Suggested by Sauroposeidon
And lo did the steed of the Nazgûl take flight on wretched webs, stretched taught ‘neath loathsome fingers stretched long and spiked as spears. On its foul breath a cry was carried across the great verdant plains who’s occupants it sought to concur.. and yet, there were none.
No one remained. No man was left to be used as prey on which to hone the carrion fowl’s skills. For man had no place in the savage valley of the tyrant king. Standing upon pillars of bone coiled in tight ropes of muscle was a terrible thing, like a great lindwurm who’s chill howl returned the challenge of the hell-hawk.
The two know, on some deep level, that they must confront each other. To the king, there is a challenger to his throne. To the nightmare thing, there can be no forgiving the tyrant’s merely existing.
Their battle will be climactic, but only one can survive. Who dines only in hell tonight?