Glossary

It had been many weeks since the return of the hobbits from the fires of mount doom, and the destruction of the Dark lord Sauron, and during that time, many things had changed within the realms of Middle Earth. A new king had been crowned in Gondor the elves had forsaken their homes and made way for the age of men, new alliances were formed and others finally laid to rest.

But this is not a story about any of these, this is but the story of a young dog, not more than a month into his manhood. For this is the story of Sturm.

Sturm had yet a long way to go to prove himself worthy to the Master for the honour to be called a Black Dog. He was naught more than a whelp of a boy, but he had shown a spirit within himself that held great potential, but still lacked the mind to realise it.

So one evening at a feast, Sturm thought that to make himself noticed he needed to embark on a great quest to earn favour with the Master.

But what, for he would be allowed no help from anyone, for that would only prove that he was not yet worthy to stand in the Masters war band of great fighters.

He devised a cunning plan to capture and tame one of the greatest creatures in all the lands, and offer it to the Master as a gift.

“This will be the greatest gift ever!!” thought Sturm

But what to hunt, the creature had to be just right, for it could not be anything too dangerous, for it may tear him apart. Nor could it be anything too common, for we all knew about the trolls and ogres that the Master kept as pets already, it was even rumoured that some may have even been in charge of the Guilds.

And then, like a slap in the face with a cod, the idea came to him. He knew what must be done. He quickly made hast to find his prey and began the long task of making history within the House.

His journey was long and filled with great dangers, for in these lands, one could never be sure if the people that you met on the path would be friendly, or hold you down and make you suffer a vicious cupping.

Young Sturm neared his goal, he was almost at the lands of his prey, the home of the Ent

Ents were large creatures, the size of great trees. Sturm knew that his task would be hard, but the rewards would be well worth his efforts

The battle was long and hard, and Sturm knew that there could be but one victor, and, in the name of the Master, He knew that it must be Him.

The fight was ferocious, until but one, Sturm, stood over the over the fallen almost lifeless form of the Ent.

Filled with pride, Sturm could barely contain his excitement as he travelled back to the keep with his captive held tightly bound in chains. He was victorious, and he knew that the Master would indeed bless Him for his heroic quest.

“this’ll shut that bastard Quillon up” Sturm thought aloud as He and His precious cargo made their way back

At the feast to welcome in the new year, all were gathered and making merry. The wine did flow, and exotic foods from near and far were laid out for the feast.

Sturm was pleased with himself, for nobody else knew of the trial he had undertaken, the beast was to be kept hidden from sight until the Master arrived.

The Men of the Black Dogs were busy discussing the merits of the new training blades that had been produced, and all were testing them, and giving their opinions of the new craftsmanship.

But then young Sturm made a fatal mistake, he produced his latest creation, a new curvy sword, encased in a wooden sheath.

Upon catching a glimpse of the sheath, a butchered fallen comrade, the Ent sprung to life in a violent rage that its shackles could not contain. The beast was free and wanted revenge, not only for its own capture, but for the lost life of the tree that went into making Sturm’s sheath.

The beast didn’t want for any victim but Sturm, the one who had brought it to this terrible place. None of the guests new of the creatures capture, or that it was at the feast, or worse, that it was free and wanted blood.

For such a terrible creature, it moved with great stealth, stalking Sturm in virtual silence. Closer and closer it came to its target, and poor Sturm was not even to see its first attack, let alone know of the beasts new found freedom.

The attack was swift and accurate each swing of it’s mighty limbs having the desired effect upon the hapless and unsuspecting Sturm. His greatest moment had been destroyed, be it by his love of woodwork, or his lack of skills with steel.

Either way, the beast was free to torment his captor and was doing so with great enthusiasm.

The attack was over almost as soon as it had began. Sturm was a physical and emotional wreck from the violent barrage of the creature.

Unfortunately nobody was able to document the attack with photographic evidence, for those with the courage to do so, below is one of the few known pictures of the beast that made Sturm what he is today.

The Ent