Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. JRR Tolkien owns
it. I own my character.
Author's Note:
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
...
Thank you.
-Naurglahad
SET IT OFF!
"Don't you dare use me!" Naurglahad retorted, bits of mud flying at the white old man's face.
The wizard grinned devilishly once again as he eyed something over her shoulder. As soon as Naurglahad turned, an iron club, held by a gruesome goblin like creature came lightly down on her head, knocking her out.
~*~
Of all of her senses, Naurglahad's sense of smell was the best. Then came taste, hearing, touch and eyesight. At the moment, she smelt sulfur and volcanoes, tasted ashes on the tip of her tongue, heard cracks of flames as if she was laying on top of it, touched the rusting cuffs about her wrist, and saw the blackness of the inside of her eyelids.
"Open your eyes, child," came a rasping voice. It sounded half dead, yet writhing with living worms and whispers.
Naurglahad clenched her eyes before snapping them open. The inside of her lids were no difference to the darkness around her... or maybe it was just the darkness of the hooded face in front of her.
With a hard wrench of steel fingers, she was yanked from her shackles and onto her weak feet. They were sore for some reason, and they felt like sticks of melting butter. Stumbling on what felt like a rotting skeleton, she followed the hooded creature out of a dark chamber and into the gloomy light of a burning torch. Another hooded creature seemed to be glaring into the flames of the torch, as if reflecting on a well hated memory*.
Through several musty corridors and four decaying gates, another hooded creature leant against the wall with his arms crossed. At the approach of Naurglahad and its fellow, it turned its head up and walked toward them. Naurglahad finally noticed the squeak in their pointed metal shoes. Judging by the leggings, these creatures must have been riders. Black riders. That seemed an appropriate name for them. She would call them that for now.
She was about to ask who they were until the worn stone floor met her cheek in a rough collision. The black rider had cast her aside onto the floor as if she were some kind of rag. The second rider bent down next to her.
"I would not be too harsh with her, Fuinur," it spoke. This rider had the same dead tone, but it was dead as if his life had left him, not his soul, "Sauron has business with her."
"Her?" the rider replied, "It is probably only going to be used as a testing device for some brilliant plan of our Lord's."
Naurglahad couldn't resist it. Both from a taste of revenge, and just because it was an opportunity too perfect to miss, she flipped onto her side and swung her leg under the rider's step... just like she had done to her brother back in the desert... wherever that was now. The rider tripped and fell flat face onto the floor.
"Test device, am I?" she countered in satisfaction, rising to her feet smoothly. She turned to the second rider, "To Sauron! Whoever the hell he is!"
If the rider had a face, it probably would have raised an eyebrow. But nonetheless, it began walking up a winding stone staircase, probably guiding her to Sauron.
"What are you?" she asked as soon as the bottom of the stairs were out of sight.
"... A Black Rider, " it muttered in reply.
"Thought so..." she tried to think of some sort of conversation topic, "...Can I call you---"
"I heed a name, and it is---"
"Joe! Your name is going to be Joe! Hi, Joe!"
The Rider stopped in its tracks and turned it's hooded face to her before it sniffed the air. It sensed something she didn't. Something... powerful. Perhaps, Naurglahad thought with her good sense of smell, she could try searching for it.
Joe stopped observing the scents as soon as he realized that the mortal beside him was either trying to imitate him, or had the same senses he had.
"I smell nothing," she said finally, "Other than fire and something rotting. What did you smell?"
"...Twas nothing important."
"Oh.... Who's Sauron?"
"You shall find out soon enough."
"...You're a lot nicer than all of your other creepy friends I saw."
"Nay. You have mistaken your judgment. I am merely patient. Not nicer."
"Why do talk so funny?"
Joe turned his head so sharply at her that the torn black cuff of his sleeves fluttered with his spin. Naurglahad flinched slightly, but blinked pleasantly up at the darkness of his hood.
"Enough questions, child!" he boomed, picking up the same terrible voice that the other rider had used. He expected to smell her horror, meaning that she would cower with fear as all the other mortals he encountered had done. Instead, he sensed amusement.
"You talk like my grandfather when he drinks too much milk," she replied, "Did you know that?"
"Silly children," Joe grunted in his own tongue to himself, "One can never extract a single point from them***."
Naurglahad kept attempting to strike up a friendly conversation with the Rider through the whole walk. After they had ascended the stone staircase and passed through another rotting wooden door, they paced another stone corridor with iron maces mounted upon the walls, and more longer halls that had a dull torch burning in its metal holders along every pillar that held up the ceiling. None of the rooms had carpets or welcoming decorations of any sort. Not even a simple house plant in the corner of doorways.
As they passed a rounding outdoor walkway, Naurglahad peered over the balcony. What she saw made her jaw drop with excitement. Below her was at least a thousand feet of straight black cement, carved into sharp juts and creases. The buildings poured down the mountain it stood upon and extended into more stone bridge ways, which were filled with marching soldiers bearing scarlet and black banners. Below the bridges, there were three round terraces with massive fort like walls lining the edge of each terrace. One by one with a terrifying screech, three great iron doors on the walls opened, letting in more soldiers with the same flags. And to add finally to this awesome fort, a sea of lava boiled morbidly in its bay. One couldn't forget the blackness of the craggy terrain that stood around the lava either.
"Who... built this masterpiece?" she cried suddenly as soon as they had entered another corridor.
"Thou shalt meet him," said Joe, taking a key from his belt and turning it into the ivory lock that bound two great iron doors, "Right now."
With a howl of wind and a lick of flames, Naurglahad shut her eyes once more as she crossed her forearms in front of her face.
When she reopened them, she saw only shadow. The floors she stood upon seemed to pour behind her like a river's current. And when she looked above her, there was a great red eye, wreathed in flames, and encircled in Darkness.
That last phrase up there is italicized because those are the descriptions used to describe Mr. Eye.
*If you haven't figured it out, that's the Wraith that got burnt in the face by The Amazing Torch Throwing Guy! (C-chan came up with that title. She's lazy, but she's a genious)
**Nazgul can't see, right? So he smells fear....thing.
***How do you say 'them' in Ye Olde English?
Author's Note:
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
...
Thank you.
-Naurglahad
SET IT OFF!
"Don't you dare use me!" Naurglahad retorted, bits of mud flying at the white old man's face.
The wizard grinned devilishly once again as he eyed something over her shoulder. As soon as Naurglahad turned, an iron club, held by a gruesome goblin like creature came lightly down on her head, knocking her out.
~*~
Of all of her senses, Naurglahad's sense of smell was the best. Then came taste, hearing, touch and eyesight. At the moment, she smelt sulfur and volcanoes, tasted ashes on the tip of her tongue, heard cracks of flames as if she was laying on top of it, touched the rusting cuffs about her wrist, and saw the blackness of the inside of her eyelids.
"Open your eyes, child," came a rasping voice. It sounded half dead, yet writhing with living worms and whispers.
Naurglahad clenched her eyes before snapping them open. The inside of her lids were no difference to the darkness around her... or maybe it was just the darkness of the hooded face in front of her.
With a hard wrench of steel fingers, she was yanked from her shackles and onto her weak feet. They were sore for some reason, and they felt like sticks of melting butter. Stumbling on what felt like a rotting skeleton, she followed the hooded creature out of a dark chamber and into the gloomy light of a burning torch. Another hooded creature seemed to be glaring into the flames of the torch, as if reflecting on a well hated memory*.
Through several musty corridors and four decaying gates, another hooded creature leant against the wall with his arms crossed. At the approach of Naurglahad and its fellow, it turned its head up and walked toward them. Naurglahad finally noticed the squeak in their pointed metal shoes. Judging by the leggings, these creatures must have been riders. Black riders. That seemed an appropriate name for them. She would call them that for now.
She was about to ask who they were until the worn stone floor met her cheek in a rough collision. The black rider had cast her aside onto the floor as if she were some kind of rag. The second rider bent down next to her.
"I would not be too harsh with her, Fuinur," it spoke. This rider had the same dead tone, but it was dead as if his life had left him, not his soul, "Sauron has business with her."
"Her?" the rider replied, "It is probably only going to be used as a testing device for some brilliant plan of our Lord's."
Naurglahad couldn't resist it. Both from a taste of revenge, and just because it was an opportunity too perfect to miss, she flipped onto her side and swung her leg under the rider's step... just like she had done to her brother back in the desert... wherever that was now. The rider tripped and fell flat face onto the floor.
"Test device, am I?" she countered in satisfaction, rising to her feet smoothly. She turned to the second rider, "To Sauron! Whoever the hell he is!"
If the rider had a face, it probably would have raised an eyebrow. But nonetheless, it began walking up a winding stone staircase, probably guiding her to Sauron.
"What are you?" she asked as soon as the bottom of the stairs were out of sight.
"... A Black Rider, " it muttered in reply.
"Thought so..." she tried to think of some sort of conversation topic, "...Can I call you---"
"I heed a name, and it is---"
"Joe! Your name is going to be Joe! Hi, Joe!"
The Rider stopped in its tracks and turned it's hooded face to her before it sniffed the air. It sensed something she didn't. Something... powerful. Perhaps, Naurglahad thought with her good sense of smell, she could try searching for it.
Joe stopped observing the scents as soon as he realized that the mortal beside him was either trying to imitate him, or had the same senses he had.
"I smell nothing," she said finally, "Other than fire and something rotting. What did you smell?"
"...Twas nothing important."
"Oh.... Who's Sauron?"
"You shall find out soon enough."
"...You're a lot nicer than all of your other creepy friends I saw."
"Nay. You have mistaken your judgment. I am merely patient. Not nicer."
"Why do talk so funny?"
Joe turned his head so sharply at her that the torn black cuff of his sleeves fluttered with his spin. Naurglahad flinched slightly, but blinked pleasantly up at the darkness of his hood.
"Enough questions, child!" he boomed, picking up the same terrible voice that the other rider had used. He expected to smell her horror, meaning that she would cower with fear as all the other mortals he encountered had done. Instead, he sensed amusement.
"You talk like my grandfather when he drinks too much milk," she replied, "Did you know that?"
"Silly children," Joe grunted in his own tongue to himself, "One can never extract a single point from them***."
Naurglahad kept attempting to strike up a friendly conversation with the Rider through the whole walk. After they had ascended the stone staircase and passed through another rotting wooden door, they paced another stone corridor with iron maces mounted upon the walls, and more longer halls that had a dull torch burning in its metal holders along every pillar that held up the ceiling. None of the rooms had carpets or welcoming decorations of any sort. Not even a simple house plant in the corner of doorways.
As they passed a rounding outdoor walkway, Naurglahad peered over the balcony. What she saw made her jaw drop with excitement. Below her was at least a thousand feet of straight black cement, carved into sharp juts and creases. The buildings poured down the mountain it stood upon and extended into more stone bridge ways, which were filled with marching soldiers bearing scarlet and black banners. Below the bridges, there were three round terraces with massive fort like walls lining the edge of each terrace. One by one with a terrifying screech, three great iron doors on the walls opened, letting in more soldiers with the same flags. And to add finally to this awesome fort, a sea of lava boiled morbidly in its bay. One couldn't forget the blackness of the craggy terrain that stood around the lava either.
"Who... built this masterpiece?" she cried suddenly as soon as they had entered another corridor.
"Thou shalt meet him," said Joe, taking a key from his belt and turning it into the ivory lock that bound two great iron doors, "Right now."
With a howl of wind and a lick of flames, Naurglahad shut her eyes once more as she crossed her forearms in front of her face.
When she reopened them, she saw only shadow. The floors she stood upon seemed to pour behind her like a river's current. And when she looked above her, there was a great red eye, wreathed in flames, and encircled in Darkness.
That last phrase up there is italicized because those are the descriptions used to describe Mr. Eye.
*If you haven't figured it out, that's the Wraith that got burnt in the face by The Amazing Torch Throwing Guy! (C-chan came up with that title. She's lazy, but she's a genious)
**Nazgul can't see, right? So he smells fear....thing.
***How do you say 'them' in Ye Olde English?