[LúthienTinúviel]

Tinuiel huddled on the ground with the other prisoners. The Black Figures were upon them. At their heels slithered a sickly mist. It coiled about the figures and wrapped itself around the prisoners. The world became a grey nightmare. Tinuiel's breath caught in her throat. She felt as if pale, white fingers were circling her throat and squeezing the life from her. She tried to cry out, but the choking noise that forced itself from between her lips smacked against the brick wall of mist.

What is this fell magic? thought Tinuiel as she struggled to save her mind from the fear that hung palpable in the air. I must find out. I feel that these figures are the cause of Mornovarion's grief, and much more besides.

Tinuiel raised her head--slowly. Her face was fey, but her eyes burned with a fell fire. She began to crawl through the white nightmare. She could see nothing, but the waves of fear that washed upon her were coming from her right, so toward the fear she crept. Each inch that brought her closer to the hooded figures brought her soul nearer breaking point. She heard a hissing voice in her head. Fool, do you challenge us? You know nothing of us--a pause-- or our master.

Tinuiel's heart froze for a moment, but the fire in her eyes blazed brighter and spread warmth throughout her body. I care not for idle threats, replied Tinuiel to the faceless mist. Tell me who you are, and then we shall see what substance lies behind your speech.