#telcharthesmith

As much as he is a passionate hunter, Kili loves animals (and not just for eating). Hunting does not necessarily result in a kill for him; sometimes he spends hours following animals through the woods to make tiny sketches of their traces, them nursing their young or fighting for dominance and to study their behaviour. In modern times, he would probably make for a decent biologist.

It is a rare thing to make him laugh in the company of others or where they might hear it.  Like his song, like everything about him, it is loud and it is deep.  His laughter is genuine but it is exceedingly rare.

Ulmo is a beautiful singer.  Rich baritones that echo and rumble with the depths of the sea.  This is layered beneath the rise and fall like the waves and the somber cries of whales but also the rasping, feathery sounds of crashing surf and wind whipped white caps.  It is not a song that is commonly recognized by the races of Men or Dwarves, but there have been Elves that have heard and recognized the majesty of it.  Through all the water of Arda, he sings.

"And you are … short?" she offered with a hint of a laugh.  It was not the most conventional greeting but it certainly worked.  Belenwen actually had not had many interactions with dwarves but it was not for any overwhelming distaste for their kind, simply a matter of circumstance.  "Though having spent some time visiting mines once upon a time, I dare say you have the advantage there and I hit my head more times than I shall admit readily."

"Master Telchar," Aredhel has been watching the Dwarf at work for a while now, when she finally calls for his attention. She knows that he does not like to be interrupted, so, as soon as he turns, she steps towards him, stoops slightly, catches his chin, and pulls him into a kiss. After a moment, she pulls back. She smiles, doesn’t wait for a reply, and leaves.

A bright sparkle shone in Fëanáro's eyes, one of recognition now that he could associate a name with that particular Casar, and the name was the one he was looking for. There was a certain smell of coal in the air, together will smell of metal, a scent that was familiar and dear to him as the scent of moss and leaves could have been for others. A nostalgic, intense drive made him breathe deeply before saying any other word.      « In truth, I do know you. Your name, if not your countenance. Do not be so eager to put yourself at my service, Telchar. » He slightly raised his chin. « It is not what I shall request you regardless. --I am Curufinwë Fëanáro and I know you are said to be the greatest of smiths. We apparently share a title. » He glanced at the Casar's work and with that single gaze he decide that a single glimpse would have not been enough to appreciate fully that craftsmanship --few other times in his life, the current or the past one, such had been his judgement.      « Although I did not wish to interrupt your work. I am more than aware of how much that can be vexing. »