[o p e n] here stands a man with an arrow clenched in his right hand

[annatarr]

Who:Mairon/Sauron and WHOMEVER IS UNLUCKY ENOUGH TO CROSS HIM?!
What: Valentine's Day Event. Aka Sauron is running around in ancient Greece confused because what in the name of Melkor is going on here.
When: Sometime in this accursed month of hearts and shit.
Where: Ancient Greece.
Warnings: Sauron is a warning okay.
Notes: Uh, I'm sorry? Also this is like a mashup of 1, 2, and an almost 6 because he hates everything I MEAN. PICK YOUR OWN POISON. ADVENTURE. WHATEVER

Upon his arrival to this place, Mairon had been assured that he was there because he had been asked. That there was a reason to his presence and, upon a little while residing in the Library, he had to admit that, despite the less than interesting beings that he was stuck with, at least there were many a worlds that he was able to weave the song of Melkor into the fabrics. Nothing too obvious, nothing that would be obvious to anyone, unless they were looking for the threads of discord that Mairon weaved near effortlessly into being.

He had learned from the greatest after all.

This place had, in time, also proven to bring forth rather... interesting quests of sorts within the halls. Things that, if Mairon was in control of all his powers, would be simple to resolve and easy to order. But without them? They were... not precisely easy, but certainly still not difficult.

They, at the very least, gave him some way of enacting order in this accursed place.

Then, of course, there were the quests that went into the other worlds. Where his power was restored and--

Well, then things got really interesting.

Usually, Mairon would not be bothered with indulging in these pursuits, but--

They gave him time to think. To plot and weave and make those that were trapped in the halls of the Library think him something more kind than he was. Make them more likely to trust him, let their guard down, let--

"Watch out!"

The maia raises an elegant brow, stepping swiftly out of the way of the-- man? Shadow? Wraith? He wasn't sure, all he knows is that he was in a hurry.

And carrying an arrow, a quiver and--

"Hmmm, I suppose that would be the one we are searching for."

The words are soft, to himself, the golden eyes following the figure through the crowds around him, something almost amused gracing his lips. Almost.

Comments

[castintoflames]

The gentle pressure resonated from the top of his head where the fingers touched to the bottoms of his feet. There was memory behind that touch - memories that pound against the doors of his enchantment, screaming to be heard. But Maedhros was deaf to them and he tipped his head back slowly, his only hand placed over his heart.

"My family and I are as bold as flames. We... I am meant to be in your company. I sense that is so." and what a sad conclusion if he were himself. Yet Maedhros's Light has always called to Darkness. The worst shadows are those within himself, perhaps. They are the terrors bred by Morgoth, Sauron and, yes, himself.

"Say how I can prove myself and I will see it done." his eyes hardened with determination, but they could not stay open as he felt Mairon's fingers slipping - ever so slightly - through his hair. It was impossible for him to not imagine what else those skilled fingers could do.

"Lead on." Maedhros rose to his feet, scarred but proud. He was not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. Oh pieces had been taken from him - his hand and part of his arm being the largest. Yet those missing pieces made him somehow more frightening in his beauty and his madness. He was like an uncontrolled flame, ready to blossom and devour his enemies - or those he perceived as a threat.