Gandalf out ranking and breaking his staff is more of a narrative tool tô help us understand his "upgrade" after being reincarnated on a stronger body.

Saruman, much like sauron and morgoth, put his essence into The things he created. Most notable The uruk-hai, but also his own version of a ring of power. They couldnt tap into a infinite power source like most magic users usually do.

As an example: morgoth, as melkor, was The strongest Vala - valar were "gods" that ruled under eru, The all powerful God of middle earth. Melkor was constantly jealous of Eru creations and ever since The beggining he tried doing his own. His power wasnt enough tô create things per se, so he corrupted,reshaped. This made him weaker as The time went by, because his essence was embbed into his work..

Beautiful story. I loved how you set the stage and described her appearance. :)

No worries!

Ah, my bad. I'll change it up!

“Dude, did you hear about that human on Klu?” “Oh god, what did they do on that moon this time?” “Get this, some human named Rudof Ofic tried to fight against a lava worm!” “Who the fuck tries to fight a lava worm?! Those things were one of the Klu mages greatest weapons!” “I know! And the craziest part was how they actually beat the fucking thing! This one guy fought it solo with just a space suit & some small laser cannon!” “God, I don’t understand those humans. They’ve gone crazy ever since they genetically modified themselves with some Carvan cells & used Hrus.” “I don’t know man, I would feel like a god if I got some super aliens cells & got powers from a highly dangerous magic ritual.” “Oh shut it, those are the words of a stupid person. They practically poison themselves every day & go into life or death situations because it “feels like a video in real life.” “Your just a pussy.” “Maybe, but it’s kept me alive for 368 lunars.” The first aliens device buzzes & he looks at it with shock. “Did another human do something crazy again?” “There’s a human trend for who can eat the most neurotoxin.” “Oh my god.”

Jack moment

[removed]

But we also need to consider that Dumbledore would need to resist the ring for like 12 seconds before he tossed it in lava.

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I stood with arms crossed, watching the sea of people walking past. Chatter filled the air, undercut by rustling bags. It was a busy day in the centre of town, under the overcast sky. A slightly louder voice rose over the crowd, as a man shouted out to any who could hear.

"In the Lords name you will find salvation! Blessed are those that follow his teachings, and all are welcome in his embrace. Reject the sins and temptations, and fuming purity for your immortal soul."

The shouted words made my eyes roll. I had never placed much stock in religion, and having someone yelling it out to preach didn't change my mind. I didn't care what others believed, but I didn't want it to be thrust in my face.

As my eyes roamed over the mass of people, a chill went up my spine. At the exact moment I realised it, the sound of the crowds stopped. People were frozen in mid-step, mouths hanging open. A seagull hung in midair, in violation of gravity. Everything was still, except for me.

But that soon changed. I saw a figure daintily stepping through the frozen crowd, utterly at ease. I caught glimpses of them, as the drew closer. They looked to be a teenage girl, dressed in a pure white sundress. Black hair lay flat on her head, with not a single strand out of place from my view.

Her eyes however, were completely red, darkening to almost black in the centre. The edges were the colour of blood, and seemed to spill out across her skin. She moved with an eerie grace, almost dancing through the stillness. A gap showed her hands were not empty, with one holding a large kitchen knife.

My nose itched, as I watched her approach the preacher. She paused before him, before bringing the knife up and plunging it into his chest. After holding it there for a moment, she pulled it out slightly, reaching out to pull in a nearby elderly lady. The girl wrapped her selections fingers around the hilt, making it look like they had stabbed him.

The itch became unbearable. The girl leaned in closer to the lady, and I could hear a faint whisper. I screwed up my face, but the sensation was unstoppable. I stifled it as much as I could, but my sneeze rang out like a gunshot.

Instantly the girl looked up, facing me. I flinched, and her head twisted to the side. Her otherwise expressionless face morphed into a foul grin, taking on a predatory look. I saw no pity, anger or hate in her gaze, only a look of anticipation.

"Run for me."

Her whisper reached my ears. I stared, as the lithe form stalked towards my location. There was naught but malice coming from her. I felt my body go cold, before I obeyed her order. I turned to run, pushing between frozen people. Behind me all I heard was a haunting laugh, as the chase began.

I had no clue as to how to escape. All I could do was run, and hope my luck changed.

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Thanks!

That's fun! I intentionally left out any description of them because my own ideas of what they might look like weren't really relevant, even though I had something in my head. It's neat to see how that results in others coming up with their own ideas of what they look like, even subconsciously!

It's important to remember he was Dark in his younger days, #2 to his generation's Voldemort. His sister getting killed by a killing curse he cast was what 'redeemed' him. And even then, he still wanted the Deathly Hollows until he met Harry and he raised Harry to be a magical suicide bomber.

He'd totally fall to the Ring's temptation.

“Wednesday are never great for table tennis,” the man said, voice low and rough.

She blinked. Glanced his way. “Sorry?”

He kept his gaze ahead, as if he hadn’t said a thing. His hair was greying, tucked under a flat cap that didn’t quite suit him. He wore dark rimmed glasses that sat too low on the curved bridge of his nose.

“Wednesdays are never great for table tennis,” he repeated.

Perplexed, she quickly surveyed their surroundings to check he wasn’t talking to anybody else. Aside from a lone dog walker in the distance, though, there was nobody in the vicinity.

“…it’s Friday.”

He did look at her then, a deep line appearing between his brows, his mouth flattening tightly.

Perhaps he was confused, she thought. Unwell.

She cleared her throat, turned to face him slightly. Their knees knocked and he glanced down, but still he remained quiet. Gently, she said, “It’s Friday the eighth of June.”

“Yes,” he said, pointedly. “Friday, eighth of June, forty nine minutes past eleven. On the ninth bench of the east-west path through Melody Park”

Tilting her wrist up she could see that he was right about the time. A quick glance to their left told her he was correct about the number of benches, too. “Right,” she said.

He stared still, one eyebrow eventually arching expectantly. “And Wednesdays…are never great…for table tennis.”

She lifted both hands, palm up, nothing to offer except for a barely perceptible shake of her head.

His shoulders slumped. “Just give me the bag.”

Instinctively her grip tightening on her satchel. It had been fairly expensive a few years ago, one of very few luxuries she’d ever afforded herself, and even though it was a little tired and a little worn now, she loved it.

He reached out an impatient hand and gave the bag a little tug. “We don’t have time for this, give it.”

She clutched it tighter still. “Wh…? No.”

For a second he bared his teeth like a gorilla.

“These one-off hires, I swear to god,” he muttered, shaking his head as he reached into his jacket. “How old are you, twenty one? Christ. Retention issues, they say. The economy’s tough even for us, blah blah blah.”

She heard the noise before she saw it. A sound she only knew from movies. A muffled click. And there it was, a long black gun, aimed right into her side.

She felt her heart rate spike, a sudden dizziness coming over her.

He was as casual as ever. “Meanwhile here I am, wasting my time because you can’t remember the code phrases. No, not as young as twenty one. I can tell by your frown lines.”

He huffed, nudged the tip of the silencer into her lower rib.

“Anyway,” he said. “Bag. Now.”

He nudged again for good measure.

Her clammy fingers loosened, seemingly one by one, until he was able to wrangle the bag from her grip.

“Thank you,” he said, the words steeped in sarcasm.

Then he was up and gone, setting off to the right past the duck pond with her bag tucked tightly to his side, a handful of geese waddling furiously out of his path.

She watched him go, his steps seeming to match the quickened pulse that thundered in her ears.

The sudden vibration of her phone in her back pocket made her shriek. Nearby pigeons scattered into the air, but the man didn’t turn back.

Dad calling, her phone read.

She took a moment before answering.

“Hi,” she breathed, tongue clumsy and dry.

The response came fast and clearly worried. Her dad had been so apprehensive about her moving to the city.

“No, I’m- I’m okay…I just…” She sighed.

She didn’t take her eyes off the retreating figure.

“I think a spy just accidentally stole my lunch.”

Hmm... Kind of wrote badly there... Yeah... Maybe extra comma in front of the word yet or after sure... I should have put it after words sure...

“How have I never been here before?” I asked, looking out into the pond, “The flowers are beautiful, and the pond has turtles and koi! This garden is so full of life!”

Azalea chuckled, “I’m glad you like it, not a lot of people visit gardens or parks nowadays, the world has so much entertainment vying for our attention, which means nature gets taken to the wayside.”

I smiled, “I disagree, look at these turtles, there has to be a story here.”

Az leaned over the ponds railing to get a closer look, having to stand on her tip-toes to get a better view, “You’re right… it’s almost as if they’re holding some sort of council.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said, adding to her scenario, “See how they’re all standing on those rocks with their necks stuck out. Those are clearly noble turtles, they have all the best real estate. This is the prettiest part of the pond after all.” I nodded toward the murky waters to our left, where only a few sad turtles lurked.

With a smirk she grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the murky waters, “Oh really? Then tell me about these turtles.”

“The slums district turtles, obviously,” I said without missing a beat, “But…” I began, my mind forming a larger narrative, “Not just because of economic equality. See those markings on that turtle’s shell? They’re the same as the high class ones. She used to be a member of the council, in fact. However, her ideas were too radical, and in return, she was banished to the slums, dismissed as low life, her name forgotten.”

Azalea’s gaze was fixed on mine, listening to my story, “The plot thickens, now…” she glances around, then points at a nearby bench, “I bet we could see the whole pond from there, that way we can really get an idea of what’s going on with those turtles.”

My eyes widened, “Great idea!” I grinned, “Though if you think this conspiracy stops with just turtles you are solely mistaken.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else!” Az led me to the bench and patted the space next to her.

I sat beside her and shifted slightly, “This bench isn’t exactly in the shade, but it does have a nice view… 7/10.”

She snorted, “You rate benches?”

I shrugged, “Others deserve to know what they’re getting into with this bench, rating it warns them it’s just a 7/10 bench. We must inform the masses.”

“And what does a 10/10 bench look like?”

I pointed to a bench across the pond, sealed off by construction tape, “That one. My guess is that tape has been there for years, that way only the employees get to use it. See how it’s in the shade, has a nice curve to it for improved comfort, and offers a fantastic view? A 10/10 bench if you ask me. Not only that, but it’s got a dedication on it, they only dedicate quality benches, after all.”

Azalea sighed, “Oh to have one’s namesake immortalized in a bench…”

“You think it’s that difficult to get a bench named after you? I’m sure with a little bit of patronage and digging I can get a bench named after you in no time.”

She cocked an eyebrow, “Really?”

I nodded, “I’ll look into it for you. Besides, you’re just as deserving of a bench as anyone whose ever been dedicated on these things. Probably mostly crusty old snobs with enough money to donate to a garden so they look as though they care about the environment.”

Az beamed, “Well when you put it like that…” She struck a pose, “I suppose I might just be benchworthy.”

For the first time in the conversation, my breath caught. The image of Azalea posed on that bench, hair shifting slightly in the breeze, her eyes twinkling in the sun… it was, well, needless to say it was enough for me to change my rating of this bench.

Her laugh sailed through the air, “What? Do I really look that ridiculous?”

I shook my head, “No, it’s not that. I just… nevermind. Anyway, I’ll let you know what I find about bench dedications.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’m sure only those snobby rich folk get dedications.”

“No, I said I’d look into it and I will. I promise.”

“Those turtles are the ones who really deserve a dedication, especially the ones fighting against the status quo.”

“They’re doing much more than that.” I pointed over to even murkier waters, where a lone turtle stood on a jagged rock, “That turtle is trying to achieve godhood.”

“Godhood?”

“Yes, he’s a practitioner of the dark shell arts. It’s been banned by the turtle pond council, he has his koi spies infiltrating the turtle council and planning his attack once his ascension ritual is ready.”

She chuckled, “Those turtles sure have more interesting lives than us.”

I leaned closer to her to watch the turtles, placing my hand over hers, “Too bad turtles don’t get bench dedications.”

Azalea’s eyes met mine, “Too bad indeed. I’ve had a lot of fun with you today, would you perhaps want to meet up again?”

I grinned, “I’d love to, just name the place?”

Az looked around before her eyes settled back on me, “Let’s meet at this bench.”

My smile brightened, “Perfect.”

> Saruman was completetely powerless by the end of the return of the king because he spent all his "magic".

I thought Saruman was powerless because upon his return Gandalf essentially "outranked" Saruman and subsequently stripped Saruman of his status and power?

No you can freely teleport in Harry Potter. However there are enchantments to ban teleportation in some areas, including hogwarts, so you would have to leave the grounds in order to teleport.

Yes, perhaps. However, the land of Mordor in general and Mt. Doom in particular, was not exactly easy to access. I don't even remember if Gandalf had been there before in person. It was very hard to get to Mordor by yourself. Frodo had to meet Shelob first, and pass through her web. I mean, you wouldn't exactly go there to have a picnic on a Saturday afternoon. It wasn't a holiday destination. You wouldn't be able to sit there in the sunshine, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and drinking your martini surrounded by beautiful women. Female orcs would be available instead.

I am not saying it would be impossible to teleport there. But it would be a lot harder than going to ghe Shire, or Rohan.

1999 Carol was old she minced words about her age when her knees bent to sit on the small park's only bench they crackled and her balance went. But Carol didn't hit the pavement; she didn't hit anything. Still kinda wably from the slip she heard a faint voice, “man carol you really scared the shit out if me. Are you ok?” again, no reply. “Carol it's me, Frank. We are having lunch together in our bench. It's Monday.” he looked into his best friends eyes and “Boy I had you scared ya old bastard. “ she brushed her clean as Frank gently sat her back on her cushion. She brought it every Monday; wood was to hard. Frank finally cocked a smile and anger disapTex into humor. He loved carol to much to stay angry. “That was a cheap trick carol” he reminded her “you're just an old mean which. A cackle escaped from carols mouth. To be clear she wasn't anything of the sort, but she did cackle like the classic persona would sound like. Her laugh was franks first attraction to her, attending bigger park up the street he at alone. Everyone did there enough places for all seniors and you workers to spread out. Frank didn't like it, his wife just past away six months ago he was ready to talk. . Carol smiled and invited him over with a wave. Introductions through they each explained why they came here everyday. Both were tired of stuffed inside their senior size apartment, “there's another park near here no one goes to anymore frank. We could go there and eat in privacy” it was so mych a question as a reminder of flirting and how much she enjoyed it. Frank agreed eagerly, “ how about Monday? We can have a nice time without loud yuppies yelling at homeless men. So they are together every Monday, “did you see the track that singer had? If I were twenty rears younger watch out!” carol finished her sandwich quickly. Soon Mondays replaces backward silence from Father Michaels who didn't agree women and men shouldn't eat together. Both seniors laughed, rather Frank laughed and Carol tackled. Their lunches were long and despite rain or snow they attended. Frank wanted to tell her how deeply his feeling had grown but was worried it might ruin an already perfect scenario. They did this till the park's number of visitor dwindles. They both understood; they both hoped and prayed every Sunday during Mass too. 2020 Frank sat on their bench waiting for carol. It wasn't like her to be late. “ I hope she's ok. I hope she didn't leave town.” causing him to giggle to himself. Frank felt hungry so he ate alone that Monday and the next too. And then he stopped. The day before, Sunday, Father Michael's recited the prayer for all who fell to the still new Coronavirus. On the third Sunday he was I formed of carol, his most special friend had past away three weeks earlier. Frank almost wept but held it together throughout Mass. He tried to leave but Father stopped him, “Frank I know the loss of carol is painful but she had prepared a letter for you. When he life was ending it was only you she thought Frank, only you.” he placed a hand of frank shoulder and frank left quickly with his letter. He could read it In only one place. As he sat on their bench he laughed, he cried and... He said goodbye to his most special friend

Awesome

No worries thanks for writing

I like this, it’s a unique take

[deleted]

Except that doubt that he’d be able to resist its corrupting influence, he is but a Man, who above all else desire power.