Dwar of Waw

The Lord of Dogs on the Hunt

The Black Rider crossed the road, thundrous was his horse's ironclad hooves. Unnatural was its warlike demeanour, eyes like hellfire kin to its master. Gloved fists held onto the reins. The hood showed nothing but the void to the men frozen like trees rooted, their boots defied legs that yearned to run. The shriek of absolute hatred so naked and raw that fear was the only answer.

His shriek made the hunting dogs, veteran of mannish and bestial prey, culled and turned upon their masters. Jaws tore at fingers and yanked upon quarters, commanded by a fear-drawn madness. A blade, pale and cruel, drew from scabbard thirsting to draw the blood of Arnor's homeless men.

Only for an arrow most high flew.

It was only by the Will of the Deciever did he veer aside, elvish point passing his black veil and head twisted to behold warriors radiant and eternal in their defiant. Elves of the Woods glided from tree and brush like prowling cats, more of their arrows flew and evil spells tore them splinter. Yet, they saw his face.

One of the Kings Nine, the haunting visage of a thickly-bearded man that have tasted many summers and winters with leathered skin scarred of wars long forgotten. Eyes emptiness of warmth, only the coals of devil's hatred upon the children sung.

Jaws screamed vengeance, commanding his steed for his bloodthirst is second to one greater commandment. They were only an obstacle.

The One Ring demands him...

Leather fingers wrapped around a quill that had already dipped into the inkwell, hovering over a thin-leathered scroll. Mordor, in its black grandeurs lacked such simplicities of nature and demanded labor beyond its dark realm. So many trees fed the flames of forges and spit, but few were rightfully handled to be processed to papers. Uruk did not write, if they did it was boorish and rough to tear in their inelegance. So leather was the safer material, and flesh was plentiful among the Dark Lord's slaves.

Unseen eyes stared at the sheet for a moment, the only scripture of Sauron's dark language described,

Waw.

It has been a fair time since he has traveled into the far east to the isles that sat beyond on Middle-Earth's southeast corner. Even now, Dwar wondered how Sauron found him. A warlord among the countless that He no doubt passed to travel as far as he had.

Something within his soul told him it was a cruel fate. One that only the Valar could have weaved in their lacking vigilance.

A scold twisted on a ghostly visage that no mortal eye could ever see. The face of a man aged yet youthful. Leathered skin and lips covered by a beard that had no warmth anymore.

In the bite of a cold I have not the pleasure of feeling, my ring hums of magic still. As I rode from the ruined carriage I find my conscious still, my bound beast still remain with me - morgul-bred and still powerful of her haunches. Across a small inn with mortals that looked upon my visage and rightfully tasted fear enough to stay a distance away.

My attention was upon a ruined tower looming over the ice-kissed hill. 

Through the rocks, my mare crossed and ventured along. Near the lip of the hill, I dismounted upon the sight of these mortals clad in robes. I could taste their magics and hungered a feast. So far from Barad-dur’s gaze yet I could always feel His scrutiny. 

These mortals were of men and elves, not like that of the bothersome Highbred whelps that we suffer. Their potency and mysticism were moot. Their magics of wards brought some intrigue, but onto me - they saw a threat and arrogance tithered as spells weaved of arcane frost and fire lashed upon me. 

I am sorry to everyone for my disappearances, work has been utterly draining and this writing block is slowly dying out finally. Nevermind the Tumblr mess that passed.