Character: Dead of Dunharrow
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s character’s, Kortirion’s extrapolation
The dead under the mountain are cold, pitiless. Old bones should long ago have turned to mildewed dust, arms to rust, clothes to tatters. Yet we remain.
Always, women follow armies; displaced travellers without a destination, camp-followers feeding the hungers of stomach and groin. Battlefield crows are we; giving swift mercy to the dying – for a price. I’d found a gold ring and silken cloak, dower for my coming bridal – until we were all accursed.
Now, I swoop across the river screaming malice to all life – for I am a corpses’ bride and I shall have man-flesh as my bridesmen!