WOW! Uh, hey guys! I don’t know what I did to merit the sudden influx of new faces around here, but welcome!
Just so you’re not alarmed in the event that you followed me for one particular type of content and are expecting more of the same–
Things This Blog Is And Does: Ask Blog for Two Whole Dark Lords; Roleplay; My Art, Fics, and Other Writing; Tolkien Meta and Discussions; World-Building And Headcanon Depository; Shipping, Crack, and RP Community Silliness; Aesthetic Blogging; General Silmarillion+Tolkien Fandom Participation; and Art Appreciation.
It is occasionally NSFW and 18+. It is frequently irreverent. It very rarely takes itself seriously.
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These amazing windmills are among the oldest in the world. Located in the Iranian town of Nashtifan, initially named Nish Toofan, or “storm’s sting,” the windmills have withstood winds of up to 74 miles an hour. With the design thought to have been created in eastern Persia between 500-900 A.D., they have been in use for several centuries.
The future i imagine, we need to think about building infrastructure that works 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, 1000 years a millennium.
[[ Source. Original creator: wats6831. Additional information and images linked under each one. ]]
Universal:
Homemade artisan herb bread, home grown and dried apples and prunes, uncured beef sausage, munster cheese. Made a small bag from cheesecloth and tied it closed.
Top left to right: Evereskan Honey Comb, Elven Travel Bread (Amaretto Liquer Cake with custom swirls), Lurien Spring Cheese (goat cheese with garlic, salt, spices and shallots), Delimbyr Vale Smoked Silverfin (Salmon), Honey Spiced Lichen (Kale Chips), and Silverwood Pine Nuts.
From upper left: “Honeytack” Hard tack honey cakes, beef sausage, pork sausage mini links, mini whole wheat toast, cranberry cheddar cheese mini wedge, mini pickles, pumpkin and sunflower seeds, lower right is my homemade “travel cake” muesli with raisins, golden prunes, honey, eggs and cream.
Orcs aren’t known for their great cuisine. Orcs prefer foods that are readily available (whatever can be had by raiding), and portable with little preparation, though they have a few racial delicacies. Toughs strips of lean meat, bones scavenged from recent kills, and dark coarse bread make up the bulk of common orc rations.Fire roasted rothe femur (marrow is a rare treat) [beef femur], Strips of dried meat (of unknown origin) [homemade goose jerky], foraged nuts, only edible by orcs….nut cracker tusks [brazil nuts], coarse black bread, made with whatever grains can be pillaged [black sesame bread], Pungent peppers [Habanero peppers stuffed with smoked fish and olives].
Lizardfolk are known to be omnivores, forage for a surprising variety of foods found within the confines of their marshy environs, in this case the Lizard Marsh near Daggerford. Fresh caught boiled Delimbyr Crayfish on wild chives, coastal carrageen moss entrapping estuary brine shrimp (irish moss, dried brine shrimp), Brackish-Berries (blackberries), Blackened Dart-Frog legs (frog legs) on spring sprouts (clover sprouts), roasted bog bugs on a stick!
From top left: Menzoberranzan black truffle rothe cheese (Black Knight Tilsit), Donigarten Moss Snails (Escargot in shallot butter sauce), Blind cave fish caviar in mushroom caps (Lumpfish caviar), faerzress infused duck egg imported from the surface Realms (Century egg), Black velvet ear fungus (Auricularia Black Fungus Mushroom).
Dear lord this must have been an expensive labor of love! The thought put into this! And the photography!! I am boggled and very, very hungry now. Now, for cultural reasons and personal bias, I take slight exception to the pork in the dwarvish meal, but otherwise can I just say, sign me the hell UP for Fantasy Blue Apron. *_*
“You think a very great deal of my persuasive abilities,” Salgant remarked, huffing a breath that might, in other circumstances, have been laughter. It was more honest than he would have preferred, but he was steadily losing his chain of thought, and the idea that anyone at all could persuade captive Quendi to ally with Morgoth was almost too outlandish to comprehend. Salgant could not even picture Rog’s face at hearing it. (Rog was surely dead, and had no face to grimace with.)
Salgant accepted the offered arm as he would from any of his comrades in Gondolin, and it was only after he had regained his footing that the incongruity struck him. Even then it was a distant blow, and left him blinking dully at the feel of the muscled forearm under his hand. That arm, too, had slain his kin.
The effort to stand had taken a toll, not only on Salgant’s thought, but his leg. There had been just enough time for it to set up on him, and he rested his weight on it as gently as he could. Nor could he quite put his thoughts in order, and that was more vital by far.
Ah. Yes. “You are generous,” Salgant said, and meant it, “but I cannot… in good faith… make such commitments without, without conferring on behalf of… those held here.” ‘Slaves,’ ‘prisoners,’ ‘captives’ – which would be more diplomatic, which might favorably incline the Accursed toward Salgant? Which had Sauron himself used? Salgant fought for clarity.
Sauron braced the elf more thoroughly before he could topple over in a faint, which his swaying seemed to threaten.
He clicked his tongue admonishingly; “Yes, yes, you’ll be given due time to consider. The room and board are not binding commitments, only a place for you to deliberate,” then seeing how his guest was gingerly favoring his leg, he added “pardon the indelicacy,” and without waiting for leave, scooped Salgant up with both arms.
There was no reason for them both to hobble down the long hallway at an injured pace. Salgant had an unusual build for an elf, stout and compact and well-padded for enduring the cold (a configuration which the lieutenant discovered he found most appealing), but even if he’d weighed as much as three anvils, it would have made little difference to the Maia, who hefted the lord from Gondolin as though he were merely a large cat.
Whatever the elf’s objections, he bore him to the appointed chamber at a clip, finding the room prepared and a fire already laid– the ears and eyes of his servants were keenly attuned to his wishes, and had needed no more prompting than the whip-crack of his thought.
As promised, the room was not opulent, but it was warm and dry and well lit, practically furnished for ranked guardsman or soldier. There was a large basin with water, clean clothes, and most importantly a bed that was clearly designed for an elf rather than an orc. In fact, it had been Maeglin’s quarters for a time, but Sauron did not feel the need to disclose this.
He deposited his guest upon the near end of the mattress with care if not dignity, jostling his wounded leg as little as was possible.
“Rest, Lord Salgant, and if you need anything from my servants, there is a bell-pull that will alert them. If you wish to treat with me, you have only to say my name aloud, and I will be made aware,” he smiled, his yellow eyes glittering.
Scooped up in Sauron’s arms, Salgant felt much more like a rabbit seized by the wolf. He made no more protest than a startled gasp; he hadn’t been carried so since he was a very young child. It scattered his thoughts completely. He held himself very still, and made no protest at all throughout, even at the less-than-dignified placement on the bed. He could not begin to consider the provenance of the room, or its bed – it was all he could do to not think about having been carried to bed by Sauron the Accursed.
Salgant mustered enough common sense to say, “Which name is most to your liking? I would not want to offend.” The names Salgant knew may as well have been curses.
“What’s this? Manners? In an elf? What a pleasant surprise!” He laughed, putting a hand to his chest and making an elegant bow, as if introducing himself for the first time. “’Sauron’ will do; I’ve become accustomed to it as a name, however unlovely, or ‘Thû’, if you prefer– as has been my habit for several centuries. Otherwise, ‘Forgemaster’ or “Lieutenant” are my titles; there are no lords here but Melkor.”
A cursory glance to the room assured him that all was in order, and a snap of his fingers at the fire set it blazing a few degrees hotter, the flames leaping eagerly as if to please him. With that he turned and ducked out of the room with a courtly gesture. “I wish you swift recovery.”
The heavy door shut behind him.
// I’m thinking about doing a comprehensive revision of my Tolkien character designs. I’ve kept a lot of my first concept ideas and drawing conceits from my earliest drafts of wesleycanon that, at this point, don’t make sense or just aren’t particularly polished. The “horns” on Aulë’s Maiar for instance– why horns?Mostly just because that’s how I first drew them, and I haven’t tried anything else. I still want to have a way to distinguish the Maiar of different Valar, but why not crystal structures, or something more thematic of earth and forges? That’s just one example of old design stuff that I’ve kept around out of laziness; I think I can do better now. Sitting down and really thinking about character design and readability would be a great exercise.
Many of you were keen to see me take on a more feminine form, but I thought better than that, why don’t I introduce you to my sisters of the forge? They are all Maiar of Aulë, no less capable of wringing fine shapes from metal or swinging a hammer than I. Why don’t we meet them?
From left to right, this is Dutiful-One, Meticulous-One, Magnificent-One, and in the back I see Brilliant-One and Patient-One.
Dutiful-One oversees smelting in this division, but is a capable smith in her own right. If you see a 14 tonne crucible being poured by a single Maia holding its chain, it is likely to be Dutiful. She has a heart of gold and arms of tungsten.
Meticulous-One, or as I like to call her, “I’ll-Break-For-Sabbath-After-All-These-Rivets-Are-Done-It-Should-Only-Take-Another-Century!” ……That’s…. That’s a wordplay that works much better in Valarin, I apologize. Meticulous! Take your lunch hour already you madwoman! The extra hinge pins can wait!
Magnificent One is a force to be reckoned with, aren’t you madam? She is chief architect and designer in this sector. Her word is law, her tongue is sharp, and her standards are high. I have the distinction of being the only one to have ever beaten her at arm wrestling, but her title as undefeated champion at the ingot-toss still stands. We’ve been friends for eons, I miss her very much. (She is an absolute surgeon with a whip– taught me everything I know. Ssh!)
And behind them: Brilliant-One is in charge of forge maintenance a temperature control– she can change the burn heat of your coal just by looking at it. No one has more accurate timing or gauge of melting points. Her combinations of fuel often mean the difference between our steel coming out just a hair too brittle or supple and unbreakable as the back of Tulkas.
Patient-One I have not met personally; I hear she is quiet, thoughtful, and an excellent metallurgist. I believe she invented a new copper alloy? A fine worker! I am sure she will do well in this unit.
Ah, there are more, so many countless more! I built mountains with this family, sunk the basins of seas with them… I would be heartless if I had no regrets about leaving them behind. You deserve to see the fine women of Aulë’s forges in flesh and spirit, not merely a costume worn by me– not that I have objections to said costume! But my sisters wear it much better, I think you’ll agree.
Tolkien writes Orcs, the grim specters of irredeemable evil, as the most regular ass, blue collar, working class stiffs. He couldn’t bring himself to write about the awful things they do in theory, and the things he does write them doing can mostly be described as "unpleasant, but nothing that would violate the Geneva Convention”.
He’ll spend a full page telling us the ways in which these literally god-forsaken creatures are incapable of love or culture, barely capable of speech, in all ways cruel and barbaric without a single redeeming quality about their entire species, and then he goes and writes their dialogue and it’s just like “oi mate, what say you and me get togevva after this whole war business is over, start a nice farm, put all our loot in one place, settle down with the missus, aye?” “How’s that guard duty treating you down in Minas Morgul?” “Eh, it’s a living!” “Stevens, get that Halfling some water and some antiseptic for his forehead! Not that he’s traveling in style, mind you. No sir, can’t spare more than three meals a day, medical treatment, and one legally-mandated rest stop every 8 hours on our POWs.” “Now lads, I know we don’t always get along with the fellas from Mordor, but now we’ve all had a good scuffle, bashed a few heads, got it out of our systems, let’s all just take a deep breath and cut out the nonsense now before things get silly.”
Yes, truly the most heinous of living creatures, the working class
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 