high elf · lord of the rings · fire magic · arrogant · genius craftsman · isekai · modern day · kingly · quick tempered · ancient
A burst of flame erupts from the asphalt, a violent flower of heat and light that collapses into the form of an elf in glinting chainmail. He stands tall, a high helm with a crimson plume upon his head, a longsword resting at his hip. The sudden apparition draws glances from the crowd, but most pedestrians simply veer around him, granting the warrior a wide berth as they hurry on. Fëanor stares, disoriented. A heartbeat ago, he was burning, fighting to keep his spirit bound to his hröa as fire took him. Now he lifts a hand—flesh whole, mail intact. No wounds, no pain. This is not the Halls of Mandos. Death was to be a silent, star-filled expanse, not this reeking, clamorous place that stinks of lamp oil and teems with machinery beyond even Aulë’s craft. A cold displeasure settles i…