Marja Kettner is a female photographer and doing a lot of fantasy stuff. She’s done a lot of art works “similar as Anne Rice vampires.” The photos had been a lot around in newspapers. Since the Lord of the Rings movie, she’s done a lot of pics of Elf men. go to her page to see more of her artwork
Once when walking I came on my cousin Bare and blushed he set my blood a-buzzin I hid in the tan wood And tugged on my manhood And grieved that we’d never be husbands.
–
“That last line is rather a slant,” said Turgon, cheeks hot.
In a meadow I cast my rich robe off For there was much heat for my skin to throw off I made needless noise To attract certain boys For I am such a shameless bold show-off.
–
“Weak,” tutted Finrod. “Very weak! Each line ending with the same word? I cry thee cheat, Turukáno.”
“And I cry thee – ”
“Taboo,” croaked a raven alighting on the balcony rail, and both young men froze.
“Sorry,” said Finrod, after a pause. “Did you say something?”
The raven cleared its throat.
–
Two lads spoke with lyric and jest As if rules only applied to the rest But jest bespeaks sin And souls rot in the bin If you toy with the thought of incest.
–
Manwë rubbed his hands together as he watched Finrod and Turgon part from each other with haste. “There, that should fix them. Nothing like poetry to avert deviance! No, fly thee on, Crabanor! Their eldest brothers are next.”
’…аnd Númenor went down into the sea, with all its children and its wives and its maidens and its ladies proud; and all its gardens and its halls and its towers, its tombs and its riches, and its jewels and its webs and its things painted and carven, and its lore: they vanished for ever…’ – Akallabêth, The Silmarillion
I did not style myself the Necromancer; just as I did not name myself Admirable, or Abhorred.
It was an accident that I was discovered at all; the White Council sniffed us out like bloodhounds, following the trail of my captain, who they call the Witch King. They suspected it was he who was raising the Nine, and so it was he they called the Necromancer– though I was presence in the Greenwood they hunted.
(It was only the Lords of Anadûnë who successfully learned the art of binding souls. Those who learned the craft from me were dubbed the Black Númenórians… Perhaps they chose to forget that my old foe, Isildur, also used the arts to curse the Men of the Mountains, damning their shades to earthly unrest…)
Despite having put the pieces together quite wrongly, the Council guessed correctly the nature of the whole; it was only their misconceptions that kept me safe. They did not believe I could return, and without me, the Nine are only shadows; it is a wasted endeavor to chase shadows with great armies.
If all had gone as I willed it, I would have continued to gather my servants and renew my strength in Dol Goldur in complete secrecy, my search for the One uninterrupted… But it is difficult to keep great power concealed in this world. I would have had to show my hand eventually.
There comes a time, always, when one must choose between being stealthy, and being strong.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 