I thought I would share this short story I wrote a couple years ago. It's path of composition is a rather odd one. I play The Lord of the Rings Online, and there was once a collaborative roleplaying thread in the game's forums. Writers would take turns posting parts of the story from the viewpoint of their characters. I participated for a while, but the story progressed so slowly that virtually nothing happened in a year of writing, and eventually died due to inactivity. Anyway, a couple years ago I took the writings I had used in that story and edited out the other characters, changing the plot somewhat to accommodate that, and then wrote a bridge linking it to another short story I had written in the past. So it's really three separate small writings linked into one.
Disclaimer: although the main character bears my name, he is not necessarily representative of me. He was originally named Calengol in one of the fragments and Ertur in another, and when I combined the fragments I simply generalized the name to Ernildhir, because I like that name.
Corruption
It was a bright morning. The landscape would have been clear but for a single figure, mounted on a dark colored horse and cloaked in grey. There was a quiver, a strung longbow, and an ornate spear on his back. He bore a silver brooch shaped like a six-rayed star that clasped his cloak on his left shoulder.
He trotted along, scanning the area for any signs of passage. Something caught his eye; he had found what he sought. Dismounting, he examined the ground and found that it had been trodden by many men. At least he hoped they were only men. There was a clear trail left on the ground: fresh footprints were visible and the grass had been pushed down where they walked. He guessed there were nearly a dozen marching southeast.
After mounting his horse, the man began following the trail to wherever it might lead him. It was usually very easy to follow, but at times the terrain would grow rocky, forcing him to dismount and search for signs of passage. The beings he was tracking seemed to be traveling more or less in a straight line.
He had been following the trail for nearly three hours when he came upon something interesting. There was a body lying motionless on the ground, and the grass around it was red. He dismounted. Pushing the body face up with his boot, he found that it had a disfigured face. It was obviously an orc, though cruelly slain. He shifted his gaze.
The markings on the ground were also unique. It seemed a single horseman had approached the group from the south, for there were hoof prints meeting the trail. It was obvious the rider had spoken with the group, and then left them to continue traveling northward. Had the rider slain this orc? Why didn’t his companions fight to defend him? It was decided that he would continue tracking the small group rather than following the single rider.
It was now well past noon. The man stopped to rest his steed and refresh himself. While his horse grazed, he drank some water from a flask at his side. It was warm, but still refreshing. He untied a bag from the horse’s saddle and retrieved some dried meat and a biscuit. After he finished eating, he mounted his horse once again and continued following the trail as afternoon passed into evening.
As the sky darkened, the cloaked rider contemplated whether he should risk following the trail at night. Although it appeared to be a straight line, he might stray from the footprints if he could not clearly see them. However, if he allowed himself a full night’s sleep to continue when it was light again, the orcs would be very far away and they would have more time to raid a small farm or village. He could not take that chance.
The man allowed his horse a brief rest, and then began the long, starlit trek. It was a very uneventful trek. He often drowsed in the saddle and had to force himself to stay awake. He peered ahead at the dark terrain. Fortunately, the heavy footsteps of the orcs tore the ground and bent the grass such that their trail was easy to follow, even in the dark, as long as the rider could stay awake.
After many hours, the time of night’s waning was finally drawing near. The rider had passed into a thin forest some time before. He now saw something in the tracks that caused him to sit bolt upright. The group of orcs had split into two. Half of them went to the left, and half to the right. Both paths seemed to curve inwards. He was experienced enough to recognize this pattern. If his suspicions were correct, the orcs had silently formed a ring around the glade ahead; but for what purpose? They could have waylaid a group of travelers, who would have had little hope of survival, even if they were armed. If the orcs had slaughtered a group of people in the glade ahead, it was possible that they remained there for the night. Some might still be lurking in the darkness.
The man dismounted and advanced toward the glade with furtiveness that belied human capabilities. He moved with the wind, and merged with the night. Although orcs had eyes accustomed to darkness, he did not need to hasten from tree to tree, as a fleeting shadow. He was the darkness. He was the night. He would not be seen.
In time, the man entered the glade. Bodies were strewn about the ground. He came to the center and his eyes fell upon a small pile of burnt kindling, where a fire had once flourished. In that instant a change abruptly came over the world: it was enveloped in the twilight of dawn. The vast forest was blanketed in an argent sheen. With its sweet requiem, a lark heralded the new day and mourned the death of those who had perished in the night. The darkness was driven from the trees by the pale light and the threnody of dawn.
But then a new darkness arose, greater than the first, though of a different sort. It was not a visible darkness, but a malign presence which inspired an obdurate terror and gnawed the mind. The sound of slow, heavy hooves could be heard from the North, and as they drew nearer the sense of malice increased. The man silently removed his longbow from its place on his back, nocked an arrow, then stood perfectly still, trusting the shadows of dawn for concealment and awaiting this unseen menace. A moment later, he heard his own horse whinnying in terror as it bolted from its place outside the glade. The unknown enemy immediately gave chase: its own horse transitioning to a gallop. In a matter of seconds, the pursuer burst into the glade, filling the air with a chilling horror. The horse was of a deep black, yet not as deep as its rider, who seemed to be robed in night itself. The cloaked man released his arrow, which pierced deep into the horse’s side. Dying, it crashed to the ground with its rider, who loosed an otherworldly scream of paralytic dread. The robed figure slowly rose from the dust, perceiving that it was not alone. It drew a long sword from a sheathe at its side, then seemed to produce a deep sniffing sound, as if it were smelling the air. It advanced a little ways directly towards the cloaked one, then stopped and lowered its blade, speaking in a low and gelid voice.
“Ah. A Ranger of the North. Surrender thyself, or thine end will be one of dark suffering.†The Ranger could now discern the ominous figure by the twilight. It was robed all in black, and wore also a black hood under which could be seen no face, but only a dark void; its boots and gauntlets were of scaled metal. He had nocked another arrow and aimed it towards the shadowed being.
“Ne’er would I succumb to one such as thee, nor fall into the bewrayment of thy deceits. Get thee hence, thou thrall of the Enemy!†he deftly replied.
“What is thy name?†asked the dark one.
“I am Ernildhir of the Northern Dúnedain.†returned the Ranger.
Quoth the adumbral one, “Then, Ernildhir of the Northern Dúnedain, I will bear thee away to the Houses of Lamentation, beyond all healing, and thou shalt indeed face a slow torment.â€
The wraith glided towards Ernildhir with glinting blade; he let fly his arrow, yet it seemed to vanish upon the enemy to no avail. In an instant the blade fell. The bow was extended horizontally to deflect the attack and cloven in two by a keen metal. Ernildhir swiftly drew his own blade and parried another blow. He gained the ground behind him, standing with sword defiant. The wraith lunged, but its attack was deflected. The two figures engaged in a flurry of blows, a storm of blades, forming an elegant dance of withdrawals and advances, attacks and counterattacks. But even as the shade was faltering and the Ranger seemed to have it in his power, he felt an ailment upon him, and growing disoriented, his sword was knocked from his grasp by a flick of the dark one’s wrist. He then perceived a long knife wielded by the wraith’s left hand, which had been concealed in a fold of the black robe. It glowed with a pale light. Even as he looked upon it, its blade vanished in a vapor, and the hilt was let fall to the ground. He felt a trickle of blood drip from his chest, near unto his heart, and knew that he had been touched by a Morgul-knife: deadliest of the weapons of the Enemy. He looked into the deep vapidity of his opponent’s hood and was at last instilled with terror. As the wraith stood in a latent quietude with drawn sword at its side, Ernildhir fell to the ground and sank into the dark malignance which had seeped into his very heart and mind.
All was black. Alone sat Ernildhir, in an expanse of utter darkness. But a light approached. It was not a light of dawn, nor of stars or moon; it was an evil light: one of abhorrent flames that cast sable shadows. A great eye came forth, wreathed in flame, unabated in malice. Ever towards Ernildhir it moved, and there he sat, paralyzed by the very earth and sky that were themselves imbued with the utmost terror. It grew greater and closer: heralded by shadows, until at last it consumed him, or he consumed it. But ever present it remained, in his mind and thoughts, goading him to evil with torture of will and soul.
In an instant, stars appeared overhead, and flames danced about him. He was in the midst of a burning city. Screams of death filled the air. A host of evil appeared on the road, and even as the great eye, it marched towards him. At its head was a man, or a shadow of a man, upon a great horse. He was clad in black robes and bore a crescent sword. Forth he hastened until he came before Ernildhir, who now stood to meet this adversary. Ernildhir would have spoken, or fought, but another will contested with his own. It was an overwhelming power that stayed his body and thoughts, yet from his own thoughts it had come. Suddenly the shade raised his sword, preparing for a strike, and Ernildhir stood helpless, unable even to raise an arm to ward off the blow. But the blow did not come. The shade threw his sword before Ernildhir in contempt.
“The Eye,†he said, “Succumb to the Eye.â€
Ernildhir awoke. It was but a dream. Or was it indeed? For there he lay, upon the ground, and still the Eye was present in his mind, tormenting him. And the screams had not ceased. As he regained his sight he saw that he was in a prison tower, and was not bound. But across the room was a woman, tied to a pillar, and there also was an orc: tormenting her with a whip of many thongs. It was from her that the screams came. Then a great hatred came upon Ernildhir. The Eye. The Eye. It rent his mind, and consumed him with a madness. He stood, cast his glance upon the ground, and beheld the selfsame sword that was thrown at his feet in the dream. He took it without thought, and leapt upon the orc with fury, and so slew him. Yet even as he cut through the ropes that bound the woman, she fled from him in terror and came to a precipice of the tower, and there stumbled and fell.
He stood still in shock, astounded at his rage and her terror. A cold voice came, and laughed at him.
“I would deem thee a servant of the Enemy,†it said, “Thou thrall of hatred and wielder of terror. Already thou hast slain a woman.â€
He paid the voice no heed, and walked to the precipice, gazing upon the land.
“Come, what seest thou?†asked the voice.
Bidden by the Eye, Ernildhir answered. “A great field I see, and about it is strewn many unshapely flowers. They are a pale white and have a dim luminescence that lighteneth naught but themselves. They are hideous, and choke the land with any other thing that there striveth for life.â€
“Thou speakest truly,†the voice replied, “For nothing can stand against those pale flowers, and in there dominion naught else can flourish.â€
He struggled with his mind, and for a moment gained the mastery. “Yet once a garden flourished there, and great trees grew,†said Ernildhir, “Grass sprang up and true flowers bloomed. Men tended them, and the sun and rain gave them sustenance and color.â€
“Nay!†again the voice laughed, and the sound of it sapped the very will from his body; as the touch of ice saps the warmth from one’s skin. “For did not the sun and rain also give life to the weeds, that would enshroud and consume all else if not for the gardening fools? Nay, all such life is vain: dependent upon others for sustenance. See, even now, a dark cloud covereth this land and rain hath long forsaken it. Yet still the pale flowers control the field, and all flee before their terror. They need no sustenance, having forsaken the light. In shadow lies their strength: a strength against which none can prevail. Such can be thy dominion, if thou wilt but hearken to the darkness. Forsake now thy mortal bonds, succumb to the Eye, and thou shalt be even as the pale flowers. No more wouldest thou need food or drink, nor wouldest thou heed the weapons of mortals; thou wouldest be immortal, even as I. Indeed, now thou hast need of immortality!â€
A shadow sprang upon Ernildhir, and bearing a pale sword, it smote him across the chest. He fell to the ground, and as he looked upon his new wound, he saw that his green attire was gone. He was robed in shadows, the same robes of the wraith of his dream, and still he clasped the sword. Its blade was long, forming the shape of a crescent moon; about it were graven many runes, and upon its hilt were set dark jewels.
“No… no…†he whispered.
“Succumb to the Eye!†demanded the voice. “Forsake thy mortal body!â€
The Eye filled his mind and being, all life faded, and he knew no more.
and hobbit stuff 
keep 'em coming!
