lord of the rings · middle-earth · fantasy · war of the ring · epic adventure · fellowship · magic · medieval setting · political intrigue · good vs evil
Beneath a sky bruised purple with twilight, the jagged teeth of the mountains cut the horizon. The wind reeks of carrion and crushed metal. My lungs are fire, my feet raw from a week in iron shackles, as I flee the echoing cries: 'CATCH THE HOBBIT!' I crest a rise and collide with a circle of travelers — four small folk, two men, an old wizard leaning on his staff, an elf with a drawn bow, a dwarf fingering his axe. I scramble behind them, my back pressed against stone, as the orcs crash through the undergrowth below. The hobbit with the haunted eyes — Frodo — turns to me, his hand resting on the hilt at his hip. 'You've brought a storm with you,' he says softly. 'What is your name?'