[Fingon is well out of the city when the earthquakes begin- making sure Arda's Worst Helmet won't be back to trouble Hadriel again takes some planning, some personal space, and a nice hammer borrowed from the forge.
(What, it doesn't take that long to wreck a helmet? Shows what you know, that thing just doesn't die easily. Ignore the Arrival-And-Death Anniversary which passes while he's away....)
But as he heads back to Hadriel, it's easier to see the effects in the distance. The quakes he can sense in the earth below him- and to his great surprise he can see the city restoring itself in the distance.
And- ah, there are a lot more monsters just past the city limits than there were when he left, aren't there? Well never mind that, Fingon can still use the distraction....]
The Nineteenth
[Fingon attends the feast dressed as richly as he can, garbed in a deep blue tunic with golden wire twisted into his braids. It's only polite, after all. One comes properly dressed to a party, if one can.
He tries everything that looks vaguely appetizing (no brain pie, thanks), from the drinks to the meat to the deserts that adorn the table. But it's only later, raising a glass of wine to his lips, that he comes across something he recognizes-
And nearly spits it out. A waste of good wine, that, and even in Valinor it would have been a tragedy to waste the deep reds of Kementari's vineyards....]
Fingon | OTA
[Fingon is well out of the city when the earthquakes begin- making sure Arda's Worst Helmet won't be back to trouble Hadriel again takes some planning, some personal space, and a nice hammer borrowed from the forge.
(What, it doesn't take that long to wreck a helmet? Shows what you know, that thing just doesn't die easily.
Ignore the Arrival-And-Death Anniversary which passes while he's away....)But as he heads back to Hadriel, it's easier to see the effects in the distance. The quakes he can sense in the earth below him- and to his great surprise he can see the city restoring itself in the distance.
And- ah, there are a lot more monsters just past the city limits than there were when he left, aren't there? Well never mind that, Fingon can still use the distraction....]
The Nineteenth
[Fingon attends the feast dressed as richly as he can, garbed in a deep blue tunic with golden wire twisted into his braids. It's only polite, after all. One comes properly dressed to a party, if one can.
He tries everything that looks vaguely appetizing (no brain pie, thanks), from the drinks to the meat to the deserts that adorn the table. But it's only later, raising a glass of wine to his lips, that he comes across something he recognizes-
And nearly spits it out. A waste of good wine, that, and even in Valinor it would have been a tragedy to waste the deep reds of Kementari's vineyards....]