Disclaimer: I'm cheap...They're not mine…DAMNIT!
Oppression: The Color Black
by Elentari
A/N: no flames...first angst, but I think I'll do okay...I'm a very depressed person with no Prozac.
This is a very very short chapter....
The Three Hunters sped across the fields toward the rising smoke and smell of orc flesh. The sky seemed to darken around them with every step they took and an unnatural breeze fluttered through Legolas' hair. He came to a halt and told Gimli and Aragorn to do so as well.
"I feel something in the wind. 'Tis evil!" he whispered to Aragorn. The ranger glanced around the wheat at the puddles of blood and helms. Indeed, something was wrong. Very wrong.
A voice laughed on the air. Legolas grabbed his bow; Gimli, his axe; Aragorn, his sword. The solitary voice became many…the young, the old, and the twisted. Small figures, like shadows, flickered around the three companions. Legolas shot at a figure, hitting it square in the chest. The shadow didn't bother to move as the arrow passed through it's skin, muscles, and bones without so much as a scratch, and landed in the grass a few meters behind it. The shadow was still not clear, even in the elf's vision. Panicking, the three men held their breath, their eyes darting from fleeting form to fleeting form. Aragorn would swing his sword and the blade would pass through the shadows like they were only the smoke from the fire the Riders of had made of their orc kill.
"Futile!" a joyous voice boomed, cackling. With one fluent motion, the figure knocked the Three Hunters on the head. Blackness over took them.
Oppression: The Color Black
by Elentari
A/N: no flames...first angst, but I think I'll do okay...I'm a very depressed person with no Prozac.
This is a very very short chapter....
The Three Hunters sped across the fields toward the rising smoke and smell of orc flesh. The sky seemed to darken around them with every step they took and an unnatural breeze fluttered through Legolas' hair. He came to a halt and told Gimli and Aragorn to do so as well.
"I feel something in the wind. 'Tis evil!" he whispered to Aragorn. The ranger glanced around the wheat at the puddles of blood and helms. Indeed, something was wrong. Very wrong.
A voice laughed on the air. Legolas grabbed his bow; Gimli, his axe; Aragorn, his sword. The solitary voice became many…the young, the old, and the twisted. Small figures, like shadows, flickered around the three companions. Legolas shot at a figure, hitting it square in the chest. The shadow didn't bother to move as the arrow passed through it's skin, muscles, and bones without so much as a scratch, and landed in the grass a few meters behind it. The shadow was still not clear, even in the elf's vision. Panicking, the three men held their breath, their eyes darting from fleeting form to fleeting form. Aragorn would swing his sword and the blade would pass through the shadows like they were only the smoke from the fire the Riders of had made of their orc kill.
"Futile!" a joyous voice boomed, cackling. With one fluent motion, the figure knocked the Three Hunters on the head. Blackness over took them.