The Fellowship of the Ring Werewolf

[E.N.]

Alas, a pall of gloom and deep despair lay heavy upon the disheartened fellowship, like a shroud woven of the foul mists of Mordor itself. Mournful was the silence in the hall, save for the low, weary murmuring that spoke only of doubt and the certain ruin that seemed to stalk our path.

But hark! Even as the deepest sorrow held sway, and the heart of hope was nigh extinguished, a light broke forth! Not the pallid, sickly gleam of the moon, nor the cold, distant stars, but a living, brilliant radiance, sudden and terrifyingly pure. Lo, at the threshold stood a figure, tall and terrible in his beauty, robed not in the faded grey of ash and travel, but in a blinding mantle of white that outshone the very snows of the highest peaks.

He spoke, and his voice was as clear as a bell struck beneath the sky, bearing the authority of fire and the wisdom of the long ages. The dust of death had been shaken from him. He was the same, yet utterly transformed; the servant of the Secret Fire, now its master. He is Gandalf the White, rejoined to us to cast down the creeping shadows and lead us through this perilous game.

Let the wolves tremble! The strength that was lost is found anew, and a brighter hope than ever we deserved stands ready to our defence.

Gandalf the White has returned and is now present in the village!