Far into the east where mountains grow not and rivers run along countries wild and fair there lay an ancient realm. Isengard the name, and the white wizard was its possessor. Thus we judge him as an evil wizard somewhat like Sauron himself but no! you are deceived. He had once a kind heart which was not wrought out of stone. This story is of his daughter Riwen,before he had..eh em how should I say? turned to the ‘Dark Side’ muahaha. So we begin.
There she sat upon her silver chair. Black hair as eve and eyes of a dark emerald. Her lips pink as a child but she was not so. Her head bowed and hands clasped, lifting her brow she looked upon this face. There she saw herself. How it bore her to death to look upon her pale face, ever so pale an unnatural pale as if she was the moons offspring. ‘Ah’, frustrated she pulled her cheek skin back and stuck her tongue out creating a deformed look. Later then pulling her untamed hair, hence letting go feeling satisfied with the torture she generated with the engergy she had left in her thin arms.’Do I not own the looks of a living thing, for I look like a dead thing’. But Riwen did not know she was a dark beauty. She stood up and twirled around, he hair wipped across her face while she walked towards her dresser upon the black marbled floor. Scanning across all the garments she came to the realization she held none but the hue of black. She fumbled with her feet before she found an appropriate attire to wear. For it had come to winter as autumn had passed and with the comming the feral creatures of the wild became dormant. But still some lingered in the forest near Isenguard. She changed into, yes you guessed it, a black silk dress, covered by a black fur coat.
There came a knock on the door. ‘Enter if you dare’, she teased. The door squeacked in protest. There entered a croocked old lady. ‘My mistress’ , she bowed and continued ‘Will you need thy help? For I have been sent here from the master of the edifice.
Riwen sighed feeling sorry for the old mother. ‘Will you assist with my hair?, she pointed towards her head giving her a twisted look. ‘As you wish’, the old woman returned.
‘But you shall have to hurry for I am to leave’, she headed towards the chair and sat down handing her the mithril[/] brush. The old woman started to untangle her hair gently but quickly and braided it placing black pearls into it, once she had completed the plait.’Its perfect’, her eyes opened in satisfaction. ‘It is done’.
‘For your hard work’, she handed her a bag of gold.’I cannot accept this ma’lady’.
‘You will’, she said lightly and placed her hand over the wrinkled fingers and coiled it around the bag.’May it serve you well, I must be leaving may yor day be good old mother’, she strided out of the room leaving her alone with wonder and gratitude.