Our intrepid BDSM detective in Valinor must temporarily resort to deceit....
Sexually speaking, spiders are so strictly Femdom. Really. It's like reverse-Gor up in there. Only worse. At least on Gor, the women don't routinely get eaten after sex.
Maiar can shape-shift. Our hero is sneaky. And, he hasn't met Silm!John Watson yet, so he has no powerful external self-preservation instinct attached and synced. He has to rely on his built-in one, and it's a defective model.
Also, spot the stealth Pratchett reference!
And when Melkor's theme resounded, even in the mind, dark things came forth. The question was, at whose bidding? Had the wanton devouring of the life force of the Trees and their cruel poisoning been a single act of some simple if monstrous animal acting only to feed her own cruel instinct? Or had it been part of a greater design, the first thread of a web of violence and deceit that would cover all Arda in blood?
Faster than light from Varda's own stars was his thought, and yet he feared that darkness could move faster - for does light not always arrive only to find that darkness has been there before it? And does darkness always not lie in wait, for the faintest flicker of doubt within the flame?
Very well. Dangerous times call for dangerous measures. Sérelókë's thought took the shape of creatures long studied, in both form and essence, and as he thought, his raiment of fleshly seeming, his hröa, shimmered and changed through shape after shape, each new change stealthier and yet riskier than the last.
The massive bulk, the monstrous hulking thing in the shadows somewhere above him, squatting on her vast silvery web, nonetheless had instincts that could be played upon. With no small amount of fiercely repressed horror, Sérelókë shaped himself into the most dangerous form possible in his precise situation, much weaker and more vulnerable than any that he had yet worn. A male spider he appeared, a shrunken and pitiable starveling creature, with no purpose but to mate but once and then be devoured. And in this guise, with trembling foreleg, he plucked upon the trip wire that would announce his presence to his "bride" and offer her his only courting gift: his pedipalps swollen with seed, and his own brittle, spindly body to be her wedding feast.
Sérelókë presented himself in this shape to the glittering clusters of multifaceted eyes that studied him from the surrounding darkness with a ravening malice.
TO BE CONTINUED!
future plans may or may not include some allusions to Finrod's song-battle with Sauron. (which of course hasn't happened yet in this story and won't for many thousands of years.)
Maiar can shape-shift. Our hero is sneaky. And, he hasn't met Silm!John Watson yet, so he has no powerful external self-preservation instinct attached and synced. He has to rely on his built-in one, and it's a defective model.
Also, spot the stealth Pratchett reference!
And when Melkor's theme resounded, even in the mind, dark things came forth. The question was, at whose bidding? Had the wanton devouring of the life force of the Trees and their cruel poisoning been a single act of some simple if monstrous animal acting only to feed her own cruel instinct? Or had it been part of a greater design, the first thread of a web of violence and deceit that would cover all Arda in blood?
Faster than light from Varda's own stars was his thought, and yet he feared that darkness could move faster - for does light not always arrive only to find that darkness has been there before it? And does darkness always not lie in wait, for the faintest flicker of doubt within the flame?
Very well. Dangerous times call for dangerous measures. Sérelókë's thought took the shape of creatures long studied, in both form and essence, and as he thought, his raiment of fleshly seeming, his hröa, shimmered and changed through shape after shape, each new change stealthier and yet riskier than the last.
The massive bulk, the monstrous hulking thing in the shadows somewhere above him, squatting on her vast silvery web, nonetheless had instincts that could be played upon. With no small amount of fiercely repressed horror, Sérelókë shaped himself into the most dangerous form possible in his precise situation, much weaker and more vulnerable than any that he had yet worn. A male spider he appeared, a shrunken and pitiable starveling creature, with no purpose but to mate but once and then be devoured. And in this guise, with trembling foreleg, he plucked upon the trip wire that would announce his presence to his "bride" and offer her his only courting gift: his pedipalps swollen with seed, and his own brittle, spindly body to be her wedding feast.
Sérelókë presented himself in this shape to the glittering clusters of multifaceted eyes that studied him from the surrounding darkness with a ravening malice.
TO BE CONTINUED!
future plans may or may not include some allusions to Finrod's song-battle with Sauron. (which of course hasn't happened yet in this story and won't for many thousands of years.)