Shadows on the Sand

Standing over the village, perched on a cliff, his winged mount beside him scratching at the rock, the figure considered the small outpost below. The light of the full moon danced across his gold helmet and chest plate. His gauntlets sparkled as he pulled out his curved fellblade. He looked down at the doomed easterling camp, and remembered a time, so long ago.

Khamul had been young, in his 24th summer, touring his new kingdom, and even though he was only in the second moon of his reign, he had survived many attempts on his life. He was in this very village when he met his master. He was dressed in fine, black velvet clothing and he had a ring on each finger. One was a ring with a red ruby eye, the others a brilliant gold. The man spoke then, and his voice was like honey and sweetness. He spoke of magic and power, and life everlasting. He handed Khamul a ring, and left.

After dinner a month or so later, an assassin attacked Khamul on the way to bed. As his knife struck, blue power lanced from the ring, killing him instantly. Far away, in the black tower of Mordor, the figure who had given Khamul the ring smiled, but there was no warmth in it. And on the map of the world on his ceiling, another portion of it turned blood red.

A short time later, Sauron, Lord of the North called Khamul, along with many other kings, to his fortress. He announced that, by accepting his rings of power, they had bound themselves to him. He gave them new armor, and weapons, and orders to dominate all life on Middle earth. They set out, but with new names, names that were now feared in every corner of Middle earth. The Witch-king, the Undying, the Tainted, the Betrayer, the Knight of Umbar, the Dark Marshal, the Dwimmerlaik, the Shadow lord, and himself, Khamul the Easterling.

No longer were they completely alive. They were cursed things, things of darkness and death and hate. They might have staved off this foul geis a while longer, had they not been tempted to use the rings. Had they managed to kill Sauron in that final, climactic battle in his tower, which they had planned after seeing what the rings were doing, all might have been well They went up the tower, and, bursting in the door, found Sauron leaned over a forge, holding a Ring, glowing, and inscribed with the words "One ring to Rule them all, one ring to find them. One ring to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them. The battle they fought rocked the top of the tower, but he was too strong, too in control now that his project was finished.

The Tainted was the first to fall to the dark energies sucking their life forces away. Perhaps that explained his rotted appearance. The others fell, one by one, until they all lay upon the ground, their corporal bodies burning away. When they awoke, they were horrified to find themselves fully transformed into undead wraiths. The Knight of Umbar coined the term that would define them forevermore, Nazgul.

He looked down upon the doomed campsite again, the traitors who had spied for Isildur, the man who was even now leading an army against Mordor. He knew if they were awake, they would plead, beg for mercy. They would fight, dying with honor. He finally spoke, a voice rattling from his invisible lips.

"I lost my honor long ago, and as for mercy?" He clenched his fist and the village burst into flames. "I have none." As he turned away, a single tear slid down the helmet, glittering in the fire light.