Author's Note: Hi, this is my first fan fiction, and as I said in the summary, it's based on a RPG I participated in on MEO (Middle-Earth Online) a year or so ago. To give credit where it is due, the following writers helped to develop the plot and characters: Estelmo, Dagothorn, ieatglue44, Ish, Aravan, and Lord Galathil. I was under the name skyarcher. The plot was initially Estelmo's idea, and so his character is the main character, but we all contributed. To be honest, I'll admit that the first chapter was a little slow and the second chapter isn't so hot either. I went through a lot of trouble to try and smooth the writing styles of the different people out, but you'll see that the first few chapters are a little inflated. Please bear with me because the story is definitely worth a read. If you have any questions or suggestions, please e-mail me, and I would really, really love it if y'all could review… 'cause otherwise I feel like I'm talking to myself. I'll try and review the stories of any one who reviews for me.

Chapter Two: Barrazzev

A clash of earthenware woke Nalilothon prematurely from his slumber. It seemed that an intoxicated merchant made an attempt to get to his room but instead collapsed upon the table, pushing all of the contents to the floor. Without a farewell, Nalilothon headed to the drunkenly leaning stable and fetched his rough-haired horse. The storm abated and only a soft patter of rain remained. The night was waning into oblivion and the world was cast into a pale darkness as the sun rose in the east.

A small beaten path united the Great East Road to the Forsaken Inn. Nalilothon guided his horse cautiously across he small tributary, avoiding the flooded ruts and the moist soil. Within minutes his horse was trotting down the thoroughfare. The mindless rhythm of riding allowed Nalilothon's thoughts to wander. Little did he heed the road ahead until a tongue of silver flashed before him. Acting on his deep-rooted instincts, Nalilothon checked his horse and drew his own sword from its sheath.

There was a man standing in the center of the road with a sword in his outstretched hand, as if he was challenging the wanderer. He was clad in a great black cloak, a glint of armor could be espied through the folds of the wrapping. A black war horse was picketed behind him. Nalilothon's horse became overwhelmed by an unknown terror and threw its rider onto the ground and ran wild from the menace. The wanderer fell to the ancient roadway, sword still clasped tightly in his hand.

"Be gone stranger!" spat Nalilothon. "I ride to Imladris and I do not have the time nor the patience to bandy words with a highwayman. My horse had all my belongings. Follow him if you must have your spoils."

"Fool," the stranger chuckled. ""You know naught whom you face. I am Barrazzev. I come from the East and I come for your head."

He unclasped his cloak and the garment flew away with the morning wind, revealing armor highly embellished with the devices of the ruling Warlords in the East. His skin was deathly pale and marred with long white scars, testaments of terrible pain. His dark eyes flashed with malevolence as he spoke words of terror and power. An aura of fear flew with them and it gripped Nalilothon and sunk into the very marrow of his bones.

Nalilothon staggered back, shocked by this stranger. He was no bandit or rustic warrior robbing travelers of coins. This was an armored assassin bearing powerful weapons and dangerous spells.

Finally, Nalilothon thought sadistically. A man worthy to fight.

"Mere words and a show of shiny toys will not defeat me," said Nalilothon. A mirthless laugh left his lips.

"So be it. It shall be the end of you, Nalilothon of the Moriquendi," growled Barrazzev menacingly.

They raised their swords in salute, their blades catching the morning light. With a clang of metal, their swords met in midair. Nalilothon disengaged first and lunged at his opponent. Barrazzev parried with ease, whipping his sword through the air with inhuman speed. They circled each other warily until their swords met again and the clash was followed by intense sword play.

They struggled back and forth, arresting each other's blows while dealing deadly yet fruitless thrusts. Again their blades were interlaced. With a mere flick of his wrist, Barrazzev knocked Nalilothon's sword out of his hand and left a nasty gash on his arm.

Barrazzev dealt a hard kick with his leather boot to Nalilothon's stomach. Nalilothon bent forward in pain, and Barrazzev hit him in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, forcing him to his knees. With his left hand he drew a dagger with a highly decorated hilt. It was clearly made for ceremony. He pulled Nalilothon's head back, exposing his bare throat.

'

"I expected more from you," growled Barrazzev with a hint of disappointment in his voice. And arrow whined and with a faint cry of dismay, Barrazzev dropped his dagger and wrenched the arrow from his shoulder. With a malevolent hiss, he turned and stood defiantly against the unseen menace that lurked in the eaves of the forest.

"Show yourself!" Barrazzev bellowed. Birds lifted from the trees here and there, and a few leaves tumbled from the branches. There was no other sound but Nalilothon's breathing. "Coward!"

A clear voice rang out from the wilds: O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

The assassin cowered back as if stricken by a blow. With all speed, he mounted his horse and galloped away, he was soon hidden by the winding road. With all the energy he could muster, he grabbed the dagger Barrazzev had left behind and hid it in his cloak. Then he collapsed in the dirt, bereft of energy and strength. Just before he slipped out of consciousness, he craned he neck toward the wilderness, hoping that this newcomer was friend not foe.

Author's Notes:

All right, so there you go… the first peek at a plot that slowly unfolds more and more. The next chapter will be a little more light-hearted (thank god), and then some action.