Standing in the boat departing from the Mirk-eaves, embracing the vision of Loriéns glorious trees bathing in the golden light of the morning sun, I was unsure if I was leaving a home or setting out to find a new one.
I had glimpsed the darkest piece of the puzzle that is my past in the gray wetlands they now call the Drownholts. By a pool deep in the Drownholts, where the orchs have sacrificed for centuries, I felt the lingering presence of something truly evil. I was sure it was the creature that lured my beloved Mirnel to her death so many years ago. But I did not have any idea of what this creature was, or is. I was told there is a scholar in Caras Galadhon that knows much of the nocturnal ways of the orchs. So I set off.
A few days later, high among the flets of Caras Galadhon, I met with a hiril of great knowledge. An archivists of the great tree, she had access to accounts of the dark forces few have glimpsed. After listening to my tale she became horrified, but at the same time quite exited. She consulted an ancient book and told me that I may have come across a solution to an age old mystery. There are mentioning of the zovar gurz-ronk or "pool of creeping death" in many tales and many Mirkwood elves remember it, but none are from the time of the Greenwood. All accounts of the pool, and of the "spirit of the pool" start around the time that I left Mirkwood in my youth. The orchs claim that the pool was created by the spirit with a first killing they call the Fli-Vajaz-Zan. These words in black speech translates to "the sacrifice of the elf-maiden".
As my jaw dropped, the galladhrim scholar continued. She seemed quite certain that my Mirnel very well could be the elf maiden that was murdered by a malevolent spirit that came to the Greenwood as the great shadow fell over it. The spirit must have lingered in the woods, infested it with malice and prayed on the weaker creatures that resided there. As it grew stronger, it started to project images, illusions, into the minds of its pray. And one day, it was prepared for stronger beings. An illusion of a green sun-lit clearing and a clear pond, dear things we missed and longed for so much. And Mirnel was lured in, only to be devoured by the spirit. The first sacrifice.
It is quite possible that the transformation of that part of the forest into wetlands originates from this moment. At least this is when the pool with it's black, putrid water first appears and the orchs starts to worship it as a thing of power. The scholar also believed that with this first elven sacrifice, the spirit gained form. And what is worse, she was quite certain that she had a name for this spirit. A name for Mirnels murderer.
"Demafaer."
As she spoke the name, I shivered of hatred and of fear. And...it was as if I knew the name although I had never heard it before. Apparently, according to several sources, the dark shade Demafaer came from the Drownholts, but is now hidden deep within the tower of Sammath Gûl, whispering words to the powerful angmarim sorcerer Gorothúl. I now know what I am here to do. With all my being I wish nothing else then to go after this spirit, to carry my rage to Sammath Gûl and end this creature once and for all, to wipe it out of the history of Arda.
But I must brace myself, for I know I am still too weak. This foe is like nothing I have gone up against before. I need time. Time to grieve my beloved now that I know what happened to her. Time to prepare. Instead of following my first urge to rush headlong to battle I shall do the opposite, and go as far away as I can from the Drownholts and Sammath Gûl. The one place where I have found peace on my travels is lord Elronds land. Perhaps I shall return there and offer my service to the realm of Imladris, while I bide my time.
For if there is one thing my kind has, it is time.
