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| 6 Fourth Age: Awakening | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 9 Nov 2008, 08:20 PM (345 Views) | |
| Deleted User | 9 Nov 2008, 08:20 PM Post #1 |
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The world was heavy, so heavy. He could feel its pressure pushing upon his entire length from all around. Where was he? His body was stiff and it ached from being positioned in the same place for so long. He felt the sediment around him. It too was heavy. How long was he here for sediment to cover him? He didn't know. He didn't know... Shifting, his body cracked through the layers of sediment, causing decaying and decayed debris to rise into the air around him, but it wasn't air. He remembered where it was that he came to, remembered how he dove into the depths of an inland sea until he reached the bottom where he believed himself to be safe as he slipped into hibernation. Ah, yes... this place. Submerged hundreds, perhaps thousands of feet underneath the surface of the world. He knew it had been a long time -- this water didn't smell the same as it once did. It didn't taste the same. He didn't like that. Underneath trillions of gallons of water, he rose, his body falling aloft into the water. It felt good to move again, to be able to flex his claws and stretch his tails. The crest that flowed along his body from head to tail shivered, measuring the temperatures and sensing the small fish that swam against it, testing the changing currents around him. It was cold -- there was no light. He could only feel, smell, and taste. He could see only blackness even with his nocturnally adapted eyes. He could hear only water, for it was everywhere. After many minutes of floating in the currents in the depths of the Sea of Rhun, the beast's mind began to become clear once again. Clouded by Ages of slumber and dreams, the cognitive capacity of the ancient creature swelled in a sudden wave. Everything he remembered was played through his head. He could see eagles of great calibur coming towards them. He always liked the taste of feathers matted with blood. He heard the screams of people as they fell before his terrible breath. He saw the sun being blotted out by Ancalagon the Black's immense size. He saw the crippling blow to Ancalagon, a mariner's sword covered in dragon blood. He knew that was the end. He liked the cool water of the Sea of Rhun and how the heat of his blood kept him warm despite the growing feeling of numbness in his body. Then, he remembered nothing. There was only darkness, comfort, and dreams. His thoughts enraged him. The memories of his past in the First Age were as fresh as yesterday. That's what they were to him -- yesterday. He had gone to sleep yesterday. He had killed a man and his cow yesterday. He dove into the depths with a stomach full of gold and treasure yesterday. But today? He did not know today. Pressing his hindlegs to the sediment at the bottom of the Sea of Rhun, he pushed forward, his immense extra appendages folded tightly to his felinesque figure. His tail wavered, propelling him towards the surface. For many minutes, hours, days, or perhaps even weeks he swam upwards. The deep canals of his ears popped every hundred feet, his joints feeling eased and his lungs thirstier for air. For how many Ages did he sleep on only one breath? His hibernation kept him in a catatonic state; he did not age but he grew. He did not eat but he grew stronger. He only slept. Eyes of over a thousand years of sleep adjusted as the faint rays of light penetrated the blackness, almost blinding him entirely at first, but his pupils made it easy for him to see. He swam with more vigor until finally the surface of the Sea of Rhun exploded with his crimson scales. Water soared into the skies, his wings breaking free, the claws at the ends of his wings raking the water's surface. His mouth opened, nostrils flared, and he took a breath. And he was born again -- in rage and fear. Angry that he had slept for so long and fear that he was the last. Fear that he was the only dragon in the land of Middle-earth. He breathed, his lungs filling with a cool, temperate air, biting his insides with it. It was cold -- he was used to that. It mixed in with the fires in his belly and gold in his stomach, refreshing his body. For many minutes he lay on the surface of the water, his wings stretched out, absorbing the heat of the sun, his mouth ajar, breathing in gallons of air until he felt rejuvinated enough to swim again. He ached for land and for food, but above all he ached for knowledge. Was he the last? Turning his crested head he began to swim westward, following the path of the sun. He swam for days and did not stop until the ends of his claws grazed the sands of a beach. He came upon dry land and collapsed, for he was tired from his endeavors. His throat gurgled, his forked tongue slipping into the air, smelling and tasting. His anger had subsided for but a moment. When he felt rested enough he climbed the beach, his molten eyes searching around. He saw for many leagues, far beyond the horizon man could see. He saw mountains, villages, towns, rivers, and cities. He saw the mountains of South Rhun, even further south he saw the outlines of the Ash Mountains. To the north, the river Carnen. He could smell even further; he could smell everything except what he looked for. The smell of sulfur and brimstone did not reach his nostrils nor was it tasted on the tips of his tongue. He was alone now. Alone. ALONE! The crimson-scaled beast drew his headback, his serpentine neck curling into an S-shaped form, his extra appendages -- wings -- unfurled to their maximum size, stretching 150 feet in their entire length. His body tensed, his lungs filling with air, his nostrils flaring, producing a dark smoke. Then, in a exhale of fury and rage, a caustic fire sprayed from the depths of his throat, reaching out into the air in front of him. Instantly particles of water evaporated, replaced by a heat so intense the only thing it could not melt was the One Ring. The fires leapt, oranges, yellows, reds, and variant other colors of flame spouting from the depths of his lung. His roar accompanied it, his breath lasting for minutes, his head turning until everything within 300 feet in front of him was scarred to ash and soot. Even that did not comfort him, but it eased his pain. To destroy things and make them suffer as he was suffering. That was what he was going to do. He would raze the lands of Middle-earth until there was nothing left but embers, ash, and skeletons. He would burn the fields and the meadows and the kingdoms which his Kin could not and the word dragon would be feared once again. That is why he will call himself Sventvignar the Razer. |
| Deleted User | 10 Nov 2008, 02:24 PM Post #2 |
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The dark shape stood motionlessly on the hilltop. How long he had been stationary in this one place, he did not know. The sight of the great dragon rearing up from the water had frightened the horses away. But not him. The primeval wrath of the dragon cast a spell over the Hand of Sauron. He felt a stirring within his breast. Molten darkness flooded through his veins as it had not since he had stood in the presence of Lord Sauron. He was at a safe distance from the dragon’s fire, though the heat of it seared his skin more sharply than a blade in battle. He had felt this kind of heat only once before, in the caverns of Udun. Even the magma within Mount Doom could not compare to the blaze of a dragon’s fire. The sight of the creature, magnificent and omnipotent, was rapture. A thousand plans unfolded in his mind. What he could do with a dragon as his ally surpassed his wildest dreams. He had not known any survived, and so had formed plans around men and Uruk-hai. They were trifling ants next to this dragon. When the fire quelled, Hand of Sauron dared to approach. He felt sure of himself, armed as he was with the Sacred Weapon forged by Lord Sauron himself. Its imbued magic was not as great as the One Ring, for it contained no part of his master, but it was nonetheless a gift from a Maia. The power of it rang like a perfect harmony. “Hail, dragon!” he called, holding up one hand. “I am called Hand of Sauron, for I was servant to Lord Sauron before his downfall, and he was servant to Morgoth. Might we speak and see if there is some alliance between us?” Though he rarely performed the gesture anymore, being the mightiest of Lord Sauron’s servants left, he now bowed his head to the dragon in respect of its awesome power. |
| Deleted User | 11 Nov 2008, 04:27 AM Post #3 |
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When his firey breath was exhausted, caustic dribble fell from the corner of his massive maw, the jagged rows of teeth pressing slowly shut. The dribble caused the unburned ground to sizzle and catch fire, starting a new fire that fed itself into the Sea of Rhun until that too became exhausted. His rage was quenched only by the sulfurous smell that radiated from the scarred earth in front of him, but only for the moment. Although making others feel pain let him feel moments of contented pleasure, his soul stilled burned with an urge to kill. A dragon's rage was unlike any other beings: it was deep and unyielding, insatiable in appetite and so hot the skies themselves might threaten to melt. He was angry and he was tired. Rising from the depths of this inland sea made his body sore and ache, and the long swim to shore made his muscles burn in agony. He had made it in such a short time. But now he had vented but a fraction of his pent-up anger, so there were other things on his mind. His stomach was full only of the gold from his hoard and it did not sate his hunger. First, though, it was necessary to rest his body. His mind had, had such a rest that it was over-active, his cognitive processes firing in an endless array of thoughts, pictures, and words, and then something entirely else only a dragon would understand. He did not need to sleep. No, he had slept for at least Two Ages -- at least that is what his senses told him. He was much different than he was when he dove into the depths. His size was greater than ever before and the fires in his belly had become an acidic flame that would both burned and eat away at the flesh of his victims. His tail had become longer, his body stronger. His wings were now blemished with a soot-gray coloring on the trailing end. His claws were long and unkempt -- he would have to trim them. His horns, from what he could feel, had a new spiral twisted into their complexion -- they were finally long enough to get that particular spot around one of the spines on his shoulders a nice scratch. His molten eyes had become more powerful, allowing him to see scores of miles beyond what they could before. He wanted to see what his new body could do on the field of battle... His form began to shift, wings folding in to tuck against his lithe form, his claws settling on the ground, raking small ditches in the earth. But then, before he could drift into a state of awake dreams, something bothered him. The sounds reached his ears first. He could hear the crackling of matter under heavy boots, the chinkling of mail against mail and the sound of a sword against a hip. Then he heard the breathing of the being, a breathing he long hated for it belonged to a pitiful creature -- man. Man was a disgusting creature he had slain hundreds of times. He and his kin had felled armies of these two legged, hairless apes with their infernal breaths. Pitiful, worthless creatures whose skin could not protect them from anything. They wore artificial hides of iron and steel and rode equine mounts in order to keep up with faster creatures. Drawing his massive neck back, the frills surrounding his ears expanded, flaring out to the sides. The crest on his head rose threateningly, blood flowing to the region and making its membrane grow redder than his hide. His molten eyes grew hot, seemingly glowing as they gazed upon the humanoid that walked towards him. A lip curled, revealing fangs like daggers. "Hail, dragon!" the creature called."I am called Hand of Sauron, for I was servant to Lord Sauron before his downfall, and he was servant to Morgoth. Might we speak and see if there is some alliance between us?" The dragon bared his teeth, his frills retracting against his skull like a feline about to pounce. Gathering himself, the dragon rose to a stand, his eyes glaring upon the pitiful creature that hailed him. The dragon studied him for a moment as the man bowed, dictating him the superior. The dragon, however, bowed to no one. "Morgoth," his voice projected into the air. It was a resounding sound, deep and bass, that seemed to come from all directions. As he said the word, his throat expelled a deep hiss, smouldering smoke rising from the pits of his nostrils. "Morgoth. Creator of my Kin. He sent us to our deaths for a pitiful fight. His doing slayed Glaurung the Deciever. His doing slayed Ancalagon the Black," the bristles on his neck began to shiver. "Now he is bound in the wastes beyond the Door of Night. Sauron -- reckless fool. I smell the breath of that entity on you. Your sword, it was crafted by him. I have seen his work," the dragon's voice made the air vibrate a static hum. "Dead, then?!" the dragon's maw opened, releasing a booming cackle, laughing in the face of this man who served, perhaps diligently, the Dark Lord Sauron. When his laughter came to a halt, the dragon's eyes sparked with amusement. "No doubt in the image of his master..." The dragon began taking slow, purposeful strides, his haunches twitching and sail swaying. "The reason I have let you live to endure conversation is because of the names you have spoken, ape. Morgoth and Sauron; I knew I would hear these names when I awoke from the bottom of the Sea of Rhun after Two Ages. My brethren are dead because of them! Their fates please me greatly! You asked to speak with me and see if there is some alliance between us? No alliance. I say that outright, Masterless Thrall!" Sventvignar's tail thumped the ground, causing the earth to tremble violently. His mouth produced a constant collumn of smoke, his molten eyes trained on the man. |
| Deleted User | 12 Nov 2008, 03:17 PM Post #4 |
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The dragon did not bow. Prideful worm, Hand of Sauron thought bitterly. Their pride was always their destruction in the end. Had the dragon awoke six years sooner, Hand of Sauron would have killed the worm in single combat. Six years without his Maia-given strength, however, had robbed him of the ability. “Dragons are too clever to lack free will,” Hand of Sauron countered. “Fighting for Morgoth was your choice. Since you lost, you choose to blame another for your defeat. I have done it too, Dragon, but no more. I am proud to have served a Maia, as you should be to have served a Vala. There are precious few in this world chosen for such elevated rank.” A dark cloud of fury grew over Hand of Sauron’s features. His face seemed to darken like a thunderhead collecting over a stormy sea. His eyes, gray as the ocean and dead as the becalmed sea, hardened into two gray diamonds. “Speak to me not as if I were a man, Dragon. I am so much more than that!” he roared. “Do not presume I am without power, nor threatened me anymore. I offer you history that your cowardly sleep has robbed you of, and I have prepared a place for you in this world. “You would reject that? To do what? Hide beneath another sea for six thousand years of slow sleep, while the world moves on without you? Or else to sink into feral instincts and terrorize the world without purpose or cause? Your race is greater than that!” Hand of Sauron pointed to the northwest, in the general direction of Erebor and Esgaroth. “Another dragon has made his place at the bottom of the Long Lake near the city of Esgaroth. His name is Smaug, but he does not hibernate as you did. He met his death at the hand of a man whose House are now the Kings of Dale. Proceed wrathful and alone, and you will meet that same end, Dragon. “Or you can make an alliance with me. Together we will punish those who killed our kin and masters.” |
| Deleted User | 12 Nov 2008, 06:54 PM Post #5 |
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"Fool! Morgoth was the creator of my kind -- the winged dragon! Clever and wise as we are, dragons were still the slaves of Morgoth and his lot. Had we the potential we would have turned on him and felled his own armies with your breath!" The dragon snarled, his head rearing back into the threatening s-curve posture. His frills flared again, his crest blushing with rage, the bristles along his back clattering together with every shiver that passed over his sinews and curves. "Not a man, you say? You are tiny, feeble, and protect yourself with a skin that is not natural. Your hide is weak and your senses limited. Even the magics that once gave you long life have disappeared -- yes, I can sense that. Even in my sleep I could vaguely sense what history was being made. Under leagues of sea and waves, I knew something happened to Sauron -- something that upset the balance of the world. Yes, so few years ago -- a blink in my slumber. History is of little meaning to me; I care not for the wars of men, only the fates of my Kin. My brethren and I once clouded the skies with fire and death but that is all gone. I hear no screams nor cries of sorrow on the wind, nor the smell of brimstone clouding the air. My "race was greater than that". I AM MY RACE!" He roared, tongues of fire jetting out from the sides of his mouth and nostrils. "You do not understand, simple-minded creature you are, the magnitude of suffering I endure with this knowledge! You are a man, your race clutters the land like a pestilence. Your allegience matters not in the scheme of this pain I feel. Your heart is the only one that beats of your breed left. Tainted by Sauron and the Maia, but still man!" The very mentioning of Smaug made the dragon's ranting stop. He took a breath, so deep that the cool of air was drawn in through the ducts of his eyes. Smaug, dead. Dead. DEAD! The dragon expelled the deep breath, his fury unleashing upon the already burned ground as caustic fire splashed upon it, spraying out in a river of hell. It glazed the sands of the beach into a fine glass that cracked under the footsteps of heavier creatures. Sea water dissolved into a salty mist and flora again burned anew. "He was the last, then. Smaug, Smaug. I am alone... Very well..." The dragon turned, his crested head moving to level with the man, his large, molten eye almost the same size as the Hand's entire head. It lacked a visible pupil, as the structure of the worm's eye was far different than those of humanoids. Yet this pupil did contract and narrow, gazing upon the small figure of a man. "No alliance -- my alliance is only coined for my purpose. I will not ally with you for the sake of destroying those who killed our kin and masters. I breathe only to avenge the fate of my kin. I will make no pact with you, no binding claus that shall end with me as a servant. You are just a tool I will use to conquer the nest that my brother, Smaug, inhabited. The casualties I do not care about -- so long as I slay those who have over-run what is rightfully mine by race. Hand of Sauron, you will just be a tool. You who have been stained by the Maia will be a weapon like my race was for Morgoth." Fires still licked the corners of his mouth, the heat so intense that the air seemed to be smeared like a painting. "No alliance. A hallowed partnership, nothing more. I will use your knowledge of this land and you will use the fire in my belly to scourge the meadows and hills of life." "I am hungry and I am sore, for I have swam from the depths of nothingness and beyond to return to this plane to vent my rage. I will rest until my joints have been eased and my hunger quenched. Hand of Sauron, I am not your ally. You will tell me of a place to go to so you may read to me the anals of your knowledge, for first I must hunt." "I am called Sventvignar the Razer and you will call me by thus always. Your servants will call me thus, always. Titles are included as well, Hand of Sauron, for it is a sign amongst my kind of respect and undaunted loyalty -- even in terms of a hallowed partnership." |
| Deleted User | 13 Nov 2008, 03:12 PM Post #6 |
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Hand of Sauron resisted the urge to rub his temples. Clever as dragons were, he still felt as if he were explaining philosophy to a three-year-old child. “Your logic is flawed. Humans and Elves are the creations of Eru, yet many of them have turned against the One. Dwarves were created by Aule, yet they are not all loyal to the Valar. You had a choice, whether you admit it or no. Had Morgoth won, you would have claimed sole responsibility. Because he was defeated, you cry foul and lack of free will.” He listened to the dragon’s tirade with a hint of amusement twitching at his lips. He had forgotten how self-important and pompous they really were. Smaug had been bad enough to reason with, but this hulking beast was a right nightmare. “You do not understand the way the world works. I am not your tool. I am the last surviving Lieutenant of Barad-dur. I rightfully rule all creatures once in service to my master Lord Sauron the Great. What was his is now mine. You were never his, and therefore, never mine. But I am not a tool to be used, Sventvignar, nor will I ever take orders from you.” He moved closer, as if punctuating his words with courage. Fear was not an emotion Hand of Sauron knew. It had been drummed out of him, and he stood as tall and proud before the dragon as he would have a mortal man. “You fail to see that, without me, you have no place in this world. You will be hunted down like a beast and slaughtered. When that happens, I will do nothing to aid you, for you have spoken to me with self-righteous contempt and mockery. “I will not bow to your strength of will, as I have not asked you to bow to mine. A hallowed partnership, you say. Then you will refrain of assuming the role of dominate partner, Sventvignar. This world you have awoken to is a new age. Your size and strength does not make you mightier than me.” Hand of Sauron motioned to the distant mountains and the long stretch of rolling hills between. “Hunt and rest as you please. I will remain in this place for two days. If you return here, you do so as a partner, not a dictator of my will. If you do not, then I wish you the best of luck in finding revenge and avoiding death.” |
| Deleted User | 13 Nov 2008, 11:57 PM Post #7 |
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His logic, flawed? This humanoid did not understand the cognitive processes of a creature like himself. They were fundamentally different in every way -- this human, in all his limited capacities, did not serve under Morgoth. Morgoth was not Sauron. Morgoth was Morgoth, the Black Enemy. He did not deny the power of this man's master, for he had seen it in battle ages ago, but Morgoth and Sauron were not the same. He would not waste his tongue on elaborating the complexities of the terrible magicks and forces Morgoth had used to control the dragons. Sventvignar knew the truth and that was absolute. " 'Tool', a weapon. Listen well, Hand of Sauron. You are just a tool. Perhaps I do not own you and nor are you my thrall, but you are a tool. A weapon. You have the knowledge I seek and if I find another with such knowledge and more, I will use this better tool. For now, you are what I shall settle with. You possess the remnants of an old magic in you that gives you strength, but it has waned and you cannot defeat me. Heed to your own limitations and do not try your mettle against mine. Let me continue to elaborate my use of tool, since you have not rationalized it yet: to a dragon, a tool is another which can be used to gain the upper hand in whatever he deems necessary. In this, you are a tool, for you are giving me your knowledge. Let me instill into you this knowledge: you will be my tool as much as I am yours. In return for your knowledge and assistance, I will offer you my breath and my rage and my anger." Smoke smouldered from his throat and nostril, his glowing eye widening as the man came closer, adjusting his perception. "And you assume that I fail to see I have no place in this world. No, you are wrong. Beast I might be to many, but to some and others I am a champion. I will carve myself a niche in this world as all creatures have. The horse, the orc, the deer, the goblin, man, dwarf, and elf; they all have their place in this world. I do not need to burn and ravage the mountains to live, but that is the path I have chosen." A pillar of smoke rose from the side of his mouth, reaching into the skies. "There is a chain your kind forgets -- I will not hesitate to link myself into it again." His mouth clapped shut, his teeth resonating a feral and primal ring, getting his point across. Slowly, the dragon pulled his head back, his frills returning to the sides of his skull, his crest loosing its enraged blush. Smoke ceased to billow from his nostrils and mouth, for his attentions were trained to the horizons. His keen eyes saw to the distance mountains and the rolling hills between, his lids narrowing, focusing more. He saw many wild and feral creatures wandering, even from this distance. He would have plenty of time to fill the emptiness in his belly, for these creatures would have been without natural defenses from his breed. The dragon then began to relieve himself in a river, marking the earth and staining it in his scent. It was a terrible smell, acrid and acidic, wreaking of sulfur, brimstone, and a sterilized scent of decayed meat. It had been many ages since he did that -- but it was not without purpose. Unlike man, he was a beast. His sense of smell worked better than his eyes. It was an animal thing, yes, but he had no issues pissing on the earth man stood on. "Two days then, Hand of Sauron. In that time, place yourself in the scales of the last dragon and perhaps we shall understand one-another better. I shall try to place myself in a pale-skinned, armorless creature's body in that time as well." His lips drew back in a draconic grin, showing off the terrible teeth in his mouth. Then, stepping forward, he spread his wings, stretching over seventy feet on either side of his immense body. In the light, the membrane between the "fingers" of the wings carried a variant milky white to a purplish-gray blush on the trailing end. His clawed appendages dug into the ground, launching him forward. Within several steps and a single bound, the dragon's wings beat at the ground, forcing powerful currents of air downwards and himself into the sky. He circled above the Hand of Sauron, a keen eye trained upon him as he rose into the thermals, his wings catching the rising air with graceful ease until, nearly three thousand feet above the Sea of Rhun, his wings tilted, angling him towards the west. |
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