Rating: PG, I think
Warnings: possibly for 'Character', I guess, see above
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns. I play. Profit? -- what's that?
The world was red when he was born. Unlovely face blinking its wonder at the cruel sun, gawping toothless as they murmured about him in harsh sounds struck from throats that knew no music.
But soon the pain dulled, and his mouth drank with the eagerness of the starved the black milk of hatred.
He grows strong, for he must.
His wide feet will be pressed into iron, his thick body into cold armour. His neck some slender blade will hew without sorrow.
The world is red as the glare of that great red eye, driving him onward beneath shadows.