" TO THE STARS
THE MOON
PLEADED
STAY. "
In which the heirs of two broken kingdoms fight to restore hope to a world covered in the shadow and lead their people to glory, however bitter the outcome may be.
𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬...
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22. to hurt or heal «•« ━━━━
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* ✧ .°
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ third age ━━ year 3019
𓇻 misty mountains; khazad-dûm {moria}
*. ✦ °.
A THOUSAND WAR DRUMS ECHOED THROUGH THE ANCIENT MINES, DEAFENING AND DREADFUL AS THEIR PROMISE OF WAR FILLED THE HALLS. The sound was accompanied by the screeches and howls of many foul creatures. Their mere voices were enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck. Fear took a hold of them when another horn was blown and countless marching feet stomped through the dark.
A pale blue light flickered in the darkness of the tomb. With a frown she searched for the source, her eyes falling upon the Elvish blade of Frodo's sword. The light was a skillfully crafted warning of what was coming. Shrill cries rang out, calling each other to war. A sound clearly belonging to a race of terrifying monsters.
"Orcs!" Legolas exclaimed.
At the sound of his voice, the Fellowship finally got moving. Blades were drawn, glittering in both the pale light of Frodo's sword and the flames of their torches. Boromir rushed towards the Western Door to take a look at what was coming for them.
A strange whistling noise cut through the shrieks and drums and luckily, Boromir recognized it before she did. He moved away just in time. Two arrows pierced the door mere inches from where he'd just been standing. Breathing heavily, Boromir threw a look over his shoulder.
