I have not forgotten. And may I remind you that the first person to try it will lose both their hands.
Now, noble as it may be to concern yourself so much with my cleanliness, rest assured that in any situation involving that much gore I would not wish to be wearing unstable footwear regardless of their elevation.
I am an obliging man, but let that be the end of this discussion. I will not wear them.
What IS this obsession you greycloaks have with my footwear? And my hair? And my beard??
There are men aplenty on this earth who would gladly shave themselves smooth as soap and wear decorative torture devices on their feet, and look lovely for doing so! They are not me. I am a smith. I am a child of the father of Dwarves. I want my heels on the ground and hair on my chin and elsewhere. Would you not rather see me in attire that suits my sensibilities?
1) As long as I wish it to be.
2) No.
And you thought I wasn’t counting but I was and this is three questions:
3) They would hurt, as my feet would hurt, because shoes on spikes were not meant for anyone of my size, weight, and occupation to wear comfortably.
Sure thing, toots!
What do you think? Everything you hoped for?
I don’t get to swing it around much anymore, but if you find me another Noldor king, I’ll show you how it’s done.
// No problem anon! 🙂
“Corrupting Jewelry From Sauron” is a prompt I’ve recycled on this blog a few times. Here is the original post with the guidelines.
I definitely recommend checking out the #Untrustworthy Gifts Meme tag on my blog to see past responses! They’re some of my favorites. :3
Why, Little Storm! Had I known it was the occasion of your birthday, I would have sent a surprise much earlier!
Here: I have made you pretty pet.
Though he is made of gold, he sings much more beautifully than a real peacock (if you have never met such a bird, take my word for it that their voices are quite loud and raucous, whereas yours shall sound like a chorus of little bells).
His cage may be opened and he can fly about with ease; emeralds are his eyes, and they can see quite clearly in day or night. You may teach him all sorts of tricks, and he will remember them. Aside from singing, he has a limited store of words with which me might report to you what he has seen. I thought perhaps, if you are bored on your little island, he might fly ashore and gather some sights and baubles to entertain you with.
Now Laumë, if you wake in the middle of the night and find that his cage is empty, do not fear: he is only out for a midnight flight. He must sometimes exercise his wings, so the mechanisms do not grow rusty– and perhaps to perform certain errands that you needn’t worry yourself about. Your pet will be home by morning, unless he is waylaid by weather; he is programmed to always return to his cage, wherever it may be.
I hope he makes you happy. If he ever needs tuning, I will send you the necessary tools for repair. Your a clever girl, and you have Mitsanar to help you with the magic bits.
Yours, Ever,
Uncle Thû.
I have no wish to curse you, captain! Anvil-headed though you may be. *nudge*
Here, have the key to an old storage locker in the Eastern Pit. Master has quite forgotten about it, and there are sure to be a few chests of raw gold and ores lying about. Have a snack, on me!
But if He finds out, let it be on your head! That’s as close a thing to a curse as I’ll land you with.
The smith laughs, a rich and rolling sound.
“Master, you tease me! Truly now, what is it you wish for? All that I make is yours, my skills are at your beck and call! If you wished for a new present, you had only to ask…”
“Here. For you o Mighty One: a gauntlet lined in softest leather and fur, hard as diamond, with claws that never dull. If the mithril pleases you not, I can have it plated in gold, or rubies, or blackened steel if that is your desire! Whatever you want, for your perfect hands– it is yours, my pleasure to make.”
He kneels to present his gift, eyes full of love. Then he chuckles again, as if recalling a joke.
“…’Corrupt’ you indeed! Oh, you have a strange sense of humor my lord.”
I hope the internship at Eregion Inc paid off for that guy
Frankly I think the effect would be more comical than anything else…
“Spitting” is imprecise and lacks the necessary propulsion, to say nothing of the fact that I can make a dozen cannons for every Balrog in Angband, who might otherwise be occupied.
And I wouldn’t risk my Master’s children accidentally choking on the ammunition.
(Now, I don’t want you to think we discourage employee input here in Angband, but let’s leave artillery to the experts hm? There’s a good Uruk. Run along back to your watchtower.)
You must be laboring under heavy delusions if you believe pricking fingers and putting to death the odd criminal and captured foe, destined already for execution, are more extreme than the duties I held in Angband; even more so if you believe Men had not been finding gods and seasons to sacrifice their brethren to long ere I came amongst them. They spun the threads, I merely wove between them.
The glut of sacrifices in Numenor was unprecedented; it became a frenzied superstition, men bled and burned to appease the elements and put off the specter of death, and to wipe out political opposition.
I fanned the flames of this practice in the West as I never did in the East. The reason ought to be clear to anyone who knows my purposes: the Edain are and will always be my enemy. Helping them engineer their own demise was my intent from the very beginning.
And yes. I’d recently had a very, very bad century.
😀 thank you very much!
UMMMMMMMMMMM 8′D
WELL.
THAT IS.
A MATTER OF OPINION! 8′’’D But it sure is a thing that exists!!
it’s in Russian and you can find parts of it on youtube. I’ve made posts about it in the distant past, and I think @perplexingly has tracked down some more since.
GOD, I WISH THAT WERE A THING OOOOOH
OOOOH SOMEONE MAKE THAT A THING, PLEASE GOD
:SLDKjfl;kj It’s the part in the Silm where Melkor rides out of Valinor on his giant spider girlfriend, and then she’s like “I’m hungry you promised me lunch” and he’s like “we just ate lunch” and she’s like “more lunch” and he’s like “well have some sparkly noldor rocks that i was definitely saving for myself i guess” and she’s like “i still want more lunch” and he’s like “well I don’t have any more lunch” and she’s like “what’s that behind your back” and he’s like “….nothing” and she’s like “is it more lunch?” and he’s like “i don’t know what you’re talking about I’ve never even heard of lunch are they a band?” and she’s like “if you don’t give me that choice motherfucking Silmaril lunch that you are clearly hiding behind your back, then you will be the lunch” and he’s like “D:” and then the date is ruined
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 