Muse

The True-tellers

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 04:30:35 +0000

The Time of Awakening along the Shore - what could have the first Elven eyes glimpsed dim in the starlight of Varda Elentari? What difference of you and I then? The sweet succor of no-difference is the poet’s riddle to attend the audience. Purity-bound The.

The trees awoke with us after their long Sleep of Yavanna, unspoken? A false tale - the trees spoke The along the Cuivienen and forest-ranges from sea to sea as the Elves taught difference to themselves. Wind and rain and starlight touched the trees as they touched Elven-kind, and yet we failed to speak first as the trees spoke The under the caress of these elements. Listen peaceful of the wind rustle of leaves and the tap of rain, you will hear the True-tales of the world. The True-tellers of speech are not first the Elves, but the trees and the grass below them.

The True-tales do not story-weave difference as one part against another part - a whole tale, to each combined.

Rain and wind settle to the leaf of tree.

The water slips to grass.

Purity-bound The.

~ from the journal of Erynir Tree-speaker, Elf of the Galadhrim

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The Name of The Thing

ETSubmariner — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 04:28:21 +0000

An aira ar eleni! The care of answering a question of the tree-herds is naught to the care of asking the question. It is no use to speak if you do not have something to say, and the care ofsaying is the uttermost prospect of care an Elf can bestow; to oneself and to the tree.

Name yourself. The tree-herds do still speak in rough Westron, though the best of their speech is Entish and the middle-ground is a mix of Entish and Quenya. Estanyen Erynir, I might say to the Shipwright of the Grey Havens and He himself would know I mean me. Estanyen Erynir to a tree-herd has no meaning. Nanye quende has no meaning. What am I? To the tree-herd, I am from my beginning and my various explorations and ideas to the day of omentielmo / our meeting to the concept of beyond today and the dreamings of the children of Eru Iluvatar.

~ from the journal of Erynir Tree-speaker, Elf of the Galadhrim

Oathbreaker Herald

ETSubmariner — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 21:32:06 +0000

In the Third Age, 1974, Fornost Erain was overrun by the forces of Angmar. Many a fell deed slew the Hope of Men in those days, and Oaths taken were shattered by cowardice and greed; Oathbreakers lived where dead men lay rotting. In the next year, Earnur of Gondor retook the city, but abandoned its broken battlements to time. With the Witch-king and his forces routed, the ashen wastes and brittle air filled the hearts of Men with as little Hope as can be mustered.

It is here that the Tale of Torhthelm begins in earnest, a young Son of the Gondorian province of Calenardhon, sworn to his Captain. Not all fought on the Fields throughout, and so the bringing back of the dying and honoring the dead are the result of any battle – the task of freeman - and it is on the Fields of Fornost that Torhthelm finds Fate.

The Tale of Torhthelm

In the Mirror . . .

Mon, 22 Dec 2008 01:37:07 +0000

In the mirror, the raftswoman saw reflected moonlight and golden bough. She heard the whisper of the leaf and the Lady, “Look into the still waters and see.”

See.

What was seen was an man who did not come even after a long vigil, a man who had cloak and shadow wrapped about him. The Lady whispered that words of hope needed life, for still the Dwarves delved deeply and needed help unlooked for from the west. To the Winglord did the Lady motion, and the Great Eagle spoke of eyes above, a task he would do. The Golden Woods lay below the moon.

Raftsmen of the Long Lake

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 19:31:45 +0000

Even in the darker days of Smaug when the trade from Lake Town and the Woodland Elves and points south was under his shadow, the raftsmen of the Long Lake plied their profession down rivers and through the heath. Caravaners all, some worked only with the season or the destination, ferrying goods wrapped in oiled leathers in boats, on rafts or even lashed barrels; those that grew up around the waters of the Long Lake and the Forest and Rivers Running knew well the pathways to avoid and the ways to make coin.

Smaug was smote down, and the raftsmen profession grew. Trade came down the River Running from the Lonely Mountain, and goods pressed south and west even unto Bree-land and the good and green Shire. To be a Master Steersman of the Long Lake is to know the shore and the perils of the calm waters, though not everything on the River Running was about coin. Dark shadows flitted about the Woodland Realm and all points north and east, and so the raftsmen ferried men as well - armored and sheened weapons to battle the evils that lurked and scurried.

~ The Raftsmen of the Long Lake on Landroval is an idea for a kinship I have for folks who hail from the Long Lake, Mirkwood, Dale and the Lonely Mountain. In my concept, the Raftsmen are more a mixture of guild and kin, plying trade between destinations and yet assisting as best could be. Not every raftsmen knows the sword, and not every raftsmen can steer the Falls that flow from the Long Lake. Each of the raftsmen likely took a caravan south and west to the lands known as Bree-land or yet farther. Slowly these goodly folks make their way back home to the Long Lake, yet fell things await them on that journey. Not every journey is so straight as the River Running.