#forgeworks

[hexhomos]

Hello!! I'm sorry if this is a dumb question but it's been rolling around in my brain a little bit and I wanted to hear your take in a reverse situation jajsh // Do you think that if Giopara were to die/be in critical life or death condition,,, would MH try to save/bring him back through augmentation in desperation? Would Jayce understand?? Or do you think MH would respect his desire to not be physically changed?

Viktor leagueoflegends does not give a FUCK about last wishes he would be putting Jayce in the revivotron9000. He would not waste the chance, this is essentially what he always wanted anyway and an avenue where he can pitch the supremacy of his thesis (in every version of jayce/viktor's league story, before anything else, viktor asks jayce to join the glorious evolution and work together) and the Machine Herald's main fallacy is that he cannot let shit go.

He's not mature enough! He's not stable enough! Jayce actually dying would blow up a fuse on his brain and he'd start acting out. Talis & MH are strangely synced up in some respects and this is one of them. Now this is a button I press often but it is worth repeating:

Jayce Giopara is not against augmentation. He is against brainwashing! (Giopara's forge has augmented forgeworkers!!!!) His issue is not with the practice but that Viktor ultimately wants to replace humanity and tell them all what to do.

He would probably be mad about being revived. but also like arcane viktor it would not last for a long time and it may even be what allows them to patch up their relationship lol... unless viktor put the microchip in him as well. which is always a possibility.

[likethexan]

Like

This donkey is his best friend, his loyal steed, why no name?

I'm surprised Hephaestus’ donkey never had an official name…

[thateviljewler]

Hear me out: Into the unknown (the Frozen II song), but as the seduction of Mairon. Melkor is the siren, kinda planting into Mairon's mind the idea that there's more to life than just forgework. And Mairon, intially distressed by these thoughts and ideas, but then slowly realizing it never really felt quite right in Aule's servise, he never fit in with other maiar and that he actually wants to explore the possibilities out there. And then the duet of Elsa and the siren is Mel and Mai finally meeting and realizing they harmonize so well together so there's no way Mairon is staying with the valar at this point. I imagine them actually singing the song as it fits within their Ainu nature :)

[nyne-rising]

the Warlord | the Illuminator | the Forgeworker

Finally completed the trio of my clan's demi-gods!!

[greenleaf4stuff]

A Thing Of Joy

(my other TROP fanfics)

Gen, pre-TROP. Celebrimbor and Mirdania for TROP Cozy Cuddle(s) Week 2025. Fluff. After decades of apprenticeship, Mirdania is ready to become a smith in her own right – and one of Celebrimbor’s assistants. But first, she has to complete three tasks to show her skill, knowledge and experience. Having worked towards this test for such a long time, Mirdania is rather nervous. Good thing Celebrimbor believes in her.

Another entry for Cozy Cuddle(s) Week 2025! :D After completing one for silverscars (A Rainy Night In Eregion), I thought it might be nice to stretch a bit creatively and try to write outside my usual box. Out of the ideas I had written down as 'prompts' for myself, this has popped into my mind several times, so it is the one I went with. Both Celebrimbor and Mirdania deserve all the hugs!

Another big Thank You to @rivendellwatch for organizing this lovely event, I hope everyone will enjoy this little entry! <3

For those that prefer reading the story on AO3, the story can also be found here. <3

This – this was what she had been working towards all these decades.

Being accepted as an apprentice by Lord Celebrimbor himself had always been a mark of pride for Mirdania, but even more so, it had been one of the most joyous and important days of her life until that point. Young and orphaned as she had been, she’d desperately sought for her place in Middle-earth, and in Eregion.

Her parents had always fostered her interest in metalwork and forging, back when they had still been alive. After their loss, Lord Celebrimbor had overseen that she would be able continue on her chosen path by taking her under his wing. She’d been the youngest apprentice he’d ever accepted, and she had been determined that he would not come to regret his decision.

Which was why this day was so important to her.

Today would hopefully see her completing her apprenticeship, and becoming a smith of her own right – as well as one of Celebrimbor’s assistants. Something she’d dreamt of ever since she’d first worked with him in the forge; peering over his shoulder as he worked on one of his creations, or having him explain to her various alloys and their properties, ever patient and kind, and more than willing to answer her questions or requests for help.

Despite his duties as Lord of Eregion, and his own studies in forgework, he had taken time out of his busy days to help her.

When she had studied old scrolls and memorized the various metals and their uses, he had often asked her questions to help determine which areas of expertise she would have to put more focus on, and encouraged her whenever she showed progress in them.

Whenever she had worked on her own projects, he would readily give her advice and gently critique her work, in a way that would allow her to come to the conclusions herself, with him merely guiding her towards recognizing what could yet be improved upon.

It had been him, in fact, who had one day turned to her with a bright smile on his face, laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "I think, Mirdania, that you are ready to take the exam, should you wish it," with a look of pride and utmost confidence on his face.

She had been rather nervous in the immediate aftermath, questioning whether or not she truly was ready, both eager to prove herself and make the attempt, but also scared that she might disappoint him. And herself.

But again, he had been patient, giving her the time to mull things over until one day, she was helping a younger smith with her work, instructing her and guiding her so she might figure out a small mistake she had made, when the blonde looked up and found the older elf look at her with a knowing expression.

That was when she had realized that she was at the point where she could help others the way he did with her. And that he was right – she was ready.

It had taken her another few years to prepare, however. Not for lack of conviction or opportunity, but because of the exams themselves. Long ago, during the founding of Ost-In-Edhil and the establishment of the smiths in the city, Celebrimbor had devised a series of tasks that an apprentice would have to undergo to be formally recognized as having finished their apprenticeship, and to become a smith in the eyes of their peers.

"Not because I don’t trust my people with their knowledge, or skill, or the quality of their work. But because I want them to have a good memory to look back onto. Something to always remind them that they have proven themselves before the other smiths in my employ, and the city at large," he’d explained. "I remember both my father and grandfather did similarly with me. They named a thing I had to make, gave me however much time I needed, and if my work proved adequate, they’d declare whether or not I had mastered that aspect of metalworking to their satisfaction. It was a mark of pride for me. Hopefully, it’ll be the same for you."

Mirdania had nodded so frantically she feared she might pull something in her neck in response.

The tasks were as follows: She would be questioned on various things first; metals and their properties, tools and their use, what materials to best use for what tool, weapon or trinket, and how the process of their creation would be performed. Then, those questioning her – two senior assistants, and Celebrimbor himself – would present her with scenarios of things going awry, and she would have to find solutions to the theoretical problems they described.

Once that part of the test was completed, they’d give her instructions on one or two things she should make, which could be everything from horseshoes, nails, door hinges, to jewelry, weapons, armor, tools big and small, to decorations and so forth. Sometimes they’d add a twist, asking the apprentice to work with an unusual metal and later explain their choice, for example.

The final task was the most extensive, and came before all others. It was the reason why it had taken her years to work up to the exam; the task given was to create something of her own, whatever she might like or want, and perfect it. She’d present her work, explain it, and have the senior smiths and Celebrimbor critically examine it.

If she managed to fulfill all three tasks to their satisfaction, she’d be declared a smith. And be accepted as Celebrimbor’s assistant.

Celebrimbor had been quick to tell most of the other apprentices that they could take the test as many times as they liked, until they were able to finally pass it.

In her case, he had not. As she questioned him on the reason why, he had given her another one of those kind, secretive smiles and said, "My dear Mirdania, I do not think you will require to take it a second time. I have full confidence that you can excel at whatever you put your mind to, and this will be no different."

Of course, such words were a great honor to receive. But they’d also done their part in twisting her belly into knots as she prepared for the exam. Who wouldn’t be nervous, if the Lord of Eregion and Fëanor’s heir, Celebrimbor Curufinion himself, put such trust in them, in an area that he had unique talent in?

She knew, to some degree, that there was no way for her to disappoint him. He was insistent that mistakes did not mean failure, only a chance to learn, to better oneself and improve, and he had not given her his blessing in order to pressure her, or as a point of pride for himself, but because he believed in her abilities and wanted her to know it.

And yet, she could not help but pressure herself. She did want to make him proud. She did want to prove herself as worthy of all the time and effort he and other people had spent to teach her, help her, instruct her.

This was also something she had wanted for most of her life. And so, she desperately wanted to succeed in it.

She reminded herself that she had already made it this far. That she had taken her time to prepare, done what she could, and now, the day had come that she and all she had learned would be put to the test. As she sat in front of the three examiners, the young smith felt her hands tremble in her lap where she clenched them, felt the tension in her shoulders and neck due to her nervousness.

Only when she looked towards Celebrimbor, and saw the small, encouraging wink he gave her, did a small smile find its way onto her face, and she could relax – at least a little.

"Are you ready to begin?" One of the other smiths asked her. Mirdania took a deep breath, and nodded for the others to start with their questions.

"I am."

While the first two or three questions were a bit difficult to answer, the apprentice soon found her footing as she got more used to the situation at hand and more tension fell off of her. She knew the answers, even if she needed a bit to gather her thoughts at one or two points, and had an answer for every question she was asked. By the end of it, she had taken to gesturing and become more animated again, the tremble in her hands almost completely gone.

"Well, that was the final question. If none of the others disagree, we can continue on to the practical part of the exam," the third smith said, herself looking serious to the point of not giving away whether she thought Mirdania and succeeded or not.

It was again Celebrimbor, who gave Mirdania a small, decisive nod to indicate his approval. He, at least, thought that she had done well.

None of the three had any reservations about letting her continue.

The second part saw her go to the stables as expected, where she was tasked with making a new set of horseshoes. Not something she had done terribly often in practice, but something she had taken time and care to learn just in case. The horses themselves already knew her, and they’d thankfully chosen a mare that was known to be patient when it came those that cared for her.

Mirdania managed to make and change all four of the horseshoes without a problem, though she did require the help of a stablehand due to her own height and the handling of the horse itself. This was not seen as detrimental, however.

She was also tasked to make a knife, but with the added instructions to make it purely ornamental in nature. It might still serve to cut things if she chose as such, yes, but the focus was to be on its appearance. It also wasn’t meant to be too elaborately decorative, as that would have taken longer than a single day. She’d decided to approach it as she would a letter opener, and used some lesser-used metals and alloys that combined into a beautiful, final piece.

The questioning of her choice of materials by the three smiths had been rigurous and sharp, but again, the young elf had expected as much. She managed to remain calm and collected, and gave explanations that seemed to be to the other smiths’ satisfaction.

By the nods and slight smiles at the end of it, she had passed this part as well.

"Now, there is only one part of the exam left, as you know," Celebrimbor said with a slight glint in his eyes. His smile was encouraging, and as always, it grounded and calmed Mirdania instantly. "Would you like to show us what you have prepared? And give us some explanations on your chosen project?"

She smiled, and nodded, "Yes, of course. Let me go and retrieve it-"

This, this was the part she was most excited about. And the most nervous. It had taken her a long time just to settle on what she wanted to make, then on making it, and finally remaking that same piece over and over, until she found the result to be to her liking.

She only hoped the other smiths, and especially Celebrimbor, would like it the same way.

Nervously, she hurried over towards where she had her finished piece sitting underneath some linen cloth.

She’d made clasps, but not just any kind of clasp; she’d made them for Celebrimbor’s cloaks, specifically. Fashioned after the holly leaves that he so loved, and after which Eregion had been named, they were made out of gold and with green, delicate gemstones. Small chains hung from the two meant to be worn the cloak’s front, while those he might fasten to his upper arms were more simplistic.

Not incredibly impressive if looked at from afar, but she’d made those pieces with utmost precision, and looking closely would reveal smaller details that showed how much time and care had gone into their design and construction.

Celebrimbor often preferred to wear multiple layers, to the point that she usually only saw him wear a simpler robe with no additional cloaks, coats or layers whenever he worked in the forge. She wasn’t quite sure why that was; one of the other smiths had speculated that he tried to appear less imposing this way, as he seemed to have a...more complicated relationship with his family’s history and legacy.

She and the other smiths, and the people of Eregion as a whole, knew that he was perhaps one of the kindest rulers there were, but she had seen those from outside sometimes regard him with suspicion and less than favorable opinions about his father, or even grandfather.

It pained her, the way his face would freeze into a polite smile during such occasions, the way he would look almost haunted in the aftermath.

She couldn’t hope to convince him that none of his own subjects feared him, and that he did not need to hide himself away – it wasn’t her place. And while she desperately wanted to openly curse those dignitaries and heralds, if only because it might bring a smile to her Lord’s face, she refrained from that, too.

So, the best thing she could do, in her opinion, was to try and help him a little instead. If he insisted on wearing heavy robes, they should at least have some beautiful pieces on them. These ones would hopefully keep the upper layers in place, or help to keep them closed at the front, while looking quite decorative.

And, hopefully, while being considered worthy of a Lord.

To her relief and joy, Celebrimbor beheld the clasps with surprise, then curiosity, and finally, with yet another one of his smiles. This one appreciative.

The first question he asked was gentle. "Did you have a specific person in mind for these?"

She grinned and moved back and forth on the soles of her feet as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I did, in fact. I made them for you."

She would never forget how touched he’d looked in that moment, how he held the pieces as if they were something so utterly precious as nothing he’d beheld before. Considering that his grandfather had created the Simaril, this was truly memorable, and to her, quite special.

The questions and remarks from the other two smiths seemed to pass her by in a blur after that, as Mirdania could only really focus on Celebrimbor’s reactions. The way he turned the pieces over in his hands, the look of awe he carried. The surprise on his face when he made to give them back to her and she gently shook her head, and lifted her hands to close his own around them.

"As I said. I made them for you. They are a gift."

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she thought she saw the hint of a tear in his eye for a moment immediately after, before he blinked a few times and cleared his throat.

And then, finally, the exam was over. Mirdania stood and wrung her hands, suddenly tense again, as the three smiths moved over to the other side of the room to talk among themselves. She had excellent hearing, like all elves did, but she refused to focus on their words, and instead chose to step outside as they discussed her test and its results.

The next moments seemed incredibly drawn out, to the point of feeling like they might never end. She barely kept from gnawing at her nails, but could not keep from pacing back and forth, or fiddling with some of the embroidery on her robe – green, as she often wore – until the thread began to fray under her fingers and she had to stop herself.

Her hair was next, with her turning it around her fingers as she changed direction once again.

"Mirdania," a soft voice came from the entrance to the forge. She startled and turned around with wide eyes. Celebrimbor looked apologetic, and motioned her over with his hand, head tilted towards the interior, posture inviting – and encouraging. "Please, come back inside. We’re ready."

She took a deep breath and nodded. As she stepped inside, he briefly placed a steadying hand between her shoulder blades, and then closed the door after them.

As she stepped in front of the three smiths, all of them wore delighted expressions, though none so much as Celebrimbor himself. Before they even opened their mouths, she knew what they’d say:

She’d passed.

And she had. They congratulated her on her knowledge, her abilities, her problem solving skills. Gave some advice on some minor mistakes, yes, but the important parts were all done to their utmost satisfaction.

"The piece you created by yourself, especially," the female smith said, to nods from the other two. "It might not be the most intricate or elaborate work, but it was made with great skill. And with heart. It’s clear you knew the person you had in mind, and put much thought and time into making these pieces, which is what a smith should do. Not just use their abilities, but also, their intuition."

Mirdania felt like her smile would split her face in two, with how wide it was as they finally declared her a smith in her own right. And even more so when Celebrimbor added that he would gladly take her as his assistant.

"I’d love to work as your assistant. It’s all I ever wanted. Thank you," she said, and now, it was she who felt excess moisture in her eyes.

She felt ready to burst with how elated she was. Seeing the elf she had so admired all her life nod at her and welcome her as his assistant was the fulfilment of so many of her dreams.

The other two smiths were quick to leave after, both of them having other obligations to fulfill. Or maybe they wanted to give the two of them some time alone.

Celebrimbor stepped close to her as the others left. Both he and Mirdania smiled at each other. The older elf looked incredibly fond, and once again, so very proud of her. "Congratulations. I am most glad to count you among my assistants now – I think Eregion will greatly benefit from your skill and dedication," then he stopped, and his voice became soft. "And I am glad to continue having you work in my forge as well. It is a joy to work with you."

In most other moments, Mirdania would have refrained from doing anything unexpected. As it was, she was filled to the brim with happiness, and with nowhere for it to go, she overcame her usual sense of propriety and simply stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the other elf to hug him close.

Some distant part of her was questioning whether this was alright, whether the other even wished to be embraced, especially by one of his subjects, but the rest of her did not care. She was happier than she’d ever been, and she wanted to share that feeling. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-," she repeated, face pressed to his chest.

She was almost certain that she was, in fact, crying now, if only a little.

Celebrimbor stilled for only a moment, before she heard a gentle chuckle, and then he lifted his own arms and wrapped them around her as well, one arm around her shoulders and one at the back of her head.

"There, there," he soothed, voice warm and welcoming, "You did really well today. I am proud of you. And I am very delighted about your gift, it is very beautiful."

She only tightened her arms around him in response as she continued to hold onto him. He kept her in his arms, rubbing a hand between her shoulderblades as she let her joy spread through her.

The other remained kind and patient as she knew him to be while he held her, a steady presence as he had always been in her life. When she finally drew back, after what had to be a very long moment, and looked at him with a bit of excess moisture in her eyes, he looked down at her and smiled kindly.

She did not know it yet, but this would only be the first of many hugs they would give each other going forward. Now that they had done so once, the Lord of Eregion would gladly greet the younger elf with a hug whenever he came back from travelling outside of Ost-In-Edhil, and she would often embrace him similarly, whenever she was the last to leave the forge in the late evening and bade him goodnight.

She also didn’t know it yet, but he would wear the clasps she had made him often over the following years and decades, only exchanging them when he had to, or they did not fit with the colors of his robes. But whenever he wore multiple layers or a cloak, her pieces were what adorned them.

And every single time, without fail, Mirdania would see the gold-and-green holly leaves and smile to herself, thinking back to the day she had given them to him.

Celebrimbor really had a point about how the exam would give those who took it fond memories to look back onto, it seemed. She certainly had some she held very, very dear. And she thought Celebrimbor might just do so as well.

[helenvader]

I haven't had time or energy to participate in our ROP Underdog event, but I thought I'd at least honour today's prompt - Company/Solitude - with sharing an excerpt from my WIP, which has Mairon bonding with none other as the old woman he devoured in S2E1. She sure fits the "minor character" category. :-)

---

He wakes up abruptly, registering somebody's presence. He finds himself on the floor in front of the cold fireplace.

“Sorry for waking you,” says Hilda. “You passed out like a babe. The others didn't want to rouse you.”

She grins.

“I, for one, think that seeing you roused must be a sight for the gods.”

Mairon remembers he is supposed not to understand a word and thus panic-blushing is out of the question. He opts for a confused look.

“Forgive this silly old woman,” says Hilda, “It's such a joy to tease young men. They're always so delightfully flustered. One of the gifts of advancing age.”

She takes off her shabby headscarf, revealing a knotted mess of ginger hair.

He points to his own, then to hers.

“Same colour,” she nods.

“Same colour,” he parrots.

“Yours is so much more pleasing to the eye, though,” she adds in genuine admiration. “So smooth. One would think you've just combed it. Elf magic? But then, your companions look much more weatherworn.”

His lip-corners turn slightly upward.

Vain as ever.

Hilda discards the topic of Elf magic and circles back to the hair colour discourse.

“It runs in the family,” she says. “All of us are redheads. Even our cats were all gingers.”

She attempts translation by pointing her finger at herself, and her hair; then mimics a baby in her arms and meows, pointing at her hair again.

“I miss braiding my girls' hair,” she says. “Would you mind…?”

The words are followed by another series of signs.

Why not? The last time somebody braided his hair was when he still apprenticed with Aulë. Even fiery Maiar are not keen on setting their hair on fire while forging; that necessity gave rise to the tradition of braiding each other's hair, which, inevitably, led to a fierce competition for the most beautiful creation.

Mairon's own were never held in high regard; not that they were ugly, but unlike some others, he never lost sight of the actual reason for the braiding. If practicality was required, he always chose it over aesthetics.

Of those who never failed to comment on it, Curumo was the worst. He never had a reason to find fault with the Admirable One’s forgework, so it naturally followed that he grasped the opportunity to berate him for something with both hands. His annoying habit of dispensing what he saw as sage advice made Mairon the perfect target for his helpful tips. Oh, and how he loved the sound of his own voice!

Ridiculous as he was, he was never as foolish as to believe Melkor's lies. Maybe he was, in the end, sage indeed, or Melkor simply never tried to recruit him.

Mairon never gave it much thought. At that time, he was too busy being ecstatic to be the chosen one. The best, the beautiful, the beloved. Melkor never found anything wrong with his hair-braiding techniques.

And that's what? A redeeming quality?

He feels Hilda’s eyes on him; she is quietly waiting for his reply.

So he nods. And meows.

She gives him an amused look.

“Why do I have a feeling you understand every word?”

He dons a perfectly innocent face.

“I know that look,” she says. “All our gingers wore it when plotting some mischief. Which was most of the time.”

“You sort of even look like a sweet kitten,” she continues. “It's the ears… and that cute nose… and that glint in the eye. I bet you're full of mischief, too.”

You are a remarkably observant woman, Hilda.

He meows again.

She giggles.

“I won't pry,” she says. “None of my business. If you let me braid your hair, I’ll be content enough.”

Armed with a whalebone comb, she reverently sets to her task, softly singing.

The roads are a-covered Under the blanket of snow Alone in the whiteness How can I find my way home?

The coldness is heavy Heavier though is my soul My sweetheart has left me How can I go on alone?

He catches himself humming along. The experience is oddly comforting; he feels a pinch of sorrow when it’s over.

Presented with a mirror that has seen better days, he is surprised at the intricate nature of the braiding. He would have expected something simple.

But then, when were you ever interested in the hairstyles of mortals? Or mortals as such?

“Can I return the favour?” he asks, throwing all caution to the wind.

Hilda refrains from commenting, but her face is the very image of triumph.

He carefully loosens her braid and starts working, humming to himself. It's not a spell - he has forbidden himself to use his power ever again - but it helps him to concentrate on untangling all the knots.

Once he is finished, Hilda checks the result in the mirror and gasps.

“You learned it after seeing it once in this battered thing?”

He raises a roguish eyebrow.

“I possess many skills.”

“That I never doubted for a moment,” she grins.

And, in an improbable turn of events, he discovers that harmless flirting with an old innkeeper is, after all, a delightfully refreshing experience.

---

[drakyns]

[ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ?

ㅤㅤ𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦ㅤ|ㅤ@predvestnikㅤ| ㅤaccepting!

[ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ?

most of the time, håkan’s an open book. it’s curious! he has many scars, even though he doesn’t consider himself a warrior. his prosthetic and the bite marks just below his knees are a subject of constant query by curious drunkards from other villages, and he’ll share the tale of the red death with a smile on his face and perhaps a few witty jokes. some children will notice markings of lightning scars scattered across his neck and extending to his torso: he will laugh awkwardly, say that he had a very good reason to challenge thor himself and tell stories about his stupidly brilliant experiments. when healers worry over the claw mark on his chest, he’ll shrug and explain it was one of his draconic buddy’s stunts. worth it, though! he has no trouble excusing the scars on his back, caused by enemies or even friends, or the ones on his arms and legs from when inventions at the forge went awry. truth is, hiccup remembers most of his injuries, has no qualms sharing how he got them—not an appealing sight, but hey, at least they make for good stories, he thinks. part of the occupational hazard.

except for two. they’re reddish now, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but they are there, on the palms of his hands. a memory of flame and burnt flesh, blotches withered, reddish, pink, yellow, white, a mixture: it goes from the padding of the fingers to the root of his wrists, some parts smooth, others glassy, ugly carvings. he no longer winces at the movement, and many think those scars resulted from his forgework, a clumsy episode with his fire sword, materials used unwisely or dragons provoked beyond their limits. some more impressionable theorists suggest he tried holding a dragon’s flame bare, others that he wasn’t careful with acid from changewings. he lets them believe it, never correcting any story the twins of loki come up with for skalds to share or mothers to warn. it’s the one time there’s no smile on his face. only he and another dead man know the truth behind those burns on his hands. he’ll keep it that way.

[monmuses]

@redgentleengie asked: Jonathan is going to bow to September in a (slightly) exaggerated manner. "My good woman, the forgework is finished for today. Would you give me the honor of accompanying me on a picnic?" ; unprompted asks!

    The bowing was oddly cute, almost smiling with a flushed face while chuckling to herself. He really was so much like a gentleman, and allowing himself to bow in her presence - like a queen.

    "Oh ... why, I would love to," she hummed, returning the bow with a bent leg and open arms straying from her sides. "But ... you don't need to bow to me like a princess. I am flattered, but you truly make me feel ... well, flushed.

    "But of course I would! I hope you have ... a location picked out," she noted, nudging him with a smile. "I'd like to bring the basket, if you don't mind."

[sympathetichestia]

Introducing Azar, the Wildfire God! He's one of the first of my gods to come to life.

He's the forgeworker, the one who acts before he thinks, and is the destruction of fire. (Yes, I based him off of Leo Valdez for my Leo stans)

(Not my art)

[verishere]

For the 10 facts thing, how about Freya :3 I don't know enough about her

First, something I made recently for her: she's a weaver! She had always been known for her tapestries, and weaving is her Skill (a concept in world that i need to make a post about at some point).

Leading from that, before she and Liam confessed but both were already in love, she tried to make gifts for him: knowing he is a Nulilil, renowned for forgework and forgework was his craft, she tried to forge the gifts herself. Which went exactly as you'd expect, given that she has never before then lifted a hammer in a forge in her life (it took Liam, after they confessed, to make her a gift by weaving which also went exactly as you'd expect to tell her that no, he would appreciate a gift she is actually good at making, rather than something he'd make for himself).

She designed pretty much every avian creature. Very few were designed by her siblings, most she created both the aesthetics and the functional design for.

Given her skill now at understanding flight, aerodynamics, etc, the fact that every (true) aeternal has fully functioning wings that allow them to fly about twice as fast as you could sprint, as well as hover perfectly still at will, all while moving relatively slowly (imagine angelic wings) pisses her off to no end, despite that she helped to create that as well. Those things don't follow aerodynamics, dammit! Too late Freya, you and your siblings made this bed, now lie in it.

I don't think I've ever described her physical appearance? This fact will just be as well as I can describing how she typically looks. First, my pfp is her as well as can be made in the picrew in my bio. She typically wears some kind of fruit, berry, etc. as earrings (not plastic, literally the plant). Her hair is straight and smooth, typically cut to her shoulder blades. She wears dresses usually, that either go down to her ankles or knees, and are either sleeveless or sleeves that stop at the elbows. Her hair is almost never adorned with anything more than braids, if that. Usually she let's it flow free. She is 5'9", or 175 cm. She never wears high heels, usually wearing open toed slip on black shoes. She wears anklets and bracelets almost all the time, though no rings. She does wear a necklace at all times, one Liam forged, made from golden chain with a crystal at the end of it, inside which contains the last of the True Sun's light, trapped within in stasis (yes its littereraly just a silmaril but less bright and no one swore a death oath over it please don't sue me).

She once did try to wear high heels, but she did so for the first time in Blonicku (where high-heeled shoes were invented) before going out in public, and fell because she didn't know how to wear them. She has since always fucking hated them, irrationally making up excuses to never try to wear them again despite that the first time she seemed eager to try them and complimented Nrolin on hers. Apparently, they are now pointless and ugly performances.

She is a light reader, shunning the stereotype that all Aeternals are book worms with massive personal libraries (like her husband). An average year sees her reading at most five books, but usually three on average. She hardly writes at all.

I have a meter for all my characters over how much of a prankster they are. From 1 to 10, or Lopunil to Aegir for better words, all of my characters fall somewhere on this. Freyas a three. She hardly ever plans out tricks on anyone, mostly just teasing people in the moment. Her greatest trick (with planning) was making a song where every word began with a specific letter, all of which spelled out (translated) "What rank should he deserve, the land slug that he is? Why do I sing his compliments? He is a rude fool." The song was complimentary of this one lord of the Mark who hadn't done anything illegal so he got to keep the mark but that all her family hated for how uptight he is, yet they couldn't publically say that without looking bad.

As hinted before, singing and songwriting is one of her talents, which she was almost going to choose as her Skill instead of weaving. When Nerquam chose singing as her Skill she chose weaving.

In the first blessed years, her relationship with all the Elders was more like a mentor and teacher, not parent, despite how the Elders were created. Eventually she was friends with many of them. It was till the battle of the sun was over and she was traveling with Liam to Blonicku that she learned of the concept of a monarch, which had apparently been based on her and her siblings. She will always consider the typically idea of a monarch a useless performance and actively refuses to behave like a queen, despite that she is one of the two highest queens in the world. Granted, her refusal to behave like that is something all her siblings have in common, save Nirum but he doesn't count.

[steel-forged]

🧠'I should get out of the forge...maybe meet up with someone...give them a kiss and see how they handle it.'

Send 🧠 + an intrusive thought for my muse to have, and they'll react to having it!

Today, the ringing of her hammer on steel rang a little empty. Between the peals of metal on metal, other thoughts crept into her head. Mostly of heading topside, getting some fresh air, then...

Wow, her lips felt lonely today. Faces popped into her head, quite a number, that could fix that little issue. The desire was much stronger than she expected, so many that she cared about and hadn't properly shown it. And suddenly, forgework lost its appeal. The hammer went down, and the heat shut off.

Time to go find something better to do.

[vermakesthings]

The Sun.

The Sun was in the earliest age of the first Blessed Years. All life on the earth had been created with the light of the Nuthriser (the stones of the Nuthri) in mind, the Nuthri were too focused on the act of creating to worry about how they would light the whole world after. They knew it would be a problem, but for now the plants would grow wherever they were, and that would be enough.

Years after they created the Elders, the problem of light became bigger. Previously, when a massive amount of life died, they would just remake it, but now they wanted to spend time with the Elders, to create society together. And so, whole forests died entirely. Animals becoming endangered. Certain sea creatures went entirely extinct before they were remade.

The Lililnu (in most of my posts they are called the Nulilil. There was a linguistics shift during Blonicku's height, changing it to that, and the origonal 4 Lililnu never accepted that shift, so they are called Lililnu) had been discovering forgework for a time, learning how the metals came together and reacted, learning how to enchant metals with runes and spiritual magic, and so on. When the problem of light became undeniable, they found a way to harness the light of the stones properly. The stones previously could only glow brighter at command of someone holding them, but now it has been discovered how to use them remotely, at the cost of less power, and also continuously, meaning someone would not have to actively be there creating the light. They had already invented the ability to create flying objects, and so as a gift for the Nuthri, they created the palace of the sun.

Within the sun are the four thrones of the Nuthri, created that way not out of respect for their royalty (the concept of royalty did not yet exist) but due to practicality. To fly the sun, one must be in telepathic and magical link with the runes that are inlaid into it, and as the sun must fly for a whole day, someone has to be controlling it at all times, and so having seats is just practical. The Nuthri each of two stones, and they each put one stone within their throne, the other in the crown the Lililnu gifted to them. (still not a royalty thing but the crowns aren't what this post is about.)

Also an aspect of the thrones, an oath made by them is binding. If you swear by the thrones, it cannot be dissobeyed. If you say something untrue and then try to swear by the thrones that it is true, you will not be able to finish swearing it. You simply won't be able to speak those words. If you swear to do something, you will do it. You might be able to resist it for a time but you will be forced to eventually. (this entire paragraph also applies to the crowns but again not what this post is about)

There is also the ability to time travel within the sun, invented by the Lililnu and Nuthri working together, but don't ask me how that works I haven't made it up yet lol.

Anyways for the dark years three of those thrones were destroyed by Kuthribruth, but his own throne was preserved, and while it passed into the Keeper of the Sun's control (Liam's, but literally no one knows it's Liam's lol.) that one throne with the single stone in it is enough for life on earth. It is not however enough forever, as the runes decay. Once, the Lililnu would have been there to recast the magic, but with their deaths and Nerquams seperation they can no longer maintain the sun, and they did not pass their knowledge down to their descendents, so Liam is clueless. As the sun decays, life on earth will slowly diminish, becoming weaker and lethargic. It will even infect the souls of the people of the world, they will lose their hope in life and the worlds future. The world will slowly decay into the darkest era of the dark ages. When finally the sun is dark enough that one with wings can approach, that is when Lopunil attacks, the sun is felled, and the world is plunged into true darkness, with only the light of the dead souls in the sky to guide by.

However, before the three thrones were destroyed, that is what is called the True Sun, when all four thrones and the stones within each of them still stood. The light then was brighter yet fairer, not painful to look at. You could stare directly at the sun without issue, and even fly up to it like it's simply warm, even though it is emitting enough to light the world. The light also has certain properties for people, that affect their souls (and this is why as the light decays people lose hope, the light of those stones is what gave those souls strength, without it they are weaker and their minds reflect it). If you have stood within the light of the True Sun that makes you a aeternal. An aeternal is ageless once they reach their prime, they have immense magical strength, they have greater physical strength, and their soul will take much, MUCH longer to fade due to lack of light at the end of the Dark Years. They are also provided wings, magical wings that do not obey the laws of aerodynamics which really pisses Freya off even though she helped make this concept because they flap slowly and yet you can hover or move at speed with them. They are magic, an extension of the soul, and so they can be completely hidden away, but while there are physical. The wings are the Colors that I keep alluding to and yet not making a post about. Pretty much, they match eye colors.

There is no difference between a Numen and a Numorn's wings, except that the patterns on Numen wings are usually an extension of the body fur patterns.

This is the ONLY WAY to be an aeternal btw, becomming Marked by the Mark of Monarchs later in the story is just immitation. You are ageless, and more powerful than most, but you are not a match for an aeternal. The only thing the mark has over being an aeternal is that the mark is a connection to one of the Nuthri stones, rather than the memory of one- and so rather than simply being very slow for your soul to decay with the lack of light, a marked person straight up doesn't. They might decay in their mind, as they watch the world fall apart, but their soul's aren't weakening as a direct consequence of lack of light, whereas an aeternal's will- it will just take much longer.

[attractthecrows]

list post.

DA THEMES

for my ocs. sorry. not canon characters

Sylaira Mahariel: dead & dying trees. single, lost feathers. love lost. suicidality. bonds forged in grief. life lived to the fullest on borrowed time, with acceptance of - longing for - impending death.

Laure Amell: birds. A chick with its wings clipped. the pretty, empty life of a captured songbird. the call of the zugunruhe. the croaking squawk of the carrion crow. Rising wind, and the storms that come with it. determination, competence, confidence, pride, Valor. how many ways can an ego die?

Hahraka Aeducan: [incomplete] The savagery of Nobility as a class. The kindness that nobility might represent. The ignominious death of the Deshyr houses. The havoc that darkspawn wreak not only on a population, but long-term, as a culture.

Danie Hawke: birds again. simple joys and sorrows. loyalty and loneliness. Loyalty and loneliness. [incomplete]

Dominic Hawke: [incomplete]

Mara Hawke: Piety and compassion. [incomplete]

Brendan Hawke: [incomplete]

Asaaranda Adaar: mountains, colorful silks, the bonds of brotherhood. Cliff-climbing goats. Blood and sweat and laughter by the campfire once the battle is won. Shattering stone and your comrade's back against yours.

Haalide Adaar: broken weapons, re-forged sloppier but stronger than before the break. Fire and steel, stone and bone. Ease and assurance that comes with age and experience. Old wounds, old scars. Hurts and secrets buried by time. More than anything, though: forgework, be it forging the Inquisition, forging weapons for the Valo-kas, or forging a new future.

Revallen Lavellan: grief, guilt, fury, responsibility, failure, redemption. Fire and forest. Secret and song. The legacies of the dead and of the living. Curiosity, creativity, laughter, affection. Fathers that love their children. Lessons learned from the dead.

Orathari Lavellan: skill and patience. copper and gold. clever mechanical trinkets. stranglevine and morning mist.

Valovera Lavellan: anger and ambition.

Azimir Ingellvar: black, red, white, gold. cannibalism. brutality hidden under a veneer of gentility and academics.

[ask-cursed-princess]

Scar: hey do you know someone who could make me and my friends in here weapons, we wanna start sparring sense its kinda boring in the castle, not much to do

I mean, I could give it a SHOT, but I'm not sure you want the kinda weapons I use. Stygian Iron can steal souls.

BUT! Feel free to ask our Etho, Tango, or Mumbo! They're Hephaestus kids so they know lots of stuff about forgework! I'm sure they could make some weapons for you!

[cpbhomes]

[rivalfortune5768]

What makes a God.

Continuing Reforged from the other day.

CWs: Not much really, just a bit more self doubt/loathing. it's chill.

I twirled my hammer in my hand, thinking. It had been about two weeks since young Radix found themself in my mentorship. I'd been planning to lead with smithing and forgework advice upfront, before explaining some of the more... complicated matters of godhood to them. So naturally the fates found it a perfect time to cast another perfectly aimed glop of spit in my face.

"...Well?" The young thing repeated, currently pouring a slow stream of hot wind from their skull. We'd experimented how to change the sourceflow so that there wasn't molten metal all over the shop, turns out you just need to dump raw dirt in there, can't seem to produce more earth so it defaults to whatever hits it strongest and fastest.

"...Well. That depends on what kind of god you choose to be, partially. But there's a method to this sort of thing, small one..." I say, tentative. It's been too little time since last that I've had to be patient with someone. Blunt does the job quicker and clearer.

"I could have poisoned whole towns! I need to go make sure they're okay! I need to. Fuck... I need to fix this!" They shouted. It had been a few nights ago, they woke up in the middle of the night, echoing down the tunnels their realization that, what with some sort of liquid nightmare leaking out their head they may have poisoned anywhere they passed to get here, in their haste. "I have to go out and fix it."

I nearly bang my hammer on the anvil to get their attention but I catch myself. Hammer it out later, now is the time to tap slowly, precisely. "Stop and listen to me. A god does not begrieve their mistakes, at least not to mortals. Their faith makes you who you are, and you would be wise to hold that in high priority."

"But-" I stop them this time, letting them obsess without focus will get us nowhere. "SO. What you should do is make use of your new form. Good riddance to the hooded pestilence that swept through this town in a fervor, for now there is a God reborn amongst them! Surely, they can solve our woes...?" I don't smile, I don't like what I'm suggesting, but there are ways We deal with these things.

The poor thing looks nearly crestfallen. "You want me to lie to them? I'm. I can't do that! I don't even remember if I'm good at it!" "You're shit at it, I can tell you that." They blink. "How do you know that?"

I think back to two weeks ago, they came to me then, before they were reforged. The damn child wailing like a canary, they said they were useless as is, that they didn't want to live. They cried, their lip quivering. Besides the obvious, they had just about every tell in the book that they were lying. "You told me how you found this place was that a priest from the village over told you about me. They're too young to know where I live." I, on the other hand, am a practiced liar.

And as such, they accepted my statement as gospel. The perks of teaching an amnesiac. I use the moment to strike while the iron is hot, so to speak. "You will not lie to them. You are different now, are you not? You wear a different name, no nightmares spill forth from your skull, hell you could change yourself more if it would help you convince yourself of the fact."

They stop, tears of self-loathing pooling in their eyes for a moment, stopped from spilling over by realization. "I... Could. Couldn't I?" They say in a small voice. "Master Kiln..." They continue, "Would you please... Please journey with me? I want to fix any messes I caused, I'm certain I've caused them. But. I don't want to ruin things for myself... I want to be a beloved deity, like my mother, but..."

I heave out a sigh and set my hammer down "Child. Enough doubt. I don't want to hear the word 'But' regarding your own plans or desires or worth or what-have-you until we are three villages out from here, is that understood?" I had planned for another era or two of solitude, yet I find myself faced with many 'But's of my own, driving against my own desires. "I will accompany you, and your education will continue as we travel."

They take a deep breath, trying to center themself as I've been teaching. "Thank you, master. I won't let you down." I nod and crack my neck "You wouldn't be the first of our kind to do so, child. Don't make promises you can't keep, just be ready to make amends for them." They look hurt, then confused. Perhaps they're picking up my habit for studying others.

They aren't ready to unravel that web yet, so I use the chance to shift my scale down to that of the common folk. This time I choose a broad frame. Rippling shoulders, arms, back, it's only right for a smith to be well-sculpted, after all. A modest pair of breasts, relative to the rest of my form, and a fine mane of red and black hair, styled as flames coming up from a beard and back along my spine.

Naturally, the young godling's jaw damn near hits the cave floor. "Can... I do that? Is that a thing all gods can do?" They ask, blinking as their eyes fail to properly process this new information. "Oh yes, how frustrating do you think it would be to walk amongst the mortals and be recognized by each and every soul?" I smile, this time.

I walk them through the process. I teach them that gods are faith given form, second that is. Firstly, gods are Ideas. Concepts. Things that souls we could only dream of dreamt up long before us or ours ever stood above the mortal folk. In order to shape yourself, you need only take what that idea means to you, any facet, it doesn't have to be the whole, and you find the faith that folk have in you, mortals, fellow gods, or yourself. You take that faith and you give it form from that idea.

Right as I finish explaining, as if they'd been doing it along to the words I spoke, they stood taller, that crack in their skull now a vibrant rust-tinged silver line of hair contrasting their long golden blonde. Lithe, not like they'd been starving, but like they were on the run from something. Built out of necessity. Their cloak matching their hair as it shifts, gold with a stark rust-silver stripe. Lastly, their eyes seem to refuse change. Blue tries to creep around their irises, but only seems to complete a half circle around their previous raven-violet. Odd but not unheard of. I begin thinking of ways to explain it away.

"Alright, with that, think on your name and story. I'll begin packing for the trip." We don't need to eat, but it will help keep appearances up if we carry food and water. Not to mention I'll need to find a non-enchanted set of tools and such to cart around with us... "Well, what are you going to go by? Any ideas for me?" They ask, looking down at themself, then up at me.

"I'll be Ser Radson, first name Ranulf. As for you, just don't use the name I gave you. Don't want folk months or years from now saying they were the first to know young Radix before they took their mother's title." The godling thought for a moment. "Before she took her mother's title." She stated, as correction to us both. I nodded. "Fair Astrid Meriweather, perhaps?" She coughs from astonishment instantly. "No way. Absolutely not. That's way too... Fanciful." "Think on it yourself then, little one." I say, before heading out of the room to gather our things.