Shadows Over Eriador...
The figure that flew above the great mountain range, known as The Misty Mountains, sat astride a queer beast... some would name it a fell beast. Few in Middle earth had seen it's like. In truth, none outside the dreaded realm of Mordor itself even knew of such a creature. Upon leathery wings it flew, more like glided upon the lofty currents that even the great eagles enjoyed. From it's features, said wings and it's long serpentine neck, many would have mistaken it for a dragon. Not that many had seen even one of these dark beings save those about Dale, Lonely Mountain, and the town upon Long Lake. So who was to say what the thing was or it's true purpose.
The rider knew, that was certain. It's master had been ingenious in it's creation, which was to allow the rider to cover great distances quickly and unseen by prying eyes. Even at this height and the cold that surrounded him, there was no mist of warm breath or any evidence that the rider breathed at all. Yet, that it had intelligence enough to guide the fell beast was evident as it now changed course and flew ever northward and west... yes to the northwest as if something was calling him. That he had some semblance of life was also certain for it's head... it's eerily crowned head looked this way and that.
With a kick of it's spurred boots and a harsh tug upon the reigns, the fell beast began to careen downward toward the great peak before it. Lower and lower it dropped in the moonless night's sky until it reached the ground still covered by inches of white snow. Those wicked and foul creatures that poured from a hastily repaired and once elaborate grand gateway fell prostrate before the rider as he dismounted his strange mount. Not one of the gathered host looked up and most quivered with a strange mixture of fear and excitement. Atlas the largest and fiercest orc among them lifted his head tentatively.
"Master? Master... we have waited... for you. Welcome... welcome to... to... " it said barely above a whisper in it's foul tongue as if it was unsure what to name it.
The rider finally spoke but it was more like a hiss. like it was unused to speaking or rarely did so. yet the rider finished what the craven orc could not.
"Home! I am home... " the words trailed off as a cold wind blew he rider's cape and the cold seemed not entirely that of the surrounding mountain anymore...
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:29, Fri 11 Nov 2016.
