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Post by JMDavis ((Silver)) on Oct 4, 2009 2:16:27 GMT -5
Disclaimer:
This is, like all fan-made stories, a work of fiction that will slightly go against the grain of established, or thought-to-be established lore. None of the characters, save a few, are products of Tolkien. The races that appear in this are not of my creation. If you do not want to read a story that you may found wrong or horrible then by all means do not read, and do not comment, on the story. If you still feel like you'd hate this, but read it anyways and want to point out some errors I may make, then please do so. Please leave all hatred, and angry comments out of this thread.
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Post by JMDavis ((Silver)) on Oct 4, 2009 5:39:08 GMT -5
The looming threat of the shadow has fallen, the darkness of Mordor fell as the ring was cast into the fires of Mount Doom, and the swords of Orc and Troll were broken on the shield of Men. The elves have left for distant shores, and the will of Saruman broken, a new age could begin.
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Aariënel looked upon Middle-Earth, his sky blue orbs gazing in wonder at the strange land. The silvered armor he wore shone in the sunlight, his long ears twitched once before he shook his head, a mane of white hair swishing. He was Maiar, and a servant of Tulkas, the Champion of Valinor. Resting a hand on the hilt of his long sword, he moved off across the plains of Rohan. He had been charged with a simple enough mission; the elimination of the remaining orcs and Uruk-hai.
Aariënel had heard from a refugee in Aldburg that there had been a large band of roving orcs, Uruk-hai, goblins, and trolls had been sweeping through outlying villages and settlements, killing all who could not flee in time. From the estimated size of the band it sounded like this would be most of the remaining creatures of Mordor. It would be the last one in a long line of them, each one having grown more violent and disturbing than the last to him.
A bit of fear simmered inside of the Maiar, but a bit of fear was good for a warrior, it kept them alert and ready to strike. He came across the village the raiding party had sacked recently and felt his gorge rise. Men were strung up, impaled, or left to slowly die. The remains of homes and the blackened earth were all that showed that there had once been a village here. Why there were no corpses of women or children chilled him even more than the dead.
Aariënel shook away the thought, though it haunted him still as he walked on, the patch that had been left was easy enough to follow, mainly from the tracks the trolls had left behind. A chittering laugh echoed through the trees, and the Maiar’s sword was in hand, a glowing beacon of magic in the other, but whatever had made the sound was gone. Aariënel kept his sword out, and was ready to bring forth magic.
Drawing closer and closer to the end of the tracks, he heard the sounds of feasting, of roaring, of laughter, cries of sorrow and of pain. Aariënel drew power to him and crossed through the trees, and his heart sank fully. The sounds of feasting, roaring, and laughter came from the bestial warriors who ripped and tore apart the bodies of children, some still alive, devouring flesh and bone. The cries came from women, forced as rutting slaves for the orcs, kept from the menu while they were still fresh for the beasts.
The sounds of monstrous warriors stopped as they looked to the being in their midst, the orcs and goblins twitching as they began to back up slowly while the Uruk-hai and the trolls growled, fists clenching wicked swords or giant maces. The Maiar was still looking upon the children and women, how could these things be filled with such hate, such evil? They tore children apart while they lived; they raped women and devoured them when they grew bored.
One of the Uruk-hai spoke with a small orc beside him, both speaking in quick voices, never taking their eyes from the man before them, they held off the order to attack for the moment. Then they heard the laughing, it started soft and low for a moment before beginning to rise in volume, the laugh of a man driven mad by something not even he could comprehend.
Aariënel couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fathom why these creatures would do such a thing. And then his mind spiraled down more, men would do near the same in war. They would rape and kill; nothing was spared the fierce blade of conquest. The reason these monsters were abhorred so, was because they reflected the truth of men, of all living things. Now he could understand he knew why these creatures did what they did. Where men hid behind pretty words, these beasts expressed their true nature openly, in defiance of the subtleties of men.
As he looked on them again, he saw them backing away from him. They feared him, it was good that they feared him, he could obliterate them all. But no, no why would he do that? Why should he destroy these orcs, these trolls, for expressing their true nature while sparing men who hid their own?
Even as his thoughts turned to this, he began to reshape body and armor, the fine and smooth edges becoming sharp and jagged. The polished silver turning into a dull, blackened, iron, beautiful sky blue orbs turned to vicious circles of yellow and red. His fine sword twisted into a broad blade, a toothed-edge on the opposite side. His musical laughed turned cold and gruff, and his silken white hair grew coarse and dirty. The shining beacon of brightness that was the Maiar dimmed, yielding to the darkness he had been fighting.
Shadows swirled and clung to his form, and he let his power free to wash over those gathered. To let them bask in the greatness of himself. The orc and Uruk-hai who had been speaking grew silent, fear bright in their eyes. He lifted a hand, pointing his finger at them. “You two, come here.” His voice brooked no disobedience, “What do you call yourselves?”
The orc was quiet for a moment before grunting out, “Bagronk.”
The horrid orbs flicked to the Uruk-hai, “Pushdug.”
Aariënel nodded, he was somewhat familiar with the Black Speech, and wondered why they would call themselves such. Then he remembered their intelligence and waved the thought away. Now he needed a new name, one befitting a being who would act from the shadows.
“I am Burzum Urkat.” He said with a twisted grin spread across his face, he could begin to like that name.
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