Of Sword and Steel by Voldy
The vast Lebethron trees that covered the western bank of the Anduin cast down a great darkness upon the greatest river of middle-earth. The running ripples danced and crashed magically against the bank, rising high up into the night sky to create a stunning water display miles wide. The vast lines of other various trees native to Gondor that spread along the river sat docilely in the steady breeze - spreading their branches as if to reach out for the ever glistening water that reflected the moonlight far into the distance. As midnight slowly approached, one could begin to make out the common star appearing in the night sky to look proudly down upon the magical and mystical land far below. But on this particular night, little stirred in the undergrowth.
As Erebon Dúill laid his head down upon the soft, leaf scattered, Gondorian ground, he could grasp little sleep. The occasional noise had made him clutch at his blade. One could take no chances in the wilderness. Up to now it had been a peaceful night, until a faint, slow building rustling came from behind his location. Clutching for his blade, Erebon began a slow walk through the bushes, hacking at the branches in his way. He yawned slowly - coming to a clearing he could make out a creature in the distance. Brushing back his golden locks Erebon saw a dark outline, very large, and it seemed to be eating. Faint munching noises echoed around the woodland. Whatever it was, he did not like it. Of all the creatures of Gondor, and of all his experience, Ranger Dúill retreated. If it wished for human flesh, I would be dead, Erebon thought to himself. His thoughts remained focus on the creature, as he drifted off to sleep.
Awakening to distant sounds of birds, Erebon smiled, lifting his head to the bright blue sky above. It was the most terrific day, and Erebon began making his way back to his encampment. You see, Mr. Dúill was a Gondor Ranger, the most cautious people of the east. Moving back through the brush, Erebon could make out faint twirls of smoke in the distance, from the direction of his fellow countrymen's camp. As he came to the clearing, Erebon was forced into a sudden crouch. He could make out screams, and the sound of flesh being ripped from bone, familiar sounds from such a profession. His hand moved towards the sheath of his sword, pulling it slowly, and silently, half way out. He moved his eyes through the leaves, attempting to make out anything he could. A faint whimper came from his lips, he saw corpses, many. Orcs. There was no mistaking their crooked shape. Amongst those were bodies of his fellow Rangers, tattered and half eaten. Erebon laid his head down, hoping not to be seen. He wished he could cover his ears, the sound of steel cutting through flesh ringed never endingly.
Suddenly, something moved to his side, a high pitched growling sound. A look of horror spread over Erebon's face. And then it was gone.