Maglor Makalaure Canafinwe Feanorion (
bythewaves) wrote in
eachdraidh2014-12-01 01:40 pm
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Video | Both Courts
[ When the video starts it is to a burst of laughter and calls for 'More!' - this is a tavern, somewhere in Cothromach, perhaps, considering the number of dwarves visible.
There is a minstrel seated by the fire, silver harp in his lap, and he swigs back a drink that has obviously just been passed to him in reward for his last song to roars of approval. The silver eight-rayed-star on his cloak may be familiar, although his features are curiously a little blurred, as if hard to hold on to in the flickering light. But his voice now - his voice is probably very familiar to some. ]
Well now good sirs, another is it? And what would you have of me? Joy or sorrow, war or peace?
Sing us something to get us laughing, boyo!
[ He bows in thought and then smiles ]
Ah, then, this one perhaps might suit, considering recent events eh?
[ And he launches into a rolling rollicking tune with a very familiar subject ]
Oh the world will talk of a ruddy fox
Across all time and space
And not because / o’ his fearsome claws
Or punch-attracting face
The monarchs try / to win their war
and finally take the day
But that damn fox / with all his plots
keeps trying to get his way
As popular as a mangy rat
He’s sure he’s so much better than that
Reynard, that phony king in Eachdraaaidh
A pox on that / phony king in Eachdraaaidh
Grabbin’ at a throne / to call his own
Pretendin’ he’s the king
[stage whispered:](We’d rather shove him / in a box)
(and out a fairy ring)
He throws an / angry tantrum
if he cannot have his way
Moans o’er his shard / ‘cause life’s so hard
then allies does betray
He’d like to think that he’s the first
but we all know he’s just the worst
A pox on that / phony king in Eachdraaaidh
He kidnaps all / our dearest friends
And robs us from our beds
but mark, we’ll yet / collect that debt
and crush that fucker dead
We’ll party hard / and party long
when that damned fox is gone
but until then / through mount and glen
we’ll sing this catchy song
So sing it loud and sing it long
Let nobody forget this song!
The scurvy’d, fleabit phony king in Eachdraidh
The snivellin’ grovellin’ / measly weasely
blabberin’ jabberin’; /gibbering jabberin’
blunderin’ plottin’ / wheelin’ dealin’
Reynard! That phony king in Eachdraaaidh
[ ooc: with thanks to Waver-mun & Kaldur-mun, who wrote this. And yes, Mags is going tavern to tavern and singing this ]
There is a minstrel seated by the fire, silver harp in his lap, and he swigs back a drink that has obviously just been passed to him in reward for his last song to roars of approval. The silver eight-rayed-star on his cloak may be familiar, although his features are curiously a little blurred, as if hard to hold on to in the flickering light. But his voice now - his voice is probably very familiar to some. ]
Well now good sirs, another is it? And what would you have of me? Joy or sorrow, war or peace?
Sing us something to get us laughing, boyo!
[ He bows in thought and then smiles ]
Ah, then, this one perhaps might suit, considering recent events eh?
[ And he launches into a rolling rollicking tune with a very familiar subject ]
Oh the world will talk of a ruddy fox
Across all time and space
And not because / o’ his fearsome claws
Or punch-attracting face
The monarchs try / to win their war
and finally take the day
But that damn fox / with all his plots
keeps trying to get his way
As popular as a mangy rat
He’s sure he’s so much better than that
Reynard, that phony king in Eachdraaaidh
A pox on that / phony king in Eachdraaaidh
Grabbin’ at a throne / to call his own
Pretendin’ he’s the king
[stage whispered:](We’d rather shove him / in a box)
(and out a fairy ring)
He throws an / angry tantrum
if he cannot have his way
Moans o’er his shard / ‘cause life’s so hard
then allies does betray
He’d like to think that he’s the first
but we all know he’s just the worst
A pox on that / phony king in Eachdraaaidh
He kidnaps all / our dearest friends
And robs us from our beds
but mark, we’ll yet / collect that debt
and crush that fucker dead
We’ll party hard / and party long
when that damned fox is gone
but until then / through mount and glen
we’ll sing this catchy song
So sing it loud and sing it long
Let nobody forget this song!
The scurvy’d, fleabit phony king in Eachdraidh
The snivellin’ grovellin’ / measly weasely
blabberin’ jabberin’; /gibbering jabberin’
blunderin’ plottin’ / wheelin’ dealin’
Reynard! That phony king in Eachdraaaidh
[ ooc: with thanks to Waver-mun & Kaldur-mun, who wrote this. And yes, Mags is going tavern to tavern and singing this ]
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[ He laughs softly at her words ] Ai, but you must not let young Master Jack hear you say those words - or rather, perhaps you should. In his own world he is the bringer of winter, the spirit whose coming heralds it as well as its shepherd and guide. I think he would be most pleased to hear that in one world, at least, his coming is part of the tales of the world.
And I will tell you mine - an exchange of tales, hm? The best sort of currency.
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Maedhros is his name - you may see him on the lockets, but I suspect you will hear his voice before you see his face. But he is unmistakable - tall and with our mother's red hair and eyes that burn still with silver fire.
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[ she can understand it. she used to be more careful upon that front. ]
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He prefers not to, yes. [ he shrugs ] He prefers to let me do most of the talking - perhaps he will change his mind with time.
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she changes the topic quite swiftly: ] I have brothers within this very city. Two. And a sister.
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[ He smiles brightly at her and accepts the tacit apology, giving her one of his own in his answer ]
Two! And a sister as well - fortunate you are, Lady Keeper. I have six brothers, all told - one elder and five younger, although only Maedhros is here. [ Celegorm, of course, was also, but is no longer, and Maglor aches still for his loss ]
It is always good to have family near.
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[ five starks; one snow. ]
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And four of them here! They must bring you a good deal of comfort.
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[ the odd one out. ]
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[ he tips his head a little at the phrasing ] Forgive me for asking but... he is your brother but his name is different?
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Jon is my half-brother. Though I love him with my full heart.
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That is good - tis always difficult when a sibling is not of full blood. [ considering Feanor and Fingolfin and drawn swords ahahahahasob ]
But I am glad to hear that you all get along. Forgive me for prying.
[ The noise and bustle of the market around them means at least the conversation would be quiet? ]
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You are not prying. I promise. My Lord Father acknowledges Jon as his natural-born son or else he would never carry the name Snow. Such names are telling features in my land. Snow; Waters; Flowers; Hill; Stone.
[ alayne stone was once a shardbearer here, before she shed the name and became this prim lady beside him today. ]
I MEANT TO TYPE LEGITIMATE I AM SO SORRY FINGOLFIN & FINARFIN
You take them after features in the lands you live in? [ For so it seems to him - he likes them, they are all very natural sounding - snow, water, flower ]
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[ Not the Eldar, he thinks, who are always so slow to change ]
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[ Enough to draw sword on your half-brother snorts Caranthir ]
I hope your family remembers that in the end, blood will tell. [ I will follow you promised Nolofinwe, all those years ago, and indeed he did, although Feanor left him behind. Across ice and grief and snow, to blood and tears, and eventually, to death in fire as well ]
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[ not half-brother, as she used to. ]
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[ Men, he finds, are better at forgiving that Eldar ]