[Nerindel]

Arato

Within the swell of growing darkness another shadow stalked, moving soundlessly between the great towering trees that crammed the valley’s lower slopes. Intent and filled with purpose it moved cautiously shadowing the creature as it lustfully advanced on a prey of it's own. A low earthy hum emanated in his mind, intricately, but subtly blending with the harmonies of the world to shadow his advance from this thing, this dangerous and evil thing! He could no longer in his bitterness name it, no it had forsaken that path long ago and could not turn back, the light of Illuvatar long forgotten, choked and smothered by the soul consuming seed of…. Melekor! Gah! That Name it burned acrid in his mind igniting an anger and hatred of ages past.

But this was not the corrupter no he had seen the dark one banish beyond the doors of night, been part of that very battle, Assailed by dark twisted defilements of his masters creations, orc, troll, dragon he slew them all, but not before one had taken a part of him too! His hand reminiscently traced the lines of the triple scar that marked his left cheek from just below the eye to below his right shoulder. The foolish easily corrupted, he snorted, determinedly suppressing the rage that threatened to boil over into heedless recklessness.

But no less dangerous! he sighed wearily, bending once more to study the marking of this things passage. Snow melted and grasses became dry and course in it’s wake, even the trees did not miss the malice of its ill content. Bark dry and brittle crumbled in his gloved hand, pine needles blanched, plighted by the poison of its passage. Blue eyes narrowed beneath the dark hood of his cloak, it was close he could feel it, sense its lust… its hunger!

Carefully he drew forth Mandur’mak, it’s dark surface would have made it near invisible in the darkness if not for the fine veins of silver, gold and even Mithril that ran through its polished surface, giving it an almost earthy look… like it had been drawn and moulded from the heart of some deep dark mountain.

As he drew close he was stopped by a sudden change in the subtle music of the world, he froze listening intently, recognising the subtle power being employed , his eyes narrowed as ahead he saw a soft light, in which two men… no not men though they wore that mantle, stood warding off this creatures attempt to drive fear into their souls. He grinned recognising the two strangers from the Green man and finally realising who and what they really were he stepped back. Watching and wondering what the creature would do once it realised it’s folly.

It will want to get stronger.. It will want to feast on those weaker than itself! The village! The Inn! he thought at once.

He had been in the stables of the green man that very morning, he had witnessed the shape shifters terrified return.

"Help me!" Wenda had muttered. "It's hunting me! It's coming! It's coming!"

He had know at once of what she spoke for he had not forgotten her recount the previous morning of her first encounter with this thing, in fact it was the very reason he had been in the stable enquiring after a horse. Fully intent to ride north to discover this thing for himself. He had intended to tell Mara of his departure, but the young shape shifters return had hastened his decision and he had left at once through the rear of the stable so as not to be seen. He had headed north through the forest then climbing into the lower hills of the mountain, he found a low shelf where he could see anything that entered the valley.

He had seen it come, or more over he had felt it within the hunkering almost lifeless form of one of the children of Illuvatar, Someone from the northern village Wenda had spoke of? he shuddered at the sight… at the defilement and then left his perch and had been following the creature ever since hoping to find some weakness that he could exploit.

But now realising that the village, The Green man, Wenda, Mara and the others were in danger he fully intended to place himself between them and this thing, so keeping to the shadows and employing the subtle tones that tied him to his surroundings masking his presence he moved to put himself between the creature and the village, rough oaken staff in one hand and Mandur’mak in the other he waited ready to strike.