Disclaimer:Neither Lord of the ring nor Neverwinter Night are mine.

Silver wings in Arda

Prologue

They call me Kalach-cha, meaning shard-bearer. Personally, I'd prefer that they call me by my name: Nema. Not that one is nicer than the other, but rather because Kalach-cha is a name bound by many memories. More are bad rather than good.

The forest around me is beautiful, and put me at peace. I am no druid, but like one, I keep a link with Nature. One of the many plus of being a ranger.

The beats of two powerful wings tell me that my griffin, Cehlron, is coming back from his hunt. The feeling of satisfaction that I feel through the mind link that bind me to him tell me that the hunt was good. One buck and three rabbits. No horse.

One less equine disappearance to explain, and I thank Selune, Lady of the Night.

Selune know how I despise when Cehlron hunt the horses. The troubles coming to me next are worse than a dragon that I have to kill.

And man, did I kill dragons.

The sun is ready to set, and I ready myself to set up the camp. The woods are thick without being stifling, and the weaver is good. The twilight is a moment which can bring serenity, excitation, or fear. A little bit like the night, I guess. I really don't know where I am, and the awakening stars don't form any figures that I can recognize. Only one moon is rising in the sky, and not two, like they do in Faerun, my homeland. My map, now unusable, is put back in my bag. Cehlron is fidgeting, and the pressure around me is beginning to make itself heavy. I pack up and take a look around me. The canopy is thick. Perfect.

Nine riders pass under the branch on which I am perched now. Then, they stop. My partner watch them from the sky. I feel his fear. He knows that these riders are strong, and bad. I examine them.

They look like wraiths. Their black cloaks shrouds their figure in the shadow. They wear metal gauntlets and boots. Their steeds are as dark as them, and seems to have taken a trip to the Nine Hells.

I don't consider myself as a coward, and I would long be dead if I was. But I'm not mad, either. If my companions were with me at this instant, then I would surely confront these nine figures. But there is only Cehlron and me.

I'm not suicidal, and I do not think I am able to take on these guys.

Later, perhaps.

I hear a woman's voice. I feel my throat tightening.

"Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all

And in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."

What's happening here, by Selune?

So? How is it? Constructive criticisms are welcome!