And Finrod fell before the throne.

[finrod]

Cristaer: *goes out to play the prey for Finrod, setting his cult members to be 'attacking' him, knowing he look the weakest of them* He's coming. Are you prepared?

Rae: *looks around at the rest of the followers* Yes, I think so.

Cristaer: ( Then we begin. )

---

It's dark when he comes to, head pounding furiously and mouth bone-dry. Finrod can dimly make out the muffled sound of voices, and water, though he cannot yet make them out clearly. He moves to massage his forehead, but finds himself bound fast...

He's not exploding anything. Good.

[forging_gold]

Maglor: *knocks on Fëanor's door*

Fëanor: *calls* Come in.

Maglor: *opens the door* Father?

Fëanor: Oh, Kanafinwë! Come in!

Maglor: How are you?

Fëanor: Very well, thank you. *working on a sword*

( At least that is 'sword' singular. )

---

Well, phone-like gem communication devices sound much more comforting than a number of things I could imagine him working on...