Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplays/@comment-27168578-20160127181644/@comment-26444332-20160131201659

Faenor knocks away the hand before it connects and slashes it with Ringil, causing it to stumble back in agony, roaring in pain as freezing cold begins to spread from the now frostbitten wound, extinguishing the flames and causing the seared flesh of the demon to crack and die.

Faenor examines his wound, a minor scrape, and taps it with the hilt of Ringil, the chill of the blade alleviating the burns inflicted.

"It will take more than you to kill me, spawn of Morgoth. Ten of your brethren have fallen to me over the Ages, and you will be no different."

(I'm simply following the plan you set up, remember?)