Word count: 100
Disclaimer: Not for profit just for praise – homage to the master, Tolkien.
The art of the Smith is not without pain. Dark leather, creased yet supple, draws air to feed the fires within me. The pounding rhythm of my heart-beats keeps time, concentrating my thoughts; I, who was commanded, now will come to command all – all - All – ALL.
My body feels the hammer-blows of pain, but it is my will to complete this smithing. I pour my fea into the molten gold, clawed from Arda’s veins – our destinies are conjoined – my pain will be their pain.
One Ring to rule them all.
One Ring to find them...
One Ring – My Ring!