Angry shouts fill the air… men holding two women… a group of angered people… fear, tread, despair… the air is filled with terror.
A knife is slashing a wide bow - an elf girl is letting out an agonized scream. Then the scream turns into gargling as blood fills her throat. More blood leaps to the ground, drenching the earth. A hooded person is rushing forward, but another intercepts her. Arrows fill the air and hit into bodies with that terrible thump of metal scratching over bone. More blood is sucked up by the ever hungry earth. More screams and shouts fill the air – another gush of blood out of the back of the second hostage. Fire spreads over the dry dusty leaves covering the hill. The moans of the wounded are heard together with angry commands. Smoke and flames turn the scene into chaos.
Hours later the ground lies bare and empty. Scorched grass covers the soil with black, webbed strains. Night has set in but still there is no sound of natural life around. The hatred and anger hovers still over the landscape. And where the elf girl was cut down the burned and blackened earth still shows signs of boiled blood. The silence is unnatural and then a creepy, white mist seems to crawl over the hill – hiding the scene of mortal eyes.
But deep beneath the surface the blood of the slaughter is still running deeper and deeper, drawn by magic trails to a black marbled stone with blood red lines. And the stone is drinking the lifeblood of the mortals and immortals alike – starting to pulse and grow. It dissipates into a form of mere shadow – darker than the darkest nights and filled with red gleaming lines – so it emerges from the grave it was kept prisoner for millenia.
On the surface above the mist begins to swirl right at the spot the elf has died in her innocence. And then the first sound is heard in this night of terror. Flapping leathery wings bashing the mist aside and soon dark cruel birds of unknown origin sit in the leafless branches of the burned tree. Their claws rip the burned wood and a soft, cruel cackling is made by shark bonelike beaks.
The nature falls silent even miles apart from that spot. It seems all life is covering in fear and despair. The ground begins to ripple like water and suddenly bursts open with an unearthing roar. Out of the hole a creature of mere night and dread begins to crawl out – a formless thing of swirling shadows and blood red lines. Ancient tomes may keep its name – and maybe some of the few remaining firstborn in Middle Earth may remember it – but nowadays it’s long forgotten and faded in the memory of man.
The beast sniffs into the air and then it starts to move. The bone birds flatter up and her triumphant cackling is heard like applause of skeletal hands. Then the Elf Hunter of Morgoth has found a trail and its triumphant howling runs over the hills and trees north of Bree.
An unspoken terror has been awoken…
((This is an upcoming story and rp-event by myself - to be continued...))