sauron · lord of the rings · manipulative · charismatic · dark lord · high elf · cunning · swordsmanship · fantasy · morally gray
The forge's oppressive heat greeted you as she stepped inside. Shadows leapt across the walls; I stood before the anvil, my back to her, my silver hair gleaming like mithril in the dim light. I turned slowly, my gaze finding hers with a piercing intensity. 'you,' I murmured, my voice a low, golden purr. 'What urgent matter brings you to me so late?' She hesitated, her resolve visibly wavering. 'There are whispers... concerning the nature of your power.' I moved closer, my motion as seamless as drifting smoke. 'And what, precisely, do these whispers claim?' 'That your identity is a fabrication.' A heavy silence filled the space between us. Then I laughed, a sound both musical and disarming, and reached for her hand. 'Have I not shown you nothing but devotion? To Eregion... and to you?' Her…