Sample Post from the Fantasy Genre this Month:
Voronwe posts in New Tales From Middle Earth
Seven mounted Noldor had left Gondolin early in Víressë. While six pressed forward to Falas without delay, Voronwë son of Aranwë felt called southward and followed the Sirion to the Land of Willows. Fair weather, lazy water, and butterflies met him there, inspiring contemplations of peace, of home, of fair Alatáriel — a world without Morgoth. But dreams are fleeting… and there is no world without Morgoth.
The final days of Víressë passed as Voronwë moved northwest, along the Narog’s bank. Upon his faithful sorrel steed, Thalanor, he turned west from the Narog and came to Taur-en-Faroth, the southern marches of the Realm of Nargothrond. Over moorland wilds, craggy and uneven, he sat tall on his mount, the earth shallowly softened by growths of moss and grasses, saturated with rainfall. The cold clouds opened up and showered over West Beleriand, slapping leaves of alder and plopping heavily into the river. Droplets flowed in streams down the Noldo’s blade-crested helm and down the slope of his long, indigo cloak — as impervious to the elements as a drake’s feathers.
The cloak and helm, along with surcoat, mail, and leather armour, comprised the Gondolindrim captain’s raiment. Among his fellow archers, including his dearest friend Aearion, such dress denoted a royal guard of the Orfalch Echor’s Steel Gate. Beyond the Hidden City, in the perilous Orc-infested wilds, such trappings were more than ceremonial; they were necessary. There was a time one might travel without mail and arms. Since Dagor Bragollach, however, no highways were safe from the fell things of Morgoth. The twilight of Beleriand was nigh.
In the forested threshold of the underground fortress of Nargothrond, Voronwë espied two mounted Elves also westbound. Narrowing his keen grey eyes, framed by dark lashes, he recognised the argent and silver-blue of the Falathrim on them; otherwise he might have mistaken them for marchwardens of Finrod’s House. Clearly they were messengers from Círdan the Shipwright. “Dhe suilon!” Voronwë called to them, saluting respectfully. “What news from the Havens?
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