming to be cheese dip, and made nachos.  They had a little tequila afterwards, and a little chocolate ice cream.  And it was apparent Nienna wasn't going to make it home, not even walking.  Aulë had been so  sweet, tucking her in to his own bed -- just her, not both of them, very gentlemanly.  But she had woken up before midnight with jackhammers pounding inside her head. 

Aulë had recommended another beer for "hair of the dog".  And then … things just happened.  Sure, he was a "cousin", but she couldn't remember exactly HOW they were related.  Maybe his wife, Yavanna, was related to Estë, Irmo's wife.  So really, there was no problem.  Unless you counted Aulë's wife, and she might be a problem.  But only if she found out.

"This episode has been brought to you by Teleri Tequila.
Teleri Tequila … Goes down smooth ….Stays down 95% more often than the leading brand."

Nienna Awakens

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Lihan Taifun

Nienna wakes, to a room softly lit with candles.  Aulë always insists that they leave all the candles burning, even when they sleep, lest she wake in darkness.  “Think nothing of it,” he told her when she questioned this extravagance.  “Are we not Valar?  Are we not entitled to candles, and much more?  Should my sweet Nienna stumble in a dark chamber, for the sake of saving a candle?” Now the room is filled with the gentle honey-scent of warm beeswax.  The bedsheets, after a blissful night, have lost their fresh-pressed crispness, yet the linen retains traces of the scent of the herbs used in washing.  Aulë demands that the Maiar bring clean linens every morning.  “They are Maiar,” he says. ”It is their place to serve, and they should be pleased to provide whatever is needed.”  And truly, the feel of clean linens against her skin, each time she slides into bed, is an unexpected pleasure.

Aulë – so kind, so wise, so thoughtful.  Nienna carefully eases herself onto her side so she can watch him without waking him.  Sleep has relaxed the habitual scowl on his face, the sign of his recent mistreatment by that overambitious Maia Eönwë.  Now he is again the picture of the heroic Vala who at the Beginning of the World shaped the lands and the mountains.  Nienna's eyes shine, and a soft smile curves her lips, as she silently watches his breathing.

Where else would she wish to be, other than here, beside him?  She tries to imagine her customary duties here in Mandos.  She could easily dissolve this physical body, drift back to her spirit form, cold and vaporous as that now seems, and move through the hewn rock walls of the Halls of the Dead. Maiar, servants of her brother Mandos, would make banal obsequious greetings. The chief of the Maiar of Mandos would bring a report on the most recent “progress” of some soul or another: “Mirian has been remembering his foster-father's generosity as well as his hot temper,  and Annawen is finally realizing that her own jealousy contributed to ...”  Bah, Nienna can hardly bear even to imagine such a recitation.  Always the same problems.  For every soul with a tragic story, there are a dozen more with the same story.    If one soul attains peace, there remains a flock of other souls, harping on the same tune. “Lady Nienna, my husband ...”  “Lady Nienna, I only wanted ...”  “Lady Nienna, my child ...”  “Lady Nienna, please ...”

In all those Ages, did anyone ever ask what Lady Nienna would like?  What SHE needed? Did anyone ever mention that she was missing the scent of blossoms and herbs, the feel of silk and velvet and pressed linen?  Did anyone even THANK her, for the endless years she spent in the Halls of the Dead?  No, they assumed she would be there, took her presence and her effort for granted.  Let them all take care of themselves now!

The mental interruptions from outside — the many cries from the mortal world, that Elf cleric, even that Maia of Varda's — she has ignored them all.  They always think their problems so important — everyone always thinks their own problems are important — but how could they possibly be worth her time?  The Dead and the Living, let them all look after themselves.  Perhaps they will realize what is obvious to  Aulë: that she also deserves joy.

Nienna purses her lips into a pout, and experiments with a dismissive gesture she has seen in the memories of the Dead – flicking  a hand to the side.  Even better, she flicks her hand though a loose tendril of her hair.  Aulë told her how lovely her hair is when it moves.   When she gets out of bed,  she will try this very satisfying gesture in front of the looking glass.

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