Share No Secrets
Western Edge of Mirkwood
The edge of the great forest looms just to the east, the dead but full canopy blocking out half the sky. The night is cold, and below you the ground is cold and wet.
To the north and south, the edge of Mirkwood offers an impromptu path to follow. Off in the woods to the east, an eerie silence haunts you.
Rain hammers down from the storm clouds above, soaking the forest of Mirkwoodd and all that surrounds it.
Contents:
Elathrad (elleth)
Glorfindel
Narthalion (Dinendaur)
Bagaglok (Darurzg)
Black_Figure
Obvious exits:
SouthEast, NorthEast, North, and South
Mirkwood: though the road nears the eastern edge, nowhere does the canopy break in its foreboding and oppressive darkness. It is impossible to tell clouded night sky from the close-knit branches. Rain drenches the twisted limbs, blackened by disease and darker things, and drips down upon the winding path with hollow sounds.
Upon a spotted trunk is poised a black squirrel, which heeds not the rain pouring down its scruffy coat. No. It is frozen, its wide eyes stretched in fear.
[Narthalion(#31143)]
The intrepid squirrel is not the only thing daring the rain and darkness of Mirkwood this night. Weaving from tree to tree is a grey-clad shade, glimpses of fluttering cloth and pale gold hair. A bow is in his hands, a quiver of swan-fletched arrows upon his back. A strange sight to the squirrel, surely - for must this not be one of Lorien's hunters far afield?
Somewhere in the depths of the forest a twig snaps, and the Elven hunter notches and arrow as swiftly as thought, crouching down in silence in the shade of a holly bush.
[Bagaglok(#24847)] Dark things are prowling the equally pit-black forest this night, and it is perhaps for this reason that the small furry creature senses something is amiss. A small and lanky Orc slips along through the undergrowth, his wild eyes peering out from the darkness as he paces onward as quietly as his clawed feet will carry him. It seems this Scout's care is not good enough, however, as a frail branch breaks underfoot...
Darurzg freezes suddenly, ever muscle tense as he listens to see if there are any further noises to indicate if he is not alone.
[Narthalion(#31143)]
The Elf's eyes light upon the squirrel and he straightens. A small smile dances on his face, and he raises his bow. With its tip he prods the prone creature, shaking his pale his head. It is with far less stealth that he darts again to the edge of the woods, his throat releasing a bird-call. A signal, perhaps, to those of Lorien that all is well.
Suddenly his head lifts up, and the scout drifts back into the forest, all senses alert. Was that the breathing of an orc he heard? Surely not, but nonetheless Dinendaur watches the darkness, creeping silently forward into Mirkwood.
And far off is a returning chirp, a lonely sound amid the pattering rain and unhallowed silence.
The squirrel is prodded by the Lorien bow and does not react for a moment only after the birdlike cry from the Elf's lips and its returning echo does it skitter away in alarm, clawing high above the tree-trunks. With frantic legs it vaults into the next withered tree, which draws nearer to the orcish scout Darurzg...
[Bagaglok(#24847)] The Orc slinks on, his snout-like nose raising into the air as he takes a large sniff. There is another pause, and the creature's dirty brow furls Darurzg glances about again, this time more warily than before. He starts a little and reaches a gray hand for the orc bow strapped across his chest the weapon is quickly drawn, yet he does not yet fire for no target does he spy. Deformed ears twitch at the strange bird noises...
A dark look is cast upward as the squirrel darts overhead through the branches, and the Uruk mutters something under his foul breath. He does not aim at the scurrying animal though, with the possibility of strangers in the forest nearby.
[Black_Figure(#28583)]
It is then that to the north the faint rumble of hooves can be heard rumour of an urgent approach in the distance.
[Narthalion(#31143)]
Dinendaur stands, a silent watcher, in the darkness of a gnarled elm. Thrice he seems about to turn back, but now some distant sound reaches his ears. The scout's eyes narrow, and with baited breath he draws nearer to the rumblings, now taking form as hoofbeats. "A rider, in Mirkwood?" he murmurs to the wind (and perhaps less fortunately to the orc), his youthful face drawn in open confusion.
The squirrel continues in its rapid flight through the canopy. Alas for the mangy creature, for it is drawn close to the Rider that approaches. The hairs rise upon its back and tail, and it chatters vilely at the road.
[Bagaglok(#24847)] Strange sounds seem to be common this eve, and the Orc scout straightens as the new oddity of iron-shot hooves meets his hearing. His red eyes narrow considerably, for he does not yet know if this new arrival heralds threat for himself. The nigh sound of a musical voice, however, causes Darurzg to drop swiftly to a crouch, claws hand tight about his bow. He creeps forward a little more, and parks himself in front of a close tree trunk, using the crude cover to peek out, wicked gaze scanning the area for the said intruder. But try as he might, the shadow cloak of the elf holds true, and the Orc does not spot Dinendaur.
The quiet approach of another Elf is perhaps unnoticed -- an elleth with wide eyes underneath grey hood notes the approach of the Rider, though she dares not call out, or draw near.
[Black_Figure(#28583)]
As the hooves apprach a chill wind precedes them, seeping through the trees as though fingers of cold to clutch at the skin of thosse present. The rumble continues to grow, and so too do the shadows of the forest lengthen across the gnarled earth to strengthen the murk of the woods. Ere long a black shape can be seen by eyes with the gift catch it a darkling rider moving swiftly toward the wordless stand-off between Dinendaur and Darurzg.
All through the forest the chatter of the wildlife ceases, save for the flutter of wings high above as the birds flee the deepening gloom.
[Narthalion(#31143)]
A breath is torn from Dinendaur, his watchful gaze soon catching sight of the dark rider. But breath is little comfort - the evil air claws at his lungs, instilling terror and not relief. The terror is such that the Elf can only stare, his eyes wide with horror. No sign of recognition comes from the scout, no understanding of what barrels down upon him. Only fear of the oppressive darkness the rider brings, and from which he cannot flee.
[Bagaglok(#24847)] A shiver is given by the Orc as the unnatural cold seeps through the area, and fear overrides his caution as his dirty face darts to the north, uncertainly. The foreboding sight of the black horseman quells any movement from him for the instant, and he watches it silently, fanged mouth slighlty open.
Unlike the elves yonder, Darurzg knows full well what this new arrival means, and there is a sudden look that springs into his wild eyes as the darkness stirs his fear into sick reassurance. He shifts his weapon again, this time peering out from behind his tree with more daring.
The squirrel knows not the identity of its new predator, nor does it live long enough to guess. With a frightened shriek, it writhes once and falls contorted from the treetops, dead.
[Bagaglok(#24847)] The Uruk's concentration is ruined abruptly, however, as the same stupid squirrel plummets from above, the scared to death creature landing square in Darurzg's open maw. Almost instinctually, the Orc slurps the furry thing up...
[Black_Figure(#28583)]
The furious pace of the rider continues, until it seems for a moment that the unearthly figure may pass by the standoff altogether. But just as the horse, itself a monstrous black shape against the darkling horizon, draws near a chilling neigh can be heard bouncing from bough to bough. Slowing to a trot and then a walk by the forest's edge the rider turns a black cowl toward the treeline unseen eyes piercing the shadows or so it would appear.
The rider slips from his mount's back to land softly upon the sodden ground, the rain running in rivers around him but failing to make so much as a mark upon the cloak that wraps this figure from head to toe. A thin, hissing voice seeps from beneath the cowl to announce his arrival:
"
[Bagaglok(#24847)] No further hesitation does the Uruk show, for he seems to obey to the fell voice out of a mixture of terror and thrill at having a chance to attack the hidden elf scout. An awful growl emits from his throat as Darurzg snickers to himself at the fortunate turn of events, and he leaps out of the saftey of the tree his black bow is quickly fitted with an arrow and he waits now, calling out a mocking jeer to draw out the concealed Dinendaur.
"You're end is near, maggot! Why not stop this hide-n-seek and face me like the pathetic bag of filth that you are?"
[Narthalion(#31143)]
Dinendaur's eyes stare and start, searching the hooded creature for any sign of a countenance, of eyes. When that dreadful voice issues from the hood the Elf stumbles forward, mouth working to give voice to a terror his throat cannot release.
The first sign of conscious movement is when his hand seeks the trunk of the elm, his fingers caressing the bark. Dinendaur leans against the tree, his head thrown back, panting. Slowly, he turns his eyes to the veiled stars and waits. He is both transfixed by horror and rooted by a deep-seated hatred of the Rider. His eyes only open once more, to throw a disdainful glance to the orc.
The elleth from afar has only a glimpse between the knotted tree-boles: the hunched figure of the squirrel-eating orc, the exposed form of her fellow guard, and a horror, a dark shape upon hellish mount, that robs her of both breath and wit.
She is unable to cry out, to tell Dinedaur to run, and, reaching out blindly, can grasp only the rough bark of a tree. This she clings to, and stares at the scene with transfixed eyes, which brim with terror and angry helplessness.
[Black_Figure(#28583)]
A low chuckle slips from the depths of the hood, and is it tilts upward to regard the elf a pair of ruby red flames can be seen to smoulder within the depths of the cowl. Slowly, purposefully the black figure stalks forth, heeding no root nor wayward branch as he moves toward the striken Elf.
Darkness closes in all about the scene, choking away what meagre light availed itself to Dinendaur's eyes, and still the fingers of frost work their way along the breeze to scratch at the Eldarin scout's skin. Despair and sorrow worm their way out of the shadows to further assail his wits and all the while the low, mocking laughter continues.
To Darurzg the cowl then turns, even as a long, pale knife is brought to bear from the reaches of that black cloak. "
[Bagaglok(#24847)] A wicked roar of excitement is all that is given as Darurzg bursts forward, the command of his Shrieker dominating his pitiful thoughts. The bow is haphazardly stashed away as he unsheathes a cruel-looking scimitar, and he takes a half-run, half-leap through the bitter, rainy air, closing the distance separating him from his prey. Taking the blunt of the foul blade, he makes to strike the panic-frozen Dinendaur with it and therefore render him off guard. Should his attempt be successful, the poor Firstborn might just be lucky enough to find rough filthy Orc fingers grasping him, pulling him nigh to the Rider...
[Narthalion(#31143)]
The unresisting Elf is grabbed and dragged yielding to the shadowy nightmare. His eyes remain adamantly closed, head tilted as though to gaze upon the stars. He does not seem to hear or heed the taunting of the Rider, mind oblivious to all but the cool rain upon his face. Not so his body, that trembles and shakes and allows the orc to bear it whither he will. Before the fell figure he falls to his knees, skin ice with terror. Unlike as it is that these evil creatures would ever see such, as many tears as raindrops flow down his cheeks.
But Dinendaur's spirit is undaunted, his mind already roving far afield in glades of unfading green. He may not long endure, for already upon the fringes of memory and longing frost touches the branches and the grass begins to wither as the pure evil of this creature intrudes even upon Elven memory.
[Black_Figure(#28583)]
The Ringwraith, for assuredly this rider is one of the Nine of Mordor, stoops as Dinendaur sinks before him, and the pale knife in his shadowed hand glows with a sickly light. The ruby fires blaze to a sudden crimson as they behold the hapless Elf, piercing deep into Dinendaur's own eyes as the shadows writhe and close in about them.
The rancid blade slices down through the air, its wielder ignoring the orc for the moment as it brings the fell weapon to rest beneath the Elf's chin. When the figure speaks next, it is with the hiss of a dozen vipers as they struggle with the Elven tongue.
"
With that the blade slashes violently downward, opening Dinendaur's breast, lest some power of the Eldar can prevent such a doom.
[Narthalion(#31143)]
Death the Eldar have not the power to evade, when it so assails them. His chest is opened, his life-blood spilling upon the snow and grass. For a moment Dinendaur stares at this thing, and with the eyes of death knows it for what it is. Pale lips move, trying to force from them the words that might give warning to his kin. Death comes too swiftly for this, and with no more than a shudder of his countenance the Elf falls lifeless at the Nazgul's feet.
Yet such a being might be aware of a spirit in passing, fleeing on swift wings the dark and troubled lands of Middle Earth. To Mandos he is called, and no fell power left in the World can deafen him to that cry.
The elleth is no longer there: a shadow by a tree now vanished, flying away with feet swifter than a deer's and Dinendaur's name on silent, moving lips. Tears stream from her face, mingled with the bitter rain, and she does not look back -- it is uncertain if she has even glimpsed fully the eerie, brutal figure.
Silence. And then a high keen that erupts from far away, then fades to naught under the oppressive presence.
[Bagaglok(#24847)] The awaiting Uruk utterly fails to hide his enthusiasm as the fell blade finishes it deadly task, and Darurzg watches as the elf is ended, a black tongue flicking out to lick at his lips. He does not move, however, though the restraint clearly pains the twisted creature it seems fear rules him, and Darurzg waits instead for the Nazgul to speak ere he acts without permission.
[Black_Figure(#28583)]
As Dinendaur dies the Nazgul steps back a pace, the fell blade glaring hungrily in the gloom ere it is tucked away once more beneath the shadow-laden cloak. Rasping laugher seeps from the cowl, which turns to face Darurzg nor more than an instant later. "
Long moments does the ruby gaze scan the westward horizon ere the Ringwraith slowly looks back to the orc and the tone of his voice changes all traces of dark mirth replaced by the hollow ring of command.
"
Darurzg offers a fanged grin in response to the wraith's answer, and he looks eagerly toward the broken body. Ere he can fulfill his desire, however, the fresh order is spoken, and the Uruk once more stands at attention, his hunched spine as straight as he can possibly make it. A red-eyed nod is yielded forth, and he rasps, "
[Black_Fgure(#28583)]
With the orc setting about his business the cloaked figure withdraws entirely, stealing through the undergrowth of the wood's edge to return to his mount's side. The black beast waits obediently, moving nary a muscle as its dread master slips up onto its back, and when settled in place the Nazgul turns his cowl southward once more.
"
The rumble of hooves can be heard for several minutes ere it is lost to the south.
