#dwarofwaw

[dwarofwaw]

Finally, 2025 of our Lord, I have drawn Dwar of Waw. Fourth of Nine.

[of-angmar]

A quickly sketchy addition to the Bad Guy Army Yearbook/Anmi's Sketch Diary: @dwarofwaw

[dwarofwaw]

The Lord of Dogs on the Hunt

The Black Rider crossed the road, thundrous was his horse's ironclad hooves. Unnatural was its warlike demeanour, eyes like hellfire kin to its master. Gloved fists held onto the reins. The hood showed nothing but the void to the men frozen like trees rooted, their boots defied legs that yearned to run. The shriek of absolute hatred so naked and raw that fear was the only answer.

His shriek made the hunting dogs, veteran of mannish and bestial prey, culled and turned upon their masters. Jaws tore at fingers and yanked upon quarters, commanded by a fear-drawn madness. A blade, pale and cruel, drew from scabbard thirsting to draw the blood of Arnor's homeless men.

Only for an arrow most high flew.

It was only by the Will of the Deciever did he veer aside, elvish point passing his black veil and head twisted to behold warriors radiant and eternal in their defiant. Elves of the Woods glided from tree and brush like prowling cats, more of their arrows flew and evil spells tore them splinter. Yet, they saw his face.

One of the Kings Nine, the haunting visage of a thickly-bearded man that have tasted many summers and winters with leathered skin scarred of wars long forgotten. Eyes emptiness of warmth, only the coals of devil's hatred upon the children sung.

Jaws screamed vengeance, commanding his steed for his bloodthirst is second to one greater commandment. They were only an obstacle.

The Witch-King's call tore through the groaning trees and crying birds. Dwar of Waw, Third of Nine, forced to retreat for the Bearer of the One was close. Black Rider and Black Steed thundered from whence they came, shrieking damnation upon mortal man and eternal elf. Their Age is neigh.

[burkhanlig]

Shadow ;

“A threat is nothing, it is like a child holding a blade to a soldier. You can bare your teeth and holler in hopes to bring fear to your foe.” The dark shadow clad of shrouded armour and a snarling masked-regalia glaring of fell light. Its voice the very offense of life itself, making the air groan and crackle like dying wood to a constant pressure. “It is the promise of your fangs baring down on their soft flesh and bones.’

The legends of mewling sheep that you have taken in the night. The cries of hunters lost in your woods. The absolute certainity that your anger shall fall upon them at a moment’s notice.”

“Then it is no longer a threat, it is instinct to fear and respect to the chain of the predator. It shall forever be like a shadow under your stride.”

        "To be a dead shadow you are quite poetic with your words" Margöz thought inside trying not to make any kind of grimace to show that he had not yet become accustomed to the presence (or to the voice) of that deity born of the darkest of the earthly abysses. His callused hands rested on the hilt of his sword as if missing the thick, coppery texture of the blood as he watched a dying sun that burned into flame to the greenest branch of the forest, like a hell pouncing on the last bastion of life.

--- "However, my mundane spirit can not stop seeing anger as a threat, my Lord Shadow, what will happen when there are no more sheep to take or hunters who will become prey? If I kill the boy who threatens the soldier with his sword... What would happen if the anger continues to accumulate and I have no reason to release it? Who will my fury fall on?”

@dwarofwaw

[easterlingwanderer]

@dwarofwaw

The man is humming as he works on something in wood outside the log cabin that is his and Khamul’s home now. At his feet, Egan, the Hound of Valinor Orome gave him, doze. 

It is the dog who smell the coming of their expected guest and he lifts his massive head, sniffing the air.

The man smiles and looks up, squinting at the shadow in the forest.

He is waiting for the other wraith who has gone against Sauron. After all, the enemy of his enemy is his friend.

[dwarofwaw]

Riding

Across the black earth of Mordor, forever scarred by the wrathful scorn of Mt. Doom, the rough pads of the bred beast ripped on Udun’s face. Short pelt black as ash and eyes burning of bewitched cull, the greatest of the Morgul Dogs ran almost equal to a Rohirrim horse with its muscles rolling in hard-pressed race. 

Its helmed rein pulled by its Master as his great cry ripped through the thick air. The shriek of death shrank all from his sight, he cared not. May the Uruk know who was superior. Let the Beasts born of the Master’s fell touch yield the Herald of Barks. His brothers and sisters will know his approach. 

His great wolf, appearing to be born of generations forged from the wargs of Waw and Gundabad interbred with the intricate weaves of the Waw Overlord’s dark magics, was perhaps the finest of her generation. She will be replaced by someone greater and so will it be evermore. On her shoulders, Dwar sat up tall to see the valley beyond. His robes that give him visible shape fluttered to the dark winds.

Beyond, the Wolim packs were barking and snapping at one another while their handlers were working to control them. None could control them but he. However, these weren’t the mot terrible of his servants. Nay, the Dog-Lord had many servants and they will come to his call in time.