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sinisterexaggerator · 1 year ago

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NSFW Alphabet ~ Hondo Ohnaka

Kinktober got me thinking:

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): Hondo is attentive; he makes sure your every need is met. However, this depends on his mood and how close he is to you. I see him being a “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am” kind of guy in situations where he needs to leave the scene of the “crime” in a hurry, or if he has important business to attend to, otherwise he is akin to the likes of Gomez Addams, treating you like the king or queen you are.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): Hondo’s favorite body part belonging to himself is either his face or his own cock. This man has an ego and thinks he is hot shit, which he is. He grooms his appearance and takes care of himself. He most likely practices a skincare routine and washes and rebraids his hair. He trims his nails, makes sure his clothes are laundered, so that to me says he is very much in love with his whole self, though the face is especially cared for, despite having a scar over his eye. In relation to his cock, he is not modest; he does not sell himself short. It gets the job done and he has never had any complaints; it serves him well.

As for his partner, he loves to stroke his fingers along the curves of their hips, toward the inner thigh. He also loves faces, and eyes; they are the windows to the soul. He pays attention to imperfections; he loves every scar and every scratch. Ah, and to hear your voice; it is like music to the ears.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): Hondo will make you cum before he cums himself. He is a savant in the bedroom, and is most likely known for his unprecedented skills in this area. He’s not afraid of it; he will taste it, savor it, and lick you clean. Cum is a tangible byproduct of your pleasure; pleasure he knows he is responsible for, and that in and of itself is a turn on.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Hondo is nasty. He will do anything once. Just ask and he will oblige you. He doesn’t care how “gross” or taboo it is; that is not his concern. His concern is getting your rocks off, as nothing boosts his ego more than giving his partner an earth-shattering orgasm.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): Hondo is very experienced. We see in canon he has had relations with people such as Aurra Sing. I have no doubt in my mind that Hondo is a sex connoisseur that makes you want to keep on coming (cumming) back. He can talk the talk and walk the walk, and I am sure this occurred from a young age. Hondo is charming and successful in the Clone Wars; just imagine how far that charm could take him.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): Missionary, so he can stare into your eyes and watch the tiny twitches of your facial muscles as you writhe beneath him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Hondo is a switch in more ways than one; he can be both. If feeling romantic or sweet on someone, he may take a more serious route, declaring his adoration or his love. If feeling frisky, or just in a mood, he can be very, very playful. Humor, after all, is the best medicine, and Hondo may as well be the doctor prescribing it.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): As I mentioned earlier, very well-groomed. I feel that Weequay do have hair down there, soft tufts of brown curls, perhaps, and Hondo keeps it very trim and in order.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Again, Hondo can play the clown for your amusement (and his), or he can be very intimate, loving, and affectionate toward you. The romantic things this man recites to you leaves you reeling, having never heard such poetry before. He truly makes you feel as if you are special, whether you are or not. “Et es better tu have loved for a very, very short period of time, than tu have never loved at all, ah?”

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): Hondo loves to be watched. He’s a bit into voyeurism/exhibitionism, among other things. He wants an audience when at all possible, and for you to talk him through it. If you join in, that’s even better. Thinking you’re a few parsecs out and a holo call has to suffice. This happens often when you are away, or if he’s missing you. (@allsystemsblue gets credit for this one)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): Voyerism, exhibitionism (he doesn’t care who is watching, but also likes to play the game of “don’t get caught”). He is a switch so he will bottom or top, or play into the role of sub or dom, though sometimes a certain kind of mood strikes him. Rope play; he loves being tied up or tied down. Praise kink; he loves giving praise or getting it himself. He has an ego, after all. Sensation play is also big for him. He loves to receive attention physically just as much as you do. He’s into degradation as well, or being treated like an object. He’s also down to make you a human footrest.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): Anywhere and everywhere; Hondo is always ready, although there is nothing quite like his own bed, full of luxurious pillows and soft blankets.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): Just looking at you; being in the same room as you; listening to you speak, or watching you walk. Your very presence is a turn on, and he can be ready for a romp at a moment’s notice. And rest assured, he is not shy in making his attraction known.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): There is very little Hondo will not do. He may be hesitant to truly harm you, even if you are into that, such as punching or outright slapping. He is a lover, not a fighter, and violence is not something he is fond of and only necessitates when necessary, mostly in relation to his “work.” Although, he has been in a bad mood a time or two and killed someone out of anger. Still, to know you is to love you and Hondo will most likely shun that sort of thing.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): He prefers to give rather than to receive, but he will never turn down a blowjob. He feeds off his partner’s pleasure; there is no better high. Yet, he will gladly accept oral sex and will praise you and/or dirty talk you the entire time.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.): Hondo typically likes to take his time. He is slow, methodical, and knows his way around your erogenous zones like the back of his hand. He can be rough should the need arise and you desire it. That man has powerful, thick thighs and they are not just for show. He can plow into you fast, or give it to you slow, though he prefers basking in your beauty and all those little sounds you make.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Quickie’s are not out of the question; that man will fuck you anytime, any place; you only need to ask. However, he much rather experience the joy of a long, drawn-out sexual encounter so he can properly service you, of course.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): Hondo is nothing but a risk-taker. As I said before, he will try anything once; he once was the lover to Aurra Sing. I am sure she had her preferences, and was noted to be a very dangerous woman. This most likely extended into the bedroom, so yes, Hondo is very much acquainted with taking “risks.” He is a pirate after all; fear is the mind-killer. Hondo is also an example to his men. He takes any and every situation head on, and he loves to experiment and learn new ways to please you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Hondo has great stamina, though it slows down as is natural once he is older. In his youth as a teen and early 20 something, he could go multiple rounds. In his thirties, he can still go a few, but not as many as before. Once we hit Rebels, he may complain about his back or other types of old man issues, though he will never give up trying. Maybe he falls asleep soon after, and is happy as a baby to cuddle in your arms.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Oh, yes. Hondo is up for anything, and he would gladly use toys on you. In fact, I like to think the restraints Hondo used on Obi-Wan and Anakin were more for sexual escapades, as they were sort of heart-shaped, and they were bound both by their hands and ankles. I am sure he also likes to be whipped, paddled, or otherwise spanked, or chained and handcuffed. You can also use your strap-on on him; he loves to be pegged.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): Ohhh, this man is a tease, but he knows when to stop and when he has pushed you too far. He’s quick to make it up in some way or another, but in relation to making you cum – he will edge you to the brink, chuckling as he watches you with eyes narrowed into slits – he wants you to beg for it; he may be feeling in a sadistic mood.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): Hondo is not shy; he will vocalize. He can get loud, but prefers murmuring sweet nothings in your ear in that low, deep, rumbly voice of his. He may also give you soft commands, demanding quietly that you: “come for me, my love.”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): Hondo is clingy and possessive when he finds the right person. He can also be jealous, but he hides it well. In fact, he is more the type to be passive aggressive until you can pull what is wrong out of him. Truth be told, it does not take much effort as this man is very opinionated and is not afraid to speak his mind.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): Hondo is not too big and not too small. He has a very stout cock. It is ribbed and striated just like the rest of his skin, with alternating patterns for your pleasure.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): Very, very high. He is ready when you are, or even when you are not. You may have to express yourself if you want him to pull back. Expect a pout, but of course he always wants your consent.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): Very quickly. Hondo goes hard; he does everything in his power to make sure you get yours before he gets his, and when he’s finally spent, he sleeps soundly and comfortably; dead to the galaxy. Make sure to wake him up though if you feel like going another round. He would be offended if you didn’t!

#Hondo Ohnaka #Hondo Ohnaka x Reader #Hondo x Reader #x you #x reader #star wars #N$FW Alphabet #Kinktober #Weequay #Star Wars #Imagines #Star Wars Kinktober #clone wars #star wars rebels #pirates #Headcanons

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tathrin · 1 year ago

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Hi! How does a pirate au with gigolas sound?

From this prompt-meme.

Oh definitely not like something that's been slowly simmering in the back of my mind ever since I first saw this thing months ago.

We're going with a sort of East India Trading Company/Golden Age of Piracy era-mythos for our vibes, and a world that has less magic and epic battles to its history than Middle-earth for our setting, but one that still has our various fantasy species running around.

Númenor is sort of like an England/America hybrid, in that it's a newer land than the main continent, very expansionist/colonialist in attitude, and simultaneously an old power, because it has a bunch of colonies on the old continent now, and a belligerent attitude towards everyone else. They are the largest sea-power and like to claim even more dominion than they actually have.

Meanwhile to the south-west of them we have the islands of the Teleri (Eressëa) which are widely described as "the last free elven isles," and mainly stay that that by being A: not enough trouble to conquer and B: too much trouble to conquer. They keep to themselves (and their waters shrink a little more each year as Númenor keeps pressing in) so no one feels inspired to deal with them, and there's a lot of risk to trying to because water gets weird around those islands. Lots of shipwrecks, lots of strange creature in the waves. (The Teleri get some sort of mingled siren/kraken vibes here.) The eastern elves tell stories of a farther island beyond theirs, where no mortals have ever gone; where the seas themselves are sundered so as to protect their inhabitants from all encroachment...but more people these days know those are just fairy tales. There is no Western Shore; there are no Undying Lands. That's all just old sailors' stories and superstitions.

Anyway, Middle-earth itself: very old-school Europe vibes going on here, with lots of little kingdoms always sniping at one another for advantage, and whose power-balance has been kind of skewed by the Númenorian Colonies of Gondor and Arnor—really not colonies anymore at this point, because Númenor looked back east generations ago and decided to return to their ancestral homeland and claim it again farther back than any living mortal can remember. That doesn't stop Númenor from treating them like colonies still, which Denethor, the current ruling steward, isn't thrilled by. His people are more torn on the issue, with half of them liking the regalness of being Númenorian and the other half resentful at not being able to rule themselves. They even had a king once, for a few generations, but that collapsed during the civil wars called the Kinstrife, which were rumored to have been instigated by Númenor itself, although no one was ever able to prove that. There are rumors that an heir escaped the slaughter (Anastasia vibes!) but no one has been able to find proof of that. It may be no more than a pretty story. At any rate, no king has been seen in Gondor for generations.

Beyond the colonies of Gondor and Arnor, Númenor has other strong allies on the continent as well: Erebor, for one. The dwarves of the Lonely Mountains were driven from their home by the last of the dragons long ago, and the deal that their king made to acquire Númenorian assistance for taking it back from Smaug left the dwarves more indebted to the Númenorians than they intended. If only they could have found the Arkenstone, and been able to buy Númenor off with that the way they had planned...but if the Arkenstone was ever among Smaug's horde, it must have vanished at some point before the siege. (Some dwarves insist that it was there, had to have been there; and the only way it could be gone was if Númenor betrayed their word and burgled it when the dwarves' backs were turned—but that is a claim they cannot prove, alas, and so they must live with their debts to the White Island.) Erebor's might is more of craft than warfare, but those crafts have been put to good work on behalf of Númenor's military, and their armies are now the best-outfitted in the world, thanks to Ereborian smith-craft and manufacturing. They are allies far too valuable for Númenor to ever give up, no matter how richly they repay that debt.

As for the elven-lands, perhaps the most notable is the smallest: Rivendell. Founded by the brother of the First King of Númenor, Rivendell occupies a unique place in Númenorian headspace: it is deeply respected, but also looked down on a little. Elrond was clearly the lesser brother, choosing a life of lore and healing over the leadership that should have been in his blood; and yet, he is known for that wisdom, and his healing arts have saved many lives. He sails to Númenor occasionally to share his knowledge with their healers (although less often with each century) and to walk the lands where his brother once lived and died, and he is well-loved there...but they prefer the legend of Elrond to the reality, and their leaders more and more often welcome him with strained smiles than they do with open ones. Elrond will not participate in any endeavour which would lead to war, and the suffering that comes from such conflict; that does not mean that he approves of Númenors politics in these days of domination, and while he is always polite and respectful, he does not hesitate to offer its rulers his true opinions and advice.

They don't really care for that. But he is Elros's brother, so they force smiles and grateful platitudes, and then try and bundle him back onto his ship and off to his lovely but insignificant little valley as quickly as possible, and try to think about him and his dour warnings as little as they can when he's not around.

Mirkwood is the largest elven-kingdom, and the only one these days that truly counts as a kingdom. The lords of Númenor aren't keen on such a large nation existing without paying even lip-service allegiance to them, but on the other hand...does anyone really want alliance with Mirkwood? It's a terrible place, dark and dour and full of monsters. The elves there aren't like other elves; they're less wise, less refined...more dangerous. Feral, almost. There are rumors that—well, really it would be easier to compile the stories that aren't told about Mirkwood than to start listing all the ones that are. Death lives in those black trees. Even the water is dangerous to drink, more likely to cast you into a hundred years of dreams than to refresh your thirst. There are spiders in there the size of horses, deer with all their bones on the outside of their skin, squirrels that are venomous and moths that suck your blood. It is said that if you hear laughter in those trees, you might as well slit your own throat before the merry sound dies because you'll never escape the terrible, laughing things that hunt there. The stories even say that there are ghosts in those woods, wandering the south lands by the ruined citadel that towers over those gnarled black trees.

No one sane would live in Mirkwood. No one sane would even set foot in Mirkwood. No one sane should want anything to do with Mirkwood—and Númenor does not. Even the Daleman, known for being provincial weirdos, know better than to actually go into those black trees, even if they're deranged enough to trade goods with the elves that lurk there. Well, let them; and on their own heads be it when the wicked elvenking leads his people out for a feast of man-flesh!

(Some of the stories are true, but even the other elf-lords no longer know how many. Mirkwood has done far too good a job of spreading those terrible tales for anyone—maybe even them, sometimes—to remember which are false, and which are real. Even other elves steer-clear of those black trees, these days.)

The last elven-realm, Lothlórien, is something of an outlier among all the lands of Middle-earth: it is a small realm, which neither offers nor seeks trade or commerce with others, and yet which wields an outsize power in the affairs of greater nations. Lórien is a land of lore and mysteries, and it is said that the elf-witch who rules those golden trees can read a man's secrets merely by glancing at his eyes. Númenor wishes no war with the eerie elves of Lothlórien. Lady Galadriel is consequently invited to every grand affair of state, and never ever wanted there. Sometimes she attends (likely just to remind Númenor that she is real, and should not be trifled with) but mostly she stays in her trees, whispered about yet unseen.

As for the other lands of Middle-earth, many of them are tired of being to some degree under Númenor's heel, but not to the point of daring to risk open war against them. They all remember what happened to Eregion when Ost-in-Edhil's smith-lords though to oppose Númenorian domination.

Now, the world has settled into a sort of tense peace, where nation-states fight through commerce rather than the battlefield, and use their armies more for posturing and prestige than actual warfare.

Into this world, enter the pirates.

Númenor's domination of the sea has not gone unopposed. Círdan long defied them, until they sent their entire navy against him, landing soldiers to crush the Havens and take him and his lords prisoner back to Númenor for trial and punishment—but though the Havens fell, Círdan was not found there. Some say that he and all those closest to him were slaughtered, and Númenor covered it up; others say that he managed to slips their nets and sail West, and find the promised shores beyond the islands of the Teleri; still others say he is on those oceans still, hurrying Númenors ships as a rebel captain of a small pirate fleet. Whenever a ship fails to return to harbor, there are whispers that it fell to Círdan's rebels...but more likely it was claimed by waves and weather.

Probably.

The stories spread anyway, and those who sought to defy Númenor's will listened, and so they began too to seek the sea. Small, single pirate ships are no material threat to Númenor: their navy is too large for the sacking or disappearance of a few ships here and there to make any difference to them. But the stories of pirates being able to defy their might and slip away free of consequence...well, that might have more lasting repercussions. Certainly Númenor's leaders must think so, for they have devoted quite an undo amount of effort to hunting down and destroying these pests otherwise. Unless, of course, one believes the rumors that Gondor's lost heir is out there somewhere amongst the pirates, capable at any moment of returning and staking his claim to the throne—a claim which, thanks to the faltering and intermingling of generations since, gives him actually the most direct claim not only to the throne of Gondor but to Númenor itself, now that the line of the founding kings has broken so many times...provided such an heir even exists of course, which he does not.

Clearly.

And now, it's finally time to turn to our cast of characters: the good ship Fellowship was originally a merchant vessel, sailing the waves on behalf of the wealthy Took family. Hobbits do not go to sea very often themselves, but they appreciate life's comforts enough to finance ocean-going vessels, and are quite happy to pay the necessary tariffs to Númenor to have their protection on the waves, and there are always Men in Bree who are happy to sail on Hobbit ships (the rations they provide are always much nicer than you get on any other vessel!). Old Bilbo was one of the rare Hobbits who actually followed his sense of adventure all the way out to the waves, and was captain of the Fellowship in deed as well as name, and when his nephew was old enough he brought young Frodo along with him.

(Every gossip in the Shire said they would both come to a bad end, drowning just like Frodo's parents did; but even the sneering Sackville-Bagginses never expected pirates!)

For many years, the Fellowship went about its trade-routes quite respectably, causing no trouble and earning no malice. But then...well, the trouble started with that fellow called Strider. He was one of many sailors who signed-on from Bree one day, and should have been no more special than any of them. But there was something about him that always seemed a little disreputable, a little dangerous—and so it soon proved.

No one back on shore is quite sure how it happened. The nearest anyone has been able to piece the story together is that there was some sort of shipwreck, or a raft that escaped a shipwreck, and there was something on it—some chest or treasure. Whatever it was, it proved to be too much temptation for the sailors of the Fellowship. Instead of making a quick salvage of the wreckage and continuing on their way, they abandoned their course and their cargo's intended destination, and went from being respectable merchants to pirates.

Old Bilbo (who had retired some years ago) was scandalized, of course; positively scandalized. But of course, Bilbo had always been something of a scandal himself, and there were far too many suspicious eyes on him after everything went south. He sold Bag End, packed up his things, and disappeared from the Shire three weeks after the first wanted-for-piracy posters of his nephew went up. Rumor has it he went to Rivendell, but no one from Hobbitton has ever gone after him to check; Hobbits don't generally care for travel, and Rivendell is such a long was away. Must more pleasant to stay home by the fire, and gossip.

And gossip folk do, and not only in the Shire. Stories of the Fellowship quickly came to spread far beyond Hobbit-lands, and they got bigger as they went. Soon it was being said that Strider was not just a brigand, but a romantic scoundrel too, who had managed to steal the heart of Elrond's daughter before running away to sea before her brothers could revenge themselves upon him. He had a magic ring, which he had used to enthrall Frodo, and declare himself captain of the boat. He had a magic sword, which could break itself into pieces as short as a dagger and then reforge itself as long as a boathook at need. He had elf-blood, and was decades older than he looked. He had served in Gondor's army, and in Rohan's, and had learned healing from Elrond himself. He was one of the Rangers, the secretive wanderers that spread rumors against Númenor and hunted for treasure and forgotten beasts in the wilds.

The more outlandish stories even claimed that he was that lost heir, and his real name was Aragorn or Arathorn or something of that sort. Nonsense, of course—but nonsense that Númenor wasn't happy to hear being whispered up and down the Misty Mountains.

Their displeasure grew when word began to spread of Strider's companions: Frodo somehow recruited three of his friends to the ship (Hobbits at sea! What were the youth coming to?) but he had arranged for one of their more land-locked fellows to act as a blackmarket middle-man, passing coin and supplies and information back and forth between Bree and the boat. Fredagar Bolger was soon caught and arrested, but someone broke him out of prison before his trial could begin, and he disappeared as thoroughly as Bilbo had. (Rumors said that the Brandybuck and Took families had helped in that jail-break, for two of their own were among Frodo's crew, but no one could ever prove that; indeed, no one who had been on duty at the jail that night reported seeing anything. Fredagar had been there when they went to sleep; the next morning, he had been gone, and no one ever saw him in Hobbiton again.)

Even more outlandish than the idea of four Hobbits at sea, the stories insisted that they had a dwarf on the ship as well. Everyone knew that dwarves hated boats, and feared the ocean; everyone knew that a dwarf would sooner shave his beard than go to sea. Nonetheless, the stories persisted: the Fellowship had a dwarf. Rumor claimed that he was a disgruntled son of Erebor, who had joined Strider's band of pirates out of disgust for the debt that Númenor held over the Lonely Mountain; others insisted that his father had been friends with Bilbo (in addition to his other oddities, Bilbo had been known to have friends among the dwarves, somehow!) and that it was Frodo who had somehow coaxed a dwarf away from land and out to sea. Whatever the motivations that had brought that dwarf to the Fellowship, there was soon no denying that he was there: only dwarven craftmanship could have kept that ship afloat through all of Númenor's efforts to sink it, and sailing faster than any of their own vessels could follow.

In addition to the dwarf, there was an elf among the crew as well. A less absurd notion on the surface, but strange when one dug-down to the details, for this was no Teleri; nor was he even one of the elves of the Havens, or from Rivendell. No, this was a Wood-elf of Mirkwood, one of those half-feral creatures of death and shadow and knives in the dark. His eyes were keener than any looking-glass that Númenor could fashion, and he could see as clearly in the starlight as men could under bright sun. With those elven eyes in their crow's nest, there was no chance that the Fellowship could ever be sneaked-up upon again; and those who survived attacks by Strider's pirates told stories of his terrible bright laughter echoing across the waves like the ringing of doom-bells in their dreams.

(There was surely, surely no truth to the rumor that the elf and the dwarf were any more than grudging crew-mates; elves and dwarves were notoriously distrustful of one another's people, and since Eregion's fall there had been no sign of reconciliation or camaraderie between any of their kind again. The sailors who reported that the two had been heard cheerfully competing like friends during the battles taking Númenorian ships were mistaken; the ones who claimed that they had witnessed victory-kisses were suffering from sunstroke; and the shaken survivors who whispered that the elf had lost his mind and slaughtered an entire crew himself when one of their number managed to wound the dwarf were surely just suffering from shock. No single elf, not even a Mirkwood elf, could slay an entire contingent of Númenorian soldiers like that; and no elf would ever be spurred to do such a thing for a mere dwarf. These stories were just one of Strider's many attempts to undermine Númenorian rule, by attempting to foster an alliance between Erebor and Mirkwood based on ridiculous false rumors about the joining of two of their people. Such things simply did not happen.)

The worst of the Fellowship's many assaults upon Númenorian sea-supremacy was when they took a ship that had been carrying Rohan's princess out to make a state-marriage on the White Island. The rest of the Rohirrim they let go, including the king's nephew, whom one might have expected them to hold for ransom; instead they took only the girl, and no ransom demand ever came back for her. Indeed, rumors soon began to whisper that she had been somehow seduced to Strider's crew as well, and could be seen with a cutlass in one hand and her fair hair streaming in the salt-air, a fell smile on her face, whenever the Fellowship boarded their prey, her own unfettered laughter ringing out alongside the elf's deadly merriment.

That was a crime too far. Númenor needed to stop Strider's pirates, and stop them now. Gondor dispatched two of her own to go to sea and hunt him and the Fellowship down: Boromir and Faramir, sons of the Steward and noble warriors of stout heart and stalwart arms. Everyone assumed that that would be the end of the Fellowship, for no pirate had yet escaped bold Boromir, and Faramir's cunning wits would surely be enough to outsmart some ragged Ranger. For months they pursued the pirate vessel, chasing the Fellowship through storm and fog and sun-kissed waves; then, far off the coast of the Teleri islands, a hurricane rolled in, and both ships were lost from sight behind the grey rainclouds.

Imagine Denethor's fury, and Númenor's wrath, when the next stories that came back from the sea told of how bold Boromir and cunning Faramir had joined the terrible crew...

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