Search Results
6/30/2025, 9:24:40 PM
>>11322713
>>11322844
...aye then. Though I am riled to wrath by thy reproachments most risible. Still I admit, some unsoothable soth is seen, though most sottishly struck at. As thou hath even in thy churlishness minded thine manners well enough to address myself with the full formality of "you," and as a common goodman ought, hath never objected to receive the common "thou" in exchange, I shall mind my own place as thy dame inductor.
Twould be unbecoming to set forth full sooth. Sufficiently shall I say, then; there is for each of us a work which we may reach once, and having held in hand our own hearts, know that we shall never hold alike again. I know not what the highest esteem in art is known to manfolk. Men belike misjudge alfheim, for though our magic and might be unequalled in the nine realms, yet in our hearts, the highest art is in the upliftment of man. Still we sing of the elf-bourne; even those of whom you know. Alike our people know Man-King Aelfred, rede of Morgaine, become the bane of the Danes.
And I in that art excelled.
By my heart moulded, my mortal man, that treasure incomparable, was Wayland. Poor, sweet, wayward soul! Mayhap sad rumors of his fate echo even now in midgard. Would that I had never found that crippled youth, or, having discovered him, had never deemed his wounds mended and heart eased. Yet he became whole, hale, and hearty, and happily did he descend from mine embrace to the surly grip of midgard. Hear me now! The tears of old elvenkin flow not silently. The night breeze of midgard shall carry my sorrowing sighs.
How can hands which once held Wayland hold another dear? How can hands that released him, set him on his path, presume to heal, to help, to hold? Unhappy hands, unheld in ages--hands unworthy, wavering with ruth. Tinyless? Aye, would that they were not. Tinyless? Aye, would that they had always been so. Happy Wayland, by my craft unbroken--hapless Wayland, by my craft undone. Widow-hearted hands.
>>11322844
...aye then. Though I am riled to wrath by thy reproachments most risible. Still I admit, some unsoothable soth is seen, though most sottishly struck at. As thou hath even in thy churlishness minded thine manners well enough to address myself with the full formality of "you," and as a common goodman ought, hath never objected to receive the common "thou" in exchange, I shall mind my own place as thy dame inductor.
Twould be unbecoming to set forth full sooth. Sufficiently shall I say, then; there is for each of us a work which we may reach once, and having held in hand our own hearts, know that we shall never hold alike again. I know not what the highest esteem in art is known to manfolk. Men belike misjudge alfheim, for though our magic and might be unequalled in the nine realms, yet in our hearts, the highest art is in the upliftment of man. Still we sing of the elf-bourne; even those of whom you know. Alike our people know Man-King Aelfred, rede of Morgaine, become the bane of the Danes.
And I in that art excelled.
By my heart moulded, my mortal man, that treasure incomparable, was Wayland. Poor, sweet, wayward soul! Mayhap sad rumors of his fate echo even now in midgard. Would that I had never found that crippled youth, or, having discovered him, had never deemed his wounds mended and heart eased. Yet he became whole, hale, and hearty, and happily did he descend from mine embrace to the surly grip of midgard. Hear me now! The tears of old elvenkin flow not silently. The night breeze of midgard shall carry my sorrowing sighs.
How can hands which once held Wayland hold another dear? How can hands that released him, set him on his path, presume to heal, to help, to hold? Unhappy hands, unheld in ages--hands unworthy, wavering with ruth. Tinyless? Aye, would that they were not. Tinyless? Aye, would that they had always been so. Happy Wayland, by my craft unbroken--hapless Wayland, by my craft undone. Widow-hearted hands.
Page 1