#hravanis

[vandacarnelme]

A little screenshot diary of Hravanis' trip from the Blackroot Vale, through Anfalas and Pinnath Gelin all the way to Umbar, it really is so beautiful

[lesbiansforboromir]

What are your ocs's names meaning? Did you use Parf Edhellen?

You would think the mention of the tolkien linguistic website would narrow down which ocs anon is talking about but there are still so many of them from just lotro.

If you meant Sataro and Vekna then they're from my DM's own homebrew world... however admittedly they are kind of the 'au' version of some 😂 tolkien ocs. Satarŏ is actually an amalgamation from the partially conlanged primitive elvish, as in the pre-quenya language of the elves at Cuivienen, that vaguely means steadfast/trustworthy/loyal, and morphed into Sarte (quenya) later. In the character's original tolkien canon it was more of an epessë that she became known as in her early life, but Sarte was the name she carried forward into Valinor and the first age. I did not use parf edhellen, although it's a good site, I use Eldamo mostly since it's just a blank searchable database for all the efforts of the tolkien conlanging community and is the one most readily updated.

If you meant to ask for the meanings to ALL my OC's names, as in all of Sarte's (known as Hravanis by most by the third age) names AND all the names of my other tolkien oc's, let me know but that'll be a very long answer lmao

[lesbiansandboromir]

It’s nearly two years to the day that I drew the first party portrait for our DnD campaign and since then a lot’s happened to the gang! Amory got slobbered on by a tentacle monster and acquired a snake, we rediscovered the origin of the dwarves, two party members left and two new ones joined, and Sataro discovered her giant wife frozen in time! And much more!! I want to be clear that the majority of the party are not short, it is just that Sataro and Vekna are 7′7 and 8′1 respectively.

[handprintsofblood]

Sheared Rock and Dancing Ember - Of Coruhuron and Hravanis

Over the last season, Coruhuron had submerged himself in the softness of Imladris. The most powerful thing about being in Imladris to him was to see his kindred again. He took a keen observation of those he admired, those he was indifferent to, and even those he disliked. Each quality of the individual seemed in itself a work of art, and here he was during these months, Coruhuron the admirer. The appreciator. The Still. Mornaewen’s sorrow, the shadow of her smile and the haunt of her songs. Faelial - her afflictions and follies, how shelter had harmed her spirit in more ways than one despite her youth. Illuvarion and his wry humour - so set into ancient ways, that even with the light and more pervasive darkness about the ellon, it seemed natural, belonging.  Aecthel and how fae-like she was, youthful whimsy and spry reactivity. There was ever a clumsiness about her that went hand in hand with grace, like a newborn fawn. Dulingurel and her pristine sophistication, hollow words woven into extraordinarily colourful tapestries while managing to mean nothing at all. Hravanis, then. Hravanis, a harsh texture to her spirit, and an ugliness about her. Not a slovenly or revolting thing, but much as a rock-slide is ugly. Ugly, heavy and devastating, deliberate. Inevitable - without wasting a shred of energy on lightness or artful grace. Yet there was a grace, also, to inevitability. Hravanis did possess a beauty, in his eyes. For all the wrath he might feel - dark embers spat from an inferno within him, biding their time for what she had done - Coruhuron felt drawn to Úveluie with a strange and poignant appreciation. Compelling was she. One of such ancient, shuddering change and wont should by all rights, be compelling; and if she were the ugly land-slide shifting the rock and re-shaping foundations beneath her feet in thunderous wrath, he was the wildfire. Even nigh burnt to embers, as he felt during those peaceful months, the flares were volatile, flame-ready and equally as ferocious, perhaps to greater writhing passion than Úveluie had left, her motion of spirit more a force like a boot slamming down in simplicity, when she should otherwise be still. The inferno was faster to change, faster to react and to change course - for he was “Huron” after all, swift to action - and Fire leapt ever to the same without leash or inhibition. Yet unlike the rock-slide which took the mere skip of a pebble cast the wrong way to cleave mountains, Fire was as still as breath from a corpse, without a great jarring spark to ignite it. And what a terrible grace it then became, anything but ugly, to one who had an eye for the light and the awe that preceded the wake of it. Writhing, dancing. Inevitable. It was far easier to consider himself, when in the context of considering Hravanis. Something he did more oft than would be considered usual or appropriate by most, if they knew, especially given his conflicting fascination and hatred for her. He was certainly no First Elf, and a rare - almost mythical, debatable and striking creature was Hravanis for being so. But he was ancient bred - of the Noldor, an extreme rare, eerie sight in Middle Earth, now. Over seven feet tall, pride and splendour of the Eldar of the First Age and formidable, with an air about him of lightning finesse and strength fitting to a master warrior of old. Corded musculature and signless movements befitted the silent dance of a honed predator.  Though this intimidating stature, he knew well enough to keep low-key, mitigated in Imladris. Shifts of body language, ways he would angle or hold himself to make that height less noticeable. A lineage he had no desire to draw attention to, his pride strong, like all the Noldor, but without place for making his heritage immediate known.    More noticeable about Coruhuron by others at first was a weighted gravity to him. An aura ever drawing in from the earth at his feet or the breeze on his skin. There was a stillness to his posture when idle, so very still that it shamed the foundations of land about him, most of it in its current form, younger than he. Changes and formations he had observed with his very own eyes in close, solitary proximity as the centuries had passed. The stillness of Coruhuron was so remarkable and familiar that it oft seemed he was no elf at all, but carven of ancient stone, lacking of breath entirely, though the steel-grey eyes were too full of a life long-lived. Reined wrath ever in him, passion. Loss. Love, murder, gentleness, patience, volatility, even play - and all that came between. This myriad formed that gravity about the ellon, in some forms invisibly subtle and others, crushing in extremity. All built within his massive stillness, impenetrable. Leaden with the weight of what this son of Gondolin was, had been, had felt.  For all his Fire, within him was not a youthful recklessness. “Huron”, a brand of his spirit as it had always been. Fire was in his heart and in his blood; but it was not the brash, unwise fire of a young ellon wishing to go forth to ill-spent bravery and great deeds; rather it was the long kindling, fierce burnt source suffering and relishing where flame was no longer a visitor but within its own element. An ancient entity, now, never controlled by anything but itself. The ‘Flame’ of him was ingrained and ever writhing in a long practiced dance where, too, there was unfaltering certainty; pride. - No, he was long past youthful follies and bare remembered many of them. Instead, now, the fire and swift-actions of Coruhuron were hemmed in by power and will - by the countless centuries where recklessness had tolled him and taught him, even when he had nothing left to give, and fewer reasons to learn. For he was ‘Coru’, also. Cunning among soldiers otherwise fit only for obedience without question or rebellion. And for all the deaths his heart had died, his mind ticked still - as sharp and far keener still than it once had within the ambitious young soldier six thousand years before, now long spent into a being far more ancient and painted with colours of solitude and death’s dealings. The rock-slide and the wildfire. Two faces of wrath and destruction. Some may have said also, ‘chaos’. Ill-omen, terrifying forces. Both ugly, in their way. The rock-slide in the harsh, tearing simplicity and magnitude of its wreaking, though the landing ever brought solidity and silence. The fire when its furious grace in bright wrath had ended to leave behind smoldering blackness and ruin, the stuff of nightmares when all was said and done, though of beauty the flames may have been. ... Yet he, and he knew she, also, would say that while both were of ‘ugliness’ to many, they were, too, qualities of the Eldar, now so oft forgotten: Inevitability. Unbridled passion. Splendour. Strength.

[abrazimir]

hm. I underestimated how much I need to have a lesbian muse to be butch and knightly to all the women on my dash and also maybe a little morally reprehensible...

[elerondo]

a hug where one muse picks the other up from Hravanis :)

@androleteirai     /     meme

   HE WAS THE CROWN PRINCE, people tell him. They tell him that while they grab him with their metal wrapped hands. They tell him that while they shove him against walls and search him for some damn sweet bread he’d taken from the royal kitchens. They tell him that and end with ❝You should know better!❞ What should he know?

   The title was empty to the young elf’s ears.

   Elrond sat on a stair nursing a bruised knee, feeling utterly pitiful as he tried to summon his fea to heal himself to no avail. ❝I can do it!❞ he shot at Hravanis. But, no, he couldn’t. Not when his mind and energy remained in a turmoil and he could not focus.

   Alas, he relents with a huff, reaching up to Hravanis. She’ll take him to the healers, he supposed. Or take him to the King to answer for his absence from class. He doesn’t care, and only surrenders for a moment, wrapping arms around her back. At least, he felt safe enough to rest his eyes.

[ofsirion-blog]

“Do you think we’ll make it in time?” - Hravanis (hey there!)

@dryhtenhold // Ask Meme

The young king found it difficult to meet the eyes of the warrior before him, finding himself awed by her experience and the surety with which she held herself. It seemed unlikely to him that he would ever be as respectable as she, even if he lived ten thousand lives of men. “L-lady,” he caught himself forcing his voice to strengthen, to mimic the strength his father had radiated, “Lady Hravanis, I bid you welcome.” 

[laurefiindil]

blows kiss 2 glorfindel

@elesheir » hey do you remember sending this to me on the 31st i don’t think this is what you intended but here

   growing up with elves undoubtedly would have ruined the young heir, if not had been for elrond’s steady hand. true, second and third age elves were solemn creatures, worn down by the strifes of war and mortality, but they did not disregard all of their heritage, and their spirits were still youthful at heart. and that kind of influence on young estel, well, it would not have made him a proper king.

   glorfindel understood that completely, which is why when elrond makes the decision to tell the man on his twentieth birthday, he nods along and pretends that a little piece of him is not shattering.

   he knows the weight that is lordship. even more he knows the weight that now rests on their young charge’s shoulders. to be heir to that kind of throne… an exile… glorfindel knows this will make or break young aragorn. 

   weeks, months, they pass like they always do to him and his kind, quickly. the seasons, they come quietly, easing in and out of cycles. life goes on, even after the heir makes his decision and leaves. and glorfindel wonders at the fate of this new world and it’s fated king.

   and then, the spring festivities come. 

   nost-na-lothion is not celebrated as he remembers it being, times have changed and gondolin is but a tale for most of the elves still in middle-earth, but there are flowers and drinks and joy in imladris, and he takes what he can get.

   flower crowns are worn, drinks are had, and it is in the middle of the night by the time he realizes that rangers that had come to imladris in the midst of the festivities, and they are being lead by a chief, their chief. 

   aragorn has returned to rivendell. on his shoulders lays wisdom not given to him by the elves, a solemness he sees every day in his people. but there is joy in his eyes, and a smile curling his lips, and glorfindel is glad to see him whole, glad to see the babe that had once driven them all near mad with worry, has grown into a man.

   it is then, with drunken mock-but well meant-politeness, that glorfindel dips into a bow to the young heir, his grin bright and merry when he stands. and aragorn, the heir to the kingdom of all men, a distant kin to his long lost king, blows him a kiss in equal drunken jest.

   glorfindel gasps like a fair maiden and clutches his heart, crumbling near to the floor. (near because hravanis is standing behind him, and she catches him. and then promptly drops him onto the floor with a look of long suffering in her eyes.)

   aragorn son of arathorn throws back his head and laughs in genuine glee and glorfindel thinks, yes, they have ruined this young king, but perhaps that was meant to be. 

[strelles-universe]

So if, "ŕo" meant something similar to an alarm, the imperative would come out like,

"Yehaŕar-ŕo!"

2.S-to carry-IMPERI You must carry

Or

"Taver-ŕo!"

To dance-IMPERI Dance!

Would the opiative mood work in the same way? So it'd come from a word that means hope or a sound similar?

"Hravani siŕa sahraka-va"

1.S- to hope rain come-PERF.NP-OPI I hope rain comes

Or would the marker go on the verb?

"Hravani-va siŕa sahraka"

1.S-to hope-OPI rain come-PERF.NP I hope rain comes

I suppose it can be put in both places to really emphasize it right?

"Hravani-va siŕa sahraka-va"

1.S-to hope-OPI rain come-PERF.NP-OPI I really hope rain comes

So this could be said with the context of a drought or a wildfire having touched down.

Hey question to folks who've done it/know how to do it;

I want to add an imperative and optiative mood to Asisahala but I'm not exactly sure how? Moods have always really confused me - does anyone have advice or example better than the way Wikipedia, does it?

I'll post what I have of Asisahala now but I'll leave the mood section blank until I either get help, manage to figure out how I want it or I decide that it's not worth the hassle and delete the section altogether.

[vandacarnelme]

What with Hravanis having canonically been in the Last Alliance, the idea of Ghost!Isildur telling her to run off and fetch a chest and she brings it back and opens it and Elrond’s like ‘oh my, artifacts of the Last Alliance! They must have been buried for a millenia’ and Isildur’s like ‘yes there was this giant elf champion who befriended my sons and some of her belongings were-’ whereupon Hravanis is just ‘This is my fucking cloak, I’ve been looking everywhere for this!’ to the ?????? of all gathered. Is very. It’s very funny. 

Especially considering the fact that we’ve been trying to decipher some ancient circumstances and discover who this bloody ‘Maglodir’ was and scouring the whole of wilderland looking for answers that could save us from another war. So Gandalf and Elrond and Glorfindel are all ‘Why didn’t you!! Say you knew Maglodir!!!’ Hrava’s just ‘I don’t fucking remember dumbasses or their names, if you’d said “that shit who let Urudani live” maybe I could have helped you.’

[lesbiansandboromir]

Lil scar reference sheet for Hravanis :)

[lesbiansforboromir]

... Hravanis be upon ye 😳

Yes I know about the dragons dogma 2 character creator, yes I downloaded it, yes I made a large woman, yes I am disappointed and no she is not large enough and yes I am still in love with her

[abrazimir]

📝

Send me a 📝 and I’ll suggest a plot I could see for our muses! - Accepting

AH YES so I’ve always, ever since I first started rping in tlotr fandom, been wondering how to interact reliably with Vezely without it being a total bore for you. Antagonistic threads are difficult and usually best left until writers have gotten to know each other, but none of my muses are particularly!! Malleable in that regard. 

My intrigue REALLY peaked when I remembered Vezely was Eorl’s slayer, which seems like such a meaty start for a thread between her and Theodred? Perhaps an interesting discussion surrounding ‘weregild’ as a concept. 

Just some way of creating a situation where Boromir and Vezely can exchange the different viewpoints of the other within their cultures would be very cool, but again CONTENTIOUS given Boromir’s ‘the cruel easterlings’ or some such line he has and Vezely’s assumed disdain too. 

I’ve been mulling over a thread within your tolkien AU where Vezely’s journeying west is something Denethor discovers through the Palantir, meaning that Boromir could perhaps come to meet and de...fend? Her? Aide her safe travel? I am not sure where her western journey would take her, though I imagine north of Mordor? 

Lord.. REALLY my greatest desire is to rp with Vezely with another OC of mine I don’t have an active blog for... but Hravanis and Vezely would be so interesting a meeting and crucially Hravanis would be more... well there would be a lot more chance for them to speak and interact within Vezely’s home and dig into all this vast worldbuilding you have. ANYWAY. Let me know if you’ve insight on any of this :)

[elerondo]

starter for @eohere

   ELLADAN WIELDS THE RING for Lord Elrond’s departure to Lothlorien to meet lady Galadriel. He would have left as swiftly as he came if not for the lady’s passing remark of a certain Marshal Prince. It was so set in his heart that he decided on the detour before he set out for it, dismissing the guards ( to their vehement protest ) save two of his best captains: Runaduin leader of the Wardens, and Hravanis, his commander. Elrond did not wish for anyone else to be implicated in his decision.

   They took the mountain pass, splitting from the rest of the Elvish escort, because Entwood was too vulnerable. Though Elrond was not without his swords strapped to his back, vigilance was up kept at all times for such venture into warring lands. The trio make for the Fords, following the fluctuating humidity and never resting until they could catch the whiff of blood and rust in the air. Where was the son of Theoden?

[medicter]

CREATE A DRAGON BASED ON YOUR MUSE !!

Create your muse as a dragon then tag however many   people   you’d    like   to   do   the   same Remember to REPOST, do NOT REBLOG

tagged by: @brycecousland

tagging: everyone!!

ELEANOR COUSLAND

I’m going full extra about this and doing one for a bunch of them so lmao I apologise to mobile users

TAMAR

LOGHAIN

IMRAHIL

HRAVANIS

ARWEN

[iwillgoalone-archive-blog]

@dryhtenhold redirected from here

--

Silent was she, tall and immovable as she turned to peer down upon the sniffling babe. She was always severe in countenance, the kind of gaze a hawk might wear and with just as much predator to it. But, for this moment, she melted easily. Her knees bent, settling low to the little girl’s eyeline and gently taking the bow from her.

Quietly, her hands examined the gift, thumb brushing over the notch, tugging upon the string with expert fingers, it all seemed in order. However her eyes noted a small warp to the notch at the end, easily missed but making the bow difficult to string. Hrávanis gave a smile, nodding confidently down at the little girl as she tightened the string and began to thread and spin it back into a workable form. She checked her work carefully before giving a decisive nod and handing the bow back to it’s master.

“Take a deep breath, my lady, you did well. This will do, for now, you can practice to your hearts content. But if you find me later I can fix it properly so that you might be able to string it by yourself.”

      Irisse did her best to calm herself, her hands dropping to her sides when Hrava took the bow from them. She was fortunate that the nis had been there, for otherwise she would have had to find one of her brothers to help her... providing she even managed that without seeing Tyelko at some point along the way.

      It was something which distressed her severely.

     Grey eyes watched intently as Hrava put the string back upon the bow, surprise and relief flooding her as it was restored back to its operable state. She breathed easier, a small smile upon her lips when the bow was returned to her grasp. A deep breath was taken at the suggestion of Hravanis, and she let out a little giggle.

      “Thank you.” She said quietly, leaning forward and kissing the nis on the cheek. “I’m very grateful, and I shall bring it back when I’m done... is it hard to string a bow, or is it just a matter of practice?”