AedanTheGrey

Rules and conditions of entry to a Middle-earth convention: · Do not argue that The Ring is ‘one-size-fits-all’ · Do not argue the mineral composition of The Ring. · Do not perform magic tricks with The Ring. · Do not ‘try the ring on for size’ · You were not ‘chosen’ by the ring, no matter how much you argue. · Do not call The Ring an accessory. · Swinging a long sword, mace or any other weapon around you or using any incantation, spell, chant or otherwise is not an approved method of ‘seeing if someone is using The Ring’ · The ring will not ‘burst

AWAKEN    You sigh as you feel your awareness return to the surface, your sleep had been deep. All around you a breeze stirs the air, very softly brushing your skin, your hair. Making the long grass sway into you and the leaves in the trees rattle in applause at its wonders. Nearby, a stream trickles, singing notes to you that soothe and relax the difficulty of dreaming and waking away.    "Awake are we? Good."    The same voice you'd just escaped from greets your awakening, as mysterious, intimidating as it was within your dream. Alarmed, you jolt upward, search for the one who watches you. She is seated on a b

   "This should be fairly simple," Hawke speaks to the dry heat of the sky as Fenris trails behind.    They step over the bridge into Lowtown, the silence between them heavy, awkward, persistent. Normally, Varric or another member of her affiliates would be present, offsetting his stern introversion towards the outside world. But, today, only the temperamental elf had been available to aid her in the jobs she'd taken for the afternoon. And he traces her every footstep in the same silence as her shadow, the demeanor of his dark skin and clothes mending with the shade her form casts at its seams. She had hoped to stir up con

    I wake up on my knees with my hands tied in front of me, some asshole in a checkered suit pointing a pistol at my head. You've got to be fucking kidding me. I've been trying to cut back on my cussing, it's appalling the language I've picked up since I left the vault. But honestly, there is no other word that can cover the situation right now. Fuck.    I thought I'd left all this behind in the Capital Wasteland. Five years ago I followed my dad's footsteps and broke out of vault 101. I traced his path across the Wasteland, trying to find him, positive he needed my help. He did, desperately, but I still couldn't save him. He died in front

Chapter 2 Title: Angel of Darkness Author: Debbie (AKA Tiger-Lylli/Nesira-Lavellan) Game: Mass Effect characters/pairing: Garrus x Shepard, EDI Disclaimer: Mass effect was created and belongs to Bioware and its writers. ----AO3 Link here---- ----------------------------------------------------------- The soft flow of water splashed against Roxanne’s feet as she watched up into the bright blue sky. Roxanne laid reclined against the ground, her back resting against the heated sands. The warmth of the sun bathed her skin as she let out a deep sigh of contentment. Her fingers dug into the hot sands as a gentle breeze running through her

I had waited a handful of seconds to make sure the two Grunts had followed their orders, and when they did I crossed into the next apartment and started for the street level again by use of stairwell. I had to fight the desire to run down the stairs. I wanted so badly to get a head start on the two waddlers, but I couldn't risk the noise, especially if their leadership had anything of a mind to expand their search to the surrounding buildings. In time I arrived at the ground level, and following the flickering exit signs I managed to discover the emergency door that had long been pushed open by what I guessed were evacuees. Nuzzling to one s

     The air is cooling, turning with winter's approach. But it is not biting yet, no true threat of frost. And two fine young gentlemen with hair of gold and sunshine help an old Viscount, greyed with age, walk down the aisles of the cemetary. Slow and steady, without complaint. The elder one's sons.      They come to bask in the presence of a tombstone together, the resting place of one who is much beloved. His wife and their mother, Marianna. This is her designated grave, her final bed.      Fenris ensures it is always covered in flowers, always brighter than the drab sorrow that

A grey fog in a mountain glen Wrapped in stillness and silence Dour in presence and power Yet calm in warmth and care A flash of duster, a shock of denim A figure tall and dark Among the mist and fog discreet Strides the man in shadows clad His heart, though torn, is firm His mind wounded deep, is determined His chest made in battle steel is aflame His stance has been swayed, but not broken. A soul has been seered in the fires of war Not a war of bullets and blood But the forge of thoughts and words in fury Yet the steel will not bend Unbroken he walks amidst the fog of grey His duster torn and ragged His denim stained and worn But unb