PilotX95, also called Fëavalo, has been known as many things- an overly enthusiastic pranker, a talented redstoner, a bloop master- but his greatest strength lies in his loyalty to his friends. This is the legend of how he first set foot in Middle-earth and forged his way into the mists of uncertainty that lay ahead.
Pilot's eyes snapped open.
He was utterly alone, in a room with only a small pyramid ahead, above which swirled an eerie golden ring covered with a beautiful, flowing script. His memory... it was gone. He knew naught but his name.
Groaning, he clambered to his feet. Clenched tightly in his left fist was a crimson gold-bound book. Cautiously, he let the tome fall open in his palms to reveal... nothing. It was blank.
He shivered. He would starve here, he was sure. Tucking the book under his arm, he slowly mounted the pyramid. Whispers Pilot couldn't understand reached his ears, pulling him forward, towards the spinning ring. He stretched out a hand in its direction, then thought better of it and sharply drew it back.
You're going to die anyway, he reminded himself. Nothing to lose.
When his fingers made contact, instead of touching the gold, they passed straight through as though the ring was but an illusion. Intrigued, he took two more steps forward, into the ring, and within seconds he had dissolved.
Colors and shapes, howling voices, and above all an overruling fear, and Pilot reformed, in what might have been a beautiful meadow, but what was now a ravaged wasteland.
And he was still alone.