Sometimes, I feel as though despair has reached Ar-Pharazôn. In many ways, he acts like one of the many I have known to be afflicted by this condition. He seems to believe that there are few solutions left before, and the one offered by Sauron appears more and more tempting. How can he be so blind as to see that he is drinking from the same cup as the Black Enemy?

I have defined the concept of despair as seeing only the end, and nothing else to life. Morgoth despaired when he saw that, in the end, the Valar would not be the masters of this world but would instead be helpers and guiders to the actions of the First and Second born. This is why he fell; he could not stand the knowledge that he would not be supreme of all Eru's creations.

Sauron also despaired, albeit in a less cosmological way. He believed that in the end, there would be war between Morgoth and the Valar that would leave one side utterly destroyed. Only looking at this final outcome, he did not care for what would happen in the intervening time, only that he needed to be on the winning side. He chose an eternity of suffering under his master's control so that he would one day win.

Even some of the Elves have despaired over the course of their mighty lives. How could we forget Fëanor, who saw only the beauty of the Silmarils, and thus followed a path that lead to the death and destruction of all those around him, and the eternal sundering of the Firstborn? And let us not forget the others who perished thinking only of the Silmarils: Maedhros, Caranthir, Curufin, Celegorm, Amrod, and Amras, Fëanor's sons, Elu Thingol, Beren, Lúthien, and Dior, from Doriath. I could go on forever, listing the consequences of Fëanor's despair, but eventually I'd either have listed every person alive today or run out of paper.

And now I think that Ar-Pharazôn sees only that one day he will, for sure die. He seeks any means possible to prevent this fate. At first, he consulted with philosophers, to see if they had some great cure for him. However, they had no suggestions and no answers, except to say that death was Eru's gift to the Secondborn, their way to transcend the Music of Creation.

He next consulted those who believed in the Valar and were learned in the nature of Eä. They could only give him the same answer, adding on that perhaps the answer he sought was a change of perspective. After all, given the story of Beren and Lúthien, it seemed likely that at the very least his soul would survive in some form. All he needed to do was renounce his desire for earthly being.

Tired of the answers of learned men, he went on to the alchemists, to see what miracles they could offer him. Given their lack of an ability to perform the other tasks they had set out to do, namely, transmute the elements, it was hardly a surprise to me at least that they also had found no ways to eternal life, not even the famed Philosopher's Stone.

Then he went to the necromancers, who told him that what they could give him would hardly be the kind of immortality that he desired. He was informed that some Elves were reportedly working on ways of making Immortal beings, but had not succeeded before being utterly destroyed by their kin.

So, I fear that he will finally listen to Sauron's lies. For years, Sauron has been denouncing the words of the Valar as false and fraudulent. He pronounces that immortality will belong to all who enter into Valinor, especially those who will aid in the freeing of the "true" god, Melkor.

Although it makes me ill to write those words, it is what he says. And I think that my King, the ruler of the greatest nation upon Arda, has given into his despairing ways. May he see the way of truth.

-From the Abridged Journals of Arnuzîr

The next morning was beautiful, as it should be. Although, Telimperion noted, it was unfortunately colder and more overcast. However, the air still smelled lovely and the wind was more refreshing than freezing. Somewhat fitting, considering what they were setting out to do today. Today, they would find a necromancer who could fix Tu-Ankh.

Last night, before returning to the inn, Telimperion had told Síthiel to ask the other elves and their various contacts to actively search for a necromancer. Telimperion was aware that it would be somewhat difficult to locate an actual practicing necromancer. However, Minas Tirith was probably the largest city in the world at this time. If an actual practicing necromancer could be located, it would be here.

Telimperion hoped dearly that the Elves would have good news for them when they came to the Expedition's headquarters. She shook Tu-Ankh awake and they both readied themselves for the day very quickly. They left the inn and walked very quickly to the section of the city where they were located.

Síthiel was sitting at a table inside for them, a worried look on her face. She looked up at them when they entered, but she was still very grim looking. Tu-Ankh, on the other hand, was all smiles. "Hey, Síthiel! How did the search for a necromancer go?"

Síthiel was not brightened by his enthusiasm. "As you can imagine, the search for a necromancer that would be willing to work with us wasn't easy. After all, the art has been frowned upon by pretty much literally everyone since the dawn of time."

"Come on, just give us the good bits."

Síthiel managed to put on a look of fake hurt. "What, you don't want to hear of my thrilling hunt?"

"If you were able to find them between last night and right now, you can't have had that hard of a time."

Síthiel narrowed her eyes. "One day, when I tell you exactly how I was able to find a necromancer in that miniscule amount of time, you will bow down and worship me as a goddess. However, I guess in the meanwhile I'll settle for providing you with the information you need. As a result of my investigation, I was able to find two potential necromancers. You will have to pick one of them."

Telimperion looked curiously at Síthiel. "Why only one?"

Síthiel glanced up at her. "As far as I can tell these two necromancers are pretty big rivals of each other, at least in the underworld-"

Tu-Ankh snorted loudly. Síthiel fixed him with a glare that would have killed any other man, then continued on. "At least in the underworld circles that they frequent. People tend to either support one or the other, with few willing to give both an open ear. I think the schism has something to do with the style of necromancy they practice, but really has more to do with what families they come from.

"Additionally, both of these men have at least a few men buried in the other's network, as well as other means, both natural and supernatural, of obtaining information. This means that when we visit one, the other will know almost right away. And you can be certain that they are more likely to kill you to scare away competition from their rival than to help you."

Telimperion nodded. "Makes sense."

"So, who are these men that we can see?" asked Tu-Ankh.

"Well, I was getting to that," Síthiel said, somewhat irritated. "The first man goes only by Smurt. He is reputed to be the smarter of the two, but he is therefore also more dangerous and harder to get a deal out of. Dealing with him will not only be tricky, but dangerous. Additionally, he is known to be somewhat volatile, and even a little mentally unstable at times. However, of the two, he is undoubtedly the more powerful necromancer.

"The other's name is Strash Chovek. He is not quite as smart or powerful as Smurt. However, he makes up for it with his incredibly good charisma. He has a deep network of people working for him that make for his lack of strong necromantic powers and that have put him in touch with powerful sources that wouldn't otherwise be willing to work. Those are your choices."

Tu-Ankh frowned. "Essentially, I am picking between a powerful, yet dangerous man, or a weaker, yet more resourceful man. At first, I leaned toward the man that was the more dangerous option, since if he could do anything to hurt me, my problem would pretty much solved anyway. Then, I considered that he could take revenge on you guys, and decided that it might be better to go for the guy with more resources, as those contacts could know something we don't, like how best to contact the Shapet."

Telimperion spoke up. "Personally, I think that if Strash knew how to contact a remnant of the Shapet, there would be no competition with him at all. I had been thinking about them ever since you mentioned them, and I remember my brother mentioning them once. From what I recall, they were not forces to be messed with. Some of the wisest minds of the Noldor left after Sauron destroyed Eregion were included in their ranks."

"You make a fair point. But what about your personal safety?"

"I feel like I'm going to have to say this a lot. I do not care what happens to me, so long as you find a way to set yourself free. You are my goal in this world, and I will do anything to have is be met."

The other elves had slowly filed in as Telimperion had begun talking. Each one of them spoke right as she finished, saying they didn't care, let the necromancers try to hurt them, they could take it. Several emphatic nods followed these proclamations.

Tu-Ankh looked around at all the serious faces on everyone's face. All eight of the elves were there, as well as Telimperion. Each looked very ready to back up what they were saying, as though they would each individually storm a castle for him. Tu-Ankh was not very used to getting this much love from people.

He laughed, somewhat out of love, and a little out of nervousness. "Well, I'm glad you are all so eager to support me. You people do realize that we can't all go to visit the necromancer, yes?"

"Which one will you pick?" Telimperion asked.

"I don't think I really have much of a choice except for Smurt. Clearly, we are all agreed that the potential powers outweigh the dangers he represents. So, who's going? Obviously, Telimperion will be coming, but which amongst the eight of you will be coming?"

Baidhrif stepped forward. "We have a protocol for who is on outgoing missions. Raudael is far too valuable to the expedition to put directly into the direct grasp of the necromancer. A similar reasoning applies to Arodrad and Ivorchu. And while I would love to serve the two of you, I fear that Lord Erestor would not appreciate my vacating of my position.

"So, I will nominate Síthiel and Helgalad to go with you. Síthiel for her expertise and Helgalad for her knowledge of the city and the time she spent liberating East Lórien from the Shadow." He turned towards to two aforementioned elves. "Of course, the two of you may refuse-"

He couldn't even get the sentence out before the two women interrupted him. "Out of the question. I am going," said Síthiel. Helgalad nodded. "I could not let them down now."

"All right, then. It's settled. I suggest we leave as soon as convenient." Tu-Ankh said firmly.

Mermacil awoke the next morning very sore and stiff from having slept on the ground in a tent with meager forms of protection from the sandy desert. Months of having slept in a room in Minas Ithil had not prepared him for any kind of action. Although he had been sleeping in a similar fashion for the past few days, he still had not gotten quite used to it yet. I need to do more work in the field, he though ruefully to himself.

Kith'tar was already awake and was mediating in a corner of the tent. Eläre, on the other hand, appeared to still be sleeping, so Mermacil decided to step outside so as to not accidently wake her or distract Kith'tar.

The sun had just barely begun to rise, and the sky was a beautiful shade of pink. There were no clouds in the sky, and Mermacil could look fully on the sun, which seemed larger and redder than normal. It was almost a foreshadowing of the blood that was sure to be spilled later on in the day.

A messenger walked up to Mermacil, who was still looking up in the sky. He was a young orc, and he probably had seen few battles before. He stood in front of Mermacil and said, "I have a message to deliver to you from the Master Tactician."

"Good. What is the message?"

"He wishes you to know of the battle plan for today. It is simply said, but not easy to pull off. We will put a company of soldiers in there to lure their larger force into the vale. Hopefully, they will fall for our front at those being the only soldiers we are able to field and will rush in. I know for a fact that they have been traveling with little sleep for some time now, which should affect their decisions.

"Once they have entered the Vale of Durmik, our archers will rain down arrows from above onto them. We also will reserves in case they have sent soldiers around the vale. With a little luck this plan should give us victory with least amount of casualties."

Mermacil was silent after the messenger finished his recitation. He considered carefully Nosôros' words, then spoke. "That seems to be a good plan. What does the good tactician plan for me to do while all this fighting goes on?"

"He wants the three of you to assist him in running the battle from up here. In fact, he's requesting your presence pretty much right now."

Mermacil smiled. "Okay, that sounds simple enough. I'll wake up the others and let them know. Thank you."

The messenger smiled back. "'snot a problem," he said, walking back to the Master Tactician.

Mermacil strode back into the camp. Eläre had just begun to wake up, it appeared. Kith'tar was still sitting in a corner. "All right, everyone, let's get moving. We've been given our instructions and Master Tactician Nosôros is requesting our presence immediately."

Eläre struggled to her feet. Kith'tar opened his eyes and began grabbing the things he would need for the day. Mermacil went back outside and waited for them. Within two minutes, the two were outside with him and they headed over to the High Command's tent.

Nosôros and Athros were both inside, waiting for them to get there. Athros gave them a short smile. "I'm glad to see you still here," he said. "We will most definitely have need of your services before the day is over. I'm going to be using the three of you to observe here so that you can report more accurately on the overall conditions of both armies when you return to Gondor. From outside this tent, we will have one of the best views of the battle. In fact, I suggest that we head outside right now."

Athros wasn't lying. From behind the tent, a clear view of the Vale was present, as well as the majority of both sides on the upper ground. Mermacil could see the platoon of soldiers already beginning to pack in, doing their best to seem as though they were in a rush and were Drakarator's desperate effort to save itself. The tents above were being taken down by the reserves, who were doing their best to hide the encampment and the troops lying in wait up there. The archers had largely taken shelter behind a clump of rocks. There seemed to be about 400 of them.

"Where did you get all these people from?" asked Kith'tar. "I didn't see that many people in the army according to Kapagund's information."

"Although we only have a few hundred in the actual standing army, life in Nurn is not easy, as I'm sure you are aware. Most of the people living in Drakarator are fighters, one way or another.

"We keep an eye out on those who are well-known for their fighting skills in case of events like this. We were able to acquire these assets once it is known that we were going to need them and add them to our core army. In addition, several people came forward and volunteered their services. Some of these people we added to the army, though most wound up becoming part of our reserves.

"This system has allowed us to spend a great deal of time training the men in our army to become great archers, although, once again, some of the people that make up our archery company come from the civilians as well. Our men down in the Vale of Durmik should be able to keep the orcs distracted long enough for our archers to make short work of them." Athros smiled grimly as he stared intently down into the valley.

"I'm impressed that you were able to mobilize nearly a thousand soldiers so quickly," said Eläre.

"Well, once again, remember that we live under almost constant threat. This is hardly the first large angry group of orcs to gather in Mordor, simply the largest. Not to mention that we are under threat from other regions of Nurn that desire the valuable area we occupy. As the "border city", or so we are called. We are actually a vital part of Nurn. Anyone who wants to get in or leave from the North will probably pass through. It's why we are one of the greatest towns of this area. We have many protocols in place to defend ourselves, and a ready army is one of them."

Mermacil saw the truth of what Athros was saying. Looking at the archers that were training away from the Vale, he saw how accurate and steady their shots were, even at a distance. He had no doubt that with just a little help from the forces down below, they would have no problem sinking their arrows into the orcs.

And, looking down on the men below, Mermacil felt confident that they would succeed in their given task as well. Although they were doing their best to seem like a ragged, last-minute put together army, Mermacil had experienced working with armies before, and he could tell that underneath their act, each of these men brimmed with confidence. Each one knew what their role was, and how to perform it.

"Look!" called Eläre. Mermacil strained his eyes to see what it was she was looking at in the distance.

Athros apparently saw what it was first. "You have good eyes for a scribe. I'll remember that for the next time we meet." Seeing that Mermacil and Kith'tar hadn't quite grasped what Eläre had seen, he took pity on them. "See that cloud of dust near the upper end of the Vale?" he asked.

Now that it was pointed out to him, Mermacil felt blind for not having seen it before. He understood the significance almost instantly. "They must be traveling pretty fast to be raising that much dust," he observed.

Athros smiled viciously. "That's what I'm hoping for. The more tired and exhausted they are from their journey here, the more likely they are to fall here." He beckoned an aid to his side. "Please inform everyone to finish their preparations and to get in place." The aid nodded and scurried off to do as was asked of him.

"They'll probably slow down right…about…now," he said. Sure enough, the dust cloud began to dissipate as the orcs began moving more slowly. "I'm sure their advance scouts have reported our forces in the Vale. However, I doubt that they have seen our forces up here. These tents were specially made in order to look like the sand surroundings. They have no idea."

Mermacil was a little scared by how vicious Athros sounded. He could see by the look on Eläre's face that she felt the same way. Kith'tar, somewhat unsurprisingly, was unmoved.

Within an hour, the front of the orc army had reached the opening of the Vale of Durmik. Even from his high vantage point, Mermacil could see some of the signs of exhaustion that Athros had been hoping for. They had no real order to their army, and instead of marching in their pace could be better described as a crawl. That is, until they saw the enemy army. At that point, all semblance of order in their army broke down and they charged at the people of Drakarator.

And the army of Drakarator resisted them beautifully. Fully abandoning their appearance as a worthless army made of the few who could be made to fight, they revealed their true nature as a grim fighting machine. Quickly set up in formation, they bravely bore the brunt of the orcish assault.

The orcs were unprepared for the display of order from the defenders. Most of them had charged in expecting that they would easily overwhelm their opponents, not to have this amount of resistance. Many broke off from their charge abruptly, causing further confusion in the ranks behind them. Others were forced to stop because they simply could not physically advance forward against the Drakatorim.

At this point, some commander from within their midst knew that he would have to take over or else they would be destroyed by the front line of defenders alone. At least, Mermacil assumed that this was the reason that the orcs began advancing forwards again. Mermacil winced to see that when they began advancing forward, they started overwhelming the first line of defenders, pushing past them into the second line.

However, this was exactly what Nosôros had been betting on. The moment that the orcs had advanced further, they could no longer easily retreat backwards. It was at this point that the archers moved out of their cover and began to shoot down on the orcs.

The orcs weren't unarmored, so it was not immediately a slaughter. However, most of the archers were using arrows that were designed to penetrate armor, which they could use with more ease than normal, since they were shooting at the orcs from above. In addition, armor could not cover everywhere, and the constant pouring of arrows ensured that almost everywhere was hit.

The orcs did not react well to the sudden downpour of arrows. Many tried to panic, only to find that they could not move out of the way thanks to all the other orcs pushing against. The rear line of the orcs was targeted last, so they did not begin fleeing until was largely too late. The reserves also began to file into the Vale from behind, cutting off the retreat of the orcs.

Seeing that the battle was ending, Athros turned to Mermacil, Eläre, and Kith'tar. "Quick, head to the stables!"

"What about my other men?" asked Mermacil.

"They were stationed in our reserves and are also making their way over to the stables. Go, quickly! It is of utmost importance that you report what has happened here to Faramir."

Seeing the intensity in his eyes, Mermacil and the others did not walk, but ran to the stables, where they found five horses, Lt. Samnon, and Hannish awaiting them. Quickly mounting their steeds, they rode back the way they had come, to Minas Ithil.

Soon, Tu-Ankh, Síthiel, Telimperion, and Helgalad were ready for their intense meeting with Smurt the necromancer. Síthiel was able to give a rough idea of where they needed to go, and from there Helgalad was able to locate them from an ever-increasingly complicated maze of narrow winding streets and alleys.

Telimperion thought that with each step they took, the city around them became more and more disreputable. The streets looked less evenly paved and seemed as though they had not been cleaned by anything human in a long time. At least there was not waste running through the streets, like it was in some cities in the East. Or at least, so Parthekos claimed, the last time that Telimperion spoke with him.

Finally, they were outside of a tall warehouse that looked as though the last time it had stored goods was when Ar-Pharazôn sailed his fleet and landed at Umbar. Telimperion would say that every corner was covered in cobwebs, but it would really be more accurate to say that cobwebs had a few corners behind them.

What paint had first been spread on the wooden exterior had long since faded (or considering some of the markings on the outside of the building burned) away, and it seemed as though any efforts to replace them had been either half-finished or simply unmade.

A group of men stepped out of the shadows by a roof overhanging the exterior of the warehouse. One of them spat on the ground and then spoke. "What kinda business you got in these parts of the city? Doesn't really seem like much of a place fer Elves and whatnot."

Tu-Ankh stepped forward. Even surrounded by the men as he was, he still cut an intimidating sight. He had no reason to be afraid of anything, and it showed. "We seek the necromancer Smurt. Perhaps you've heard of him?" He leaned closer to one of the men. "Perhaps you'd be willing to help us?"

The man ducked back, doing his best, and failing, to look unintimidated. Another man spoke up this time. "Why should we help the likes of you?"

Telimperion spoke this time. "Isn't it in your best interest to get more customers to Smurt?"

The man glared at her. "Watch your tongue, ey? You talk to Smurt like that, and go and kill you as soon as that." He snapped his fingers at Telimperion.

Síthiel decided that it was her turn to speak. "Either tell us what we need to do to get to Smurt, or let us go. Stop wasting our time."

A third man spoke. This one was larger than the other two and had a much deeper voice. "And what if we find this a nice way to spend her time?"

Síthiel's voice was ice cold. "Stop wasting our time or I will waste you."

Yet another man spoke. Telimperion was having trouble keeping track of all the voices. She couldn't even see this man, or a bunch of the others who had yet to speak.

"Our demand is simple. We want all of your money. In return, we will take you to Smurt."

"Out of the question," Helgalad stated calmly. "We can give you a sum, but not all."

The first man smiled. "Well, then. It looks like things might have to get a little…messy." He pulled out a knife. He was not in any way expecting what would happen next.

Síthiel stepped in front of Telimperion, who had drawn out a dagger that no one realized she owned. Helgalad turned around, protecting Telimperion's and Síthiel's backs. The two elves both drew their swords. The elven steel glittered menacingly in the afternoon sun.

However, the biggest transformation came from Tu-Ankh. From a scabbard, for some reason, no one had noticed earlier, he pulled out a surprisingly large sword. The first grunt, thinking that if he could make the first move, the fight would end soon. He was not prepared.

The attack was a well-placed one. He stabbed him right in the stomach, a wound that would have incapacitated and then quickly killed any other man. However, if he was an ordinary man, then Tu-Ankh wouldn't even have to take a knife to the stomach.

Unfortunately, Immortal or not, he still felt pain. In this case, a great deal if it. However, his body began mending itself quickly, and the pain stopped shortly after word. And of course, he was from a spiritual perspective, utterly immune to any such attacks.

Suffice it to say, when Tu-Ankh continued to swing his sword right through the thug, it was not the response that the man was expecting. The man did not quite have the same insurance against death that Tu-Ankh had. And when Tu-Ankh pulled the other man's knife out and continued on his merry way, the man's companions were not at all expecting it. They tried to bolt, but Telimperion grabbed one of them and swiftly disarmed him.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" asked Síthiel.

"After a certain situation, I decided that learning how to disarm someone who was a better fighter than me would be a good career move. I'll tell you more later if we ever get a nice break from all this."

"I'll hold you to that promise. This sounds like a heavy story."

"All right, don't worry, I've been waiting to tell someone else for a long time."

Helgalad coughed. "If you two are done bonding, we have some interrogation that needs doing over here."

"Oh yeah, I am sorry about that. I suppose that pleasant duty does fall to me, as the designated warrior." She stepped over to the poor thug, then leaned close to him, speaking in soft, almost reassuring tones. For whatever reason, the man didn't seem any more relaxed.

"Now, I'm sure that you want to be here as little as I do. And that means that you're going to cooperate us, or else your time with will be a lot longer and a lot more painful." She leaned in really close and gave one of the craziest smiles that Telimperion had ever had the misfortune to see, for the full effect.

The man whimpered, then, controlling his attempts to sob, promised complete cooperation. "Good," said Síthiel, mercifully toning down her smile to a degree. "I only want to know where Smurt is. That'll be all."

The man stretched out a hand and pointed at a wall of the warehouse. At first, thanks to the awful lighting, Telimperion couldn't see what he was pointing to, until Helgalad with her keen elven eyes said, "oh, a door."

Síthiel smiled. "Thank you, my friend. Your compliance will be rewarded." Tu-Ankh and Telimperion released the man and he scurried back to the shadows. "Good riddance," Síthiel muttered. "At least his breath wasn't as bad as the last one." Telimperion made a mental note to ask for a trade of stories.

The four of them approached the door. Apparently, the thugs had been the only real defense, for it was completely unlocked. Either that, or Smurt was very unafraid of thieves. Telimperion groaned as soon as she stepped inside. Tu-Ankh was about to ask what was the matter when he looked around and saw exactly what was wrong.

The door was only an opening to a series of other doors. It was a maze, just like in the temple of Heizdi. "Not again!" Telimperion, Tu-Ankh, and Síthiel uttered as one. Helgalad, having heard of their previous adventure, just winced with sympathy.

"Well, we have to choose a door at some point. How about the one to the right?" she offered sweetly. Complaining under their breaths, the other three reluctantly followed her. Telimperion really hoped that this wouldn't be as annoying as the last maze they went through, since this time there was absolutely no one who knew where they were going.

Fortunately, it turned out that the necromancer did not have nearly the same crazy amount of preparation time that the priests did. There were only a few rooms within the warehouse maze, and soon they were outside of a door that was actually locked.

Tu-Ankh knocked loudly on the door. "Is this where we can find Smurt the Necromancer?" he called loudly through the door.

A muffled voice came from the inside. "Yes, it is I, Smurt." The door unlocked and turned inward. Inside, there was a man seated a large, almost throne-like chair. He appeared to have unlocked the door from a distance, which even Tu-Ankh admitted was an impressive feat. He was a tall man, probably over six feet where he to stand. He dressed in black robes that looked at least somewhat expensive, though it was difficult to tell in the poorly lit room.

A group of candles were lit, again from afar. Although he was no wizard, it was clear that this man possessed at least a trickle of true influence over the world. "I see that you were able to get around the safe guards of my lair. I'm glad that you would go so far to get here. Few are those who will willingly seek me out. Now, tell me why you have come."

Tu-Ankh laid out his entire story before the necromancer. When he first mentioned the Shapet, a sharp hissing noise came from the necromancer. "What did you just say?" he asked in anger.

"The group that took me where known as the Shapet. They were a group of powerful Elves-"

"I know just what they are," said Smurt. "For many years, I have struggled to understand their writings and cryptic messages from the past and of the future." Telimperion could have sworn she say an ugly smile form on his lips. "Continue."

So, Tu-Ankh went on with his story, describing how the Elves and the priests of Heizdi had given him similar advice. He had no choice but to either find a necromancer who could free the bonds binding his spirit to his body, find a way to utterly destroy himself, or seek out one of the Shapet themselves, even though they were purportedly all killed.

Once he had finished, Smurt spoke immediately, with an intense gleam in his eyes. "The tricky part of what the Shapet did was to bind your soul to your body in such a way that you still maintain a string semblance of life. Undoing those bonds will be simple. However, there are two things I must say first.

"The first is a warning. You are, obviously, the only person to whom this condition has ever occurred. It is hardly a well-documented event. I have no idea what removing those bonds will do to you. The best-case scenario is that your soul returns to your body and you will continue to age from where you left off, no longer immortal. As a side note, I have no idea how this affects your regenerative powers. Might be something you want to test before you get a knife stabbed in you again." Tu-Ankh winced at the memory as Smurt continued on.

"However, there are other outcomes. For example, severing the ties may cause your soul to finally leave as it was prevented from doing so long ago, killing you outright. Or, as a worst-case scenario, your soul is utterly destroyed by the force of the bonds being removed."

Tu-Ankh opened his mouth to tell him what he thought of the necromancer's outcomes, but he waved his hand and continued speaking.

"Before we go in depth about what will occur, we need to discuss prices. I'd rather talk about them when you are still nice and compliant, and not dead or newly alive and ready to book it out of here. As such, any price that I ask of you will be given to me before I help you in any way. Please note that if you backstab me in any way, literally or metaphorically, my forces will not rest until you are slain. Do you understand?"

He sounds like a sergeant-at-law, Telimperion thought to herself. However, she said "Yes" along with all the others. Smurt surveyed them once, as though he could assess the truth of what they were saying through his eyes alone. Then, he continued with his tirade.

"I find so little value for ordinary treasures such as money or simple favors. I've found in the end that all power really translates to knowledge; knowledge can make up any other lacking given enough of it. Even that simpleton Chovek has realized this. Though he lacks a great deal in the finer workings of true inner knowledge, nothing has stopped him from collecting what information he can. And like him, in this case it is information that I desire.

"You see, the Shapet are, aside from Sauron, seen as a pinnacle of the art. No other people have been able to work the same magic when it comes to binding souls to this world. As you well know, the Shapet are the only ones who have figured out how to make a man like yourself, surpassing even Sauron in this act. Sauron, on the other hand, figured out how to use his magic to warp and stretch time far past its normal capabilities. Admittedly, his solution had a few flaws, but the elves were still able to use to create the rings of power.

"Anyway, what I want from you is all your knowledge of the Shapet. I will extract it directly from your brain. When we are done here, none of you will remember being here. You will remembering spending the last few days having spent the time in the company of the Elves, who you bumped into because you were looking for a way to get closer to the King. Other details will fill themselves in."

Tu-Ankh stared blankly at Smurt. Of all the prices he could have been asked to pay, this was not the one he was expecting. He had been expecting to pay with his servitude, or with a normal exchange of knowledge. Wiping out all of his knowledge of the Shapet would be destroying to his mind.

"Would that not remove all of my memories, since that was who I am for thousands of years?"

Smurt shrugged. "Most likely, you would remain the same person. I can't outright destroy all of your memories. Instead, they would be altered because your brain would be lacking original context for them. Most likely, when you regain consciousness, you'll see yourself as a person from a nearby tribe."

"Can I talk with my companions?"

"Go right ahead."

Tu-Ankh turned around and addressed them directly. "What do you all think? I, personally, am prepared to do this, even if it means losing all my memories. After all, if I die here, then there won't even be any memories for me to lose, and you guys will just go about your lives as though I never existed."

"I didn't realize how much this would cost," said Telimperion. "However, I think it is still worth going through. I think that, soon, we will all find ourselves presenting our cases in front of the King."

"I agree," Síthiel murmured. "In the end, I have faith you will get justice for the millennia you have spent struggling. I have faith that everything will turn out well."

Helgalad spoke up next. "I do not know you as well as the others, but I can see clearly that you are suffering greatly with this curse over you. I would take up the necromancer's offer."

Tu-Ankh looked at each of them carefully and nodded. "Well then, I guess there's nothing else to say." He turned back to Smurt. "I accept your offer."

Smurt stood up from his chair and walked over to Tu-Ankh, placing his hands on his head. "Good," he muttered. Then, Telimperion and the others perceived no more.