fantasy: a wonderful darkness
They’re called ‘Nazgul.’
My friend Sean said that to me back in 2001, a few months before the Lord of the Rings movies were scheduled to come out. We were hanging out on the top floor of a college library, ignoring whatever else we were supposed to be doing at that moment as he dived head first into fantasy lore.
“Nazgul?” I asked, mildly interested in the unusual name (but not particularly invested in learning more about it), “and what are they supposed to be…?”
And then Sean began to paint a wonderfully grim picture:
“They are the Dark Riders of Sauron… fallen kings deceived by their lust for power… manipulated as a result of their greed… beholden to his will and his One Ring for the rest of their cursed eternity… doomed to travel the world of ‘Middle Earth’ as slaves, striking terror on their master’s behalf, and bringing death to all who dare to cross their path...”
Wow.
So dark.
So dreadful.
It was impossible to not get completely hooked in. Sean’s evocative description of Sauron’s dark templars filled me with a strange combination of dread and wonder - and it was all I could do not to obey the One Ring’s captivating call.
That same night I decided to rent the 1978 animated version of The Lord of the Rings, proceeded to watch it straight through, and immediately became completely obsessed with this grim fantasy world. Then, only a few weeks later, the first of Peter Jackson’s acclaimed film trilogy graced movie screens around the world, and by the time the credits rolled in my movie theatre, I was completely in love with all things Lord of the Rings.
And why wouldn’t I be? The Lord of the Rings has such a wonderful darkness to it. A corruption that feels tangible and that draws you in. Like Lady Galadriel says at the beginning of the Fellowship of the Ring movie:
The world is changed.
I feel it in the water.
I feel it in the earth.
I smell it in the air.
I want Įrē to be a world with such darkness.
Now! Another voice suddenly yelled above them.
At once, several cries of battle erupted from all around the hut. They heard the sound of feet running. Two women cried out - Our boys!! Then an older man began to speak - They must have followed it back here and set an ambush! But he stopped short, silenced by the grim expression on the old woman’s face.
They all heard a scream. And another scream. Crashing sounds. Then an ominous laugh. Several shouts. Their young warriors seemed to be fighting, trying to overcome that horrifying laughter. Suddenly, all the shouting stopped. The villagers heard an awful, creaking sound, mixed in with inhuman chuckling. Then, without warning, something crashed hard on the roof of their hidden shelter. The roof of the shelter buckled from the terrible, crushing impact. A thick cloud of dust coated them all, but the roof did not cave in. Now everyone above was screaming.
Run! A horror-struck voice yelled.
One of the families covered by the dust, a couple holding a small boy, looked up, seeming to recognize the voice. The small boy almost shouted “Brother!” but was cut off, his mother cupping his mouth in time. Without warning, the villagers heard a long, drawn out, seemingly unending cry of agony. Then sounds of fleeing footsteps. Another voice shrieked in horror. And another. And another. They heard a weak voice say “Mama”, over and over, mixed in with the sounds of muffled weeping. Then they heard the depraved laugh again, rising ominously above all the other sounds. The screams and weeping were suddenly cut off. Silence returned. The villagers could hear muffled sounds from beyond the hut. Their young warriors. The ones that survived. Then, suddenly, above them, they heard the laugh again. Had it been listening? Waiting for survivors to emerge? The villagers stayed silent. The old woman froze, looking at the roof of the shelter, expecting the creature to smash through it and discover their hiding place at last. More laughter. It seemed to be leaving the hut. Most likely headed in the direction of their retreating young warriors.
The old woman gazed at the villagers in the shelter. She held her finger to her lips. Her tears flowed freely in her silent grief. What she feared would come to pass had happened, right above their terrified huddle. The unholy creature had been too strong. Too inhuman. No plan apart from summoning the Lotus Clan could have overcome it. Silence remained in the shelter under her watchful gaze, but many were weeping now, their hands covering their mouths to muffle their anguish. They knew that many of their young warriors were dead.
- Manuscript Excerpt | The Last Hut
Yes, I’m also writing a story that will contain mad creatures, merciless death, helpless villagers, and everything else I want this dark, dreadful, hopefully wonderful world to have. A sandbox for the creations that keep trying to escape from my brain. Perhaps, someday, a more apocalyptic next-generation version of Sean will regale someone else with deep lore about this world in a crowded upper library floor of their own.
One can certainly dream.
💀
Next Thought:
I think I ought to draw a world map of some sort. It won’t look like much, but it will at least be a place for all the creations in this new world to live before they get added to my evolving story, and before any more carnage ensues…
