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Author Topic: Minas Tirith in Ink  (Read 3129 times)

Ori

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« on: December 22, 2013, 10:10:00 PM »
Pity. That was how Anladd had explained his return to the rest of the scribes. Pity for the weak Dwarf who had enthusiastically delved into the mines to learn a much more apt trade for a Dwarf. Nári had done the entire show of alienating the new scribes against the poor weak Dwarf who had no other place to run, Kylan had refused to collaborate with him in the restoration of the newest shipments of lost books…even Flói had begun to distance himself from him. Although that might have been because of his new trade in archery. Kíli had spoken fondly of him as a worthy competitor against him.

Elven works were considered infamy to be held inside the Archives, but for some reason Rydda had approved of their restoration, merely because of the age and uniqueness of the manuscript. Not that Ori minded. He was the pitied scribe, and was lucky to have any work at all here after having broken his left arm. Not his pen arm, luckily. And his concentration left the looks of the other scribes looking across the tables and the stone shelves to the teenaged Dwarf with the curious-looking homemade cast on his left arm. No, his eyes and mind were on the elegant drawings he was to recopy unto the new parchment. It was that of Minas Tirith in the South, having been drawn in its glory days before the days of the last alliances.

His forehead beaded in sweat from the heat of the underground archives and the concentration required, he hurriedly wiped the damp on his forehead away with his broken arm. It was not sure that he would heal. But he trusted Óin in his judgement, and Dori's fatalistic comments not so much. After all, he was determined to return to the mines--switch to charcoal for the softer shades on that shadow of that Tower. The only sounds in the halls filled with desks against the wall was the scratching of quill on parchment or the occasional rough sound of using charcoal for various purposes. Colors were rarely allowed because of their tendency to fade and ruin the masterpieces and their value. If one could buy any colored paint, it was better off using it for something much more useful.

"Flói, your duty is elsewhere. Keep writing," said someone sharply in Khûzdul. From this accusation he could infer Flói had been looking at him. His useless arm went to his side to the pouch were he held the vambraces Fíli and Kíli had given him once. Ori hid them to stop Dori from accusing him of leaving the house at suspicious times, because those were getting very annoying and were untrue! But the fingers that poked through the cast drew back. Should he be fighting anyone today after constant harassment Flói would be the last for Ori to go after when he had an arm in a cast!

A breath of wind reached him from the right, and he sighed--merely dip the ink-stained quill in water to achieve the dim effect on the clouds--because that meant the doors had been opened. Else someone's shift had ended early, thankfully so because it meant his would too, or someone had come in. He raised his eyes from the parchment--after being so close to paper for days on end, he might as well begin to lose his vision! And he wasn't going to tolerate that! Kíli was beginning to praise his aim with the bow and arrow, although he excelled most with his slingshot.

Someone rushed past him and managed to push his chair a little further in, but luckily the quill was off the paper and no harm was done to his work. Ori turned his head with narrowed eyes and was not surprised to see Nári with a load of books smirking and walking away. The other dwarf turned around in his path yet continued walking backwards to continue taunting Ori. "Watch your handwritten', cripple!" he crowed aloud, and Ori merely looked away. No. It was ridiculous to fight with a  broken arm and against someone two thirds his size! Honestly, Ori had no idea why Nári stayed in the Archives despite having the body of a miner.

Back to the drawing.

Played by Jo

Dagmar

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #1 on: December 27, 2013, 12:30:00 AM »
{Fari or Nari, Jo? Because if Nari that Cass and I used is there, Dags is rethinking this plan even if they haven't yet met ^^ But if it is him go with it! Could turn interesting}

Much as Dagmar had issue with her Embroidery lessons and certain cliches of girls who though themselves the best at it, she was still a dutiful maiden and the tutor did put up with a lot at times, as they all did; so when it was asked if she would kindly return the book on techniques that had been used, Dags had smilingly acquiesced. She wasn't even sure what accounted for the slight bit of hesitancy, either.

It wasn't like she hadn't entered the Archives before, she had, for her brother and pony books mostly. Still, Dagmar was all set to not even give more than this to the establishment. Not that she would turn her nose up, exactly. The young maiden didn't snub any needed establishment. Hardly snubbed anything in fact. It just "wasn't her own jar of paints" in a way. Sitting. Reading. Not unless the tale was all consuming and few of those were found in print (though there were some! She recalled finding new battle tales on Durin once, which of course she had to share with the Princes!)

Pushing the heavy doors opened, and feeling that descending feeling again of a Dwarfling who must behave herself, Dagmar continued on in and through, seeking out the best person to turn the book into. It would seem an easy enough task, and yet the first few scribes she saw pass seemed busy. Even so, had the maiden continued waiting, no doubt someone, like Fari, would pass and aid her, whether they let out their exasperation or no at herself, one of the non-scribe lay-dwarves, holding books wrong or just generally not knowing proper protocol. She didn't get quite this far, though, as her attention was instantly drawn to how on track such a criticism may perhaps be. Her green eyes widened at the purple layer (more than a speck! A full on line!) there on the bottom corner of the book where her thumb had just been.

Lifting, she inspected and found that, yep, she held an incriminating similar sort of shade all along said thumb and hand. Oh, no, no, no! How?! She had carefully wiped her hands before taking the book even. She soon found her answer, though. That small canister of purple hidden surreptitiously in her pocket, it was leaking purple to her frock even now and...oh she must have touched it also without realizing and then...oh it wasn't anywhere else too was it?!

Turning a circle, the young maiden found that no, the floor about her was clear, she was just now even more paint ridden and a risk than usual!

Suddenly Dagmar's good deed and favor seemed trouble apt to get her not only shunned from the entire Archives forever but incurring the wrath of some stuffy scribe head somewhere. Then they'd tell her mother, she would dent her father's reputation, as it seemed Liv was in constant fear of happening. Now the maiden wanted anything but to be found, and quickly scanned to ensure she was still unseen (which she thankfully was) before ducking behind a nearby table and stack of books and parchment that would thankfully hide her as she figured this out. Fifty-Four, and it seemed keeping her hands clean was still an issue. Well, at least it was just paint...half the times her brothers came in, Dags forwent asking what they had gotten into/had gotten onto them.

Scanning and pondering, Dagmar espied a rag on said table above her and reached it down before turning to inspect and see what she couldn't do about this. It wasn't as bad as at first feared, she hadn't stained her frock beyond the decorative apron she'd been wearing, as she saw when she untied said apron and checked. Folding the now purple stained garment up, she set it to the side to figure out how to deal with later before wiping her hands clean once more and turning to see if she couldn't work a miracle on the book. oh please....

She was able to wipe some of the paint clear, but there was still a definite suspicious tint. Water, she needed water. Just a bit, not enough to further damage, and found a canister also on the thankfully vacant table. With this Dags got a bit more success. before using her skirts to now dry and thankfully not rub more paint anywhere. There...if one were looking for paint they might be able to find where it had been, but without such knowledge...yeah, no it seemed still all fine, but for being more faded perhaps...

Maybe she just imagined that too. Either-way, it would do, and she should return it before she had it too long and something else happened. Leaving the purple stained apron in a corner for further retrieval for the moment, and ensuring two other canisters of blue and a white made from a rare find of shells that would seem redundant if it didn't actually show on parchment were safe and unharmed, she stowed these in her actual frock pocket and prayed against anything else happening since then she would just have to cart her paint-ridden self home and have even more to explain to her mother than just one ruined apron.

"Good deed try number two! Here we go!"[/color], Dagmar muttered, and scooped up the book, standing and making her way across the Archives once more to try and quickly see to her duty so as to get on about the rest of what she now had to do such as see if she could soak an apron outside her mother's knowledge. A table of scribes at work seemed a good drop off point, as did the first young one she spotted.

"Excuse me, sorry to interu-", as Dagmar went to state her purpose and intent to the young scribe, what he worked at drew her focus. She didn't even noticed his bandaged up other arm. Dags had expected to see scribes at work jotting or re-jotting words, and yet this young one here seemed intent at work at a sketch of his own. "Oh, well that's very good!", the maiden was suddenly switching focus and what she said, nodding to indicate his sketch, and Dags felt she knew, on art and all. Her whole face semi-scrunched intrigued next instant though, "What...is it though? If I may?". Dagmar also didn't glance to see if she was perhaps interrupting other scribes at work either as she paused to ask her questions of this one.

{Eh, Dags and I both were a tad unsure how to go about this/end it. Hope it all works, if you want anything changed just say so! ~}


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Ori

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #2 on: December 30, 2013, 10:40:00 PM »
"Excuse me, sorry to interu-", was what interrupted Ori. He nearly jumped in his seat but miraculously did not spoil his painting. It would have been rather hard for him to try to save it if he had, but when he looked up in surprise to see who had interrupted him, he did not mind the least being interrupted. It was a young girl, with a book in her hands and a few dabs on paint on her dress, who had stepped up and looked at his work. Ori lit up unconsciously when she leaned in and began speaking of his painting of Minas Tirith. "Oh, well that's very good!", she complimented. He grinned involuntarily; Ori knew an art expert when he met one. Just the dabs of paint in her dress could tell something--that she wasn't just some girl who had been put through art classes and moaned and tried to keep her frock clean. No, she did look like an artist.

"What...is it though? If I may?" said the girl when she looked at the painting. Ori turned around fully (nearly knocking his clumsy cast into the table) to speak to the girl. She did seem familiar. Was she one of Aesa's friends? Then he ducked his head modestly and began speaking."It's not much, but thank you. It's supposed to be the white fortress of Minas Tirith in Gondor," he explained. "As white as it's supposed to be without using colors on it," he admitted, then looked about furtively. He would better not say such things around the Archives in protest for their restrictions; now that they weren't too kind to him.

"If…if i may ask, what's your name?" he added shyly to the maiden. Another initiate passed Ori with a nasty smirk at him and Ori merely refused to keep going and irritate him. He had a visitor and so his attention must be hers. After all, and he blushed internally to himself when he acknowledged it, she was rather pretty. Of course, such opinion should be kept out of anyone's ears. Dori would tease him to no end! And as for the rest of scribes…well, once they would have jested about it merrily but now there was no knowing who he would offend. No. he should concentrate on helping her.

The book! "Are you here to give back that book?" asked Ori helpfully.

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Dagmar

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #3 on: January 04, 2014, 04:14:00 AM »
Well, she gained the young scribe's attention, Dags noted with a small smile to herself as he turned a first stunned and then pleased face up to her. She knew the look of a please as punch artist who had been complimented and taken it to heart and was immensely joyed that she could have so easily given it back to this surprisingly talented...well but that was being unfair to writers! How dare she!

She just assumed they only wrote. She didn't know why, hadn't she seen illustration enough in written word? That one pony book for Andar had had the most splendid illustrations in fact. The scribe turned, almost knocking his arm into the table as he did so, and Dagmar soon saw why. It was in a cast! Oh, that wasn't good for anyone, but a writer and artist too? He perhaps wouldn't want some strange maiden coddling and asking on it in earshot of his fellows though.

Plus his answer to her question diverted her focus once more. The white fortress of Minas Tirith in Gondor. Oh, yes, of course. If Dags read perhaps she would know these things, but she recognized the name as far off and splendid. A place it was to be hardly dared believe she would ever see herself. A city of Men. Gondor was said to be all white, almost surreal. One would expect such a lack of color to not appeal to the maiden, but Dagmar had heard what little she had on the city in a way such as to do it justice and apparently it worked best that way. Plus wasn't white just the inclusion of all colors instead of the absence as was believed?

This scribe had nothing to include though, but technique, it wasn't allowed Dags had always heard, yet to watch him glance apparently...could he really work if color was given? Thought of her own small spare perfume bottles turned paint canisters in her pocket came to the maiden once more. Oh she couldn't that Dwarvish nature and coveting of things dear and precious tried to rail before it was pushed aside in an instant. She'd just have to make more, and it was part of the fun.

But he was going on asking her name, and introductions really should follow she supposed. He seemed all but shy as he asked, too, and Dags' own smile grew both in...well she would never laugh at him, but a joyous sort of amusement as well as acknowledging how maidens must be a rarity down here, she didn't know many who turned to think of it as a vocation.

"I'm Dagmar, daughter of Anlaf and...well, quite a few brother names to throw", she gave a small giggle, answering in the space of another of his fellows passing and a sort of look seeming to pass between the two, though Dags was a bit puzzled at what exactly. Was she already being a bother being here, keeping him from things? She hoped not.

"Might I also have the pleasure of your name too? Oh and thank-you, yes!", she added as he asked on the book, handing it over with a smile that struggled to stay normal. Please don't notice any smudges...oh please....

{She is gonna mention her paints. Later, and plus by the time I got there I realized Ori might have actually introduced himself and so I cut it and will work off your next reply. Hope it's enough ~}


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Ori

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #4 on: January 31, 2014, 07:41:00 PM »
When the maiden's eyes glanced over his arm in the cast, he desperately tried to keep himself from going red with shame. It would be quite silly to tell the whole tale of how he had tried working in the mines but had fallen off a ridge and broken his arm, thereby ensuring he was back in the Archives for good. Twasn't a loss at all for him, but rather a shame amongst Dwarves of his own age. And...surely she'd think badly of him if he told?

She did reply when she asked for his name, and he did his best not to smile when he heard her voice again. "I'm Dagmar, daughter of Anlaf and...well, quite a few brother names to throw" she introduced herself, and Ori could not resist a small smile when she laughed girlishly. Trying to keep his mind off it, he tried to rack his brains and attempt to identify Dagmar's ancestry. He did think Anlaf sounded familiar...oh! Yes, of course! He knew Einar, one of Fíli's and Kíli's acquaintances, was his son. Well, he should be most polite to her. Not only was she a fair maiden, she was also a friend's friend's sister!

"Might I also have the pleasure of your name too? Oh and thank-you, yes!" she said with an encouraging nod, and Ori bowed his head a bit as he introduced himself, "Oh! I'm Ori, brother of Dori..." he introduced himself. Neither his father nor his mother had a very good reputation in Ered Luin so he might as well call himself Dori's brother and be done with it. He was well thought of in Ered Luin, that he knew.

Then he continued with the task at hand. "Do you know where to locate it or do I have to lead you to it? They're a bit strict about the order of the Archives over here..." he remarked. Right on cue, he heard the voice of Anladd further down the hall calling out to him, and Ori lifted his head and turned to greet, if unwillingly, the approaching Master of the Scribes. "Ori! Courting is not to be tolerated in these halls; and I did not expect this from you!" he corrected sharply.

His face immediately colored from the embarrassment. "No, sir. I wasn't c-courting. I'm just offering my services to this maiden who is just here to deliver back a book!" stammered out Ori. Oh, Mahal help him! Fortunately, Anladd seemed to think it true--much to Ori's both relief and annoyment. Why did no one ever think him capable of courting? He groped his bearded chin, which was long and braided with beads of granite. "Then be quick about it and continue working! As for you, missy, that is no state for your frock to be in!" commented Anladd; and Ori honestly could not think of a way for things to have gotten worse in the last ten minutes.

Finally, oh, finally, the older Dwarf turned around and slumped to continue walking. But Ori did not dare say a word lest he annoy his acquaintance any more.

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Dagmar

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #5 on: February 07, 2014, 04:59:00 AM »
He gave his brother for identifying himself by. Not that it was all that odd, perhaps, unusual and yet...sweet in a way. Depending on the person, Dagmar herself had at times identified herself as any one of her brothers' sister (she was sure Fritz's friends only knew her as Fritz's older sister and didn't even recall if she had a name). Dori. He sounded like someone she had heard of deserving of respect and well thought of. She couldn't place if she had ever run into him, most likely not, for what call would she a mere maid and child have to run into many esteemed adults unless they were Council peers of her father's?

Ori, on the other hand, did sound even more familiar, though again it took Dagmar a moment to place. She soon had it, though, Ori was pressing on and offering assistance. Of course, she should have known straight off that this helpful, sweet Dwarf was the kind lad Fili had mentioned he and Kili were showing some pointers too. He just fit the bill of all she'd heard on him.

Dagmar smiled and went to speak again, when a voice cut the both of them off. The maiden had expected to be reprimanded by some strict Archiver in her time here, but this! A hand flew to her mouth to cover an amused and surprised smile as her cheeks reddened with the both the humor and suddenness. C-Courting?! At her age? Her mother was not all that driven, whatever may be said about her and how many knew she would keep her eye and attention firmly on suitable matches for her daughter when the time came and know just what to do on the subject!

As Ori stammered and explained, Dags rubbed at the back of her neck, soft abashed smile still on her face as she kept herself from the familiar tracts of the very foreign concept of courting getting day by day closer and...the confused fear it caused. She should think on something else, she told herself, and shrugged aside her train of thought, finding a distraction in the silence that oddly still reigned even as Ori turned to continue his duty and show her where the book went. He was oddly silent, no doubt put out very much so by the words. She should do something to break through that and put him at ease once more.

"Your Fili and Kili's friend then?!", she spoke brightly and with a smile to match as they continued along, "I mean, they've been showing you swords and such, I heard, not that Fili's let out any secrets, nor Kili either, if it be such", she lowered her voice, "and you can trust me to keep the secret as well my good Master Ori, if it is indeed secret. My father's on the Council and I've known Fili and Ki' both since...ever I'd say, or near enough, and so you may count me your friend too"


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Ori

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #6 on: July 01, 2014, 12:55:00 AM »
Oh, at least Dagmar was not taking Anladd's words to heart...he certainly hoped so, as her family might not have taken to kind to that sort of babble. After all, he recalled with a gulp, Aesa's mother often treated with a woman very similar to Dagmar...that must have been her mother! And if she was, then she certainly wasn't the kind to cross. Honor was very serious in Ered Luin...and Anladd's crankiness would land Ori in trouble if his cross words reached anyone who wouldn't take kindly to them.

Thank goodness, once the old scribe had stomped past them with his words, she didn't look at all  irritated. Instead, she inquired: "You're Fili and Kili's friend then?!" Ori brightened when she mentioned the brothers; they were...perhaps not closest friends but they'd been patient and kind with him, and of course, anyone friend of the Princes was well thought of! At least, that's what he hoped for. He did need a little more to his name than just the weak scribe who had broken his arm in the mines not too long ago.

"I mean, they've been showing you swords and such, I heard, not that Fili's let out any secrets, nor Kili either, if it be such." Ori let out a relieved smile, and murmured a thank-you to Mahal when he realized this. Well, he should have expected that the princes had been letting out secrets if Dagmar knew, but this was not what was going through his head right now. After all...it made him look good before her! "You can trust me to keep the secret as well my good Master Ori, if it is indeed secret. My father's on the Council and I've known Fili and Ki' both since...ever I'd say, or near enough, and so you may count me your friend too."

"Oh, that's...that's good, thank you, D-Dagmar. Y'see, my brother doesn't really approve of me handlin' weapons and the such. Well, that is, Dori. My brother Nori would, but he doesn't live with us. B-but, er, thank you Dagmar. If you're Fíli's and Kíli's friend, you are also mine!" he ended brightly. He'd been delicate about the whole thing with Dori not wanting him to take up arms, right? Or did he have to explain? Well, it'd be better not to explain about the Battle of Azalnubizar. They all knew the tales.

"Anyways, let's...not keep standing here so more people can bother you. I can aid you finding where to return that book, at least, I hope so. This place is pretty ruddy big, but I've been here nearly my whole life. I'd be able to tell where to place that book if I put my mind to it."

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Dagmar

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« Reply #7 on: July 21, 2014, 11:45:00 PM »
All manner of emotions flickered past on Ori's countenance at the bold scribe's words from a familiar worry to some form of relief finally. Everyone just lived in constant fear of wrong wording getting back to the Nobility, and most especially her mother with her standing in such, even other members of said Nobility! Yet Dagmar felt a few tales could afford to just fade into oblivion. It had been harmless enough, after all, though her mother may just disagree with that!

The maiden was happy to see when her new acquaintance, and friend even with the afore mentioned common ground with Fili, brighten, perhaps due to said mention. Fili and Ki would do that to folks!

Of course there was discrepancy in her saying Fili hadn't said anything on the training and knowing in the first place, but such was hard to not have happen when she and the eldest prince were together so often in either of their homes and even a mention of the young lad would tell her more than it told others, perhaps. Many times Fili was not required to say anything to tell Dagmar much.

Of course she could read Ki too, in a way, similar to her knowing her brothers but different. Sweet Ki might hold a secret, but Dags would at least still know he had it.

But all this was neither here nor there!

With a still kind and open smile, the maiden listened as Ori went on to explain the need of secrecy in such as his weapon handling. No, more was not needed to be laid out, what he said told enough. Dags also knew she'd heard his other brother, Nori's, name before too and searched her memory briefly before it came.

Nobility rumor mill whispers had touched on the subject of his less than perfect reputation, after all. Not that the maiden paid such talk any heed.

She smiled brightly once more as Ori owned himself for a friend and suggested they move along for her convenience of all things. "Oh, outspoken elder Dwarves aren't much of a bother!", she giggled, then glanced behind to check that said Outspoken Dwarf wasn't still in the vicinity, she didn't need to cause trouble for Ori after all.

"But Thank you Ori! It's much appreciated!". She followed along after the younger Dwarf as he described his experience. "Oh, well then you must know just everything about books!" she smiled as she paid what was suppose to be a compliment.

"And yes, between the two of us we should be able to get it sorted", she replied, no doubt more to Ori's skills, "It's...about Embroidery Techniques", and yes she glanced to the cover to double check! "Lady Mista, our tutor, took it out to aid with lessons and I told her I'd return it. It was very helpful for most of the girls, now if I can just utilize the same patience I give my painting  maybe the tips will be useful to me as well", one corner of her mouth tipped lightly. "Though I'll never out embroider my mother" she admitted, not too discouragedly. Anytime she saw examples of her mother's decorative stitchings she was still in awe!

"So, do the Archives have a Techniques section?", Dagmar gave another smile, half jesting, and hoping Ori wouldn't mind, but then she wouldn't be too surprised if it did just have one!


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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #8 on: November 25, 2014, 02:46:00 AM »
“Oh, outspoken elder Dwarves aren't much of a bother!”, she said, quite more amiable than Ori expected from a high-class lady. Then again, he knew the two princes of Ered Luin personally, so he discarded the idea that Dagmar might prove to be snobbish. She had been quite polite so far, but dismissing such an outrageous claim by a passing dotty old man was very kind-hearted of her. And with that, he gladly began walking the halls in search for where she might deposit her borrowed book; always not too quickly so she would not be left behind.

“But Thank you Ori! It's much appreciated!” was her reply when they got to it. Ori replied with a courteous smile, and by stealing a peek at her book. Well, it did not look very old indeed, so it was most likely in the newer sections of the archives, where they needn’t reactive Ori’s allergies, and where more scribes might be willing to help...provided they weren’t like that old nutter that had crossed their way. Oh, he couldn’t afford another embarrassment such as that again!

“Oh, well then you must know just everything about books!” was Dagmar’s attempt at a compliment. While in other times, he might have replied that indeed, that was why he worked at an archive and not the mines, he merely took the compliment like one might take a flower: with a smile and a nod. “And yes, between the two of us we should be able to get it sorted. It's...about Embroidery Techniques”, just as well, she was eyeing the book’s cover herself to make sure. “Lady Mista, our tutor, took it out to aid with lessons and I told her I'd return it. It was very helpful for most of the girls, now if I can just utilize the same patience I give my painting maybe the tips will be useful to me as well. Though I'll never out embroider my mother,” ended Dagmar, a little downtrodden in comparison with what she had began. What was it like to be trained in housework, Ori wondered? Dori had taught him how to take care of himself with basic skills, cooking, etc. but never survival. Whilst had to be taught...sewing, and other such tasks appropriate for them.

“So, do the Archives have a Techniques section?” Just as she said it, they reached the wing of the Archives where Ori could be fairly sure they could locate the correct place for the book. The stone shelves were well-lit with lanterns hanging near them, but not above them--an earthquake might make them fall and burn the books! “Something similar,” admitted Ori, and he came to a stop. “Which would be this very section of our Archives. It’s anything that’s newer and done here, and it’s mostly recording how to do things. Sadly...we haven’t had much room for stories and legends since the fall of Erebor.”

With this, he stretched his good hand to Dagmar with a smile. “I believe it has a personal signet in the last page. That’s the section of the Archives where the book must go.”

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Dagmar

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #9 on: December 02, 2014, 05:10:00 PM »
The young Archivist, Ori, (Friend of Fili and Kili bumped him from "just another archivist") walked quickly but not too quickly, Dags could tell. Perhaps to not lose her and though it was no doubt part of the job, it was still appreciated along with all else. He just smiled and nodded back to her, well what could perhaps be termed "chatting" and "rambling" a bit (in an effort to try and alleviate the weight of earlier comments and awkward, perhaps), while Dags kept the same warm smile on her countenance.

At least until she inquired on a Techniques section. Ori proved her earlier assessment correct and answered “Something similar,” as he came to a normal seeming halt anyway, apparently they had already sort of reached the area.

“Which would be this very section of our Archives. It’s anything that’s newer and done here, and it’s mostly recording how to do things. Sadly...we haven’t had much room for stories and legends since the fall of Erebor.”, Ori explained, and semi lamented, stretching out his hand to helpfully take the book as well as explaining more.

"Oh, right", Dags gave a small smile just at herself for not having checked the back for identifying signet prior! Even if she had she doubted she could read the language, so to speak, as well as the Archivists. She flipped it opened to the back now and looked. It...looked like a sign pertaining to this section...probably was. No doubt since Ori said so!

Dagmar smiled up at him again, "I...think this says it goes here, but then you'd know", she handed it over, and decided to stop talking about books just to save her own face in sounding unknowledgeable. Instead she thought back on the next to last statement he'd said.

Erebor.

It stuck with all of them, even those of her more or less peer group. The children of the refugees. They'd never seen it but felt as if they had from how their parents talked in longing and even bitter. One child's father, she'd seen when taking Fritz as a small thing one time, had even not allowed his son to buy or own a toy dragon off Mister Bofur's stall! It had confused the young adolescent then but even then she supposed she could see how having seen a real dragon scorch your life may do that.

Goodness, her father was still haunted even if he tried hiding it well.

"That is a shame, on losing stories", Dags agreed. "I...frankly am not much of a reader...", she ducked her gaze to say this in the presence of a word-dealer and word-smith even perhaps but ever with her smile, and glanced just as quickly back up.

"But I know art and...beyond mundane and...anything that lets you escape day to day duty, as it were, shouldn't be lost", Dagmar finally made her point come home and shrugged, "But perhaps some day we'll get them back". As ever, optimism and rhetorical could see no bad side to reclaiming tales.

It was an even easier agreed lament, in that she didn't truly think it was even possible, so why not agree if to soothed her parents.

"I've heard some of the older Dwarves try to recount some of them from memory, though, it's quite the thing!". She meant this as a compliment to them not critique.


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Ori

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #10 on: December 29, 2014, 03:53:00 AM »
When Dagmar suggested that the book definitely belonged to that section of the Archive, Ori nodded and took the book when she handed it over. And there it went, into the only crevice into the row of books of that particular shelf. Then, he looked back to Dagmar, and she was pondering about what he’d said, about the loss of documents from the fall of Erebor. They had to be thankful to Mahal that they’d managed to salvage some books from the flames, even if there was entire library...abandoned, somewhere in Rhovanion, at the mercy of a fire-breathing drake that had probably burnt them all to a crisp...but those thoughts weren’t for right now. It only upset him to think about it.

“That is a shame, on losing stories, I...frankly am not much of a reader…” That was all it took to break the spell. While Ori might have been slightly enchanted by her good looks and sweet disposition, the mere thought that he had consorted with a word-hater frankly made him lose all interest in her. Of course, not that it was going to be real...but if there had been an opportunity, one of those once-in-a-million chances, it had vanished now. At least he could mask the disappointment.

“But I know art and...beyond mundane and...anything that lets you escape day to day duty, as it were, shouldn't be lost.” Then again, she might just be better than what she had just previously said. Even if she had just rounded up literary work into mere amusement. She knew art, that was enough to make her a friend, at least. “But perhaps some day we'll get them back.” Ori chuckled good-naturedly, smiling at the mere thought of what an adventure that would be. [color=C2C2C]“Certainly, if the dwarves ever returned...wouldn’t that be something.”[/color]

“I've heard some of the older Dwarves try to recount some of them from memory, though, it's quite the thing!” Ori brightened at the statement. “It is! Honestly, I prefer having it written down. Mostly because marksmanship and illustrations...they’re all a lovely masterpiece together, but then you get to hear different interpretations, and it’s quite interesting. Not to mention an admirable feat, to memorize tales and songs all by heart, sometimes even sing them...” But Ori couldn’t sing. No, not at all. Play the flute, if he must.

“Ori, what did I say earlier on?” Ori nearly jumped when he caught the elder Master again, prodding at him to get on with his work. Thankfully enough, he was not mentioning the C-word again, he was just tapping his foot impatiently and fidgeting with one of the copper decorations in his gray beard. “I don’t suppose any obstacles in your way could be taking so long?” “No, sir. It has all be taken care of. I’ll return to my post soon enough.” This was enough for the old goat, who pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in disappointment.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized. “Whoever said that the Archives were a private evidently must have paid someone.” He chuckled at his little joke.

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Dagmar

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #11 on: January 09, 2015, 03:13:00 AM »
{Sorry this is so short! Also, I suppose we're wrapping up?}

“Certainly, if the dwarves ever returned...wouldn’t that be something.”, Ori agreed enthusiastically, prompting Dags' smile to grow though she knew they were both no doubt very naive to imagine up so, but then you didn't tell artists and craftsmen not to imagine...which begged why more Dwarves didn't...

Their years in terms of the older ones no doubt. And what the ones around her parent's age had seen.

Ori said he'd rather the tales were written, and small wonder with his work as a scribe, but also maybe he was right. Dagmar nodded encouragingly, "Oh yes, it is a feat and when they try to throw in their interp--", but someone was coming, that elder Archive Master or such. Dags' own hands went to clasped before her almost like a dwarfling being scolded even as he scolded Ori.

Oh, but she felt just awful getting her new friend in trouble like this, maybe she best not linger. As he walked off (?), she turned back to Ori, giving a light giggle to his statement. "Well, thank-you again Ori, it was wonderful to meet you and I shall have to tell Fili of my running into you as well; but perhaps I should shuffle along before I get you into worse trouble". Dagmar curtsied before turning her attention to finding the door and seeing about that stained apron before her mother returned.

"Oh!", but she turned as if just recalling before she'd taken two steps, "I almost forgot!", she riffled in a pocket and came out with a bottle of white paint, "Here, why don't you keep it, sounds to me you can put it to better use and I can always make more, as a thank-you for your assistance Master Ori", she handed it over before giving another smile.


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Ori

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Minas Tirith in Ink
« Reply #12 on: January 12, 2015, 04:06:00 AM »
Ori was already shuffling his feet hesitatingly--he had to get back to his station, he couldn’t merely linger there, but it felt rude to leave his new friend like that. The older dwarf was satisfied with this gesture, and left the two alone for a goodbye. So Dagmar took her cue. “Well, thank-you again Ori, it was wonderful to meet you and I shall have to tell Fíli of my running into you as well; but perhaps I should shuffle along before I get you into worse trouble” Ori didn’t even have to reply to Dagmar before she curtsied for a goodbye, so he bowed back and mumbled a farewell himself.

She had begun to walk away to the exit of the particular section of shelves they’d arrived at, when she stopped midway. “Oh!” At her calling, Ori eagerly went up to her., but there was not much to walk. “I almost forgot!” The maiden searched her pockets for something and offered the young scribe a small canister of white paint made of glass. He almost had to hold back a gasp. “Here, why don't you keep it, sounds to me you can put it to better use and I can always make more, as a thank-you for your assistance Master Ori.”

Ori bowed once again, and surely everyone else around the place must’ve had a good laugh at his excess of manners, but he needed to convey his gratitude! It was just the thing he could use with the transcription of Minas Tirith...if only he were allowed! Maybe he could ask Master Anladd again, and he could agree. “Th-thank you, miss Dagmar! I’ll be sure to put it to good use, it’s a lovely gift.” His hands took the bottle hesitatingly, and even traced the glass in wonder. “It was a pleasure helping you, and I hope we’ll meet again.”

The older master was back, and he was now making annoyed eyes at Ori for his delay, so he bowed once more and trotted back to the hall in search for his post.

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