- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- Multiple posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Beginner
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Douche
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Sci-fi, Magical
Morgoth stared down upon the land,
Three Silmarils on head, in hand.
"The best," he called, "greatest blades,
Out-send to stop my bloody raids!
To challenge me with spells or might!
Then suffer! Feel the wrath of night!"
So now, two souls from Eru sent,
Aulë's kin and Aman-meant.
One refugee, one born of stone,
But none could doubt both souls bright-shone.
The court of Finrod Felagund lay in a cave, as did most of his new city. However, the cave of his court was special. Lit from above by tiny lanterns on the distant ceiling, it gave the distinct impression that one was outside at night - something entirely intended by the architects, at his direction. He did quite love the room, as did most of his subjects.
Two individuals stood before him. Matters of court, most likely. Normally, he would have them speak in order, simply for propriety's sake, but they both seemed to have an expression of urgency on their faces. A dwarf, one of the architects, and an elf. By the hair, of Vanyar blood - though certainly not only, he knew of no Vanyar that sailed across the sea, not even for love. He frowned; that wasn't a memory he wanted to drag up. "Greetings, friends. The lights of Varda shine brightly upon you." He motioned with an open hand, a gesture inviting them to speak. He was Lord here, sure, but this was not the realm of the Enemy; freedoms were enshrined here.
Three Silmarils on head, in hand.
"The best," he called, "greatest blades,
Out-send to stop my bloody raids!
To challenge me with spells or might!
Then suffer! Feel the wrath of night!"
So now, two souls from Eru sent,
Aulë's kin and Aman-meant.
One refugee, one born of stone,
But none could doubt both souls bright-shone.
The court of Finrod Felagund lay in a cave, as did most of his new city. However, the cave of his court was special. Lit from above by tiny lanterns on the distant ceiling, it gave the distinct impression that one was outside at night - something entirely intended by the architects, at his direction. He did quite love the room, as did most of his subjects.
Two individuals stood before him. Matters of court, most likely. Normally, he would have them speak in order, simply for propriety's sake, but they both seemed to have an expression of urgency on their faces. A dwarf, one of the architects, and an elf. By the hair, of Vanyar blood - though certainly not only, he knew of no Vanyar that sailed across the sea, not even for love. He frowned; that wasn't a memory he wanted to drag up. "Greetings, friends. The lights of Varda shine brightly upon you." He motioned with an open hand, a gesture inviting them to speak. He was Lord here, sure, but this was not the realm of the Enemy; freedoms were enshrined here.