(MIRKWOOD Sequel)
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The dark magic that wormed itself into the world that summer came as quietly as a cool zephyr ruffling the tablecloth of a long and lazy picnic. No portents, no zombie armies, no lights in the sky. Just the catpawed entry of ancient relics, superstition and evil. Evil, that is, with malevolent ambition and unflattering names. The so-called “Tolkien Documents,” that brazen trove of unproven writings, were only the tip of an iceberg. The entire Library of the Source now lay hidden in a red-brick warehouse in a decaying section of Los Angeles. All because the Fourth Age was emptying out. After all, where do unemployed wizards go?
And of what profit be their endeavors in this world?