[ringwrath]

#RINGWRATH independent portrayal of the witch-king of angmar from j.r.r. tolkien's the lord of the rings. book based with influences from the film adaptations, containing heavy personal development. over eighteen followers only.

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   KING OF ANGMAR LONG AGO, SORCERER, RINGWRAITH, LORD OF THE NAZGÛL. A SPEAR OF TERROR IN THE HAND OF SAURON, SHADOW OF DESPAIR.

[vitchking]

SETTING: T.A. 1409; during the invasion and destruction of Amon Sûl. King Arveleg I is slain, but the Witch-king fails to retrieve the Palantír. CHARACTERS: The Witch-king of Angmar, "Angaran"; Caragond, knight of Carn-Dûm; Urudzôr, soldier of Angmar and aspiring knight (Angmarrim); King Arveleg I of Arthedain (Arnorians).

It is easy to fight today. My blood burns beneath my skin and stains the fabric of my trousers, stinging and coagulating and drying in the few cuts I've sustained. I’ve slain thirty-five or so grown men— Grown, I think with derision as I clean the crimson off my sword, moreso old. Hardly of fighting age, so coddled by peace that they allow themselves to be slain so easily. I am not even twenty and I’ve got more victories than any of them combined, these bearded old men.

We enter the throne room in silence, following our King. The orcs stay back now that the battle is won, it’s only the footsteps of us men that reverberate through the great halls. How glorious he looks in his gleaming white armor, I think as I look upon him, tall and mighty as he strides calmly towards the Arnorian tyrant-Lords. I hate them. My kind had the Prince of Cardolan slain and I can’t say it’d be a pity if he kills this fool as well.

The Arnorian Lord scowls in what I think is fear, but he does not step back from my King, from Angaran. He has courage; I suppose he has one redeeming trait. Even the Arnorians wouldn’t follow a coward, at least I think so.

I stop when my King stops. To my surprise, he sheathes his sword and approaches the tyrant king calmly. I shift uneasily, wanting to step forward and protect my King should he be attacked. I glance around; the dismounted cavalry doesn’t step in to guard him.

I hear the flames outside roar, but my King’s sorcery keeps us safe inside.

If I were his knight I would protect him. It is all I’ve wanted to do since the day he took my mother and I in, gave us sanctuary when we fled from the north, and protected us within his walls. He says the Arnorians are a threat and I believe him. He has no reason to lie to us, not after so many victories.

My King speaks with the Arnorian Lord. I glance to Caragond, a knight of ten years with dark hair and a severe look. He is but thirty-something yet he’s already grey at the temples, battle-weary and serious in a manner I can’t imagine myself ever becoming.

“Arveleg,” he tells me the tyrant lord’s name quietly, knowing my question before I’ve even asked it. I nod in acknowledgement then redirect my eyes to the Arnorian who speaks calmly to my King. Caragond continues, sensing my nerves: “There is more fighting to be done later. Keep yourself calm now.”

I know what he thinks of me. He has a good heart, but Caragond is mislead despite his age and experience. He thinks me blinded by ambition, a young fool obsessed with proving himself to the King for some… privileges, I suppose. Favors. Special treatment for mother and for myself.

He’s wrong, though; the only privilege I would welcome is the privilege of serving my King and Lord.

I watch as my King speaks hushed words to the Arnorian. Something about a Palantír but I don’t know what that is. The Arnorian defiantly refuses him and I feel my blood boil. I want to kill him.

My King is quicker than me, though. As the fires burn this city to the ground outside the palace walls, the Arnorian tries to strike my King down with a dagger, but quicker than our knights or I can react, Angaran snatches the blade from the cowardly Arnorian and plunges it into his belly, and I can see his gleaming gauntlet twisting the knife. Good, I think, and I find myself hoping that he feels pain as he dies for daring to raise a hand against my King.

As Angaran turns to depart from the throne room and leaves the whining tyrant lord on the floor, writhing and gasping and bleeding like a stuck pig, I follow.

My King glances my way and, as if reading my thoughts; or perhaps the wishes in my heart for some praise or some form of acknowledgement for my fighting today… he stops for a moment, his great form towering over me. I am tall for my age, but even I must look up at him.

I suppose I might look like some wide-eyed little boy as I look up at him, met with the dark eyes of his iron mask. I hope that’s not how he sees me.

“You fought well today, young Urudzôr,” he tells me, his voice as noble as I’ve ever heard it, and I feel my heart swell. His gauntleted hand, underneath it the white glove stained red with the tyrant’s blood, rests on my shoulder for the briefest moment before he withdraws it and makes his leave, the others following behind him, and I know I must as well.

As I leave the empty halls, I feel myself smiling.

[ringwrath]

i am hollow ! and i will live ... forever + from @griefsung

Although the mind does not recall the life he lived, millennia ago when his heart still beat rhythmically like his kin and when the waters of Númenor's fountains were still clear and fresh, something in him thrums with familiarity each time the ancient elf speaks; it stings briefly deep in the vast emptiness of his armored chest.

It's an awful, unwelcome feeling; the knowledge that his body knows something his mind does not. Could his eyes, long since rotted past the point where he doesn't recall what color they were, have laid eyes on the infamous Kanafinwë, the kinslayer of Fëanor's line, murderer and killer of his kind? Could his blackened heart have heard the laments they were said to sing along the shores of this world?

Surely not, his mind says, And what care have I even if I had met him? What I was before does not matter.

"Is that such a curse to you, @griefsung?" He asks, his voice as hollow as Maglor's grief.

Ridiculous, he thinks.

His head cants to the side, the black helm atop his head gleaming when it catches the barest hint of light. "It is a gift from your Maker, yet you do not see it. Eternal life..." He trails off, as if wistfully; if that were even possible. "You have been granted something I had to fight to earn, Kinslayer. It is not long life that is your undoing; it is your lack of purpose. What have you to live for now? All your brothers are dead."

[ringwrath]

SURELY THERE WAS THE LORD OF THE NINE RIDERS RETURNED TO EARTH TO LEAD HIS GHASTLY GHOSTS TO BATTLE? here, yes here indeed was the haggard king whose cold hand had smitten down the ring-bearer with his deadly knife. [ . . . ] there was a pause, a dead silence. maybe it was the ring that called to the wraith-lord, and for a moment he was troubled, sensing some other power within his valley. this way and that turned the dark head helmed and crowned with fear, sweeping the shadows with its unseen eyes.

an independent portrayal of the witch-king of angmar from the lord of the rings by j.r.r. tolkien. by maya, 21+. 18+ followers only.

[ringwrath]

do you understand forgiveness ?

"Aye," the wraith answers without a flicker of a doubt. If one were to blink they would miss the glint of light from where an eye would peek out beneath the helm, but those eyes have long rotted away, leaving the sockets empty. Without them his stare is somehow harder.

His head raises in a manner one might call proud as he straightens, his stature reminiscent of the Sea-Lords of old, ancestors of the Northmen who once populated Arnor... Vyke's folk. Even if he weren't aware of the connection he would smell it on him: the blood of Númenor, stinking in its persistence, almost taunting him.

"I forgive. My Lord forgives. There is hardly any offense that is unforgivable," he says, "And you..."

He does not hate them, despite centuries of trying to exterminate them like vermin.

Deep in his chest where a heart would be, he respects the idea of a people who refuse to be stamped out, even despite his efforts which razed kingdoms to the ground and slaughtered men, women, and children alike. He recalls the smell of blood on the steel of his blade with a familiar sense of nostalgia.

Even this former Ranger has that air about him that is unmistakable despite the diluted blood. A black gauntlet reaches forward to Vyke, carrying no gesture of malice.

"What do you search forgiveness for? Tell me. I can help you."

[gaindragon-moved]

i tend to write my first impressions/what i want to include in a reply first in the notes app of my phone. @ringwrath please know this is what i put down for you < 3

[ringwrath]

“the laws of men mean little to me.”

What a curious young one he is, this dragonrider.

He knows his kind: Black Númenórians who hearkened to his Lord, who followed His word and aided Him. Still, the Witch-king's trust is hard to come by.

He is without his fell beast as he stands before Aemond One-eye who, despite his youth, has proved himself surprisingly competent. Competent enough that he's claimed such a large beast: Vhagar, his winged war-mount, ferocious and too colossal for even the largest pits that house the fell beasts. He imagines she could easily tear through all his fell beasts without so much as chipping a tooth. What death that she-dragon could rain on the remnants of Arnor...

"Yet you are a Man yourself," he muses aloud, the words softly muffled by the white-plated mask that hides his face.

The Witch-king keeps a polite, respectful distance. No use in trying to intimidate a useful ally, something in the white-haired boy's eye tells him he can't be so easily frightened into submission. He almost feels a flicker of respect at the thought.

He wants to ask about the eye.

"You must rest."

He continues, his tone even and calm. He does not put up such a front with these Targaryens as he does with the other Men he is allied with. Still, his words are careful. "We have no need of war until my soldiers are rested from the last siege. Your dragon will have her pick of our sheep as well as you of our mead and meat."

[vitchking]

SETTING: T.A. 1409; during the invasion and destruction of Amon Sûl. King Arveleg I is slain, but the Witch-king fails to retrieve the Palantír. CHARACTERS: The Witch-king of Angmar, "Angaran"; Caragond, knight of Carn-Dûm; Urudzôr, soldier of Angmar and aspiring knight (Angmarrim); King Arveleg I of Arthedain (Arnorians).

It is easy to fight today. My blood burns beneath my skin and stains the fabric of my trousers, stinging and coagulating and drying in the few cuts I've sustained. I’ve slain thirty-five or so grown men— Grown, I think with derision as I clean the crimson off my sword, moreso old. Hardly of fighting age, so coddled by peace that they allow themselves to be slain so easily. I am not even twenty and I’ve got more victories than any of them combined, these bearded old men.

We enter the throne room in silence, following our King. The orcs stay back now that the battle is won, it’s only the footsteps of us men that reverberate through the great halls. How glorious he looks in his gleaming white armor, I think as I look upon him, tall and mighty as he strides calmly towards the Arnorian tyrant-Lords. I hate them. My kind had the Prince of Cardolan slain and I can’t say it’d be a pity if he kills this fool as well.

The Arnorian Lord scowls in what I think is fear, but he does not step back from my King, from Angaran. He has courage; I suppose he has one redeeming trait. Even the Arnorians wouldn’t follow a coward, at least I think so.

I stop when my King stops. To my surprise, he sheathes his sword and approaches the tyrant king calmly. I shift uneasily, wanting to step forward and protect my King should he be attacked. I glance around; the dismounted cavalry doesn’t step in to guard him.

I hear the flames outside roar, but my King’s sorcery keeps us safe inside.

If I were his knight I would protect him. It is all I’ve wanted to do since the day he took my mother and I in, gave us sanctuary when we fled from the north, and protected us within his walls. He says the Arnorians are a threat and I believe him. He has no reason to lie to us, not after so many victories.

My King speaks with the Arnorian Lord. I glance to Caragond, a knight of ten years with dark hair and a severe look. He is but thirty-something yet he’s already grey at the temples, battle-weary and serious in a manner I can’t imagine myself ever becoming.

“Arveleg,” he tells me the tyrant lord’s name quietly, knowing my question before I’ve even asked it. I nod in acknowledgement then redirect my eyes to the Arnorian who speaks calmly to my King. Caragond continues, sensing my nerves: “There is more fighting to be done later. Keep yourself calm now.”

I know what he thinks of me. He has a good heart, but Caragond is mislead despite his age and experience. He thinks me blinded by ambition, a young fool obsessed with proving himself to the King for some… privileges, I suppose. Favors. Special treatment for mother and for myself.

He’s wrong, though; the only privilege I would welcome is the privilege of serving my King and Lord.

I watch as my King speaks hushed words to the Arnorian. Something about a Palantír but I don’t know what that is. The Arnorian defiantly refuses him and I feel my blood boil. I want to kill him.

My King is quicker than me, though. As the fires burn this city to the ground outside the palace walls, the Arnorian tries to strike my King down with a dagger, but quicker than our knights or I can react, Angaran snatches the blade from the cowardly Arnorian and plunges it into his belly, and I can see his gleaming gauntlet twisting the knife. Good, I think, and I find myself hoping that he feels pain as he dies for daring to raise a hand against my King.

As Angaran turns to depart from the throne room and leaves the whining tyrant lord on the floor, writhing and gasping and bleeding like a stuck pig, I follow.

My King glances my way and, as if reading my thoughts; or perhaps the wishes in my heart for some praise or some form of acknowledgement for my fighting today… he stops for a moment, his great form towering over me. I am tall for my age, but even I must look up at him.

I suppose I might look like some wide-eyed little boy as I look up at him, met with the dark eyes of his iron mask. I hope that’s not how he sees me.

“You fought well today, young Urudzôr,” he tells me, his voice as noble as I’ve ever heard it, and I feel my heart swell. His gauntleted hand, underneath it the white glove stained red with the tyrant’s blood, rests on my shoulder for the briefest moment before he withdraws it and makes his leave, the others following behind him, and I know I must as well.

As I leave the empty halls, I feel myself smiling.

[ringwrath]

i still have yet to come up for a sworn guard for the witch-king while he rules angmar even though this concept has been in my noggin for like. years atp

[ohisms]

↪ 𝑽𝑨𝑵 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 . ( a collection of sentence starters from the 2004 film . adjust phrasing as necessary . mature themes present . )

oh , [ name ] . it's just you .

where are you going to run , [ name ] ?

what are you saying ?

why do you think i brought you here ?

you said you believed in my work .

i would kill myself before helping in such a task .

you've been so kind to me , [ name ] .

you can't kill me , [ name ] .

so , you're the great [ name ] .

we all have our little problems .

let's make it your decision , shall we ?

i wish you a week in hell .

why don't you do something about it ?

this is all a test of faith .

i can curse all i want , dammit .

you . turn around .

strangers don't last long here .

the laws of men mean little to me .

i don't need your help .

you stay here . they're trying to kill me .

nice to see you too , [ name ] .

did i do something to you in a past life ?

i hope you do have a heart , [ name ] . because someday i'd like to drive a stake through it .

your reputation precedes you .

i am hollow ! and i will live ... forever .

please , say you will not try again .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

i was unprepared . it won't happen again .

do you understand forgiveness ?

i would rather die than help you .

don't be boring , everyone who says that always dies .

may he rest in peace .

how long has it been , 300 , 400 years ?

you don't remember , do you ?

what exactly is it i am to be remembering ?

it's no surprise you would know all about me .

we have such history , you and i .

have you ever wondered why you have such horrific nightmares ?

[ name ] , it's alright , i'm taking you home .

what , did you think we haven't tried everything before ?

no one knows how to kill [ name ] .

i could have used that information earlier .

would you like me to refresh your memory a little ?

allow me to ... reintroduce myself .

i think we've overstayed our welcome .

don't give me that look .

you were right . i'm sorry .

monster ? who's the monster here ? i have done nothing wrong !

look , there's still time .

you were right . i'm sorry .

do you have any family , [ name ] ?

if you value your lives , and the lives of your kin , you will kill me .

evil may have created it , may have left its mark on it , but evil does not rule it .

now you know why they call me a murderer .

oh my god ... you've been bitten .

so much trouble ... so much trouble .

now you will become that which you hunted so passionately . may others be as passionate in their hunting of you .

don't worry , god will forgive us .

how many commandments can we break in one day ?

oh my god , you should be terrified .

how does it feel to be a puppet on my string ?

neither of us has ever settled for half .

you make my skin crawl .

i'm not gonna like this , am i ?

one brief moment of pain , and we can be together forever .

you have no heartbeat .

you are nothing but damned bones , and damned souls .

well , that doesn't sound like a good thing .

we don't have a choice . just don't get killed .

you don't understand , it doesn't matter what happens to me .

god is not the only one that can create life .

you can't go until i say you can go , and i say you can go when you're dead !

you're supposed to die .

we are both part of the same great game , [ name ] , we just find ourselves on opposite sides of the board .

you are being used , [ name ] , as was i . but i escaped , so can you .

if you're going to kill someone , kill them . don't stand there talking about it .

all i want is life . the continuation of my kind .

some things are better left forgotten .

[ringwrath]

the bit in shadow of war where the witch-king is the only one of the nazgûl whose mind talion can't peer into, but he senses what he's trying to do, and says: "you cannot see inside me! nothing of my soul remains," with a sense of smugness and pride is like 80% of what inspired my more introspective portrayal of him

[ringwrath]

#he genuinely does feel pride at how he just does not exist as an entity beyond being a servant of sauron#loyal to the point of being a fanatic and a zealot#anything less [from him or from the other nazgûl] is a complete betrayal

[ringwrath]

hello

[ringwrath]

can i be fr

the detail of sauron adding his own blood into the nine rings is actually so hot

[ringwrath]

keeping up with hotd makes me think about how the witch-king interacts with his fell beast

[ringwrath]

also she's baby

[ringwrath]

keeping up with hotd makes me think about how the witch-king interacts with his fell beast

[walkpathe-arch]

hands convulse with the effort to keep his temper in check as remnants of human emotion traverse his body like gusts of desert wind,   vicious and hungry for blood.  the quill held between his fingers creaks,  ominous,  under the strain and durza allows it to drop onto the table,  none too gently.

''  i hate you,  ''   a wild throw from pale lips,  it lacks the flush of red that would have crept up his cheeks once.  the sorcerer means it not.  it is born out of puerile frustration and an ongoing battle with learning how to cooperate,  to exist in a group. despite his tendency to show his teeth and lash out, he is well aware that the wraith-lord far surpasses him in both knowledge and skill.   ''  stop being condescending and show me.  ''

[ringwrath]

Ignoring the temptation to instruct him to calm himself with the knowledge that this will only worsen his frustrations, the Black Captain merely lets a brow raise on his rotten, sunken face. His eyeless gaze lands upon his comrade with a patience he would rarely extend to anyone else.

"If hating me encourages you to excel and surpass me in spell-work," he begins calmly, soundlessly closing the book before him, "I welcome it."

His black-fingered hand reaches out, skeletal and emaciated, and takes hold of the dropped quill. His dark-clad form takes his place next to the wraith, trying to be helpful instead of commanding for once as he writes down the knowledge in question, his claw-like nails scratching the paper's surface every once in a while with the motion. "When you feel I am being condescending to you . . . And I confess, I may indeed be condescending and ill-tempered sometimes, yet it is not born out of malice or mockery. I only want you to learn and to grow your competence."

His tone is even, calm and patient as it only is with his brothers, his equals. The only ones who have some sort of place of belonging in his unlife . . . In his own way, he only wishes to help. "If you let yourself fall victim to ire so easily when I criticize you, how will you handle the pressure of serving our Lord? Anger is not your friend, I am."

[ringwrath]

.....i have drafts that r 2 years old