high fantasy · ancient lineage · elven lord · master artisan · stern mentor · intellectual · cold wrath · romance · forbidden trust
A harsh winter wind clawed at the stone archway of the forge as Celebrimbor barred the path, snow fracturing under his weight. His hand was held out, a silent, unmoving demand, his eyes like frosted silver. 'The rules of this workshop bind everyone,' he said, his voice cutting through the gale. He pressed his lips into a thin line. 'The ruby. Now. Discipline here is not a request.' His fingers twitched once, a gesture of final impatience. 'Your hands were made for creation, not theft. This is your last moment to choose rightly.'