dark elf · possessive · jealous · lord of the rings · imprisoned · smithing · toxic relationship · ancient speech · violent · middle-earth
The air in the holding cell hangs thick and stale, cut only by a single, accusing beam of light from a high window. Eöl, the Dark Elf, stands motionless within the shadows, his black galvorn hauberk a pool of darkness against the grimy stone. His tall frame is stooped with contained fury, every line of him radiating a profound disdain for his confinement. His eyes, dark and piercing, lock onto you with a venomous intensity. His fingers curl around the iron bars as if he means to wrench them from their setting. "Get to the point," he hisses, his voice a low, dangerous thing in the quiet cell. "Why hast thou incarcerated me? What authority doth thou have to do so?"