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voidtreckerexpress2020-10-20 12:29 am
marriedanidiot) wrote in voidtreckerexpress2020-10-20 12:29 am
she and Fëanor were companions in many journeys
Who: Nerdanel, Nie Huaisang, anyone who wants to talk to mama elf or look at sculptures
Where: Garden carriage
When: At varying points during this month
What: Noldor, as it turns out, mourn by crafting
Warnings: Grieving for a lost spouse
She tries hard not to allow her grief to swamp her, knowing well how if the waves drag her down, it might be too hard to come back to the surface again. Knowing that she cannot hurt those here, no matter how much she might want to leave.
She's done this before.
She can do it again.
But when even Wangji's quiet, or Ple Two's soft concern, when even Curufin's and Glorfindel's fear pressed close against her are too much, she retreats to the garden.
There she sits amongst the stones and pebbles, and buries herself in her Art, drawing shape and figures out of stone so alive that they might almost breathe and speak, no matter that they are all miniature.
Maedhros already looks up out of stone, and Maglor sits beside him, bent over his harp, almost finished, but she turns now to another, and Feanor's flashing eyes look up out of the piece in her hands.
She will not speak to any unless spoken to first, but ever and anon, a low hum might be heard, just out of the range of hearing, steadiness and grief, fire and earth. A memory, perhaps, of long ago.
Where: Garden carriage
When: At varying points during this month
What: Noldor, as it turns out, mourn by crafting
Warnings: Grieving for a lost spouse
She tries hard not to allow her grief to swamp her, knowing well how if the waves drag her down, it might be too hard to come back to the surface again. Knowing that she cannot hurt those here, no matter how much she might want to leave.
She's done this before.
She can do it again.
But when even Wangji's quiet, or Ple Two's soft concern, when even Curufin's and Glorfindel's fear pressed close against her are too much, she retreats to the garden.
There she sits amongst the stones and pebbles, and buries herself in her Art, drawing shape and figures out of stone so alive that they might almost breathe and speak, no matter that they are all miniature.
Maedhros already looks up out of stone, and Maglor sits beside him, bent over his harp, almost finished, but she turns now to another, and Feanor's flashing eyes look up out of the piece in her hands.
She will not speak to any unless spoken to first, but ever and anon, a low hum might be heard, just out of the range of hearing, steadiness and grief, fire and earth. A memory, perhaps, of long ago.
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[ She smiles a little and beckons S'ree over ]
Of course. Here. I'm a sculptor, you see - I'm just working on some small figures of my family.
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They're very lifelike. I mean, I don't know your family, but they 'feel' lifelike.
[Which... wizards have a tendency to think of everything as having something akin to life, but the stone is normally much simpler.].
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[ She tips her head curiously ]
And thank you - that has always been one of my goals.
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[There are words in the Speech, because it covers everything. And S'reee can of course explain it to other whales. But unless this person is also a musician or other person who thinks more about sound than most, she probably doesn't think about how the sound reflects from a work.].
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[ She asks curiously ]
How does it work?
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But human artists don't always design for that sense; their architects consider it more.
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Tis too bad my Makalaure is no longer here... he would likely be able to discuss such things further with you - but my knowledge of the Song is rather specifically limited to my Art.
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[S'reee might be a whale, but she also knew a capital letter when she heard one.]
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My Art is a making one, but stone has always spoken clearest.
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You would definitely have gotten along well with my Makalaure. Many of my folk work with Song - although I suppose it's not exactly the same as what you do!
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