Silmarillion - Blog Posts
not sorry.
full: https://boosty.to/cddeathbody
Sauron is having fun full: https://boosty.to/cddeathbody
feanor x melkor again
commission
«Love me, Tyelpe.»
«...or die.»
Happy Valentine's Day!
Mairon quick sketch
The Hard Life of a Dark Lord
quick sketch
hot sketch with coloring with melkor and sauron full version is available on my boosty: https://boosty.to/cddeathbody
Tentacles. now the full version is available on my boosty: https://boosty.to/cddeathbody
huh evil cunt
Trying to break out of a rut with sketches приложите член к экрану(сорри нот сорри за ступид шутку)
very unsuccessful sketch
and reference from pinterest
sketch again yeaaaah
B2MEM - "Hope"
@spring-into-arda (301 words; a continuation of my earlier AU where Finarfin arrives in Beleriand to find nothing but ruins)
There was someone outside the camp.
Finarfin should mention this to someone, probably, but he couldn’t prove it; there was no movement in the endless fields of high, stinging grass, no rustle in the dead limbs of the trees. No noise. No perceptible hint.
But there was an itch at the back of his mind that insisted someone was here.
Madness, probably. A manifestation of desperate hope after weeks of marching through Beleriand and finding nothing, nothing, nothing. Failing that, surely it was the Enemy, at last showing himself.
Surely.
But the itch at the back of his mind felt . . . not like the hunts he had never particularly enjoyed, but that he had gone on for his children’s sakes. It felt like the games they had played when they were small, and he would walk into his office and know they were there even before he had spotted a tiny foot peeking out from behind his desk.
The madness of hope.
Even if Artanis was still alive, was still free, surely she would approach the hosts her father was leading openly, not creep around the edges of his camp like a thief.
He shot one last look at the dead emptiness of the woods before nodding to the guards and letting himself back into the command tent.
The flap fell behind him. The itch intensified.
He turned.
A gaunt figure was sitting at his desk. There was barely an ounce of flesh left on the figure waiting, in dead stillness, in the chair; just bruised and bloodied skin stretched across knife sharp bone.
The only hint of life was in the eyes: dark and haunted with more horror than Arafinwe could even now imagine, but still burning with a hint of dread fire.
“Hello, uncle,” rasped Makalaure. “I’ve come to bargain.”
B2MEM - "I will not bid the stars farewell, nor say the day is done."
@spring-into-arda (397 words)
There was a point where hoping that things might yet get better - or that at the very least they might endure as they currently were - was not, perhaps, sensible.
With the protections of the Valley breached and the enemy even now pounding at the last barricaded door to his halls, Elrond had to admit that this point might have been reached.
It was an almost unimportant thought, however. For one thing, it changed nothing; this was not an enemy they could surrender to. They would defeat it, or they would be destroyed; there was no other path to seek.
For another, he had spent an uncomfortable amount of his life at this point. Most of his childhood, certainly. And yet, time and again, the light had endured.
The light, he was certain, would again. If he himself would - Well, that mattered far less than those of his people gathered here with grim purpose behind the shuddering door. This hall had been meant for songs and feasting, but he was a child of the First Age and had built accordingly; it would hold a siege a while yet.
Most of those who had won to this redoubt were armed and ready, but there were injured among them, and he moved among those quickly now, giving what chance he could that they might stand ready when the time came.
His ring weighed heavily on his hand.
He had not leaned on it much. He had not dared. And now -
Now he must make his choice. Throw his will and his might into its blatant use - reveal beyond all doubts its presence, throw his will against Sauron’s - or take one last desperate measure to hide it, that at least those others who might still be fighting might have a better chance.
Both measures were likely doomed unless help came.
There was no help that might yet come.
And yet -
And yet.
How many times had he thought those words before?
The door shuddered.
Cracked.
He squeezed the hand of his last patient and stood, drawing his sword at long last.
“We stand!” he cried, the full power of his will weaving through the words.
“We stand!” his people echoed in a response that shook the timbers of the roof.
Splinters flew from the door.
Above the thunderous roars that followed, he could just hear one more impossibly powerful, impossibly familiar voice, ringing out in distant answer.
B2MEM - "Ashes"
@spring-into-arda (308 words)
My first thought on seeing that one of the prompts this time was the song "Ashes" by the Longest Johns was that this was a great prompt for Elrond and Numenor; the talk about worshipping the ashes really seems to fit with later stage Numenor and tending to the flame of life and hope is a very Elrond thing.
(Okay, my very first thought when I saw that one of the prompts was a song link was an irrational certainty that it was a Rick Roll. Tumblr has made me paranoid.)
. . .
It was a hard thing to visit Numenor now. He had seen it when it was green and golden; to see it slowly crumble into ash was a hard thing.
It was elves who were supposed to be most tempted by memory and its traces of old glories; to see Men so enthralled by their own past, their own dead, felt unnatural. Elrond had known these faces when the lifeblood was still bright in their cheeks. He did not mind seeing them captured in stone, but to see more care expended on these remnants than on the ever fewer children whose voices echoed down the cold streets - it disturbed him.
There was not much he could do. The kings of Numenor did not like an elf telling them their business.
Even if the one doing so was, even now, not quite an elf.
There had been a time -
But he turned his mind firmly from memory. He could do no good there.
He could do some good here in the poorest quarter of the city in the market corner where a host of anxious mothers with infants who had caught the fever plaguing the city had gathered because they had heard he could help.
It was a good reminder that there was still some new life in the city.
“Hello, little one,” he said softly to the first squalling little one that was placed in his arms. “Let me see what is amiss. Should you like to hear a song while I do?”
It was an old song, good for soothing fevers and children alike.
He had sung it long ago to some who were now immortalized in ever more elaborate stone. He could lose himself in grief for that if he let himself.
He could.
He would not, so long as there were more children to tend.
Back to Middle Earth Month - "Shoot"
@spring-into-arda
Amrod and Amras had been the acknowledged experts with the longbow among his brothers. They had offered to teach Maglor more than once, but his interest had been minimal. He had learned enough to be proficient in hunting, but he had never been a lauded marksman. War had not changed that; he had always preferred other weapons.
Proficiency did not seem enough now.
“Come on,” the orc captain jeered. “Let’s have our game! No backin’ out now.”
One bow, warped from ill keeping.
One arrow.
Not enough to fight his way out of the horde circling around him, baying for blood.
One target, farther than he liked from where he stood, foot chained to a stake thrust in the ground.
One target.
One small form chained to it, a withered fruit ever so slightly trembling on his head.
Help was -
Not here. Not coming in the next few seconds.
He did not deserve for it to come. It would be pure justice to leave him to this. But Elrond -
The blood calls were growing impatient.
He raised the bow.
He had been warned, very clearly, the cost for not playing this game.
They had muzzled him like a rabid dog. He wished they hadn’t; wished he could call to Elrond some last desperate word, wished he could sing the arrow straight, wished he could sing his way clear -
Elrond stood as still as he could. Almost perfectly steady.
It had to hit the rotting fruit. To miss entirely would bring down the orcs’ torment; to hit him -
The night was dark; the Enemy’s smoke was thick on the air.
Only the light of a single star broke through.
He drew back the string.
And let the arrow fly.
Back to Middle Earth Month - Fun
@spring-into-arda
For a moment, the stars were obscured by puffs of smoke and the glorious rain of multicolored sparks that danced above them - starbursts of color waterfalling down in splendid chaos until one last explosion split the night and unleashed the image of a dragon over Tirion for what he suspected was the very first time.
“Fireworks, you say,” Feanor said thoughtfully.
“Indeed!”
Even after his unexpected release from the halls of the dead, Feanor was not much given to wishing to be in company with most of the Valar or Maiar. He probably would not have approached this one if he had not for a moment mistaken him for a Man; the long white beard fit far better within Vaire’s tapestries than in the usual guises of the Maiar, and he had hoped for the chance to speak with one.
Still. This “Gandalf” was interesting enough to talk to. Especially since -
“Are those more I spy behind you?”
Gandalf turned to look at his stock in what almost seemed like surprise. “And so it is! I confess, I had expected someone to run off with them by now. They certainly would have in the Shire.”
“They are extra, then? Not needed for tonight’s showing?”
Gandalf puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “Not needed, no . . . Did you have another purpose in mind for them?”
“The color is most remarkable; I wondered if you had experimented with other elements - the noise, for example, is impressive in volume, but hardly harmonious; what have you tried with that?”
An unexpected flare of delight flared in the maia’s eyes. “A worthy project! And one I would be deeply honored to embark upon with you. If all of us may turn our minds to such things, perhaps we can hold the world healed indeed!”
A List of Very Convincing Reasons why Elrond Peredhel Cannot become Noldor High King after Gil-Galad, written by Dnorle Lehderep
He's like Finwe's great great great grandson; that's clearly too many generations away.
Also he's technically a Feanorian and they're like, super cursed and also dispossessed so maybe he shouldn't be in the line of succession.
No one can agree on whether his claim comes from the Nolofinwean or Feanorian lines. Clearly the best solution to this is for him to not be king.
Galadriel is right there.
He turns into a bird sometimes and everyone knows that birds can't be elf-kings that would be silly.
Yes, he does have one of the three rings "for elvish kings" but Cirdan also has one of those, and he's not an elvish king, so frankly it doesn't matter.
Gil-Galad's will, which states that Elrond inherits the crown, was clearly forged. I will not explain how. Trust me on this one.
C'mon guys he's not even technically an elf. Yes Melian was a queen over elves without being an elf. Yes Dior was a half-elf elf king. I don't see what that has to do with anything.
Do we really need a king?? Apparently some edain are experimenting with a new system called "democracy" and fraknly that sounds a lot better and cooler than having another king.
We'd have to get the crown resized again and that would be a lot of work.
He wears his hair partially down. In public. If that's not scandalous I don't konw what is.
I know his followers keep talking about how great of a leader he is, but they're mostly Feanorians, so clearly that doesn't count.
Galadriel. Is. Right. There.
He probably doesn't even speak Quenya. Don't ask anyone at court to confirm this.
He's very busy revolutionizing the field of medicine in Rivendell right now, please leave me him alone.
Clearly he doesn't wear enough jewelry to be a proper Noldor king.