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Black Rider

Did he have a name?

He could not remember. The sunlight hurt him, and the sight of Men, Elves and Dwarves disgusted him.

Kill them. Torture them. Destroy them.

Why did they possess such brightness? Did their eyes not hurt them? Did their skin not burn?

Snatch it away. Quench the light.

He tried to reach for the brightness. See how it tasted. See how it felt. But he could not. Was he like them? Did he have laughter and joy in his life?

He could not remember.

Even Orcs laughed, when the blood of their Enemy, especially children and Elves spilled from their swords. Even the Orcs felt joy, when the bloodlust hit them.

He felt nothing.

Bright. Bright. That woman who killed the Witch-King is too bright. He must flee.

They have come. There was a tug on his mind. The master was calling. There was nothing for him to do here. He needed to go. He needed to leave. The ships were here. Good. Good. But the corsairs were not the ones who came from it. It was the Enemy!

They lost.

He snarled and commanded his beast to leave.

Bind them.

Bind them all in the darkness.