Eowynn 
Adan
Posts: 58
(9/1/03 7:38 pm)
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Decieved
Kings. Warriors. Sorcerers.
He had already forgotten his birth-name, and he no longer thought about his former life. The man creature darted from shadow to shadow, out of sight. Often nowadays he walked unseen, utilizing his growing powers. The ring burned his hand at times, but he was loathe to take it off. The last person who tried to take it from him suffered much torment before their cruel death, and he was saddened and amused at the same time at it.
She was a creature after his own blackening heart, and she was jealous and curious about the ring of Power given to him by his lord Annatar. Ah well, there will be others, he thought. And there is so much work to do! He reverted back to his human form, immensely tall, lean, with dark hair and hollow eyes. His thick black hair fell past his shoulders, framing an angular but attractive face which was beginning to appear gaunt.
He had been searching for more knowledge, more secrets, using his ring. He had become a sorcerer premier, skilled in arcane magics long forgotten, spying on others and learning many things. It was times like these he missed Gilnatha, child of the East, where magic ruled supreme. She overstepped her boundries and he had to kill her, taking her powers. A smile, and straight, sharp teeth flashed in the half-light of predawn. He idly wondered where his ring-brethren where, and what they were doing. Probably indulging in pleasures of food or the flesh, or simple riches and jewels, or some such. He also wondered when the Lord Annatar would be returning, and what would be the price exacted for the gifts granted to them. Especially me, he thought, the King and leader of them all.
The fair seeming, the auburn-haired, the smooth-skinned, the tongue dripping with honey. Strong hand outstretched with a beautiful ring, offering it to him. He picked one, he the First, the greatest one. "NOOOOOOOO!," he screamed at the memory, his hand smoking with the fire, searing pain.
A laugh, in his head, then, "You are mine, Sorcerer Supreme. Prepare the way for me, Witch-king."
The once-Man hung his head, tears stinging his eyes, and nodded assent.
Annatar came to him today, appeared in his bedchamber in a swirl of mist. He smiled at him, pleased at his lieutenant's work. "I have spent long years gathering my strength," he spoke in his deep, fair voice. The sorcerer stood before him, withstanding the penetrating gaze. "There are some things I must attend to, business with the Numenoreans. Your kin, I believe. While I deal with them, gather the other ring-holders and await my instructions. Also, the orc-hunters, the woodspeople who thwart my policies: hunt them and kill them. All of them."
The dread lord's will was exerted all around the Witch-king, pressing in upon him like a constraining blanket. He sank to his knees, the burden nearly too great to bear. His head bowed, he said "I can't do this. You can't ask this of me. They are innocents, I can't slaughter them in cold blood!"
"Hah!," exclaimed Annatar, his handsome face a sneer. He appeared almost as one of the Elder Race of Eru's children, but solid and powerful, his auburn hair falling in waves to his shoulders. "Cold blood, say you. What of your rival to this country's throne? He died in his sleep I believe, but not of natural causes. And those Easterners you collaberated with--they all died horrible deaths as well. And that sweet Haradrim damosel--what was her name, Gilnatha?," the keeper of the first ring of the Nine winced at the words as the dread lord talked, circling him as he knelt on his chamber floor. "I felt her sweet agony in the Dark where I rested, and it was good."
"No," sobbed the once-man, aware of the horrible deeds he had committed, and would again. His conscience had surfaced and caused him to fear for his immortal soul. The dread lord halted.
"You desired power and knowledge, and I have granted it," Annatar smoothly told him. "My friend," he said softly, and knelt facing the sorcerer. "You have been so for a long while. You're not going to desert me now, are you? It is too late to turn back now, we are together, bound by our oath and the Ring." At the Witch-king's gasp, he smiled again, his eyes almost affectionate. "Verily, it is here. It is always with me. Just as you will be when I return. Prepare Middle-earth for my ascension." He bent and kissed his First's cheek, stood, and was sudenly gone. The Witch-king's cheek remained hot for some time after, and his mind was unhinged for good.
He raised the mace again, blood and tissue dripping from it's jagged, stone-hard head, and another satisfying *thwack* as the peasant warrior's head was squashed. The cottager had called him Beirum, Servant of Evil, and the Witch-king had heard it before. Beirum it is, then, he thought. The man's arms twitched and then he lay still, and the Sorceror's eyes searched for another opponent. His troops were cutting through the woodfolk somewhat easily, and he let the coldness and sense of duty envelope him, burying the voice that cried to him No!
The Queen of life, took her bow, and then she turned to go. The Prince of Peace embrace the gloom, and walk the Night alone...oh, dance in a dark night--sleep till morning light. The Dark Lord rides in force tonight, and time will tell us all.
Just opened, Queen Maeve's board Paganity! Yep, it rhymes with insanity for a reason.
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may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.*~
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