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The formal tone the voice had called out its challenge in now vanished, replaced with a palpable sense of joy, added to the previous excitement.
"Endamir, m'boy! But of course, splendid! And young Oremir...and-how could I forget?-were ye not acquainted to my best follower, Lindir? Wait...don't say that he too is here!"
The light engulfing the party stopped becoming threatening, fading away till it no longer blinded the Elves. They could now discern its source, a great hearth beyond what was undoubtedly an armoury and a forge, combined. But of the Smith himself there was no sign, though his voice continued to hail them amiably, and as if, too, he could now see them all.
"Tremendous, tremendous. Four of you," the Smith's voice paused here thoughtfully. "You spoke of Malris...did he survive the long ages?"
There was a resounding smash of iron on iron and the Smith suddenly coalesced into view, looking, if anything, more of flesh and blood than any of them. He was beating a bar of iron into shape with the largest hammer in his rack.
Physically, the old Elf was huge, broad, tall, and muscular. In fact, he seemed little changed from the days when Endamir or Lindir had known him in Himring, two Ages ago; which some of them found disconcerting...
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