This is by far the strangest. We weren't restricted to human/hobbit/elfish/whatever thinking characters, we could also do creatures. I toyed with the idea of doing one for Gollum, but discarded it because I figured someone else would do that (I was right, at least two others did) and I have this thing with being original. And then I realized I could probably do one on the ringwraiths and have it be almost nothing but torturous - and ask any of my friends, they'll tell you I have an alliance with interior torture. So I took the chance and wrote it. I'm actually kind of attached to it now.



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It's only fair to warn you: this one is going to be slightly strange. It's from the point of view of one - or all - of the ringwraiths, about how they are connected to the One Ring and why they follow Sauron. I can't really figure out when this one takes place.



Its power is inescapable, even thousands of miles away, even in the deepest pits of the hells of Mount Doom. Always, we can feel it, we feel it calling to us, drawing us closer, whispering seductive thoughts of power and prestige in our vanished ears.

Once we were good men, strong, and mortal. We were nine kings, the most powerful among men, and were each given the guardianship of one of the ancient rings when they were first forged. We above all others were trusted with their safekeeping, and we failed to protect them.

But how could we have protected them from what was to come? The evil lord Sauron had powers greater than we could ever attain, and he had forged the One Ring, which could control all the other rings. The evil wove discreetly into our souls, turning us power-hungry, mad, and impulsive. We slowly, slowly faded to shadows of our former selves, becoming everything that was bad in the world, bad in men, the most evil thing that were usually deeply hidden in the souls where men were afraid to go. Our outsides changed too, becoming the embodiment of this rotten evil, turning us into frightening wraiths as our bodies withered away under the evil that we'd become. And that was where our new name came from: ringwraiths.

We could not die anymore. We were beyond death entirely, too dead to die. We were doomed to wander the land at the bidding of Sauron, performing his tasks. Our human memories were obliterated over time until we had no idea what we were, where we had come from. We had no sense of self.

We only know the ring, and the power, and the will of our lord. Our lord is great and terrible, and we serve him still, because we know nothing else. We can barely remember what happened the day before, and we have to speak the name of Baggins out loud, even though we can barely speak, to not forget that as well.

That name is the most important goal we've ever had. We must trace it, find the one bearing that name - a hobbit, we think it is - and reclaim our master's ring. Only once he has the ring can he become lord over all as he is meant to be. And he has cast the responsibility of finding it on us, his most devoted servants, the ones who have been with him all ways.

It is a hard task. The ring is moving, and we must follow, but the bearer is cautious and hides himself well. We can only speak in hissing voices. Our appearance frightens all creatures. We have long since stopped caring, but it is hard to find information. All we can go on is the feeling of the ring inside us.

But we can still feel the pull of the ring, we can trace it to its source. We love the ring, for it gives us power, but at the same time we have a dim notion of hating it for some reason. If we knew we had once been human we probably would realize that we hate it for what it took from us, what it made us. But those memories are gone.

We love it. We hate it. And we cannot escape it.