[Fëanor's come to visit the armory to see if any of the blades live up to his nearly impossible standards. He's been rather disappointed at the craftsmanship he's seen displayed in the Unseelie court already, but that's not surprising. None of this work is anything he couldn't do better, on his best day.
He's rather surprised by the blade pointed at his head when he walks in the door, but then a smile spreads over his face.]
Very well.
[He has no idea who, or what, his opponent (or perhaps, comrade) is, but he's quite certain he's no elf. No matter. There's never been an elf who can compare to Fëanor.
He draws the blade by his side, and waits, that smile still on his face. Let the other attack first.]
armory
He's rather surprised by the blade pointed at his head when he walks in the door, but then a smile spreads over his face.]
Very well.
[He has no idea who, or what, his opponent (or perhaps, comrade) is, but he's quite certain he's no elf. No matter. There's never been an elf who can compare to Fëanor.
He draws the blade by his side, and waits, that smile still on his face. Let the other attack first.]