#the war of the dwarves and orcs

[mrkida-art]

Frerin son of Thráin in the green valley of Azanulbizar

[high-guardian-herbs]

Okay so maybe, possibly, perhaps, I may have done too much worldbuilding and lore for this whole thing

Like, too much too much

Like, what was the story about again? Kind of much

Like, this protagonist is too small for this kind of story too much

Like, the last few thousands years lore and wars and evolution kind of too much

Like, hey, maybe I should make this a little smaller and focus on the story kind of too much

Yeah I gotta focus on the future more than the past of this world

[ghostlythinglady]

A lot of fantasy goes with Tolkien explanation of fantasy racism being the result of ancestral grudge.

Then you got Dungeon Meshi which is like:

"Elves and Dwarves hate each other because their respective empires make up 2/3 of the imperial core and are stuck in a cold war as the planet runs out of uncolonized land to grab. Elves are able to live in pastoral paradise because they've horded most of the settings farm-able land and natural capital, displacing and mass murdering any natives in the process. Orcs and goblins are hostile to other races because there the primary targets of an ongoing slavery and genocide campaign. The dividing line between human and inhuman is arbitrarily assigned via a phrenological pseudo-science that quickly falls apart when questioned by anyone who wasn't indoctrinated into it since birth."

[fangirl-erdariel]

I'm a little doubtful that's the case, simply because looking at the timelines in LOTR, the populations of hobbits that would be the ancestors of the Bree and Shire hobbits migrated over the Misty Mountains roughly between 1050-1150 Third Age (settling in Bree around 1300 Third Age, and being granted the lands of the Shire in 1601)

Meanwhile, Déagol only finds the Ring and is murdered by Sméagol around 2463 Third Age, so well over a thousand years after the migrations of the hobbits over the Misty Mountains, and about 740 years after hobbits settled in the Shire

So, what this seems to mean is that Anduin population of hobbits survived for a long time after the group that would become Bree and Shire hobbits split off (although it evidently died out for unknown reasons somewhere between 2463 and 2941 when the events of The Hobbit take place), and the Anduin hobbits during Déagol and Sméagol's time were not themselves the direct ancestors of the Shire hobbits

I think it's very unlikely that the hobbits West of the Misty Mountains had any contact with the Anduin hobbits by 2463 (to be honest I don't think it's very likely they had really any contact after the migration over the Misty Mountains at all, but certainly not by 2463), because that's just five hundred -ish years before the events of The Hobbit, which is little enough time that I feel like if there had been contact between Shire hobbits and Anduin hobbits at that point, knowledge of that would have remained in memory or record in the Shire all the way to the events of The Hobbit and LOTR, which... clearly it didn't. For context, Déagol finding the Ring happened a bit over 20 years after Buckland was settled by hobbits, which is something there seems to still be fairly clear record and knowledge of by the time the events of the Hobbit and LOTR take place.

So, considering that, as fun as the idea would be, I don't think the difference between the birthday traditions of Sméagol and Déagol's time's Anduin hobbits, vs Hobbit/LOTR era Shire hobbits, can really come from Déagol's murder. When exactly the traditions changed (and which of them is the original, anyway; it could be also that the Shire hobbits' tradition of giving gifts to others on your birthday is the older one preserved amongst them even when it changed among Anduin hobbits. Or it could be that the Shire hobbits' tradition changed while Anduin hobbits' tradition was the older one) I have no clue, but you've got a stretch of like 1700 years where it could've, so. yeah idk

So Sméagol wanted the Ring to be given to him as a birthday present, right? He wanted to receive it as a gift and killed Déagol when he refused.

400-something years later, it's common hobbit custom to give gifts on one's birthday instead of receiving them. Bilbo gets special mathoms for his 111th birthday party to give away.

Does this mean an old legend of a murder over a birthday gift lead to this massive cultural shift?? I can't find solid evidence that it's directly related but I mean... Hobbits are known gossipers and a rare murder would be very well-publicized. And it seems in-character for them to avoid the possibility of further birthday gift violence with such a strange, neat little solution of flipping the expectation around.

[probablybadrpgideas]

Mean Insults By Species

Human: "Hey, how's scrolling tumblr rather than improving your life going?"

Elves: "In the cycles of the moon above the dew-dropped forest, where the creek runs with silver and gold, a deer sings to the song of dreams" (your guess is as good as mine, but the one elf I said this to turned pale and ran off crying.)

Dwarves: "You look like the kind of fool who'd mistake metamorphosed limestone for metamorphosed dolostone!" (This exact phrase caused three clan-destroying wars throughout dwarven history)

Halflings: "Wow, I can't believe you spend your nights crawling into two dirty holes."

Gnomes: "You law-abiding tax returner!"

Orcs: "I've got half a mind to not beat the crap out of you right now, asshole!" (Orcs tend to enjoy fighting a lot)

Teiflings: "Your eyes barely look like limpid tears and you don't even look half related to Gerard Way!"

Dragons: "I..er..your hairstyle is...subpar and your mother is...above average weight... for her age and social class!" (Yeah, they don't get a lot of practice, what with generally responding to social difficulties with firebreath. Act offended anyway, if you know what's good for you.)

[thegreatyin]

guild wars is an insane setting because it's a normal fantasy world but also the closest elf analogue that exists is humanity. what people would at first glance assume to be ""elves"" are actually just vaguely humanoid plant monsters made to serve an unbelievably ancient god-dragon that's also a living jungle and also all of the plant people are at maximum 25 years old because their entire species are basically collectively babies in terms of how long they've existed in-universe. also the orcs are giant cat people. the gnomes are rats. the dwarves are normal but also they're steadily going extinct and also all living rock people now. nobody even knows what a horse is

[starsofarda]

I have seen that post about Maedhros being found in Moria by the Fellowship after being woken up by the longest unvoluntary nap ever. And yes, I know "Archaeology", anfic on a similar premise.

But today I wouldlike to linger on the comedic aspects of "the Fellowship expected a Balrog to come, but instead First Era Maedhros Feanorian appeared, albeit slightly charred, and now the Fellowship is adding a 10th member to the Fellowship".

For the sake of story I am still gonna say that Gandalf fell down the bridge, because ACTUALLY there was a Balrog.

Anyway the Fellowship minus Gandalf and plus Maedhros waltz in Lothlorien giving Galadriel a whole new range of emotions.

"I WAS EXPECTING GANDALF YOU ALL HAVE BROUGHT BACK A WAR CRIMINAL FROM AN ERA BYGONE AND ALSO MY COUSIN THRICE REMOVED."

Maedhros picking up IMMEDIATELY on the effect that the Ring is having on everyone and having a heart-to-heart with everyone and explaining the whole Silmarillion ordeal.

"Yikes." Everyone nods in agreement to the sentiment epressed by the Hobbits.

As an extra layer Mae asks if they are bound by any oath. "No, Elrond was quite insisting that we would NOT swear ANY oath."

Cue Mae crying.

Somehow Sam clicks immediately with Maedhros and when Frodo leaves the Fellowship Sam is already there all geared up for literal war and with all advice and tips on how to effectively kill orcs.

Somehow Merry and Pippin manage to make Mae smile. Their next mission is to make him laugh.

This reminds him of the Ambarussa. Mae cries again.

Gollum will underestimate that and it will be his doom.

"No Mr.Frodo, Sir Maedhros explained to us very clearly what happens with cursed artifacts, we are leaving Gollum here. Sir Maedhros was so kind, he explained to me everything I need to know."

Boromir lives, because killing Orcs turns out way easier with someone who can instill in them the very fear of the Valar.

Saruman has an incredibly short span.

"Oh? A palantir? My father's invention? Here? Yeah, I am gonna take that."

Somehow everything is a little easier?

Gimli crying because somehow he heard (ancient) Khuzdul from an Elf and now Maedhros has to understand since when Dwarves and Elves do not get along.

The company coming back to Imladris and causing Elrond to break down crying uncontrollably and in a very undignified manner.

"Lindir" hears the cries and when he sees Mae he's crying as well. It is revealed that "Lindir" is actually Maglor.

When the last ship sails for Valinor, the Valar grant M&M to come back due to repentance and various services in aid to destroying the Ring.

Galadriel is still not over the fact that MAEDHROS FEANORIAN was in Lothlorien and she could not even slap him.

At least in Valinor M&M can now hug mama Nerdanel and stay with her. Eventually all brothers will be reimbodied.

Thoughts? Comments? Prayers? Silmarils?

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Hc that elves of the Third Age might appreciate the deeds of those of the First, but they have little respect for them.

It’s one of those things where you look in history and are like ‘cool.’ But you know if you saw these guys irl you’d punch them in the face.

Like these elves of the Third Age, especially those who stuck around at the beginning of the Fourth, are so done with all the drama, prejudices, and feuds. They were never meant to fight this war, it should’ve been over long before their time. The last generations born in ME can’t believe the First Age elves were so self-centred that they put personal feuds over banding together and taking out Morgoth.

This ties into another hc I have of Thranduil and Elrond being the ones to essentially say ‘that’s enough.’ They actively send elves to each other’s realms to end the division as much as they can. Internally Thranduil bridges the Sindar and Silvan etc, whilst Elrond deals with the ten factions of Noldor and ensures their kids get to play together as they grow up, stopping these 6000 year old arguments leaking into the next generation.

They’ve all lost too much to it.

It really starts with Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas at the beginning of the Third Age being taught together as often as they can, groups of Sindar and Noldor being sent with them in an exchange of skills and knowledge. And the focus is forever on:

One day Sauron will return. Are we going to make the same mistake our parents did and let him use our divisions against us?

Galadriel gets involved too. She’s grown in wisdom, has lost more than anyone else. She lies as the final authority on the most problematic of elves who bring up the past for no reason but to go back to the ‘old ways.’ She’s older than most, or close enough in age that even those who refuse to listen to these ‘naive young leaders’ (Elrond and Thranduil) have to listen to her.

By the end of the Third Age it’s common for Sindar, Noldor, Silvan, whatever Cirdan’s lot are, and *insert elf kind here*, to have friends amongst each other’s races. To even have friends amongst men or dwarves, or at least respect and civil relations with them. It’s this mindset that brings Sauron to his knees in the end. He has no one to manipulate. No one to cause internal strife. No one to distract from him.

But back to the arrival in Valinor.

These young elves who have friends crossing cultures and races, have mortal friends they’ve lost over the years to orcs and to Sauron and darkness, find themselves *furious* at the First Age elves.

They lived in so much decadence and luxury that this is what they turned to? Wars and Political Drama for the sake of what. Ambition? What ambition is it to drag your people to the slaughterhouse, unprepared with ideas of glory that will never come to pass?

They lived a life of peace and plenty and never appreciated an ounce of it. Doused themselves in gold paint and heavy embroidered silk and jewellery for the sake of a beauty you couldn’t afford to wear in Middle Earth, no matter how much you wanted to. What if something went wrong? How could you outrun orcs if you were restricted by unwieldy fabric and shone like the sun in the dark. Even children knew better.

These elves of the Third Age would have sacrificed lives and limbs to let their families grow up in such safety.

The worst part is finding out there were older elves who made the Great Journey who warned these veritable children for their lack of life experience, of the horrors that awaited. The foolishness of their decisions. But they were ignored and labelled cowards.

To make matters worse, these glory seeking elves couldn’t even finish the job. Instead it fell to elves and men and dwarves and Hobbits, all of whom had no choice in their circumstances, to fix their ancestors mistakes. All because they’d chosen pride over working together to defeat the evil steadily encroaching and covering their safe havens. 600 years of war, and they learned nothing.

Elwë is not except from this. Aside from his own pride and arrogance, Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond kept their realms safe, but they never turned away a weary traveller. Never hesitated to give aid and shelter to those who crossed their paths even in the darkest of times. Galadriel knows this best of all. She once lived in Doriath, and is right alongside the younger elves, scorning the King’s false shroud of safety, clinging to a past long gone in his heavy cloak and gilded crown.

How easily it all came crumbling down.

So yes. The elves of the Third Age can appreciate the growth and how their elders learned to adapt to the worsening situation. But they will never lose that flame of anger that so many of their friends, so many mortal friends above all who already had firefly lives, were spent and lost to a force they’d never had a choice but to fight to the end.

They will never respect them.

(They do however hold great respect and sympathy for Celebrimbor. It’s easy to be deceived by Sauron. And between him, Gil Galad, and Oropher, they got the closest to unity that they could with their factions of traditional First Agers and the early next generation learning to see past their history.

Celebrimbor and Idril were born in the golden peace of Aman, but grew up in the harsh lands of Middle Earth. They understand the younger elves’ anger more than anyone ever could, and find themselves sharing it. But now they have a voice for that simmering anger. And the Second and Third Age elves have protectors and allies in the older generations.

Glorfindel ofc is always at their back. He spent too much time seeing the little Dunedain Chieftains he helped raise falling far before their time not to feel pure, unadulterated rage at the past. Not to feel guilt and shame with it.)

[dailyadventureprompts]

Do the ethnostates inherent in major fantasy ever feel real weird to you? You’ve got elftopia (full of elves, where everyone speaks elf and worships the elf gods), orc-hold (full of orcs and maybe their slaves, where everyone speaks orc and worships the orc gods), and dwarfton (made by the dwarves! for the dwarves!).

You might have some cosmopolitan areas, usually human-dominant, but those are usually rare enough in-setting that they need to be pointed out separately. Is this just based on a misunderstanding of the medieval era, and the assumption that countries were all racially homogenous?

This has been bouncing around my brain the last little while. Do you have any thoughts on that? Is it just in my head?

I think what you've noticed is a quirk of derivative fantasy writing, which like a lot of hangups with the genre originates in people trying to crib Tolkien's work without really understanding what he was going for:

Though it contains a lot of detail, Tolkien's world is not grounded. It functions according a narrative logic that changes depending on what work in particular you're focusing on at the time (The Hobbit is a fairytale full of tricks and riddles, Lord of the Rings is a heroic epic, The Silmirilion is a legendary history).

One of the reasons the races are separate is to instill the feeling of wonder in the hobbits as POV characters for the reader, other folk live in far off places and are supposed to feel more legendary than our comparatively mundane friends from the shire. The Movies captured this well where going east in middle earth was like going back in time to a more and more mythologized past.

In real life, people don't stay static for thousands of years, no matter how long their people live. They meet, mingle, war and trade. Empires rise and fall creating shrapnel as they go, cultures adapt to a changing environment. This means that any geographic cross section you make is going to be a collage of different influences where uniformity is a glaring aberration.

What the bad Tolkien knockoffs did was take his image of a mythical world and tried to make it run in a realistic setting. Tolkien can say the subterranean dwarven kingdom of Erebor lasted for a thousand years without having to worry about birthrates or demographic shifts or the logistics of farming in a cave because he's writing the sort of story where those things don't matter. D&D and other properties like it however INSIST that their worlds are grounded and realistic but have to bend over backwards to keep things static and hegemonic.

Likewise contributing to the "ethnostate" feeling is early d&d (backbone of the fantasy genre that it is) being created by a bunch of White Midwestern Americans who were not only coming from a background of fantasy wargaming but were working during the depths of the coldwar. Hard borders and incompatible ideologies, cultural hegemony and intellectual isolation, a conception of the world that focused around antagonism between US and THEM. These were people born in the era of segregation for whom the idea of cultural and racial osmosis was alien, to the point where mingling between different fantasy races produced the "mongrelman" monster, natural pickpockets who combined the worst aspects of all their component parts, unwelcome in good society who were most often found as slaves.

This inability to appreciate cultural exchange is likewise why the central d&d pantheon has a ton of human gods with specific carveouts for other races (eventually supplemented with a bunch of race specific minor gods who are various riffs on the same thing). Rather than being universal ideals, the gods were seen as entities just as tribalistic as their followers.

[gimlilithegreat]

My ideal sequel to The Hobbit (ignoring LOTR, the OTTrilogy can continue being perfect forever as a completely separate concept) is a vaguely slapstick groundhog’s day style redo where every time Bilbo dies he’s sent back to the day Gandalf arrives to invite him on an adventure.

It starts off enthusiastic because Bilbo is going to do everything right this time, he’s going to tell Gandalf immediately so they can fix everything and save everyone and stop Sauron.

But Bilbo keeps dying and everything keeps going wrong in new and incredible ways. They try the whole eagle thing. They try going with a massive army. Bilbo tries sneaking past Shelob, so many times.

He dies to orcs, spiders and old age. He dies falling off horses, tripping off cliffs and on one memorable occasion of a heart attack.

He lives through wars and councils and losing everyone over and over again.

And eventually Bilbo is a defeated hobbit with too many deaths in his memory to count and nothing left in him to give. He wakes up after his latest failure and decides to just go on the stupid quest to Erebor because if nothing else it worked last time.

He finds himself enjoying it, enjoying spending time with these dwarves who are confused by the tiny little war veteran in their midst. He’s weirdly laissez faire about dying and surprisingly good with a sword considering he’s a hobbit.

They get attached and work together to stop their little companion from walking into oblivion and Bilbo slowly remembers what living felt like and is starting to get his motivation back. This time with the desperation that this time will work out specifically because he loves these dwarves and no other versions of them will ever be the same. He has family now and he doesn’t want to leave them behind.

Bilbo’s learnt a lot over hundreds of life times and he uses all of that knowledge to get them through safely.

Facing off with orcs, brow beating stubborn elves and whipping the gold sickness straight out of dwarves.

He comes to the end of the journey, his dwarves are safe, Erebor is reclaimed with shockingly minimal loss of life and he has the ring and the willingness to try again for Mordor - when Bofur’s like, “what do you mean Mount Doom’s the only place it can be destroyed? Sounds like you just need lava. Follow me laddie.” And takes him down to the deepest and darkest parts of the mines under Erebor where dwarves have dug the deepest and uncovered great chasms at the bottom of which flow molten rivers of magma.

They drop in the ring.

It floats on the surfaces for a moment before it cracks and dissipates with an unsettling scream.

In the distance to the east a tower falls and orcs and goblins watch with horror as the eye melts and shatters.

Down the depths of Erebor Bilbo lets out a great sigh of relief.

“It’s almost four Bilbo, we should get you some tea before that stomach of yours starts a revolt.”

And Bilbo goes back up into the sunlight to settle in for a nice afternoon visit with his dwarves in the garden they built for him on the slopes of Erebor.

[mrkida-art]

Thráin son of Thrór

[elodieunderglass]

I'm not as familiar with LOTR as you are, so I wondered if you could tell me if my wild theory is completely off-base.

No one knows where the Hobbits came from, except that at some point they diverged from the line of men. No one knows much about the Entwives' appearance, but we do know that they fucked off a long time ago.

Could the Entwives have been dryad-ish and hooked up with the hobbits' ancestors and so be the foremothers of the hobbits?

Ah I think I saw that post! The concept has a lot of charm, and when the Tolkien estate loses its corpse-grip on the property in 2050 or so, I think you should write it and sell it 😤 I’ve definitely read some good takes on entwives in fanfiction that both leaned into canon and moved away, and I think that sounds like good fun to explore. A common theme in the fandom is playing with Yavanna, the Green Lady, being the mother or patron of hobbits. This isn’t canonical, but she’s a “green goddess” archetype and is married to Mahal/Aulë, the father of dwarves, which shippers often leverage to their advantage. You could do something quite charming there with Yavanna if you wanted to. We also know that Entwives loved gardens and orchards rather than forests.

Some things I would explore with this include:

what is going on with all these consistent ideas of people, races, women disappearing. We know that a lot of it is how Tolkien processed an almost OCD-like Catholic framing of “the fallen world is getting worse and can never be repaired”, war experiences, romanticism and other stuff stewing in his old man head. What are some ways you could show what’s stewing in your head? What does “people disappearing” mean to you? and why is it especially healing that they disappeared in order to make new families?

I think “they disappeared from their old kin and made new kin” is an interesting and weird thing worth wondering about!

- this would possibly make hobbits a more recent race than is implied. What does that mean to you?

- why are hobbits teeny tiny?

A very good starting point, that Terry Pratchett used a lot, is taking some grand statement in fantasy fiction, and making it reflect a different political reality. “Most dwarves are girls actually.” “Wizards parody academia, but, like, FOR REAL.”

I personally have a different take because of my own political feelings and framings! I have a lot of complex feelings about Tolkien chickening out of hobbits. For various political reasons I personally have to take the stance that they are fully human, fully indigenous, and have their own native language. and that their disappearance is less “teehee we lost them” or “O, the Catholic guilt of the Fallen World, how far we have fallen from the light of the two trees God’s sinless light” and a lot more “oh yeah I’ve seen THAT pattern before.”

If you have a political sort of lens on, someone telling you “yeah… hobbits came from nowhere 🤭 and then disappeared 🤷‍♀️ sad!” is a story that can also invite the response of “OHhhhh you wanted their LAND real bad, huh.” Like, we know what that means, right.

It’s a political stance for me. Hobbits have to be close enough to us to touch, and we have to be able to face that, and the fact that 5,000 media properties will chew on tolkienelves and sell them to you before even admitting to the 🤭 just makes it even more of a 🤨. To me.

…But I have literally just been elbow deep in my own demented fanfic thing that involves inventing a language just to swear in, to enable my standing on a box shouting HOBBITS OUGHT TO RESIST GOING EXTINCT ACTUALLY, based entirely on, I think, spite. Why do multiple authors publish orc football games (Terry Pratchett) and orc coffeeshops (Legends and Lattes guy) and do every damned thing with every bit of Tolkien’s corpse but refuse to look directly at hobbits. I am feral over this and wrote 59k words so far to damage and harm my friends

In conclusion I see a great story shape there about kindred and I think you should explore it and it should be about evolutionary biology and women and divorce and nobody being wrong.

And if anyone argues you with some podcast boy “well actually”, just bite them and do more character work and sit on their heads

[tanoraqui]

With all due respect to my new idol Ms. Kui, I’ll be treating this particular post-canon comic as a guideline at best.

Hiring a bunch of advisors for your new country who are experts in how things are done in other countries just means you’re going to end up with a country in which things happen like they already do in other countries. What a missed opportunity no matter where you are—and most of all in Melini, which doesn’t want to be like other countries! This is going to be a country ruled by tallmen, rather than elves, dwarves or gnomes! A country in which halflings as well as orcs, kobolds and other “demihumans” have full rights and respect! A country in which petty, non-destructive monsters will be raised and eaten as crops and livestock!

Yes, a king as inexperienced as Laios needs advisors who actually know how to govern a country. But a king as inexperienced and socially & politically inept as Laios also needs advisors he can trust. Who are these guys?!

@ Chilchuck Tims specifically get your ass back here, you lanky little shit. You started a union. You may not know how to “govern”, but you know how to unite, organize, politick, manage, bargain, bully… You helped save this world, buster. You unbroke it, you bought it.

While I’m here, I’d like to issue a concern that Yaad probably isn’t as good at politics or governance as he thinks he is. Sure, he has 1,000 years of experience…with a single, specific group of people, population unchanging except to slowly shrink, with NO threat of famine, plague, war, monsters, or any other dangers except depression and one (1) increasingly paranoid protective mage. Sure, he can play the age card on even the elves, but is he ready for complex international politics? I’m skeptical.

Seriously though, if they mean to start as they mean to go on—and they have to do the former, or they won’t be able to do the latter—then there needs to be at least 1 orc and at least 1 halfling among all those advisors. Ideally a kobold or offer, too.

And get that guy who was running the Island’s black market (so, shadow-governing the island) for Treasurer of State or something. He's a skilled opportunist, which is exactly the sort of person who'll thrive in this brand-new ancient kingdom. Better to have him lying, scheming and getting filthy rich for you than against you.

[thewulf]

I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide.  Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

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[docgold13]

Cartoon Heroes Paper Cut-Outs

Wizards

Written, directed and produced by Ralph Bakshi, Wizards is an animated fantasy film taking place in a post-apocalyptic earth now inhabited by monsters, fairies, and elves.   A nuclear war had devastated half of the planet and the remnants of humanity were transformed into mutants dwelling in the barren ashland known as 'Scorch.'  While humanity's true ancestors, the fairies, elves and dwarves, have resurfaced and now live peacefully in the idyllic land of Montagar.

Delia the high queen of the fairies gave birth to twin wizards, the kindhearted Avatar and his evil, mutated brother, Blackwolf.  After Queen Delia's death, Blackwolf attempted to usurp her leadership, yet Avatar defeated him in a magical duel. Banished from Montagar, Blackwolf vowed to return and conquer the realm in the name of the mutants.

Three thousand years later, Blackwolf has established himself as the tyrannical ruler of  Scortch, where he has raised a powerful army of mutants, orcs, goblins and trolls.  He begins his campaign to push the borders of Scorch into the lands of  Montagar.  Furthermore, Blackwolf has discovered an ancient projector and reels of nazi propaganda footage from World War II.  He uses footage in tandem with his magic to generate an overwhelming form of psychological warfare; a wave of shock and awe that inspires his own soldiers whilst horrifying enemy troops into a rapid retreat.

Accompanied by a fairy princess named Elinore, an elfin warchief named Weehawk, and a reprogramed android called Peace, Avatar embarks a mission to sneak behind enemy lines and destroy Blackwolf’s secret weapon.  It does not go smoothly, but the heroes prevail and Blackwolf is killed.  The propaganda films are destroyed and the army of Scorch, now leaderless, disperse.  The day is saved.  

Released in February of 1977, Wizards proved a substantial hit despite receiving a limited release from its studio.  Bakshi originally planned on titling the film ‘War Wizards’ but was persuaded to change the name by George Lucas so to avoid conflict with Lucas’ own film Star Wars.  

The character designs were influenced by the underground comic arts Van Bode. The voice cast includes Bob Holt, Jesse Welles, Richard Romanus, David Proval, Steve Gravers and Mark Hamill. 

[omen-of-ice]

DEMO || FAQ || PINTEREST

The North has been all that you’ve known your whole life— residing within its icy landscape as part of House Eirlys; Wardens of the North. You’ve never thought you’d one day leave to head south to Vela’thian— the kingdom of the elvhen— much less that you’d head there due to your betrothal with the king himself.

What will await you once you arrive? Is everything as it seems? Or is there something more brewing beneath the surface of the seemingly pristine nation?

Will you find your way back home? Or will you find something, or someone, worth staying for?

Let’s see how your story unfolds…

❄️ Play as the youngest heir to House Eirlys that’s been arranged to be married to the Elven King. Explore the wondrous world of Arlatha and the great elven nation of Vela’thian and its capital Ilyransari! You’ll meet a variety of characters, uncover plots (varying levels of angst), and potentially find love along the way! This game is rated 18+ for depictions of explicit language, alcohol consumption, potential sexual content, violence/blood, and death.

❄️ Customizable MC: name, gender, appearance, sexuality, hobbies, and some skills. (You can choose to not be attracted to men and tell Daeron, the king, this, don’t worry.)

❄️ Bond with your Lycana— a winged wolf that’ll stay with you until death. Customizable: name, gender, and fur color.

❄️ Explore Ilyransari and learn more about the fantastical world of Arlatha!

❄️ Meet a variety of characters— from reclusive dwarves to hotheaded goblins— that’ll bring unique experiences throughout your story.

❄️ Learn more about your own shrouded past and how you came to be where you are now. Will the truth finally set you free?

❄️ Keep in contact with your older brother— Kaladin. He’ll want to know how you’re doing.

❄️ Romance one of characters from your potential betrothed himself— the Elven King— to an orc commander that takes everything a bit too literally or a creature from the depths of the Vesperion Sea. Or maybe someone else will catch your eye.

❄️ Remember, above all else, to have fun!

Daeron [M] — The King — High Elf

The Elven King himself, a man known far and wide for his prowess in battle and resilience in the face of almost insurmountable odds. You’re not sure why he chose you to be his betrothed— after all he must have received hundreds of requests over the years— but you were instructed to not look a gift horse in the mouth; not when an ally like him would help your family and people immeasurably. With a hardened exterior, from years of battle and sacrifice, Daeron isn’t someone that’s easily accessible in the emotional sense, but you can’t help but notice how his eyes begin to soften every time you enter the room. Will something real begin to grow between you?

Daeron stands at around 6’3” (190.5 cm) with a warm beige complexion. Raven black hair falls across his forehead in gentle curls, a delicately crafted crown always situated atop them. His golden eyes, that seem to rival the sun in brilliance, are filled with a cunning intelligence; he has a toned physique, still holding a lithe quality that all elvhen seem to possess.

Larak [M] — The Commander — Orc

Seeing an Orc within Vela’thian is like seeing a starless night; it happens, but it doesn’t make it any less of an odd occurrence. Not after centuries of war between the Elven Nation and the Infernal Plains. Larak, however, seems to have taken his position in stride, ignoring all the looks he receives without a backward glance. After all, what is an orc to do without his clan? Especially one that was well on his way to becoming a chieftain of his own? Will you give him a reason to stay?

Larak stands at around 7’2” (218.44 cm) with a green complexion. Dark auburn locks are shaved on either side of his head, while the rest is kept in a long ponytail that falls down his back. He’s a hulking mass of muscle and brute strength— his most prominent feature, barring his sharp canines, being the twin scars running down his chest that pairs well with the one through his left eyebrow.

Calypso [F] — The Wanderer — Siren

The Vesperion Sea is an anomaly to most within Arlatha; for a creature from its watery depths to appear means one of two things. 1.) Something bad is about to happen. or 2.) It’s a pilgrimage of sorts that a few depth-striders take up every other decade. Meeting Calypso it’s easy to tell which one she is; her general amazement at the world around her being something that’d warm even the most hardened of hearts. With a desire to learn, and an aptitude to do so, she tries to take everything in stride, observing Vela’thian, and it’s inhabitants, with an ardent fervor that would be quite off putting in any other circumstance. Will you uncover things together?

Calypso stands at around 5’1” (154.94 cm) with a dark brown complexion— iridescent blue scales intercepting the expanse of it across her forearms, collarbone, and sparsely across her legs. The sea green of her gaze complements the deep royal blue of her hair beautifully— the voluminous curls falling down to just beneath her shoulders. She has an hourglass figure.

Shanaera [F] — The Spymaster — Dark Fae

The Royal Spymaster within Vela’thian, Shanaera is the longtime friend, and closest advisor, to Daeron. There isn’t much information about the early life of Shanaera— something she’s gone to great lengths to keep that way— and she’s rarely seen enough by the general populace to get a concrete opinion on. Keeping to the shadows, only appearing in court once in a blue moon, and with walls of ice surrounding her, it’s unsurprising why she has the reputation she does. A woman that’s just as deadly with her words as she is with any blade or poison— getting on her bad side isn’t a smart idea… But is it even possible to get on her good one?

Shanaera stands at around 5’11” (180.34 cm) with a sun-kissed complexion. Locks reminiscent of woven sunlight falls down to her hips in a cascade of gentle waves and soft curls— the strands bringing out the luminescent quality of her amethyst colored gaze. Grand wings of iridescent black are situated on her back, giving her elegantly slender body a broader appearance.

Fáelán [M/F] — The Best Friend — Wildling

You met Fáelán when you were ten years old during a winter ride with your family— something you had done dozens of times before— coming across their slight form underneath a snow drift, after your horse almost trampled them, wasn’t something you had been anticipating, but they haven’t left your side ever since. Not even when they had been offered an escort back to the village deep within The Thaeg; an ancient forest that covers over half of The North. You were best friends from that day onward— one never seen without the other. After all of that, should you truly be all that surprised when your self-appointed guard decides to come along to Vela’thian?

Fáelán stands at around 5’8” (172.72 cm) with a light gray complexion. Strands of hair, the color of which reminds you of freshly fallen snow, fall down to just beneath their shoulders in messy waves— usually kept in a intricate braid— pairs well with the deep crimson of their gaze. Their toned body is a far-cry from the scrawny individual they had been when you first met them— an intricate tattoo making a home on their right arm.

Valerian [M/F] — The Exiled Heir — Draconian

Tales of the land across the Vesperion Sea tell of the grand opulence of Edras— home of the draconian; dragon-kin. Valerian isn’t exactly who you’re expecting when imagining the royal family of Edras, but at the same time they seem to fit right in. With a smile that never reaches their eyes fully, a voice that never has to raise to be heard, and a presence that could command a legion, they bring a slew of questions and very little answers. Why were they cast out? Why are they in Vela’thian? And why do they seem to always find themself in your company? Will you be able to uncover any of these answers?

Valerian stands at around 6’6” (198.12 cm) with a fair complexion. Crystalline blue eyes seemingly burn with a fiery intensity— despite their icy coldness— which brings out the argent quality of their silver locks; M!Valerian keeping them down to his shoulders and F!Valerian keeping hers to her mid-back.