land of decay

The saddest thing about reading Tolkien’s books was the realization that I’m seeing a land undergoing decay. Everything about Middle-Earth is grown old and scarred with the toils of the past. Magic is scarce and the Elves are leaving, because like a fire left without fuel in the wind, the world is diminishing, and even her colors are not as vibrant as they were in the Elder Days.

Little by little, with each passing year of the Third Age, there is less of the enchanting world of Arda and more of the hardened, cooling world we currently inhabit.

splatman7300  asked:

So I'm writing a story with an island colony who mainly farm to support themselves. I'm trying to find an alternate to cows/bulls for what they do. Currently I'm using goats for milk, sheep for meat, and donkeys/miles for plowing fields. Is this good or should I consider something else. The island's climate ranges in the middle latitude Virginia area and this is a fantasy world so if there are maybe fantasy animals to consider that works too.

Oh, goodness, I love all these animals so answering this was real fun.

The animals you’ve chosen are all pretty good choices for that climate. Donkeys, mules, and goats are hardy animals (donkeys especially, since they can fluff up and flatten their fur to retain/dispel heat).

Mules/donkeys are less susceptible to disease than horses are (but it does still happen). They also have a strong sense of self-preservation, and tend to conserve their energy rather than overwork themselves. It’s why a lot of people think they’re stubborn - the animal doesn’t know how long they’re going to work, and if it gets tired, it stops. This is why, when mine animals were more of a thing, mules and donkeys were preferred to horses.

I’m just wondering how big your island(s) is (are). Is it enough to keep them all comfortable, and to grow the food they’ll be eating…maybe they’re going to trade for the food?

All of the animals you’ve chosen have smaller appetites than horses or cattle do, but each have different diets.

Ewes between 130 and 150 lbs (58.9 to 68 kg) need 3 to 3.5 lbs (1.4 to 1.6 kg) of alfalfa, clover, or mixed grass hay. They can also survive on pasture land, provided there’s enough. Your colony can practice flushing (giving the ewes more to eat before and during the breeding season) if they want - this is actually linked to an increase in the birth of twins. If they’re going to do this, then each ewe requires about 4.5 lbs (about 2 kg) of alfalfa/clover/mixed hay daily (or can be put to pasture). A nursing ewe (and, since I added flushing, she’s got twins) will need 4.5 to 5 lbs (2 to 2.25 kg) of alfalfa/clover hay, plus 2 lbs (a scant 1 kg) of coarse-cracked corn, or can be put to pasture.

Rams are alright with 5 to 6.5 lbs (2.25 to 3 kg) of hay or pasture all through the year. But around breeding, they may need more (0.5 lb or 0.25 kg of coarse-cracked corn, or 10% extra of their daily hay intake).

Compared to sheep, goats are (somewhat) easier to take care of. You can’t (or shouldn’t) feed them hay, because they have a harder time digesting tough fibers and cell walls, but trees and shrubs are fine (goats can detoxify the bitter tannins in bark, and don’t seem to mind the bitterness). You didn’t mention the colony raising goats specifically for meat, but I’m going to add that sometimes meat goats can eat as much as twice the amount of feed as cattle can. And for nursing/lactating does, protein is important! Alfalfa hay is pretty much the only hay with enough protein for them.

Donkeys and mules need a 4 to 1 ratio of hay to legumes. Alfalfa hay, and other rich feed, should not be fed to them. Friends of the family actually had a mule die because his feed was too rich…

It’s also important to know what size you want your animals to be. There are lots of different donkey breeds, for example, and a miniature is definitely different than a mammoth jack (whose average height is 13 to 15 hands high). Mules, too, depending on how big their parents were. And I bet you already know this, but mules are sterile (although there have been very rare accounts of a female mule birthing), and their average lifespan is around 20 years; if your characters are going to breed their own, then stud donkeys should be kept (the mammoth jack is good for this!).

Does the island have any predators? The donkey and mule are good guard animals, too…and they can be dangerous if they don’t know to be friendly around smaller animals. They’ll bite, chase, kick, step on, and even fling around intruder-animals (the mule I mentioned before loved to chase around his owner’s chickens, and pretty much hated the dog, but he didn’t ever get close enough to step on them).

If the number of animals you have are limited you can have multi-purpose animals. Donkeys can give milk (donkey milk cheese and soap are actually luxury products, although I’ve never tried them :P ), goats can be harnessed to carts (light work, though, no plowing), etc.

The ground might be a problem for animals, if it’s too muddy or swampy. I live in a part of the state where the ground can very quickly go from dry, grassy areas to swamp land (complete with l’eau de decay, how charming). The hooves of donkeys, horses, and mules are like suction-cups in the mud…

And fantasy animals are always good to solve problems. You could make up a breed of sheep/goat/donkey native to the area, or come up with a new species entirely!

I hope this helps. If you need more information, you can always email or message me. Good luck writing! (Whew, I feel long winded)

Lady Knight Blurb

In a world where magic is dying and great empires crumble, one girl makes a wish to a forgotten god. Alexandria Tasse, a daughter to nothing but dusty books and exhausted fortunes, dreams to escape the city slums. It is the ancient wonders that call to her and the untold stories that beckon. The warnings of lurking demons to not cow her and, when two strangers crash into her life, she eagerly accepts their offer to leave the city. 

But demons are not the only threats out there. The land is decaying, the inhabitants growing corrupt. Darkness lurks behind every corner. Even her new traveling companions - the sharp-eyed shooter from the Eastern Lands and the riddle-speaking boy of a warring state - present challenges in every secret they refuse to share. 

The farther she journeys and the longer she is away from her home, the more she realizes that she has entangled herself in a dangerous game. Caught in this twisted web of rivalry and lies, Alexandria Tasse must decide how much she is willing to sacrifice to save her own life.

Book 1 in a series of six.

i don’t have time to Write The Thing but:

  • it is 8 years after the S6 finale, emma and killian have a set of twins
  • henry has lucy somewhere around the same time because in midst of all the villains all the adults forgot to give him The Talk
  • magical hijinks ensue, transpotting henry and young lucy to the enchanted forest
  • A Time of Great Upheaval happens in the EF, and Lucy somehow escapes back to our world. 
  • The EF people are cursed back to TLWM, but to another town that isn’t SB
  • lucy gets in touch with people in SB to tell them what happened and asks for help
  • they tell her to wait exactly where she is and they’ll come get her
  • but this is the child of Henry Mills, who grew up with a bunch of heroes so of course she goes to find henry on her own
  • rumple, regina and killian decide to go after her, leaving emma to run the town and take care of the twins, and belle and zelena to help her (we’re never really interacting with them, just get updates via texts etc)
  • Regina, Rumple and Killian shenanigans in the real world ensue, while figuring out wtf is going on and how to save Henry/Lucy
  • Lucy is a spitfire, and gives Henry a 1000x hard time (he will later have appreciation for what he did to emma all those years ago)
  • lucy calls killian granpa, and calls rumplestiltskin great-grandfather to his face, and grandpa-crocodile behind his back, because this is a child that’s spent too much time with killian jones
  • the premise of the whole thing is because the author was cursed out, the lands are slowly decaying with no one to write their story
Twilight purification.

Originally posted by yugen-ai

Rest was not a privilege granted him this night. Kerrwynn’s mind had been racing since everything unfolded the previous morning. Throughout the day he gathered all the bits and pieces of the puzzle making the full story. Erudition had received unannounced visitors. In the course of conversation it was declared that his Ebon brother, Lledwyn of all people was a primary suspect in this unfortunate death. Kerr knew better. As much as a monster as Lledwyn could be if needed, he was level headed enough and possessed enough forethought to know that Winter’s death would never help the situation. Secondary to this but not a lesser concern, the welfare of the Scions was still endangered, specifically that of Demytrya and Ilyea. Kerr leaned forward, still on his makeshift bed letting his elbows rest upon his knees and support him. His head shaking letting his cinnamon mane drape and dance about his face.

“If either of those two even get a nosebleed because of this whole situation, I will set Azeroth aflame.” His muttered words contrasted the low humming of the wind outside. The sound of his own voice startled him and brought his mind back to his current location.

He needed to clear his head. He needed to develop a fool proof plan, and it seemed that foolishness was running rampant in this collection rushing towards imminent entropy if no one could hold the reins. He stood from the bales of straw and looked across the room, there was a sliver of moonlight dancing through the broken windows. This gave him enough light to get dressed without having to rely solely on touch. His gear freshly scrubbed and donned he began to step softly out of the dilapidated tavern. No one else was in the building, in fact he was certain no one was even outside the wards of Erudition except for him. He stepped lightly and brought himself to the door jamb , placing his back against the wall and crouched while reaching for his knife.


He had forgotten that he no longer was in possession of it and he could not find it whilst searching Erudition.  He started to creep out of the house to let it remain as silent as he was hoping to be. Each calculated step landed on a briefly tested and trusted board. The five minutes it took to leave the building might as well have been the next century. Upon exiting the tavern Kerr’s boot rested upon a small bit of gravel and his location was disclosed.

“You’re dead now Pretty.” The words of his mentor instantaneously echoed through his mind. He looked up at the moon and watched as the clouds played a game of chase before her. Every few minutes she would disappear behind the skyborne travelers and then appear again.

“ Dammit, moving upwind.”

Kerr turned to move towards the north. He grabbed the hem of his hood and flipped it up to cover the details of his face and calmly walked past the sentinels of Erudition. They kept a tireless and perpetual watch over the inhabitants of this quaint outcropping of civilization hidden within a land of destruction and decay.

Kerr knelt gingerly upon an eave of the abandoned building. At one point in time this could have been a bustling village, full of life and laughter. At one point in time he probably would have cared as well. Tonight this plot of land would seek to give him purification and cleanse his mind to allow his thoughts to remain unhindered. He thought it ironic that his designated sacrifice was stepping out of the remains of a church as well.

The being lumbered towards him limply and without purpose, just a sack of organs controlled by a cerebral nervous system ordering each part of the body to continue living. No purpose, except to breath and shit. They once had a culture, and now these ogres were scattered across the world as freely as the seeds blown from a dandelion with a child’s breath.

Originally posted by boohooyouhoe

Kerr waited until his mark was within range of his bow and swiftly nocked an arrow and drew back the string. As the fingernail of his thumb pulled back to touch his lips at full draw the limbs of his bow creaked. This drew the attention of the ogre. It also gave Kerr a better target. With a swift kiss to his thumb Kerrwynn extended his index finger letting the arrow spring forward towards the face of the ogre. Contact was made, and most effectively. The more pronounced head of the pair now had one eye useless with it’s reason for such still impaled into it’s skull.

“ You will not make false accusations against my own.”

 Kerrwynn’s whisper was barely more than a breath as his feet carried him across the small section of roof and at the edge lifted him towards the ogre.  Momentarily airborne Kerrwynn capitalized on this last advantageous moment he would have and nocked and loosed another arrow into the chest of the ogre.  He followed his projectile onto the flesh of the being.  The arrow sunk deep into the flesh of the gargantuan and Kerr’s feet landed inches above it. A quick slash with the blades affixed to his bow, across the face of his prey would do for now. He let his right foot slide down to put most of his body weight on the arrow that now was tearing the ogre open towards the midsection. His left foot rested still on the chest. He crouched quickly and sprung himself backwards and away from the mark.

Kerrwynn hit the ground with the balls of his feet and his left knee. His crouched stance allowed him a moment to reassess the attack he just initiated and decide how best to continue.  The ogre was writhing in pain from the shock of sudden peripheral blindness and the fact it had been eviscerated with the force of a full grown Sin'dorei.

Kerrwynn jammed his bow into the leather holster he wore on his back. When he heard the click of the bow resting inside the stiffened leather clips he slid his hands to the small of his back and retrieved the pair of throwing hatchets hidden by his cloak. A quick rush toward the beast and last minute change in direction caught it off guard enough to where Kerr easily raised one hatchet over his head and made a swift slice at the middle of the inner thigh of the ogre. His success was seen immediately. The stench and sight of the ogre’s blood was spurting onto the ground. The femoral artery had been severed. The beast only had moments left of living. The behemoth bent over to try and hold it’s leg but the evisceration of it’s abdomen caused the shift in weight to allow the smaller lobe of it’s liver to drift and meet the outside world for a moment. The ogre stood quickly but that was something Kerr planned to remedy. Not stopping his advance as the beast tried to guard it’s injuries Kerrwynn raced behind the ogre and with a slice from each hand severed the tendons along the rear of each heel. Immediately he yanked a small metal connibear trap from his waist and slid in a opened vial of alchemist fire. Kerr tossed it in front of the ogre and stepped back quickly.

“ You will not threaten my own, or I shall watch your world burn.”

The ogre dropped to a pair of blood soaked knees and fell forward onto the trap. The flash was visible just before the folds of the dying prey covered it. Seconds later the stench of burning flesh assaulted Kerrwynn’s face and the sound of a creature screaming in agony sang to his ears.

Kerrwynn walked by the beast as it’s last breaths were taken. It was choking on the smoke of it’s own searing flesh. He made his way back to the abandoned tavern. His only company for this trip would be the moon who shown her approval on this purification of his anger upon him.

He reached into his vest and his fingertips touched the now slick leather of his under layer of armor. He pulled out his last cigar from the leather container and struck a match on the buckle of his belt. “ I just cleaned this damn armor too.”

Originally posted by gameraboy

(( OOC note. This is a type of writing I’ve been debating, Please, and I mean this, send me feedback on it.))

@thebuildingcacophony @roewyn @lledwynlomeriel @aranyaphoenix @wolf-queen @kurel-andiel


My DM: Hey, can you send me a short email with some details about your character?

Me (6 hours later): Here’s the brief history of my Cleric.

Name: Marna DuGorman
Age: 17
Hailing from the quiet, verdant foothills of Chendle Glen. Her people are human but are said to have descended from a bloodline laced with halfling ancestry. The men of the tribe are known to be amicable farmers, shepherds, artisans and little else but have also had a long history of being regularly drafted into the wars of neighboring kingdoms.  This constant recruitment by their larger and less peace loving neighbors has left the men of this province to fulfill what has been coined as “Chendle’s Charge”. Over the course of the last few centuries, this has left the Chendles with generations worth of community history in which the women made up the vast majority of the population.  They have worked the land, maintained the homes and written the history of their people while their loving husbands were forced to fight and die for wars they couldn’t believe in because a man cannot fight for a cause he never knew existed.

The medicine women of Chendle Glen are followers of Pelor, the God of light and extremely adept healers. The unfortunate upturn of violence in surrounding kingdoms, in previous decades however has proven to be taxing on their community. War has made their boys into cripples, shut ins, and worse yet, cold, hard unfeeling men.  In order to treat the wounds of the body and the mind in such scale and volume, the Chendle healer women have turned to more unconventional but unarguably effective practices than had ever been explored by their distant forebears.

The Pilgrimage of Lenara:
Lenara DuGorman; My character Marna’s great grandmother was only 14 when the War of the Sparrow Rivers provided yet another dark age for Chendle Glen and its ever mending families. The men were taken by King Roenid the Cursed and his red clad knights but Lenara would not let her brother Rett be taken, at least not alone.  While she could not keep the red marauders from dragging away every boy and man who could hold a spear, she could pack a bag and she could keep pace with their march toward the now cratered and war torn banks of the Sparrow Delta.  For months, Lenara tended to the injured and fallen, seeing to proper burials for the dead and proper comfort for the suffering. In the red camp, she grew skilled at mending and soothing while her brother found that he had no choice but to become fierce and at times savage as he was forced to defend his beloved sister from the uncouth and desperate footmen who fought alongside him. 

This went on for years. Beyond the war for the Sparrows and over many borders. Lenara grew to know the smell of soldiers’ blood as any other woman of her upbringing would have known the smell of her children.  Rett never stopped protecting her up until his final day. She lost him in a sandstorm crossing the Khan-Kabar desert while marching toward the stone city of Esmir; yet another land to be violently contested in the name of Roenid the Cursed.  Most of that party were lost in that crossing but Lenara made it to the the other side where she realized that there was little reason for her to stay with the few surviving men who now revered her as an asset but would never respect her as an equal. Rett had fulfilled Chendle’s Charge and Lenara was left alone with no purpose other than finding her way home to let the rest of the Chendles know of their loss. 

Lenara struck off shortly after the desert crossing. She had been paid nothing but wisdom for her years of aid. She carried little else but grief for her lost brother on her journey. With only a basic understanding of which direction to go, she found that there are dozens, perhaps hundreds of languages outside of the Glen. So many that she could never learn half of them in a thousand lifetimes. Every town was alien to Lenara and she in turn, to it… but all living things know pain and sickness. This was her key to every gate. Her bargaining chip. Her currency. 

Lenara crossed hundreds of cities on her journey home. She helped whoever was in need and was rewarded for her compassion more often than not. There was only one place in which Lenara could find no use for her craft and it was there that she learned a bitter truth. “The world is vast and I know nothing”. It was a place so perfect that it somehow inspired only hopelessness. 

Lenara had found a land untouched by pain, sickness or even madness. It was here that she gave up hope of finding her home. She sat and waited for misfortune. The scourge of an inevitable oppressor. The cold of winter. The collapse of her tired, starved body. The release of death. The warm light of Pelor’s final grasp. None of it came. Nor would it. This tiny, hidden land was beyond decay and so was she, just as long as she stayed within its borders. 

The denizens of this realm were, and are (for they will no longer allow themselves to expire) practitioners of dark magic. Wielders of the type of energy that can produce anything so long as the price is paid with heavy interest. These beings were once seduced by power but toppled by a greed that consumes from within. But they were also beings of great intelligence. Just humble enough to change course before the fall. Wise enough to avoid the fall altogether… and fearful enough to accept that in order to never die, they could also never live anywhere but this one space. 

The Chendle listened to the tale of each one. All different in size and shape but identical in color. Elves, Men, other strange beings, some towering and branched at the top. Others tiny and flitting about on translucent wings. There was even what seemed to be a few half orcs and a goblin despite all the rest being the shape of more civilized races.  All of them were a deep blue in coloration. A blue darker than the blackest night sky. Their eyes were shining marbles of azure obsidian. Hair like delicate flowing blue cracks against the very fabric of space. Each of them different living statues cut from the same midnight stone. Each of them powerful sorcerers in a long passed life, deserving of a cruel hell for their transgressions against nature. Each of them just outside the gate of that very specific hell. Forever here. Painless. Deathless. By the saving boon of their one final spell. An eternal enchantment over this one small space. Their home. Their prison. Their penance. 

Through these hours and days and months, Lenara learned not to fear them. They were bound by the comfort of this place. They had all been wicked and in their sins she saw the fruit of vice and ill gotten gain. Having seen the fruit, she knew the seed and it was within her just as sure as she sat before them. 

But in hearing story after story, Lenara began to realize that the seed in her had not grown. Not much, anyway. Not like theirs. This was a place to avoid the wrath of a just universe. She was at peace with accepting her judgement and so she asked just one favor of these beings before she left. Lenara asked to learn the secret of their undying enchantment. They gave it freely and Lenara knew that her own charge had begun. 

It took Lenara another 2 years to journey back to Chendle Glen. She was 29 when she returned and the young girl she was had been all but forgotten over the past 15 years. No one recognized Lenara the woman. Not because she was older. Not because she had adopted the garb of many foreign lands in her travels. Lenara had changed in a much less subtle way. She was two years bluer. Not blue like a Ralterian troll. Not blue like a drowned man. More like a starling’s egg. One that blushed when she realized that she had… well, turned blue. It seemed that everyone else she had met recently just assumed that she was born blue. 

Very shortly after her homecoming, Lenara was recognized by her family and her friends and all of the dwellers of Chendle Glen. She told them of Rett’s loss and of the scores of other cultures, totally disparate in every way from their own but similarly bound by the chains of mortal suffering. 

But it was Lenara’s tale of the blue people that garnered the attention of the elder medicine women of Chendle. She told each of the creatures’ stories. She told of their shapes and sizes. And she told their secret freely just as they had told her. 

“The only magic for which there is no price is thus: Give and Trust.  Take only the life you can give back. Relinquish all you have so long as you trust that the world will give back.”

It is an endless, cyclical incantation. When understood, it can be used to form a bond that will accelerate healing, eliminate pain and ward off death itself. Give and Trust. 

Lenara’s teachings showed new horizons to the medicine women of Chendle Glen and they harnessed the cycle of give and trust supremely effectively.
Chendle’s charge is still being paid by many young men but most military leaders are careful to keep the Chendles safe. They aren’t typically efficient or fearsome fighters but a safe Chendle is crucial for morale.  The other men fear what happens when a Chendle comes to be harmed. 

For where the charge has been fulfilled, the blue women come. The young ones could be mistaken for any other girl who’s a bit less rosy in the cheeks than most… it’s the elder ones that’ll bring a chill into the heart of the most seasoned soldier. Shrouded in deep, dark blue, the matriarchs come and all the other men give them space. Space enough to stay clear of a Chendle healer’s hand. Blue black as the deep waters of the farthest sea. The mark of an elder healer. The price of the secret given freely. The give and the trust. Lenara’s proud rebuttal to Chendle’s Charge. 

Generations have passed since Lenara'a pilgrimage home. A daughter of Chendle may choose to follow her path and set out into the world practicing the magic of give and trust until they see fit to return to their homeland. Marna DuGormand has said farewell to her beloved sister Bale, her mother, her grandmother, her great grandmother Lenara, and of course Lenara’s mother and grandmother. 


This is where Marna’s story begins. She is a confident, optimistic and sometimes headstrong young woman. Marna approaches her Charge with a full understanding of give and trust but very little understanding of any other motivations held by less peaceful cultures.

anonymous asked:

Quest for a Bard of Doom in the Land of Flora and Decay?


You are the Bard of Doom on your planet, the Land of Flora and Decay (LOFAD).

Every sight you see, every scent you smell, and every sound you hear screams ‘perfection’. The rich, beautiful fields of lilies, chrysanthemums, carnations, and roses of every variety and color as well as the distant, grand forests astonish your senses and push you to explore further. Unashamedely, you spend a brief moment frollicing in the fields before attempting to pluck a vibrant red rose from the earth. That’s when things get weird. Before the flower can even be ripped from the dirt from whence it came, it crushes into ash in your hands. The budding head, the top of the stem, everything you touch dissipates in the wind, but it doesn’t stop there. The stem continues down and crumbles along with the leaves growing off, and as the ash travels further down into the bush, the rest of the bush vanishes into nothingness. In it’s place lies a small message burned into the ashy dirt where a beautiful rose bush once stood proud. It reads “Don’t Touch”. Your job is to find a way to stop your touch from destroying everything beautiful that remains on the Land of Flora and Decay.

The Legend of Zelda: Overworld

“Forests, lakes, mountains. Link must fight many enemies in a beautiful and natural world. We can be pretty certain, however, that some good-natured people living in these places will help him out and be his allies in his fight against evil.”

-The Legend of Zelda Manual

The Overworld is the name given to Hyrule’s countryside, littered with dense forests, vast lakes and rivers, harrowing mountain ranges and sprawling grasslands. The Overworld is an ancient place, scattered with an array of abandoned crypts and dungeons and sparsely inhabited by mankind, allowing forces of magic to thrive and dwell. However, Ganon’s corruption has caused the lands to begin to decay and has severely weakened the myriad of spells and beings that once protected the land from such power. The mystical protective relic known as the Triforce has also been stolen, contributing to Hyrule’s demise. Fairies have been driven out of their once lush and and beautiful forest homes, now reduced to stench-filled, rotting jungles with evil permeating from every tree. Lakes, rivers and ponds turn out tons of mysteriously dead fish, the dead rise from their slumber to roam the earth once more and worst of all, Ganon’s army of beasts and demons have taken over the land, killing everything that gets in their way. Hyrule’s Overworld has become a dark, dangerous and sinister place. One in desperate need of a hero. 

Famous Jewelry of Middle Earth

There is actually a lot of really important jewelry in Middle Earth’s history. I’m just going to list the pieces below, in no particular order:

  • The Rings of Power: 19 rings of power were made by Celebrimbor and the elves of Eregion during the Second Age. The rings had the (general) ability to bring about what its wearer most wanted - in men, this meant an extended life. In dwarves, this meant increased gold and jewels. And in elves, this meant the preservation of the land (less death and decay.) Only the three most powerful of the rings were given names (that we know of) - Nenya, Narya, and Vilya, and all but these three rings were lost to Sauron or dragons by the end of the Third Age.
  • The Nauglamir: A fabulous necklace made dwarvish smiths in the First Age, using mainly gems and jewels brought to Middle Earth from Valinor by the Noldor. Later, one of the silmarils was also added to the necklace. The Nauglamir’s fate after the First Age is unknown.
  • The Ring of Barahir: This ring was originally given to Barahir, lord of the House of Beor, by Finrod, prince of the Noldor, after Barahir saved Finrod’s life in battle. The ring became an heirloom of Barahir’s house, and eventually found its way into the hands of Aragorn in the late Third Age.
  • The Elfstone: Tolkien wrote a couple versions of this, so the Elfstone (also called the Elessar) might be one gem or two different ones by the same name. But it was a brooch with a large green stone that was said to make its wearer feel young again, and even apparently had some healing power. It was made in Gondolin in the First Age (and, if you believe in the version in which there were two Elfstones, the second one was made by Celebrimbor in Eregion during the Second Age.) The later stone was given by Galadriel to Aragorn.
  • Necklace of Girion: This was an emrald necklace found in Smaug’s horde in Erebor and given by Bard to Thranduil as thanks for his help. The necklace had originally belonged to Bard’s ancestor Girion, who traded it with the dwarves of Erebor years ago.
  • Arwen’s Necklace: This was a white necklace that Arwen gave to Frodo to comfort him when his old wounds haunted him.
  • Star of the Dunedain: This wasn’t one specific piece of jewelry. Rather, it was a type of brooch that the Dunedain Rangers of the north wore on their cloaks to identify themselves to other rangers. It was silver and in the shape of a many-pointed star. Later the symbol was used by Sam Gamgee.
  • Star of Elendil: This was a crystal white gem set on a circlet made by the Noldor and originally worn by Silmarien, daughter of King Tar-Elendil of Numenor. The stone was taken from Numenor by Elendil (a different Elendil) before the island’s destruction, and it became an heirloom of his house. It was lost when Isildur was killed, and a replica was made and worn by the kings of Arnor, all the way down to Aragorn. (Eventually the original was found hidden in Isengard.)

I think I got everything!

SOURCES: LOTR, LOTR Appendices, The Silmarillion, The Unfinished Tales


Belle and Rumple fought all they could to keep their little girl. Each time Hades had found a way to change the rules. Both decided to stay in the Underworld till they could get their child back. However, they were banned from seeing her.

Hades, was going to use the child in a spell to go back in time but when the baby was born, he took the child and besides the power it offered, he thought the child would make a good example o why the underworld needed to remain hopeless. For with every bit of hope, something grew in the land of decay. 

Land Locked

I always see you whisper the words “save me” to yourself.

Right before you tip up your bottle and finish the last half.

And I wonder if there’s ever a point where you stop and look around.

The room, saturated in shallow words and meaningless laughter.

Do you ever look around at the people you call your friends,

and wonder why they never hear you?

We are all so wrapped up in it;

the most support we can muster is to bury our problems together.

Its the most common unspoken agreement.

We are all so stuck in this cycle of trying to forget,

and momentarily succeeding, trying to hold onto that moment.

But in the morning all our issues are still there laid out on the table.

A banquet held in honor of our future lost selves.

We swallow them for breakfast just to puke them up again after dinner.

Then drown yourself in our friends liquor.

“I’m not an alcoholic.” He says with his sixth shot of gin in hand.

Tilts back his head and shoots like pulling the trigger of his own gun.

And later in the night, I hold him.

Because right now, he is spinning in circles.

I don’t know if he will righten his self and there is nothing I can do.

I’m stuck just outside the gates, only able to peak over the fence.

Sometimes you realize too late.

That every Xanax induced blacked out was a pleading whisper,

for someone to save him.

Xanax leads to oxycontin which leads to heroin.

That’s the general path, the same path I watched you slip down.

Arms limp and body shaking, but at least it took away the sadness.

I hope its not too late to save you from becoming what lies below.

Scenarios of your future flash in my head and they scare so bad.

Please don’t make me watch your body being lowered into the ground of some fucking cemetery,

where the high school kids learn to chase after the same thing that killed you.

Please don’t make me find out what kind of sadness or sorrow I would feel.

You deserve better than some concrete plot.

Lost somewhere in the middle of a land locked sea of decaying love.

Inscribed with numbers and letters that are meant to capture your soul,

but never do justice to the vessel that lies beneath.

You deserve will power.

You deserve to feel whole and supported

You deserve to be alive.

—  Asteria Lauren