Red-Eyes:

Wanderer


Book One:

Prolong

The day was hot and bright.

It was still early in the day but already it was very hot.

A few clouds could be seen against the bright blue sky but never seemed to pass over the burning sun that beat down upon the ocean water, warming it.

The water was clear and through it could be seen the curved blades of the great battering ram that lay at the belly of one the Corsairs of Umbar, as it cut through the ocean water in easy speed.

The water turned as it was hit again and again by the steady rhythm of the oars.

Wind filled the black sails that were once the pride of Gondor's navy, now speed towards the shores of Poros River, filled with various villains and outlaws who sought glory in the promised war to come.

One of these such outlaws sat on the deck, in the chair in front of one of the many iron framed crossbows, meant to fire harpoons ans grappling hooks at enemy ships, or what have you.

Tan hands, rapped in white linen to the knuckles, vigorously wrote down notes in a small black leather book, the size of his hand.

His small black boots rested against the iron frame of the cross bow.

He leaned back in his chair with ease, tilting it back to rest on its hind legs. Yet he kept his shoulders square, retaining a dignified poster.

This some times got him trouble, certain people taking offence to his proud posturing, assuming it came from arrogance. Which it did.

Either way, it got him into less trouble than huddling over like a frighted child, inviting others to take advantage of him.

Especially since he still very much resembled a child despite the fact that he was sixteen years of age.

The brown jacket, which stopped just below his hips, protected his slim tan muscles from the baking sun.

His hair was black and messy, sticking up to somewhat reassemble a flame. This was done intentionally.

Despite the jacket, he wore no shirt, leaving his well muscled abbes and torso, open to the sun.

Faded black trousers fell just below his hips.

His only decorations were the necklace made from the fangs and claws of different beast and a bracelet of the same fashion, but with small, wooden carvings of animals, and ivory beads, around his wrist.

His ears were pierced but at the moment he wore no earnings, save for a gold ear cuffs on each ear.

His smooth, doll like features were hardened by concentration.

The deep red iris of his eyes focused on the task in front of him. He muttered to himself. He smirked for no apparent reason.

He opened his mouth in a grin to reveal four sharp canines. One might even call them incisors.

"There." He said in a deep, steady voice that made him sound much older than his looks allowed, carrying a tone of wicked humor.

He reviewed what he hade written down. A rough pencil drawing of one of the oars of the Corsair.

"Oi, Nameless. Whatcha got there mate? Huh?" Roach asked from behind him. He had heard him approach but had been to busy to acknowledge his presence.

"Come on boyo, you can show 'our Roich. Lets have us a peek?" He nagged in his strange accent, developed from listening to the many different accent around the world, in his travels with the Corsairs of Umbar.

Roach was probable one of the most cunning of the crew, but he was a little odd and perhaps insane.

The one called Nameless raised his hand to Roach's face, showing him the book in his hand but not what was written in it.

He wrapped the book in a handkerchief and placed it in a small pocket over his heart, inside his jacket. The pencil he had been using followed it.

"Oi! Nameless!" hollered a new voice. The two looked to another crew member who had come up from below.

"You better 'urry on and gets some grub lad. Once your ashore, it's straight to Mordor with ye, and ye may not get another decent meal for some time my Nameless lad."

"I've already eaten. I don't want to start my hike to the Black Gate on a full stomach." Replied Nameless.

Nameless was the nick name they had given. It suite him well. When he had approached the captain of the Corsairs, Captain Crow, he had given him no name or any hint of his past. Only that he was a wanted man who needed a way to get from one place to the next, looking for work and to improve his trade as a blacksmith. They had provided him transportation for nearly five and a half years now.

"Well, the captain's been looking for ye, 'e 'as. Says he would like a word with ye, lad, that 'e did."

Message delivered, the crew man went back below deck.

Nameless sighed. Now what did he want!

He had come aboard the arrogant little punk that was only allowed to come because he worked and paid to ride. And to some he still was, but the captain had taken a liking to him and had tried to become something of a uncle to him. In a sick untrusting way. Nameless suspected the captain didn't want Nameless to leave. Nameless had proven handy in the dirty trades the crew of the Corsairs took part in.

Nameless got up from his seat and headed towards the railing of the ship, leaning against it. He looked down to the many oars of the Corsair and scowled. He turned his back to the ocean, placing his elbows on the railing.

Roach came up beside him with a frown. Land was already in sight. Nameless would be leaving soon. Roach was disappointed. He liked Nameless. He'd be bored without him.

Roach looked down and saw the oars at work, being endlessly rowed on and on by more than 250 slaves.

"There it is." Roach started."Middle-Earth. I've never been meself. 'Ave you? You've been everywhere else."

"No. This is my first time here as well."

"I heard the dwarves there are the best miners and blacksmith in the world. You should have fun there. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from them, ne?"

"I'd be surprised to see any Dwarves in Mordor. They're a Proud race. Only certain less moral Dwarves have had any contact with Orcs since the Goblin Wars. In any case, I hear most of them have been wiped out by the Orcs, so I'd be surprised to see any Dwarves at all, let alone behind the Black Gate."

"Well tha' sucks. So why' d you take this job anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

Roach turned his back to the rail as well and placed his elbows on it as Nameless had. "I mean do you have any particular reason for goin'?"

"No."

"So then why are you going? There are others out there who are willing to pay way more for you, there are."

Nameless looked at Roach wondering if he even realized his pun. Roach looked a bit confused at the look Nameless was giving him, and then it hit him. He blushed and Nameless burst out laughing. Roach tried to look affronted which only made Nameless laugh harder. Soon Roach was laughing too.

Nameless looked up at the sky.

'Its hot. I'm getting thirsty. There won't be much- correction- any clean water were I'm going. I think I'll indulge myself in the ships clean water supplies. Wait. Am I going to be able to take a bath once I'm in Mordor. Uhg. Maybe I should have thought of that before I excepted. Oh well, it's to late now.'

Nameless pushed off of the railing and began to walking off.

"'Ey, were you goin'?" asked Roach.

"To see the captain, such as he is." Nameless said over his shoulder as he headed off. "I still need to discus some business with him."


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Say what you like about the scum that came aboard the Corsairs of Umbar, they new how to do there business, and do it well.

They didn't ask much about you, but you had to have a certain amount of skill to become a part of this crew.

That's why Nameless chose to sail with this lot, despite the dangers.

There were no fools aboard this ship, and they didn't give a damn who you were or where you came from. Just as long as you were doing what you were supposed to be doing, they really didn't care.

Nameless knocked on the thick, wooden door to the captain's cabin.

"Enter!" was the curt reply.

Nameless twisted the door knob and came in. Inside, the wealth and success of the Corsair was evident.

This was not shone in the display of frivolous nick-nacks, but in the simple, and even not so simple, beauty of the items of the room.

It was richly furnish with, chairs, desk, chest, and book shelves lined with books. Some of which looked very old and rare, written in many languages.

Red wine colored, satin curtains were pulled back from the windows, allowing the sunshine in to light up the room.

Maps of various realms and their seas covered the walls, framed in rich and decorative frames. A few paintings were hung up as well in similar frames, but carful not to take away from the paintings beauty.

Captain Crow certainly new how to decorate. It seemed he rather enjoyed it too.

Said captain was currently writing hastily in a book in front of him, on a decorative, oak desk. He looked up the moment he heard the door opened to see who it was. A small smile came to his round, tanned face.

"Ah, my Nameless lad. Good. I'll get to you in a moment, I'm just finishing this. Please, sit." The captain motioned to one of two red velvet and cherry wood chairs in front of his desk, with his right hand, which still held the peacock-feather quill.

"Hn." Nameless smirked a little. In stead he chose to lounge on the couch, in the same style as the chairs, near the left window from were he was standing.

Nameless put his feet up on the left armrest and his head on the other, placing his arms behind his head.

He was carful with his boots on the couch. Didn't need the captain on his case about that again. Not today.

Normally Nameless didn't bother with shoes, settling for linen wraps or saddles if that. He much preferred to go bare foot.

But not today. Today he was going ashore some of the roughest terrain ever.

Yes, it seemed Middle-Earth had the best of everything, including torturous terrain.

The captain finished writing and, taking a moment to blow on the fresh ink, closed the book and set it aside. Now his attention was on the red-eyed boy, laying on his couch.

"So," began Crow," what's this about going to Mordor?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you going?"

Nameless sighed. He hardly saw how this was Crow's business, but Crow was the captain, and he needed to know what kind of business he was getting involved in.

"There paying me next to nothing. I'm mainly going for the learning opportunity. The black smithing in Middle-Earth is supposed to be the best in the world. Besides, it's one of the few places on earth that has mythril."

"Aaah, mythril." Crow leaned back in his chair, considering." I've heard tell of it, but never before have I seen it."

"I have. On a job once. Another blacksmith had a small bag full of the stuff, in a powder form. About the size of your thumb. It was...breath taking."

"Mmmm." Crow thought about this a moment before getting back to business. "So, how are you going to get there? And were exactly will you be stationed?"

"I don't know exactly were I'll be. Behind the black gate, I'll probable end up hoping from one forge to the next trying to meet my quota. As for how I'm getting there, your supposed to drop me off at Pelagir with your next cargo load. Some of the other mercenaries should already be there waiting. From there, I don't know how yet, we're to travel to Minus Morgaul. And that's the plan thus far."

Crow had gotten up to pull a bottle of white wine from out of a chest he kept near his desk.

"You mentioned a quota. I'll imagine you'll be quite busy. How do you plan to practice your skills if your so busy preparing for the war?"

He fetched two drinking glasses for them. He nodded his head occasionally to show he was still listening.

"I'll manage. Don't concern yourself with my affairs."

Crow got the hint and changed the subject. "So when will you be back aboard?"

"I don't know. This is a war after all. I may die."

Crow pulled the cork out and it made a 'THROP' sound before it fizzed over the captain's hand. He cleaned it off with a napkin.

"Well lets hope not. Being frank, I've grown quite found of ye lad," He poured a bit into each glass," and might I add, so has certain members of the crew." Crow handed a glass to Nameless, not at all concerned with his age.

"If ye were to run into a bit 'o trouble and be needin'–"

"Stop!"

Nameless glared at the captain, red eyes darkening a deeper red. Again Crow backed off.

"Aye, alright lad. A toast then." Crow raised his glass. "What shall we drink to lad?"

Nameless was silent a moment. Then he raised his glass as well."To freedom."

"Aye. To freedom!"

They swallowed it all in one gulp. It wasn't even noon yet, but by the time they got to shore, nine-tenths of that bottle were gone.

To Be Continued


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To the readers of this fic:

Most of the character featured in this fic are mine. However, the universe in which these characters are placed come from the imagination of the wonderful Tolkien. God rest his soul.

I don't read authors notes, unless I want to for whatever reason, and I don't expect any one else to read mine. But I'll just put them here anyways.

I realize that most OC fics suck. I mean, who reads them. But I thought that if I did a lot of Ocs in the Tolkien universe of the Lord of the Rings, then maybe it would be ok.

At least that's my hope.

Also I think I should warn that this fic contains some implied slash. If you don't know what that means, you will eventually.

Also, there will be violence and strong language. Obviously!

Have a problem with it? GO SOMEWHERE ELSE!

It's a five dollar fine for whinin' !

Extra points to those of you that get the reference.

But the points don't mean a thing.

That's right, like a G-string at a nudist beach, it doesn't mean a thing.

So if your keeping score, then you obviously haven't seen 'Who's Line Is It Anyway'.

As for reviews, please feel free to critic me, make suggestion, point out flaws, whatever!

I am interested in what the readers have to say.

So please, don't be shy my darlings.

That said, I bid you ado.

–Sneere

Dec. 19, 2004