Paler indeed than the moon ailing in some slow eclipse was the light of it now, wavering and blowing like a noisome exhalation of decay, a corpse-light, a light that illuminated nothing.
Even as the first shadows were felt in Mirkwood there appeared in the west of Middle-earth the Istari, whom Men called the Wizards. In the likeness of Men they appeared, old but vigorous, and they changed little with the years, and aged but slowly, though great cares lay on them; great wisdom they had, and many powers of mind and hand.
“I have never been out of my own land before. And if I had known what the world outside was like, I don’t think I should have had the heart to leave it.”
It is many a year since the Nine walked abroad. Yet who knows? As the Shadow grows once more, they too may walk again.
Recently started a small-press and printed a booklet of my 15+1 poems with accompanying drawings, The Yellow Verses. If you’re interested, head to https://xanthouspress.bigcartel.com
Wandering soul, tormented by the curse of ambivalence
Then the Lady unbraided one of her long tresses, and cut off three golden hairs, and laid them in Gimli’s hand.
Check If It’s Loaded
Select small drawings from fall 2020
Illustration for CINS - Center for Investigative Journalism of Serbia; about various problems in primary schools
dsst reblogged
A bunch of terrorists who go around towns killing people, and leaving craters.
Another illustration for CINS - Center for Investigative Journalism of Serbia; about certain "suitable" media companies getting disproportionate financial support from the government
A ring of gold that made its wearer invisible. It was the one thing he loved, his Precious, and he talked to it, even when it was not with him.
In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a Hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
Barrow-wights walked in the hollow places with a clink of rings on cold fingers, and gold chains in the wind. Stone rings grinned out of the ground like broken teeth in the moonlight.
Patron Saint of the Bog, commissioned by the swamp child @scoutofthewoods
A bunch of terrorists who go around towns killing people, and leaving craters.
The little mermaid set out from her garden toward the whirlpools that raged in front of the witch's dwelling. She had never gone that way before. No flowers grew there, nor any seaweed.