#adunada

Her eyes followed his hand that hovered over his wound, then her gaze fell back onto her left arm in which she had been holding her shield while fighting the Witch King of Angmar. It still was bandaged and it still hurt, but she could bear that more easily than the darkness that was still in her soul. Grief, worry and anger that she could not be on the battlefield with her friends and her brother.

@adunada / American gods

   ❝Not all things are as they seem, no matter how much you trust its source.❞ The ring of Air, Vilya, manifested upon crossed fingers on his lap. The blue stone seemed to switch places if one wasn’t careful where they put their eyes.

                                  MAIRON’S schemes began to play and she was winning this game. Ar-Pharazôn was wrapped around her finger like one of her rings. She had brought  TERROR  upon the isle of Númenor, carrying with her a dark promise of eternal life. She poisoned their king’s mind ( although he was already riddled, she simply gave him a nudge into the wrong direction ) and soon the  PLAGUE  had spread throughout. Her King was gone but he would not be forgotten and she cared not how much blood must be spilt to ensure it-- hers or theirs.

                                        The temples that were once belonging to the Valar in the West– their statues and offerings were shattered and tossed away, making way for the sculpture of their newer god and Mairon took it upon herself to be called the High Priestess, promising them a dark deceit of eternal life.

                                  It had come upon her ear that there were still  HERETICS  filled with  HOPE ,  JOY  and  FAITH . They worshipped still those Valar that had nothing but oppose her Lord Melkor. With a few of valiant followers, she had scoured for that so called sacred house of prayer. Her voice  FEATHERY  and almost too  GLEEFUL  and her  SMILE  was far too convincing. Indeed, she brought justice to her name, the  DECEIVER . Though she was clothed still with Nimloth upon her breast, she appeared so  MENACING  with the Eye drawn upon her head with black ink and her own eyes shining in the dark should she stand beneath it.

{{ album starters | accepting ! (3/8) }}

❝ You can tell it to me. ❞

Mithrandir speaks with a note of concern for whatever the young one might be burdened with, and hopes that he might aid him where he is able. He hopes that it is nothing too dire in nature, but that hope is indeed small in these days as the shadow spreads.

❝ What troubles you? ❞

Nonverbal RP Starters

Silence fell upon them as they stood on the balcony, looking towards the East, even though there was not much to see there anymore. Yet they were still out there, next to each other, perhaps taking a step closer every day. As time went by, Éowyn, still with the darkness in her heart, slowly began to spend more time with Faramir. She would not say that she had grown fond of him, as her heart was still aching for someone else, she rather got used to his presence.

hair sentence starters 

Éowyn startled a little as she heard his voice - she thought she was alone out there on the balcony. At the mention of her hair, she felt the urge to raise her hand and sweep her golden locks behind her back, especially now that the wind was getting stronger. He had probably seen her hair floating like a golden storm in the heavy morning wind. Her glance shifted onto his raven locks, now dancing around his face. This dark colour would be very rare in Rohan, she stated in mind and a smile touched her lips.

@adunada

Boromir’s feet had carried him all day, beginning their task before the sun was up and finally receiving this break long after the sun had set. A knee that had found a protruding post in the training yard still ached, a mottling of color was sure to have already appeared.

A stream of soup dropped back into the bowl from whose depths the stew had risen. The attendant spoon rested against the rim, its holder lacking the consciousness to continue the journey towards the mouth. Even the uncomfortable seat in the dining hall became pleasant enough to entice the eldest son to close his eyes if only for a moment. 

They reopened, the length of his focus fully on Faramir. Boromir attempted to adopt an attitude of dismissal. Another bite of soup went warmly down his throat. 

“What is the difference between us and beasts? They are no more violent than we are.”

Beleg wiped his face on his shirt sleeve, blood and dirt smearing the fabric. It had been a hard fight, but he would not give up now. 

“We all not so difference from beasts. We are as much a part of the world as they are; and Orcs are my kin of ancient times.”