Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Days of the King ❯ extant evil ( Chapter 7 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Queen-of-Blades138 
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.17.2008 | Updated On: 12.18.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 234 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.17.2008 | Updated On: 12.18.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 234 | Status: Work In Progress
chap 7 - extant evil
The panicked rider whipped his mount to still further speed, and
looked behind for the hundreth time.
There was always a chance that the rest of the raiding party did not
see him. Gilrun had approached the village at dusk and the scrubby woods
that ended within a half mile of the village probably hid him from view
until he emerged from it's shadow.
There was always smoke rising from this village. They had several
smithies of producing quality goods, and most of the villagers
were occupied with the procurement of metals, hewing wood
to feed the forges, working the bellows, and the smelting, hammering,
and chiseling that was the work of blacksmithing.
His employer, a local merchant, had wanted some additional swords and
shields for supply to the townsfolk, for defense against these ever
increasing raids.
Perhaps they were very busy with plenty of commissions to fill. But as
he neared the village, there was no sound of hammering, no children
playing, no chatter of gossip from the women or the men calling for
more water, or fire from the bellows workers.
And then he saw the first body. It was a little boy. Luckily he could
not see his face, he lay sprawled on his stomach, but he was sure from
the boy's curling red-gold hair that it was one of Dimwold's children;
all of them possessing such beautiful locks.
Gilrun unsheathed his sword. He was no warrior, but all Westfold Men were
handy with a blade. In the wild places betweens villages and towns, it
was foolish to go unarmed. He was no coward, and if there were lives to be
saved or avenged he would do what he could.
These thoughts bolstered his courage, until he moved cautiously past one
of the large smithies and peered round a corner building into the
village square.
The great smoke was from a pile of bodies; men, women and children of this
village, most of his acquaintance, and a few of real friendship. Around
the pyre a collection of beings had gathered. The butchers seemed to have
no fear of discovery; they stood in a rought circle with
bloody blades still in hand, or in the process of wiping then on the
grass and clothing ripped from some of the victims.
The raiders were Haradrim. They were tall Men with swarthy complexions
ranging from tan to darkest brown. Their black hair was mostly
concealed by mail scarves surrounding high helms. The Haradrim seemed
a sort of soldiery with similar dark blue and gold raiment,and
breastplates, gauntlets and greaves of steel. Their large, curved
blades were adorned with tassels of either bright red, golden yellow, or
white.
One figure stood forth, nearest to the burning bodies. He seemed to be
less of a general and more of some sort of wizard. He wore no armor,but
a wrapped tunic and full cut breeches in a pattern of blue, black and gold
with a richly embroidered cloak. He face was a study in cruelty, but with
a haughty nobility in the shape of his hawk-like nose, sharp cheek bones,
and high forehead. He was tall and powerfully built with long narrow eyes
that from this distance reminded him of the eyes of a snake. He was crowned
in a helm of gold with a huge milky stone embedded in an inverse peak of
the crown so that it lay on his forehead. His waist- length black hair was
styled into dozens of small braids trimmed to gold.
He seemed to finish a speech to his forces. When he paused, the
raiders cheered wildly, banging their blades against their curved
and tapered sheilds, emblazoned with dragons, griffins and oliphaunts.
Then they fell suddenly silent. The cloaked man uttered what sounded
like an oath and swept both arms into the air above his head.
And then the world went mad. A great creaking and groaning as of
torured metal was heard and,rising from from a collection boxes
scattered around the square, machine parts began to assemble
themselves. Without assistance from any mortal hand, they rolled,
sprang, tumbled and hopped toward each other. They piled atop each
other with purpose, until there stood a steel behemoth, man-like; a
metal golem. As the trader watched in horror, its huge claw-like
appendages scooped up the dead, 4 and 5 bodies at a time, and threw
them into a hole at the top of it's torso where a head by rights
should be. Noxious fumes spewed from the thing, surrounding the metal
body with a grayish, greasy smoke.
When the smoke cleared, the golem was covered with charred gobbets of
flesh that seemed to weave in and out of the metal frame. Heads, arms,
skin, bone all seemed to have been used as a sort of covering and a
type of fuel for the thing. It stood straight and flexed its
abomininable limbs. Suddenly it stopped, and pointed a huge clawed hand
at him.
He was certain that the rest of the company would turn and follow the
metal beast's direction, but he moved so swiftly that he never saw their
eyes upon him.
He sprinted to his mount, and whipped the animal into a panic of forward
motion and headed for the scrub wood. From there the foliage should
thicken, and with the grace of ALL the gods he might be able to make an
escape.
"People must be told, be warned!", he muttered to himself. "A necromancer
of the Haradrim - here - with a monster that is not to be believed! I must..."
His mount stopped short, reared and whinnied in terror. It was only his
two decades of horsemanship that saved him from a crippling fall. As
he sought to control the panicked animal the landscape changed, becoming
suddenly dim as if a smoky fog had engulfed him. It cleared quickly
- and he found himself surrounded by Haradrim, looking like some of the
same soldiers he had left in the village square.
The necromancer came forward smiling unpleasantly. His eyes were black
from lid to lid.
"You left so quickly, we had no time to introduce ourselves. I am Rai
Hasdral. And you are?..."
"A witness to your evil, wizard!" he knew that he would not be allowed to
leave here alive, and would not feign ignorance of what he had seen.
"Ah. I see that you are a brave man of the Westfold, and will brook no
banter with the likes of me. Very well. Your spirit is admirable, but you
know you are a dead man".
At these words, tendrils of inky blackness crawled up from the
earth beneath his horse and fell like whipcords upon him and his mount.
They strangled, they burned like acid, like fire and pulled both man and
beast into the very soil, both of them screaming in agony.
Gilrun managed to shout, "The King of Gondor will demand a reckoning for these
deeds! He rid us of Sauron; he will rid us of you!!" and with that his
mouth filled with soil and he disappeared entirely into the earth.
Rai Hasdral walked over the ground where the trader had just been consumed.
"Let him try. We have prepared for Gondor."
The panicked rider whipped his mount to still further speed, and
looked behind for the hundreth time.
There was always a chance that the rest of the raiding party did not
see him. Gilrun had approached the village at dusk and the scrubby woods
that ended within a half mile of the village probably hid him from view
until he emerged from it's shadow.
There was always smoke rising from this village. They had several
smithies of producing quality goods, and most of the villagers
were occupied with the procurement of metals, hewing wood
to feed the forges, working the bellows, and the smelting, hammering,
and chiseling that was the work of blacksmithing.
His employer, a local merchant, had wanted some additional swords and
shields for supply to the townsfolk, for defense against these ever
increasing raids.
Perhaps they were very busy with plenty of commissions to fill. But as
he neared the village, there was no sound of hammering, no children
playing, no chatter of gossip from the women or the men calling for
more water, or fire from the bellows workers.
And then he saw the first body. It was a little boy. Luckily he could
not see his face, he lay sprawled on his stomach, but he was sure from
the boy's curling red-gold hair that it was one of Dimwold's children;
all of them possessing such beautiful locks.
Gilrun unsheathed his sword. He was no warrior, but all Westfold Men were
handy with a blade. In the wild places betweens villages and towns, it
was foolish to go unarmed. He was no coward, and if there were lives to be
saved or avenged he would do what he could.
These thoughts bolstered his courage, until he moved cautiously past one
of the large smithies and peered round a corner building into the
village square.
The great smoke was from a pile of bodies; men, women and children of this
village, most of his acquaintance, and a few of real friendship. Around
the pyre a collection of beings had gathered. The butchers seemed to have
no fear of discovery; they stood in a rought circle with
bloody blades still in hand, or in the process of wiping then on the
grass and clothing ripped from some of the victims.
The raiders were Haradrim. They were tall Men with swarthy complexions
ranging from tan to darkest brown. Their black hair was mostly
concealed by mail scarves surrounding high helms. The Haradrim seemed
a sort of soldiery with similar dark blue and gold raiment,and
breastplates, gauntlets and greaves of steel. Their large, curved
blades were adorned with tassels of either bright red, golden yellow, or
white.
One figure stood forth, nearest to the burning bodies. He seemed to be
less of a general and more of some sort of wizard. He wore no armor,but
a wrapped tunic and full cut breeches in a pattern of blue, black and gold
with a richly embroidered cloak. He face was a study in cruelty, but with
a haughty nobility in the shape of his hawk-like nose, sharp cheek bones,
and high forehead. He was tall and powerfully built with long narrow eyes
that from this distance reminded him of the eyes of a snake. He was crowned
in a helm of gold with a huge milky stone embedded in an inverse peak of
the crown so that it lay on his forehead. His waist- length black hair was
styled into dozens of small braids trimmed to gold.
He seemed to finish a speech to his forces. When he paused, the
raiders cheered wildly, banging their blades against their curved
and tapered sheilds, emblazoned with dragons, griffins and oliphaunts.
Then they fell suddenly silent. The cloaked man uttered what sounded
like an oath and swept both arms into the air above his head.
And then the world went mad. A great creaking and groaning as of
torured metal was heard and,rising from from a collection boxes
scattered around the square, machine parts began to assemble
themselves. Without assistance from any mortal hand, they rolled,
sprang, tumbled and hopped toward each other. They piled atop each
other with purpose, until there stood a steel behemoth, man-like; a
metal golem. As the trader watched in horror, its huge claw-like
appendages scooped up the dead, 4 and 5 bodies at a time, and threw
them into a hole at the top of it's torso where a head by rights
should be. Noxious fumes spewed from the thing, surrounding the metal
body with a grayish, greasy smoke.
When the smoke cleared, the golem was covered with charred gobbets of
flesh that seemed to weave in and out of the metal frame. Heads, arms,
skin, bone all seemed to have been used as a sort of covering and a
type of fuel for the thing. It stood straight and flexed its
abomininable limbs. Suddenly it stopped, and pointed a huge clawed hand
at him.
He was certain that the rest of the company would turn and follow the
metal beast's direction, but he moved so swiftly that he never saw their
eyes upon him.
He sprinted to his mount, and whipped the animal into a panic of forward
motion and headed for the scrub wood. From there the foliage should
thicken, and with the grace of ALL the gods he might be able to make an
escape.
"People must be told, be warned!", he muttered to himself. "A necromancer
of the Haradrim - here - with a monster that is not to be believed! I must..."
His mount stopped short, reared and whinnied in terror. It was only his
two decades of horsemanship that saved him from a crippling fall. As
he sought to control the panicked animal the landscape changed, becoming
suddenly dim as if a smoky fog had engulfed him. It cleared quickly
- and he found himself surrounded by Haradrim, looking like some of the
same soldiers he had left in the village square.
The necromancer came forward smiling unpleasantly. His eyes were black
from lid to lid.
"You left so quickly, we had no time to introduce ourselves. I am Rai
Hasdral. And you are?..."
"A witness to your evil, wizard!" he knew that he would not be allowed to
leave here alive, and would not feign ignorance of what he had seen.
"Ah. I see that you are a brave man of the Westfold, and will brook no
banter with the likes of me. Very well. Your spirit is admirable, but you
know you are a dead man".
At these words, tendrils of inky blackness crawled up from the
earth beneath his horse and fell like whipcords upon him and his mount.
They strangled, they burned like acid, like fire and pulled both man and
beast into the very soil, both of them screaming in agony.
Gilrun managed to shout, "The King of Gondor will demand a reckoning for these
deeds! He rid us of Sauron; he will rid us of you!!" and with that his
mouth filled with soil and he disappeared entirely into the earth.
Rai Hasdral walked over the ground where the trader had just been consumed.
"Let him try. We have prepared for Gondor."