7 Fourth Age: the calm before the {storm}

7 Fourth Age: the calm before the {storm}
Topic Started: 3 Jan 2009, 02:39 AM (107 Views)
Deleted User	3 Jan 2009, 02:39 AM Post #1
Deleted User	Green again. Hiding within the trees of the forest, Morion found himself in comfort, in relaxation, in utter meditating preparing him for what he was going to do. For how much pure, unadulterated fun he was going to be having in minutes to come. It wasn’t going to be a bloodbath, not with just two of them, and not under the Hand’s plan, but Morion would enjoy it for what it was, and take a treat for later. He seemed calm, and relaxed, but one as dangerous as the potion brewer would never be so. His mind was alert and sharp whilst twisting with dark and pleasant things that kept him smiling, that kept him doing what he did without remorse. A shadow of a man he probably could have been, and every single step he took, that shadow became thinner and thinner, until one day, it would be gone. He would never have existed, or had the chance to. Swinging one leg down from the branch he is resting on, the young looking man slowly raises his hand to pull out from his belt, a long silver piece of metal, thin like an arrow’s body, but with a point that could easily stab right through even the toughest of bodies. Running his tongue along it lazily, the metallic taste setting off that familiar taste of blood in the back of his mind, Morion flickered his eyes open and grinned, casting one simple glance down to the ground right below him. Several seconds later, he was on the floor, feet having touched the ground lightly and without noise. His presence still remained unknown, and even if it was discovered, he was unknown enough within the world to pass off his existence as someone else, long enough to use whatever potion he could find to knock his unwanted companion out and rid himself of them later. The bright gaze flickers through the thick forest with a sadistic grin, he may not enjoy being called back and forth across the realms, but he definitely enjoyed the blood rushing feeling he got before every hunt. And he made no mistake, this was a hunt, he would not have been called up here if it were anything but. It may not be a bloody hunt or one of skill and long distance, but it was a hunt. Pulling out another weapon slowly – he uses swords, daggers and blunt instruments like the men, rather than the swift, silent and clean beath of bows, like the elves – and the point glinted dangerous in the light that was shed through the treetops. All he needed was his companion, and then – his grin widened into that madman type smirk – the hunt would indeed begin.
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Deleted User	3 Jan 2009, 03:31 AM Post #2
Deleted User	How and by what means she came Niphredil would never tell. What would be obvious is that the route is taken alone, always, and without a fragment of proof in her passing. When she arrives however, the wind blows bitter cold and the warmth in her immediate proximity receedes with little contention to the chill. Barefoot and gowned in wisps of purple and blue, Niphredil appears from no where and yards away from where her counterpart strolls. Her frost white eyes, placid and still, watching as he moves with the likeness of a predator and the formidable presence of death himself. He is impressive and instinctively she finds herself breathing deeply in through her nostrils and holding his fragrance tight in her chest. His scent is a delicacy almost as fine and tempting as the Hand of Sauron's himself. A fine brew of male that would make a fine beginning to an army without end. "Morion," She speaks delicately, a small voice with a disturbingly, frightful appeal. Her mood, if possible, more potently foul than normal. Her disgust for the trees, for the green and for the sun a passionate detestation that has the Wight agitated and on edge. So easily could she sway, with but a touch and taste of the flesh of an elf. Her approach is slow, seeming to glide more than walk across the land as she inches her way nearer. The long, goth train of her garment dragging back behind her as her bell sleeves brush across the forest floor. "Do you know why you are here?" she whispers, close enough for him to feel the very real cold of her body.
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Deleted User	3 Jan 2009, 11:17 AM Post #3
Deleted User	He didn’t remember a lot, not anymore, he had no reason to. He remembered only his name, and faintly his first meeting with the Hand so many years ago. Sttangely h also remembered his mother, her name, her voice, her touch against his forehesad. They were vivid memories, but the rest, long forgotten. It had also been many years since Morion felt any remorse to what he did to those he abducted, even longer since he felt anything that was anything like the emotion of compassion.He didn’t miss them, he had found them a bother when he had started to change, the niggling thought that would have be being sick soon after his sinful deed was committed. No. He reveled in the freedom from those emotons. What he did miss, however, was the dreams. He didn’t dream anymore, his sleep was empty, dark and twisted. No dreams, no wishes, no ambitions floated through his head. Instead he was soothed into that black abyss with the repeated screams and begs and pleas of his past victims echoing around inbetween his ears and it was a comforting sound that Morion appreciated a lot. But he still missed being able to dream. He stilled seconds before his name was even whispered, thoughts disturbed by something, before his companion made herself known and the cool, slick chill that ran over his body made him shiver in utter delight. He smiled lightly, casting his eyes upwards with a slight roll of his head before he deemed it appropriate to glance over at where the voice had come from. “Hello, Niphredil” his voice almost matching hers in the volume, but it shook with his pleasure and excitement for his part in this scene to be played, and if one were to look into the dark eyes long enough, they would see the insane glow that they produced. Unlike his previous errands for the Hand, Morion found this one much more pleasant. He did not need to keep his control over his burning desire to feel blood gushing over his hands and his companion was much preferable than the Hand himself, seeing as neither he nor Morion could stand each other for too long, so the second question made the grin widen. “I have a good idea of why, yes”
Deleted User


Deleted User	5 Jan 2009, 09:34 PM Post #4
Deleted User	Niphredil does not move from her position but still, by the sway and stagger of her garbs, seems animated as a dark mist over the forest floor. She stands with her licorice mane down, their timid curls tangling like spider webs from her crown and her eyes burned black around their lids by fire. The true intensity of her prowess though lingers inside her eyes. The gelid cold that peers back out is a heavier and more impassioned cold that could turn a soul to ice if it dare linger too long. "Our actions must be precise, Morion. Flawless to the point of perfection. Destiny now lies temperamentally at our feet and we must not stumble." The Wight speaks and begins to make her slow approach. "Have you brought the materials requested? Will they breath life and terror into the Hand of Sauron's insignia? Strike pain and fear into the hearts of Arda as we leave it in our wake?" Niphredil stares him down, coercing the sensation at her finger tips away, she must obey the Hand of Sauron. The wight can not take this deep and disturbing creature before her into her tomb. This lush male of misery, strife and mayhem is not to be touched to her disappointment. A pity, how beautiful he could have been.
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Deleted User	6 Feb 2009, 01:04 AM Post #5
Deleted User	He didn’t look to her; instead he trained his senses around them, his eyes dilating to see more around the camouflaged area. He acknowledged her words with the slight tilt of his head before he smirked. “You underestimate me, Niphredil, perfection is what my ultimate goal in this life is” He smirked a little and nodded, produced the following potion bottles and weapons that he deemed needed for this mission. “Smoke for cover, fear inducing toxin for my own amusement, various other toxins that will destroy the senses and…my vast collection of my favourite weapons” Glancing towards her with a small smile, the elf looked towards where the camp was known to be. “Pain, fear, terror…it’s all temporary…I plan to leave them with something that they’ll remember forever.” He noticed the slight interest he held towards the wight, but he knew that she couldn’t take him for her collection, not yet anyway, and it was that one thought that made him grin a little more around the female. “We should make a move soon, if not immediately, if you want to get this done at all”
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Deleted User	2 Apr 2009, 02:46 PM Post #6
Deleted User	Niphredil said nothing as she stared without intimidation into Morion's eyes. See has seen the darkness, the blackness in his soul but even that cold could not contend with the might of The Hand of Sauron. At her side, her fingers twitched lethargically but enough to make an elf feel threatened. She would obey the Hand of Sauron, but should she be pushed Niphredil could easily spin a silver little lie and convince her Master that Morion had been some tragic accident in the heat of battle. That he hadn't been lost, oh no, Morion would still very much be molded into the army she was making - just otherwise rendered useless until she called them to her. That was the thought that caused her to smile. One that might have been pretty if it wasn't for the crack of lightning in her eyes and the promise of trouble to those who attempted to stir her the wrong way. "Yes," She purred on a silky, female voice. "We move now but do be selective sweet, Morion. Any of those with promise or value enough will be added to his army. The others..." Her slender shoulders shrugged innocently, as if suggesting that Morion could suffer them all and Niphredil would be content just to watch him unleash the terror from their hearts. Drop by bloody drop.
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