Tuesday, 6 December 2011

Story telling

We were in front of the entrance into the Cursed Mountain. Legolas, Gimli and me, Aragorn, the son of Arathorn, the rightful owner of Gondor's throne. It was the summer of the year 3182.

The mountain is called Cursed because deep inside lies an army of outbreakers, long dead, living a cursed spiritual life. I was there to hold them to their oath given to my ancestors. They had sworn that they would fight on the side of men a long time ago, but now I come to make them fulfill their oath and release them from the curse. 

While walking through the halls, we saw some bones on the floors and in the walls. We entered a room filled with ghosts. At the end of the room, there was a door, the one that led to the throneroom where lay a king of the army long dead. When we stepped into the room, our eyes were shocked at what they saw: the floor was covered with bones. Some spirits flew into the bones. 'The spirits are bringing ancient bones to life!' said Legolas. He was right. Some skeletons rose up and attacked us. The fight wasn't long. We  defeated them easily. I entered the throneroom. 'Who dares to disturb my rest?' asked the dead King. 'The one that shall hold you to your oath!' I answered. 'The dead do not owe the oath to anybody!' yelled he. He tried to pull out his sword but Legolas was faster. An arrow flew towards the King, then through him, and didn't even scratch him. He charged towards me, but my sword was elvish and it easily broke the King's sword. 'We shall fight for you,' he said. 'The dead shall fight on the side of Gondor!'

And so now an army long dead commands the fate of those not born. 

Rastko Zamurović, VIII2, 1 December 2011

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