#asknazgul7

[askrossiel]

∏

My dear Seven–

It is to you that I write this, as I am certain Poppy will take the news better coming from you than from me.  While I am loath to depart without making proper farewells, my condition has worsened too swiftly to remain on these shores.  Already, I am afraid my body may not last me the ship’s journey.  You understand, do you not?

Perhaps we shall meet again in the remaking of the World.  Until then, take care of her for me.  Ever your friend,Rossiel

[kingofthegreenwood]

I have old threads pending for the following people;

goldengreenleaf

Elenial

Ask-nazgul #7

legolasmyrkvidr

thewoodlandking

If you would like to continue these threads please contact me.

[the-iron-crown]

Poesy, please?

FIRST- an observation about Ren

The Cartographer fell first

His words to Sauron were rehearsed

His will untouched, he was unbroken

Save for a pirate's tragic token

And since for us no sort of numerization

Is an official form of identification

(Except in the the sense of recalling the order in which we remember our falling)

Since Ren was first among the Nine

To cross over to Sauron's line

Though I am First among the wraiths, if someone were to list them,

Ren would be Nazgul #1 by Seven's system

[uvatha]

Inspirational Mun Award! This award is given to muns that spark inspiration for everything from conversations to pictures! To receive this award more than once means you must be extremely inspiring! But I ask that you keep the inspiration going by giving this award to at least five other muns. Nothing bad will happen if you don't but it's fun to brighten another's day right?

Awww, thanks Seven! Right back at you, you know! <3 <3

[uvatha]

((If any other Nazgul brethren want banners made up, lemme know! I'm having fun creating them. Just drop me an ask/fanmail with some idea of the type of symbols/images you'd want and I can pull something together!

[findaratoldyouso]

I seemed to have missed some new arrivals in my absence.

My warmest welcomes to my youngest brother and my lord uncle King Thingol.

But I can give no welcome to any servant of Sauron.

[uvatha]

Eighth-note symbol. I'm sorry if it's very late!

"Calamity Song," The Decemberists

When you’ve receded into loam And they’re picking at your bones We’ll come home

Quiet now, will we gather to conjure the rain down? Will we now build a civilization below ground?

—————————————-

Faceless, anonymous, identical beneath black robes and deep cowls were the Nine. Or so outsiders saw them. Unclad, they were invisible to all but the Eye which sees all things that move within the land of shadow and ash…all but the Eye, and each other.

It could not be said, exactly, that the Nazgul were friends, nor yet family, nor quite comrades. The relationship between them borrowed from all of these things, and then took a step further and deeper and stranger. None but the Nine could know what it was to be enslaved to His will, to do His bidding with slavish eagerness even while a tiny voice somewhere deep in the caverns within screamed out in horror. None but the Nine could know what it was to lose one’s self beneath the heavy shadow cast by His gauntleted hand and then, suddenly, to come back and to find oneself standing with gore-spattered fingers and no memory of whose blood it might be.

But when the Master did not need them, when His Eye turned elsewhere, the Nine were, for the brief time, returned to their own minds and left to their own devices. Left to wander Minas Morgul, a place which was as much tomb as it was home, but almost comforting in its familiarity. Then, they were almost people, rather than monsters. Almost free, rather than puppets. Almost.

At these times, Uvatha the Silent, Crow-King and Beastmaster, often left behind the all-enshrouding black of his robes and the heavy clanking iron of his gauntlets and greaves, moving through the rotting fortress unclad and invisible to the eyes of the orcs and the Easterlings who served as mortal servants to the same Master. He had no desire to be seen, no desire to see in their eyes the creeping, shuddering fear his black presence evoked. Those he passed felt it all the same, of course, for such was their curse. The Black Breath, some named it, a chill aura ironically strongest when the Nine were otherwise imperceptible. But at least unclad he did not have to meet their eyes.

Sometimes as he slipped invisibly through the endless labyrinthine corridors, the Beastmaster remembered a time before all of this, when he had walked other, brighter halls pierced with windows that let in the sun and the smell of rain on stone. When he had been a man, and a king. But mostly he just walked, pacing aimlessly and restlessly like a caged lion, or wolf.

And sometimes as he walked, the others would join him, cloaked or not, in ones and twos. Never all, never the Nine walkers together. They were a pack, of sorts, but their attachments were limited. Murazor stayed with his pallid, dripping orchids or high in the highest tower. Ji Indur and Ren spent the time in each other’s rooms, and arms. Khamul spoke to few at the best of times, and Hôarmûrath was too crazed and too cracked to do much but sing nonsense songs to himself in his rooms. Adunaphel joined him often, and Akhorahil.

But by far his most constant companion as he drifted was the seventh of the Nine, Dwar-called-Dinenfaer, the meekest and somehow most soothing of them all. Uvatha would move down the hallways, passing at slow intervals the chambers allotted each ringbearer.

Almost without fail, he would look up from his daze to find that somewhere, somewhen, he had acquired a shadow, lean and tentative, wringing his hands and murmuring endlessly and so quietly none but a wraith might hear the words. Uvatha never responded; it was not conversation either craved, but simply to feel the tiniest bit less alone.

[legolasoflasgalen]

Nazgul 7

There it was again! A coldness in the air, a ragged breath. Legolas shivered and pressed himself against the trunk of the oak, closing his eyes. A nazgul. It had to be. He recognized the dark presence that had followed their steps on their fateful journey towards Mordor. Even though the darkness had faded a little, its presence was still very unpleasant.

Taking in one deep breath, Legolas pulled the string of his bow back and released the arrow. The projectile neatly pierced a piece of clothing and pinned the shadow to the tree. Swiftly, the prince laid another arrow on his bow and aimed.