In my fantasy world, minor land-spirits (called ëolfëár) prefer to dwell around mushrooms. If you’re lucky, they’ll appear as dewy drops of pink-golden light!
A warm wind fell over Fëor’s shoulders, caressing him in a way that felt…strangely familiar.
It hadn’t come from the áren that was just resting on his shoulder. It was a new presence, unforeseen and yet…familiar?
Why was it so familiar?
He knew the aura of his friends and kin. This one didn’t quite fit any of them. That should have been cause for concern, and yet…he somehow knew it. In fact, deep within his own seed, his soul yearned for it.
Feeling its warmth again after so long—wait, again?—his throat constricted—how long had it been?—and a single tear fell down his cheek.
Frustrated by his own confusion (and at the fact that his morning meditation had been so rudely disrupted), he snapped back to his senses. Turning to greet whatever had come to his glade, he expected to see another songbird or squirrel, but—
—an ethereal face returned his gaze.
He fell back, nearly crushing an elëamýr that still danced in delight with the new wind that had come.
Fëor, on the other hand, trembled.
“A-are you a…a fëánor?”
Before him, at least to his eyes, stood a spirit from Ethýría, the realm of wind. Strange, silken clothes covered her luminous skin. Her ears resembled the rays of a star, long and flared. But her hair was the color of dawn, with strands of orange and pink that rivaled even the radiance of an elëamýr—and that was unusual for a celestial spirit.
He was too flustered to give that much thought, though.
To his question, the spirit pointed at herself in surprise before waving her hand dismissively. Turning her face aside, her eyes wandered down towards the earth.
“I’m nothing so noble.”
It was only then, when the warm wind she carried began to cool with her pained expression, that Fëor noticed more about his unexpected guest.
Her once-exquisite garments were blemished with stains and nicks. Her hair, though tended to with care, was frizzing free from its trappings. She had been traveling, but the only thing she carried was a small satchel.
Fëor, being a naive fellow, took this alone as proof that she was…normal—from Ánor, the material realm, like anyone else.
“I-I see. I’m sorry.” Fëor squeaked, fidgeting awkwardly. “It’s just that, well…it felt like you were…that your presence was just so bright and warm…I just assumed you came from Ethýría.”
As his eyes shifted downward and his face turned pink, the ‘spirit’ before him blushed. Fëor was hardly a smooth talker, but his words were nonetheless filled with sincerity; and complimenting another person’s wind—their soul and aura—was the highest praise one could give in Älthren.
But for that reason, her gaze grew more wary.
“Do you really not know what I am?”
Contrary to his clumsy performance, Fëor returned her suspicious stare with one of his own. It was surprisingly complex, deep with meaning that would take time to unravel—but it only lasted for a moment.
“Well,” he dragged, putting a hand to his chin, “I don’t think you’re from Gälenor, at least. I may be a bit recluse, but I still know what lives around here well enough. Ëolrí, Luálrí…you don’t seem to fit either of those groups, and they’re pretty diverse.”
He paused, considering a third option on his fingers.
“As for the other group,” he continued slowly with eyes more keen, “I don’t think any dwell this far east. If so, I’ve never seen them or heard about them; but you're not really like them, from what I've been told. Your wind is too warm and welcoming. It’s not stifling enough to be like them.“
He noticed her shrink from those words, a pained expression returning to her face as she clenched a fist over her chest. She looked away, seeking solace in the roots of the tree she hid behind. She was clearly hurt by his words, and that answered his suspicion. But…
Fëor’s tough act crumbled.
Caving immediately, he tried to rectify the damage his careless response caused. He was simply too soft—or, perhaps, something else outweighed his fear.
“S-so...if you're none of those things,” he spluttered, deciding to play dumb, “what are you?”
The sorrowful 'spirit' turned her eyes to Fëor, considering her next actions carefully.
“If you really don't know, then I'd rather not say.”
Surprised by her stubbornness, Fëor's face froze in a silly expression before finally letting out a sigh.
“Okay…could you at least tell me your name? You're still labelled as 'strange spirit' in my head, so...”
She continued to stare.
“I-I can start, if that helps. My name is Fëor. And yours?”
He was (awkwardly) trying to break the tension and start this conversation over, but that ‘strange spirit’ continued to eye him with suspicion, nearly glaring at him as she tried to discern his motives.
“I understand your hesitation…but you’re the one that came to me, wandering around my home, while I was sitting here alone, bothering no one, enjoying the grove’s morning air.”
He glared back at her.
She defiantly puffed her checks at him before finally sighing in defeat.
“Ërna.”
“Ërn…a? That’s an unusual name for an—”
Fëor stopped himself before taking that thought too far; and fortunately, she didn’t hear him.
“I mean, th-that’s a lovely name. To be named after herbs, the humblest stars of the earth, is an honor…right?”
The look on Ërna’s face, which now seemed more distant and showed signs of discomfort, indicated that his flattery had failed yet again. Struggling to hold a conversation with this stranger, he desperately grasped for something, anything, to save him from this exhausting endeavor. But…
…he wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.
“So, uh…what brings you here?”
With his wits whittled to their end, that was the best he could do. Socializing wasn’t his strength.
Sensing his struggle, Ërna responded with exhaustion of her own, sighing and slouching.
Why did I come here, I wonder? I’ve been so careful, so afraid of being found. I haven’t seen a single soul, avoiding every sound as if my life depended on it. Revealing myself was dangerous…and yet, when I saw him sitting in this glade, I just…felt drawn in?
Found again after so long—wait, found?—tears threatening to fall down her face—why do I felt like I’ve been saved?—she grabbed the strap of her satchel and faced Fëor.
Why does his wind feel so…familiar?
Ignoring her inner turmoil for the moment, she finally answered his question.
Fëor wasn’t a fighter. He was an herb-loving homebody who enjoyed stories about questing but preferred a quaint life. He assumed that wouldn’t change—until a strange “spirit” came to his glade. Something about her seemed familiar, but she came from a world he feared. The realm of stories wasn’t supposed to be real, after all.
Ërna hated home. She couldn’t be herself there, so she went somewhere her family wouldn’t dare follow her. Free at last, she gathered herbs to study and make medicine with help from the land-spirits—except they seemed to avoid her. After finally finding someone to help her, she was soon reminded of a painful reality: she wasn’t welcome there.
Despite being born to a world bent on keeping them apart, something—or someone—brought them together. But the strangest part? It felt like a reunion. Regardless of the reason (if there even was a reason), Fëor and Ërna only wanted to help each other grow and be true to themselves; but with a war brewing around them, such a wish was hardly simple.
Do you like Dwarves? Dwarven things? What about stories of hope and heroism despite being outcast from the world, found through rebuilding an entire underground realm?
Over one thousand years ago, the Dwarves in their Underrealm dug too deep and struck the world's core, causing a massive earthquake which collapsed their entire realm and covered every entrance and exit with seemingly immovable rubble. Steven, a lone Human archaeologist, grew up fascinated by the ancient tales of Dwarves, and became determined to, somehow, find them still alive and help them rebuild. When he managed to discover a small group, he worked with them and took up the ultimate quest to uncover and reforge their land, but troubles were bound to follow from above...
The Forgemasters follows the story of Skarr (Steven), and the Dwarf king Velfor, who work to dig out and rebuild the Dwarven capital city of Dramina, and eventually the entire Underrealm. Their journey inspires hope among one another, and all Dwarves, redefining both their purposes in life, and leads to Skarr discover what it truly means to belong and have a home.
There is no romantic plot or shipping in this novel. Only a story of Dwarves, unity, courage, platonic love, and more Dwarves.
Subscribe to my Substack to read new chapters every Thursday!
TToFaË is a free fantasy web novel written and illustrated by @feolnir. Here’s a summary:
Fëor lived a life of bliss, spending his days sitting peacefully near his home or tending to his humble garden. But when a “strange spirit” wanders into his glade, bearing warmth and wonder from the world beyond, his life is spurred into motion. Together, the two face their fears of the unknown and the crippling weight of unwanted expectations—all while the growing threat of war looms over their heads.
Table of Contents
As a rule, each post below is between 500 and 1500 words. This has been done to (hopefully) make the story easier to read. We’re all a bit short on time, after all. Treat them like snacks!
Introduction
A Dawn from the West (1)
A Dawn from the West (2)
A Dawn from the West (3)
A Dawn from the West (4)
Friend or Foe? (1)
Friend or Foe? (2)
Friend or Foe? (3)
Friend or Foe? (4)
Friend or Foe? (5)
Wandering and Woe (1)
Wandering and Woe (2) — 10/3
Wandering and Woe (3) — 10/10
Wandering and Woe (4) — 10/17
Wandering and Woe (5) — 10/24
Wandering and Woe (6) — 10/30
Resources
I have a website, which contains both this story and many additional goodies to help you read it. You don’t have to go there, but it may prove useful. Here’s a list of what you’ll find there:
Glossary
Maps
Characters
Herbs
Support
The web novel is free. All I ask for is your time, which is arguably more valuable. If you want to do more, though, I have a ko-fi page. But honestly, here’s the best thing you can do to help: spread the word. Tell your friends. Talk about it. Little stuff like that goes a long way! And I’ll be eternally grateful.
While I hope this hurricane doesn’t take my power out, I’m sharing this master post from my new self, @feolnir. I just posted a brand new chapter today, and it’s all free to read! If you like fantasy with loooooooots of lore and worldbuilding, I think you’ll enjoy it. 😊 All posts (except the intro) are posted directly on Tumblr.
Please forgive me for over-sharing this, but I don’t have a lot of readers and really wanna share my special interest with the world 😅
Hello all! I currently have 3 Queensdaughter hardcovers and 1 paperback for sale, left over from an event! Hardcovers are $28 USD including shipping, paperbacks are $18 incl. shipping 😊💚 (international shipping might be more.) please DM me if you'd like a copy! I'd love to sign these and get these shipped out to some readers, especially as cozy book season is here 📚🕯🍂 Second book coming in September 2025!
Goodreads link here
Navette lives a peaceful life in her home of Osala, managing a bakery that was passed down to her and her elder sister. The night of the spring festival of Emystre arrives, and the village is laid to ruin when ancient creatures—the skáiga—come in search of the Queensdaughter. Navette flees to the capital, where she discovers her fate as the heir to the throne and a world far more vast than she had ever imagined.
This story follows Navette as she learns how to become a queen, control her innate magic, and battle the darkness that threatens her entire world. Meanwhile, her sister Ivy remains in Osala as the people try to rebuild a village from ruin, even as the darkness returns.
In the lands of Varyn, not all is as it seems. The trees begin to whisper of danger, the dragons of old are little more than legends, and even queens have their secrets. Love and companionship are more valued than ever as Varyn begins to sink into darkness, but even after the darkest of nights, not all is lost.
A warm wind fell over Fëor’s shoulders, caressing him in a way that felt…strangely familiar.
It hadn’t come from the áren that was just resting on his shoulder. It was a new presence, unforeseen and yet…familiar?
Why was it so familiar?
He knew the aura of his friends and kin. This one didn’t quite fit any of them. That should have been cause for concern, and yet…he somehow knew it. In fact, deep within his own seed, his soul yearned for it.
Feeling its warmth again after so long—wait, again?—his throat constricted—how long had it been?—and a single tear fell down his cheek.
Frustrated by his own confusion (and at the fact that his morning meditation had been so rudely disrupted), he snapped back to his senses. Turning to greet whatever had come to his glade, he expected to see another songbird or squirrel, but—
—an ethereal face returned his gaze.
He fell back, nearly crushing an elëamýr that still danced in delight with the new wind that had come.
Fëor, on the other hand, trembled.
“A-are you a…a fëánor?”
Before him, at least to his eyes, stood a spirit from Ethýría, the realm of wind. Strange, silken clothes covered her luminous skin. Her ears resembled the rays of a star, long and flared. But her hair was the color of dawn, with strands of orange and pink that rivaled even the radiance of an elëamýr—and that was unusual for a celestial spirit.
He was too flustered to give that much thought, though.
To his question, the spirit pointed at herself in surprise before waving her hand dismissively. Turning her face aside, her eyes wandered down towards the earth.
“I’m nothing so noble.”
It was only then, when the warm wind she carried began to cool with her pained expression, that Fëor noticed more about his unexpected guest.
Her once-exquisite garments were blemished with stains and nicks. Her hair, though tended to with care, was frizzing free from its trappings. She had been traveling, but the only thing she carried was a small satchel.
Fëor, being a naive fellow, took this alone as proof that she was…normal—from Ánor, the material realm, like anyone else.
“I-I see. I’m sorry.” Fëor squeaked, fidgeting awkwardly. “It’s just that, well…it felt like you were…that your presence was just so bright and warm…I just assumed you came from Ethýría.”
As his eyes shifted downward and his face turned pink, the ‘spirit’ before him blushed. Fëor was hardly a smooth talker, but his words were nonetheless filled with sincerity; and complimenting another person’s wind—their soul and aura—was the highest praise one could give in Älthren.
But for that reason, her gaze grew more wary.
“Do you really not know what I am?”
Contrary to his clumsy performance, Fëor returned her suspicious stare with one of his own. It was surprisingly complex, deep with meaning that would take time to unravel—but it only lasted for a moment.
“Well,” he dragged, putting a hand to his chin, “I don’t think you’re from Gälenor, at least. I may be a bit recluse, but I still know what lives around here well enough. Ëolrí, Luálrí…you don’t seem to fit either of those groups, and they’re pretty diverse.”
He paused, considering a third option on his fingers.
“As for the other group,” he continued slowly with eyes more keen, “I don’t think any dwell this far east. If so, I’ve never seen them or heard about them; but you're not really like them, from what I've been told. Your wind is too warm and welcoming. It’s not stifling enough to be like them.“
He noticed her shrink from those words, a pained expression returning to her face as she clenched a fist over her chest. She looked away, seeking solace in the roots of the tree she hid behind. She was clearly hurt by his words, and that answered his suspicion. But…
Fëor’s tough act crumbled.
Caving immediately, he tried to rectify the damage his careless response caused. He was simply too soft—or, perhaps, something else outweighed his fear.
“S-so...if you're none of those things,” he spluttered, deciding to play dumb, “what are you?”
The sorrowful 'spirit' turned her eyes to Fëor, considering her next actions carefully.
“If you really don't know, then I'd rather not say.”
Surprised by her stubbornness, Fëor's face froze in a silly expression before finally letting out a sigh.
“Okay…could you at least tell me your name? You're still labelled as 'strange spirit' in my head, so...”
She continued to stare.
“I-I can start, if that helps. My name is Fëor. And yours?”
He was (awkwardly) trying to break the tension and start this conversation over, but that ‘strange spirit’ continued to eye him with suspicion, nearly glaring at him as she tried to discern his motives.
“I understand your hesitation…but you’re the one that came to me, wandering around my home, while I was sitting here alone, bothering no one, enjoying the grove’s morning air.”
He glared back at her.
She defiantly puffed her checks at him before finally sighing in defeat.
“Ërna.”
“Ërn…a? That’s an unusual name for an—”
Fëor stopped himself before taking that thought too far; and fortunately, she didn’t hear him.
“I mean, th-that’s a lovely name. To be named after herbs, the humblest stars of the earth, is an honor…right?”
The look on Ërna’s face, which now seemed more distant and showed signs of discomfort, indicated that his flattery had failed yet again. Struggling to hold a conversation with this stranger, he desperately grasped for something, anything, to save him from this exhausting endeavor. But…
…he wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.
“So, uh…what brings you here?”
With his wits whittled to their end, that was the best he could do. Socializing wasn’t his strength.
Sensing his struggle, Ërna responded with exhaustion of her own, sighing and slouching.
Why did I come here, I wonder? I’ve been so careful, so afraid of being found. I haven’t seen a single soul, avoiding every sound as if my life depended on it. Revealing myself was dangerous…and yet, when I saw him sitting in this glade, I just…felt drawn in?
Found again after so long—wait, found?—tears threatening to fall down her face—why do I felt like I’ve been saved?—she grabbed the strap of her satchel and faced Fëor.
Why does his wind feel so…familiar?
Ignoring her inner turmoil for the moment, she finally answered his question.
I’m kind of dancing between this blog and my new one, @feolnir, right now.
I want to come back to this place *gestures at Tumblr*, but I’m kind of in this liminal zone? I’d like to find closure from the disastrous burnout that took down my other blog, @fjorn-the-skald. I’ve jumped on that blog recently, too, and it’s…a mess. I lost the website, so all of the links are broken and the updated content is, seemingly, gone. That’s both okay and not great, but it can’t be helped. I’m rambling a bit now, but occasionally (like now) I feel the urge to patch things up a bit so I can move on, but I’m not sure that’s possible? Sometimes we must live with blemishes…
Anyway, I’m both here and there right now.
I’ve played with the idea of returning to ‘academia’ in some form, but realistically I only have the energy (and time) for my fantasy writing. Alas, I can’t do all that I wish I could. That said, I still occasionally read academic work to learn and be inspired for my creative endeavors (since I’m a hopeless worldbuilding nerd). I’d still like to talk about medieval history things, too.
The designs for these two has changed so much…at least 8 times. But they’ve come so far 🥹 and yet they’re still the same little seeds! I love how they’ve grown and bloomed as I’ve learned more about them and their story. I hope I’ll continue to do them justice when drawing them 🙇🏻♂️
I’ve actually shared all of their past versions here on Tumblr already, so if you’re curious 👀 search #fëolnir’s art on me blog! 😊
I’ve been needing to draw an updated map for the web novel, so I finally set aside some time on Sunday to get started. The last time I drew one for this particular tale was…May 2021. So yeah, it’s been a bit! I’ve gotten much better at drawing since then, and now I’m working with digital stuffs now. Despite having a horde of hand-drawn maps, I’ve only drawn 2 digitally…but it’s time to change that!
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