Un: TerribleTinkerer | Text

[badnewsandshitlist]

Assuming the Fae of Auriel share the same aversion to iron as those of the Feywild from where I am from, I am offering to craft temporary weapons and tools from non-iron materials for anyone preparing for the mission. My trade lies in metalwork, with modest skill in wood and leather. Brass, bronze, bone, horn, or seasoned wood are all suitable.

Time before departure is limited, so I can only take a few commissions.

Separately, I am pursuing a personal project involving spell storage and glyphcraft. If anyone has experience in such work, I would appreciate a private exchange of ideas.

Comments

[badnewsandshitlist]

Entirely. The art lies in that balance. She can start the fire, stoke it, and somehow make me thank her for the burn. There is no finer education than being outmatched by someone you adore.

[betenoir]

The fountains mingle with the river and the rivers with the ocean. The winds of heaven mix for ever with a sweet emotion. Nothing in the world is single; all things by a law divine. In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?

Education comes in all forms. But one must not be afraid to share words that are at cherished and challenged in equal measure.

[Yes, it's his favourite poem about love. Why does he remember it at all? It's complicated.]

[badnewsandshitlist]

I cannot tell you who wrote those lines. Poetry was never my field. I grew up with measurements and metallurgy, the sort of education that concerns itself with what can be built and what can explode, not with verse that lingers in the blood. However, I understand the sentiment behind what you quoted. You do not need a library to recognise it.

What you offered speaks of joining, of gravity, of the way two lives can fold toward one another as naturally as rivers meeting. That is not a sentiment someone chooses at random. It carries weight. It carries experience.

I came to that understanding much later than most. I learned the mechanics of the world long before I learned anything about its softer parts, and even those made sense to me only after they had already rearranged my life in ways I could not chart with ink and diagrams.

So no, I cannot match your poem with another, and I certainly cannot pretend it is familiar to me. But I can appreciate the sentiment in it. Some truths do not require names or authors. They announce themselves plainly enough.

[betenoir]

Indeed. Though I confess I prefer to paint my emotions onto a canvas rather than spin them into words. You learned to see the world through mechanics and I the emotions the world makes me feel.

[Or not. But that, too, is complicated.]

Both can become a burden through which to see the world; a blessing as much as a curse. But then at least we can say we have lived.