Notes - Ok, I'm answering more of you. Still, there are quite a lot of artistic offers. This is the conclusion of the Blood-Wight backstory. I hope the horror came through along with how evil Sauron is. I wanted to show how someone can be victimized and brainwashed by slick conmen full of false promises. I also wanted to make Skrykalian a more complex character. There is also a tie in with The Court of Ardor here.
I'll be switching to Ghost Recon for a bit along with my friend Tara. Then, we'll continue with Dagar and the Tirthon.
The Yfelwood, Ivanneth, Urui, The Second Age 1590
In the ensuing years, blood and screams filled the temple of the Lord of Gifts. The vale surrounding the home of the siblings became known as the Yfelwood by the men of the clans of the hills. Tribute and riches flowed to Annatar and the siblings, making them rich beyond measure. Ever dutiful, Skrykalian fed for her lord and gave him the power of their blood. She tore the throats that he told her to tear, she bedded the chiefs that he told her to please and she gave him the energy that he told her to give. At all times, he would watch her, ensuring that she did exactly as she was instructed. Anger and hate grew in her soul, and she felt ever dirty. She became known among the clans as a succubus, a corrupter of men and a demon of the night. Still, she did whatever was asked of her for her family…for the hope of cure…to see her mother again one day. She did everything, but one of the main tasks that she was given remained unfulfilled.
Annatar pounded his fist against the stone wall in the temple of The Lord of Gifts. "I trusted you all, but you have failed me. I offered you a cure to your affliction, but you break my faith in you." He turned on Skrykalian sharply. "I asked you to help me discover the secret of the Elven Rings. This was a big part of how I am to heal you, to make you whole, to keep your family together. Now, it may come to pass that you will never see your mother again!"
She felt ashamed at how she had let them all down and endured the glares of her older sister and brother. Only Finculion stood by her. She put her hands together and pleaded, "I…I tried, Annatar. Celebrimbor has never budged more than a little. Even with Morelen's help…"
Annatar swept his hand across his body, silencing her. "It was a simple task for a simple mind. Blogath, show her the error of her ways."
Her older sister moved across the room with lightning speed, seeming to warp time and space. She seized Skrykalian by the throat. "You failed the Lord of Gifts and now you will pay the price!" She dunked her sister's head into a vat of blood at the foot of the altar. Skrykalian was in a panic, unable to breath. She beat on her sister's arms, but Blogath was too strong. Her struggles became weaker and weaker, but then she was yanked back out and thrown to the stone floor with a crash, blood flying everywhere.
Finculion rushed to her, cradling her head while she coughed, her eyes wide in fear. He wiped the blood from her face as she licked some of it from her lips. Blogath seized him by the scruff of his neck and hurled him into a nearby wall, cracking the stone. "Do not help her, Naranantur! She does not deserve our help!" She walked to the vat of blood, dipped a silver chalice into it and drank. Naranantur tried to stand but collapsed with a groan.
Skrykalian prostrated herself on the ground. "No! Don't hurt him! I'll do anything you say! Please!" A feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her.
Annatar leaned down over her, a sneer on his face. "The Elven Rings are complete, and we have no idea as to how they were made. We cannot use that knowledge to cure you and your family. It is too late to correct that, but I expect you to keep bringing my tribute…and your siblings must feast too." He gestured to the door. "Balisimur, bring in the next group." The elf went to the door and opened it, letting guards shove more people into the temple. Guards and acolytes had become part of life in the vale now as they expanded their influence in the region. The Lord of Gifts pulled her up by her hair and she winced, weakly trying to fight. "Now, do your job and help me to cure you."
She looked at the group and her mouth fell open. "No! Don't make me do this! They are women and children! We promised! We promised, only the creatures of evil! No! I refuse!" The captives wept and begged for mercy.
He twisted her arm behind her, making her cry out in pain. "Blood is blood, no matter who it comes from. Their lives power me! Their lives give me the strength to cure you, since you failed to get me the secrets to the rings." He spun her around and gripped her jaw so hard she thought it would shatter. Then, he relaxed, and his face softened to become the man that she once admired again. "Why do you make me do this?" he said quietly, gently, with the care of a parent. "This hurts me more than it hurts you. Always stubborn. Always willful. You caused this." He ran a finger along her face, coating it with blood. He then pushed his fingers into her mouth, and she began sucking.
The blood made her see red and she could feel power coursing through her veins. The desire to feed was overwhelming as was the rage and madness. He turned her to face the group of people who were on their knees, begging and crying. Blogath whispered into her ear. "Feed, my sister. Make us strong. These people are nothing. Feed."
Annatar was in the other ear. "Listen to her, little swan. Feed for me. You are all my children now. Let their lives be your cure."
Skrykalian let out a horrific cry that shook the halls and she felt her wings sprout from her back. She could feel her teeth turn into fangs and she dashed into the group of humans where all she knew was the taste was blood. It was as if she were not in her own body, watching herself as flesh was torn to shreds. When it was done, she looked around at severed limbs and a floor covered in blood. "What have I done?" she asked herself quietly, stunned at her own evil. "What have I done?" A low moan began in her throat, growing to a terrifying, inhuman shriek. Her bare body was covered in blood. She would never be clean again.
Annatar lifted her up gently from the floor. "There, you did well, my daughter. Come here." He embraced her and then held her by the face. He planted his lips on hers and it felt as if he were sucking the life out of her. All of the power and energy that she devoured from her victims was gone, given to the Lord of Gifts. He released her and she collapsed back on the ground, beating her fist weakly on the stone.
She turned and glared at Blogath. "Is this what you want? To make me a monster? Is this the pact that we made to be a family? Is the cure worth this?" She looked up at Annatar, who now seemed larger than life, an aura of power surrounding him. He held up his staff and it crackled with energy. The siblings, the guards and the acolytes all bowed down to him and began chanting.
Annatar whispered into her ear again. "Your mother, my beloved Thuringwethil, sends her regards from beyond the void. She bids me to take her place as your parent. I will care for you as she once did." He rose and spoke in a clear voice, one that seemed to resonate in the temple beyond what was humanly possible. "The power that you bring to me is your power!" he said to the gathering. "They, out there, the ones who would do evil, are out to destroy you! Only I stand in their way! Only I can stop them! I bring you this gift as I am the Lord of Gifts! I will return to my homeland soon to complete my special project. It will be the greatest of all creations and I will become the Lord of the Rings."
As Skrykalian lay on the ground, sobbing, Annatar and the gathered acolytes chanted the poem that he had made to commemorate this moment:
"Ash nazg durbatulûk
ash nazg gimbatul,
ash nazg thrakatulûk
agh burzum-ishi krimpatul"
Ost-in-Edhil, Hithui, The Second Age 1697
The crash of stones on the walls of the great city were deafening in their rhythm of destruction. Part of the defenses had already collapsed, and the vaunted City Guardians were trying to plug the gaps. Fires raged in the residential quarters, casting an evil orange glow into the night sky. The Jewel of the Noldor, the city that put all cities to shame, was lost. Orcs and evil men poured in over the walls and through the smashed defenses. Elves were falling back everywhere, and civilians fled or hid, hoping to escape the massacre.
In the aftermath of the revelation of the One Ring, Celebrimbor had the foresight to hide the Three Elven Rings and to have escape tunnels dug under the city in the event of a siege like this. Still, he would not abandon his great city and thought that they could weather the storm.
Celebrimbor and a few remaining guardians stood outside of the metal gates of the Mírdaithrond. He wore a coat of mithril chainmail with a solid silver breastplate and held his sword, Sulkelka, the Icy Wind, a blade of blue laen with razor edges forged of eog. With them stood Morelen, the apprentice smith, with her blue recurved bow, Luinë. She was clad in silver plate armor with the sigil of the House of Fingon on her helm, a silver star with eight beams. The master smith took her by the arm. "You must go! I will not have you die here. Go! Save yourself!"
She wrenched her arm from his grasp and scowled. "I will not! All that we worked for is here! I will fight to the last!"
He handed her a satchel of books and items. "Take these and save them. They contain the knowledge of the Noldor…nearly everything that I have worked on. You must survive to tell of what happened here." He pointed at two guardians. "Take her! There are horses waiting for you to the north. Escape to Lindon! Let Gil-Galad know that…that I was wrong…that I was foolish. Our people must continue. Go! Go!"
Guardians in gold and green armor, fashioned to appear as leaves, took Morelen and dragged her away. She struggled against them at first but submitted and they vanished into a grove of trees. Once they were out of sight, the master smith drew his bow of white wood and waited. Orcs soon massed at the edge of the clearing. They paused for a moment to let someone through, a massive figure in black armor, wielding an impossibly large mace with a golden ring on his finger. Sauron.
High above, Skrykalian's swan wings flapped, allowing her to hover over the battlefield. "I must save them," she said to herself. "I must save them." She began to descend but then stopped. "You can do it, you can do it. You have to save them." But terror gripped her throat, and she remained hovering.
She saw Morelen and the two guardians reach their horses where a squadron of cavalry awaited them. There was some discussion and then they rode off to the west at full speed.
"Thank you, thank you!" Skrykalian said, holding her hands over her chest. "I wish you well, my friend. You were like a true sister to me, unlike the other one." Then her attention was drawn back to the Mírdaithrond. There was still time to save Celebrimbor. If she could only…
Sauron advanced on the remaining guardians with orcs at his flanks. The elves leveled spears outwards and took a knee in perfect discipline. Arrows flew over their heads to fell the orcs in heaps. Shafts buried deep into Sauron, but he barely flinched. Orcs rushed ahead and were stuck with the spears, crashing into the guardian's shields. Heedless of his own forces, Sauron swung his great mace, throwing both orc and elf into the air.
"There's still time. There's still time. There's still time," the vampire said, willing her wings to dive but she did not move. Her hands shook and a cold sweat dripped down her brow onto her chest.
Sauron continued to hew about him with his flanged mace, casting anyone in his way aside. Celebrimbor darted forward past the few guardians left and sliced Sauron down the chest. Sulhelka clove a path through the black armor and Sauron howled in pain. "So, you can be hurt!" the elf cried out as he sliced two orcs down. "Foul creature! Liar! Deceiver! You will never learn where the rings are! Never!" He thrust his blade through the throat of an orc and then cut down another. He spun and sliced Sauron across the thigh and the Maia howled again.
In a blaze of speed, Sauron slammed into the master smith, throwing him back against the silver gates. Celebrimbor clove five more orcs before he realized that he was now alone. Sauron held one dying elf warrior up by his hair and then threw him down and crushed his head with a step of his foot. The Maia waved his orcs back and continued to advance, holding his mace out aggressively. "For the friendship that we had, tell me where the rings are, and I will spare your life. You betrayed me, but I am willing to forgive. I freely offer you a position as my master smith. I offer you Alquanessë as your wife. And even Morelen if you wish. They are both beautiful and will please you, I will make sure of it. I beg of you, don't let the line of Fëanor end here. Lay down your sword, my friend, and let us talk as we once did."
Still orbiting above, Skrykalian shook her head. "Don't fall for it, Celebrimbor. Don't trust him."
The master smith snarled, baring his teeth. "Betrayed? It is you who betrays…friend," he said and spat on the ground. "This is what I think of our friendship, Lord of Lies." He charged forward and cut at Sauron, but the Maia deflected the blow with his mace, which spun and came down at the smith. Celebrimbor dodged out of the way and the mace shattered the tile walkway to the Mírdaithrond. Dodge and parry, cut and thrust ensued as the two battled for the fate of the Guild of Smiths. Skrykalian was reminded of the fight between Morgoth and Fingolfin in the battle where Thuringwethil changed her life forever. As did Fingolfin, Celebrimbor began to tire as Sauron began to toy with him.
After a missed cut, Celebrimbor tripped, and Sauron seized him by the throat and drove him back into the silver gates. The Maia signaled his orcs and they piled on top of the smith and pummeled him into oblivion. Sauron ripped the gates off of their hinges and cast them aside. "Take him within. I will pry the information from his mind or I will rip it out of his body. Bring my banner. He will talk or he will become my standard."
Skrykalian cursed her own cowardice, but it was too late now. All she could do was fly back home in shame.
The Yfelwood, Narwain, The Second Age 1701
It took a few years, but retribution had arrived. An army of elves, allied with a massive army from Númenor, landed and marched upon Eregion. Sauron mustered all of his remaining forces to meet them on the field. He continued to use Skrykalian to raise troops from the clans and to remove any dissent. Her will broken, she complied with his every whim, bringing him blood and lives to help fuel his power. After the fall of Ost-in-Edhil, he told her, "You are the cause of your mother's death. Thuringwethil died trying to protect you. I am trying to be a parent to you, but you continue to defy me. Don't think I didn't see you, flying above the battle, thinking about saving that pathetic smith. But you were such a coward. I tore the secret of the rings of men and dwarves from him, but he would not yield the Elven Rings so I made an example of him." He dragged her out of the caverns by her hair and threw her to the ground. "Look what you made me do," he said with a sneer and pointed to his banner, the rotting body of Celebrimbor nailed to it, filled with arrows.
She looked back at the cavern entrance and could see Naranantur standing there, his head hung in shame. She knew he would try to rescue her, and she shook her head at him. He yanked her face up. "Look at him! That is your doing! I would have spared him if you had just done what I asked. Soon, I will go and destroy the armies of the elves and of those weakling men. But first, since you caused your mother's death, you will take her place as my beloved. When I return, you will please me."
"Anything for you, Lord of the Rings," she said in a dead monotone. Nothing he could do to her would change her heart now. She began to wish for death, but she was still to afraid to challenge him for now.
He cast her to the side, and she fell on the ground. In a small act of defiance, she glared up at him as he turned away. Naranantur ran to her side. "I'm sorry, my sister. I never meant for this to happen. I am ashamed at my weakness. What has become of us?"
She flared her nostrils and shook, but this time it was with rage. "I pray that he is destroyed and devoured by the earth itself. Let there be no trace of his foul stench and stain." She turned to look at her brother. "Finculion, please. I need your help. I cannot do this alone."
"Whatever you need, Alquanessë."
They scouted the positions of the armies of Sauron, marking them and taking care to remain at a distance, lest the Maia discover them. For all he knew, they were still recruiting among the clans of men, loyal followers to the cause. Even if she were caught, she didn't care. Her death would be welcome but she would not cause harm to her brother. Stealing clothing from the camps of the elves, they passed as scouts, relaying the information that Gil-Galad would need for the campaign. Flying above, they could see the devastation that Sauron's armies had done to all of Eriador and they could see a small contingent of elves, carrying the banner of Elrond, under siege in a lush valley. They could see the banners of Númenor, under Prince Ciryatur, moving swiftly up from the coast.
Elven messengers sent the information to Ciryatur who defeated Sauron and drove him back to Sarn Ford, where they routed him again. Skrykalian and Naranantur continued to feed intelligence to the armies as they closed in on Sauron at the Gwathló River. A second Númenórean army landed nearby, hundreds of ships anchoring at Lond Daer. Sauron was trapped.
Ranks of Númenórean heavy infantry lowered pikes and drove the orcs into the Noldorin cavalry and a massacre ensued. Flying high above, the two vampires embraced, weeping happy tears. Watching Sauron flee for his life was icing on the cake. As the Maia's army withered and was ground into dust the two flew home, feeling that they were now safe. They would hide what they had done from their siblings and maybe things would return to the way that they were. Maybe they could be a family again. But could Skrykalian ever forgive her sister? She thought that she would be a fool if she did.
"We can be free, Alquanessë," her brother said hopefully. "We can go anywhere we want. With caution, we can pass for elves. We have learned much in the centuries. We could live among our people again."
She smiled. A real smile now. "Yes, I would like that. But as vile as they have been, we owe it to our siblings to let them know. You and I are a team, Finculion. Let us return to the caverns and we will tell them that we are leaving." She did a twirl in the air as if it were one of her dances. "Where shall we go? We could go south and find mother. Maybe Morelen would help?" she laughed, a carefree laugh as she felt the wind in her hair. Over the vale, she tucked in her wings and began a nose dive straight for the ground. "Race you, older brother." A thought flashed through her mind of not pulling out. Her misery would be over. He tucked in his raven wings and dove after her.
The air rushed past her, and it was exhilarating. Freedom. She had sacrificed so much for it. Ten feet from the ground she extended her wings and pulled up, feeling gravitational forces sweep over her body. Blood rushed from her head, and she felt positively giddy. Her feet touched the ground with barely a puff of dust kicked up. Her brother landed next to her, and she put her hand on his cheek. "I can survive if I know that you are with me."
As they entered the caverns, her earlier hope and mirth began to fade as she saw the bloodstains on the walls and floors. No amount of cleaning by the acolytes could remove that. The humans bowed as they passed, giving reverence to the creatures that Sauron recreated. The horror born of Thuringwethil had come full circle. In the temple to Sauron, Blogath and Balisimur led the faithful in the chant, waving their arms as if in ecstasy. Skrykalian trembled but her brother held her hand and she found strength.
"Sister!" she shouted above the chanting. "Sercë! Hear me!" The chant went silent. "Finculion and I are free! We are yours no longer! We came to let you know so that you may live your lives as you wish, but you have no say on ours any longer."
The older sister turned slowly, a look of rage growing on her face. Her form fluttered between that of a woman and that of a falcon. She pointed her taloned finger at the two siblings. "How dare you, Skrykalian! We gave you everything, Annatar and I! We made you!"
"I am Alquanessë, daughter of Irimë! I am a lady of Noldor of the House of Fingolfin." She pointed to her wings and then the fangs in her mouth. "This! This is false. This is a lie! And what did you give me? You made me a whore for a false lord. The men of the hills call me a succubus, a corrupter of men and a demon of the night. This was not the pact. We are done. I gave you the courtesy of a farewell for the family that you once were." She glared at her older sister, shaking with fury.
"We shall see, you ungrateful bitch. When our lord returns, triumphant, we will teach you a lesson that you will not soon forget. He will give you to every man in the clan and then I will be his bride. You were always so smug in your beauty, the fairest of Irimë's children," she said snidely and then spat on the ground.
"You can have him!" Alquanessë said with a slash of her hand. "Thinking that I wanted him was all in your mind! He played us." She was tempted to leave at this point, but she wanted to twist the dagger. "But you should know that he told me that I would be his when he returns. Not you. Me."
"Liar!" Fangs sprouted in the older sister's mouth. "I will send for the lord now and we will put you in your place."
Alquanessë laughed sarcastically. "Good luck with that. Last I saw, he was fleeing for all he was worth with a handful of orcs in tow…ring and all. The Númenóreans and the elves crushed him like an empty eggshell. And you know what? We helped them. While we were gone, we gave them information on his position, strengths and weaknesses. We helped to humble the Lord of the Rings, and he didn't even know it."
Blogath leapt at them, snarling like an animal, talons stretched out but Alquanessë and Finculion caught her and held her by the throat. As a falcon, the older sister tried to slash with claws and snapped with her beak, but the two kept her at bay. Balisimur began to change into an eagle when a horn blew outside the caverns. "What is that?" Blogath asked, changing back into a woman.
Alquanessë smiled. "That, dear sister, is retribution. Our kin and their allies are here to finish their task. I had hoped to escape and start a new life, but we are resigned to our fate. We will all die here and all trace of us will be wiped away…as it should be." She looked at Finculion and he nodded.
Fighting could be heard at the cavern entrance, the clash of steel and the shrieks of the dying. It came closer and closer, a sign that their guards were losing…and losing badly. The end was near. One of the guards near the temple entrance turned to face the vampires. "We're not dying for you!" he shouted and then all the guards turned on them.
Blogath shrieked and tore the throat out of one guard, blood spraying on the ground. Their own acolytes turned and began plunging sacrificial daggers into Balisimur. His eagle claws shredded two of them and he let out a cry of a wounded bird. More daggers buried into his body, and he stumbled, falling backwards. Blogath leapt to his aid, rending more men to get to her brother. A sword and then a spear found their mark, plunging into Blogath's chest. She staggered and then tore another throat, trying to drink the blood for strength. A guard smote her across the head with a mace, knocking her to the ground. She tried to crawl away, blood pouring down her face, but men fell upon her, daggers rising and falling.
Alquanessë took a deep breath. She reached out and took her brother's hand. "I am ready. I will see you in the Halls of Mandos where we will stand judgment. But with any mercy, we will await our mother." She stretched out her arms and wings, inviting the inevitable. There was a smile on her lips as daggers plunged into her chest.
The Yfelwood, Narwain, The Second Age 1701
As the elves entered the temple, the guards threw down their weapons and fell to the ground, surrendering. The elven commander looked down at the slaughter, bodies and blood covering the ground. He wore golden armor, highlighted in blue along with a crested helmet that he removed to survey the horror. Amid the slain guards lay four elves, two women and two men. They appeared to all be siblings. The commander pointed at one guard. "Are these the monstrosities who feed on blood?"
"They are, my lord. We rose against them."
The commander looked at one of his lieutenants. "Oronon, they look like our kin…except for these two who have feathers and claws," he said, pointing to Blogath and Balisimur. "Shape changers?"
"That would be very likely, my Lord Elrond."
Elrond pointed at the other two, lying bare with daggers sticking out of their chests, smeared with blood. "And what of them? The woman…she seems almost happy," he said, indicating her serene smile. He reached down and pulled a silver circlet from her brow that had the sigil of a swan on it. "This was made by the Noldor…of Beleriand."
Oronon held out his hand and Elrond handed it to him. "My lord…if I may…I know this woman. She was a scout who brought us information about Sauron's movements. She may have saved many of our brethren."
"What was she doing here? Why is she among these monsters?"
The guard raised his hand. "My lord, she and her brother rebelled against Sauron and their siblings here. They said that they helped you and their sister attacked them. Then, you came."
Elrond put his head down for a moment as if thinking. "Then, we shall honor them in death. Leave now and go back to your homes. Live in peace and do not return to evil. I will put a ward on this place of darkness and seal them for all time. They were our kin once and we wish them peace in the Halls of Mandos. Whatever they have done they will stand in judgment for."
They withdrew, carrying the bodies of Finculion and Alquanessë. They placed them in a nearby chamber, washing their bodies and crossing their arms on their chests. Alquanessë's smile never went away as elves piled stones over the doorway. Elrond placed runes over the entrances, designed to keep anyone away.
All was darkness for the siblings through untold years. Númenor drowned and new kingdoms arose. Sauron was cast down and the Ring was lost. A new power arose in the North and the darkness spread again. Skrykalian dreamed of friends, songs and dances. Her crystal voice rose up to the delight of her family. Her mother smiled at her. Then, she felt an orc touch her face. She was so hungry. She opened her eyes and her body was translucent, ghostlike. She could smell blood and she seized the orc, her fangs sprouting past her lips. The blood nourished her, and her skin became less ghostlike. How long? How long had it been?
The, she saw a dark-skinned man with a white beard, holding up a rune. "Skrykalian, by the power of the Necromancer I bind thee! Thy powers are now mine to wield!"
How was this possible? How was she still alive? The rune flashed and she was unable to move. Still, she could think. With her vampiric powers, she began to probe his mind, see his family, know his desires and his fears. She would learn all that she could about these newcomers, who knew nothing of the ages that they had lived. There would be a way out. There would be a chance for escape, and they would be free at last.