Two menacing flame-eyes glared in the darkness of the Forest as an apparition glided north through the blighted tangle of southwestern Mirkwood. Ash wafted about his barely corporeal form and trailed behind him like a tattered black cloak. Ambition brewed thickly in his twisted mind.
Tysaun the Unnatural had been sent forth to collect a very special acquisition. If it was the source of power they believed it to be, his maker would be most pleased and reward him by completing his creation with some of the extracted energy.
Tysaun had been formed of stolen power over thirty years prior, created to serve his maker. He had begun to develop his own thoughts a decade past, and his unearthly self was becoming quite ambitious and bored with life at Dol Guldur. Oft he prowled the hills all around, torturing any beings he found for sport.
He required the spirits of the pure and magical to maintain and evolve his unholy existence. He would suck such souls ere they wandered too near to Dol Guldur. Only elves or other magical Forest creatures would suffice, but they were most difficult to ensnare. Therefore Tysaun oft reverted to shadow and ash, such as he was on this day. The potential mighty prize he went forth now to pluck from his orcish minions would restore him for much, much longer. Perhaps indefinitely.
Tysaun neared the meeting place he had set with the orcs, a hollow hemmed by monoliths where all living things had withered away under the taint of his maker. He could see a few of the boulders rising through the trees ahead.
A feast of magical power... His unnatural senses sharpened with anticipatory avarice. He felt too hungry to wait until his return to Dol Guldur, and whenever his maker deigned to feed him. Surely none would be the wiser if he had but a sip from the prize. Greedily he imagined the heady power that would flood him. Yes, a taste. There was no harm in a taste. And thus he would ascertain if it was the source they sought. And besides, he thought, it would only hasten my journey back to father if I were to taste its power. He told me that this magical creature would be more strengthening than ten thousand elves.
And so, Tysaun slunk forward until he entered the circle of monoliths, greed festering in his soulless depths.
But no orcs were present. And no prize lay bound and gagged for him to take.
Rage roiled in his mind. After a moment, he accelerated through the trees. He would find them. Tysaun was instructed not to let himself be seen, thus he used minions. He would find them and demand to know why they were late. The prize would have been alone on its daily activities where the orcs planned to trap it, so why would they not be at the meeting place?!
Tysaun leaned his nebulous form forward as he belched onward, trailing a cloud of ash in his wake. The few plants and insects struggling to survive the blight died under the dark smog of his passing.
I will torture the scum for failing to report on time!
And so it was with great shock and ire that Tysaun reached the glen where his orcs lay slain. He coalesced a solid hand to examine their beheadings and stab wounds. An elven blade. Those insufferable elves!
A grating screech rent the air as Tysaun vent his fury. Then he spun about. The smoke that formed him writhed and churned with soot and streaks of flame as he billowed back toward Dol Guldur. His father would punish him for this, he knew.
Tysaun had not gone far when he sensed the magical signature of a living being. An elf.
It had been several moons since he had managed to suck any magical power. An elf would restore his solidness for months.
Tysaun spewed himself over mighty roots and down between two vast trunks, landing directly in the path of one elven soldier.
The soldier drew his weapons and crouched defensively. "Who goes there?!" he called.
"Your doom," Tysaun cackled, harsh and discordant.
"I am Melorion, captain of King Thranduil. Stand down, shadow!" the elf growled, brandishing his bow.
Tysaun hissed and churned closer. The soldier loosed an arrow which disappeared into Tysaun's amorphous smoky head.
Tysaun cackled again. He wrapped his power around the captain's mind and pored over its contents, ignoring his screams. In Maelor's memories Tysaun marked the captain's important position in the court, his stately chambers close to the royal suites and frequent interaction with the King and Prince, haughty but loyal disposition, dull court activities, ambassadorial travel, and guard leadership.
"Hmmm...you will do," Tysaun leered.
He moved like a flash, too hungry for power to torture this elf. He billowed through him, thieving his life's essence. Tysaun hissed in satisfaction as he sucked in all of his victim's magic. The elven captain crumpled to the ground. His brown eyes stared lifelessly at the canopy, his handsome features contorted in shock.
With another surge of his power, Tysaun incinerated his victim. His scheme would not succeed if the body were discovered. Then, Tysaun coalesced into solid form.
Tysaun touched his newfound lips with spurious elven fingers. They curled into a smirk. Excellent... He would send a message to his father of this alternate victory. This way, he would enact the spy operation he had long been coveting and avoid facing his father's wrath. And so, Tysaun the Deciever strode off on stolen feet to the Halls of Thranduil.