astorey_91

No clue if anyone here is good at Sindarin but for my OC Oradhon’s story, I’m trying to think of a good name for Eöl’s fortress but I’m not sure. So far I have Minas Mornedhel (Fortress of the Dark Elf) but could use some recommendations if anyone has any ideas ❤️! 

 Wanted to share some recent commissions of some Tolkien OC's and even a few canon characters :). 

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

 
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 :)

 

Maeglin commission done by TanimilArt on Twitter <3

So, after working for a while on my Silmarillion Space AU (Now involving the Numenor part of the story), I’ve decided to completely redo my original idea and scrap it. I’ve never written from this POV before (that of Elendil), or what I have planned, so it should be interesting to say the least lol. Here’s a bit:

 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. 

 

This is just a WIP for my Futuristic Numenor AU (part of my Space Silmarillion AU). I’m still working on it, so things will definitely change :).
 

 

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.

Pallando:

-Second in command in the Halls of Mandos
-The first maia to follow Namo
-Was given the position, but isn’t really the best person for the job. Namo chose him because of his devotion towards him, not because Pallando most suited for it.
-During The Ainulindale, the maia was drawn to the Vala (like all other maiar are attracted to a Vala) because of Namo’s love of Justice (Eru’s Justice and Laws). At first, Namo was a fair and reasonable Vala.
-Pallando first met Aratacáno during the Ainulindale, being created at nearly the same time. They’ve always stuck together (trusting in each other) and have been close friends since then. Pallando was the one to have convinced Aratacáno to follow Namo. Initially, Aratacáno wanted to follow Irmo, but because of Pallando’s words, he changed his mind.
-Pallando is sure that Namo is always correct in what he does. Even if the Vala is wrong. After going to Arda, Pallando remains devoted, even as Namo spirals into insanity.
-During the captivity of Melkor, Pallando notices a slight change in his lord. He isn’t sure of what, but something is off. The maia notes an almost imperceptible difference in Namo’s form (fangs), and how he is told (by Namo) to do strange things with the Fëar. Pallando, still convinced that nothing is really wrong, does as he is told.
-It is only when Aratacáno mentions it that Pallando begins to question.