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Old 07-31-2003, 06:15 AM   #29
Estelyn Telcontar
Princess of Skwerlz
 
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Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: where the Sea is eastwards (WtR: 6060 miles)
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Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!Estelyn Telcontar has reached the Cracks of Doom and destroyed the Ring!
Silmaril

Merisuwyniel and Pimpiowyn were riding at the head of the Non-Gender-Specific-Ship, two different shades of golden hair flowing in the wind. Their horses cantered in companionable silence, since Falafel was too relieved to be rejoined with her mistress to wish for conversation, and Tweedledee couldn’t speak anyway. Their riders made up for it by talking animatedly.

Pimpi was enjoying the freedom that having her own horse gave her; her appreciation of Vogonwë’s poetry was greater when she didn’t have to listen to it all day. Now she plied her Elven companion with questions about questing.

“You too can be a shieldmaiden!” Merisuwyniel exclaimed. “I will be happy to teach you what I have learned in the course of my past adventures.

“First there is the matter of appearance; this is of essential importance, since it can impress both friend and foe. After that growth spurt you had, you are tall, slender, willowy, reed-like, with legs as long as any maiden could wish. (Tactfully, she did not mention that said legs lacked the gracefulness which was the mark of a true heroine.) Your red-golden hair is beautiful; not quite as exotic as flaming red, perhaps, but that does not matter. The curls are more bouncy than rippling; that too is of no import. Your eyes are impressively large and of such a lovely blue that one forgets how normal and widespread that colour is.

“Next we must consider your heritage. It is very convenient that you are already orphaned, since shieldmaidens should not have to concern themselves with someone at home who worries about them, sends them care packages, needs reassurance about their welfare and expects them to send postcards when they travel. I don’t suppose either of your parents came from a royal family?” she queried.

The Half-Halfling shook her head regretfully.

“Well, never mind; it’s too late to change that,” the Elf replied. “Perhaps we can find some ancestor who won a local Miss contest or appeared on the Jêrri-Spríngion show in your family tree somewhere. At least your name is long enough to sound exotic.

“Now for the items you have with you: have you any magical jewelry?”

“You know that my horsehead exploded when we fought at Minus Moreghoul,” Pimpi shrugged. “The only other jewelry I have is my engagement ring.”

They gazed at the ring which Vogonwë had chosen and presented to her. It was well-made, of good Elven quality, and Merisu’s sharp eyes saw that the stone was clear and pure. However, since Pimpi’s fiancé had a rather drab taste in matters of clothing, the ring was particularly unspectacular. Without speaking, both agreed that it was highly unlikely to have any magical properties.

“How about the necklace Celery gave me in Topfloorien?” the Quarterling asked hopefully.

“Sometimes jewelry is just jewelry,” Merisu mused, “although you never know about something that comes from the Magic Kingdom. I think, though, that he would have told us if it had special qualities, or at least have given us a cryptic clue.

“At any rate, you do have a weapon – that is the most important thing for a shieldmaiden, besides her looks, of course. Do you know anything about the history of your dagger? Does it have a noble and ancient lineage?” enquired the Elven maiden.

“Well, I bought it from Kuruharan – maybe he knows more about it,” Pimpi wondered.

“You could ask him, but I’m not perfectly certain that any story he tells about his merchandise is absolutely trustworthy.” (That was, of course, Merisu’s gentle way of saying, “The guy would lie to you about anything if he sees a chance to make a profit.” )

“I killed an Orc with it and named it afterwards – does it count when I start its history myself?” asked the Half-Halfling anxiously.

“I think that will be just fine,” her companion reassured her. “Besides, it is beautiful with its jewel-encrusted hilt and certainly worth more than a shieldmaiden could normally afford. However, you will need additional training with other weapons. Even though the Entish Bow is all I need, I have learned to handle a sword quite well. The more, the merrier, is the shieldmaiden’s motto. You can practice with the various members of the Itship.

“Let’s see, what else do we need to consider? You now have a horse of your own and no longer have to share a mount with Vogonwë; that’s good.”

Pimpi pouted adorably. “Yes, but isn’t it just like Vogy to choose horses that are so…placid, boring, slow, dull, tedious, hum-drum, dismal… I wish I had a steed that was more lively, fiery, daring, furious…”

“For now, Tweedledee will have to tweedledo,” Merisu interrupted. “We must think about one more important part of your baggage – clothing. Most Elven heroines wear gowns, beautifully made and described in loving detail, for every activity. Those never seem to become soiled or need repairs, though they are often made of the flimsiest fabrics. The maidens apparently even ride in them, though one never hears that they use side-saddles. I find that unrealistic and impractical.

“For this reason, I have chosen to wear divided skirts – they are both feminine and practical, suitable for almost every occasion, so that I can travel with a minimum of baggage. I do have that dreamy dress that I found at Mallorn Mall with me, just in case an opportunity arises to wear it again. Where is yours?” she asked in a whisper. “Do you have it here? I should very much like just to peep at it again.”

“Yes, I’ve got it,” answered Pimpi, feeling a strange reluctance. “It looks just the same as ever it did. I’m afraid it won’t fit me now that I’ve grown, but I couldn’t bear to leave it behind.”

“Well, I should just like to see it for a moment,” said Meri.

Slowly Pimpi drew it out of her saddlebag. Its velvety folds shimmered enticingly and the diaphanous red sleeves fell with nary a crinkle. Merisu put out her hand to touch it.

But Pimpi quickly withdrew the dress from her reach. To her distress and amazement she found that she was no longer looking at Merisuwyniel; a shadow seemed to have fallen between them, and through it she found herself eyeing an emaciated fashion model with a hungry face and bony groping hands. She felt repulsion and a desire to feed her a high-carb, rich dessert.

The beat of the horses’ hooves and the conversation of the riders around them seemed to falter and a silence fell. Merisu looked quickly at Pimpi’s face and passed her hand across her eyes. “I understand now,” she said. “Put it away! I am sorry, but it was meant for you and none other. I’m sure, coming from the Enchanted Woods, it will adjust to fit you perfectly. – Do you have any men’s clothing with you?”

“Of course not,” Pimpi retorted. “Why should I? I’m emancipated, and Vogonwë packs his own baggage.”

“Ah, but there may be need of it for you at some time; every shieldmaiden must be prepared to disguise herself as a male warrior in situations where the men would not allow them to come along. I suppose you can take something from him if it’s necessary. His clothes are rather drab, but for disguises, that is actually desirable.

“Now, last but not least, we must consider your personal abilities. Can you charm all creatures who hear you with your music?”

“I don’t know – Vogy admires my singing…” Pimpiowyn’s voice trailed off.

Merisuwyniel said nothing, but she secretly thought that a poet like the Half-Elf might not necessarily be the best judge of musicality. “How about healing?” she continued, changing the subject diplomatically.

“I tried to learn what I could in the Houses of Bettifordeth,” the Quarterling replied. “Will that be enough?”

“Forget it!” said the Elf with uncharacteristic bluntness. “Any Elven child knows more about healing than those bumbling human medics do. Even without training, my superior instincts will lead me to the right herbs just in the nick of time, and I can inevitably apply them correctly. I will show and tell you all I know about healing.

“One last question: Do you have any supernatural abilities?”

“I don’t think so,” Pimpi answered regretfully. “Unless being able to eat constantly without ever gaining weight would be considered magical?”

[ August 01, 2003: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth...'
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