Meetings in Mirkwood
Anaran’s journey from Rivendell to Mirkwood, which should have lasted no more than four days, ended up lasted six days. This was because every day it poured with rain, causing landslides, and making it very difficult to see. Every time Anaran was positive that the heavens must have been wholly empty, they went and proved her wrong by raining longer and harder than ever.
Each day of the journey became rapidly harder, as she got higher in the mountains. Her hair hung about her face in dripping rat-tails, her wet clothes clung to her skin, and her cloak did nothing to keep out the cold. Weda, Anaran’s poor horse, was exhausted and anaran had to walk for long periods because the horse was so tired.
On the sixthe day, Anaran had nearly reached the end of the mountains. By tomorrow she will reach the shelter of Mirkwood. She carried on till sunset, by which time she was so weary that she was nearly falling off Weda. She hadn’t eaten since the day before, when her food had run out, even though she had been very careful with the amounts she ate, spreading it out as much as possible.
Anaran looked about her, searching for some form of shelter. There! There was a small area sheltered from the rain by large boulders, with a large ridge sticking out of the mountainside, serving as a sort of roof. She made her way over, nearly collapsing when she slid off Weda’s back. After tying Weda to a small bush struggling to survive in the harsh conditions, she sat down on the damp ground, pulling a blanket of her pack. Although it was damp, it would do to keep the cold out. Using a small rock as a pillow, she lay down and fell instantly asleep, oblivious to the raging storm.
Anaran looked about her. They were surrounded by hundreds of orcs, so many that they seemed to fill the entire world. She tried to look at the faces of her companions, but everytime she nearly caught a glimpse of one of their faces, they turned away. It was almost like they didn’t want her to see their faces. Anaran looked down at herself, and found to her surprise that she was wearing a well worn, slightly faded and raggedy dress. Around her waist was a large belt, off which hung a number of tools, pouches full of things, a dagger, and an empty scabbard. She realised that the sword was in her hand, covered in orc blood. The parts of the blade that were visible Anaran could see that pictures and elven runes were engraved into the metal of the sword.
She looked up again. Her loose hair was swirling about her head as if in a gale, but there wasn’t so much as a breath of fresh air. In fact there almost no movement anywhere at all. The orcs weren’t attacking, and her mysterious companions didn’t look as if they were about to jump into battle. It was as if everything had been frozen, like she had been taken out of time. A dark figure started to push thorugh the mass of orcs. It was making itself towards her. Although its face wasn’t visible, Anaran could sense its eyes apon her, could hear it drawing in air. as it came closer and closer. She wanted to turn and run, but she couldn’t. She was petrified. It spoke to her whispering her name and words of enchantment, “Anaaran,” It hissed. “Come, come clossser, Anaaran.” Anaran walked towards it, no matter what she did she couldn’t stop. The creature raised a hand to her face stroking her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, Anaran could see one of her companions stir hand look in her direction. Suddenly the creature slashed her cheek with its taon like claw. Anaran fell to her knees, feeling the blood pour out of her face. “NO!” yelled the one who had been watching them.