Mattystereo

“Uglúk pressed the blade to his chest and declared ‘Understand our LORD does not break His promises, so even if I die, He has the power to raise me up. Even though I die I will live again!’” - Oulińa'Lât Nur Mëgosh 12:4   “All who had gathered watched as he stirred once more to life, his gaze finding the face of the Groom who had carried him, and upon seeing him, a tender smile graced his lips." - The Aerad, Modern Imperial Reconstruction   Ethiéndeli discharged her young and neither rock nor stream would answer them, nor tree embrace them. Out into the valley and the steppe, under the endless sky, Man came to be an orphan before the whole world. This is how the story of mankind usually “begins”, after their expulsion from the great forest by the Elves and as far as “provable” history can reach this is where it might as well start. Man wandered the world, an object of awe to the Orcs and unspoken sorrow to the Dwarves until, by the hand of their own fear and hunger, they stormed

"Using pity, other people's pity, in the wrong way. We have all done it a bit in life, you know. Pity was meant to be a spur that drives joy to help misery. But it can be used the wrong way round. It can be used for a kind of blackmailing. Those who choose misery can hold joy up to ransom, by pity. You see, I know now. Even as a child you did it. Instead of saying you were sorry, you went and sulked in the attic... because you knew that sooner or later one of your sisters would say, 'I can't bear to think of him sitting up there alone, crying.' You used your pity to blackmail them, and they gave in in the end. And afterwards, when we were married... oh, it doesn't matter, if only you will stop it."   The Golders are a rather unremarkable place in terms of their natural beauty. A land of heaths broken up by shallow rivers (each such river-ling called a golder hence “The Golders”) situated just north of the Neck of the World to the west of the Soundlands. Such was their lack of any

Who among you is like Ephael the Elf-Friend? Who else is worthy of praise in their stead? Who when asked for water gave milk and bread? Who struck the hammer upon the Tyrant's head? Were one to listen to the Imperials alone one would be led to believe that the Easterlings, those barbarian men who live about the edge of the world just beyond the lands of Orcs and the Silverveil, are not true men at all. One would be told that they possess no true language and no stories, no families, homes, or civilization to speak of. A more excited scholar might even advance that as they possess no appreciable native magic that they are not truly ensouled and do not pass beyond the Laurel after death. They have no Elvish blood, no steel save that which they can steal, or which is washed ashore to them by the Silverveil, and most piteously of all their bodies rot by wasting as the Orcs do. There is nothing to them worth speaking of. If that were true, the men of the west would not need to insist upon