#dwarven ownership

[ladysternchen]

I know that J.K.Rowling always said her works weren’t influenced by Tolkien, but I’m sorry, I don’t buy it. Pass over Shelob/Ungloliant and Aragog. There are loads of giant spiders out there. I also think that the parallels between Gandalf/Frodo and Dumbledore/Harry both go back to something older. Ring wraiths and Dementors? Alright, ancient fear in general. Kreacher and Gollum? Coincidence, maybe. BUT I won’t get over Griphook. 

Griphook works himself up in Shell Cottage about the sword of Gryffindor belonging to the Goblins, claiming the descendants of Gryffindor having stolen it (which is funny, really, as the sword gives its allegiance to everyone worthy). Bill later explains about Goblin ownership, that they consider it rented only and want all Goblin-made things being returned to them after the original purchaser dies, or else will consider it theft.

Yeah, well, everyone knowing me knows what’s coming, right? That is almost word-perfect what the smiths of Nogrod say about the Nauglamir. That is their justification in the end for murdering, for nearly destroying a kingdom that was their ally until then.

[anneapocalypse]

I wonder if people grok the fact that Bianca Davri is in a forced marriage. Sometimes I wonder if people think Varric's offhanded comment about "the wedding she actually showed up for" means she left Varric standing at the altar, when it makes much more sense to assume that she didn't show up for her wedding with Bogdan because she and Varric tried to run away together, and then that failed and she ended up returning and marrying Bogdan under duress because the alternative was that she and the guy she actually loved would be on the run and in constant danger for the rest of their lives. It really puts that darker edge on the Dwarven Merchant's Guild and kalna culture to understand that for all her incredible accomplishments, Bianca is not a free woman, because family and clan and the Guild itself exercise ownership over her.

I don't mean this in a "you have to like her" kind of way, but it sure puts some context behind her actions and personality.

[mr-orion]

Baron

Bringer Of The End, Heart Of The Architect, Slayer Of The High King, and the Sole Dragon Of The Water Sign

A fancy way of saying he likes creation, will decide the end of the world, follows the element of balance and killed an important guy. Though maybe "Killer Of Dragons" should be added to his titles. He's got at least 1000 kills on his belt. Additionally he is one of five dragons invited to the world table that doesn't have a significant army backing him. He also owns one third of the continent. Technically just one sixth if we don't count his mates territory as part of it.

Most of his territory ownership is a direct result of the wrong dragons dishonoring Lezna and Neve. This man is unmotivated to rule unlike most dragons. He lets the mortals do that as long as he is allowed to build dams and water ways.

Additionally, Baron has come around to the humans offerings and is wowed by the mermaid temples built for the worship of Lezna and even now more recently Elliot. He is also interested in the Dwarven architectures and weapon smithing.

He loves the Fae's attempts at intimidating him. He thinks Fae traps are super entertaining, he is prone to helping humans out of their traps though. It creates a sort of one sided battle between him and Fae kind.

Elliot actually hates the Fae though, which Baron can't fathom that as they are just such a tasty snack!

[obsidiancreates]

The Second Chance Of The Third Age (Part 4)

“Right, before we head out, one thing.” Bilbo kisses Thorin as they both wake before the sun even rises. “I’ve got some letters to write, and a statement to make down at the market.”

“Indeed?”

“I’m putting Frodo and Sam’s fathers in charge of Bag End while I’m gone- hopefully it means Frodo and Sam will still grow up together, without Drogo and Primula dying and me adopting him.”

Thorin looks more than a little lost, but he nods. He gives Bilbo another kiss and Bilbo goes to his study to begin writing letters.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“AHEM!” Bilbo stands on a picnic table set out in the middle of the market, Gandalf and Thorin standing nearby and the rest of The Company (poorly) hiding nearby to watch the spectacle.

All eyes in the market turn with no small amount of shock as Bilbo Baggins, an altogether respectable if not slightly odd Hobbit, demands their attentions.

“I just wanted to announce, in case this takes quite a long time-” as he knows it will, “-that I’m going, on a very long holiday!” He gestures at Gandalf, who is still taller than him even as Bilbo stands on the table, and then he gestures at Thorin. “As you can see, Gandalf, the old friend of my family, has come by with an offer on behalf of this here very fine dwarven gentleman, and I’ll be traveling with them for the foreseeable future.”

The murmuring among the market is equal parts horrified and intrigued, and the undercurrent of it all is confusion.

“I’m announcing this because I’m leaving the care and ownership of Bag End to Hamfast Gamgee and my cousin, Drogo, while I’m away!” Bilbo looks across the market and levels a gaudily dressed and dark-haired Hobbit lass with a glare that could kill a dragon. “And if I return to hear anyone has been harassing them or kicking up a fuss about ‘proper ownership’, I’ll handle it personally.”

Lobelia, all the way across the market, returns Bilbo’s glare with one of equal venom and fire. Bilbo ignores it, and promptly hops down from the table.

The first to approach him, somewhat hesitantly, is Mr. Worrywart. “So ah, Mr. Bilbo… what brought this on, then?”

“Suppose I’m finally taking after my mother’s side,” Bilbo says, brushing off his coat. 

“Suppose you are… has it got uh, anythin’ t’ do with that there wizard?” Worrywart whispers the last part.

Bilbo leans in and whispers back, “Oh, completely. He’s cast a spell of ‘Bring Out The Tookishness’ on me.” He straightens up as Mr. Worrywart lets out a soft, half-believing laugh.

As soon as Bilbo turns to leave, Thorin and Gandalf with him, the market becomes positively abuzz with gossip. Gandalf sweeping away strange little Mr. Baggins? On an adventure with dwarves?! And look at that, why there were a dozen more hiding in the reeds by the little river! And is that dwarf there holding Mr. Baggins’s hand?! What a scandal, what an uproar, that Gandalf is quite the disturber of the peace is he not? Who’s to say Mr. Baggins will return at all!

Bilbo has a self-satisfied smile and a pep to his step as they head back up the hill to finish grabbing their belongings and get going. 

“Was tha’ worth it?” Bofur asks, glancing back at the market and all the looks still being shot the group’s way. “You’re still comin’ back, if it’s like last time.”

“Oh, I fully intend on living in Erebor with Thorin,” Bilbo says without even a shred of uncertainty. “I’ll move back only if Drogo and Primula pass on again, and with any luck it won’t happen with the destruction of The Ring so early on.”

“Why would that matter to their deaths?” Dori looks a little nervously at Bilbo.

“Gandalf told us more than once that none of it was chance- I was meant to find The Ring, and Frodo was meant to destroy it. It would only go to him if he was my heir, and he was my heir because Drogo and Primula died and I took the boy in. Ring gone, no need for Frodo to carry it, no need for Drogo and Primula to die.” Bilbo nods to himself.

“We are meddling with fate in ways we cannot begin to comprehend, then.” Gandalf rubs his forehead.

“Unless the Valar sent us all back.”

“Which we cannot confirm!”

“We also can’t deny it.”

“Don’t waste all your riddles on our wizard,” Bofur pipes up. “You’ve still got a… whatever tha’ Gollum thing is, and a dragon to grapple with!”

Bilbo’s expression grows dark. “... He used to be a Hobbit.”

The silence that envelops The Company is a dark one, and it continues as they gather their things. None are willing to break it for a long while.

It’s as though the single statement solidifies their situation more than any said before.

He used to be a Hobbit.

Used to be. The look in Bilbo’s eyes… there’s more to be said, and terrible things flit through the minds of each member of The Company. Not just for what may happen to Bilbo, should they fail, nor for what may happen to them as individuals.

A quest to reclaim a mountain from a dragon, numbering just 15 at the best of times, was already foolhardy enough. And now, their quest encompasses so much that it may as well be boiled down to ‘rid Middle-Earth of all evil entirely’ and be accurate enough to stand. And to make it happen, one within their party must carry the most foul, wicked, terrible item to ever be created…

“... Did you know,” Balin says suddenly, after a long silence that extended even to getting onto the ponies, “The dwarves were gifted Ring of Power in the bygone ages.”

Bilbo looks up at Balin. “They were?”

Balin nods. “Aye, and our kings held the last for many years. Until it vanished, with King Thrain. And do ye know how many of those Dwarf Lords served the enemy, Bilbo?”

Bilbo shakes his head.

Balin smiles, tight but true. “None. Men fell, and Elves fought, but Dwarves stayed true. Some stories do suggest the Rings were responsible for gold sickness, but never, never, did they claim our hearts to service of Sauron.”

Dwalin nods, catching onto the purpose of the story. “Aye, laddie. The hearts of Dwarves are hard to sway.”

“And our loyalties, even harder. As you know too well,” Balin says with an apologetic look. “What I mean t’ say is, you don’t need to carry the burden of that Ring alone. I know we already swore to accompany you, watch you, but if it came to it we would carry you through the terrible gates with our own hands.”

Carry him.

Frodo had spoke, many times, of Sam’s bravery on the final slopes of Mount Doom. Had sung praises, wept in grateful fits, whispered in bouts of unending guilt, of Sam picking him up and carrying him into the heart of that terrible place.

Starving, wounded, endlessly hopeful Sam. And Frodo had never stopped his emphasizing that Sam was the true reason The Ring was destroyed- and Sam had never stopped arguing that Frodo was. Back and forth they would go, Sam insisting it was Frodo who truly overcame because of just how long he was tormented and tempted, Frodo insisting it was Sam for never being tempted once and never allowing Frodo to fall to The Ring’s power. And in truth, they were both right-

Both true heroes.

The Ring is not a burden that can be carried alone- he recalls Lady Galadriel, speaking with Frodo on the boat to Valinor, of his experiences. How Frodo had whispered to her, to not let the others with them hear.

“Forgive me, Lady Galadriel… but I’m afraid you were wrong about one thing.”

“What was I wrong about, Frodo Baggins?”

“To bear a ring is not to be alone. Not as much as it may wish you to believe so.”

He remembers Frodo looking back to the shores where Sam stood then. 

Bilbo is jarred from the memories by Thorin handing something to him. Small, white, with blue thread framing the edges and a little BB stitched into the lower corner.

He laughs a wavering, tearful laugh. “My handkerchief.”

Thorin nods, a smile ghosting his lips. “You forgot it again.”

Bilbo laughs again, louder, and the rest of his dearest friends join him, soon filling the quiet Shire road with merriment.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

i keep thinking about ur stardew valley + land ownership/colonialism post and while i was thinking that too ive also been trying to think about like is there a way to make a farming sim not predicated on those? since as a game genre there is a niche of Watching Things Grow but also i know farming has been around since we first left huntergathering behind and it wasn't always about land ownership. i suppose the first step would be leaving behind the american/european idea/aesthetic of farming and finding some gameplay way of disincentivizing max yields/max profits playstyles

Okay this is an interesting ask and one I don't have all the answers to, but...

I think a game that comes much closer to simulating the actual ideals of communal land ownership is Dwarf Fortress and the way its mechanics depict dwarven society as at least communist-adjacent*. Now of course DF isn't exactly the type of game you would think of when someone mentions cozy relaxing farm games (it's, after all, a pretty crunchy simulator that can get pretty violent and gruesome when things go wrong) but you generally do a lot of the same things in it (growing crops, gathering resources, watching things grow, etc). and there are a lot of principles in it that could probably be incorporated into a Wholesome™ game.

In Dwarf Fortress there is the sense that the land you have is communally owned and managed by the entire population of your fortress. You as a player designate a list of tasks that need to be done and then available dwarves divide those tasks among themselves based on their labor preferences. And generally they don't have an economy based on wages and buying and selling products. When a dwarf makes a piece of clothing it isn't made to be sold, instead it goes on one of the clothing stockpiles, and then when a dwarf needs a new shirt they go to the clothing stockpile and grab one. The meals that are made in the kitchen go to the food stockpile, and then when one of your dwarves is hungry they go to the food stockpile and grab something to eat. And they don't have to pay for any of it because it's assumed that they're also doing the labor they can to contribute to the fort. So it works a lot less like Petty-Bourgeois Landowner Business Simulator and more similar to something like a commune.

Of course, this isn't to say that its base ideological assumptions don't share a lot of pitfalls with other farming simulator/terraforming type games. After all, it still fundamentally stems from the premise of "this plot of untouched land is here for you to do whatever you want with it" and more generally it still has a lot of themes of Civilizing Untamed Wilderness that have a lot of ideological implications which... You know, play into a bit of a colonialist mindset, but it's something you could potentially write around if, for example, your hypothetical game revolved around a community already living there or something like that.

And of course it still implies a bit of an extractivist ideology because ultimately you're still trying to Extract Resources and Maximize Efficiency but I think at least it has some mechanics that play counter to this e.g. having too many animals grazing in the same area for a long time will cause it to lose vegetation so your animals will go hungry if you don't rotate them between different pastures, fortress wealth is used as a trigger for events such as hostile invasions and megabeast attacks, etc.

Anyway, I just think the way land management is depicted in dwarf fortress avoids some of the bourgeois ideological implications of some farming games and incorporating some of the things it does right could be considered a step in the right direction.

*I say communist-adjacent bc I don't wanna fall into the trap of projecting my own politics into the game when in some aspects it just doesn't share them. I've heard several ppl claim that DF is a straight-up communist game, and while the way you play in it does share some aspects of communism, the government system of dwarves is still clearly depicted as a monarchy, and while nobles DO contribute to labor just like everybody else, the game still expects you to give them luxurious quarters, private dining rooms and offices that stand above those of other dwarves. I've had a lot of people reply to this with something along the lines of "oh but you know, when I play I just arrange 'unfortunate accidents' for all of my nobles" and like...yeah but that's not really the way you're intended to play, so saying that the game is straight-up communist because you can do that is still very much projecting your own politics onto it.

[modern-inheritance]

Trying to figure out out what smol Arya would be carrying while walking with Rhunon in the Legendary animatic.

In MIC, Arya got her doses of female role model from Rhunon (and ends up doing the braid-headband combo for her adult style because that’s how Rhunon wears her hair and would make Arya wear hers the same while she worked with her) and would spend time not playing with Faolin (who she would drag along to the forge every once in a while), doing lessons with Oromis and Glaedr or training with Brom just at the forge helping out/assisting/maintenance/learning. Rhunon would occasionally spar with her as she got older, and even let Arya sleep in the forge area or her loft in the years of her banishment before Arya and Glen took ownership of the flat.

Rhunon instilled a sense of hard work into Arya. She really pushed that magic in making can be done, but it cheapens the result. You can craft the finest weapons, armor and pieces through magic, but you won’t be connected to it. It’s Rhunon who teaches Arya how to tinker, how to understand how things work and why they do, which eventually leads to Arya helping with equipment maintenance and even working on the few remaining dwarven tanks and the masses of artillery at the Varden’s disposal. It also leads to her and eventually Glen and Faolin being sent as covert sabotage teams during full scale battles, slipping into enemy lines of artillery and disabling them by turning the mechanisms to unusable scrap.

Anyway.

I think it’s gonna be a bunch of tools on top of some iron bars or whatever. Meanwhile Rhunön’s got a hundred pound bag of charcoal over one shoulder and another tucked under her arm or something.

[thespacelizard]

An Offer of Ownership

Tags: original drow characters, D/s dynamics, teacher-student relationship, master/apprentice, discussion of marking, anal sex, restraint, porn with feelings, mutual pining, they're so oblivious it hurts, they're idiots your honour

Summary:

Ashenivir’s second attempt at graduation is drawing closer, and Rizeth finally takes a leap, offering him a mark of ownership. He then proceeds to have a complete meltdown, convinced he has ruined his relationship with his Ra’soltha, as he did once before. Like a mature adult, he avoids Ashenivir for as long as possible before his apprentice finally confronts him with an answer.

—

“You mean to tell me you have mastered High Drow, Elvish, Draconic, Gnomish, and Dwarven, yet Common eludes you?”

Ashenivir passed the unreadable book back to Rizeth, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“I never saw any use in learning it,” he protested. “It’s not as if I’m ever likely to go to the surface.”

“That as may be, you can make an effort to learn the fundamentals before you graduate.” Rizeth set the book between them on the desk, resting the tips of his fingers on the cover. “Do not try and tell me you can’t—you were fluent in High Drow after six months when you set your mind to it. You can be conversational in Common in four.”

“Yes, Master,” Ashenivir sighed.

Four months, that was all he had left at the Arcanum. It had taken until the end of the year to fully recover from his disastrous attempt at modifying a sleep spell. The relief he’d felt at being able to access the Weave again after a tenday—even if he’d been forbidden from casting anything more powerful than a cantrip—had been phenomenal. He hadn’t said a word to anybody, especially not Rizeth, but a part of him had been terrified he’d permanently damaged his connection to it. Even now, every time he reached for it, he worried it wasn’t going to be there.

Anxiety notwithstanding, he had recovered now, and had returned to his studies shortly after the new year had begun. It felt good to be back doing the thing he loved most, even if his stomach still churned every time he thought about graduating.

Read more on AO3

—

Obedience is a D/s, m/m dungeons & dragons fic series set in my homebrew drow city, featuring two wizard boys, the kinky magic they get up to, and the feelings they definitely don’t have for each other.

Read the series so far here: Obedience - thespacelizard

[ruthoakenshield]

Thorin, Fili, Emma and the Unusual Arrangement - Part 19

[Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18]

This tale is for 18+ readers only.

If smut, angst, fluff, backdoor entry, oral (m&f receiving), and threesome offend you, do NOT read below the cut!!!  

In this Alternate Universe Hobbit tale, Thorin and Company find an injured Dwarrowdam in the wild who is alone. They take her into the company and heal her, insisting that she stay with them so she stays safe. During the quest, Thorin, Fili and the Dwarrowdam find themselves in an unusual arrangement out of necessity and by the will of the Dwarven god, Mahal.  What is the unusual arrangement? Will the arrangement work out? Will the line of Durin survive the Quest and reclaim Erebor?

(I do not claim ownership of any of Tolkien’s characters, languages or places, nor do I claim ownership of Tauriel’s character.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later on, that afternoon, Thorin appears at the entrance to the cave and collapses at it with tears streaming down his face. “I am sorry, Mahal, that the sickness consumed me for as long as it did. Please forgive me and show me how to fix these wrongs I have made. I miss my One and am so very exhausted.

Now my mountain is besieged by all those from around me as well as Orcs and Trolls now wanting it to defile it as they have done with Moria. I do not have the energy to fight them any longer. Please, I need your help and wisdom.” He murmurs.

Mahal and Yavanna appear at the entrance and see he is no longer consumed with the Dragon Sickness. They see how much energy fighting it has taken out of him, and they let down the barrier. Reaching down, they help him to stand and praise him for defeating the sickness.

“Your One is here and Fili has kept her safe. I have allowed them to join, and she now carries his Heir. You may join with her now and not worry. Once you do, your spirit will renew having your One renew the bond between you.” Mahal tells Thorin.”

“Here, Thorin,” Yavanna says quietly and hands him three sets of reddish-gold Dragon’s Scale breast and back plates. Each one had the rune of it’s owner etched into the scale on the front, and it was filled with gold. The Durin family’s border ran around the edges of both the front and the back in gold. A pair of Ravens in black onyx flank the rune on the front. One on each side, facing the emblem.

“These I had Mahal make for you using 6 of the 8 scales Em claimed from Smaug’s chest. They are the ones she caressed as she charmed the Dragon and ‘tickled’ him, letting her get the opening wider for Bard to see clearly, so that he might kill the beast.” She explains.

“You and your Nephews must wear them into battle under your outer tunics or you will not survive the upcoming fight. Beware of Azog and Bolg. Keep your Nephews with you and do not separate from them nor they from you. Keep Dwalin with you three as well.” She instructs.

“These pieces of armor are enchanted, and no blade or weapon, magic or not will pierce or damage them, and they will shatter any weapon used against them. Even Em’s cold-drake claw, will not affect them now.” Mahal tells Thorin. “No magic weapon can be used against these pieces, and they retain the defensive property of Dragon’s Scales. You will be well protected on your torso and back.” Mahal explains.

Thorin collapses at their feet, head bowed. “I do not deserve such a blessing. I have caused so much heartache and pain for others.” He says.

Mahal chuckles and lifts Thorin to his feet once more. “You deserve them, Thorin, or I would not have given you them. You have done everything I have asked you to do. No matter how hard.

Go now, join with your Wife. Have Fili take his and his Brother’s Dragon Scale armor and bring them to Kili; they will need to put them on under their outer tunics. When you are done, we will help you into yours and then you will be needed to go and fight.” Mahal instructs.

Thorin sighs exhaustedly, nods and stumbles around the corner and looks for you and Fili.

The two of you see him and come running. He embraces you both and hugs you tightly. “Oh, how I have missed you both! Thank you for taking care of Em, and doing what I had asked, Fili.

Now, Mahal has a gift for you and your Brother. Take them and go help each other into them. Put them under your tunics and tell the company to prepare for battle. I will be up to join you once I finish here.” He tells his Nephew.

“You are welcome, Uncle.” He bonks foreheads with Thorin and then goes over to Mahal and Yavanna. They instruct him and show him his and his Brother’s new armor and he takes them up to help Kili into it after thanking them.

You and Thorin go over to the little ‘house’ that was prepared for you and Fili. Thorin chuckles at it and nods in approval. “I am grateful for the Company doing this for you, my Love. Thank you for putting your dagger in my boot and for the lock of hair. They were the only things that kept me from completely succumbing. I could feel the dagger in my boot each time I took a step, and I felt the hair in my hand as I clung to it, though I’m afraid I’ve lost the note somewhere during my wanderings.” He tells you as he lies you down on the feather tick, thoroughly exhausted.

Thorin undresses and helps you out of your dress. He worships your body and caresses your belly, laying gentle kisses to it.

“Mahal tells me you and Fili have joined and you now carry his Heir.” Thorin tells you when you look at him puzzled since he never paid your belly this much attention before. Your eyes open wide, and you look surprised.

He chuckles, “I take it you did not know.”

You shake your head in shock.

He grins. “Do not worry, my Love. I am happy for you. Now, may I join with you?” he purrs.

You grin and nod. He turns you onto your back, caresses you and kisses you as he prepares your body to take him. Once he feels you are ready, he delves deep into you with a loud groan of your name, clinging to you as if his life depended on it.

You groan loudly as well, your hands caressing every inch of him you could reach, as if your body was starved of him and needing to quickly have it’s fill.

Thorin groans and starts to thrust. Slowly, at first, enjoying the feeling of you surrounding him and caressing every inch of his body. Basking in your hands caressing his flesh while your walls caress his member. “OHhhhhhh Emmmmm, oooohhhhhh yesssssss! Oh, Honey, how I’ve missed this!” he rumbles, and he gazes down at you.

Leaning down, he kisses you ardently and wraps his arms around you; burying his face into your neck, and breathing your intoxicating scent. He weeps at how much he missed this intimacy and love. You feel the hot tears trickle down your neck and your fingers caress his head, comforting Thorin. He basks in its feeling, letting it fill him and renew his spirit.

You turn the two of you, so you are on top of him, and you ride him, swiveling your hips and spasmodically squeezing his member with your strong muscles. Thorin groans as you pleasure him using every little trick you remembered and trying out some new ones you learned that pleased Fili. Then you pull him to sit and the two of you rock your way to completion, knowing this was Thorin’s absolute favourite position.

“Uuuuunnnnnngggghhhh, ooooohhhh Emmmmm!” he groans as he feels his coil tighten. “Ohhh, Honey! Hold me tight, I’m close!” he whispers in your ear. You wrap yourself around him tightly with your arms and legs and let him rock at whatever pace he needs to.

Thorin is reveling in the feeling of being completely embraced by you in every sense of the word. He picks up the pace of his rocking, knowing he must be leaving soon. His hands caress every inch of you he can and soon he feels both of your coils snap at the same time and you both cry out each other’s name as you cum hard, clenching him with throbbing walls.

Thorin cums hard exploding deep inside you, filling you with his seed. His throbbing, bringing you pleasure as he slows his rocking to a languid pace as he pants against your neck. “I love you, Em. More than you will ever know.” He purrs as he finally stills with a groan.

Lifting his head, he kisses his way up from your shoulder to your ear. “I must leave now.” He murmurs, then kisses from your other shoulder up to your other ear. “Wait for us here, where I know you will be kept safe from harm.” He tells you then sits up and cups your face. “When we return, we will come and both Fili and I will make love to you together, filling you at the same time so we can all be One again.” Alright?” he asks.

You nod, teary eyed.

“Do not worry about us, my Love. Mahal has taken the scales from Smaug that you had claimed and has used them to make armor for my Nephews and I that no blade, magic or not, can damage. We will be alright.” He promises. “Remember we love you.” He purrs. You nod and rest your forehead against his, sharing breaths. “I love you, Thorin Oakenshield, destroyer of the Dragon Sickness, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King under the mountain.” You murmur to him.

Thorin’s heart swells with love and pride and he grins at the new title you have given him. He caresses your face and then turns you onto your back. “Rest now. Fili and I will return when the battle is over, and we clean up.” He tells you, then slips out of you and kisses you soundly.

You nod and watch as he cleans himself up and then re-dresses. Leaving his outer tunic, jacket and belt off until he gets the armor on. He pulls you to stand and you giggle feeling his cum dribble down your leg. He chuckles and cleans it off with his tongue and licks you clean, making you moan and nestle your fingers into his hair.

Thorin chuckles and once you’re cleaned up ‘down there’, he helps you into your dress and you both wander over to Mahal and Yavanna’s statues. “Thank you for what you’ve done.” Thorin says.

Mahal and Yavanna appear and smile. “You are both well deserving of it Thorin. Come, let’s get you into your armor.” He tells Thorin.

Thorin sighs and kisses your forehead. “Wait here in the cave for us, Uzfaku (My greatest joy).” He tells you softly and you nod. “I love you.” He whispers and follows Mahal, who helps him into the Dragon’s Scale armor.

You stand beside Yavanna with tears trickling down your cheeks. She places a hand on your back and gently rubs it, reassuringly. You feel a sense of peace enter you and it calms you and soothes your aching heart.

Once Thorin is into the armor and has re-dressed, he comes over to you. “Thank you for thinking to ask for these scales, My Love.” He tells you, again kissing your forehead and resting his against it. “Go lie down and rest now. We will join you when this is all over.” He murmurs, caressing your face.

You nod and the two of you share a passionate kiss. Then he breaks it, kisses your forehead once more and turns to head out. He stops at the entrance, looks back at you standing beside Yavanna once more and gives you a nod, you return it, and he heads out into the passage.

You cry quietly and look down at your bare feet. “Go and lie down, Em. We will be here and will keep you safe.” Yavanna says and you look up at the beautiful goddess. She points over to the entrance and you see the magic barrier rise again. “Thank you.” You say quietly and she kisses your forehead seven times, giggles and then disappears.

You hear a low chuckle and look up. “It appears my Wife has blessed you with her kisses. Be at peace, Em. Your Husband and your Consort will be safe and will return to you.” He promises.

“Thank you, Mahal for everything. I am just a nobody, not even of noble birth. I do not know why you chose me to do all this with, but I am grateful for it all.” You say quietly.

He chuckles and rests a hand to your belly. You feel his warmth enter you and he chuckles. “You will bless both your Dwarrow this first time. Fili’s Son will be born first, as it was conceived first. Then Thorin’s Daughter will be born next. Do not tell them this. I wish for it to be a surprise and a blessing to them and the Dwarrow of Erebor. These two siblings will be close like Kili and Fili are, though not as rambunctious as Kili.” He chuckles.

“They will lead the Dwarrow after you and Fili pass, your Daughter will be her Brother’s Regent as she will be like you and Dis and prove to be both a mighty warrior and a wise and gifted mediator similar to Balin, whom she will be fond of and will wrap him around her little finger the first time he sees her.

She will do the same with her Father and with Dwalin. Teach both your pebbles what your Father taught you about fighting with the Axes. Your Son and Daughter both will be Master Axe Wielders and your Father’s memory and good name will be restored.” Mahal tells you.

“Mahal, what DID my Father do that made Thror so mad?” you ask.

“When your Father guarded the treasury, he saw how it began affecting Thorin’s Grandfather. He informed Thror’s Wife and she asked him to limit Thror’s time in the Treasure room, hoping to stall the madness. Your Father tried to do as she asked and tried to limit how much time Thror spent in the treasury.

At first Thror allowed your Father to talk him into leaving and tending to his duties. But as the sickness took Thror further, it started to cast doubts into Thror’s mind and made Thror think that your Father wanted the treasure for himself.” Mahal explains.

“Had your Father not bested the King when he attacked your Father one night as he guarded the Treasury, he would’ve been exiled with you and your Amad. But because Thror still had enough sanity to realize your Father was the best Axe Wielder he had ever met, he kept him on in his service and moved him to the outer defenses, away from the treasure.

Your Father was right to do what he did. His limiting Thror’s time in the treasury helped stay the madness and didn’t allow him to succumb as quickly. Had he not done that, Thror would’ve fallen just as fast as Thorin did.” Mahal explains.

“Is THAT how Father got the gold axes that he did?!?” you exclaim.

Mahal nods and chuckles.

“When you can best the King at his own favourite weapon, you earn his weapon to show that you have bested him and his recognizing it. Thror was quite upset that he lost those gold-plated axes. He never told anyone what happened to them. When he was asked, he’d just say that he ‘lost’ them in the treasury.

Everyone assumed that they were still in the piles of gold somewhere in there, not realizing that he ‘lost’ them to one of his guards while they both were IN the treasury.” Mahal explains.

“The axes themselves were made of Mithril and then plated in gold. So, the weapon was solid and could not be permanently damaged.” Mahal explains. “That is why your Father did not use them other than for teaching you. He didn’t want everyone to know that he bested the King at his own weapon. He felt it was not a fair fight since the madness had been in control of Thror’s mind at the time, and not Thror himself.” Mahal explains.

“You were wise to keep them in covered harnesses when you wore them and that you did not bring those weapons with you. You would have lost them along the way.” Mahal tells you.

“Your friend still has them and is keeping them safe, as a memory of you, though. The Dwarrow in the Blue Mountains all think you perished since the caravan could not find you after the Orc attack. Let it be a surprise to them. When the battle is over, have Fili or Thorin send a message to Dis when they want the Dwarrow to return, and make sure he or she specifically asks for your friend to come and bring the axes you had left with her.

She is Dwalin’s One and will make him a very happy Dwarf and will join you in filling the halls with many pebbles during their marriage.” You giggle with glee at that news. “Ohhh, Dwalin’s gonna LOVE her! They’re perfect for each other!!!” you squeal.

Mahal chuckles.

“Go and rest now, Em. Remember, do not tell Thorin you carry his child until it is born. Then you may tell them that I have told you that the color of your children’s hair will always reveal who the Father is.” You nod and thank him again, then head over to your little ‘house’ and you lie down. Sleep finding you quickly.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Vassal of the King (part 11 - ending)

Frerin x OFC

Author's annotations are here!

*****

Frerin is one hundred and thirty-four years old and feels his life is closer to perfection than Mahal concedes to the lives of his children to be.

Thorin's Hall (this is the name the village has kept, even after the departure of its founder, almost fifteen years ago) lies in the heart of the Blue Mountains, a town of eight hundred Dwarves who, even if distant from their homeland, have not forgotten they belong to the noblest of the dwarven families, and to the richest kingdom in Middle-earth.

Frerin rules over those Dwarves. He is not a King, nor a prince; eight hundred subjects make a town at most, certainly not a kingdom, and he is simply an emissary of his liege lord, and rules in the name and on behalf of Thorin. He is, just like his father had foreseen, a vassal of his brother.

He likes it.

The house Frerin and his family live in is spacious and comfortable, but not much different from those of the Dwarves subjected to his authority. He has neither advisors or council, only two magistrates who he chose personally and who assist him in his duties, nor an army, rather a small group of soldiers who train with him and mainly patrol the borders of the city, stop brawls and escort merchants convoys. He wants nothing more, neither does he needs it.

His days are full and fulfilling, and not a day passes that no Dwarf in the city asks for the governor's opinion on some capital matter like the ownership of a farrow of piglets (the boar belonged to a farmer, the sow to another) or the punishment suitable for a young man who was caught in a bed other than his own, but not before he had gotten the owner pregnant. Frerin settles every dispute at the best of his ability, considering both justice and mercy, and begging the Maker, his father's spirit and his brother's example to guide his hand.

As darkness falls, once his duties for the day are fulfilled, Frerin returns to his family, and in those hours he is content with being nothing more than a husband and a father.

The Dwarves of the Blue Mountains are a practical people, fair and proud. They welcome their new governor with respect, and even more in friendship; they make him feel like one of them, and the family settles easily in their new home. Sindri quickly makes friends with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, not necessarily of the same age as him; he is now old enough to begin his education, and spends his mornings with an elderly Dwarf who teaches him how to read and write, and the rest of his days at home with his mother, or playing in the streets with the other children. The relocation from Tharak Bazan to Erebor and then to the Hall, not to mention the knowledge of being a prince, has not changed the child, and Sindri is still the kind, clever and loving son Frerin and Verdandi love more than themselves. At times, his father looks at him, and prays in his heart he will keep making his child proud, as he once hoped he would make his own father.

And Verdandi... Verdandi thrives.

Discreet, attentive, the Dwarf woman assists her husband with his duties every time she is able, entertains the spouses and the families of the (very few) visiting dignitaries and makes sure that even during his busiest days Frerin can count on an endless supply of coffee and gingerbread cookies. She takes care of the house and of all the duties that require the specific and delicate care of a woman; she stands by Frerin, she advises him, encourages him, comforts him, and her company is a source of constant strenght and peace. Verdandi might not be of noble birth, but for him, she is and has always been a Queen.

His Queen. They are close once more, much closer than in Erebor, maybe even closer than they were in Tharak Bazan, and do not need words or gestures to express how much they mean to each other. When they are alone, she keeps calling him Fjalar.

And Frerin, who was not born to be a prince and is well aware of the fact, discovers that governing eight hundred Dwarves can be difficult, and frustrating, but it is not impossible, especially when one can count on people who love him, and when he is determined to prove that Thorin made the right choice placing his trust in his brother.

On a cool summer morning, Frerin wakes early, but the other side of the bed is empty already. He gets up, dresses himself and peeks in his son's room to make sure the child is sleeping peacefully: he is. Frerin leaves Sindri to his dreams and returns to the master bedroom.

Verdandi, who was in the bath room when he woke, is waiting for him on the balcony next to the master bedroom. They share a smile, as usual without the need to utter a word, and look at the dawn rising above the Mountains. Verdandi rests her cheek on her husband's shoulder and sighs, thanking the Maker in her heart that every problem found a solution, that her husband does not need to hide anymore and, more importantly, that the three of them are still together.

Frerin circles his wife's shoulders with his arm and rests his free hand on her belly, full with the tiny and precious life growing inside. She is due in only a few days, and this time everything will be fine. For the baby, and for all of them.

Frerin is determined to make sure of it.

TAGGING @starlady66.

[thegoblinwitchqueen]

So, I have this character idea for The Hobbit.

Her name is Morwynn and was captured at 20 years old by Asog after her village was ransacked by Orcs. He kept her alive because her hair was almost white in color and he liked the way it shined at night. He refused to let her cut it in the ten years she spent with him. He marked her face with similar scars to show his ownership over her and took her as his “wife??”

She hated the orcs but she experienced Stockholm syndrome in order to survive, gaining Asogs trust by being his companion and eventually she was allowed to roam about with a small party of orcs she commanded. She committed many horrible crimes against her people in order to please Asog

Morwynn was given a warg pup early on who was sickly and expected to die. Eventually, he grew 2x the size of a normal Warg which allowed her to ride him. He was an Ash color with missing fur patches from scars and disease.

Over time, Morwynn would have memories of who who she was before her time with Asog and felt considerable guilt for what she had done. But she feared the consequences of escaping as she knew Asog would track her down and kill her for her betrayal.

but Morwynn chose to take the opportunity and leave when her band of orcs disobeyed her orders and attacked a small caravan consisting of Dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard.

She put her orcs down, killing them with her axes.

Against everyone’s wishes, Gandalf saw an opportunity for an extra set of axes on their journey to take back Erebor.

Along the way she gets very cozy with a certain Dwarven King

Anyway, I struggled with her design so much. Surprisingly, her armor was the easiest thing to design lol

I hope you enjoyed my Mary sue lol

[gobboguy]

Chapter 19: Gelbeg, Breaking Against the Spear

Within the formidable walls of Dunn Dwordrum's estate, Gelbeg and Kathur found themselves thrust into a Dwarven gladiatorial training camp, a place marked by rigorous preparation and indomitable strength. Dunn Dwordrum's estate sprawled across the rocky terrain, its grandiosity marked by brutalist architecture and imposing structures carved into the very rock of the land. The training grounds, situated within the estate's confines, featured a flat outdoor area where the gladiators honed their skills under the watchful eyes of the masters. Towering above the training grounds was the imposing home of Dunn Dwordrum, a multi-tiered structure with a balcony offering a vantage point for observing the grueling exercises below. The estate, a testament to dwarven craftsmanship and ambition, resonated with the clinks of weapons, shouts of trainers, and the occasional roar of beasts – a reflection of the harsh life endured by those bound to serve within its formidable walls.

Ushered into the estate, Dunn quickly clapped and pointed towards his two new acquisitions. From the doorways in the estate emerged a group of elderly dwarf matrons who stripped Gelbeg and Kathur of their clothes and directed them towards two standing tubs of tepid water. Stripped bare and subjected to a thorough scrubbing by Dwarven matrons, Kathur and Gelbeg were subjected to all sort of comments and criticisms from the henpecking dwarf women.

"Look at this one!" One crowed as she pointed at Gelbeg. "As green as a ripe lime! Is he sick?"

"Quiet, that's a beast you're speaking about." Another lady hushed.

"As large as bull and smells like one too." Another crinkled her nose. "The stink off this one!"

"Not like this one." Another woman batted her eyes at Kathur. "Looks like my late husband."

"You fool!" Another lady laughed. "Your late husband didn't have half the looks and twice the hunch in his back!"

After the cleansing ritual, the captives were adorned in simple canvas loincloths and sandals, casting aside their previous identities. The old slave collars, symbols of subjugation, were ceremoniously removed, replaced by gleaming metal collars bearing the unmistakable embossing of "DD," signifying Dunn Dwordrum's ownership. The clinking sound of the new collars served as a stark reminder of their altered fate.

Led through the estate, Gelbeg and Kathur entered a vast, flat outdoor area where the resounding clash of weapons and the rhythmic thuds of sparring dwarves echo through the air. Dwarven gladiators, honing their combat skills under the watchful eye of trainers, formed a formidable sight. Each dwarven warrior exhibited prowess with various weapons, from warhammers to battleaxes, in relentless pursuit of perfection. The air was charged with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of weapons clashing, creating an atmosphere of intensity and determination as Gelbeg and Kathur were introduced to their new reality – a life of combat in the Dwarven arena.

The Dwarven gladiatorial training grounds was a formidable arena of discipline and combat prowess. Gladiators, dwarf-slaves clad in similar canvas attire, engaged in relentless training exercises under the watchful eyes of stern Dwarven trainers. The cacophony of clashing weapons, grunts of exertion, and shouted commands reverberated through the air. Each gladiator diligently honed their skills with a variety of weapons – some swung warhammers with controlled precision, while others practiced swift maneuvers with battleaxes or spear thrusts.

As Gelbeg stepped onto the training grounds, the other slaves, all dwarves, regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. The gladiators were a close-knit community, and Gelbeg's imposing presence disrupted the established order. Suspicion hung in the air as they observed the newcomer's every move, sizing up the potential threat he might pose to their positions and camaraderie.

Gelbeg surveyed his surroundings, taking note of the slave dorms adjacent to the training area on the first floor. The lodgings were austere, offering little comfort to the occupants. Above them, Dunn Dwordrum's residence loomed, a testament to the stark contrast between master and slave. The towering structure casted its shadow over the entire estate, a constant reminder of the power dynamics at play. From the balcony of Dwordrum's abode, an elevated vantage point provided a prime view of the gladiators' training sessions, a spectacle to be enjoyed by the lord and his guests.

As Gelbeg prepared to undergo the grueling regimen of Dwarven gladiatorial training, the weight of his new reality pressed upon him. The training grounds, now his arena, promise both physical hardship and toil under the whip of a new "master" Gelbeg sniffed and snorted, bristling under the idea of being a slave to one so lonely as a dwarf. Gelbeg reminded himself that he had killed dozens of them and sacrificed more to his god MOG. These dwarves were nothing to be feared.

On the grand balcony overlooking the gladiatorial training grounds, Dunn Dwordrum, the master of the estate, made his appearance. His stern countenance, adorned with a meticulously groomed beard, surveyed the arena with an air of authority.

"My warriors of Gob." He clapped and laughed to see his slaves hard at work. "Today is a day to be marked in your memories." Dunn took up a glass of dwarvish brandy and held it up. "As you can see, I've purchased quite a beast for you to train with."

Gelbeg goggled at this. He wasn't just a slave to Dunn. He was a beast, an animal for his slaves to train. Like the Orc's past time of bear wrestling and bear baiting, Gelbeg was meant to test the mettle of these dwarvish gladiators. He snarled and stared up at Dunn and raised a middle finger which sent a shout of astonishment throughout the dwarves around him.

"I see the beast can at least understand speech, dear husband." A cool voice called out from beside him. From a covered chaise lounge rose a dwarf women whose regal presence emanated from beneath an ornate purple robe detailed with flowing golden vines. Piercing blues stared out above a thin and cruel nose and a small brutish mouth. Her long red hair, meticulously braided and secured in a knot beneath her chin, added to her dignified aura.

The dwarf lady observed the slaves with an imperious gaze, her haughty demeanor casting a shadow over the training grounds. With a voice that carried authority, she said: "It seems that the greenskin has yet to learn his station in life dear husband. Perhaps you should teach him proper manners for one of his station." The sentiment, laced with a hint of condescension, reverberated through the air, acknowledging the grim fate that was now theirs.

Dunn, the orchestrator of this brutal spectacle, took center stage as he directed the attention of Gelbeg and Kathur towards their imminent training. With a grand gesture, he pointed towards the back of the training grounds and addressed a Dwarf called "Spear."

"Perhaps my lady wife is correct." Dunn said sternly, "If so, then I have the perfect tutor for you greenskin. Behold, champion of the Arena and the Doom of the City of Gnok."

This scarred and greyed dwarf, standing as a monument to the rigors of the arena, coiled a whip with a nasty sneer playing across his face. His face was a mass of healed scars, with one so egregious that it pulled one side of his mouth up into a constant smirk. The ominous weapon in his hands bespoke a cruel expertise honed through years of commanding slaves. He cracked it once, and all the slaves around him flinched instinctively. It was clear that he had experience with the whip and was more than willing to use it.

As Spear approached Gelbeg and Kathur, the air tensified with the weight of impending discipline. The crack of the whip sliced through the ambient sounds, echoing the harsh reality that awaited the newcomers.

Amidst the oppressive air of the training grounds, Gelbeg's grumbling voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade. "I won't submit myself to such disgrace," he declared, his words etched with defiance. "I am no slave." He said, his posture defiant with his hands in his hip. The notion of being reduced to a mere slave, shackled and subjected to the whims of dwarven masters, churned his stomach with a bitter resentment.

Kathur, perhaps more seasoned in the ways of survival, offered a cautious warning. "I recognize Spear from the Grand Arena in Gob," he muttered, his eyes narrowing with a mix of wariness and dread. A veteran of the cruel spectacle, Spear was known for his brutality and a formidable reputation that preceded him. Kathur began to back away slowly with his hands raised.

Spear spat at first in dwarvish and then again in English: "Kneel slaves and show the Lord and Lady the proper respect!" He punctuated the command with a mean crack of his whip. The command echoed through the training grounds, leaving no room for insubordination. Kathur, opting for the path of practical wisdom, bent a knee with a grumble of submission. His gaze flicked toward Gelbeg, a silent plea for solidarity, yet Gelbeg's stance remained unyielding.

"I said kneel Greenskin." Spear's eyes with glittering and dangerous. "Kneel or know the sting of my whip."

Crossing his arms in a defiant posture, Gelbeg faced Spear with an unwavering resolve. "I am an Orc," he declared, his voice resonating through the arena. "And Orcs do not kneel." The notion of bending the knee was foreign to Gelbeg, a symbol of submission incompatible with his orcish pride.

In response Spear's smile twisted into a malicious grin, revealing a mouth marred by a constellation of broken teeth. With a sinister confidence, he addressed Gelbeg, his voice laden with a cruel certainty. "If you think to intimidate me with your size, then you are sorely wrong slave. Your size matters not, greenskin. Submit whether you wish it or not." Gelbeg, unyielding in his orcish pride, snarled in response, readying himself for the impending clash. He bent over in a wrestler's stance, his arms up and his tusks bared.

As Gelbeg readied himself, Spear's laughter rang out, a mocking accompaniment to the impending struggle. Spear, with a mastery over his whip, coiled it around his arm, waving Gelbeg onward. The Orc charged, muscles taut and determination etched across his face. However, Spear, swift and calculating, sidestepped Gelbeg's assault, using the orc's momentum against him.

In a deft maneuver, Spear flipped Gelbeg over, sending him crashing to the ground on his back. The impact left Gelbeg gasping for breath, vulnerable. Uncoiling his whip with lightning speed, Spear delivered a sharp crack across Gelbeg's stomach, drawing a line of blood. Despite the pain, Gelbeg snarled, flipping over and charging again on a fours like a charging bull, a relentless force.

However, Spear, seemingly one with the ebb and flow of the battle, expertly redirected Gelbeg each time. The whip cracked against the Orc's face and body, leaving him a gasping and bloody wreck. Again and again it happened; Gelbeg would charge and Spear would redirect the force of his charge and then respond with a crack of his whip.

After many moments of the same call and response, it became clear that Gelbeg would never win. It was only a matter of time before Gelbeg was bloody and gasping mass on the sand.

"D-Damn you..." Gelbeg called out between gasps for air. "Damn you!"

High above on the balcony, Dunn's applause echoed with a twisted satisfaction, the sound of a master reveling in the torment of his captives. "Bravo! Bravo!" Dunn called out to his slaves. "A good show! Spear, you haven't lost a bit of the old edge have you old boy!"

Spear, graciously bowed to his master and grinned. Dunn looked down at the bloody result of Gelbeg and smiled graciously. "And you greenskin." He said. "I knew there was a fire in you. The lesson you just learned will perhaps be a means to stoke it. With a bit of training then perhaps we can focus that impetuous spirit towards more productive means."

His lady wife, Doramafi, displayed a cool detachment said: "Spear, my Lord Husband's toys should not be treated so rough. Do be mindful of our family's investment."

Spear, maintaining his air of dominance, planted a foot on Gelbeg's head, a stark symbol of submission. With a whip crack against Gelbeg's back, he asserted the hierarchy. "Perhaps now you'll learn your station greenskin." Spear smiled a broken smile. "Now the lady reminds me that you're worth a lot of money and I won't have my lady's property look so...broken..." He laughed and coiled his whip around his arm. He turned towards Kathur and pointed. "You!" He yelled. "Take this one into the dorms and clean him up properly."

Kathur nodded and ran up to grab Gelbeg, a difficult task. Gelbeg was twice the dwarf's size and was slick with blood. Gelbeg tried to stand but was barely able to hold himself and it took much effort for him and Kathur to enter the dorms.

Inside the slave dorms, a large room revealed a wide, steaming pool intended for the cleansing of slaves. The air was heavy with the warmth and humidity, the atmosphere one of servitude and resignation. Kathur, with a glum determination, began the task of washing Gelbeg free from the stains of battle. Each splash of water echoed with a somber rhythm, a stark contrast to the brutality experienced just moments ago.

"Why'd you have to go and do something like that?" Kathur said grimly as he applied a salve to Gelbeg's wounds.

Gelbeg oinked angrily and said: "I'm an Orc. No Orc has ever submitted to another as a slave. But now...now I am the first."

"Orcs huh?" Kathur shrugged. "Never heard of them. There a lot of you?"

"I am...." Gelbeg began to speak but stopped. It was almost too painful to speak. "I am the last..."

"Oh." Kathur said awkwardly. "That's tough."

From there Kathur tended to Gelbeg's wounds in silence. Meanwhile, the Orc, resolute and silently defiant, felt the cleansing water wash away the blood, but not the burning desire for freedom. Gelbeg, his eyes glinting with the spark of rebellion, made an unspoken pledge to himself within the confines of the slave dorms – a vow to break the chains of servitude and reclaim the autonomy that had been violently stripped away.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: The Toolmakers

As the working of mortal hearts are flawed so to are the workings of mortal magics. Only the gifts of the gods are perfect, as only their work is to be trusted with this power.

Setup: Followers of the Austerian Creed adhere to the teachings of the Dwarven Philosopher Folgis, who claimed that (among other things) mortals were ill suited to practice magic, and that such wonders should be left purely to the preview of the gods.  While the philosopher received little credit in his life, his sect exploded in popularity after a series of disastrous wars exposed the horrors of battle magic, making the populace fearful of mages of all kinds.

Some two centuries since that war's ending, the Austerians have solidified into a dominant ideology spread over several kingdoms, always ready to point the finger when things invariably devolve into magical nonsense.

 A most curious quirk of their ideology that has allowed their survival where several other anti-magic faiths have died out:   Austerians have no problem with sorcery itself, provided that they're not the ones doing it, opening the door for the employment/ownership of magical objects/creatures in lieu of the development of their own magical talents. 

Adventure Hooks:

The Austerians consider themselves patrons of the crafts, as one of the few acts of divine magic the faith allows (not that they see it as that) is the bestowing of masterfully made objects with magical powers through the invocation of prayer to gods. This gives them an in with traditional craftspeople who often sidelined when markets get flooded with enchanted amenities, who in turn use their pull with clients to push for Austerian politicians and civic leaders. The party gets caught up one of these political actions when pressure is put on one of their favorite magic shops before a local election. If the party don’t get involved, their proprietor friend might be run out of town, but doing so will require them to get into local politics and undermine public opinion of the ostensibly benevolent Austerians. 

The Binding of magical creatures is yet another way the faithful circumvent their taboo, whether by inviting the propagation of house-spirits, or by paying hunters to capture magical creatures to act as magical appliances. This cruelty extends all the way up to the enslavement of Djinn, one of whom comes to the party for aid, seeking to escape the service of an influential nobleman to whom she’s become indentured. Freeing the spirit could have unforeseen consequences, both because they will make an enemy of a powerful figure, and because a freed djinn could wreak untold chaos if it wanted to. Regardless, it’s a great excuse to sneak into a rich guy’s house and burgle the place while looking for the object the djinn is bound to. 

The defeat of a wicked arcanist by the party brings with it a wave of anti-magical sentiment through the surrounding lands, opening the door for a Austerian preacher to sink his roots into the innumerable sorrows caused by the villain over the years. Beneficent on the surface, this preacher and his growing congregation host monthly bonfires where the defeated villain is burned in effigy and folk are invited to toss anything magical onto the fire. The local temples are concerned, both because people are being goaded into destroying things of actual use, and because they suspect it won’t be long before those straw stuffed effigies are replaced with actual people before too long. The party must now leverage their reputation as heroes to oust this invasive ideology, despite how charming and amenable the Austerian preacher might seem to be. 

[supreme-leader-stoat]

wait are you saying ring of power is trash because of the diverse cast or bc its Amazon? bc apparently a lot of critics are being racist af about the casting than anything else

Because it's Amazon (especially given that earlier Amazon was using their ownership of IMDb to scrub any negative reviews regardless of validity or content), the creators have made pretty abundantly clear their disregard for the source material ("Can we come up with the novel Tolkien never wrote," "But that was then, this is now and we’re telling the story now"), poor treatment of stunt specialists, really bad props and costuming (the elves especially), throwing out established characterization and timelines, dwarven women not having beards (yeah yeah it's a bit of a silly thing to gripe about, but we Tolkien fans are nothing if not devoted to detail), just the general vibe of trying to turn this into the next Game of Thrones instead of letting it be its own thing, etc., etc., the list goes on.

I'm not 100% happy with the casting, but that's probably the most minor and ultimately inconsequential of my criticisms, more rooted in a love of source material accuracy than anything else. If we were talking about a fantasy story in a setting rooted in African mythology, I think it'd make sense to want Black actors to portray it. If we were looking at something like The Stormlight Archive being adapted, I'd probably want most of the major actors to be Polynesian and/or Arabic, since that's how the Alethi are described as looking. This is a setting inspired by European mythology, so for accuracy's sake it makes sense to me to cast actors of European descent. If I thought the show was actually making an earnest effort as an adaptation in other regards, it's a divergence I'd happily roll with, but taken with everything else it just comes off as one more instance of not caring about the source material except as a vehicle to promote what should have been a wholly original story to begin with.

[outofangband]

Do you have ideas about thargelion? I saw on your master list that it was a WIP. I personally love Caranthir and think his character is really interesting, so I’d love to hear your thoughts on him and his kingdom! General head cannons are welcome, but if you’d like I’ve always thought that the inner workings of specific kingdoms are interesting.

Yes! As you mentioned I’m still working on an s ecology piece but here’s some environmental thoughts and world building

I hope this is ok, anon! I love world building like this so as always please feel free to ask more!

Thargelion is a region in Northeastern Beleriand, North Ossiriand. It is bordered by the river Gelion on its Western and Northern sides and the Blue Mountains on the East.

For a time prior to Dagor Bragollach it was under the rule of Caranthir who established a prosperous trading system with the dwarves of the Blue Mountains

Thargelion world building:

Note: any discussion of handling of land or resource claims and ownership is not necessarily a moral condoning by me.

Like Ossiriand, the climate is mild with easier winters than Maglor’s Gap and the March. The climate is cooler than Ossiriand however. Snowfall is highest in the mountains and around their base including around Lake Helevorn.

The landscape and topography is fairly flat West of the Mountains with hills and valleys in the lowland zones.

Thargelion is likely a steppe with montane and subalpine forests of both coniferous and deciduous trees though with a higher percentage of conifers. There are smaller forested areas of primarily deciduous trees by the river, especially along the Northern and Western borders.

The population is mostly Noldor who followed Fëanor with a small group of Sindar later joining them though never officially swearing allegiance to Caranthir. Thargelion is one of the only Fëanorian realms with little to no members of the Nolofinwëan host. It also has a fairly low percentage of non Noldor.

There is however a population of dwarves originally from the Ered Luin who make permanent homes in Thargelion prior to Dagor Bragollach. A larger population live there during parts of the year.

Much of the politics is related to economics and trade, at least during the watchful peace. Diplomacy and translation naturally fall into this too. Caranthir offered a stipend to a few in his host to devote themselves for a time to learning the language of the Ered Luin dwarves

Sarn Athrod was a stony ford in the river Gelion that was part of one of the larger dwarven trade routes. Those who passed it paid toll to Caranthir which also allowed them more access to resources in the region. There was some conflict about toll prices but as the custom itself was not infrequently practiced by the dwarves there wasn’t much offense taken in principle once borders were sorted out

The dwarves give Caranthir (in exchange for other items) a pack of four mountain goats trained in carrying packs along the often steep paths. From these a herd is started, living at the base of the Ered Luin just East of the small forested area near the river Ascar.

Caranthir dislikes the idea of a large royal court but he does have a small group of advisers who handle claims to resources (minerals, ores, and fishing primarily) with the aid of the Dwarves of the Ered Luin who are more knowledgeable about the region. Caranthir has no interest in preventing them from accessing the resources in the mountains or land that falls under his domain

Likewise he has several generals who report directly to him. Unlike Maedhros he allows the generals to oversee the scouts and soldiers living and serving in Thargelion and during the Watchful Peace rarely takes part in offensive military strategy. He hears reports perhaps biweekly unless something immediate needs his attention.

He has two elves handling correspondence with the rest of the Finwëans. They report to him the essentials and news of the brothers he wants to hear about at the moment.

Caranthir frequently holds inventory of resources throughout the land to review and examine trade benefits and costs.

A ferry system is implemented at several spots on the river Gelion. Due to conflict with the Green Elves, the same system was never formally established on the Southern border on the river Ascar.

As always please feel free to ask more!!

[bluewren]

Hey Wren, welcome to DWC! For Taliesen Lavellan x Sera, how about an "'I love you' kiss" from the Dragon Age Inspired prompts? Bonus if the scene involves Taliesen tinkering on something in the Undercroft with Sera and Dagna, because I think that's adorable. Happy writing!

Thanks for the prompt, Niri!! I always love my Undercroft Fun Team.

@dadrunkwriting

Rated: G

Taliesen, Sera, and Dagna. Tinkering Fun Times.

-----

The evening for the three denizens of the Undercroft is spent constructing away at their contraptions and creations, the torchlight of their personal haven burns away the stillness and shadows casted on the Frostback Mountains.

The boredom plaguing the three tinkerers melts away as their night is spent on with the sounds of hammers clashing with metal.

One person is of suspicion tonight. Sera leans over the her Buckles, stroking her chin and examining the new goggles given to the tinkerer. “Something’s not quite right with them.”

“What do you mean?” Tali asks, perking up a curious blink with fingers wrapping around the lenses of her eye protection.

A finger shifts away a bundle of hair from the covering Tinkerer’s googles, two pitch down around the lenses for Sera to examine closer. “They’re too big for you. Wasn’t what I thought when I got them. Innit like two big circles around your eyes?”

“I think they’re cute gift.” Tali pulls the over her eyes. The two lenses magnified her big elven eyes, even bigger. She proudly states, “the goggles aren’t in my peripheral vision.”

The bold ownership, Tali had over the goggles causes Sera to giggle, a little. “That’s good and all, but ain’t the size getting in the way of your work?”

One side of the goggles slowly sag down Tali’s nose, a lopsided smile forms when it happens. She shrugs, “I still like them, they’re a present. They’re sort of becoming my good luck charm.”

“Not much of a charm if they don’t sit right, you sure you’re alright with that?”

“Could be worse things to happen.”

“No, Sera’s right about those things.” Dagna comes around to chime in. Lifting the goggles back up, “it’s cute and all but super impractical to have.”

One more shrug pops out of Tali's shoulders. "Don't have any other pairs with me, so I'll replace them now next time we're here."

The Dwarven arcanist sighs, patting her friend’s head in a patronizing manner. “Just make sure to extra careful.”

With a nod, Taliesen began pacing about the workshop. Pieces go flying as the tinkering gremlins rush to gather their materials for another haphazardly placed together project.

Slowly placing them together, metal and lyrium melt and meld together until a rune sufficient to their liking is made ready for their fun, fixing goggles as they go about their taskes.

Clanking of a hammers clashing with sizzling steel chimes in the basement, giving life to a rhythmic concert of moving hands and busy minds as work is on its way to iterating one of their life imitating machines.

One that they plan on improving from rocks into metal framed legs and arms.

“If we wrap the lyrium strands at around the where the appendages meet, we could get the arms to move a bit faster.” Taliesen’s finger presses on her lips, eying the pulley arms.

Dagna stands over their work, her wrench locking their rune in place. “Careful when slot it in, the runes have a few strange jagged ends.”

Tali’s goggles slope down her nose again, cause a grumble to escape. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. We aren’t exploding anything this time.”

“Told you that’ll happen.” Sera giggles at the annoyance of her lover.

“What’s the worse thing that could possibly happen?” The busy body elf pulls her tweezers away for one moment. “We’ve had-“

A surprised gasp and ‘eep’ leaves Tali’s mouth as the elf is flicked onto the ground of the workshop by sudden twitching of the arm. It was by luck that her landing is cushioned by the bosom of her lover, leaving her embarrassed and warmly embraced.

“Told ya something could happen.” Sera snorts, balancing herself with the weight of another wrapped around her. She peals the goggles away from the one eye it still covers. “You were the one carving the rune. Can’t believe you didn’t see it coming.”

“Not one more word.” The flushed Tali mumbles into Sera’s dress.

“I love you still.” Sera cheekily raises Tali back to her feet to peck a kiss on the dizzied elf’s lips.

“You two can call it quits early. I’ll clean up the mess.” Dagna slowly shakes as she approaches their accident sign.

Days without incident: Zero.

[jeffreystewart]

Norsery Rhymes from A to Z Happy Thorsday - Eitri, Blacksmith of Poison Smoke and Sparks

Well here we are another Thor’s Day and another 20 min sketch of a Norse (and Germanic) mythological characters.  This week it’s Eitri / Sindri the Dwarven (Dverg / Dvergr / Dwarf).

Known as a ‘Great Blacksmith’, 'the one who forms’, ‘He Who Causes Sparks”, ‘The Spark Maker’. His name Eitri literally means 'The Poisonous One’, likely from the smoke of the forge, and ‘Spark’ from Sindri / Sindre. Also an allusion to the blacksmith creating sparks as they work.

Brother of Brokkr. Brokkr and Eitrri were renown as smiths and craftsmen. He is critical in co-creating three of the most recognizable magic items of Asgard.

While either visiting Asgard, or in their home amongst the Dwarves. Loki bragged that the Sons of Ivaldi were the finest, most creative, and most skilled blacksmiths amongst the Dwarves and all other Dwarves were incapable of making anything as spectacular and useful as they had. Loki obviously trying to provoke the other craftsmen present.

The Sons of Ivaldi were very skilled however, having made Odin’s magic Spear Gungnir (The Swaying One), Freyr’s ship Skidbladnir / Skithabthnir 'the ship assembled from thin pieces of wood’ that could magically fold up and be placed in a small pocket until needed. Considered the best, fastest and largest ship all at the same time. They also made something for Loki after Thor threatened him to make up for a prank where he sheared off Sif’s possibly magic golden hair. This prank led Loki to require a replacement for it, leading to the creation of a golden headpiece with gold hair for Sif.

Brokkr hearing Loki’s boasting challenging claims he and his brother can make things equal or better than the Sons of Ivaldi. Betting his head against Loki’s on the outcome.

Loki takes them up on the bet and The Brothers go to their magic forge to make items of beauty and power. Brokkr blowing the bellow continuously as needed and Eitri forming the items one by one. Loki never content on a fair contest turns himself into a biting Gadfly to bite Brokkr as he blows, trying to interrupt the bellows. First on the hand while the mechanical riding Boar Gullinbursti 'Golden Mane’ or 'Golden Bristles’ Freyr is made. That could run in air and water, see in the dark, and provide light from it’s mane. Then Loki bit Brokkr on the neck while the arm band Draupnir 'the Dripper’ was made for Odin. Which drips copies of itself every ninth night. Then on the eyelid while the hammer Mjolnir 'The Grindstone’ or 'The Crusher’ was made for Thor. The divine thunder and lightning weapon, that could banish chaos, never fail, never break, and if thrown would never miss and always fly back to him. While the first two bites did not cause Brokkr to falter, the third caused blood to go into his eye and a small gasp which cooled the bellows, causing the handle on Mjolnir to be shorter than a normal hammer.

When the items were presented to the gods and the time of judgment was at hand, they claimed them to be as equal or even more impressive than what the Sons of Ivaldi had accomplished. This may have just been a way to see Loki’s head separated from his body for them given all the trouble he’d caused. Loki first runs away, but Thor returns him to the proceedings. Loki then claimed that as his neck was never part of the deal, Brokkr would need to separate his head without touching his neck, a feat unattainable. For this Brokkr still claiming ownership of Loki’s head regardless of if it was attached to the body or not, used his brother Eitri’s magic Awl and the thong of fabric Vartari and sowed Loki’s lips shut, until the thread came free on it’s own to keep him from causing more chaos.

In the Thorsteins saga, to ask for advise defeating the invincible viking Otunfaxe / Otun Faxe, during his adventures, Thorstein is advised to travel to meet Sindri / Sindre on the Smaller Isle of Brenner where Sindri lives with his family in a stone home, or a home that’s a stone. There he finds Sindri’s children are seemingly playing by a stream, but on closer inspection they seemed to be more searching the stream. The boy introduced himself as Herraud and the girl as Herrid. Herrid was worried her father would be angry that she’d lost a ring he’d made for her. They were searching for it without success. Thorstein gave Herrid his own gold ring so that she would not get in trouble. Asking that when she show her father the ring that if he’s happy with the gift that he joins Thorstein by the stream so they could talk, and get some advise from him. Herrid told Thorstein that her father can’t deny anything to her Brother and that her father would be more likely to come if Herraud asked as well. So Thorstein gave Herraud his silver belt and belt and fine ornamented knife, and Herraud agreed to help convince his father to come.

After a long while, the brother and sister returned with their father Eitri / Sindri / Sindre who greeted Thorstein warmly. They talked of Otun Faxe and Sindri advised that through some magic, nothing could injure him, so Thorstein would be best served to take his men and boats and run. But if he is intent of trying he will help him with what he has. For his kindness to his children Sindri and his children give Thorstein first Herrid’s small belt dirk dagger that was likely family made, that if used skillfully can pierce Otunfaxe. Herruad didn’t have anything power enough so suggested that Sindri enchant Thorstein the ability to call on their family Disir, their female guardian spirits that will always follow and assist him.

Sindri would meet up with Thorstein on the bright night assault on Otunfaxe, shooting his own arrows, and dropping every one of Otunfaxe’s men that he launched an arrow at.

Once Thorstein and Otunfaxe finally come to individual battle swimming in the sea, both wrestling their way to the bottom, Otunfaxe was far stronger, and invulnerable, and was about to bite out Thorsteins throat, when briefly above the water, Thorstein called on Sindre’s protection. Otunfaxe seemed to be griped by invisible hands all around him. Being dragged down to the bottom again. Thorstein being held by Faxe and tiring, was able to reach Herrid’s belt knife, and plunge it into Otun and then slash him several times, defeating him, and freeing himself.

Once healed Thorstein visited Sindre on his isle, giving him many gifts and praise. Now lifelong friends.

Later on when Thorstein was captured, he called on Sindri again. This time, Sindri’s Disir put the men holding him to sleep. Sindri, or some casting of him eventually coming along while the men were still asleep to free Thorstein. Sindri Disappearing once complete.

Eitri / Sindri would go on to have many descendants. Some of whom will create a hall of gold located in ‘the fields of the new moon’ Niðavellir / Nidavellir in the land of the Dwarves. That will be a place for the souls of the virtuous to live after the events of Ragnaraok.

Reusing my joke for Brokkr:

Brokkr and Eitri having made many things, had many adventures, and had done the incredible by shutting Loki up, likely retire as there was nothing left to achieve in life.