Malkatoj tore after
Azaelia, sword in hand.
Azaelia, terrified, made it out of the village, and onto the rolling plains, hoping to escape the Werewolf that was surely pursuing her, and maybe make it back to civilization.
Such was not to be the case. Nightfall came, and although
Azaelia still eluded her, it was only a matter of time before
Malkatoj transformed, and had her faster, lupine form with which to pursue her. A lupine form with no tail.
And so it came to pass that the last, brave villager of Dol-in-Gaurhoth was felled by a Werewolf. Falling dead upon the tall, wavy grasses of Rhovannion, there was no one to see her die or to mark where she lay.
What befell the Werewolf
Malkatoj, none could say. It was assumed that she joined the forces of evil in Mordor or Angmar. When she came at last to her end, no one knows.
The final episode in the life of the cursed village of Dol-in-Gaurhoth came less than a month after
Formendacil's death, a fortnight after
Azaelia's slaying. A company of Gondorian Rangers, and an old man in grey came to wooden palisade, hoping to find shelter for the night, only to find the burned home of
Gurthang, the fresh graves, and the rope dangling off the great tree the villagers had used for hanging.
"What befell these people, Incánus?" asked the captain, bewildered. "You said that there were twenty people in this village, but verily, I see a good dozen graves, and there is not a sign that anyone lives here."
Incánus looked over the scene before them.
"I know not, Ingold," he replied. "But it was not a pestilence, else the last few bodies would remain."
"I'll have my men search the village," said Ingold. "Whatever befell them, it bodes ill."
Ingold and his men searched the village from top to bottom, and what they saw was disquieting, but what had happened remained uncertain, until they made camp in the village that night and Ingold fell asleep.
In his dreams, the figure of a tall Dúnadan of later middle age appeared to him, a bloodied sword in hand.
"I am
Formendacil," said he. "For my sake, the inhabitants of this town remained to confront the evil in their midst. For I was slain by Werewolves of Sauron- people in Wolvish form whom I had otherwise counted as friends. Now all the villagers have joined me in death. Sleep in peace, Man of Gondor, for the servants of evil will avoid this place."
The figure faded. The next morning, Ingold sought out Incánus, and told him of his dream.
"Dol-in-Gaurhoth," murmured Incánus. "The Hill of Werewolves. That is disquieting, indeed, for I had not thought that such servants of Sauron remained still."
"Can we hunt down these foul beasts?" asked Ingold.
"I think that some of them are dead already," said Incánus. "These villagers caught a couple of them. But no, I don't think we can hunt them. All we can do is watch, and wait. It is only a matter of time before another village suffers the legacy of TOL-IN-GAURHOTH."
~Finis~
~Michael A. Joosten - WW XVI Moderator~
I'll have my Moderator's Analysis and Comments up sometime over the weekend.