Iron shod hooves clatter across the worn and ill kept road. A tall figure enrobed in dark steel armour with gold inlays sat astride a powerful black horse. A blood red cloak wrapped about the man's shoulders and a hood pulled up over his head. He thunders through a Hillman village without even slowing down. The villagers cry out and dive out of his way, knowing better than to curse at him or yell at him.
The man slows down and stops outside their chieftain's tent. The beast chomps at it's bit and tosses it's head, pacing and pawing at the ground, quivering under it's relentless and cruel master. The man snarls out, "Zarnin, show yourself."
The chieftain quickly steps out of his tent, cautiously saying, "Yes, Lord Bloodcloak..." Zarnin's wife lingered back with their children within the tent, fear in their eyes, hand resting on her belly.
Nimraph leaned down closer to the man, "Where are those crops?" His voice was cold and demanding.
Zarnin closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his resolve, "I... we lost them, my Lord. The landslide took out half our fields. We... We barely have enough to eat ourselves to be able to grow more! Please, my lord, have mercy!"
Nimraph leaned back, a cruelly amused smirk curled his lips. He shakes his head slowly, "Look at you. Listen to yourself. Grovelling at my feet, begging for my mercy. How pathetic. There is no room for pathetic in Angmar." He rests his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Zarnin leapt forward, "My Lord! We will triple the crops we owe you, to make up for the losses!" A desperate note was in his voice. He was doing all that he could to save his wife, his people, and his unborn child from their Lord's cruel hand.
"Enough! Get back, whelp." Nimraph spat out. Zarnin shrank back, fear showing plainly on his face. With the hiss of steel, Nimraph drew his sword in one swift movement. He lofts his sword, raising his voice to be heard over the entire village, "Let me show you what happens to those who defy the Witch King and his Lords." Without hesitation, he takes off the man's head in one swift strike, his head and body hitting the ground in sickening unison.
Silence fell over the village except for a Zarnin's wife shrieking and wailing at her husband's demise.
Nimraph wipes off his blade on his cloak, eyeing the woman, "Take her to the dungeons, her shrieking is annoying me." Armed guards that were shadowing Nimraph stepped forward to grab the woman. She screams and cries, thrashing desperately against her captors, "My lord! Please! I am with child! No! Please, no!"
Nimraph takes a moment's pause, his mind flashing to the infant boy swaddled in his own dwelling. He sheathes his sword, "Then kill her, swiftly. Then take her eldest son. The child will be raised with the strength of Angmar and brought back to rule instead." He purses his lips and turns away, gripping his reins, ignoring the hysterical crying of the woman.
"I am doing you a mercy. Neither you nor your child will survive the dungeons. And we all know how widows and orphans are treated here."
Nimraph trots over towards the child, a boy who couldn't be older than seven. He picks up the boy by the back of his shirt rather harshly and drops him in the saddle in front of him. The boy's crying ceased immediately as he witnessed his mother's demise. The child instinctively balled up his fists into the horses thick mane, staring blankly ahead.
"Angmar is no place for a child's innocence."
Nimraph let out a faint sigh, tightening his grip on the reins. He spurs his steed hard and gallops off towards Carn Dûm
Nimraph awoke with a start, a cold sweat on his brow, pain swearing through his stomach. He bit his lip till it bled to prevent from crying out. He slouched back and looked over towards Eira's sleeping form. His expression softened, then he frowned. She was beautiful, untainted by evil, unwavered. her love and devotion for him was strong and fast, nothing like he had ever seen before.
"Would she love me still if she knew what a tyrant I was? That I orphaned children and executed people because I felt like it? That I drove villages to starvation and death? That I killed a pregnant woman and later her child? She got away at a younger age, she is lucky. I served willingly and long, and cruelly. I am not the kind man she makes me out to be. She would not love me if she knew. She needs to know."
Nimraph sighs, dragging his hands over his face. He staggers to his feet slowly and silently, creeping downstairs to make himself a cup of chamomile tea. One problem at a time.
