Tacholdir brought the slip of embossed parchment over to his lover in shaking hands, his face caught between the warring emotions of elation and disbelief. “Taltyo, read this for me.”
Stretched out on his stomach like a sun-basking lizard, the other man in the room felt too comfortable to move from the couch. Instead he lifted a languid arm. “It is the publisher’s notice about the book’s profits, isn’t it? I already checked in with the store when I went to buy bread. The last copy sold yesterday, and the scribes are panicking about the demand.”
“I didn’t think that anyone would care,” Tacholdir whispered, “it’s just a word list of Taliska, everything I knew and some input from the prince. And a few short anecdotes. Not even entertaining ones, just which mortal I heard the particular word from, or one of the visitors to the city. The longest story is about that one Bëorian lass’s horrible handwriting. Prince Finrod is writing a more comprehensive treatise, and he has the authority and name. I thought only my friends would buy it as a support gesture. There’s no analysis. Tal,” his fiancee wailed, ”they write that the Lambeñgolmor had purchased a copy and wish to commission a special edition. Rúmil himself has read and praised it. That cannot be so! Tal, what am I to do?”
Taltyo valiantly tried to control his mouth before he laughed in his fiancee’s face. “Hand me the missive, Tacholdir. I will read it myself and tell you I see the same words that you do.”
“The lore-masters. Those loremasters, Taltyo. You don’t know them- to care about a first-time author’s book from a nobody.”
“You are a hero and companion of the eldest son of the Noldor King. You are not nobody, Tacholdir,” Taltyo soothed.
His fiancee, pacing now around the room, ignored him. “I can’t believe it! …those judgmental, prescriptivist nobles! That pack of snobs!”
“Ah yes,” Taltyo said, “I heard about this. These were the same lore-masters that demanded that there was only their way to speak a language. Purer because princes spoke it. Better because it was older, and then mocked the shepherds because of their Quendya, which if ever one heard the King’s Mother speak, her words are shaped like the poor farmers and shepherds and not the wealthy of Valmar or Tirion. You doubt because you think they would discount you as merely Tancildo the pin-maker’s son, someone of no importance. Your readers do not care. They want to know about the Second-born. You write truth, and even your tiny stories, the ones you think so boring about the mortal commoners, they are rare gems. They have never met these People of Bëor. The man who describes his sheep with that funny word because its wool was so coarse? My cousins see themselves in this Second-born whom they shall never encounter. The girl who tells you the name of all the fruits that they grew. Their words for animals and dance? Words for tools I do not recognize. Your audience hungers for these, Tachildor. And have not you noticed how popular the ballads and tales of the mortal heroes are?”
“But those are the great deeds,” Tachildor pressed. “This is a but a small glossary of no great scholarship.”
“Only to you, my foolish love. Your humility is endearing, but cease your pacing. Now let us see the sum you have earned us….Tachildor. Tachildor? Is there a mistake on the brushstroke here?”
His fiancee squealed. “See! See!”
“Tachildor, what are we to do with all that money?”
“And they want a second order!”
Tacholdir brought the slip of embossed parchment over to his lover in shaking hands, his face caught between the warring emotions of elation and disbelief. “Taltyo, read this for me.”
Stretched out on his stomach like a sun-basking lizard, the other man in the room felt too comfortable to move from the couch. Instead he lifted a languid arm. “It is the publisher’s notice about the book’s profits, isn’t it? I already checked in with the store when I went to buy bread. The last copy sold yesterday, and the scribes are panicking about the demand.”
“I didn’t think that anyone would care,” Tacholdir whispered, “it’s just a word list of Taliska, everything I knew and some input from the prince. And a few short anecdotes. Not even entertaining ones, just which mortal I heard the particular word from, or one of the visitors to the city. The longest story is about that one Bëorian lass’s horrible handwriting. Prince Finrod is writing a more comprehensive treatise, and he has the authority and name. I thought only my friends would buy it as a support gesture. There’s no analysis. Tal,” his fiancee wailed, ”they write that the Lambeñgolmor had purchased a copy and wish to commission a special edition. Rúmil himself has read and praised it. That cannot be so! Tal, what am I to do?”
Taltyo valiantly tried to control his mouth before he laughed in his fiancee’s face. “Hand me the missive, Tacholdir. I will read it myself and tell you I see the same words that you do.”
“The lore-masters. Those loremasters, Taltyo. You don’t know them- to care about a first-time author’s book from a nobody.”
“You are a hero and companion of the eldest son of the Noldor King. You are not nobody, Tacholdir,” Taltyo soothed.
His fiancee, pacing now around the room, ignored him. “I can’t believe it! …those judgmental, prescriptivist nobles! That pack of snobs!”
“Ah yes,” Taltyo said, “I heard about this. These were the same lore-masters that demanded that there was only their way to speak a language. Purer because princes spoke it. Better because it was older, and then mocked the shepherds because of their Quendya, which if ever one heard the King’s Mother speak, her words are shaped like the poor farmers and shepherds and not the wealthy of Valmar or Tirion. You doubt because you think they would discount you as merely Tancildo the pin-maker’s son, someone of no importance. Your readers do not care. They want to know about the Second-born. You write truth, and even your tiny stories, the ones you think so boring about the mortal commoners, they are rare gems. They have never met these People of Bëor. The man who describes his sheep with that funny word because its wool was so coarse? My cousins see themselves in this Second-born whom they shall never encounter. The girl who tells you the name of all the fruits that they grew. Their words for animals and dance? Words for tools I do not recognize. Your audience hungers for these, Tachildor. And have not you noticed how popular the ballads and tales of the mortal heroes are?”
“But those are the great deeds,” Tachildor pressed. “This is a but a small glossary of no great scholarship.”
“Only to you, my foolish love. Your humility is endearing, but cease your pacing. Now let us see the sum you have earned us….Tachildor. Tachildor? Is there a mistake on the brushstroke here?”
His fiancee squealed. “See! See!”
“Tachildor, what are we to do with all that money?”
“And they want a second order!”
I’m excited for the AtLA live-action but also really not, because I don’t trust Bryke
old english word of the day: earendel, a shining light, ray
Still on my 90s-2000s nostalgia trip. And yes, a drinking game of “I remember this”, “I don’t recognize this song from the band”, “so THAT is what the rest of the lyrics were”, and “yeah this one song I liked the singer-oh wait that’s Chris Cornell again. But what about … yep.”
Fanon: Manwë/Melkor ❤️❤️❤️, Manwë/Fëanor ❤️❤️, Manwë/Ingwë ❤️, Manwë/Sauron ❤️, Curufin/Finrod, Fëanor/Finarfin, and Fëanor/Fingolfin. (I ship Fingon/Maedhros as well —as does apparently everyone in this fandom, lmfao— but I don’t go looking for it.)
Edit: oops, I just saw that we only had to name (1) ship! I guess I was a bit too enthusiastic, lmfao. Well, if I really had to choose on ship, it would be Manwë/Melkor, my eternal OTP. ❤
My brother, yesterday; “Hey take a pic of the Mississippi and text it to me.”
Me; “…okay. Why?”
Bro; “Because the people down here (Albuquerque) keep going on about the dinky little streams they call the Rio Grande and won’t believe me that the Mississippi by us is a mile across.”
Me; “…I thought the Rio Grande was a big river?”
Bro; “Look it up.”
Me; (quick googles Rio Grande by Albuquerque)
It;
Me; “HA ok I’m on it.”
Me, dropping by the boat ramp today;
THATS a proper river, New Mexico.
The dim blue land waaaaaay on the other side past the little island is Illinois, by the way.
To be fair, the Mississippi is the Spiders Georg of rivers.
Fair. It eats six or seven tributaries the size of the Rio Grande just from our county and doesn’t even notice.
Not counting the Wapsi and the Maquoketa river, both of which are easily bigger than the Rio Grande, and barely noticeably swell the Mississippi when they join it.
The Mississippi is a mile across from shore to shore by my house and between fifteen to twenty feet deep on average, and up to thirty feet deep in certain spots. There are catfish in there bigger than I am.
Elk river, just below my house, is nearly the size of the Rio Grande and barely rates a mention on maps around here.
Sorry southwestern USA, but your river game is Weak.
I grew up on the banks of that river, in Vicksburg, Mississippi. The River is nothing less than a living god. It’s a mile across and 10-20 feet deep *normally*. Every spring it swells up, overflows its banks, and eats several towns.
Yep.
Several people drown in there just in my area every year. Even people who know it well.
That river is old, and huge, and hungry, and if you disrespect it it will drag you in and kill you in a heartbeat.
Originally from New Orleans; can verify the eldritch Mississippi River y’all. Don’t fuck with Old Man River.
To be fair, the Nile and Amazon can fuck with it. But if one ain’t in that weight class of an Elder God…
And watching all these reaction videos and then this great breakdown series of what these songs are doing chord/timing/mixing/etc…, one of the minor mysteries of my teenage years is cleared up. I listened to the alt and heavy metal radio station(s) as a teenager but since I almost never bought any CDs until the last year of high school and was relying on the rare times the radio DJ named the artist and track, I didn’t know the bands. And here, at last, one of the sources of my confusion cleared up.
Maynard was the lead vocalist for both Tool and A Perfect Circle. I think I sort of knew that, but damn if it wasn’t hard trying to keep them all straight. Then there’s Audioslave with the whole Soundgarden plus Rage Against the Machine. Thanks, guys. I love y’all but thanks
it’s a recent thing, but there’s a slew of hip-hop fans reacting to hearing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody (and other Queen songs and just other genre songs in general) and they are so wonderful and entertaining and I can’t stop watching. why
but damn if the one watching a slew of Tool and converting to a hardcore fan isn’t nostalgic as heck
it’s a recent thing, but there’s a slew of hip-hop fans reacting to hearing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody (and other Queen songs and just other genre songs in general) and they are so wonderful and entertaining and I can’t stop watching. why
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