Preparing to Hunt
Feb. 25th, 2006 05:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stuntie_jedThe dark thing is fascinated by the possibilities for destruction in this world. He has learned that the small box depicts tales, some true, some not. But always there are many ways to cause death.
He has been acquiring knowledge of the ways of this world, in preparation for the hunt. The deaths of the weaklings in this society have been easily achieved, using only his natural abilities. But to kill the others, the ones with might, the ones his new lord opposes, that will require more strength than he has in this world, alone without his brothers.
The Númenórean, who he sensed weeks ago, must be found, and also the one who smells like a horselord and yet is not. There are others, he senses their presence on the edge of his mind, not clear enough yet for him to track.
The darkness goes back to the place where he sensed the gathering of power, for many relics of his time were there, and again, though he does not understand the contradiction, they were not the same. They seemed ancient, and yet they were not, though their makers had unintentionally tapped into the threads binding the worlds together and imbued the weapons with the magic of Arda. They would suffice for his needs.
But the place is guarded and he concludes that not all Men in this dead world are the fools his master takes them for. It is the magic of the machines, that these people call ‘technology’ and he does not know how to breach its walls. It is a simple matter to gain the place when the Sun is strong, he rides like a malediction or a geas in the back of the mind of the one whose body he uses, but he is too weak to act at those times.
So he watches carefully, the dark thing notes the procedures for entering the place until he is certain that he can do the same things when the enemy Sun has gone. It proves a simple matter to show the small card and enter. He hesitates, wanting to destroy the other weapons so they could not be used against him, but he fears them. He finds many things, Orc knives, Uruk-hai blades, small copies of the machines of his master’s war. There is so much about this world that he does not understand, and he knows he must before he makes his attempt to break the will of those who serve the Light.
So he ignores the machines and finds at last a cache of blades that speak to him. He grasps each hilt until one of them sings a song of hatred up his arm and he takes that one away with him.
Other weapons he lusts for, the only lust left to him after he became a shadow of a man. Those that he sees on the box, the ‘guns’ that fire small projectiles in rapid succession interest him. And those that cause widespread death and destruction make him quiver with longing. And there are some armaments that appear to be made of pure light, which astounds him, but he fears any tool of the Light. But he reasons that the instruments of war in this world may be more effective for defeating the people of this world, than those weapons of the old world.
Thus he seeks out others whose minds are made of darkness, learning their ways, hunting for the arms that he seeks. They discover that he is stronger than the worst of them and they fear him, the moreso because he makes no move to seize control of them and they do not understand him. They see a ravening beast looking out of his eyes and they seek to worship him, but they are flawed and too weak for his purposes. He kills one of them every so often, to keep in practice.
But the dark thing learns that the guns are not easy to find and the ‘bombs’ that fascinate him are more difficult still. He stays silent and hears whispers of secret ways that such things may be achieved.
The darkness remains vigilant and learns all that he can from the thieves and murderers.
Some nights the dark thing haunts the more respectable parts of the city, keeping quiet, learning how to avoid detection, speaking only rarely. He sense traces of the ones he seeks, sometimes, but their scent is overlaid with thousands of others in this crowded city and he wished he could shriek his frustration, but cunning compels his silence. Thus, he keeps moving, always searching, knowing that some day he will find a scent that is strong enough for him to follow.
And he gathers his tools, hording his power until the day when he can make the streets of this dead city run with the blood of the recently living.
He has been acquiring knowledge of the ways of this world, in preparation for the hunt. The deaths of the weaklings in this society have been easily achieved, using only his natural abilities. But to kill the others, the ones with might, the ones his new lord opposes, that will require more strength than he has in this world, alone without his brothers.
The Númenórean, who he sensed weeks ago, must be found, and also the one who smells like a horselord and yet is not. There are others, he senses their presence on the edge of his mind, not clear enough yet for him to track.
The darkness goes back to the place where he sensed the gathering of power, for many relics of his time were there, and again, though he does not understand the contradiction, they were not the same. They seemed ancient, and yet they were not, though their makers had unintentionally tapped into the threads binding the worlds together and imbued the weapons with the magic of Arda. They would suffice for his needs.
But the place is guarded and he concludes that not all Men in this dead world are the fools his master takes them for. It is the magic of the machines, that these people call ‘technology’ and he does not know how to breach its walls. It is a simple matter to gain the place when the Sun is strong, he rides like a malediction or a geas in the back of the mind of the one whose body he uses, but he is too weak to act at those times.
So he watches carefully, the dark thing notes the procedures for entering the place until he is certain that he can do the same things when the enemy Sun has gone. It proves a simple matter to show the small card and enter. He hesitates, wanting to destroy the other weapons so they could not be used against him, but he fears them. He finds many things, Orc knives, Uruk-hai blades, small copies of the machines of his master’s war. There is so much about this world that he does not understand, and he knows he must before he makes his attempt to break the will of those who serve the Light.
So he ignores the machines and finds at last a cache of blades that speak to him. He grasps each hilt until one of them sings a song of hatred up his arm and he takes that one away with him.
Other weapons he lusts for, the only lust left to him after he became a shadow of a man. Those that he sees on the box, the ‘guns’ that fire small projectiles in rapid succession interest him. And those that cause widespread death and destruction make him quiver with longing. And there are some armaments that appear to be made of pure light, which astounds him, but he fears any tool of the Light. But he reasons that the instruments of war in this world may be more effective for defeating the people of this world, than those weapons of the old world.
Thus he seeks out others whose minds are made of darkness, learning their ways, hunting for the arms that he seeks. They discover that he is stronger than the worst of them and they fear him, the moreso because he makes no move to seize control of them and they do not understand him. They see a ravening beast looking out of his eyes and they seek to worship him, but they are flawed and too weak for his purposes. He kills one of them every so often, to keep in practice.
But the dark thing learns that the guns are not easy to find and the ‘bombs’ that fascinate him are more difficult still. He stays silent and hears whispers of secret ways that such things may be achieved.
The darkness remains vigilant and learns all that he can from the thieves and murderers.
Some nights the dark thing haunts the more respectable parts of the city, keeping quiet, learning how to avoid detection, speaking only rarely. He sense traces of the ones he seeks, sometimes, but their scent is overlaid with thousands of others in this crowded city and he wished he could shriek his frustration, but cunning compels his silence. Thus, he keeps moving, always searching, knowing that some day he will find a scent that is strong enough for him to follow.
And he gathers his tools, hording his power until the day when he can make the streets of this dead city run with the blood of the recently living.
