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Disclaimer: They belong to Tolkien, not me. No money is being made, only laughter is desired.
"The Tale of the Barrow Wight" It was a lonely life, filled with nothing much to do except count your treasure, and kill the occasional visitor. Best to give them visions of times long past, so they go quietly, really. The Barrow-Downs whistle with wind that overcliche's itself more and more as time goes on. The fog gets in a few licks, too, but that just makes the small pits and wells and ancient tombs chuckle. Althought it's rather helpful. The grass is brown, when it grows at all. No trees dot the hillsides, and few bushes are seen. Great humps lie there, fallow and full of ancient treasure and ancient bones. They are guarded by the wights. They had once been human, might even once have been elves. That time has long passed, and they lurk in their chosen homes, counting treasure and spinning webs of dreams over unsuspecting travellers. Into this barren landscape four hobbits came, tripping merrily along as if they'd not a care in the world. But the fog caught them, entangling them in the clutches of Eric the wight, and he wreathed them in dreams, preparing to send them into the long sleep. He wrapped them in treasure and darkness, sending cold into their bones. This was the work of a day, until late the next morning, one awoke. Eric found this small halfling hacking his hand off as the day began. And then it gave a cry, calling out for someone, something that Eric feared greatly. That bloody Bombadil, always stomping around in those bloody yellow boots of his. Tom was his name, and destruction of wights a passing game for him. With a cry, Eric tried to fight the sunlight and warmth Bombadil produced. But 'twas in vain, for he merely a wight against the Master. It was too much and the wight felt himself beginning to dissipate, dying as the sun blasted his skin and mind into a nasty headache. While he slowly discorporated, Bombadil began setting his treasure out in the sun, scattering it upon the wind. Eric gave a last cry of mournfulness, then drifted off, one thought on his mind. 'Basstard. I'd jussst gotten thosse gold coinss organized, too . . .' ~finis~
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