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Some New Commissions
This first one is the lovely Máno, Maia of Namo, done for me by the wonderful NimrodelDark.
This next one is another of Máno, by DamienGrimmthedevilsson on Tumblr
WIP and other things
And the Doomsman of the Valar knelt before the dark throne, placing a hand over his chest and lowering his head. Armored in black, Namo Mandos seemed to be almost humbled as he kept his eyes lowered. To his left stood a second figure. The second Feantur, Irmo of Lorien, looked about at the surroundings with a faraway expression. The Lord of Lorien wore only light armor that extended upward from his back to give some protection to his wings. A crown of wilted flowers charred black sat atop his head.
The pair were as different as night and day. And yet hardly were they seen without one another to accompany them.
Even now, as they two paid obeisance to the Dark Lord of Angband himself, they still remained side by side. who watched them with great amusement.
“Why are you here?” Melkor asked, leaning forward. “Certainly not to drag me from my fortress for a second time? Who sent you, Doomsman? Was it my brother?”
Namo’s gaze rose:
“No. Manwë is...unaware of our presence here.”
The Dark Vala rubbed his chin in thought.
“Unaware, you say?” Melkor asked, with a sneer. “Then...you are not here as Manwë’s eyes and ears? To spy on the likes of me and my minions?”
Namo heard his brother’s gentle bell-like laughter from over his shoulder.
“Dear Melkor, do you really think that of us? The Lord of Taniquetil has, more often than not, cast us out from his sight. Insulted us, even, to our faces. And for what? Why would we spy upon you when we are here before you, paying homage to your lordship?”
The smile on Melkor’s lips spread wide upon hearing that word, revealing sharp pointed teeth. Namo remembered the feeling of those teeth against his skin, making his fëa shiver at the recollection. The Three Ages in which Melkor was his prisoner. The sensation of Melkor’s body against his, writhing. Briefly, Namo’s eyes flicked to Irmo, and was unnerved to see him staring back. Quickly he pushed the indecent thoughts from his mind.
The Dark Vala’s eyes shone, the light from the torches reflecting in the dark orbs.
“Namo Mandos, ever so proud and dutiful to the word of Eru.” Melkor said, leering at the brothers. “A pillar of righteousness. Is that not correct, Doomsman? And so very just in his judgements.”
And also, a comm. of Namo in his armor done for me by the wonderful @lorica-art on Tumblr
A favorite that made my day
This is most likely now one of my favorite commissions that I've ever had done :). This commission is of Pallando, probably during his off time from being the head Maia of Mandos, done for me by the fantastic @shirojikimattari on Tumblr. I love it, and I will most likely get a second commission from this artist of Aratacáno :)
Writing Update*
Ao3 Link
The idea of Ar-Pharazon waving a drumstick around in the air continues to make me laugh, for some odd reason lol. With Sauron off to the side, saying: I tolerate you. FOR NOW! XD
Any feedback is greatly appreciated, whether it's a kudo or a comment <3.
Prologue: Pallando
( Read more, yes? )
A different approach
Once the vessel managed to escape to a safe distance away from the failing Numenorean planet, it was able to regain its set route to the nearest off-world landing port. The shockwaves that rocked the planet to its core became a terrible memory, and the passengers aboard the ship (though regrettably not many in number), were finally able to release the pent-up fear in a seemingly collective exhale. Captain Elendil, who stood on the ship’s main deck, his spine as straight-as-a-board with his hands clasped behind his back, fought to keep his expression neutral. Anxiously, he twisted the signet ring on his middle finger. The royal badge of the “White Tree” was still pinned on the front of his dusty uniform. He watched the small white dots of starlight in the far distance.
They were all that remained. The last.
The guilt of it gripped his heart in a vice. Everything was gone. Their home. Wealth. Knowledge. All of it was a meaningless pile of ashes. And now, what were they? Little more than nothing. Displaced wanderers. Dispossessed. What was left to them, now that everything had been stolen from them?
Elendil could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and clenched his jaw. He could still hear the screams ringing in his ears. A shock of bright light streaking across the sky. A long white comet’s tail. The quaking of the ground that accompanied the impact. Eru’s wrath.
He recalled that, during the last days, the priests of Eru prophesied that the end times were upon them. Numenor would fall, these priests claimed, unless you changed your ways. Repent, and you will be spared, they had cried in the streets to anyone who might listen. Turn away from the path of Darkness and Eru will find pity in his heart. The Servant of Melkor the Morgoth hadn’t won’t yet.
It didn’t take long though for these men to be silenced, late in the night, by shadowy figures wearing black and the “Red Tree” emblazoned on their chests. Elendil had heard the whispered rumors. With bags shoved over their heads, those who spoke out against Ar-Pharazon were led away, never to be seen again. Sauron’s men. Soon, the loud declarations of Eru’s oracles were heard less and less. He remembered the remorseless golden eyes, and how they watched him intently from over Ar-Pharazon’s shoulder. A smile as honest as the grin of a snake ready to strike. How could so many have trusted that creature and his honeyed lies? Not that it made any difference, now.
Fleeing from the planet had kept the huge weight of loss from his head and given him some measure of clarity. Survival was the singular motive. Getting to the waiting spacecrafts. Getting as far as possible from the ruin. But it all came rushing back in a torrent.
Lost in his thoughts, the captain hardly heard the soft cough from behind.
“Captain, Anárion has us going in the direction that you ordered.”
Elendil didn’t answer his eldest son Isildur, continuing to focus on the blackness just beyond the . No amount of words could fix what had transpired. He only gave a curt nod.
In the large hall, the soft murmurs of polite whispers was the only sound. Staying at an acceptable volume, the murmurings were enough to fill the room entirely, as high as the silver domed ceiling. Statues of men and women long dead lined the edges, very stately in their attire. Windows of colored glass cast rainbows onto the marble floor below. In them, had been depicted the great Numenorean deeds of the past. And, every few moments, the images in the the glass was set to shift, alternating the tinted fragments into another moving image. Ar-Pharazon loved to stare at the glass as he sat on his high seat, pretending that he was the one taking part in the valiant exploits of his forefathers. How easy it was to forget the truth. Lose oneself in such pretty rose-tinted tales. Intoxicating. Exhilarating. Addicting.
Ar-Pharazon didn’t mind, though. He was one of them in truth, an omnipotent and imposing figure destined to be written in myth. Great and powerful, a mighty iron-fisted emperor of Numenor. The planet of technological gift. Beautiful and fair in her polished majesty.
Which was why, Sauron, the Dark Commander of the Mordor, was now his slave. Prisoner, he reminded himself.
Standing around the raised chair, huddled a group of his usual fawning “yes men”. In Pharazon’s mind, they never seemed to leave, always clustered around him like a flock of puffed-up neon birds. As always, they all attempted to parade themselves wearing the latest fashion that Pharazon forced upon them (which now happened to be feathers from a rare bird on the nearby moon of Umbar). The emperor fancied himself to be an expert on the subject, coming up with the newest trend. Ever quick to please, the group would tolerate the ridiculous outfits, never objecting. Next phase, it might be outlandish headdresses. However, Pharazon would never be caught dead wearing his own creations. It gave him great happiness to see the uncomfortable expressions attempting to be hidden by the wide toothy grins.
Grasping with an outstretched ring-covered hand, Pharazon took a tiny handheld device from a table floating close. Speaking into it, he said in his booming voice:
“Get that slime up here now, Amandil!”
After receiving no response, he repeated his command in an even louder voice:
“Amandil, you idiot, are you deaf?!”
A responding voice finally crackled through:
“Just a minute, sir. Right away.”
He was about to throw the device back down, when he stopped himself, bring it back to his lips with a sneer:
“Make sure that he’s in cuffs. I won’t have him trying anything funny in my assembly room.”
Satisfied that his orders would be carried out, Pharazon finally dropped the device to one side, not caring where it fell. One of his entourage would get it.
Random Tolkien Commissions Collection
Here are some commissions that I would like to share, of my OC Aratacáno and Pallando, from my dark!Namo au. (Kind of taking a break from working on my space!AU for a little bit by writing about these two again ) I hope that it's okay that I posted them here :), it's just some random stuff :).
art by: @singularity0101 on twitter
Pallando by: @veiled-artist on Tumblr
Two Maiar of Namo by @jreizen on Tumblr
Writing Update *
Ao3 Link
Maglor's Song: Jenny of Oldstones Edition
High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Maglor would play for his ghosts
The ones he had lost and the ones had had found
And the ones who had loved him the most
The ones who'd been gone for so very long
He couldn't remember their names
His hand they did guide, over string and tone,
Played away all his sorrow and pain
And he never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
They played through the day
And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall
From winter to summer then winter again
'Til the walls did crumble and fall
And he never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
And he never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Maglor would play for his ghosts
The ones he had lost and the ones he had found
And the ones
Who had loved him the most
----
Based on the Jenny of Oldstones song from GoT. I thought it would be fun to change it around a little to make it fit Maglor. :) Perhaps some elf minstrel wrote the song about the sad tale of the madness of the last Fëanorian. Or, perhaps Maglor wrote it about himself? Who knows. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maglor, after losing Maedhros, returns to the place where they raised Elond and Elros. Reflects on the last semblances of the closest thing to a family life, and the death of his brothers.
Writing Update*
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427389
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416730
Music Playlist for AU
Forever Dilating Eye-Sinoia Caves (Beyond the Black Rainbow OST)
The awakening of the elves by Doctor Illuvatar. They take their first steps.
Run Program: Sentionauts-Sinoia Caves (Beyond the Black Rainbow OST)
The Noldor elf A.I. rise above the influence of the Valar.
Glorious-Muse
A song for the great and all-knowing Doctor Illuvatar, and his reliance on the faith of his Valar.
The Void-Muse
Feanor's conflicting thoughts of being under the complete control of Doctor Illuvatar and the Valar.
San Junipero (80s-90s-00s-??s)- Clint Mansell
The planet Timeless theme
Panic Station- Muse
Melkor's theme, about the chaos he brings and enjoys.
Westworld theme- Ramin Djawadi (Westworld OST)
Creating the elves
Writing Update *
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324378