It very much depends on who is asking, I suppose? I don’t mind hugs in and of themselves, and I might spare one to a friendly stranger, so long as I wasn’t working, and so long as they do not mind a bit of soot and oil rubbing off on them. (I try to keep tidy, but it’s a forge inside a volcano, what can you do.)
Not surprised? By my ‘promotion’ or by my exile to this moldy island in the middle of an elvish swamp?
Don’t pretend as though you knew lord Melkor’s plans before I did, you glib little sky-rat. Like it or not, you’re stuck here just the same as me, so we may as well try to get along.
I’m merely surprised that our Lord would choose a smith to warm his bed at night. I mean I’ve heard the phrase ‘save an anvil and bang a smith’ but I didn’t think he’d take it quite as literally as that.
How very eloquent of you to call me a sky-rat, especially when you yourself are naught but a flea ridden beast.
Yet if you insist on maintaining this illusion of getting along, I assure you, I am more than capable. What would you have me do, I wonder? Shall I scratch behind your ears or should I fetch you a noldor bone first, hmm? Or shall I stroke your beard and tickle your stomach?
Ah, I understand. You think I am beneath him– a mere Maia of the forge, though the greatest of those. But who is Thuringwethil to decide who lord Melkor takes to bed? If I am unworthy of him, then doubly so art thou, a messenger.
And before you lay so much as a finger on me or call me ‘dog’, I will remind you that it was to my service you were given. This is not Angband– here, Iam lord, and there are none who outrank me.
Insult me again, and I need not even write to our Master before pulling the wings off you like a fly. Do I make myself clear?
A long and spectacular series of events that occurred on this blog circa 2015, based on a vow @masteroftheseas made to @theshipwright not to interact with any Dark Lords for an extended period of time, in an effort to cut down on the fishy’s bad influences.
Thû took this as a challenge and spent the whole month plying Ossë with gifts and pearls and epic poetry and paeans to the sea and sad instrumental ballads and a Certain Silver Hair Clasp. Eventually in a final attempt to make confronting him unavoidable, Sauron and @ji-indurtook a boat into the middle of nowhere and he plopped himself into the ocean with a new-and-improved-buoyant version of his orca!form, throwing himself on the mercy of the Oarni and went on a magical, non-talking tour of the ocean under armed escort, and everything was going splendidly except that he gave Ossë an unwarranted peck or two on the forehead and gills, and was promptly ejected from the sea via waterspout and into a cliff. He then tattled about the entire wooing process to Cirdan in a letter, citing the aforementioned hair clasp (which he’d signed) as proof of Ossë’s betrayal of the intent, if not the word, of his promise to not interact with any Dark Lords.
Figure 1: A young scamp from Umbar, showing early signs of delinquency. Figure 2: The newly made pirate captain, setting his sights on fame and fortune. Figure 3: Having acquired fame, fortune, and unfortunately, a ring of power, the now-infamous Ji-Indur serves the Dark Lord in Mordor and is bent to His will. Figure 4: Post War of the Ring, our pirate enjoys his extended un-life in retirement, and says never mind to all that wraithrubbish.
// Ah, Munday: the day I scroll through my dash realizing once again that all a y’all in this damn fandom are super, duper, unfairly attractive.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 