Beginning of a story: what say you?

[Anamatar IV]

Okay here is a beginning of a story I am writing...tell me what ya think of it.:D or if it is confusing. yeah, I bet most of you will be confused with it:

Would that I had the will power to drop this accursed sword and I was given the chance to start a life anew, I would be saved and I would be happy. But it seems the Valar have forsaken me, and the holy one in the heavens cares not.

“This is no mere disease, murderer, nor old age death that plagues these lands!” Thus spoke Thringon in response to Polonoto, an esteemed warrior throughout the lands of Middle-earth. “This is darkness! It slays by cloud and flees by shadow, never leaving a trail of blood, footprint, or broken leaf to lead us to him. He will not stop until we stop him!” At these words Thringon lifted his great axe and swung it into the air of the council room of Middle-earth where all people of all races came during times of need. Now all the leaders of the nations were gathered to discuss the threat that has plagued all lands at once.
Death was coming to villagers, peasants, lords, and ladies alike at seemingly random times. Their bodies were fond slain by blade. None see the murder, none see the murderer.
“As you speak will be the downfall of your argument!” Polonoto replied. “He moves by shadow and slays by cloud, you speak thus. It would be folly to try to fight enemies unseen, lest he slay us all. No, we must wait this evil and let it pass to the brinks of the world and let Osse take it to death!”


The blade kills! It is the blade! I tell myself to stop, to run far from murder. But alas! For I cannot. In the depths of my mind I see all that I do, but I control them not. I have not the skill to control this sword that kills nor the power to drop it, feed it to the sea. I have been plagued, doomed to a life of shadow and evil, unseen by all and yet seen by many. The days are dark like night and night as the void where Melkor resides in chains, for indeed the voice of Melkor whispers lies in my ears, poisoning me, ever slowly yet killing me. Killing me and extending my life at once! Though I live as some will call it, I am dead.


“It is settled at last!” sighed Aden, Lord of Gondor and leader of the council. “We will form hunting groups. Each will search for this killer and bring him dead or alive before us all.” The groups were established. They all left the great hall to return to their lands to get ready for a hunt more perilous than any before and more difficult than ever will be.
Four lords of Gondor took control of one group. Among these lords were Aden, Polonoto, Thringon, and Felagund, a quiet yet valiant man of wisdom. Seven others there were in the group, though of less importance.
Aden spoke to his group: “Come all who seek the evil that has killed your family and friends, though they be far. Seek the evil lest it seek your family and friends of close!” With that he spurred his horse and the ten others followed him, swiftly riding to the trees of the North.
To what avail does the Darkness hope to come to through my pain? Am I expected to cast open the doors of the Void and to slay Manwe upon his throne? There will come a time when the greats will fall and we the peasants will usurp their high places! A peasant I was when I came across this blade long ago and, though I kill more people than a knight, I am a peasant still.

“Please, master, let me rest! Let me sit by the waters and drink to the free, cool airs of the light world. I beg of thee, master. Let me let loose you beside me!”
“I grant thee thy wish. Thou wilt sit by the river and rest but I will be beside thee ever!”
It was a warm dawn on the banks of the Anduin River. The grass was soft and the breeze was cool. Suddenly, out of the shadows a figure appeared. He was old and bent with cares and troubles. The man rolled to the river itself and put his face in the waters. His sword sat a few feet away as the man tried to revive himself.
The sword glimmered with a black glow. The blades of grass around it were scorched, as if the sword needed to constantly kill something, whether it be plant or animal. The blade rang quietly in the wind.
The man came up sputtering. He sighed deeply and sat high upon the grass bank. He sat long there. The hours passed and soon a traveler came upon the man.
“A pleasant day is it not?” the traveler asked. The man nodded in silent agreement. But then, as if controlled by a force greater than he, the man spoke.
“The river lacks color.” With that the man leapt to his feet, his sword seemingly flying into his hands, and slew the traveler. The man let his blood drip into the river. The last thing the man saw before he slipped back into the shadows was a wave from the river coming up and lifting the man’s detached head from the ground and carrying it down the currents.


I do not enjoy this sport of killing for sport it could be called. Sport is arbitrary, done solely for the sake of doing so. My sword has no reason to kill yet it enjoys drinking blood. Lest the heavens collapse and Eru himself come forth and smite this blade to the ground it will kill ever and I cannot stop it. I can stop it! I will stop it! If only I could and if only this sword rang not with the cruel laughter of all the voices of the people it slays. Yet the laughter is addicting. The sorry voices of those suffering more than I is soothing. But I am a person no longer. I can feel malicious and sadistic when I will for it is the nature bestowed in me. I am an Orc, whipped with thongs of fire and stepped on with iron boots just hoping that another Orc will some day be subject to this torture. When I would laugh instead of being laughed at for crying aloud when the master poured a boiling trough down upon me. But there are no others. None laugh at me. None there are that I wish I could drive a stake through their hearts. Then why do I laugh when I kill? Why do I take pleasure in their mourning voices? Has the sword driven me to a state of Darkness where all who suffer whether they be allies or enemies I laugh? Am I ever doomed to place my foot upon in triumph a dead body? Why have I been damned to hell? Why must I live an eternity in the living death between the fire and the smoke, burning and choking yet neither wholly so? The world turns without me. I have been left in the shadows of the heavens, forsaken by the Land of Light and the fires of Hell. O Star Queen of Valinor, hear my plea! Bring me light in this place of eternal darkness! But lo! I know no light can break through this darkness, for the darkness of my mind.

[Anamatar IV]

The hooves of eleven horses trotting slowly were all that was heard. The wind was still. It seems that the world lay in a slumber, though it was noon. Polonoto halted the company. He leapt from his horse and dashed to the nearby waters of the Anduin.
“Come!” he yelled to the others. They hurried to the river and looked into the waters. “Blood has been spilt in the river, and yet no blood could stain the Anduin lest it be the slaying of innocent by evil.” The company retreated austerely to their horses and mounted.
“We must be off!” Aden bellowed. “Our enemy is close!” He took off with the others following him once more.


There are times when I am thankful for the shadow. When I see the fires in the eyes of the families of whom a member I have killed are quenched by tears. I give praise for being unseen, for not feeling the burn of their eyes nor the wrath of their anger. But I would not need the shadows if I did not kill. But it is not me who kills, is it?

Long ago in the world people were merry and gay. They would stroll often in the woods and sail the rivers and gallop down the wide open plains. It was on such an occasion that a woodsman’s son was skipping and singing in the woods, with the birds chirping over head.
As he bounded once more his foot got cut. He let out a scream of pain but none heard it. He searched for what had pricked him. A blade lay in the grasses. Beautiful it seemed to the boy. With its shining black blade and studded hilt it seemed fair, a blade as the Elf kings of old would use.
The boy lifted the blade from its place in the tall grasses.

Thringon came running up to Aden as the company camped. He bowed.
“Lord, we have found the body of the one whose blood has stained the river.” Aden went with Thringon and found a newly slain body. A young man it seemed, ready to set out on a long journey with a flask at his side and a pipe in his pocket.
Aden went back to camp after raising a mound over the body, but Thringon remained there still. He carefully brushed the blades of grass with his hand and placed his ear to the earth. Even in the moonlight his Elf eyes could see many things. He came to the banks of the river and brushed the grass once more. He saw prints, many prints; a leg, a rolling body, and, the last and least clear, the bent blades resembling a sword.

I have come upon a new idea for sanctuary. If I lift my sword high enough to slay myself, or if I throw myself upon it I would be saved, I would! But would I pass to the Halls of Mandos or cast into the Void with all thing evil? But am I evil? I deny it not that I kill but it is the sword that makes me kill, so am I at blame? Should I be at blame? Why do I blame myself, then, for all that I do? Because it is my hand that kills, that drives the blade forward? But it is the sword that pulls my hand! I do not know whether I am worthy of the Void, of Mandos, or if I am even worthy of death! How can I know for sure when I do not know if I should feel guilt of not? The sword kills it is the sword! But would the Valar forsake me if I was not evil? Am I evil?

[Anamatar IV]

Felagund inspected the bent blades of grass of the sword.
“We are dealing his a shorter than average sword. It is curved as Elves would make them but only slightly. The hilt is short, for one hand use. It fits perfectly in the hand. Judging by how the man was slain, the sword must be amazingly light.” Felagund was a smart man as well as valiant. “But that does not help us find him. This can hardly be reckoned as a clue. If we are to find him we must guess his movements, think where he would run, where kills would come easy…” Felagund trailed off. “There is a village nearby,” he stuttered, “and no weapons.”


The village was merry that day, going about their work. The sun was high and a slight breeze in the air. But suddenly a shadow fell over all hearts. The bright light of the sun was lessened for indeed the Darkness had come.
The Shadow walked silently across the cobble road. Children fell silent and rushed into home. Farmers stopped in their work and lifted their scythes high. None knew what to expect or if there was anything to expect.
A scream and one man fell headless. A shriek and two maidens dead. After a dozen or more deaths the village was in an uproar. The Shadow was taking by the many. Child, man, woman—it cared not. Blood streamed down the roads. Even indoors people were safe. A cowering family inside their hut all fell dead by blade.
Alas for the village people! For it seemed all would die. The Darkness brought fear, the Shadow brought Death. All was lost. None would escape. The rapture was come for these people.
But suddenly with great horns a company of riders appeared across the village farms. They drew their swords in unison and came down upon the village. The Shadow hesitated and wondered if more would come. But its fear ousted its lust for blood. The Shadow fled from the village.
But the Darkness lingered. The Darkness was sterner than the Shadow. He would not flee until he was faced with spears. He hoped to make the attackers flee. But even Darkness and Fear can be scared away by the might of Aden, Lord of Gondor and his company.

Why did I run? Why? I could have been saved, sent to Mandos, had stayed. But the Sword, the Master, it would not have me fall for it drinks blood by my hand. I feed it flesh. It would starve if I died. But if I fell and it went hand less it would just as soon ensnare a new keeper, one to torment more. Alas for the evil bestowed in this blade. Alas that my foot was pricked by it long ago! Alas for me and alas for they who I slew and will slay! Alas for the world being plagued by me.


“Mother, can’t I keep it?” The boy inquired about the beautiful sword he had found. He mother had scorned it and taken if from him.
“No! You are far too young to own a weapon. When you are older and ready for battle you shall have it but until then I will keep it.” A fire was sparked in the boy’s eyes.
“Give it to me,” he replied with a hiss. At that moment the boy leapt forth and stole the sword from his mother. Without a second thought he slew the woman and fled from his home. The sword rang quietly with laughter.

[Anamatar IV]

“Polonoto, why are you so quiet?” Thringon asked. The company had set up camp and the leaders sat by the fire.
“Why am I quiet?” Polonoto replied. “I am not quiet, I am dark. The Darkness has passed over me. My blade came too close to that Shadow as I swung and the black crept through me. I am afraid, friend. More afraid than my sword or the spears of an army could deliver me from.” All looked upon Polonoto in grief.
“Only by valiance does Polonoto the Great acquire fear,” Felagund spoke. “The strong will not succumb to fear lest their blade does first. Your blade hewed the Shadow. Its evil is embedded in your sword’s steel. Come.” Felagund rose and he and Polonoto stole away to the near river.
Moments later they came back but Polonoto was sword less. “He fed his sword to the river before he was fed to the evil.” Felagund then took a small bow and arrow from his pack and handed it to Polonoto. “The strong man fights with arrows instead of blades.”

The days were evil at this time. The world was plagued by a swift and silent killer and great companies of all the races were searching for it. The woodsmen seemed to be the only ones safe.
Their lives were merry and seldom did death come to them. Good food in plenty and much timber to trade helped them keep their civilizations up. Soon they would be a dominant force in the world but not yet. Now they were happy going on their way.
But a shadow passed over the hearts of the wood-folk this day. They tried to overcome their fear by working harder, felling more trees and herding more cattle. But all this was of no avail.
The Darkness had entrapped all. And one by one the Shadow slew. The people were killed swiftly and left the world not in agony.
Soon the woods-folk were all dead. Not a child or old hag to be spared. Neither dog nor sheep to be found with a head. The Shadow had had a feast and was glad.
A chill wind whistled over the trees.

The Master is pleased with me. I have given it hundreds of lives to feed on. It should give me a reward! Why has it not? Why can’t I get paid as I pay it? I will slay it! I will kill the Master! Feed it to the fires of Hell!
But I am being far too hasty. The Sword will punish me with torment of dark fires if I deserve it.
I feel as abandoned by the Valar as ever before now. My body is in pain for the long miles I trekked during my killing spree. But my mind is in greater pain. For each person I kill I feel their death upon my thoughts. I cannot hold much longer. Soon I will lose all abilities of thought. Even now I am corned to the deepest and darkest parts of my mind. Soon I will become a slave to the Sword’s every will. I will no longer think. I will be lost in darkness never to return. I cannot hold much longer! The power of the Sword is overwhelming. None can stand this! I cannot hold much longer! I am soon to be lost!

[Anamatar IV]

The boy ran for many miles without tire. He fled from all who would recognize him, though none knew him now. He was fearful of all, yet he was not seen in the flesh. He was seen as a shadow across the mind. When he would run past someone they would be fearful and cower.
But the boy was fearful, too. He was scared of his folk finding him. He slew all who he came across for fear that they would catch him and take his sword and stone him. He had seen the strong men die from being stoned. That was the punishment for murder in his home.
One day the boy came out of the forests to a river. That area seemed secluded and private. The boy dropped the sword and ran to the river bank. Then, for the first time since he was an infant, the boy cried. He wept. He wept for his mother, who he had unjustly slain. He wept for his people who had fallen to his cut.
The boy put his face in the soft river bank soil and tried to stop his sobs but he could not. His grief was too great and his guilt greater still. His tears flowed in streams to the river.
For days on end he cried, not heeding hunger or tire. But soon he was out of tears. He lifted his body from the ground soaked his sobs and he picked up his sword. He went out into the world with a mind for vengeance. But vengeance of what he knew not.

[Anamatar IV]

The sun beamed with warmth and a gently breeze blew across the cool blades of grass. The company of Aden trotted at leisure, enjoying the day. It was now three days since they had salvaged the village from death. They were many miles from the river stained with blood. The open plains were all that they saw. None felt dark or fearful. In fact, they sang. The mail clad knights with long spears and a sword at their side searching for a secretive murderer sang aloud.
“I love a day as this!” Aden called to his followers. Even the darkest of the company, such as Polonoto or Thringon, sang with clear voices. Felagund took out his harp and played soothing notes. The lands which that crossed enjoyed their coming greatly for this was the first happiness in years of trouble.
As the company finished the song of the victory of the Battle of the Pelannor Fields in the wars long ago darkness crept among them.
They stopped short very suddenly. All were fearful now. They drew their great swords and lifted their spears. As if in defense of a great army, they went back to back with their spears pointing outward.
A scream was suddenly heard and one man and one horse fell to the ground dead. The Shadow had come. All the company was in a fearful uproar now.
“Hold together!” Aden yelled. “Hold!” He swung vainly at the air with his sword, as were the others.
Suddenly, a clank of metal was heard. All eyes turned to Thringon as he held his sword aloft. He had struck the Shadow’s sword. The two blades held each other there. And then there he was. The old man who was slaying all. He appeared holding a black sword with a glistening hilt. A fire was in his eyes. Some perceived that the fires were not indeed his.
The old man and Thringon sparred once more and the sword of Thringon melted into dust. The old man stabbed his sword through Thringon’s armor quickly and disappeared before Polonoto could shoot him with an arrow.
“Thringon!” Polonoto cried as he rushed forth to his friend. The Shadow and Darkness was gone now and Thringon was lying on his back, blood gushing from his wound. “Thringon, dear friend, do not leave us now!” Thringon gasped and tried to stand. “You will not make it, friend. Lie here and walk the paths we dare not speak of in life.” Then turning to the sky Polonoto said: “Lord of Light take this soul to the heavens with thou. Let him go to Mandos and have Mandos give him pity. The Lord of Darkness whom thou hast spawned has taken his life. Thou wouldst be blind indeed if thou dost not let him to where the Elves go.” Tears were streaming down Polonoto’s face as the others. They turned to Thringon once more. He coughed and blood spewed from his mouth and then he was gone.

The company had raised a great mound above the Body of Thringon. They placed his spear atop the mound and hung his hilt off the head of the spear. Never did any forget Thringon the Valiant, Thringon the Brave, Thringon the Cloud Piercer and Darkness Cleaver. All names of these applied truly to this brave man whose life was cut short. Never were great songs sung of him for none remembered his deeds but in the heavens among the Valar and among Eru, the Great, he was esteemed a great of the world and given a place among the brightest stars of the world. No reward less would be suitable for a man so valiant. He alone pierced the Shadow and sparred with the Darkness. He alone sits with Eru in the heavens.

[Anamatar IV]

Why did I not kill them all? Those vile creatures. I should burn them one by one. I should return just to slay them. Just the slay the one who shot at me. I hate them. They should die. I have failed! I killed only two. I will go back. Take me to the fires, for thither I will go when I die!
No! I will not go back! I won’t! That man has clashed swords with my own and that is a fair deed. He did not deserve to be slain. Why did I want to go back? Are the Fires that close? Has the long reach of the Darkness come hither? I was almost lost. I do not know how to save myself, nor if I can. I will be lost soon, as I was now. I will drink the blood of the people who I slay. Soon. But not now. Not now, and for that I am glad. For the last fleeting moments of my sanity when I can think my own thoughts I am glad. I don’t wish to be a part of the sword, the blood-line. I do not wish for that and I will fight against becoming that.
Would that I had the will power to drop this accursed sword and I was given the chance to start life anew I would be happy and I would be saved. But it seems the Valar have forsaken me and the holy one in the heavens cares not. Thus I spoke long ago and to that I hold. But there is a flaw in that. One Vala, at least, has not forsaken me. Melkor, Lord of Darkness and the creator of pain keeps a close watch upon me. He alone gives me attention.
Many days I pray the Prophecy of Mandos cometh and the world be broken. I pray that the Valar will come forth from the heavens and with them the armies of those who had died. I pray that Manwe would give battle to the Black King, Melkor, and I pray that Turin Turambar would slay Melkor. I would be released from my bonds of evil and for some fleeting moments before all ended I would be truly saved. But the Second Prophecy of Mandos seems far and unlikely now. Though Melkor be locked in the Void and gives no danger to any he tortures me from his nothingness. I would have Melkor bring his wrath down upon the earth. With his great hammer, his Mace of the Underworld, Grond, I would have him smite the mountains and boil the seas. I would have him rule the world and its entire people if I could escape my torture for now. I do not deserve this. I do not deserve to feel the wrath of Melkor solely as Hurin did. I am not the Steadfast. I do not deserve this.

After two years of cruel slayings the boy was captured. He had not yet entered the world of shadow and was still visible but he was discrete as any.
The boy slept by the river side surrounded by the bodies of dead fishermen when armed men of the wood people bound him with a chain and carried him into his once home.
All the land was in a hush when the boy was carried through the woods. To think that such a young and innocent boy could level nearly half of the population in two years was impossible. The boy’s father was waiting outside his home with an austere face.
“Why hast thou turned against thy people? Why hast thou slain thy mother unjustly? It pains me to see my son carried to me in chains after killing hundreds. You are sentenced to be stoned, my son. You will lose your life for the lives of them of whom you have killed.” The boy looked up at his father with a look of disgust.
“It has been said that the folly of the woodsmen is their lack of detail!” With that the boy whipped out his sword of which his captors had neglected to find and cut his bindings. He slew his guards and stabbed his father. He turned to the rest of the people. The lighthearted fled and the strong threw their stones at him. But eventually all were slain but a few who had hidden themselves.
Something happened to the boy. He disappeared from all eyes. He was a shadow of the clouds and the darkness left behind the winds now. But something else happened. In the boy’s mind he heard a shrill and melodic laughter.
Many long years has it been since this boy entered the Shadow. He has aged greatly but is older than he seems. He is an old man now but he has defied death. The Sword repelled all strands of death. Three hundred years and probably more it has been since the boy got pricked by a hidden blade.

[goldmare]

Well, you could tighten up the form a bit, maybe not give as much information in the beginning until the readers understand what's going on, but later on in the story you will not need to do that. Also, make sure to show the distinction between the narrator talking to himself and the other parts of the story; you know, keep them in groups, double or triple space between the different views.

One thing confused me. Throughout the story, you constantly reaffirm that the killer is an old man. Why did you say in that one post that he was an Orc? Is he saying he is as bad as an Orc, or is it something else? Just wondering.

All in all, this story shows a lot of promise. It's intriguing from the very beginning and is sure to draw readers in. I look forward to reading more of it!

[Anamatar IV]

He was comparing himself to an Orc, a slave to a dark master, beaten and mutilated.

Actually, when I typed it all into Word I put

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

between each part....it just doesn't show up here.

Thank you for your advice!:D

[Anamatar IV]

A cloud now hung over Aden’s company. They had lost only two but the loss of Thringon was far greater.
“Listen!” Aden called out to the others. They all listened hard. Nothing was heard.
“What is it?” Polonoto rightly asked. Aden shook his head.
“I can hear it no longer. I thought I heard someone calling for help to us, calling to us by name. But it must have been a thought alone.” The company continued on though with much more attentive ears.

Help, Aden of Gondor! Help me Polonoto the Mighty! Bring me aid Felagund Wise! I repent for my slayings, help me!
Why? Why is life cruel unto those who do not deserve the malice? Why do the sinners walk merrily when it is the good that struggle with themselves? The murderers whistle in their jails and yet here I am, a free man, yet a prisoner of my mind, being tortured by the present, tortured by the past, and tortured by what the future holds.
The tides of the world have turned long against me. Wherever I turn whether it is to seek solitude or to seek relaxation I cannot escape myself. My shadow follows me wherever I go. Only when the Sun’s light is blocked and my shadow disappears though the greater shadows of the world come forth will my plague stop. But now the Sun still shines and I am in a world of damnation.

[Aglarthalion]

From what I have read so far, this work looks to be shaping together nicely, Anamatar. :D However, I have one suggestion for you: Put thoughts in italics, because it helps to make them easier to differentiate from the normal text. ;)

[Anamatar IV]

Gondor and its proud walls! Tall towers, flying banners, tall men in shining armor! Oh what a land it is. Never has evil conquered it and an evil never would. Minas Tirith alone stands a city strong and formidable against all enemies. Its tower of Ecthelion and its deep fountain give it a look of history and strength.
But today fell things are beheld in its high walls while its king is gone and the city is ruled by a steward.
The guards of the first gate fell dead with swift cuts. The Darkness and Shadow traveled fast. It ran from level to level, house to house, killing man, woman, warrior, and child. Soon it came to the White Tower of Ecthelion where the Steward abode. Four guards were at the door and each fell by blade.
There were few people to slay inside the tower for most of the king’s guard had gone with him. The steward sat in his chamber looking out upon his city, seeing the blood stained streets, and awaiting his own death. It came swiftly.
The evil fled from Minas Tirith and far from Gondor. A fell day it was in the proud city.

Polonoto came upon Aden in his tent one night. It was a clear, cold night and the wind howled.
“Should we not move on?” Polonoto asked. He tried to stop himself when he saw Aden crying, looking at what seemed to be a small brooch in his hand. The brooch was wonderfully crafted. It was shaped as an eagle in the form of a sword. The sword was sparkling with what seemed to be diamonds and rich silver. The hilt was of a subtle gold. The eyes of the eagle were deep red crystals set in the tip of the blade. The beak was of green and formed the point. Even in the dark, light bounced off this brooch.
“This was Thringon’s,” Aden mumbled slowly. “I would not have it buried lest fell things come to his mound.” After these words Aden stopped and closed his eyes. “The quest is in vain! We have failed utterly and completely. Evil times are come to this world! The might of Gondor can not repel it. I have looked upon this evil and despaired! I will return to Gondor. We will bar the gates and lock the doors. We will hold until the murderer comes and kills us one by one. There is no use wandering in the wild for a villain that will not be found. Come, we go now.” Aden got up slowly and clenched his brooch. He paced out of his tent with Polonoto behind him. His company mounted their horses and they were off to Minas Tirith once more.


They had escaped the evil long enough! It was their time to fall to my blade, to me! I have drunk their blood and it is sweet! Soon the world will be mine! None can stop me. I am Yagdrassil the Mighty! All who feel my bite will fall! I cut through flesh and blood and bone! I am my own master! I crafted myself in the ancient times and I live still today! Melkor is a coward! He can rot in the fires he has created for I am now come! I am Lord of all this land. I claim it unto myself!

Glorious was the day to be when Aden and his company returned unlooked for to Minas Tirith. But alas it would not be so today.
“Where have the guards got to?” Aden asked to the others when they reached the gates of Minas Tirith. They dismounted and pushed open the heavy doors. The sight they beheld caused them to gasp in disbelief.
Bodies were strewn about the ground, all cut by blade. The white roads were stained black with blood. Aden ran through the streets with the others behind him. They came to the fountain court. Blood tainted the once clear water. The guards of the tower were hunched over each other each missing a head.
Soon Aden came back from the top of the tower to the others. In his hands was the dead body of the steward of Gondor.
“The days will go ill for this murderer,” Aden said softly. He would have continued but for a yell from Felagund.
All turned to him but he was already dead. A blade had stuck in his back. But he was not the first dead. All of Aden’s company was dead. Polonoto alone remained. The Darkness and Shadow was come in unison. But Aden and Polonoto were defiant.
“Come ye evil and let me battle thee as men would!” Aden yelled as he swung at a seemingly random place in the air. A clank of metal was heard and suddenly the old man was there again but it was not he. He had a look of madness in him as he drove his sword forward. Aden deflected it easily. But Yagdrassil does not go without blood.
“Evil dost thou call me and thou call me it justly!” A hiss came from the blade as it seemed as the old man said this. He charged at Aden once more but the Lord of Gondor was too quick. He stabbed the old man in the chest as he ran. He fell to his knees and dropped his black sword.
Suddenly, the old man’s face looked tired and kind. He looked at his wound and at the sword lying idly at his side. He looked up at Aden who stood tall and proud.
“Thank you,” he whispered. And then he was gone.

At last I am saved! Praise to Aden and his swift hand! Aden Swift-handed I name him as I depart. I have been freed from the sword, freed from Yagdrassil. At last I am saved! The day has come and light has pierced the clouds! Praise to Eru and to the Valar whom I had cursed. Praise to the Star Queen for giving me light in this dark place! I am saved at last!


“Aden?” Polonoto asked. “What are you doing with his sword? Aden? No!”

[Anamatar IV]

Right then. The end hehe. I didn't really want to put the end in it though. I have this saved as a document so if you want to read it like that so you can see the changes in the stance clearer just ask me.:)

[goldmare]

Bravo! The old man is free!

Hmm...creepy.