7 Fourth Age: Evil this way comes

7 Fourth Age: Evil this way comes; [Niphredil & Hand of Sauron + ?]
Topic Started: 24 Dec 2008, 04:04 AM (135 Views)
Deleted User	24 Dec 2008, 04:04 AM Post #1
Deleted User	Deep beneath the surface, in the very belly of Atalantë, the cold blows stronger and crueler amongst the sleepers. Their fingers frosted with speckled ice and their body's barren of the warmth they use to keep. Some are positioned stiffly and erect, strict as stone and as souless as they seem. Others have been posed, bent and cradled into different forms that exhibit their fear or anger at its best. It is between them that Niphredil creeps bare foot through the winding maze of her fridgid collection. The thin silks of a dark, midnight blue gown is little more than a single sheet that does nothing to ward away the chill. It's impossible length of train and bell shaped sleeves touching the floor and drag behind her with an airy animation all their own. Yet still moves meticulously by the Wights every physical command. Above her she can feel him breathing. Feel him boiling and climaxing. He is so close to his ambitious goals, a silent volcano waiting for it's moment to erupt and rain down terror, chaos and destruction. Niphredil can almost taste it on her tongue as it wipes across dastardly plum black lips and waits in anticipation for his beckoning. He has promised a long time that her day would come and as the scar inside the cradle of her palm begins to tingle and then burn against the relentless cold, Niphredil spreads a wicked smile from ear to ear and disappears from the crypt. It never takes her long to reach him, always the fastest, always determined. The Wight appears from between a tear of space and from nothing. An unholy gift that has only amplified her value on a whole. Niphredil lingers in utter silence, standing at her Masters backside and only feet away. The urge to be daring and touch him ripples through her spine. If only he was replaced, then she might have what is his and more. Her eyes, burned permanently black along the lids stare daggers into the Hand of Sauron's spine but she does nothing to assert these thoughts but take in a deep breath and smell. He does, as always, smell of something seductive. Something born of purely malicious and vicious makings. Something that tries the depth of evil and dares to push it darker, deeper and impossibly more wicked. Her voice breaks the silence, never louder than a whisper but always with a subtle tongue that cuts precisely to the point and languidly sends little claws crawling up ones spine. "My dark lord, so soon you summon me..." She said taking a step closer and another single deep breath in through her nose. "you have only to tell me your desire, to speak and your will be done."
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Deleted User	27 Dec 2008, 06:43 PM Post #2
Deleted User	He stood motionlessly in the room, waiting for the moment when she would make herself known. It was impossible to guess where the wight would appear, and though it made him uneasy, he had long since accepted this predilection. It came in handy when she did his bidding, and this was more important than his own preference. Nephredil’s voice sent shivers racing through his body. That unearthly whisper tingled across his skin. Her chill was so alien to the Lieutenant of Barad-dur, who had lived so many years in fire and ash. Turning to face the wight, he acknowledged the foreign allure in her presence. It lured him closer. Though he knew to touch her would be his end, he longed to do so just once. “Your hour is near, Nephredil,” he said, his eyes traveling the length of pale figure. “There is something I need which only you can procure.” Hand of Sauron crossed the room to a large pit sunken into the earth where a pale blue fire crackled. This castle in the north suited him well, but his flesh was still human and needed warmth. His gray eyes traveled skyward to the hole in the ceiling. The great icicles that had clung there were slowly dripping away. After a moment, when his hands had warmed, he turned back to Nephredil. “I need an army of faithful servants. You have a great many … treasures here, but I require more.” He fell into a silence, an image in his mind of himself leading an army into battle. Not a mortal military of Orcs and trolls, but an immortal legion of wights. Hand of Sauron had heard of the fear the Army of the Dead had caused the Corsairs. The terror of his own army would make Elessar’s triumph a pale and distant memory. His grand victory was shattered by a small girl child with dark curls and bright gray eyes standing in amongst the wights. She held out her hand, as if to summon him to some memory that eluded him. Her mouth formed a word, “Marillion!” The strength of the name overpowered the vision of the wight army. Hand of Sauron was brought back into the moment by the perpetual chill in the castle. Trouble clouded his eyes. Why should one stranger’s name hold such sway over him? And why did this girl child continue to haunt his waking thoughts? He returned his attention to Niphredil, determined to drive the child and the name from his mind. “Take them from across Middle-earth so that my allies know the loyalty we demand of them and my enemies know the price they must pay for their opposition.”
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Deleted User	2 Jan 2009, 07:12 PM Post #3
Deleted User	Unlike her Lord and Master, Niphredil's body rejected the warmth and needed none of it to thrive. This place, the cold barrens of Arnor, was more pleasing to her than any other that lurked within its halls. Through it she walked barefoot and barely robbed, her long dark hair in coils of licorice dangling freely down her back as she followed him like a second shadow, darker than his own. Her frosty gaze and its placid stare devoured the Lieutenant of Barad-dur with an unapologetic zeal. Her hunger for his presence was insatiable and often times that deceptively calm pair of eyes betrayed themselves and hinted at her longing to touch and reign him as her prize. Niphredil stopped as the Hand of Sauron paused over the fire to take in it's heat. Hating the warmth, hating the glow of the apricot flames as it affected his skin in a way she never could and swallowed back the bitter taste of envy that filled her mouth and overwhelmed her senses. As a woman scorned, she turns from her Master and the fire she despises and glides along the frosted ground until she is centered below the ceilings open mouth. Her eyes raised up to greet the spikes of ice that hang down as a constant threat overhead. "...From the sun filled sands to the dim halls of mountains, you shall have your army." She says as her eyes lower and her features turn with a lethargic prowess to face him over her shoulder. "All will know, when the dawn of your day rises, the true Lord and Master of Arda. Sauron," she scoffed, "will be but a distant memory of a lesser being than you." It is here that the Wight pauses and turns to face him completely. Her eyes steadily holding his figure as her chin rises just a fraction more. "I ask but for one, small reward. I'll build you your army, thousands of faithful servants under your command, if in the end I can take but a few insignificant beings for myself. A handful of trophies, prisoners, treasures for my collection..." Niphredil pauses as the subtle smile appears on but the corners of her mouth. "I want the Queens of Arda, all of them, but above all others I want Arwen."
Deleted User


Deleted User	5 Jan 2009, 05:07 PM Post #4
Deleted User	Greater than Sauron. Hand of Sauron felt the surge of power washing through his veins, and the thrill of this that he knew was sacrilege. Mortal man as he had been, he could not dare to make himself as great as a Maia, his Lord Sauron. Yet here was Niphredil, a wight and former Elf, offering to make him so. It would be as the alliances of old between Elf-kind and the Men of Numenor. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice nearly as quiet as Niphredil’s. He reached for the wight, his fingers hovering millimeters above her cheek. The powerful desire to touch her caused his fingers to twitch forward, but he stopped just before his living skin made contact with her deathly flesh. He made a motion, like a caress, then dropped his hand to his side. “You shall have whomever you desire. Do not take them until the opportune moment.” The sickly light in the ice-covered room cast a dark fire in his black eyes. “When their eternal sleep shall cause the most sorrow, then take them one-by-one. And when you make Arwen your own, I want to be there, my sword at Elessar’s throat.” The image of that moment, his triumph and his enemy’s torture, flashed before him. The darkness within him swelled as the shadows across his face distorted his handsome features into a terrible grimace of pure malice. “I want to look into his eyes while his wife is given her immortality again. I want him to know he could have saved her, if only he had not stood against Sauron the Great, if only he’d had the strength to send her to Valinor, forever Elven and protected by the Valar. I will take his life and his throne, but first I will have his soul.”
Deleted User


Deleted User	5 Jan 2009, 09:15 PM Post #5
Deleted User	It tasted delicious on her tongue, the Hand of Saurons menace. A thick and spicy drug that washed over her as a slow creeping poison that froze her, quite placidly, in place. His breath was a delicacy on her skin, like silk to the flesh, as it rode down the hallowed but fine curvature of her face and boldly breathed it in. The chaos, the madness, the lunacy that was the essence of Lieutenant of Barad-dur reared it's pretty face as he reached out to touch her. The Hand of Sauron extending his arm and came so close to caressing the morbid beauty of the Wight that she could feel the natural sting of warmth from his flesh against her cheek. To this Niphredil hummed soft sounds of approval in her throat, both seductively female and a warning that the Wight would not save or spare him from his own devices. No matter the consequences. "He, and all of his Kingdom," Niphredil spoke as she began to round her way about his body. Circling him lethargically as a predator toying with it's prey. Keeping close enough to her Dark Master that the cold of her body out contended the cold of their surroundings. "and all of this world, will all be yours. Complete and utter domination. They will bow," the shutter of her low voice seethed with invigorating power and determination "Or they will fall."
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