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Silmarillion as crazy sh*t Just joke

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i can’t believe i spent actual time of my actual life drawing this

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Of the flight of the Noldor and the duel at the brazen gate.

—— Nolofinwëan week, Day 1

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раскрасиль!

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I have a birthday today and this is my gift to myself ^^

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Sauron:  At the Beginning of Time +  At the End of Time | by efelidi

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Feanor

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Fingon the Valiant 

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Edenel by Kaprriss  https://www.deviantart.com/kaprriss (Magnificat of the Damned  Book III: Fire. 

Chapter 45: Black Crucible. 

Coldagnir’s eyes swung once more to the Elves.   The one with the white hair and eyes. There are others the same. Vanimórë followed the direction of his gaze. Yes? He is named Edenel, I believe. Leader of a clan called the Gwaith-en-Ithilvorn. Is that all thou knowest? Coldagnir’s brows flicked. Hast thou looked into his soul? Why would I? It is not a thing I would do lightly, and for no reason. Coldagnir gripped his arms with both hands as though to keep from falling. When I first saw him, he said. He had hair thine own colour, and iron-grey eyes. What? I know him. I know them. His eyes were huge, filled with flame. I do not believe it. I cannot… He was in Utumno! Utumno? Captured, tormented, fed with blood… Vanimórë imagined the man with that cloudy hair washed black, darker eyes.   What in the Hells art thou saying? I told thee that the Mouth but emulates Melkor. It took a long time for him to destroy those Elves, to destroy what they had been, to make them into the first orcs. His first fruits. But there were some… Vanimórë grappled with a frisson of ancient horror.   …Some who fought against it became…other, not orcs to look upon, but not as they had been. Melkor considered them his triumph, his White Slayers. Thou knowest he despised the orcs, his own creations, their grossness. But not his Slayers. Coldagnir’s face quivered.  Because they were beautiful. Thou didst see this? Yes. They were trained as thou wert trained. He sent them out, assassins, spies, killers, to the Elves, and then war came, the Valar descended on Utumno. And after, when we who survived came to Angband, we never saw them again. Vanimórë’s mind whirled, chasing Coldganir’s words. Sauron had said nothing, but he kept many secrets, told his son only what he needed to know, and the events Coldagnir described were long before Angband and Vanimórë’s birth. Utumno had housed Melkor and his forces for eleven thousand years, was so deep and far in the past that Angband, Melkor’s lesser fortress had cast its shadow-fire cloak over the very name. To those who kept books of lore it was only that: a name. He said, tasting old abominations: I have to look, Coldagnir. Yes. Look. Vanimórë dived through the Balrog’s bronze-metal eyes, into fire, the memories of ages, through silent, black sleep under the Orocarni, into Angband, and the dreadful pleasure of slaughter and rape, and further back yet, to a world only the most ancient of the Elves had ever walked, when the very stars made different patterns, to Utumno. Even now, made a god, Vanimórë balked at what he saw. Even knowing it was a vision of the past, he felt fear. Angband had been immense, Utumno dwarfed it, and there was a greater terror in its bones, more ancient. Melkor had come here in all his power, and the stones groaned with it. Passages and chambers curved sleekly as if Melkor’s mind had softened the rock malleable as clay to fashion his designs. The roofs were lost in heights that would have reduced a man walking here to insignificance, no more than an ant crawling on the polished floors. Veins of gold, silver, black iron and gems ground flat into floor and wall sparkled in red light. Vanimórë raced down past titan forges, pits of molten ore, to depths where even the memory of starlight was quenched.   He saw Melkor, saw his father, and the long, probing, patient work of unhuman minds. There was no malice in Sauron, only curiosity and the desire to see what he could and could not accomplish. It was he whom had advised Melkor that to kill his captives was less satisfying than to break, than to change. They took everything: light and dignity, love and care. They worked with pain, with hunger, and thirst, with lust. They delved into the will to survive, and bent it beyond mending. They broke minds and they broke limbs, plunged into the workings of bodies so unexpectedly resilient. To die of abuse or grief was alien then. They were new upon the world. They wanted to live. Vanimórë watched, time compacted into moments, as the Quendi entered Utumno in their beauty — and what they became. But not all of them. There were some whom the fires of agony and horror burned white. Their souls screamed them into another kind of purity. They crawled from the crucible of nightmare a strange alchemy of Ainu sorcery and their own indomitable will. Leached of colour, pearl-white of hair and eyes, still beautiful, they were Melkor’s White Slayers. Through Coldagnir’s memories, Vanimórë was unable to explore their minds, did not know what thoughts lay under the pain-annealed loveliness of their faces. They walked Utumno, a tight-knit clan trained to a pitch of perfection that Vanimórë realized was a prelude to his own, Ages after. Trained as thou wert trained, Coldagnir had said. It was true. There is nothing unique about me at all. He had but walked the path of these pale, changed Elves.   Melkor and my father, they sought to recreate them. In me. But by the First Age much of Melkor’s powers had been used up, never to return. He could no longer alter captured Elves, and was unable to get offspring. Hence Vanimórë, born of Sauron’s seed. Perhaps Melkor had thought his white Elves would be trusted by their kin, thereby bringing more back to Utumno so that he might experiment with precision and agony, and while many would darken, become, in time, orcish, a few would go through the fires and emerge as diamonds. Melkor sent them out, when he deemed them ready. Vanimórë’s vision, linked to Coldagnir’s could trace them only so far, as they marched away south. Thus they avoided the war that buried Utumno and shattered the North. They were lead by one whom had been born beside Cuiviénen to the Second Kindred. He was Noldo. He was Edenel.  He was more than that; he was Finwë’s twin. 

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ARIEN - Spirit of Fire

I’m proud of how she worked out ^^ The hair and the jewelry took a long while to draw and color…

please don’t use without permission

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I’ve accidentally sketched Sauron.

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a gigolas commission that I very much enjoyed drawing for Papy

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When you the fan to mock :р

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back at it again with those slavic designs. this time sauron and melkor (because I hadn’t drawn him in forever)

patreon | ko-fi

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Feanor by  abeloverdrive

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Lovely commission done for me by HeySpace. Perhaps Sauron in Numenor? (yes I love reading the Akallabeth.)

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Darkness cries too p.s. I have decided to return the blonde Mairon. He looks so more noble))