#Trading Valas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silvantransthranduiltrash · 3 months

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Hc that different types of elves are able to use magic in different ways/to different levels.

I will be focusing more on the avari and silvan elves as i am known to do:

Magic, in this sense, is more like the life force that flows through everything and everyone. Elves generate an extra amount of it which, they then can use through pathways in their body. Humans and dwarves, etc, are rarely able to use magic to an effective result bc they don’t generate as much as elves and aren’t built with the pathways to access it, though dwarves can occasionally channel the magic around them into the objects they create.

Silvans actually have a surprisingly high level of magic usage, even more than their valinorian counterparts, though most of it is passive. A surprising amount of people will hear “silvans can communicate with trees” and then never proceed to link it to magic usage. Of course it varies silvan to silvan, but a well trained silvan can actively use magic to protect and defend and lay down wards. Their link with the world around them through trees also allows them to boost their own magic when they need it. It’s because of this especially why silvans do not like being underground. Thranduil and Legolas are actually rather adept magic users, though they don’t show it off.

There’s also a type of elf that cannot use magic at all. These are the Fawneli elves. They are considered the strongest elves in the world, to the point they can pick up boulders the size of a palace and toss them about without breaking a sweat. They’re fast and their hardy. They are also referred to as “mini-giants” because it is as if someone took a giant and shrunk them, but kept all their strength in tact. However, in return for this strength, they are unable to use even the slightest bit of magic and are completely cut off from it. The Fawneli are mostly desert elves, and nomads. They don’t have a governing body and sadly most of them were hunted down and enslaved, which was made easier due to their vulnerability to magic of all kinds. There’s only a few dozen left in the world by the end of the third age.

If silvans were magic positive, and the Fawneli were magic neutral, than the Okreans are magic negative. Not only are they capable of seeing through any magic disguise of anyone, including maia and vala, but they are also mostly immune to any and all magic thrown at them. Whenever they are around, magic actively deteriorates. As a result, they are elves of science. And, as a result, the Valar do not like the Okreans as they see them as a threat bc of this immunity. Because the Vala saw them as a threat, they massacred the Okreans, with Tulkas and Orome themselves coming down to kill off these elves, during the second age. Only 8 Okreans surivied, including Kleoyia (though she was only 8 at the time), and they were cursed by the vala to live in agony untill they either killed themselves, or lost themselves to madness.

The Atric Elves share their magic with the forms of beasts. Individually, they cannot cast it the way most do, but rather they obtain the form of animals with their magic and get power through that. The Atric elves live in the the far north, mostly in the arctic circle, and thus tend to share the forms of arctic animals, whether they be from the land, air, or sea.

Aquatic elves are, as the name describes, elves that live in bodies of water, emphasis on in. Way back at the lake, they decided that the water was much safer than land, and so they took a plunge and never looked back. Aquatic elves are often refered to as mer-folk or sirens. Parts of their body take on shapes of aquatic life, and they come in many shapes and sizes. They have abit of a rivalry with the Atric elves, specifically the Atric elves that shape-shift into aquatic animal forms, as they compete for food. The silvans, however, they have a good trade relationship with. The Aquatic elves will provide silvans with good seafood, and in turn the silvans will give them a lot of land meat and vegetables the Aquatic elves can’t reach.

Sucian elves are probably the most common of Avari elves. They are also referred to as spiritual elves. Their magic mostly comes from their own power, and many will use tools in order to aid themselves. There are two major Sucian elf empires: the Bali’tsa empire and the Qitian empire. What is unique about the Sucian elves is that they can pass on their power to others, though it is extremely difficult. It is also the most diverse of the magic types, and tends to be more unique to each family.

Lastly you have the Agpetian elves, who get their power assigned to them, assumably by Eru himself. As far as i’m aware there’s no rhyme or reason as to why they get the magic they get, but when a child becomes 100 days old, their magic will display itself. As a result, they tend to be a little more…. Religious? Than other avari, though they do not worship or care for the valar at all.

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cilil · 2 months

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It comes in Threes

✍ Prompt: Throuple + veni vidi vici | Arien/Eönwë/Melkor x Mairon ✍ Synopsis: On Almaren, Mairon finds various lovers; in his hubris, he wants them all. ✍ Warnings: Mairon is a little shit ✍ Triple drabble ✍ SWG archive

The first time Mairon acquires a lover, it is purely by happenstance.

It is Arien who seeks him out, who comes to him when he is by himself and makes the effort to get to know him.

He is the only fire spirit left beside her, and she desperately craves a companion who understands her, Mairon knows. But he too grows fond of her — her grace, her pride, her temper, her nature that is so similar to his own.

And it's a comfortable position to be in, to be sought after by one of Almaren's most admired and desirable Maiar.

Eönwë has been watching them, both him and Arien. Mairon has long since seen his longing glances and observed his attempts to be near either of them, visiting Vána's meadows and Aulë's forges to talk to them under some pretence.

His attention, too, is flattering, much like Arien's, as he's the chief of the Maiar and renowned for his strength in battle.

Arien thinks of him as a cute little toy. Mairon agrees. They decide together that they want him.

Eönwë is overjoyed when they embrace him, having expected rejection; yet now he's a part of the love he desired.

Melkor has little consideration for Mairon's Maiarin lovers and thinks himself the victor of any competition before it has even begun.

At first Mairon is irate and rejects him, but later he begrudgingly sees a strange wisdom in his stance. For would he not be a fool to trade a Vala for a few Maiar, lovers he so easily acquired no less?

To become Melkor's would be effortless, Mairon thinks, but to claim him on his own terms would be a challenge.

The willful Vala has his own plans, but in his hubris, he wants him for his collection still.

Thanks for reading! ♡

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 7 months

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From the Ashes Pt. 27

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs,

Words: 3203

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

“Ah! So you’re a Westerosi knight like Jaime!” One of the soldiers excitedly speaks to him. A relief to Selmy. But then he realized the voice belonged to a woman. . . The open corridor which his small escort was leading him down offered much light. Without a doubt this soldier was a woman. Her hair was black like a raven’s feathers and just as full. Long, it trailed down her back in a thick braid. Since being in Essos, Ser Barristan had grown accustomed to seeing tattooed faces of all ages and races. Men and women alike, the slave trade didn’t descriminate. Beyond this girl’s teardrop tattoo below her right eye and orange flames on her cheeks, she was very pretty. High cheekbones highlight her dark almond shaped eyes.

“Yes.” Barristan saw the twitch of her bare biceps. A pretty face and a body of a warrior. To him, this female warrior was an oddity. Ladies back in Westeros were dainty and dared not to use any weapon. This woman however had a curved sword strapped to her back and another blade hanging from her waist.

“Where is your armor?” She dances around him, unable to keep still for too long.

The tiny girl that was at the head of them stopped and turned around. “Ilta. Bisa iksis vala hen Vesteros. Istia sagon tolī rāpa.” This is a man of Westeros. You must be more formal.

‘Ilta’, skids to a halt and nods. “Paktot. Kirimvose, Inanna.” Right. Thank you. “Sorry. I am Ilta. Part of the Fiery Hand. Sworn to protect and aid nuha kosh in her journey.”

“You fight?”

Proudly she nods. "I do!"

“You’re still not better than me.” Her companion chuckles light heartedly. She returns the jest with a faux punch to his arm.

Selmy catches ‘Inanna’s’ watchful eyes. She smiles sweetly. “Ah, it’s true then what (y/n) has told us. There are no women knights.”

“She speaks the truth. Not only are there no women knights, but where I come from, women are discouraged from wielding such dangerous weapons. They could hurt themselves.” Right away regret made his mouth seal tightly.

Ilta stares at him before laughing. “Lī hen Vesteros issi sīr dovodedha” Those from Westeros are so silly!

The other two chuckle making Barristan feel foolish. He knew Valyrian. Understood it perfectly. He knew they were bashing on Westeros and the customs. Well, to Selmy their customs were just as strange.

“Women can fight here.” she proclaims after her fit. “It is better than the alternative. And it is an honor to fight alongside nuha kosh. You know where I was before becoming a Fiery Hand?”

No. He did not know.

Haakon grows quiet, a little shifty as he grows uncomfortable. “Ilta, that’s not necessary.”

“He’s probably just like Jaime was when he first arrived here: arrogant and thinking he’s better than us.” She snaps at him and turns on Selmy. Inanna helplessly watches, but she seemed quite used to Ilta’s temper. “I was nothing but a whore in the pleasure houses. The temple initially brought me in to be their whore as well, but when I saw that there were women in their army I knew that that life must be better. And it is. I open my legs for no man now unless I deem them worthy enough.”

Self Consciously Selmy felt his face grow warm.

Inanna stops in front of a door and thankfully saves him. “Here is your room, Ser."

“Who is your champion?” He asks Inanna, hand hovering over the doorknob. There had been nonstop talk of this champion. Not familiar with their odd religion, Barristan was truly in a foreign place. Even though he would not be staying long, he should at least be aware of the customs here.

Her eyes go blank before registering the meaning of his question. Before she could reply it is Ilta who spurts out “Our Lady (y/n) of course! You knew her back when she lived in Westeros. She was a princess back then but now she is something much better.”

“Ilta, gīda (calm). Kesā sȳngagon zirȳla lēda aōha perzys (You will scare him with your fire.)” Haakon intervenes and puts a burly hand on Ilta’s shoulder.

(y/n) again. “What exactly is she now?” He deserved some answers after having traveled for so long.

Inches away from him now, Ilta is tall for a woman. “She is Azor Ahai reborn. Our champion.”

Barristan Selmy gazes out of his rather large prison cell. A prison cell that held a comfortable bed and a beautiful sight of the lazy rolling ocean. Truly superb, but still a cell no matter how well it was made up. He was a guest under (y/n)’s protection. Princess (y/n ). . . Selmy couldn’t say she looked exactly the same as when he last saw her. Clear that the year she had been gone had been an eventful one. It did wonders for her. Her tanned complexion made her look more appealing, even the scar that was above her left eyebrow. The biggest change though was the sword that hung off of her hip. Immediately upon her arrival he had seen it and wondered if she knew how to use it. Funny how both she and Tyrion, people who one would not normally see wielding swords, now had blades at the ready. The Lannister children were indeed an oddity.

Now she also had terrifying men at her beck and call. Not just men but women as well. The prostitute turned soldier. Seems like anything could happen in Volantis.

This wasn’t the same girl who resided quietly at the Keep. She had power now. That much was clear from what he had observed. Even the High Priest of their temple appeared to be delighted to do whatever she requested. Still, the gentle and tender tone of her voice hadn’t changed. When she turned to one of her robe clad men that held an oddly shaped sword, she spoke softly and respectfully toward him. Most of the people he had seen her interact with apparently adored her. Things were different here.

Which made Selmy all the more wary that he had been confined. He would bide his time though and wait patiently. **

You wiped your face free of tears before shutting your door and starting your way to Rhiannon’s room. Just needing a few minutes to yourself was all you asked of. There was a lot to mourn. Worst of all was a phantom ache you felt deep within where your baby had once dwelled.

Tyrion answered your knock with a grin. He holds up a small wooden cube. “Rhiannon has all sorts of these puzzles in her room! It’s like the chest except smaller.”

Behind him, Rhiannon was at a small table and the mysterious chest before her. Around it were scraps of paper and other oddly shaped objects. Her room was narrow with a tall, slender, window that provided her with decent lighting.

Rhiannon had let you into her room multiple times although she would be rather shy about doing so. Embarrassed and claiming that it was too small and not suitable for you. You had never seen the puzzles before. She must have kept them in the trunk at the foot of her bed.

She smiles and turns in her chair so she could properly greet you. “Nuha kosh I hope all went well.”

“Somewhat. Ser Barristan will be here for just the night, but I fear the Fiery Hands will insist upon keeping a close eye on him.”

“Fiery Hands?” Tyrion returns to his stool that was placed beside Rhiannon.

Winking at him, Rhiannon reveals that the Fiery Hand is his sister’s personal army. To do with as she pleases and order as she saw fit. It was still weird to hear all the power you now had. But it was worth it if it meant impressing a stunned Tyrion.

His eyes are sparkling when he regards you and it makes you blush. “Wow (y/n)! You’re like. . . a king now.”

“Not exactly a king.” Rhiannon explains while unlodging a piece of the box she was working on. Everyone holds their breath and watches as she slides out another piece of wood.

“Rhiannon!”

“It’s coming undone.” Smiling at her achievement, Rhiannon rubs at her tired eyes and sits back in her chair. “But I doubt Thalina made it this easy. I may have been able to do this much, but if it’s important then Thalina would have made this puzzle more difficult so not just anyone could solve it.”

“Maybe she foresaw you helping me.” You smile tenderly. “She knew only you would be able to solve it.”

A dry laugh leaves her along with a tired sigh. “She gives me too much credit. But this makes me feel nostalgic. I like it. Feels like she’s here with me in some way.”

Despondent smile on your face, you knew her bittersweet emotions. Even though Thalina was not related to you by blood in any way, she had been much like an older sister to you in your early years at Dragonstone. Thalina proved to be far better than your actual blood sister.

In support you squeeze her shoulder gently. You would like to consider Rhiannon your sister as well. If you still had Thalina around, you would have wanted her to go to Asshai with you.

Yawning, Tyrion slowly blinks his eyes. He must have had a long journey. You sweep back one of his blonde curls. His hair was so long and wild but surprisingly not matted. Soft to the touch and without splitting. All signs that he had been well taken care of at least during his exodus.

“You are tired. Why don’t I show you to my room. The servants can clean the room next door and make it proper for you.”

“I must know though. . . What’s inside. . .”

“And you will. But I also need rest.” Rhiannon patiently grins. “We will both sleep and when we wake up refreshed, we can get back to work. How does that sound little lord?”

It was enough to satisfy Tyrion as he nodded and let you take his hand. “Sleep well, Rhiannon.”

“You as well, my lady.”

The very moment Tyrion’s head landed on the pillow, he was out like a light. He was still young and could only take so much excitement. When Inanna arrived to tell you that she had safely delivered Ser Barristan to his lodgings, you nod and tell her to keep an eye on Tyrion. You had left Inniros so abruptly that you wanted to go and apologize to him. And to tell him the miracle that had happened. Only. . . He wasn’t in his cell.

Dread filled you and at once you felt sick.

Shadows became more sinister to you once you put your hand at the hilt of Lightbringer. “Inniros?!”

Silence replied back. You were alone. Running out to try and find someone you bump into Dritan at the top of the stairs. He settles his hands on your shoulders to prevent you from falling back from shock. His ever passive face looks down at you. “Nuha kosh, High Priest Benerro wishes for an audience with you. He has your darkin with him.” When the word ‘darkin’ left his mouth, his lips twisted as if tasting something bitter.

If only you could feel relief at finding out that Inniros didn’t actually escape. Benerro moved fast when he wanted to. And the old priest knew how Inniros made many people at the temple nervous.

Thankfully all was well when you arrived in the large chapel that the priests held their sermons in. You weren’t used to seeing it quite that empty. The majority of the attendees were Hands, many of which had been in the council room when Barristan Selmy had been questioned.

Inniros was in shackles and on his knees in front of the High Priest. Silly of them to put shackles on a darkin who could easily slip into their own shadow and out of their restraints. The red priests and priestesses possessed strange magic though that you knew not to doubt.

“I’m sorry to call upon you on such short notice. All the flurry of today must be wearing down on you.”

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

The High Priest shakes his head. “Not what you can do for me, rather what this darkin can do for you. I have been told that you have been visiting him frequently in his cell.”

“Am I not allowed to?”

“Oh no!” Benerro holds his hands up. “You are free to do as you please, nuha kosh. All I want is to know your opinion on him.”

Shifting on his heels, Inniros turns around to look up at you. Again he was in this humiliating situation of subservience. Even after all that he had done to you, you didn’t like seeing him on his knees. For the last few weeks you had sat at his level so that you could build trust and familiarity.

“My opinion?” His lone pale eye stared at you without a hint of malice or ill-will. You still didn’t know him that well, only barely scratching the surface of this complex man. “He loves his mother very much. Inniros has proved to me that he has humanity and gentleness. Whatever trouble he has caused me. . . it wasn’t of his own volition-”

“He murdered our brothers, nuha kosh! Your men!” Dritan calls out. Weles glares at him to be quiet but Dritan refuses to obey his commander. “He can’t be trusted. If you let him walk free among us, he will try to kill you again.”

“I don’t believe he will.” Anxious to explain, you are cut off again by another member of the Fiery Hand.

“Nuha kosh, you can’t be so trusting and naive. You have seen what this monster can do in a short amount of time. While you have Lightbringer to protect you our own spells can only do so much for our benefit. He mowed down some of our most high ranking men. Don’t sully Feichin’s name by trusting his murderer!”

“SILENCE!” Weles snapped with a roar of his voice. Those near him flinched from the authority that vibrated. He walked over to the one who had just spoken and backhanded them. So sharp you could hear the sting of it making you inwardly draw back. “I should have you skinned for speaking against nuha kosh. And Feichin wasn’t murdered. He died in battle trusting in Azor Ahai reborn.”

The smacked Fiery Hand seethed, revenge screaming in his eyes as he clenched his fists. Did he dare risk his life by attacking Weles? Such repercussions could involve his own execution. Then he looked at you. Dritan’s gaze added to the heaviness you were feeling. You knew such a look from having received it numerous times in your childhood: resentment.

Realizing his options, he bites his tongue and hangs his head low. “Forgive me, nuha kosh.”

Your cheeks were warm with embarrassment. How in the world were you supposed to reply to that?

For the first time in a while, you thought about your father. How would Tywin deal with this? Everyone considered him a great lord despite his cold demeanor. He was harsh but got the job done.

Weles looks to you for instruction, not budging from his place. He was pushing you more and more to make your own decisions. Azor Ahai called for leadership skills which you had been lacking in all your life. You had been expected to listen and obey. Not step out of line and merely be seen, never heard.

The safest option was. . . “Take him to a cell. He can be dealt with at a later time.”

Surprise widened his eyes when Sirvart and Chetna flag either side of him. There was no fight against them. Ashamed, he followed obediently like a beaten dog. Weles nodded to you and offered a small smile.

“Sounds like you speak highly of the darkin.”

“Inniros. His name is Inniros.”

“Of course. My apologies.” Benerro bows his head. “Inniros, (y/n) seems to speak highly of you. Is there anything you would like to say in return?”

You didn’t expect him to actually speak.“My actions, as (y/n) knows, were purely done out of obligation. I had no idea prior to who she was. I never believed in the own stories my master would tell me of Azor Ahai. Having witnessed for myself the power of (y/n). . . it’s all true. My powers are indebted to (y/n). I have felt R’hllor’s warmth through her.”

His kind words made you heat up from a new kind of blush. High Priest Benerro seemed extremely satisfied with his words as well. “Very well. Inniros, I grant your release from your cell.”

You’re shaken awake by Tyrion. It looked like Inanna had already helped him get dressed and had brushed his unruly hair. “(y/n)! Wake up! I just checked in on Rhiannon just now. She’s ready to pull out the final piece!”

Scrambling to throw on a robe, your trio leaves your room for the priestess’ chambers. Her long hair was still loose and not in her signature high braided ponytail. Clothed in a simple daisy yellow nightgown, she allows you to enter. The box on her table still looked the same minus a few missing pieces.

“Is it true?”

“I believe so, my lady.” Rhiannon replies and her fingers hover over what you surmised was the piece that would make the whole thing open. Her hair was so beautiful, much like Thalina’s had been before cut off by Viserys. Rippling with soft waves and making a curtain of hair as she leaned forward. She turns her face up at you. “Would you like the honors?”

Heart in your throat, you stand beside her making sure Tyrion had full view. She showed you which piece to slide out. How odd, you would have thought that the chest had been made with solid wood. Never would you have guessed that it was composed of smaller pieces. Tyrion kept close to your side and watched with bated breath.

Easily sliding out, the rest of the box fell apart to reveal a rather large opal that looked like it had scales carved into it.

“A-An opal?”

"It's rather large to be an opal." Inanna comments.

"It's so pretty!"

"There's a note." Grabbing the slip of paper, Rhiannon reads aloud: "(y/n), I give you the true jewel of Dragonstone where we spent every passing day together. There may be a little life left inside.

"It's signed by Thalina. And this is her handwriting." She hands it to you, a little confused of the meaning of the letter.

"From Dragonstone. . . ?" Tentatively you set the note aside and go to pick up the large gemstone. You had never seen such a beautiful stone at Dragonstone. You would have remembered. It was heavier than you thought as you lifted it up.

Why did Thalina leave this behind for you?

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maironsbigboobs · 9 months

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For @dorcuartholweek

The Labour of My Love

(Gen, Beleg/Túrin, 1.1k, No Archive Warnings)

Túrin is taken to Angband, and Beleg makes a choice.

It's not the one he thinks he's making.

The ground here is rough and sharp and his feet are bloody. He has walked for so long. Since Amon Rûdh he has walked, on the trail of the Orc pack that held the dearest thing to him in all the world. But they are ever one step ahead of him, and he cannot catch them. In the forests of Dorthonion he lost track of them, but it does not matter. There is only place they would bring Túrin, dead or alive, and so now he has come to the gates of Angband themselves.

He is alone. He has only Belthronding, Anglachel lost in the dark woods of Dorthonion, Dailir broken in two. Only death could possibly await him inside those walls.

Death, and Túrin.

But Beleg cannot not turn back now, even as dread sinks further into his bones. As Lúthien had done so will he. He has no song and no magic, but his love for Túrin was as great as hers, and he will succeed.

Somewhere in the dark cells, he imagines his lover beaten and bloody. He imagines the cruel sting of torment at the hands of the horrors that lurk here. And his sweet Túrin is stubborn and proud. He will not hold his tongue for the sake of saving himself. Beleg despairs.

Somehow, he reaches the dark throne room alive. Is it good luck, or simply that he has some other, pre-ordained, doom? He doesn’t think the difference matters anymore.

The doors are five times as tall as the ones that guard Menegroth’s throne room, but they open without a touch and without the slightest sound. The hall is so dark even Beleg’s sharp eyes cannot see. But he takes a step. Another and another, until out of the darkness a shape rises.

“Thou hast reached us at last, hunter.”

His legs tremble. The voice is light with amusement, yet full of malice, the pure power in it threatened to overwhelm Beleg, as if Morgoth could command him to die with a single word. His doubts swim to the front of his mind: run, run now and live and leave Túrin to whatever awful fate awaits him.

No. No. He stands firm. It is better that he dies with a clear conscience. He turns his gaze up to see Morgoth’s face, but in the glittering glow of the remaining Silmarils, he can only see the void of his eyes.

“Hast thou misplaced thy voice?”

“I have come for the life of one whom I love. Túrin, son of Húrin.”

Morgoth laughs; Beleg thinks he can hear more laughter, shriller, and he wonders what else - who else - lurks in the darkness.

“Is that so?”

Beleg hears the challenge in the words: Morgoth thinks him a fool for coming here, for daring to make demands of a Vala. Beleg agrees with him. He is a fool, but he is a fool driven by love. This is the kind of quest that songs are made of - whether he succeeds or fails, his trying was testament to the strength of his love, and that was what would be remembered. He swallows the fear in his throat.

“I do not mean to deceive you - I am no enchantress like those who have come before me. I will make a trade.”

It is a fair trade he means to offer. A life for a life. The thought of his own death does not frighten him. He has lived many long ages. Túrin has so little time; Beleg will gladly trade his eternity so that Túrin might live to see his own years to their full height, whether they will number ten or fifty.

Morgoth is silent. There is the clanking of chains, a soft, pained groan and the grunt of someone lifting something heavy. The room explodes into red light, torches bursting to life at Morgoth’s desire.

“Túrin!” He wants to run to his side, but he is rooted to the spot. He does not know if it is fear or enchantment that holds him in place. But Turin is there, chained and unconscious. There is blood on his face. Beleg’s heart constricts. But he is alive. “Oh, Turin.”

All doubts cease. Beleg’s faith is renewed; as Lúthien has done, so will I. Though his heart is set, his mouth is still dry, tongue heavy as he reluctantly turns his gaze back to Morgoth. His words fight their way out.

“I have no jewel to offer; no dance or song to entertain or enchant you. But I will offer something else - myself, in his place. If it is a prisoner you want, surely one of the Firstborn is a sweeter prize than a mortal boy.”

Morgoth laughs again and the sound freezes Beleg’s blood. He tries to not choke on it.

“So quickly thou offer thyself. I might almost call you eager. Thou art no prize, Cúthalion, only a soldier playing at nobility.” Morgoth gloats. One hand, grey as ash, stretches out and curls a clawed finger under Túrin’s chin. Túrin groans, and a dribble of blood drips from his mouth. “But thou art amusing in thy arrogance. I will keep thee. Kneel.”

Relief floods him. He expected bartering, begging, pleading. He expected Morgoth to demand more, to ask for something terrible. He has hunted Túrin too long to give him up so easily.

But Beleg is not ungrateful. Perhaps Elbereth’s light shines on his luck.

So he kneels.

It is done. A deal is made and he cannot go back.

Morgoth raises his ashen hand, and chains drop from Túrin’s arms. The guard beside him lets him fall to the floor, and binds Beleg’s hands with the shackles instead. The metal is so cold.

“Give him a kiss, elf. It will be your last.”

Beleg cannot stand with the weight of the chains, but he crawls instead, gathering Túrin’s body in his arms. He is pale, bloody, and when he opens his eyes, he looks up at Beleg without recognition. Elbereth, what have they done to him?

“Túrin…” He leans down and brushes a dark curl from Túrin’s face. Then, tender as the dawn, he brushed a kiss against his lips.

Túrin dissipates in his arms. Morgoth’s haunting laughter echoes through the hall, then more laughter; the hall opens up to reveal the host of Angband’s generals, watching in glee as Beleg stares at his empty arms, his heart sinking. He should have known: it was all too easy.

“Enjoy thy new home, Cúthalion. Let us hope thy lover is not as rash as thee.”

In the deep woods of Dorthonion, an escaped thrall guides a weeping man through the shadows.

#turleg #dorcuarthol #dorcuartholweek #beleg #turin #my fic #turin is actually not very present here he's a bit ahem tied up #also: breaking my turleg virginity with angst as jirt intended #yes yhe title is from a imagine dragons song

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thegreatandpowerfulversy · 2 months

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My overactive writerbrain is doing its thing again, taking the two most recent things I've been into and smashing them together into a bizarre crossover that still, somehow, inexplicably works.

This time, it's Worm and the Silmarillion. Specifically, I'm thinking about how there are three Silmarils, and three main Endbringers, and both of these groups of three things are themed around land, sea, and sky. So, naturally... what if they're directly related?

Imagine the distant future of Arda, maybe not quite to the third act of the Music of the Ainur, but getting close to it. It is the age of Men and Aftercomers, the younger Children of Ilúvatar who have never so much as seen an elf, who live and die and pass not into the Halls of Mandos but into some other, hidden place beyond Eä to await what is to come. The Valar keep to themselves in the west, Melkor was cast out and Sauron defeated, and none in Middle Earth Bet even remember the legends of the Two Trees and their Light, or the terrible Oath sworn to reclaim its last glimmers from any who would dare to keep them.

But even in this time, the Silmarils still exist, somewhere. Maybe someone delves and/or swims too greedily and too deep, or maybe Men advance their technology and look outward to the stars. But someone, somewhere, encounters something they shouldn't, and the time of kinslayings begins again.

Maedhros and his Silmaril were lost into a fiery chasm, deep within the earth. Even without their masters, the balrogs and dragons and the rest of Melkor's designs still lurk and work their evils. It is not just the greed born of Fëanor's oath that corrupts him, but external powers too, until nothing elflike remains and Maedhros becomes a hulking Behemoth tunneling through the bowels of the world, always chasing a spark that the currents of magma will never let him reach.

Maglor cast his Silmaril into the sea. But the sea is Ulmo's domain, and Maglor swore an oath to pursue the jewels even should the hands that hold them be a vala's. Whether he regrets his action or not, the Oath compels him to swim after the Silmaril, and it drives him to swim ever faster and harder and better, streamlining away everything he used to be until all that remains is a powerhouse of water itself, a Leviathan who carries the ocean in his wake as he circles the world and assails the coastlines where his prize might briefly have been.

Eärendil took a Silmaril into the sky, never to touch down again, never to let himself be seen except as a passing star to those below. He swore no Oath, and can keep the Silmaril rather than chase it endlessly, but in so keeping he finds within the knowledge and cunning of the Noldor, and a perspective from high above so foreign to the mortals who walk the earth. With the Light upon his brow, borne forever on the wings of Varda, he becomes the legendary firebird, the Simurgh, ever watching the lives below with a sense of duty to intervene and to keep the world's development along the path he knows is right. ...And also she transes her gender at some point, I guess.

But someone, somewhere, encounters something they shouldn't: perhaps Melkor returned to Eä, or another Ainu who neglected to join the creation after the visions from Ilúvatar but who enters now, late, like Ungoliant or Bombadil before them. Some catalyst alights upon the world and brings forth power and light, kindling conflict first for conflict's sake alone.

And sometimes, a volcano will send forth a brilliant spark to see the surface world once again, and for a while it travels from hand to bloodier hand, until the Behemoth emerges in an attempt at its recapture, and the Light sinks again in its wake. Sometimes, another jewel will wash up on the shores, ever followed by the Leviathan who lays waste to coastal cities, even sending floods upriver where the Silmaril has been traded inland. And through it all, the Simurgh sings what she can recall of Elwing's song, distorted with every new century passed until it brings only madness to all who hear. The Simurgh, too, is mad from it, but cannot cease, and her once well-meaning interventions in mortal affairs are turned quickly to the new power's ends.

...I don't have a plot or anything, this is just a vague concept based on a random connection my brain made and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. Anyone is welcome to take the setting and run with it if you want, flesh it out a bit more, while I have plenty of other wips already that I should be writing.

#worm parahumans #worm web serial #silmarillion #wormblr #the silm fandom

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saintstars · 2 months

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Our Antlers Tangled Interlude 5

Allies & Aid for @feast-of-horns

Thuringwethil approaches Mairon with an offer.

Follow the full fic on AO3

Rating E

No Chapt specific Warnings

Mairon strides through the fires of Utumno. Heat shimmers around him, flowing up from the depths below, magnified and increased by his natural affinity for it.

There are great, blazing hearths in this part of the fortress, burning the gases that force their way through the bedrock. Everything is cast in their flickering light.

Were he to stay in Utumno, Mairon thinks, he would never visit its icier regions again and remain only amid the comforting light of these chambers.

Glowing moss and small plants grow in crevices, fed by the warm trickle of water that slicks the walls. Their increased presence suggests Mairon is making his way upwards and out of the bowels of the fortress, where he is more likely to find a door to freedom.

Something stalks him, a thing of shadows and soft footsteps. It scurries quietly after him, almost hidden by the trickle of water and flicker of fire.

Mairon halts in a chamber resembling something of a forge, molten gold coiling in an expansive basin at its centre. He crosses his arms and waits for them to reveal themselves, secure in the utility of the metal should he need to defend himself.

A figure emerges from the dark corner, a maia draped in wings of shadow and sinew, glistening wetly in the orange light.

She does not appear armed, but halts a good distance from him, her palms open and empty. Her great, round eyes seek his.

‘I propose an alliance.’ She says without preamble. It is the maia that warned him of the approaching Void creatures, her voice high and sharp. He senses several other minds listen through her ears.

He steps to a better angle, but she turns to match him. They circle each other around the basin of gold.

‘To what end?’ He seeks more of her mind, feeling out the others in the space and for her name.

Thuringwethil, once of Yavanna. Those that listen are maiar, formally of many differing loyalties, now united in their fall. His own order, chaffing at yet another vala who would use them without thought for their own interest. Melkor must know of their dissatisfaction, yet he neglects them.

Curious that they would seek Mairon out to join their alliance so quickly after his arrival.

‘Ensuring a shared goal.’ Thuringwethil grins, revealing two large fangs that split her mouth. They are not horns by any means, but Mairon is still weary of a trap closing around him. She continues, ‘There are many here who would seek favour from our Lord. But only one capable of it.’

It confirms what Melkor has suggested is more than mere flattery and lies if his subjects are already seeking Mairon’s good opinion. But it also shows that they expect him to stay.

‘What do you offer me?’ He stops and lets her draw closer.

‘Loyalty.’

He sneers at that coming from maiar who betrayed their original purpose.

Her eyes narrow as she senses his disdain.

‘None of us will hunt you. We will aid you where we can, except in directly thwarting our Lord. In return, you will champion our wishes.’

‘Have no need of your aid.’ Mairon lies, to see her reaction.

Thuringwethil leans in suddenly close, a hairsbreadth from touching. Her nose flares, scenting him.

‘You have the taint of Almaren about you still.’ She offers up a clawed hand, ‘Spare me a taste of your sweet blood and I will cloak you from even our Lord’s senses.’

Mairon considers.

‘It is a plain trade, as is our offer,’ She holds up a thin cloak of translucent black, darker than any corner of Arda outside the fortress. It does not feel of power, but sucks it in to itself instead. Vairë’s own could not spin finer.

Mairon gives her his wrist.

Thuringwethil takes it reverently, sinking only the very points of her teeth through his flesh.

She sips and Mairon feels it drain something deeper than just the blood of his fána, as if she has in some way pierced his spirit too.

She draws back before he can protest and hands him the cloak.

He takes it, grateful. Somehow he had thought all of Melkor’s servants lived at each others throats, incapable of higher thought or ordering themselves. It is a shameful thing to realise he has been swayed by the prejudices of Almaren.

‘I will ally with you,’ Mairon says, ‘Should I choose to remain here.’

He expects her to laugh at his confidence but she only inclines her head in acknowledgement, respectful in a way he has not received from another maia before.

‘What is it that you seek?’ He asks, meaning to understand the scope of her larger goals.

‘A return to darkness.’ She replies, a sense of freedom underlying the idea.

Thuringwethil takes flight, springing up to the low ceiling and away through endless halls.

Through her fading connection, he remembers flying unhindered through the sweeping paths of Ilmen before lamps and light washed all colour from her world.

Her longing leaves an aftertaste in his mouth.

#gotta get the blorbo in #feast of horns #foh #our antlers tangled #thuringwethil #my writing #silm fanfic

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bramblepatch · 1 year

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Occurred to me that some of the impromptu Valas Hune Appreciation Society that's popped up recently might not have seen his profile that ran in Dragon Magazine while WotSQ was being published. (Specifically this is from Dragon #312, if you want to track it down for yourself; there's also game stats but they're 3.5e. He's Rogue 10/Ranger 2/Fighter 4 for the record, although if I were converting him for 5e I'd probably go two fighter levels and the rest scout rogue.)

Transcript for the above images under cut:

Valas Hune of Bregan D'aerthe

Like Ryld Argith, Valas Hune rose from humble origins. He is a commoner from a so-called "merchant House" - a small clan or extended family that practices a particular trade. Some of Menzoberranzan's merchant Houses are actually guilds of craftsmen or skilled professionals, but House Orlzz'Hune was a true mercantile enterprise. Its members organized trade caravans to various nearby cities in the Underdark, trading drow craftwork for the goods produced by Menzoberranzan's neighbors.

Valas spent many decades engaged in the family business, escorting caravans throughout the Underdar. This occupation gave him plenty of opportunity to hone his fighting skills, learn the ways of other races, and become intimately familiar with the Underdark for hundreds of miles around.

About one hundred years ago, House Orlzz'Hune encoutered disaster in the Underdark. Valas and a dozen of his kinfolk were leading a caravan through he region known as the Labyrinth when a great band of minotaur marauders set upon them. Although the Hunes fought desperately, they were swept away, and Valas escaped only by fleeing alone into the darkness after all his companions had fallen. Although he was without food or supplies, Valas Hune survived the Labyrinth, deciphering the riddle of its mazelike passages and evading one hungry monster after another. He eventually found his way to the hidden refuge of House Jaelre, male-dominated House of Vhaeraun worshipers who had been exiled from Menzoberranzan long ago.

Valas remained among the Jaelre for several months, repaying them for their assistance by contributing his sword and his skills to their defense. While there, he befriended the cleric Tzirik. Eventually, however, Valas decided to return to this kinfolk, so he struck out on the path toward home, joining first one caravan and then another to work his way back to Menzoberranzan. But when he finally reached the city, he discovered that the loss of the caravan had left Orlzz'Hune impoverished and defenseless, and its rivals had lost no time in wiping it out.

Fearing for his life, Valas decided to become a sellsword and joined the Bregan D'aerthe mercenary company, hoping to disappear among other Houseless males. His skill at stealth and handiness with a blade impressed the mercenaries, and he flourished in their company. The organizational and leadership skills that he learned in his former House served him well, and he rose quickly among the Bregan D'aerthe.

Valas is small, quiet drow who is ever cautious and alert. He feels more at home roaming the subterranean wilderness of the Underdark than he does navigating the treacherous intrigues of Menzoberranzan. Valas wears a number of charms and trinkets produced by nondrow Underdark races. These ornaments appear uncouth and ugly to most of his fellow dark elves, but several have useful magic powers. He fights with a pair of kukris but prefers to kill from a distance with a composite shortbow.

#valas hune #war of the spider queen #legend of drizzt

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beritavalas · 10 months

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superloves4 · 5 months

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The Flame we Held (Fëanor son of Melkor AU) - Chapter 1

Relationships: Melkor/Mairon, Melkor & Fëanor, Mairon & Fëanor, Fëanor/Nerdanel Summary: Miriel made a deal with Melkor, she'd be able to bear children but in return the dark lord asked for her firstborn. When he gets imprisoned she believes herself to be free of her promise but Melkor shall claim his prize. TW: Metion of injury related to needles? (it's not graphic but just in case), no major tag besides the kidnapping A/N: This is a little angsty but we'll get the fluff eventually!

Also on AO3 - Masterlist

By his side, Mairon whistled.

The children of Ilùvatar were young then and he had known that the other Valar would find their way to them eventually, Melkor had heard of the journey Oromë had taken three of them to be his ambassadors from the lands of the west but he’d been unable to ruin their path. He had not been idle, however. He’d spent long terrorizing the children, making it so that they would for ever more fear his shadow.

It was so that he had found himself rather surprised, not impressed, no, never impressed, staring down the walls of his fortress to one lonely figure by the entrance. The Eldar, as they called themselves, were not short of the foolish kind of folk that would appear at his front door hoping for glory or the overconfident belief that they, and they above all, would be able to enter his halls and free the lost of their people. But this one, in her embroidered dress and bringing no weapon, was not such.

It was enough that Mairon had been willing to let him hear about the bold eldar rather than simply disposing of such foolish target. And if Mairon had found it amusing enough then he could not refuse to listen to the woman.

“I am here to propose a trade”

She had said when he let her speak her purpose and it was that complete self-assured statement that led to Mairon whistle. He could hardly believe it.

“Lord Melkor, please hear my plea”

“Please, my lord of Arda, I wish for your blessed presence and mercy”

Not even a simple

“My most esteemed king above all, lord protector of Ëa, the beautiful Vala Melkor, I, the unworthy, can wish for nothing more than a single second of your far too important attention”

Mairon laughed “She has far more courage than I have ever seen in the Children, never seen one ask for death so brazenly”

Melkor scoffed, returning to himself his rage simmered beneath, but he decided Mairon was correct and that such brazen effort should be rewarded after all.

“Very well,” his voice boomed all the way down to the woman “What do you, little elda, wish to ask that you would risk my counsel?”

Her horse shuffled backward, her eyes darted around and she took a long, deep breath before actually pushing him forward again.Finally, he smirked, her faux confidence broke enough to let Melkor know that not yet had been born an Elda that didn’t fear him.

“I have long sought the Valar for help,” she explained, her voice gaining momentum with every word “But the answer has been the same each and every time and I’m terribly tired of it, I cannot trust them, they take my love to a distant land but they never-”

“There is another Vala” Melkor hissed, gripping the banister.

“Yes,” she acquiesced and Melkor thought he saw her gulping “That is precisely why I am here”

“Very well,”

“I wish for a child!”

Melkor choked.

“The gull!” Mairon exclaimed, his slitted pupils were so narrow you could barely see them, he looked ready to go down and strangle the woman.

“What?!” Melkor screamed, finally finding his voice again.

Somehow she seemed amused by them, Melkor chose to ignore it, “I do not bleed,” she explained “The other Valar say there is nothing to be done, but I know my love, I see it in his eyes and sense it on his spirit, he wishes for a child, I want to give him one.”

“Then just say so, you headless bint” Mairon murmured, his breathing calming down.

Melkor sat on his thoughts for a moment, the woman's wish was far more placid than he imagined, it honestly surprised him that Manwë hadn’t simply granted it already, but then again, his brother was a pedantic asshole, something, something, the song and how we have to stick to dad’s will or whatever. Yes, he could see how such a simple wish would be met with rejection, and if Manwë refused then the other’s would follow suit.

It was almost sad, honestly.

“You were my last hope”

He looked at her.

“What would you give me then? You offered a trade”

“I,” her voice faltered “They call me the broidress, I realize it’s not-”

The gates opened in front of her and out came Melkor, he saw how she seemed ready to bolt away and smirked in satisfaction.

“You know who I am, do you not child?” he saw her hurriedly nodding “I will have a true trade, if being able to bear a child is what you wish for, that is what I may grant you, but in return, I want your firstborn.”

“No!”

She screamed, her fear gone, dark rider my he be but to Miriel he could perish.

What kind of trade was that? To give her something only to take it back? Then he was granting her nothing more than what she’d already been told by the rest of the Valar, she’d heard he was unfair, that he twisted everything he touched, but even so, she had hoped that she could at least find a better deal with him than the Valar shallow comfort of spiritual healing in their lands.

He simply laughed and Miriel didn’t know what to do, hurting him would be best but hardly feasible when she had no weapon, not even her needles.

“Just think, woman!” he said, getting closer to her “I grant your wish and you shall be able to walk to your lover at this very moment and create a child if you so wish, then another, and however many you eldar would be able to bear”

Miriel couldn’t deny the image painted was a tempting one, yes, Finwë had said he was content with just the two of them but she knew he wanted more, to raise a family in safety at long last. If she could give him that…

“All I ask,” Melkor’s voice seemed to come from her own mind “Is the first one of your plentiful brood, what is one, when you are finally able to have many?”

So much could go wrong, even his promise could be a lie, maybe she wouldn’t give birth to an elven child at all, made from his dark machinations she could hardly dismiss the possibility. He could be lying and the moment she agreed he’d tear her to pieces. It still seemed wrong in every way, but if she didn’t take this opportunity then what hope had she left?

A dangerous thought made it’s way into her mind, if she could trick the trickster, if she could find a way to have both the children and not give any away…

“I agree”

When news came that Melkor had fallen and taken back in chains to Mandos, Miriel cheered. She had long mulled over what she was to do with her terrible promise, the trade had been a success, she bled now and was considered a miracle by all, but not even Finwë’s delight when he learned about it upon his return managed to drive away her guilt. Now, however, she could believe the Valar promises of safety, she could be free to have her children and keep them by her side for all time.

She dreamed of terrible, all consuming, flames that night.

She tried to forget that dream, and the healers giving her the notice that she was in fact pregnant took her mind away from it for a time. Miriel took her joy in telling Finwë and watching him beam at her, seeing how their fledgling kingdom rejoiced at their happiness.

Flames, terrible, dark, flames.

Her first feeling for her child’s fëa was a disaster and Miriel had to finally admit that things were not well. And with every day that her fatigue grew she questioned if this was Melkor’s cruel punishment, if her pain was their deal.

Flames, high flames, waking her up in a sweat in the middle of the night.

And she cried, because she couldn’t do anything, even sewing was barred from her now, her hands would tremble too much and it had already caused for her to stab one of her needle through her finger, she cried, because it was her fault, she cried because she didn’t know how to protect her child, if he would even survive, that is.

Even with Finwë by her side, consoling her through the night, telling her it would all be alright, all she could do was cry. She wanted to talk to him but how could she ever tell him that she had sold away their child.

All she saw were flames while her healer and handmaiden told her to push.

But when she saw her child’s face she thought that, perhaps, burning was worth the pain.

She was tired, more tired than she’d ever been in her life, and she already knew that she had returned to how she had been before, no child could she ever bear now. It didn’t make her sad as she thought, not when she looked at the peaceful sleep of her child. Yes, everything would be alright with him.

Her little Fëanàro.

Miriel smiled, her full heart alleviating her spirit, she wanted to pick him up even if she shouldn’t as it would wake him up... she couldn’t resist. She was holding him when everything went dark.

“Well met, oh, queen broidress”

#silmarillion #feanorians #the silmarillion #feanor #silm #my writing #silm fic #miriel #miriel therinde #melkor #morgoth #mairon #sauron #feanor son of melkor au #kidnap fam 2.0 edition

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hriobzagelthewanderer · 5 months

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The Fae Court - Leadership:

In regards to the Fae Court of the Wanderer, the rising star - or blight - upon the political, trade, and military landscapes of several worlds and realms, little is known by most about what really goes on within the Halls of the Mountain King where they are situated... much less how the Court is run beyond the Fae Lord's leadership. In truth, while it is for all intents and purposes a 'Royal Court', the organization is split into five different 'Branches' under Hriob based on focus and job description: an Administrative Branch to handle archives and trade, a Logistics Branch to run day-to-day issues such as supplies, crafting, and maintenance, a Medical Branch to care for and maintain the well-being of the Court's members, an Arcane Branch to investigate, invent, and deploy masterworks of magic and alchemy, and a Martial Branch to protect the interests and members of the Court via special operations as much as open combat.

Fae Lord: Hriob Riebe Zagel [ @hriobzagelthewanderer ] Founder and Leader of the The Fae Court of the Wanderer, Hriob is many things to many people... Teacher, Sage, Guardian, Force of Nature, Warrior, Masterwork Enchanter, Hero, Villain, Nuisance, Trickster... However, however talented and powerful he may be, he is only one individual in this, and he no longer wishes to do it alone. The Court is as many things as he is; paramilitary task force, information broker network, political lobbying group, cunning trade partner, principality-sized kingdom, supernatural humanitarian aid organization... whatever the world(s) need it to be.

Lady-in-Courting: Sacara Valas [ @thelittlestdemon ] Currently the new Goddess of Order taking over for her Mentor, Ma'at, Sacara is arguably not a part of the Court... yet. However, she is in a growing serious relationship with the Lord Hriob. Assuming the trend continues and their courtship progresses to a proper engagement, all the command and leadership - and all the privileges and responsibility that entails - will also be shared between the Lord and Lady of the Court accordingly. As far as one can tell, this is a pointedly purposeful arrangement on Hriob's behalf: in part to show his trust and seriousness in pursuing her hand, and in part a wager on her character that she would take it as seriously as her own pre-existing duties while still using that opportunity to grow even brighter in his eyes.

Advisor & 2nd-in-Command: Amata 'The Weaver' [ @entwinedfates ] The premiere workaholic of the Court, Amata - formerly known as Claudia before she managed to escape a fate worse than death - is at the heart of the organization in more ways than one, and more ways than one may think. Every badge of office or alliance handed out by the court has a shard she can connect to, every change in the timelines can and will be noticed and mapped out by her prescience, every individual in the Halls is gently observed by her many senses... even if she rarely acts on it other than as a messenger for Hriob, Amata is one of the most proactive managers in the Halls, if not all existence. Hopefully as the head of the Administrative Branch of the Court her underlings will rise to the challenge of simply keeping up with her, if not helping lessen her workload.

Stewardess & 3rd-in-Command: Solita Rasier [ @nostomannia ] In many ways the polar opposite of her direct superior and friend Amata, Solita is nothing if not ruthlessly focused and competent... when she wishes to be. As head of the Logistical Branch, and as such the day-to-day tasks and support for the rest of the court, the success of the Court is as much on her shoulders as anyone else's, and if nothing else her successes so far managing the affairs of the Halls has proven Hriob's trust in her to be fully validated. Whether or not her antics on the side, causing headaches for her coworkers and employer alike, are worth that subtle efficiency, is another question entirely - one that few seem to want to openly take a stance on.

Head Healer & 4rd-in-Command: Ellyn Bythe [ @thelittlestdemon ] Formerly a Nurse under the direction of Ma'at in her famous hospital clinic, Ellyn has been given command over the Medical Branch of the court, plying her experience in handling troublesome patients, organizing other medical workers of many specialties, and mixing modern medical science with supernatural healing methods to provide the best care possible for the many, often troubled and scarred individuals within the organization. She remains good friends with her Aunt-in-Law Senea, now her colleague in the Arcane Branch, and enjoys her change-of-career from Medical Worker to Medical Director - even if she often still gets to play Physician more often than not.

Head Knight & 5th-in-Command: Ávrá 'Eerie' Sombry [ @dethdvncer ] By far one of the most dangerous individuals Hriob has ever managed to meet, much less befriend, Eerie is... probably one of the most antisocial and no-nonsense people within the Martial Branch of the Court... much less the Court in its entirety. Nonetheless, in terms of tactical understanding and sheer martial skill alike, the taciturn enby has proven time and time again to not only have the Fae Lord's trust in being his 'big dangerous knife', but also in directly championing the same values and causes that Hriob himself holds important - both on and off the field of battle.

Court Witch/Court Mage & 6th-in-Command: Bianka [ @pathomannia ] & Senea Tabitha Bythe [ @shemustbemagic ] In a rather unusual move on the Fae Lord's part, the Arcane Branch of the Court is... less an organized department of calm and stoic mystical masters, and more a half-crazed and eclectic skunkworks full of equally unhinged but highly varied 'experts' of myriad temperaments and backgrounds. Following this trend, 'leadership' is more or less split equally between the resident Kleptomaniac Immortal Mage, and the Idolan Feline Witch... which tends to mean they cause chaos and argument constantly without a designated project to collaborate on. Whether Hriob arranged this is a team-building test, a cruel stratagem to make sure the Arcane Branch remains reliant on himself for direction, or simply to see who would come out on top when the dust finally settles, is anyone's guess.

#ooc #about hriob #the emperor - fae court of the wanderer #thelittlestdemon #shatteredwastes #dethdvncer #nostomannia #pathomannia #shemustbemagic #entwinedfates

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blazernot · 1 year

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I should be finishing a math exam thats due tonight but instead I have an au idea

Daybreak Dessert vs Scala Sweets!

Daybreak Desserts is staffed by the khux cast. Its a cat (chirithy) cafe/soda shop that is known for tasty treats.

Skuld and Elrena work with the customers. Elrena has to be constantly reminded to not sass and berate the customers. Skuld is a master of up selling and conflict management. Homegirl got her crap together.

Elrena will be taking her smoke break now.

Everyone helps out but Lauriam and Strelitzia are the main food staff. Lauriam is the boss but Strel is nothing to sneeze at. Shes the reason all the desserts are so cute.

Ephemer is the manager but it's both him and Brain that keeps the place running (and Lauriam/Strel's family's money). Brain is also the reason that they have a great website/app. He's also in charge of feeding the cats.

All the cats can talk they just only talk to the staff since they're too good for the peasants.

One time while Elrena was taking a smoke break she saw a worker from Scala Sweets dump a suspiciously human shaped bag in the dumpster. They made eye contact and now she's scared. Baldr doesn't remember this ever happening.

Scala Sweets is right next to DD. SS has twice the staff but only half the people actually do work.

Vidar and Hoder are the managers. Vidar is swamped by trying to keep the place afloat, so Hoder is the one who manages the rest of the staff. Her grandfather is the owner (Odin) so she can kinda do whatever she wants

Whenever someone doesn't show up to their shift Hoder calls Baldr in.

Baldr is the Jack of all trades master of none. No he does not get paid extra due to it being a "family favor :)". He has no idea how to tell her no. He dreams of burning the place to the ground.

Hoder is seemingly friendly but actually super passive aggressive

"Working hard or hardly working? :)"

Xehanort is the new guy and does exactly what he is paid to do. No Hoder he cannot help there are 30 seconds left on his break. No Hoder he cannot stay late his shift is over. Vidar forgot that xehanort was an employee

Eraqus is a slacker that suddenly cares a lot about work because he wants to look good in front of Xehanort.

Vor really wants to climb up the latter (shes a dish washer) but she's easily distracted. Shes doing her best though so Vidar is patient with her.

Helgi never comes to work but he isn't fired since he's dating Sigrun and shes friends with Hoder.

Urd is a massive people pleaser but Vala and Hermond stand up for her when people get mean

Vala and Elrena are enemies and always try to out mean each other. They pray on each other's downfall

I have no ideas for Heimdall sorry Heimdall.

~~~

Eraqus is really freaked out by the fact that DD was a worker that is literally identical to him in every way. Brain could not care less

"Hmm that guy is my mirror self, weird, anyway-"

Eraqus gets really worked up because, despite them being identical, everyone thinks Brain is way hotter.

Xehanort thinks one of the guys looks like his grandather but doesn't care enough to look further into it

The cats have spoken to each member of the DD staff but the staff haven't told each other since they think it's just them going crazy. Brain doesn't know if the place is haunted or just has a gas leak.

#kingdom hearts #khux #dark road #Daybreak vs Scala au #im not tagging everyone #i will also take suggestions

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dalliansss · 3 months

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Arafinwë 🐅🦄?

Unusual Headcanons Ask Game!

🐅 - Characterization: character habits, personality, etc.

At the foremost, Arafinwe IS everything the history books tell him to be: noble and generous. He loves his peace, and did prefer to avoid the terrible conflict between Feanaro and Nolofinwe. However, he and Lalwende got along exceedingly well with Feanaro, and it is said that Arafinwe is Feanaro's most beloved sibling, if not his favorite out of all of his half-family. He and Feanaro bonded exceedingly well over chess and their love of languages. Arafinwe's secret at winning Feanaro's affection is that he always cheerfully ignored Feanaro's attempts at hostility, so much so that Feanaro simply gave up being nasty to him. He is the only half-brother who can crash unannounced at Feanaro's house.

Arafinwe's kindness, while genuine, is calculated. He is generous and kind by default to the common rabble of elves, and his kindness gets more calculated as he deals with aristocrats and people who can further his cause. He is after all born and raised a prince. He taught this calculating kindness to all of his children, but Finrod and Galadriel in particular took these lessons to heart.

Arafinwe is the kind of elf who knew painfully that his house had prestige only by blood. Deeds of greatness and valor can not be had in Aman, but his children he pushed in fields they can excel in: academics, athletics, politics. This is a deeper reason why he preferred to observe his brother's conflicts: ever was he waiting for a chance to turn his house's fortunes around.

As a father, he was warm and affectionate. He bestowed affection freely, and raised his children being easy and comfortable receiving hugs, kisses, being told I Love You at least ten times a day. But like everybody, he was not a perfect parent. When Angrod was born, he and Earwen wanted very much a daughter, and when Aegnor was born, both were disappointed. This was why Galadriel had such a close age to Aegnor. And when Galadriel was born, he and Earwen turned all their attentions to her, neglecting their other infant son, and prompting Finrod to separate Aegnor from the family at Alqualonde and raise him by himself in Tirion.

Arafinwe is very good in managing and growing wealth, a crucial skill he taught Finrod. If his family can't be the chief ruling line, then at least through careful trade alliances and political connections, he can at least ensure that they will be among the wealthiest in Valinor.

His ego and pride were beyond the roof when Manwe pronounced greatness for Finrod during his First Begetting Day. Ever since he has not ceased to push Finrod to always aim for greatness.

He is decidedly an opportunist. While it is true Arafinwe turned back from the Exile of the Noldor because for fear of the Vala Mandos' pronouncement of the Doom, he saw his chance to finally be King of the Noldor and seized it.

Arafinwe's hobby is trimming topiaries, examining little species of animals and preserving them, concocting poisons and antidotes. He has an endless fascination with snakes.

🦄 - Characters’ physical appearance.

He is the second shortest of his brothers. He is fair, golden-haired and blue-eyed, of lithe build. He is an excellent swordsman, but rather stupid with archery. Arafinwe likes to clothe himself in greens and golds, sometimes in pinks and reds if he's feeling very festive. He is also fond of wearing pearls in his hair, something absorbed from Earwen and Telerin culture. He has a love of jewelry and shiny things and is often wearing many earrings and rings and bracelets. He always has an easy and warm smile, though those smiles rarely reach his eyes.

#silmarillion #my hcs #arafinwe #finarfin

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gozzer · 1 year

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Caranthir truly is the Middle Child. It had always been Maedhros and Maglor, Celegorm and Curufin, Amrod and Amras. He was on his own. In a family of nine, Caranthir was alone.

It had been that way since Curufin reached of age and Celegorm found more interest in spending time with him. Neither Maedhros or Maglor had really spent any time with him after he was old enough to look after himself and after Ambarussa had been born, Mother didn't bother with him either; Father had always been more active with Maedhros and Curufin than the rest of them. After a certain point in time it didn't really bother him anymore.

At first, yeah, it hurt. To be shown over and over again that his family would pick someone else over him. That he was pretty much the forgotten fourth child. He was directly in the middle of his brothers and didn't really stick out; never had and never will. For even among his cousins, he was generally left out. His siblings were more interesting, plain and simple; always had been, always would be. So, if no one really needed or noticed him, he mostly stayed out of the way.

It was easy when people forgot you existed. Caranthir wasn't expected to do anything because no one acknowledged him. After Ambarussa became independent, he faded back into background. Kept to himself and didn't really talk unless spoken to first. He didn't really have a reason to say anything when there was no one to listen. Life was easy and boring and very lonely.

Nothing really changed. After they left Aman and his brothers had someone to find comfort in for the acts they had done, Caranthir was on his own. Not that he could find the words to say if he had someone to say them to. He was of no importance and while he wasn't surprised his Father and brothers left in the boats without him, that didn't mean it didn't hurt. To watch from Uncle Fingolfin's side as the boats burned. They had left him behind. Didn't even notice or care that he hadn't been among them. And he wasn't surprised.

Nor was there any surprise when his brothers overlooked him the moment the rest of the Noldor were before them. There was no decency to be had to pull him aside and tell him in private that Father was dead and Maedhros gone. He was left to find out with the rest. Like he wasn't part of the House of Feanor. And it stung, brought tears to his eyes and an ache in his chest but he didn't say anything. Simply rejoined the sides of his brothers even if they didn't notice.

Caranthir kept to himself even when he separated from his brothers. Very few elves followed him but those that did were surprisingly loyal despite the fact that he didn't really do anything to earn that loyalty. But he made a home for himself and his few people. Mostly though they lived among the dwarves. He wasn't a king or lord or leader of any kind but he must have made a good enough impression on those around him. Because he land of his own and people that listened to him and a good trade set up with the dwarves. He had no complaints and neither did anyone living there.

If the Oath hadn't gotten in the way, he was sure he could have lived the rest of forever like that. But it did, and he died. And was in the Halls of Mandos on his own. No one was there to greet him and for a good while he believed that even Namo forgot he existed. That was not the case, he soon learned, as the Vala came and talked to him.

It wasn't much and really Caranthir had done his best to stay out of trouble once in Middle-Earth. Namo was there to help him understand all that had happened in his life and explained that while he would most definitely be reborn before the rest of his immediate family, it would still be some time. It mattered little to him. He was fine wherever because he wasn't needed or wanted anywhere. It was simply a fact and it had long since stopped hurting. And, really, he was quite comfortable being dead. There was no one to look past him for someone else and while he had liked the life he had with his people and the dwarves, he didn't mind that it was over.

Caranthir had been pretty much forgotten by the rest of the world and even when given the chance to be reborn, he chose to stay in the Halls of Mandos. Where he spent his time with the first person to truly choose him instead of someone else. His grandmother, Miriel.

#rest of the fam looking at the tapestries #and being like 'we fucked up'#forgot their own brother #and son what a shame #the silm fandom #silmarillion #caranthir #fanfic #the silmarillion

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