One of the last of her kind, Nixie, is ruthlessly hunted by orcs, goblins and dark forces alike - fearing for her life, she goes into hiding for many years. Eventually, united by fate a certain Grey Wizard found her, timid and completely isolated fr...
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HER MOTHER AND FATHER WERE DEAD, probably her siblings too and her husband-to-be. Blood stained her pale blue dress, blood matted her fair, silky white hair. Blood rusted her nails, blood clung to her filthy, pale skin. The irony smell of blood misted around her body - blood was now her scent.
The orcs had come in the night, on the eve of Nixie's wedding - a night that should've been special to her. In the morn, they (the Water Nymphs) would've been there to attend her wedding. Now they were gone. Dead. Injured. Bleeding. Being tortured. Wargs ripped into the side of thin-walled huts, ferociously ripping any creature, no matter how big or small, into nothing but shreds.
The Water Nymph's lungs burned - she needed to find the river, Nixie could not stop until she found the river. In order to survive, she needed to find it. Her unusually bare feet ached, they were bleeding and now scarred from the severity of the forest floor. A terrified shiver ran up Nixie's spine as she heard a Warg howl into the night - in her direction.
For whatever reason, Azog the Defiler wanted Nixie - only Nixie. Only Nixie would do. She herself didn't know why, maybe it was because she was the most presentable prize to behead; maybe it was because Nixie was the first Nymph he'd ever seen. Either way, he wanted her head. Nixie would not let Azog have her own head; not now. Not ever.
A blood-curdling shriek came from the bushes ahead, Nixie turned to change course - if it wasn't for what she saw. Out of the bushes came an object, toppling into the clearing. Nixie screamed, to the point where she was sure she tore a cord in her throat. She dropped to her knees in utmost horror, clasping a hand over her mouth; in front of her, lay the decapitated head of her best friend. Lyssa Goodchild, a hobbit, that Nixie easily befriended in her early years - that she had invited to her wedding.
White fur came forwards, a warg. In its huge, gaping, sharp, mange-filled jaws was the body of Lyssa. It chewed on her flesh, as if though she was nothing but a piece of prey (which she was) - but, Nixie didn't run; she just stared into the soulless eyes of Azog the Defiler. She was petrified. She couldn't move. The warg tossed Lyssa's corpse into the air; like a ragdoll, where she fell on top of Nixie, who screamed loudly as the icy, lifeless body touched her skin.
Then Nixie remembered. Lyssa always kept water on her, in a small, ruby red flask. She kept it in her right pocket just above her breast. Nixie didn't want to this, but she had no choice. Swiftly, Nixie turned Lyssa's body over to her headless front - she unscrewed the flask.
"Venti moray, waertous munceondi coolimagne moiu," Nixie chanted softly, closing her eyes, "Venti moray, waertous munceondi coolimange moiu," she repeated. Nixie's eyes changed to a lighter shade of blue and slowly but surely, her figure was changing it's form - into a liquid, into the water.
Like that, Nixie was gone making sure to magically seal the lid of the flask forever. The pale orc shouted, leaping off of his great warg - scanning the floor and looking frantically. "Nalkramal did avhe biavch go!" bellowed Azog, "Ul biavch wauk righav katu!"
More orcs gathered and soon, they were looking for the woman who had outsmarted them - not one of them had thought about the flask; for they were too dim-witted of creatures to be able to comprehend the magic that Water Nymphs possessed. There on the floor, on the headless, decomposing body of Lyssa Goodchild was a flask - a flask that would not be found for the next thirty years.
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