Forgotten

Lord of the Rings: Forgotten

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Year 3018 of the Third Age, November 8 in Middle Earth.

Losmir yawned as he rose from his blanket. The bright sun peeked through the clouds above Hollin. Ararien rose as well and the elvish horse walked over to the wizard and nudged him with his nose.

Losmir smiled and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a bright red apple and holding it in his palm. The elvish horse took it gratefully.

Yawning as he stood, the wizard snapped his fingers and the ice walls he put up as a security measure vanished, welcoming the morning sun more into the deep hollow shrouded by great bushes of holly.

Losmir whistled as he surveyed the area. “This is...”

The wizard withdrew a map from his pocket and studied the area in the Misty Mountains.

“Hollin, near the Red Horn Gate. Good, no crebain...”

The wizard put the map back into his pocket and glanced at the mountains. A black cloud of crebain approached him.

“Oh for the love of Eru, when you mention them, they’re here.” He muttered angrily and turned to Ararien. The wizard gave a high pitched whistle as the horse dove into the brush and the wizard hid in a rock nook.

The crebain swooped so low that the wizard could see their eyes. Once the crebain were far enough, the wizard scrambled out of the nook and dusted himself off, muttering angrily. He gave a high pitched whistle again and Ararien scrambled out of the brush. The wizard picked up a large boulder and put it in the middle of the clearing and began carving a message in elvish script with his sword which meant:


Red Horn being watched, stupid crebain had to come.
Losmir

Once he finished, the wizard rubbed his hands and saddled Ararien up and began to move towards the West Gate of Moria.

Year 3018 of the Third Age, November 10 in Middle Earth.


Following the mountains, Losmir began to walk southwards. The mounted wizard wandered over the barren country of red stones. There was no sign of water everywhere or even the sound of it. There was no sign of anything living in the area. Climbing up a knoll, the ever ready rider and a bit tired elvish mount the two saw a deep and narrow channel. It was empty and silent, and hardly a trickle of water ran over the stones of its bed. But on the near side there was a path, much broken and decayed. It wound its way among the ruined walls and paving stones of an ancient highroad.

Smiling, the wizard brought out the map and nodded to himself.

“We’re going the right way through. We rest here.”

Losmir leapt off the saddle and began to set up camp.

Losmir set up several ice walls around them as he unrolled his blanket and lay down on it. He closed his eyes and slept.

He awoke to the panicked neighing of Ararien. The wizard scrambled up as he tried to analyze the situation. Yellow eyes peered at him from the darkness and howls pierced the air as several slams were heard on his barricade.

“Wargs...” He muttered, standing up and going into casting position.

* He stood up still and concentrated, emitting a casting aura with the color of Yellow.

((*When a Midgard Wizard casts a spell, he first stands still and then targets his enemy. He then emits a casting aura, a large shaft of light with colors varying from blue, orange or yellow. The casting aura colors depend on the type of Elemental Spell. Ice is blue, Fire Spells are Orange and Lightning is Yellow. Midgard Wizards can cast spells even without a staff. However, this decreases their spells potency. Also, this casting aura can be seen from far away. The more potent the spell, the bigger casting aura.))

“Thunder...”

Large black clouds gathered threateningly over the wargs.

“Storm!”

Electricity surged around the wizard as the thunderbolts began to slam into the wargs directly, shocking them until they died.

Drifting out of concentration, he gave a sigh. Ararien had calmed somewhat when the wargs were being shot by thunder. The elvish horse looked at him worriedly and Losmir responded by giving it a rub behind the ears, which Ararien took gladly.


Year 3018 of the Third Age, November 10 in Middle Earth, In the House of Elrond.

Gandalf looked outside the window opening to a great view of the Misty Mountains with Frodo, enjoying the breeze drifting through. The hobbit had sufficiently recovered from his ordeal and was enjoying a few well earned comforts.

Quite suddenly, a shaft of yellow light erupted from somewhere near the Misty Mountains.

Frodo Baggins yelped as Gandalf stared at the shaft of light, where dark looking clouds gathered.

Quite suddenly, it began to drop thunderbolts. But there was no rain. Gandalf nodded.

“Frodo?”

Frodo looked at Gandalf, still afraid of the shaft.

“Frodo. That was Losmir’s magic.” Gandalf murmured. “It’s called Thunder Storm.”

Shaking, Frodo stood up and stared at the shaft, which was quickly fading.

“He’s still alive then?”

Gandalf smiled. “Aye.”

“With that kind of spell, he could take on Sauron on his own!” Frodo murmured, staring at the area where the shaft was.

“With that spell? No Frodo. He can take on Sauron on his own. But that is not to be.” Gandalf replied, and then turned to the hobbit.

“His spells are most powerful Frodo. He can make snowstorms where there are none. He can make white fire and meteors out of the sky. He can make fires spring from the ground. One of his most powerful spells is one they call ‘Lord of Vermillion’.”

Frodo stared at Gandalf in awe.


Year 3018 of the Third Age, November 12 in Middle Earth, Night.


Losmir stood before the West Gate of Moria, looking at the seemingly innocent slab of mountain.

Stepping closer, he felt the wall, and felt the inscriptions.

“This is Ithildin. It reflects starlight and moonlight.” He muttered, and then turned at the moon, which suddenly came out of its cloud cloak.

“Good. Alrighty...” He muttered, turning to the door, which began to shine.

“The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria, Speak Friend and Enter. I, Narvi made them; Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.”

Losmir looked at the door for a moment, and then sighed.

“How the hell am I opening this...?”


Year 3018 of the Third Age, November 12 in Middle Earth, Night.


“Open Sesame.”

The doors did not move.

“Alakazam.”

The doors did not move.

“Mazel Tov, Open up.”

The doors did not move.

“Magic unlock.”

The doors did not move.

“Abra Kadabra”

The doors did not move.

“Open.”

The doors did not move.

“Edro!”

((Edro – Open))

“Bah, it’s useless. Damn door.” Losmir shook a fist at it.

Sighing, Losmir sat down it front of it and muttered a few curse words under his breath.

He stared at the inscription for a long time.

“Of course! Mellon!”

((Mellon – Friend))

The doors opened.

The wizard sighed. “What a weird password. Too simple.” He turned to Ararien. “Time to go home.” He said softly as the elvish horse understood. Losmir took all the supplies and removed the leather items on the horse. He then gave its ear one more rub, and then sent the horse away.

He sighed, and then turned. But a small pan fell from the supplies and hit the water.

The Watcher in the Water stirred.

Losmir turned and ducked just in time to avoid the tentacle racing for his face.

Alarmed, he set the supplies down and yanked from one bag a small clip.

He then stood still as another shaft of yellow erupted from his feet; this shaft was bigger and brighter.

“Jupitel...”

A ball of lightning and thunder suddenly appeared on top of the Watcher, who was at the moment, blinded by the brightness.

“Thunder!”

The ball of white lightning and thunder descended on the Watcher. Once it hit, it began to electrocute the Watcher mercilessly. And only when Losmir picked his supplies up and ran safely inside Moria, the ball stopped shocking the Watcher and instead stood guard on the door. As if daring the poor Kraken to try and come. Fortunately, the Kraken retreated, deciding to sleep off the wounds and the smell of Fried Calamari. The ball of lightning and thunder closed the door, and then vanished.