#oc: ingar

[doctor-disc0]

Low effort drawing of my Vestige Avoni being very tired and done with my Eternal Champion Ingar, who is her descendent

(She/her for Avoni, he/him for Ingar)

[jetiisyandereclones]

Adar X OC

Platonic Adar X Baby!OC

Warnings:

Child neglect

Description of violence

Language

Attempted sacrifice

Description of injuries

Drunken behavior

It was midday, and the townspeople of Tirharad were making ready to take refuge in the watchtower of Ostirith. Across a muddy road a young woman walked, her faded blue dress dragging in the dirt.

She came to a run down house, banging on the door and showing no sympathy for the man groaning on the other side, the stench of alcohol and stale urine washing over her as the door swung open to reveal a filthy, pale man.

“Son of the Dark One, Ingar, can’t you let a man rest for once?”

The hunched over man slurred, his breath stank of mead and ale even from a distance. It was no surprise to Ingar that he had been sinking into his cups again.

“We are moving out in two hours, I’m here to take the baby.” She said, already wanting to be away from this place as she saw his yellowed, drunken eyes clumsily climb over her figure.

“We… what?” He questioned.

Ingar’s brow pinched into a scowl as she pushed by him into his filthy, rat invested home.

“Oh, by all means sweetling, make yourself at home. Should I put on a pot of tea for her highnessness as -oogh- as well?”

Ingar came to a rough, hand carved cot, picking up the sleeping baby girl inside, unceremoniously turning to exit the rancid house, not being able to bear the smell of vomit and stale urine.

“I’d actually recommend you sober up, we will be walking for a while.” She replied, half out the door.

“Walking…? What are you on about woman?”

Ingar turned on heel, her dark hair swinging out behind her.

“Have you been drunk all week, Marok? There is an army of orcs heading our way, we are walking to the watch tower to take refuge. I will take her, seeing as you cannot be trusted not to fall down a well. But I suggest you gather your things. And pack light. It’s a long walk.”

Ingar walked out onto the road, the baby in her arms cooing at the sunlight and fresh air.

“AND LEAVE THE ALCOHOL BEHIND!” She called out over her shoulder.

“DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO, WIFE STEALING, BAR WENCH!” Marok screamed back, he would have been intimidating had he been able to stand up and walk in a straight line.

As it was, the only thing he could do after his outburst was to keel over and throw the meagre contents of his stomach up onto the path, groaning and whining pathetically.

Ingar’s lip curled in distaste for the man as she walked on, not making any attempt to help him.

She sighed as she walked into her own house, a humble one room wooden structure that was right next door to the drunk man’s.

Placing the baby in a prepared bucket of warm water, Ingar got to work bathing her and changing her.

As expected, the baby had not been taken care of since her last visit, and the smell of shit and piss was potent as Ingar peeled off the child’s clothing.

“Did that man forget you again, poor thing? He doesn’t deserve you, no he doesn’t. Come here sweet girl, I’ll get you all cleaned up, and then we are going on a little trip.” Ingar cooed to the baby.

The little girl didn’t have a name. Barely five months past her mothers death in the birthing bed, and her father still saw fit to treat her as a parasite that he hoped would go away if he ignored her long enough.

Ingar would name the baby herself, if Marok didn’t have an all out violent fit at anyone trying to personify his daughter.

‘Don’t you go naming her, ya hear. I’ll not have her attatched to anyone. Better she die as no one than somebody. And no one what killed their own mother deserves a name, by my reckoning.

But maybe it weren’t all the whelps fault. She was a queer one, my old wife. Strange as the seas. Never sat right how attached she was to our neighbour. Probably punishment for some sort of, HIC, infidelity. And with another woman, at that.’ He had once ranted at the bar.

It had been a week after the child’s mother, Themah, had passed.

Ingar had gone to bring him home when she’d heard him slur it out, his face half buried in his arm.

When she dragged him out by his thinning, greasy brown hair, none of the patrons nor the barkeep had tried to help the man. Nor did they intercept even when Ingar forced his head into a bucket of icy water to wake him up a bit, and definitely not when she screeched at him for blaming his daughter for her mothers death. For blaming her and Themah’s affection for eachother.

They had been friends since childhood. Their mothers practically raising them in the same cot.

How dare he try to blame them.

Ingar had been caring for her late friends baby ever since.

Marok was as useless as they came when it was about his daughter. He wanted nothing to do with her and Ingar found this out pretty quickly.

So she took it upon herself to bathe and change and play with and feed the little girl, having her nurse nanny goat milk as a substitution for her mothers milk.

It wasn’t a perfect set up, but it was the best Ingar could do.

The woman, who had just pulled the little baby out of the cooling water, was thrown out of her reminiscence by a knock at the door.

Wrapping up the young one, she went to it, balancing the child in one arm while lifting the heavy latch to see three people outside.

“Ingar, how are you doing?” Bronwyn asked, walking into Ingar’s home and hugging her, followed by Theo and Arondir.

“I’m alright. Just finished bathing this one”

Arondir walked up next to Bronwyn, placing one strong hand on Ingar’s shoulder, the other on the babies head, pulling the soft blanket away from her black curls.

“We heard him yelling. Is everything alright, my lady?”

Ingar sighed. Arondir had been a good friend these past few months, offering his assistance with the baby where he could, and ensuring Ingar could safely collect her and drop her off.

“Just…the usual stuff. But hey, I meant to thank you, Arondir. Her coughs gone away! she’s back to her usual self, thanks to whatever it was you did!”

Arondir smiled a little, his handsome features softening as he saw that the baby did indeed look bright and healthy, no longer smelling of sickness.

“It was simply Athelas, my lady. No need to thank me.” He replied humbly.

“No, no no. You saved her! You did. I was at my wits end, I didn’t know what to do. Had you not come along I doubt she would have seen the next morning, and I’m truly appreciative!”

Bronwyn beamed radiantly at the elf, who cleared his throat bashfully at the praise, his cheeks heating.

“We came to see if you still needed help with anything, miss.” Theo spoke up, eyeing the bag on the table.

“Yes, is there anything we can do?” Bronwyn agreed with her son.

“Umm, I think we may be good to go, although I’m still unsure whether to just bring my goat with us, or risk milking as much as I can from her, and taking that with me.

Arondir, what do you think?”

The elf looked thoughtfully out the window for a moment, weighing up his options.

“We have no idea how long any of this will take. It may be a bit more awkward, but it’s probably best to just bring Nari along.” He answered.

“If walking her becomes too slow, I’m sure we can fit her into our cart too.” Bronwyn said soothingly.

Nari was an old goat. Slow and stubborn and well known to the people and elves of the village for her temper.

“Thank you, my friends.” Ingar told them, genuinely grateful for their presence and support.

“It’s nothing, miss. We were also wondering if you might want to walk with us, seeing as, well, HE may try to cause some trouble.” Theo added, his own cheeks warm.

Bronwyn and Arondir watched in silent, invisible amusement.

Theo had discovered quite the crush on Ingar, and he had taken to trying to impress the older woman at every turn.

Ingar had brought it up to Bronwyn once after the young lad had offered to cut all the wood for winter for her. They both agreed that as long as it stayed innocent, there was no need for any worry.

“That would be perfect, thank you Theo”

The young man muttered and mumbled his reassurances, face burning and looking straight down when Arondir once again placed a hand on Ingar’s shoulder.

“They will be waiting outside the Tavern for you, I will stay and help get Nari ready to move, as well as ensure Marok actually finds the caravan”

Bronwyn and Theo left the house to finish packing the necessities, leaving Ingar and Arondir alone.

They faintly heard Marok crashing into something, cursing up a storm.

“Are you sure we can’t just, leave him here? Maybe buy him a few drinks, make him pass out. The orcs wouldn’t know he was even human!” Ingar suggested.

“No, Ingar”, Arondir said firmly, before cracking a small, wry smile.

“It would take more ale than what this village, or the next one has to offer to get that man to pass out.”

Ingar begrudgingly agreed, and she and the elf quickly gathered their supplies and made their way towards the caravan, dragging a still very drunk Marok out of his home.

They’d arrived at Ostirith later that night and settled in, but the peace was not to last. A few days later they were faced with an impossible choice.

—————————————————————————————————————————

The day was hot, Marok was scrambling about, looking for some ale or mead to cure his hangover.

The man moaned in pain. He hadn’t been this sober since before the whelp was born.

Speaking of, she was crying again. Still lying where he had left her, on a ratty old blanket on the ground the baby was screaming and crying.

Marok could only groan, the shrill cries aggravating both his headache and temper.

What does she have to cry about? All she has to do all day is sleep and eat and crawl around all useless.

She doesn’t know pain. Know loss, humiliation or true bitterness.

That…THING, killed his wife. And she couldn’t even have the decency to come out a boy.

A son he could forgive. A son, he could put to work. What good was a weak little girl to him?

His ire then turned to Ingar. That meddling wench. He’d be rid of the whelp if not for her interference.

Marok was happy to let nature run its course. A babe without a mother to care for them shouldn’t be allowed to live.

But no.

Fucking Ingar had to swoop in with her ‘help’ and her care, and leave Marok all alone to raise a baby he didn’t want.

Marok hadn’t particularly loved his wife, but he was proud of her, or at least proud to have married her.

Themah was beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the village with her thick black curly hair and bronzed skin. But what really drew people in were her eyes. They were a vivid emerald green, a foreign family trait from a long passed ancestor.

Everyone wanted her hand but it was Marok who had done it, who had charmed her.

God, he was good back then. Tall, strong and handsome.

What he hadn’t known though, is that Themah came with a friend.

Ingar and Themah had always been close. A little too close, if he was asked.

Every step of the way, Ingar was there.

And it suffocated him, even more so now that Themah was gone and she was still always in his home, barging in like she owned it.

Owned HIM, the presumptuous bitch.

Marok was interrupted in his poisoned thoughts by a village elder, waldreg giving a speech.

He talked about surviving the oncoming attack by joining this stranger and his army.

Marok tended to agree with wanting to last the night, and he also agreed with the old man’s more… fanatical views. They were once saurons people, why should they not be again.

He’d lift them out from under the elves boot.

Looking towards the whelp, It also occurred to Marok.

This could be his chance to get rid of her.

Ingar wouldn’t follow anyone affiliated to Sauron, she was too righteous.

And after all, the south lands are a dangerous place to be right now. Anything could happen to a baby.

Making up his mind, Marok grabbed the child, crudely wrapping her in rags and discreetly as he could, joined the crowd heading out the gates of the elves watchtower.

He smirked when he vaguely heard Ingar asking around for the baby.

—————————————————————————————————————————

The air was freezing, and thick with the smell of fire and orc and death.

In front of a crumbling tower, a tall, pale man stood, his face dancing with shadows from the firelight.

Adar towered over the human group who had come to him, unimpressed at the whimpering display put on by the old man who appeared to be their leader.

Adar curled his lip, turning away from Waldreg and his, ‘vows’.

He would have probably let the humans live, serve and die how they chose under him, had they not made the mistake of thinking he was their ‘Dark Lord’ come to save them.

After feeling the satisfying rattle of the old man’s breath, Adar saw a young boy out of the corner of his eye.

The tall, twisted Uruk gripped the scruff of the child’s neck and forced him onto his knees leaning over his head as he smirked.

“Only blood can bind” he said cruelly, as Waldreg took up the knife thrown at him, his hands shaking with adrenaline.

The old man approached, knife poised despite the boys begging.

About to strike, Waldreg drew back the dagger when a loud voice rang over the crowd, followed by a fit of coughs.

“WAIT MY LORD!”

Waldreg drew back, eyeing the Uruk for any signs of displeasure at his hesitation, but Adars stony eyes were fixed on the tall man, stumbling through the crowd.

Marok drew to a stop before the Uruk in awe. If he concentrated, the drunk could almost feel the power, the knowledge radiating off of the ancient being.

“You dare interrupt and second guess my command, human? Speak! For you will not have my ear, nor my mercy long” Adar commanded, his shoulders tight with restrained anger.

“My Lord-Father. Blood you have -HIC- demanded. And blood is your right to take, none of us here would dare insinuate -HIC- otherwise, however.

Spare the boy. Pick someone else.

He is young, strong and useful. It seems far to much of a waste to bleed him here.”

The boy in question quaked in Adar’s grip, seeing a slight ray of hope.

Adar however, was yet to be satisfied.

“And I suppose, you, being the one to make this proposal intend to die in his stead? How noble of you.” He mocked.

If Marok sensed the displeasure from Adar, he didn’t show it, choosing to continue on.

“No, Lord Father, I intend to serve. To live out the rest of my days in service by your side, by your childrens side, as it was in the glorious days of old!” Marok exclaimed charismatically.

Adars lip curled.

“My Lord, allow me to offer up another sacrifice. My own, daughter.” Marok almost choked at the end of his sentence. Admitting she was his kin left a vile taste in his mouth, worse than the stale drink and sick.

“She won’t be much use as a fighter, nor is she cut out for the life of servitude, but it would be my honour, to offer her as payment for our allegiance, as I’m sure it would be hers as well!” Marok finished his speech passionately, almost foaming at the mouth at how close he was to being rid of the girl.

Adar tilted his head thoughtfully, before releasing the boy from his armoured grip.

“Where is the child? Bring her forward!”

Adar didn’t watch as his previous choice of sacrifice scrambled away to the safety of his kin while Marok staggered back to the crowd, roughly shoving down anyone in his path.

Adar's eyes fixated on the parting of the crowd as Marok emerged again, this time with his, ‘sacrifice’.

He stepped out of the crowd, and in his arms a baby, not even one year old, wrapped roughly in filthy rags.

Marok deposited the child on the ground harshly and without care at Adar’s feet, her whimpering cries quiet against the roar of the torches and the murmurs of his children and the men.

Distaste for the human race coursed through Adar, however the only indication was the slight widening of his eyes as he knelt down to pick the babe up, stopping her best attempts to crawl away from him.

Upon closer inspection Adar could see the child was thin, her clothes were as filthy as the rags that encased her and Adar could smell that she herself had not been bathed for a while.

The babe opened her eyes. They were green, vivid as the forests and hills he seeks to destroy, and they watched him with awe and fear.

Adar watched as the child’s chin wobbled, her eyes scrunching and filling with tears at the sight of the scarred stranger holding her, as he unconsciously began bouncing her softly.

Adars eyes softened, the motion bringing up long buried, bittersweet memories.

Red hair, bright jewels, the lonely and scared cries of two young elflings, cast aside by their parents .

Adar’s mind was in another age, on different children, but the pity he felt in his heart, in whatever’s left of his soul, was the same.

Potent and driving.

The child’s whimpers grew louder, and Adar whispered soothingly to her in his mother tongue, the musical language seeming foreign to him now.

“Peace child, be at rest. Fear no danger from me.”

Almost as if by magic, the baby grew still. Her eyes fluttered shut, content to snooze in the crook of his gauntleted arm.

Adar was drawn out of his reverie, the coos of the sleeping child drowned out by Marok’s grating voice, dripping with false sorrow.

“Lord Father, as the girl's sire, I shall take it upon myself to do this, terrible, deed for you.” The man had already crouched to pick up Adar’s dagger from Waldreg, but the Uruk turned away from them, taking the baby with him.

“A father willing to sacrifice his child, in order to save another.” He mused.

“How, hmm. Generous.”

Adar did not look back at the humans, his eyes set on the baby girl in his hands.

“Seize him” He commanded softly in black speech.

Two of his orcs, Thorg and Argol, took Marok by his arms, forcing him into his knees.

Adar finally turned back towards them, transferring the baby to his other arm.

“Waldreg. Your orders still stand.”

The old man swallowed and nodded, turning towards the struggling Marok, this time there was no voice calling out, no one to speak for the sad man save himself. But Adar had no pity for his sniveling, tear filled pleas.

Waldreg slit his throat, his blood squirting out and into the mud.

“PEOPLE OF THE SOUTHLANDS! WHERE DO YOUR ALLEGIANCES LIE!?” Adar called out over the crowd.

“TO YOU, LORD FATHER!” They called back.

Adar smirked. When Thorg approached him, he handed the baby to his son, despite the orcs utter horror.

"Come now, Thorg. You can face down and slaughter an army of men. But holding a human child makes you go green?" Adar taunted. Almost good naturedly.

Thorg grimaced as the child in his arms started to whimper.

"My lord, surely you do not mean to keep the baby?

She will only burden us, slow us down. If you wish for her to live, might we not leave her in the care of her own kind?"

Adar hummed, his sons suggestion had merit to it.

"Perhaps it would be easier, however I do not want her to he damaged. The elves hold children sacred, and empathy is a powerful tool.

No. You shall guard the girl while I make ready to move. We march for the villiage as planned."

Adar said nothing else, turning on heel and walking back into a stone shack, leaving a Thorg and the sobbing child behind.

---------------------------------------------------

Ingar stood rigid, a crude sword against her neck.

When the sun went down and the townspeople who could fight took up positions around the villiage, Ingar was there.

She was a talented archer, quick with her shot.

Orc after orc fell to her, but they just kept flooding into the town. Ingar was about to shoot another down, when suddenly she felt heat and smelt smoke coming up from under her.

Looking down, she saw the hut she had taken refuge on had been set alight, the rough, dry wood burning quickly.

Ingar's safest way down, a ladder, had already burnt, so taking a risk, she decided to jump, hoping to land in the so far, unburned hay bale not to far away from the side of the crumbling building.

Crouching low as she could, Ingar shuffled to the edge of the roof, but her movements did not go unnoticed.

Two sets of eyes watched her jump off the roof and land.

When Ingar quickly rolled out of the hay bale to avoid the embers that were floating in her direction, she was kicked in the stomach by a large, foul smelling boot.

Looking up, Ingar saw a huge orc with a sword standing over her, poised to swing down.

But before the orcs blade made contact with her, he convulsed, a curved blade piercing his chest and spilling black blood onto Ingar's chest and face.

The creature fell dead to the ground, revealing a pale and shaking Theo behind it.

"Are you okay, miss?" He breathlessly asked.

Ingar swallowed hard, trying her best not to wretch.

"Yeah, yes. Theo, thanks to you." the woman wheezed

"C'mon, everyone barricading in the tavern, we need to go!" Theo grabbed Ingars wrist, and hauled her towards the Tavern as best he could.

Ingar got her wind back just as Theo and her crossed the doorway, and she imidiatly spied Bronwyn layong on a table with an arrow through her shoulder.

Arondir and Theo saw to her, but it was painful for Ingar just listening to her old friends screams of pain.

After what seemed like an eternity, her wound had been cauterised and she started to breath ragged breaths and Arondir, Theo and Ingar all let out a sigh of relief.

A sentiment that was short lived as the orcs started to bash against the barricaded door of the tavern, eventually breaking through and seizing the terrified occupants inside, holding crude swords to their throats.

Ingar squirmed in her captors grip, his arms tightening around her, when someone who she could only assume was their leader walked in, going straight to Arondir.

They had a hushed conversation that Ingar wouldn’t be able to make out, even if it was in the common tongue, but whatever Arondir said, it was obviously the wrong thing, as with an unseen gesture, orcs started to slaughter the people they held captive.

The elf raised his hand, and his children backed off of those who were still alive, and with a small waving gesture, a large orc came forward and handed him something.

When Ingar saw what exactly he had been handed, her blood ran cold.

Adar turned to the people who were still left alive, Marok’s baby in his arms.

Ingar cursed herself. How could she have forgotten to look for her. How could she have just assumed Marok would at least keep her in safe hands?

“Mortal men. This baby was left at my feet by one of your own as a sacrifice. I spared her, as I have no need for her to die. Just as you could be spared. You need not die, not when all I want is something so small.

Give it to me, and you too, shall be left alive and unharmed.”

Ingar struggled in the grip of her captor, growling and spitting venom at him as he not only tightened his grip to a crushing pressure, but dug his blade into her neck, the burning sensation assuring her at least a few drops of her blood had been spilt.

Adar looked at the woman, with a distant amusement, as if he was watching two young pups fight. So harmless and pointless.

But as no one spoke up, he sighed. That one, exagerated breath dripped with false remorse as he looked at Bronwyn, injured and pale on the table, but still glaring at him defiantly.

Fearlessly.

Adar tilted his head

“The woman next”

Ingar’s yells mixed in with Theo’s and Arondir’s, but their pleas fell on death ears, as Adars eyes were back on the infant in his arms.

Until he heard what he had been waiting for.

A forced, loud voicewas heard over the struggles of the woman and elf.

“WAIT! it’s here. It’s under here!” Theo begged, breathing it as the blade at his mothers neck was removed, and the orc restraining him let go.

Adar turned to him, motioning for Theo to retrieve what he wanted, ignoring Arondir’s pleas not to do it.

Theo took a fire poker, holding it up to show what he was carrying, before making his way to a loose stone in the floor, prying it up.

Adar crouched next to the boy, picking up a small, wrapped object that was kept under the stone with reverence, before a distant rumbling was heard and he hastily made his exit, taking the baby with him.

“No, NO! BRING HER BACK, PLEASE!” Ingar begged, seeing him make off with the young human baby.

Her cries fell on almost entirely death ears, as Adar only spared the screaming woman a short glance before handing his babe off to one of his daughters, Myrk.

“Do not allow her out of your sight, and do not let any harm come to her!” Was all he hastily ordered to orc, before the tidal wave of men on horseback swept into the village.

There was a brief moment where the orc saw her father talking to Waldreg, the human who had pledged himself to her father's cause.

She noticed adar swap the wrapped package in his hand, and giving the one he found in the tavern to the man, watching him scurry off.

Myrk smirked. Her fathers plan was working well.

But this child in her hand… she wasn’t sure what to make of her. So small and helpless. In a way, Myrk distantly supposed she was cute, in the way all babies seemed to be. But surely her father hadn’t kept her simply for that? He must have a use for her.

But in the meantime, she will fulfill her fathers wishes, and hide away with the child.

Myrk hid around the back of the tavern she had just raided, taking the men on horseback by surprise.

She easily wielded a large sword with one hand, while holding the baby firmly with the other.

Amazingly, the baby did not cry, staying silent right up until two of the men dragged Myrk out from her cover.

The orc hissed. She had not had time to pull up her hood, and she was currently being burnt all over. Luckily, her torment didn’t last, as she was shackled with her brothers and sisters under the cover of a makeshift tent.

Myrk’s siblings showed great interest in the baby their lord-father had commanded her to protect. They had never seen their leader take in a human like that. they gathered around her, mumbling and growling and shooting the human child distrusting and unsure looks.

Myrk then heard a familier face in the crowd.

“Myrk!”

“Thorg, brother. It is good to see you alive!”

“These runts ain’t got to me yet. How are you? Did they harm you?”

Myrk huffed.

“Do not insult me brother, even armoured and with me down an arm, they could not harm me no matter how much they wished to. I merely was burnt by the sunlight.”

Thorg clapped her shoulder. Myrk had ever been his friend, sister and teacher. He would miss her greatly should she pass.

Just then, a human soldier passed by, jabbing a spear at Thorgs unarmored shoulder.

“Silence, orc. It would be my pleasure to cut you down where you stand!”

Both Thorg and Myrk snarled at him, their rotting teeth sharpened and intimidating as the guard backed off, only to beat Myrk in the eye with the end of the spear when out of striking range.

She groaned in pain, the strike taking her by surprise.

The guard then finally noticed the child held in the orcs arms, watching the events around her with big, curious eyes.

"The child. hand her over, filth!" the mortal addressed.

Myrk huffed crudely, backing away into her brothers and sisters. the guard sighed, turning to give an order when bothe the soldiers and the orcs saw three figures make their way into camp.

Myrk watched the elf witch and the mortal man drag her bound father into a barn, leading him by a short length of rope. Everytime the man pulled on the rope, causing Adar to stumble, Myrk snarled.

How dare he treat their Lord-Father with such blatant and public disrespect!

Myrk's distraction turned out to be her undoing, as the cowardly soldier once again struck her, this time with the sharp end of his spear, piercing the more delicate area of the inside of her elbow.

Myrk immediatly tried to hold a hand to the wound, slowing the black blood running out of it while Thorg snarled at the soldier.

but it did him no good.

Two more men came, and all three roped Myrk, and dragged her out into the sunlight, forcing her coverings off and exposing her to agonizing burns.

The she-orc convulsed and screeched as her flesh bubbled and flaked. The infant still in her arms reacting to her cries with screams and whimpers of her own. Eventually the humans deemed Myrk weak enough to approach, prying the child from her before kicking the injured creature back into the shade.

The orcs growled and snapped at the humans as they made off with the child they were supposed to be guarding, pulling their hurt sister back into the safety of their numbers.

The armored men then approached the barn Where their Lord Commander was being held, knocking twice on the door before disappearing inside.

A few moments later, they returned without the child, leaving the orcs to wonder what was going on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the barn, Adar watched as his younger cousin walked in, his baby in the crook of her arm.

He straightened up, sighing slightly as his eyes met the child’s, watching as she lit up with recognition.

“Ah, there you are…”

The baby cooed, happy to see a familiar face at last.

Galadriel stood in front of the fallen elf, the scum who she had the absurd misfortune to call family, and her lip curled in distaste at the familiar exchange between him, and the human child.

She looked down at his pallid form, gently and gracefully swaying, however her expression was anything but warm as she fixed her cold, stony glare onto Adar, as he had chosen to call himself.

With the babe still in her arm and a dagger held in the other one, she spoke, looking at the humans bright green eyes, her own softening at the child’s curious and friendly face.

“When I was a child, I heard stories of Elves taken by Morgoth. Tortured. Twisted. Made into a new and ruined form of life. I never thought it would be you though, cousin.

You are one of them, are you not?

The Moriondor.

The Sons of the Dark.

The first Orcs”

Adar kept his eyes on the child, never once looking at his cousins face, however Galadriel could see his vague amusement at her.

“Uruk. We prefer Uruk.” He simply replied, looking up slightly with a mockingly gentle expression.

Galadriel couldn’t help but feel the same twinge of faint shame she felt when she was young, and her brother was once again lecturing her for starting another fight, or correcting her for misnaming a species of flower.

Adar had that same suffering patient tone, and Galadriel couldn’t stand it.

“Even Moriondor take orders from a master. And I seek yours.

Where is he?

Where is Sauron?”

Adar chuckled at this. His younger cousins attempt to intimidate amusing to the Uruk.

Galadriel’s brow twitched in agitation at his lack of care. The child in her arm sensing her frustration and fussing and drawing her attention.

“Look at me, cousin. Such an unusual thing, for an orc-“

“-Uruk.” Adar corrected.

“For an ORC, to show mercy on his enemy. Where did you find this human?”

Adar tilted his head, again. Not paying Galadriel any mind.

“She is no enemy. She was given to me.”

“And you kept her alive. Feeling generous, were you?”

Galadriels cousin merely shook his head, once again looking at the babe in his captors arms.

The sounds of his childrens grunts and growls reached his ears, and he tilted his head a little in their direction, noting that Galadriel did the same.

Playing with the knife she held, Galadriel looked into the light streaming through the barns crooked doors.

“Perhaps we should bring our prisoners into the sunlight.” She suggested, almost casually.

This finally seemed to grant Galadriel the seriousness she was looking for from her captive.

His mocking smirk dropping as he looked towards the origins of the shouts, his eyes far away.

As if sensing his new distress, his newest daughter started to whimper. Galadriel bounced her just a little harder, rubbing her back with her thumb. Her gaze, however was set on Adar, hard and expectant.

When Adar spoke, it was soft. Calm and measured so as to not cause his baby any more distress.

“Pass her to me.”

“Why would I do that?” Galadriel spat.

“Because she is mine, and I asked for her.”

Galadriels brow pinched, her eyes narrowed and peeled for any sign of deceit, of a trap. But when she handed the baby into Adar’s shackled hands, keeping as much distance as possible, he merely leaned back against the beam, his uninjured hand gently taking hold of the babies.

He didn’t speak for a few seconds, adjusting the baby comfortable in his arms. Galadriel noted how she seemed to quiet instantly.

“After Morgoth’s defeat, the one you call Sauron…

Devoted himself to healing Middle-earth, bringing its ruined lands together in perfect order.”

Adar seemed to hold the child in his arms tighter, more protectively. He looked in her direction, but his eyes were far away.

“He sought to craft a power not of the flesh…

But over flesh. A power of the unseen world. He bid as many as he could follow him far north.

But try, as he might. Something was missing.”

Galadriels mask of indifference broke, cracking with the memory of her forcing her own people to that very fortress.

Just like her enemy.

It seemed as if she wasn’t the only one who found it hard to bring up this knowledge, as Adar’s eyes watered at the very memory of his time north, the humans little hand held tight in his much larger one as if he was protecting her from his own memories as he continued.

“A shadow of dark knowledge that kept itself hidden, even from him. No matter how much blood he spilt in it’s pursuit.

Mmm. For my part…

I sacrificed enough of my children for his aspirations.

I split him open. I killed Sauron.”

“I do not believe you.” Galadriel stated, sharp and unconvinced.

Adar looked up at her now, staring right at her.

Galadriel almost wished he hadn’t. There was darkness in his eyes, corruption shone through them. As he sighed, that insufferably gentle and knowing expression taking over again.

As if it was she, who was the child, unknowing and naive of the worlds cruelty.

“You cannot believe an Uruk could do that which your entire army could not.”

“I cannot believe that you are this army’s only master.”

“My children have no master.”

“They are not children, they are slaves.”

“But each one has a name. A heart.”

“A heart created by morgoth”

“We are creations of the One, Master of the secret fire, the same as you. As worthy of the breath of life, and just as worthy of a home. Soon, this land will be ours. Then, you will understand.”

[3sgritty]

🩸 intro

Mi name is Michaella. I am from South East Asia. Just a 19 y/o engineering student. My creative social medias are also @3sgritty on Instagram and our dear AO3!

Follow me if you are also interested in these things:

Neon Genesis Evangelion

Berserk

Claymore

Madoka Magica

Godzilla

Fallout: New Vegas

Ranma 1/2

Ryan Gosling movies

My favourite movies ever are Paris, Texas (1984, Wim Wenders) and The Seventh Seal (1957, Ingar Bergman). Favourite books, Demian by Herman Hesse and The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

I am plagued—no, haunted and bewitched by divine afflictions of the mind. I’m spiritually shaped like an ouroboros.

I’m super normal stg just a little autistic and shy. Pls do not hesitate to talk tuah.

Blog Tags

art tag drawings in general

mr and mrs graham Joshua Graham x Claudia (OC)

evil girlboss courier six main Fallout: New Vegas OC

wips and outtakes

other creative projects the shit I write…

[littleturtle95]

Seventh day of OCtober, thanks @oc-growth-and-development for the prompt!

Today I'll show you an extract from the first chapter when Solomon, Sigga and Everard had just met for the first time. Everard and Sigga had saved the druid from being burned alive and they are hiding him in their house.

He then explains to them how his powers work.

“What do you mean?”

Day 7

Power

“What kind of druid are you?” Everard asked, after a few seconds of silence.

“I know there are druids who see the future, others who turn metal into gold, or people into animals. Some can breathe underwater or can summon lightning. What kind of druid are you?”

Solomon shook his head. “First, not everything you said is true, in fact, most of the things you said are bullsh-”

“I think he sees the future,” Sigga interrupted him. When you were about to free him he was sure you were going to succeed. I read it on his face.”

Solomon shrugged. “I just trusted him, I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’m not a seer.”

“So you can’t see the future?” Sigga asked, she sounded a bit disappointed.

“No, I’m sorry. I know a few prophecies, but it’s not the same thing.”

“So?” Sigga asked then, curious. “What do you do? What is your power? Do you open things with your hands?” she said, for he had unlocked his chains with a snap of his fingers just a few minutes earlier.

“Every person with hands opens things with them, Sigga,” said Everard. “What kind of a shitty power would that be?”

“It doesn’t really work the way you think. It’s not like every one of us has only one power,” Solomon commented.

“And how does it work then?” asked Sigga, who was starting to sound frustrated. The druid was very vague, and he wasn’t answering any of their questions.

“I can’t really talk to humans about how magic works,” he whispered. He waited for them to protest, but they didn’t. This made him want to tell more. “But, since you helped me, I can make an exception for you. I won’t tell you everything, just a little. Is this okay?” he asked, looking up at them.

The two siblings looked very similar at first sight, but the energy they radiated was completely different, and once you started to notice it was impossible not to see it.

Everard had slightly darker skin than Sigga and the sun had made his nose and cheeks even darker; the girl’s face had a rounder shape than her brother’s and it was clear she was much younger; the tousled hair of them both, the same shade of pure black, for Sigga they fell crispy on her shoulders, while Everard had a nest of small curls at the top of his head.

Behind her eyes there was a fire that burned in the want to see the world and conquer it; behind his there was granite, impossible to move it, with a weight on his shoulders heavy as the sky.

Artemis and Atlas.

Solomon had studied philosophy for days at the shelter, he knew the Omnipotence Paradox very well, and he knew there wasn’t a solution. And yet, if from that moment on someone had asked him What would happen if an irresistible force were to meet an immovable object? He would have answered, without hesitation, these two humans, that’s what. Whatever there is between them. Look at them, and you’ll know.

“Fair,” said Sigga. Everard nodded.

Solomon hesitated for a moment, then pushed down the neckline of his robe and showed them a mark on his skin, on his left shoulder. There was a scar, a vertical line with two oblique stripes in the middle. “See?” he asked, hiding it back with his robe more quickly than necessary.

“It’s Tanvar’s mark,” said Everard, frowning. “I thought druids had these marks on their necks, not their shoulders.”

“It used to be like that,” he said. He closed his hands in fists. It was very dangerous to show humans marks like that one, they could have reported him to the guards and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He pushed that though to the back of his mind. He was safe with those humans, he felt it. “Since the Night of the Flame, since magic has been banned, the druids mark themselves where the clothes can hide it.”

“What are those marks for?” Everard asked.

Solomon hugged his legs and leaned his back on the wall. “I can’t say much. Let’s say that every druid starts summoning magic from birth, all the gods give the children their powers to use, so they can master all kinds of magic. When they become older they have to choose the god they have more affinity with and that god starts to be the only one who gives them magic from that moment on. Depending on the god they chose there is a different kind of magic that can be summoned.”

“What kinds of magic are there? How many marks? What does your magic do? And Ingar’s? And Ottar’s?” Sigga asked, her mind trying to process all that.

“This is perhaps a bit too much to say. But I can say my kind of magic is more offensive than defensive,” he said. It seemed legit. Tanvar was the god of war, fire and thunder, and he was known to be rather belligerent. “I can move things without touching them, I can use them to hurt people. When I try hard enough I can hit something small as a button with a lightning bolt, or someone’s head as well, for that matter. I like to play with fire, I can control it, manipulate it, use it as a weapon. Funny, isn’t it? Considering they were trying to burn me alive today…”

He summoned a few flames that started flying all over the room. The two siblings flinched.

@chibi-tsukiko @hahahax30

[ghostlyjudge]

oc

Ingar  This creature is a walking, living, and fighting mountain. The giant is made of stones collected together to make a mountain giant. Complete stone and rock. ingar had two brothers omenwolf and onangar The once fearsome king ruled his great land that stretched halfway around the world. The realm he ruled was great in everything. which made it a prime target for other creatures. The war started and the darkness flew through his realm giving his own life for the sake of his kin he saved everybody and from there on his realm was named ingar the realm of the unyielding for how they chose to fight. Ingar had won the war but lost so much after his death vultures came to pick his land clean. The most hated was goliath when he came with his sons and army he took everything and left nothing, no stone was unturned with his raids. After, about 6,000 years of blunder he left but left his grandson Brogg the brawler to watch over the realm and guard it for him. Brogg the brawler was the son of 

[doctor-disc0]

Meet Ingar the Altmer Mage. So far, he's a dumbass scaredy-cat who runs away when he hears goblin noises. He also nearly died to a goblin. The goblin was alone.

But! He found an enchanted belt! Yay! Now, instead of enemies having a +10 to hit him, they have a +6! So he's slightly less likely to die now. He'll still probably piss his pants when he sees a rat, though.

Your Eternal Champion, everyone.

[littleturtle95]

Tenth day of OCtober, thanks @oc-growth-and-development for the prompt!

Today I'll show you an extract where Solomons explains how druids are born to Everard, who doesn't know he already has given away his gift to the Oracle.

Day 10

Wish

“See, druids don’t have children like humans do… you do know how humans have children, do you?”

“Oh yes,” said Everard, with a wink. “I’m well aware.”

Solomon rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Humans. They only have one thing in mind…”

“You know, what you just said is very racist.”

“Technically in this case it would be called specism. Because, you know, I am not a human and all that.”

“This word doesn’t exist, you just made it up.”

“All words are made up, hayati.”

They looked at eachother for a few seconds, still smiling, then Solomon cleared his throat and said “So. How druids are born.”

“Oh right,” said Everard. “How are druids born?”

“You know Esta is the goddess of love and family, right?”

“Of course I know. Everybody knows it.”

“Well, the druids have many ways to manipulate life, especially the children of Ingar, but two things they can’t do is to create a new life and to bring it back after death. They can shorten a life or prolong it, they can change it, but not create it, neither by giving birth nor by bringing back the dead into the living.”

“Ingar’s magic allows druids to kill but not to bring people back? Seems unfair.”

“It’s easy to kill someone, humans can do it even without magic. To reverse the process is impossible for all mortals. My mother can make herself younger, and if no one kills her she could never die. She can make you sick or heal you. She can make plants grow faster, she can talk to animals… the children of Ingar can and do manipulate life. But if you kill me… she won’t be able to bring me back.”

“So, if you can’t create life when there’s none… how do you have children?”

“See, Esta knows life is the most important thing, and she loves us. She’s the goddess of love, how could she not? So she grants druids one wish, only one, in all their life.”

“A wish to have what? Children?”

“A wish to create life, either making a new one and having a child or bringing someone back from the dead. My mother already used her wish, she had me, so if someone she loved died she could never bring them back. I have no children, so I still can choose my wish. I could wish for a child, one day, or I can wait until a loved one dies to bring them back. In that case, I will never have a child. It’s an important choice, so important that most druids never choose and die before they wish either for a child or to bring someone back. That’s why there are less and less druids by the years. Not many choose to have children and waste their wish so easily.”

“How could they die before choosing? If I had a wish like that I’d use it immediately! How could someone waste it and just not use it?”

Solomon looked away, his lips in a tight line. He suddenly looked unnerved. “I don’t know if I’ll use mine. I don’t want children, and for the other thing… it’s complicated.”

@chibi-tsukiko @hahahax30 @wagnerthedragon