LOTR: THE SIXTH AGE

This is my adapted version of a story-telling RPG done by me and my friends. It takes place long after the War of the Ring in the Sixth Age. Please keep the following in mind:

1. This is my very first fanfic.
2. Elves are immortal.
3. Wizards are immortal.
4. I'm not going very far into the history. So please don't question it..

Ready? Enjoy!

--Chapter 1--

FORODWAITH, NORTH OF MIRKWOOD

The Half-Elven teenager gazed nervously towards the horizon. Nothing could be seen beyond this cold, forbidding wasteland. Naengwen turned to his companions. There was Ben, his youthful father, and a legendary wizard's apprentice. Then there was Tilion, the wise colleague of Ben, a native of Rhun. And there was Pelennor, his older sister. All four of them were students of the Istari, tireless exploiters of spells and lore.

Naengwen felt that magic was pointless and weak. It hindered his movements, and was highly demanding of his energy. He felt much more comfortable in the Warriors' Hall, where he practiced swordplay and marksmanship. He loved the grip of the blade handle and the wooden smell of the bow. "Someday," he thought, "I shall forsake my staff and robes for a bow of my own." He remembered the bow he was carrying. It once belonged to his mother, now a Warden of Mirkwood, when she had used it during the War of the Ring. He is immediately reminded of home, which is still miles away.

Then there were the three strangers. Huge statures, rough skin, and featureless masks. They were from another land, perhaps from another world. Seeking aid from the Wood Elves to fight against the dreaded Terror of the North, they said. Naengwen didn't trust them. He wondered what might be hiding behind those surprisingly intimidating masks.

A distant rumbling abruptly broke the cold silence. It grew increasingly louder, as though something was approaching them. The earth began to tremble. Suddenly, a huge serpent-like creature burst from the ground, knocking one of the masked strangers flat. It is a Wyrm, one of the dreadful, flightless subterranean cousins of the Dragons!

The Wyrm appeared to be grinning, staring directly at Naengwen. With a warrior's instinct, he notched an arrow to the bow and let it fly. The projectile feebly bounced off the creature's massive body. Ben came to the rescue, raising his hand and uttering the terrible words of Extreme Sarcasm. The shockwaves reverberated through the air, shattering the ground below. Tilion, the master of languages, used his staff to warp the sound into an extremely sarcastic-sounding dragon roar (although I myself have no idea how that may sound). Enraged, the Wyrm dove at the wizards, narrowly missing them as they sidestepped, and burrowed into the earth once more. Again, Ben took action. A thick stream of frost spurted from his wand, effectively creating a layer of ice and temporarily trapping the Wyrm.

Naengwen's pointed ears twitched as he heard the Wyrm's head ramming against the ice. He carefully took a step towards the creature, when it suddenly burst from the earth again, elevating him from the ground with its head. Naengwen was swept off his feet, and he latched tightly onto the creature's head. He let go of the bow, and drew his sword as the Wyrm sickeningly shook its head from side to side. He struggled to drive the blade into the creature's head. A sharp gust of wind from Pelennor's staff distracted the Wyrm from diving into the ground. He pushed his blade downward into the creature's skull, and felt a jolt of pain as the thick bone resisted the blade's entry. He pulled it out as the beast threw its head back, spurting out flames and howling in pain. Foul Wyrm blood splattered all over him as he drove the blade in again, twisting the handle as it pierced the brain.

Naengwen's fall was broken by the Wyrm's body. A cheer broke out from his fellow travelers as he climed down to the ground. The three strangers, armed with hunting knives, hurried over to the beast's humongous carcass, while the others crowded around to congratulate him. Pelennor gave him a friendly slap on the back, while Ben helped to wipe off the mess of blood. He winced, as he had sprained his arm in his attempt to pierce the Wyrm's skull. Nonetheless, overwhelming pride swelled in his chest.

Naengwen slept well that night. Resting on a sled beside him was his trophy, the Wyrm's skull. "Mother will be so proud when we get back..."

--End of Chapter 1--

I will be going on vacation soon, so I won't be posting any more chapters for a few weeks. Constructive criticism and feedback is apreciated!

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