The lost blade

[Meneldil]

Meneldil sat down bythe anvil, he had lost his fathers blade, how could he, he must get it back but how, orcs had carried it off to Morgoth....

[samwise of the shire]

Sighing Meneldil picked up the hammer resting by the fire, slowly he searched about his forge and found a perfect peice of white silver steel, while no enemies were near it was silver, white almost but if orcs were near it would blaze a fiery blue. Meneldil placed the rod apon his anvil and raised his hammer, but before the first blow fell tears blurred his eyes as he remembered his father dead upon the threshold of their hut and the elven sword gone from the hearth. Wiping his eyes the young smithy began an idea forming his his head, this rod of steel was enough to make two swords and maybe a hunting knife as well, then he would take these swords and avenge the theft of the ancient sword and his fathers life.
Looking up he was suprised to see Arduil standing in the soot and black of his forge, the young maid smiled as she tossed her brown hair out of her green eyes. Her eyes went to the anvil where the steel was"What are you making this time smith?"She asked, her eyes curious and attentive."Swords"he mumbled in reply."What for?"she asked, at this the smithy replied he had work to do and turned his back on the maid as he reheated the bent metal. Turning again he saw she had gone but had left tears of impatience and pity on the ashey ground.

[Blackstone]

He looked at the spot where she had been with regret, but shook his head and picked up his hammer. He let his sadness turn to rage at the orcs, and let his hate fuel the fire of the forge. The rod he was hammering began to glow a redder sort of glow, as the metal attuned itself to such powerful emotion.
"No," he mumbled through clenched lips, but the metal had already begun to darken and taint...

He had not heard of such a thing before, but he was not old, and there was more things on Arda than were familiar to a young blacksmith, even the son of such a one as his father.

[samwise of the shire]

He dipped the dented and magled blade into the cool water by his forge, there it sizzled and steamed while he sat and thought of the blade. It would be black yes but he would make it shine like polished onyx and the hilt would be fine onyx with mithril melted into the fine workmanship of the hilt. Pulling the blackened piece of metal from the barrel he began hammering it with fine even strokes almost rythmatic beats of the hammer he began to make the sword that would become feared and known by the foul yrch from the eastern edge of Middle earth to the west and from the south to the cursed north where Utumno was in ruins, suddenly he stopped and thought of fair Arduil, he could never go without....no no he would wait and see what happened.

[Aragorn]

*I may want to join but where does this take place? Lorien, The Old Forest, Mirkwood, or Rivendell?*

[samwise of the shire]

I was thinking Gondolin. The blades I was thinking about were Sting,Orcrist,and that other sword that Gandalf had oooggggghhhh.

[Aragorn]

*Glamdring. Hmm....I forgot where Gondolin was! ARGGG!!!! Could you name a few places it was near? It may jog my memory...*