I am aware that I’ve gained a reputation for cruelty during my time in Middle Earth, but I assure you we have tales of our own about him. Were he not on the winning side of history, or were my Master’s folk deemed worthy of even an ounce of pity by the Eldar, I would not be the only Maia to have earned the moniker “Gorthaur”.
Oromë is another one I’m having to write for a project, so I’ll hit up that UUUUUNNNNNGLLLLEEEEESSSSSSS *bew bew bewwwww*
I fucking love Ungles and I’m happy to report that I have some Bonafide Eldritch Headcanons™ about her.
Canon wants us to believe that she’s a corrupted spirit from Ëa who joined Melkor but then fucked off because that’s how spiders do. I AM NOT CONVINCED. You can’t have your “Melkor is the mightiest of the Valar and Valar are exponentially greater in power than Maiar” cake and …. have….a spider eat that cake.
So, in so much as Ainur are beings derived from Eru’s thought, Ungoliant is not a Maia. She’s not a Vala. She’s not one of the Ainur at all. Ungoliant is something Melkor ran into when he was searching the outer darkness for the Secret Fire, which only Illuvatar has. The Void is at least as old as Eru, being timeless. It is vaster than He (if one can even use size as a metric for measuring infinite cosmic entities), though empty. It is the birthplace of all potential, the void that must be in order for things other than it to exist. It is ready to quicken around any particle of matter and form pearls of chaos that expand infinitely and succumb to entropy just as quickly as they form. It is a writhing, frothing, sightless, soundless, Nothing that devours itself in perpetuity.
Melkor was not made of matter when he ventured into the depths of the Void in the beginning, and did not stir the ancient darkness when he passed through it. But he did speak to it– told it about the world that was to be made, of his part in the making of it. And the Void listened in its own fashion, forming around the Idea that had been planted into it and growing. All the Nothing in the universe can fit into the back pocket of a quark, so the resulting consciousness was both very small and very big; just a grain of sand that could expand as much as anything that was put into it. And that Thing waited around in the deeps of the void until Melkor came into the outer darkness a second time–this time pissed off, and nursing a sore cheek from where Tulkas punched him, and he said “hey, want to come fuck things up?” And it said “ssssssss” and crawled up his sleeve.
Now, it may seem irresponsible to bring the sentient equivalent of a black hole into the realm of matter and just let it go hog wild, but Ungles is only as powerful as what you put in her. She devours light and matter and energy and creates darkness and sticky void-webs that eventually sort of clog up her ability to intake more of those things; this is why her dens are isolated wastelands of Scary Shit and darkness, because once she’s devoured everything in the area, nothing else can easily get in, and going OUT takes too much energy for her when she’s starving. So she’s not too much to handle if you’re the mightiest of the Valar, or even a sufficiently powerful Maia or Eruhini.
However, when you let her drink two full trees’ worth of Vala Juice, you’re in for a bad time.
–Just for kicks, here’s a crusty old unfinished story-board experiment of the Tree Incident–
In terms of personality, she’s pretty straightforward; she knows what she wants, she can never have ENOUGH of what she wants, and she doesn’t trust Melkor any more than Melkor trusts her. She’s not especially malicious (except when someone Wrongs Her and then gives her a chance to get even)– just predatory by nature and aware of her own otherness. She’s very intelligent; I imagine she picks things up from whatever she eats, and she’s been around a very long time and eaten a LOT of things. She can feel amusement, anger, anticipation, greed, hunger, interest, wariness, hatred, fear, and possibly even a distant affection for any of her daughters that are strong and clever enough to avoid being eaten by her long enough to grow up and spread to Middle Earth. She’d still eat them if given the chance, and they’d probably eat her if they could figure out how– but that’s just how the spider do.
She also diminishes with time; the more she eats, the more personality and self-awareness she has, and the longer she starves the more she reverts to being a mindless consuming force. She acknowledges a certain affiliation with Melkor– he was the one that facilitated her coming to earth where she could Eat Things in the first place, giving her awareness of the world. But spiders are fairly self sufficient from the get go; she doesn’t need anyone to nurture her or teach her anything, and she doesn’t feel obliged to show continued loyalty to someone just because they seeded her into the universe. Especially not Melkor, who would be the first to say they didn’t owe each other shit for just existing.
She views Melkor as the hand that feeds, and also the hand that forgets to feed her, and sometimes denies food to her even though it promised to feed her, and also the hand that would probably taste ssSSsssooo good if it ever got accidentally stuck in a web.
As much as I’d love to have a matching pair of celestial bunnies, I actually owe most of my Arien headcanons to @othombauko, who I don’t even know if they have a tumblr anymore? ;____; They put it into my head that Arien was actually once a legit Maia of Melkor, and in fact Gothmog’s sister, but defected AWAY from his service– because hey, that shit goes both ways. She’s sort of a purified balrog, hallowed by her new employers. I liked the idea so much back in the day that I haven’t quite solidified my own unique headcanons about Arien yet… I’m not sure that the ex-balrog concept would even work with the HCs I’ve got now, but it does fit with the premise I’m working with that Melkor’s original place in the pantheon was similar to the lightbringer, so having fire-related powers as his Maia would be a logical connection. (This is DEFINITELY not a Tolkien-approved headcanon, but hey I’ve got a lot of those, and who’s counting).
Anyway, whatever I decide on, she probably won’t be a bunny. Probably. Except in my heart :’) And Tillybun’s.
This is terrifying because I do actually have to try and write/draw Manwë convincingly for my comic and he’s very intimidating to approach. >m> I’ve been lucky enough to be spoiled by a very good Manwë roleplayer whose interpretations will probably always color my own, so there’s a lot to live up to.
…BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, I will leak this super-secret found-footage blurry-cryptid photo of my Manwë design.
Now, is this just Tilda Swinton in a Bigbird costume? Who’s to say.
____
The thing about Manwë is, he’s doing his best. I really feel for the guy! He’s never been in charge of sentient life before! No one has! It’s hard and he does his best and when his best isn’t enough, things go terribly, terribly wrong and it’s his responsibility to sort it out. And he just wants everyone to be happy. He tries so hard. And people look to him for answers because he is the only one who still sometimes hears the voice of Eru, who is otherwise quiet– but they don’t understand the answers he brings back. “What do you mean, you asked God, and the answer is ‘it’s complicated’??” Yes, sorry. That’s just how it is.
But the other thing about Manwë is that it’s not difficult for him to understand the ineffable. He already grasps the simultaneity of free will and predestination, he has unshakable faith in the Theme because he saw it so much more clearly than anyone else, he trusts in the grace of the One, he loves the individual and the whole, and has no difficulty being in the world but not of it. What he has trouble with is explaining to others what is instinctual for him. If a child asks him “why is there sadness?” and he responds “because of a greater harmony that you will never witness”, it sounds patronizing, cold. But for Manwë it is a self evident truth, and knowing it does not make him less sympathetic to the plight of the living, but what else is there to say? He cannot lie. He doesn’t know how.
Manwë is not easy to relate to. He keeps himself above the world and does not partake of many earthly pleasures except the appreciation of music and natural beauty and the joy of flying. To observe the world is a great pleasure in itself; he watches and listens and loves and understands from this great distance, and he is not lonely, for Varda is as contemplative and far-seeing as he is, and they understand each other perfectly, rejoicing in each other and what they see; but he is often troubled. Manwë has faith in the design of the One, but perhaps less faith in his own completion of that design. So much goes wrong, so many suffer, as a direct result of him trying to do good. He knows he cannot see everything, that he is fallible. Every decision he makes has the potential to harm, including inaction– What can he do but try his best? and act according to what he understands of the Theme, the source of all order and life and love.
He loves his brother very much. They were born in the same thought, but they run parallel and opposite to one another; they will never meet again in understanding until one bends towards the other. Neither can bring themselves to compromise. They reach a stalemate every time they try. They come to define themselves by their opposition to the other’s temperament– but you can still see what makes them twins in the mind of Eru, if you know what to look for. They live in each other’s anger, their love, the scope of their comprehension, their deep contemplation.
Sometimes, if he does not catch himself, Manwë does question his maker, does doubt his understanding of the Theme. And sometimes, in a moment of quiet, Melkor forgets to argue with universe and finds peace in the design of things. The moments do not last, because doubt brings Manwë closer to Melkor and his rebellion, and Melkor cannot trust or forgive, because it would mean admitting to one of Manwë’s truths. They are each the missing piece to the other’s puzzle, and the picture on the box is the full scope of Eru’s design. If they could put it together, everything would make sense. But they can’t– and in a weird, ineffable way, that’s part of an even bigger puzzle that only makes sense in four dimensions.
I’m supposed to be doing a lot of things that aren’t redrawing my icon from five years ago, but today was just about the biggest bummer it could have been, and drawing Sauron’s face makes me happy, so. here y’are.
I don’t know why I ever thought my dude would need to be wearing metal pauldrons that keep him from fully raising his arms in the smithy lol
Feathered Fell Beast– R.Wesley Nipper 2018
I wanted to do a more detailed and nice looking study BUT OH BOY DO I ABSOLUTELY NOT HAVE THE TIME so instead I’m just going to drop all my visual headcanons here in one post so I don’t forget them later.
They Are As Follows:
1) SEXY MESOPOTAMIAN/MEDITERRANEAN GRIFFINS FROM THE BRONZE AGE – in keeping with my Babylonian Mordor aesthetic
2) WHAT IF the fell beasts the Nazgul ride are like the hairless-sphinx cats of the griffin world? WHAT IF THEY USED TO HAVE FEATHERS, OR SOME OF THEM STILL HAVE FEATHERS, OR MAYBE I JUST FORGOT THAT THE FELLBEASTS ARE CANONICALLY NAKED??? Who among us is to say.*
* I forgot I absolutely forgot but now I want to do the hairless skinbeast version of this picture very very badly
3) PEACOCKS.
4) but
5) BLACK LIKE HOW THAT ONE CHICKEN DO, YOU KNOW, THE ONE
This concludes my presentation thank you for coming
If anyone is interested in seeing the timelapse footage of my painting process on Tar-Miriel and Khunzildan, it is available on my Patreon along with a lot of other goodies 🙂
Commission for @sathinfection: The Priestess and Her Queen– R.Wesley Nipper
“ ’…History is unkind to women.‘ Rising to her feet, Míriel stood well over a head taller than Khunzildân.
‘Our hostess has a hedge maze—I will show you, if you would like. No one will follow us,’ Míriel said, and held out her hand. “
Tar-Míriel and the the high priestess of Melkor, Khunzildân for Sath’s fic, Not By The Hand of Man. :’) Thank you for being so patient while I worked on this!
*rubs hands together* I actually have A LOT of ideas about Eonwë!
starting with the fact that he’s a total hardass with a bone to pick
AND WHAT BETTER BONE-PICKING BIRD COULD THERE BE TO MODEL HIM ON THAN OUR FRIEND, the Bearded Vulture. ❤
My headcanons for Eonwë:
He takes his job VERY seriously.
Eonwë is ready to throw down any time, anywhere, with anyone– and is constantly disappointed by the lack of violence in his job description.
What is he supposed to do when haughty Elf Criminals mock his Master and laugh at his infinite clemency?? Just sit there and take it??!? JUST LET THEM SAY WHATEVER THEY WANT AND NOT SCOOP OUT THEIR EYEBALLS???
Manwë doesn’t order NEARLY enough smiting, so how is a lawful-good fanatic to cope? Sometimes one just has to take matters into one’s own hands if one wants to ensure that one’s master does not go around pardoning every traitorous backstabber and villain in Arda.
My theory is that there is a lot that can go on between when a message is given and when it is delivered, and there’s a reason why negotiations between the Valar and the Exiles, Sauron, and the Numenorians, seem to go so poorly. History does not spend nearly as much time considering the impart of scribes, translators, and heralds as it does kings and generals, but just think about how much power is given to a messenger.
For example, a message saying “come home and submit to a trial by your peers” can sound an awful lot like “go on punk make my day” if you say it juuuuust right.
__
No one is more loyal or uncompromising in their duties to the Valar. He is more than a herald of the Elder King, he his paladin, his standard-bearer, the word and the sword of Manwë. He has no doubt that those who stray from the path of light and the justice of the Valar will get what is coming to them, and he would love nothing more than to deliver that justice, swiftly and without mercy. But his master is too kind, too benevolent to deal out the punishment his enemies so richly deserve.
If Manwë has one flaw—and Ah! the flaw of a true king!, it is that he too noble to see the evil in men’s hearts; being so elevated in nature, the Elder King fails to see that his enemies are beyond redemption, and cannot imagine that Justice need be meted out with the sword and not only the open hand. All have seen what becomes of goodness and light when evil is given second chances…
But it is not Eonwë’s duty to judge. His master, infallible in wisdom and insight, has counseled him against violence, forbidden him to raise his hand against the unrighteous without leave from Valinor. So he finds other ways of enforcing justice. He would sooner be unmade than disobey his lord, but he might, within the margins of the law, find ways to accomplish what he knows to be in his lord’s best interests. He knows wicked men are filled with pride and fear; they need only the gentlest push to be convinced that a message of peace holds in store the promise of utter humiliation, imprisonment without end, the banishment of freedom, erasure of selfhood… It is what they would promise, afterall.
It might grieve Manwë that so few lost souls return to him— that the rebellious High King does not repent, Umaiar who strayed into his brother’s service do not seek redemption, do not fly home to await trial and forgiveness. But this grief is the lesser evil. Valinor is a holy refuge, no place for the wicked who turned their backs on Eru’s appointed powers.
When Eonwë is given leave to smite the enemies of Aman, he falls like lightning from the heavens, wearing lightning and storm as his raiment, the great clap of unseen wings driving a tempest before him. Kings are crushed beneath hills of salt, temples are split asunder, and devils fall before his wrath like withered leaves. He revels in the delivery of justice.
But more often he is sent to deliver messages concerning Fate and the will of the Valar, and this he does to the very letter, with utmost pride and not a whisper of doubt in his heart. It is a privilege to serve the lords of the West; he would have all remember it.
___
Some notes: My headcanon is that all things relating to Manwë are covered in bells, fluttering pennants, flags, things that catch the wind and glitter or sing, chimes and wind flutes and aeolian harps and so forth. Eonwë’s armor has tassels and small brass bells attached, bringing with it the holy sounds of Valmar. It bears the symbols of the stars and rays of light, as well as the stylized blossoms of Laurelin.
–I see him as being the unnamed messenger that delivers the ban to Numenor. (In my mind, the ban has a physical manifestation, a sort of glowing handprint that hovers in the air in the court as a reminder. The looming hand fades over the years, and by the time Sauron arrives it is barely visible, long forgotten. He waves away whatever is left of it with great amusement).
—Eonwë does not eat or drink. He does not want to taint himself with the matter of the world, or in doing so, become bound to it. He finds Maiar who partake of fleshly indulgences to be distasteful and borderline heretical.
—Favorite pastimes include: perching somewhere high in the Pelóri mountains to observe the flight of birds and the passage of clouds for days on end, listening to the wind, playing a simple bone flute which he is surprisingly good at, smiting the wicked, keeping a tally of Sauron’s ever growing list of Treason And Gross Indecencies so he can read the full list to him when he’s standing trial at the end of the world, keeping a separate itemized list for everything he’d like to do to Fëanor in order of most to least poetic, Thinking About Justice, meditating upon the Theme and the Harmony of Eru’s designs, whistling, singing.
Maiar of Oromë– R.Wesley Nipper 2018
My new favorite wolpertinger maia + telperion flower, and Huan The Good Boy
“Tilion was a young hunter of the company of Orome, and he had a silver bow. He was a lover of silver, and when he would rest he forsook the woods of Orome and went unto Lorien and lay adream by the pools of Este in the flickering beams of Telperion; and he begged to be given the task of tending ever the last Flower of Silver.” –The Book of Lost Tales
Anon, you had me stumped for a good long time with this one! I had no idea what I thought about Tilion, and was forced to do some research. I have to thank you for making me dig around in HOME to formulate headcanons about him, because it led me down some VERY exciting…. rabbit holes…. >w>
–Tilion is described as being wayward and flighty– he chases the stars around, keeps tailgating Arien and her Sunship, sometimes he spends too long underground, and when he gets too frisky he causes an eclipse…
I can see him scampering around, chasing shiny things, playing with stars and getting distracted, or frightened by shadows, generally having a poor sense of time, and unlike Arien– who sails through the Gates of Night and Morn and travels the Outer Dark, he dives down through the sea to the caverns and grottos beneath Arda. Burrowing, if you will.
His epithet is “the horned” (probably referring to the horns of the moon, but I like taking the literal approach), and he’s also a sleepy boy who spent most of his time in Lorien.
Let’s ask him some questions! 😀
–Tilion, why don’t you introduce yourself?:
–Nice to meet you, Tilion! Can you show us what you do as the moon steersman?
“Certainly! It’s simple: I run, and the moon follows me. If anything comes too near us, I chase it off! I’m very fierce.”
–Weren’t you supposed to be one of Oromë’s hunters? You don’t, er, look like the hunting sort…
“Hunters must have something to chase, you know! I used to be the prize of Oromë’s Wild Hunt! I have a job now looking after the moon, so I don’t do that anymore. (I think a white hart is the prize these days?)
Don’t worry, they never REALLY caught me. The Wild Hunt all for sport.
…Besides I am very fast and good at jumps and can fly.”
The stories said you had a silver bow….?
“My wings are bow shaped! It’s like a metaphor for how fast I am! But I don’t shoot anything. I don’t have thumbs and I’m a vegetarian.”
Thank you Tilion! I’m sure people will have more questions for you, so maybe you can stick around!
…Aaaaand nope, he’s already gone. What a rascal…
AUGH I had one more picture that didn’t make it into the set–
I was playing with the idea of Tilion’s fur changing color to match the phases of the moon:
“Tilion was a young hunter of the company of Orome, and he had a silver bow. He was a lover of silver, and when he would rest he forsook the woods of Orome and went unto Lorien and lay adream by the pools of Este in the flickering beams of Telperion; and he begged to be given the task of tending ever the last Flower of Silver.” –The Book of Lost Tales
Anon, you had me stumped for a good long time with this one! I had no idea what I thought about Tilion, and was forced to do some research. I have to thank you for making me dig around in HOME to formulate headcanons about him, because it led me down some VERY exciting…. rabbit holes…. >w>
–Tilion is described as being wayward and flighty– he chases the stars around, keeps tailgating Arien and her Sunship, sometimes he spends too long underground, and when he gets too frisky he causes an eclipse…
I can see him scampering around, chasing shiny things, playing with stars and getting distracted, or frightened by shadows, generally having a poor sense of time, and unlike Arien– who sails through the Gates of Night and Morn and travels the Outer Dark, he dives down through the sea to the caverns and grottos beneath Arda. Burrowing, if you will.
His epithet is “the horned” (probably referring to the horns of the moon, but I like taking the literal approach), and he’s also a sleepy boy who spent most of his time in Lorien.
Let’s ask him some questions! 😀
–Tilion, why don’t you introduce yourself?:
–Nice to meet you, Tilion! Can you show us what you do as the moon steersman?
“Certainly! It’s simple: I run, and the moon follows me. If anything comes too near us, I chase it off! I’m very fierce.”
–Weren’t you supposed to be one of Oromë’s hunters? You don’t, er, look like the hunting sort…
“Hunters must have something to chase, you know! I used to be the prize of Oromë’s Wild Hunt! I have a job now looking after the moon, so I don’t do that anymore. (I think a white hart is the prize these days?)
Don’t worry, they never REALLY caught me. The Wild Hunt all for sport.
…Besides I am very fast and good at jumps and can fly.”
The stories said you had a silver bow….?
“My wings are bow shaped! It’s like a metaphor for how fast I am! But I don’t shoot anything. I don’t have thumbs and I’m a vegetarian.”
Thank you Tilion! I’m sure people will have more questions for you, so maybe you can stick around!
–Drabble, hot off the press, probably full of typos, written in great haste. Warnings for *:･ﾟ✧~mild gore~*:･ﾟ✧ Shoutout to @thearrogantemu for lighting a goddamn fire under me with their meta post jfc
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