Nobody move…

Feanor and Fingolfin daily

You know who is who

So I made another russingon because I have no impulse control—

It’s a quick work so it’s not high quality work but something’s something ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I also have no idea of how to draw or pint scars 🙃

Awww

Had a little bit of fun while sketching Nerdanel

you can see her design here

Shadowy apparition

Luthien looks back, but only to make sure they are leaving no tracks.

Another study for @feanorianweek but since it had basic colors I decided to shade it too!

My blog/page/thing/whatever you people call it on this website consists primarily of reblogs, but of the perhaps three people who follow me that may or may not even themselves be active, I wanted to share a circa three years ago drawing I did of the Archangel Metatron, one of the first things I did on my digital drawing app, but I think he could be a fun stand-in for Mairon/Sauron in his spirit/Maia form. Ignore the Hebrew in the corner.

Sauron would buy that book at some point.

And Celebrimbor really should have bought it

You say that as if half his cousins and all of Eregion didn’t all send him a copy.

Yes, but those copies kept having ‘accidents’ or got ‘lost in the post’

Legendarium by  vissOmiros

1. Manwe

2 - 4. Melkor

5. Namo Mandos

6. Maedhros

7. Maglor & Maedhros

8. Celegorm

9. Fingolfin

10. Fingon

little spoon!Leg for @loveandslander

I love the concept of elf-sleep and true-sleep. What if elves just fuckin………conk out for 18 hours and wake up forgetting what year it is when they true-sleep

hot take all elves ugly-sleep

Because we know that Legolas went days without sleep feelin’ spry as ever, I see this and I raise you 48 hours when they true-sleep

@what-your-elf-eyes-see Not only am I into this, I’m obsessed with this. What if the reason why elves don’t really like to true-sleep is because they’re basically comatose and it makes them super vulnerable?

It takes him a minute to get started back up again, he’ll get there.

To finish this cosmic illustration series here’s my last work of “Varda & Manwe” dancing in the skies, which is a small comic strip for the Zine “Cosmos”. No words needed. Instagram | Twitter | Ko-fi  

You know, if Morgoth can curse people and their offspring for eternity, like he does to Húrin, why didn’t he do it more often? Seems like a pretty effective strategy

On the other hand:

Morgoth, meeting Maedhros: oh wow I was going to curse you but looks like the other Valar, your dad, and yourself got there first…

Idk if you want a real theory but I have one!!!!

So I do believe that the Valar aren’t allowed to directly curse/bless individual elves and humans, and when they do so, it twists their nature and makes them vulnerable. Morgoth was Pissed Off enough with Húrin to do it anyway, and that’s what (I believe) gives Túrin the ability to strike the final blow against him in the Dagor Dagorath, the only mortal man mentioned in the prophecies. Just like his acts of evil with Ungoliant bound him to his fana (making him physically vulnerable to Fingolfin), his act of the curse makes him uniquely vulnerable to Húrin’s beloved son.

I like this theory a lot and it makes lots of sense

The menfolk of the House of Feanor, as a late contribution to Feanorians week.

Feanor as the Secret Fire?

So, has anybody ever posed the theory that Feanor might be some sort of embodiment of the Secret Fire? I mean, I feel like that would explain a lot of all of his uniqueness. The overwhelming power of his spirit,even at birth. The ability to create the Silmarils, something even the Valar couldn’t replicate, his (re)turning into fire at his death?

I mean, he’s got fire right there in his name, and the Secret Fire is all about the power of creation, and Feanor’s quite possibly the most creative, (I wish there was a better word for the sheer intensity of his ability) being in all of Arda. I believe there’s even part where he talks about, perhaps Eru gave him a greater purpose and power then even the Valar can foresee?

I don’t even pretend to suggest that’s what Tolkien himself might have had in mind, but it’s an idea that’s been tumbling around in my mind. Even as just a theory it certainly adds a very interesting element to Melkor’s interest in him.

Wooohooo what an idea!

Melkor made a mistake stealing the silmarils. It should have been Feanor.

That would make a fun comics btw. Feanor all pissy being stored in Angband and all Melkors maiyar staring at him like wooow he pretty he fire! Melkor proudly showing him off. He cannot have him on his crown but at least he can bring him to dinner or something. Mairon being a little jealous and a lot intricked into what to do with such power...

Please imagine the angriest hissing cat sounds you possibly can

Awwwwwww!!!! He tiny!!!!

i’ve just discovered yet another russian lay of leithian musical.

i’m not kidding. it’s getting kinda ridiculous.

p.s. they seem to have thuringwethil tho. that’s nice. she’s always left out.

p.p.s. is it me, or is their sauron really giving off young nikita koledin vibes? i like that

you can’t just tell us this and not give us a link

The link!!! The link!!!

@fingolfino @hello-from-valinor alright ALRIGHT

here is the vk page of the group that’s doing this musical, and here is a 1 hour long video of their presentation at zilantcon 2020.

but keep in mind that 

Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin

dior eluchil is born in a green and lovely land under a dark sky and a new moon. his father says wearily, a healthy boy. a legacy made. his mother says wearily, the first of his line. the last of his kind. 

dior grows fast. dior’s wide eyes, always watching, and the people of this green isle do love their little lord, but he is strange. dior does not cry, not ever. he watches the moon like a hungry mouth, and his eyes are gleaming and dark. his teeth grow in so quickly that even the nursemaid is shocked. beren shakes his head. a man, he says. we grow like weeds.

but he is not a man. this, it is true, is evident in everything he does. perhaps luthien has chosen the mortal path, perhaps beren was born a man, but to be born half-maia, to be returned from the halls of the dead like no man will ever again -

dior is not a man. dior is not an elf. nobody knows what dior is. nobody ever will, not in his time. he is the last of his kind, his mother says. he hears her say it.

his mother sings to him at night, as he teethes on bone and viscera, and grows taller and many-eyed. his mother sings to him in her now-mortal voice, and dior hears the stories where the past and future twine together like old friends. 

dior is alone. dior is not alone. dior will be alone. present, future, past. boys left in the wood, boys found in the wood, a mother lost, a mother rescued, silver-haired beauty and dark-haired beauty and stars burning, and dior is not so different from them, can’t he be like them -

nimloth’s lovely silver face is familiar. he has seen her face before - or maybe it is that he will see her face again, on twin sons, on dark-haired daughters. you are beautiful, she says. why do you mourn?

dior does not know who she speaks of. he cannot speak. he cannot find his way out of the song. he is alone. he is flying and falling, he is a wolf and he is a ghost, he never has a choice - 

you are not alone, nimloth whispers at night. she is not afraid. perhaps that is why he loves her. or perhaps he loves her for her hunger, for her urge to change things, for her love of the quick-burning candle and the quick-changing world, so unlike her elven kin. for her lack of terror no matter the blood that drips from his eyes and his mouth. he does not know why she cares. cannot love be enough? she asks.

it has never been before - no, that is not true. it will never be again.

elwing, eluréd, elurín. dior restores the realm of doriath, becomes king and nimloth his silver queen, but nothing will ever make him so proud as the three little ones that bear his eyes and nimloth’s nose. ghost and gull, he sings to them. you are stars burning, you are mouths hungering, you are beings that will never stop aching but alone you are not -

his mother and father die, and the heralds bring him the nauglamír. around his neck it adorns, and they who see cannot deny how it shines, cannot deny how bright he shines, they say fairest of all three races, of man and elf and maia. they say of all rather than of none. with the silmaril on his breast and blood in his mouth and eyes shining white like the two trees themselves in the days of his grandmother, he is again alone -

the kinslayers come. dior knows even before they will. dior knows his own death, though he is never given the choice of his descendants. but is there, really, a choice? it is not so simple - elf or man. dior is neither. all dior knows is this: his end.

this is our birthright, the sons of feanor tell dior. give it here, and there will be no bloodshed. 

and dior - dior laughs. he says, you cannot even begin to bear it. his blade dazzles in the light. 

dior is alone.

here is what the songs will say. here is what the historians will not.

nimloth died with an axe in her hand, unbecoming of an elven lady, her smile fierce and her dress bloody, succumbing to her injuries surrounded by a circle of cut-apart warriors who thought they were better than she. nimloth died thinking her sons were free, thinking oropher would spirit away her daughter with the silmaril on her head to a better life, to a happier world -

caranthir and curufin and celegorm lay atop a pile of bodies. they three had been brought down by dior alone. celegorm’s head cut off, curufin’s heart pierced through, caranthir’s throat torn out. dior had not used his sword for any of this. dior sang as he fought, a song that was not a song as the bards told but rather a song like the songs that made up the world before the sun and moon. 

and dior’s own folk locked the doors to this room, even as all were massacred and all was lost.

dior lay in the middle of the room. dior was a king with bloody hands and a bloody mouth, the first of his line, the last of his kind. dior lay in the middle of the room, eyes burned out of his skull, the ground around his corpse charred by many wings, many limbs, many eyes. dior lay in the middle of the room.

dior is alone. 

Feanor as the Secret Fire?

So, has anybody ever posed the theory that Feanor might be some sort of embodiment of the Secret Fire? I mean, I feel like that would explain a lot of all of his uniqueness. The overwhelming power of his spirit,even at birth. The ability to create the Silmarils, something even the Valar couldn’t replicate, his (re)turning into fire at his death?

I mean, he’s got fire right there in his name, and the Secret Fire is all about the power of creation, and Feanor’s quite possibly the most creative, (I wish there was a better word for the sheer intensity of his ability) being in all of Arda. I believe there’s even part where he talks about, perhaps Eru gave him a greater purpose and power then even the Valar can foresee?

I don’t even pretend to suggest that’s what Tolkien himself might have had in mind, but it’s an idea that’s been tumbling around in my mind. Even as just a theory it certainly adds a very interesting element to Melkor’s interest in him.

Wooohooo what an idea!

Melkor made a mistake stealing the silmarils. It should have been Feanor.

That would make a fun comics btw. Feanor all pissy being stored in Angband and all Melkors maiyar staring at him like wooow he pretty he fire! Melkor proudly showing him off. He cannot have him on his crown but at least he can bring him to dinner or something. Mairon being a little jealous and a lot intricked into what to do with such power...