Tag: Correspondence Meme

heraldofmelkor: 

To my Master,
I miss you. How I have wandered, seeking places where the power still lingered in this world, gathering strength to wrap this missive in my will and cast it beyond the world.
For my powerful voice I was named — I only hope it is strong enough for this call to reach even beyond the Doors of Night.
I do not forget. I linger and wait for you. Until the end, I will wait for you.
To you in this casting-out of thought, hoping to reach you, I offer in the vessel of my will the sensations of this world, in hopes that their memory can even for a moment ease the emptiness.
I miss you. I love you. You are everything to me even now.
-Langon

A crack formed in the dry ice, silent in the Void.
For a moment, he could remember what cold felt like; standing at the top of the highest peak at precisely the altitude where blood would freeze, thin air broken by knife-whistling winds and the dark bowl of the sky spinning around him; all white, all frozen, all his.   

And for a moment after that he recalled the thaw of rock, magma dripping tar-thick into the ocean, boiling and spitting steam plumes, white hot, far above. 

What remained of him shivered, ribs filled with nothing, as the echoes of sensation rang fainter and fainter through his bones, in the dark, in the emptiness. 

He did not know for how long his servants would continue to send their parcels of feeling and thought, knowing their only reward would be a mirage of hope, and unchanging silence. 
There was nothing to mark the passage of time in the Void; he knew that ages would pass below and he would have no sense of it, and even maiar fade. 

Whenever the messages stopped coming, it would be too soon. 

{if it’s not too late, because why not} To the Bloated, Gloating, Corpse-Munching Foe of the World. Look to the red hill. Try me. Wishing you a Swift and Agonising Demise, the Lord of Dor Cuarthól.

turambar-masterofdoom:

misbehavingmaiar:

misbehavingmaiar:

“Happy am I to let you wait, ignorant and cold, with your ass in the sod, Master of Fate." 

The note, scrawled on dried skin, is delivered from the hand of a scrawny young waif with freckled skin and short-cropped hair the color of fox fur. 

"I was bidden give this to you upon a red hill, Lord Turambar. I could not refuse,” they said, with something crooked in the tilt of their mouth.

=

The youth paused, grin frozen on their face as their eyes darted to one side in thought, as if they’d never thought to answer such questions before. 

“…I come from nowhere and no one. I’m only a wild thing from the north. My name would mean little to you.” They skipped forward in the red-flowered grass, a little off kilter on one foot, as though mindful of an old injury. “As for the message, I only wanted to avoid a worse fate, and the chance to meet the Outlaw King seemed a treat to me." 

They stopped, turning on their heels, hands clasped behind them girlishly. “I imagined you… blonder, from the tales.” 

Túrin’s eyes narrowed at that answer. Suddenly, the strangeness of their guest’s looks began to amount to a deeper suspicion than he had previously thought to entertain. 

"Even if a name has no meaning, its existence is a mark of trust, if nothing else. The north is no friendly place, and anyone out of it is of no small significance for that alone.”

“Fine. Call me Raza, then.” The stranger planted themselves on the red-flowered grass and proceeded to pluck petals off their stems. 

“The Dread Helm thinks I’m of no small significance! Haha! Raza, King of the North I’ll be!" They laughed merrily, voice raspy and indeterminately pitched. "Relax, handsome Wolf. What could I do to you?” They gestured to their bony frame. 

The hungry looking creature returned to scrutinizing the tall man, lip bitten with crooked teeth. 

“What reply will you give, my lord? I will give it to some Easterling, who will give it to some orc, who will no doubt take it and bring to Dark Foe himself, and I will leave with a coin in my pocket. What will you say to him?” Raza kicked their freckled feet with unashamed eagerness. 

{if it’s not too late, because why not} To the Bloated, Gloating, Corpse-Munching Foe of the World. Look to the red hill. Try me. Wishing you a Swift and Agonising Demise, the Lord of Dor Cuarthól.

turambar-masterofdoom:

misbehavingmaiar:

misbehavingmaiar:

“Happy am I to let you wait, ignorant and cold, with your ass in the sod, Master of Fate." 

The note, scrawled on dried skin, is delivered from the hand of a scrawny young waif with freckled skin and short-cropped hair the color of fox fur. 

"I was bidden give this to you upon a red hill, Lord Turambar. I could not refuse,” they said, with something crooked in the tilt of their mouth.

=

(( //Ah yes, I see now I did I stupid thing with the calling you Turmabar/Master of Fate….XD  let’s just pretend I called you “Master of Outlaws”, and Lord of Dor Cuarthol.))

“No trouble. I thought it rather a gift, to meet the Dread Helm, so famed for the destruction of his foes…” The youth tilted their head, green eyes flicking up and down Turin’s figure with unashamed interest— what sort of interest it was was difficult to surmise. 

“Were you raised by bandits or by wild wolves? There are rumors of both. And is it true that you once chased a naked elf to his death over a cliff?” The fox-fur waif rocked upon their bare heels, grinning impishly. “What would you do to the Dark Lord, if he did come? Something gruesome, I hope… I’m sure you’re much, much mightier than High King Fingolfin was, when he went against the black foe.”  

The youth’s final comment triggered a wave of cold amusement through the lieutenants. None of those assembled had a high opinion of elves, but of all the rumours that flew concerning them and their enigmatic captain, this was by far the most entertaining to them. 

Túrin, however, remained unmoved, save a slight quirk of his upper lip. By a very generous margin, one might have called that an emaciated smile.

"I am honoured at your high opinion of me, stranger,” he said. “But I will only go far enough to say that there is truth among what you have heard of me. Specifics would do none of us any good. I think you, and whoever it is you have learned these opinions from, may guess very well my intent toward Melkor at the very least.”

A horn rang out in the hills, and Túrin fell silent for a while. When no further blasts followed, a merest flash of irritation crossed his face. The moment did not last long, though.

“What is your name? How came you to be a bearer of Melkor’s message?”

The youth paused, grin frozen on their face as their eyes darted to one side in contemplation, as though they’d never thought to answer such questions before. 

“…I come from nowhere and no one. I’m only a wild thing from the north. My name would mean little to you.” They skipped forward in the red-flowered grass, a little off kilter on one foot, as though mindful of an old injury. “As for the message, I only wanted to avoid a worse fate, and the chance to meet the Outlaw King seemed a treat to me." 

They stopped, turning on their heels, hands clasped behind them girlishly. “I imagined you… blonder, from the tales.” 

“Melkor, it has been a while. You see, my theory is that you are just very bad at being calm. So enclosed Is some herbal booze I distilled myself, some relaxing teas, and to get the last furrows out of your brows the ‘Desirer complete satisfaction bedroom pack’ in the ‘extra Sturdy’ variant. Oh, and my sister asked to enclose you some honey waffles. See ya later! PPS: Manwhe has started talking about a family visit to your place- hope to see you soon.”

“Oh, my brother… It is a shame you do not write more! You always know just what to get me! I’m sure I’ll remember to get you something in return som—((smudge of honey))—- 

That’s an interesting theory you have; certainly my twin would agree with it, though I imagine his solution would be to suggest I “meditate upon the serenity of the One” and “free myself from the tumults of the flesh”. 

I much prefer your solution. I feel calmer already! 

Ah, I salute Nienna’s baking! She has improved since I was last home; she does tend to weep into her recipes, and no one likes a salty waffle. 

Do let the twin-of-my-spirit know that there is no need to hurry on the family reunion… My dwelling in the north is certainly too cramped and cluttered to provide worthy hospitality for all my esteemed kin. Tell our family to please consider visiting some other millennium… or never.  

Yours, Ever,
The Mighty Arising “

{if it’s not too late, because why not} To the Bloated, Gloating, Corpse-Munching Foe of the World. Look to the red hill. Try me. Wishing you a Swift and Agonising Demise, the Lord of Dor Cuarthól.

“Happy am I to let you wait, ignorant and cold, with your ass in the sod, Master of Fate." 

The note, scrawled on dried skin, is delivered from the hand of a scrawny young waif with freckled skin and short-cropped hair the color of fox fur. 

"I was bidden give this to you upon a red hill, Lord Turambar. I could not refuse,” they said, with something crooked in the tilt of their mouth.

Dear Terror,

Exceptionally pleased to hear that my gifts have been delivered safely, though I’m  pained to know that you are mocked by our brethren for your taste in jewelry. Your eclecticism can hardly be commented on by our kin who choose to collect and hoard exotic pets like the Noldor. 

The ring you speak of is not to be worn on hand or foot. It is for intimate occasions. I trust you’ll figure it out. 

Clandestinely Yours
(Until Such Time As You Choose To Return To Melkor’s Service),

~Forgemaster Sauron 

To the disrespectful fiend: How dare you? Picking one of my childrens form and twisting it until it fits you well enough to choose for your own? Leave the Orcas alone and stay out of my waters! Deeply offended, Uinen

“My dear Lady of the Waters! 
I am flattered that you remember that old party trick of mine! I know it was a favorite of your husband’s… 
Rest assured, I’ll not be venturing a swim any time in the near future; I will happily leave you to your soggy domain. You cannot, however, make demands as to how I shape or use my body. And while I am firmly beached on the glacial shores of my Master’s kingdom, I choose to take this form, in honor of your most cordial missive.  

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