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Old 06-30-2006, 02:07 PM   #394
Dead Serious
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Join Date: Jan 2005
Location: Perched on Thangorodrim's towers.
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Formendacil is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.Formendacil is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.Formendacil is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.
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NŠin did not return to his bedchamber. He was in far too much of a temper for that, and certainly wasn't going to be sent to his room by Eodwine. Instead, he wandered to the part of the Mead Hall property that had become most familiar to him: the courtyard where the statue of Falco now stood, almost finished.

The chill April air soon chilled NŠin's temper, and his mind fully awake again now, he began to ponder his actions in a more rational manner.

Shaking his head and shivering somewhat, he picked up his hammer and chisel, and began to put some of the finishing details on the statue. It was a clear night, and the moon illuminated the courtyard, but NŠin needed little light for sculpting. A month of work had left him intimately familiar with the statue, and he could work as much by feeling as by sight.

The work was soothing, and just strenuous enough to keep him warm, so that the bite of the spring air did not leave him shivering. And a Dwarf, in any event, is resistant to discomfort.

As he slowly tapped away the final features on Falco's left calf, he admitted to himself just how utterly foolish it had been to go barging in on Saeryn and Degas. First of all, it was the Eorl's private chambers, and if Eodwine wasn't setting things right, it was hardly the part of a guest such as himself to do so- and calling the Lady of the Hall childish was rude in the extreme.

A fine example of Dwarven chivalry was he! Eodwine wouldn't kick him out- he was a guest of the King, and a representative of Thorin, but he was hardly promoting good will between Dwarves and Rohirrim. And having finally settled into the Mead Hall's routine, NŠin was hardly eager to put a difficulty between him and its inhabitants.

He chipped away at the stone, it's hard, cool surface a comfort. Mahal's work was a beauty, a delightful mixture of texture and strength, gleaming when revealed. His own art was as much as display of Mahal's bounty and Falco's inherent beauty as it was any sign of his own skill.

If only he had the talent to sculp himself in such a manner, to chip away his imperfections, and leave a person that was a display as flattering to his maker Mahal as this piece of stone. Not that he need lose himself completely, for just as the stone displayed its own character as a part of the statue's design, so too should he be able to display his own personality as a part of a beautiful whole.

His mind calmed and introspective, NŠin stepped back finally to view his creation. It was finished. He had no idea what the hour was. His last thought, before putting away his tools, was that in the morning, he should definitely go and apologise. To Eodwine, to Saeryn, to Degas- to Garstan too. He had been quite rude to his fellow stone-shaper. Yes, he thought, as he finally drifted asleep, chipping away imperfections was sometimes a humbling experience.
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