AN-This story is not one particular story. Rather, it is a series of one shots set in my 'The Dark Wanderer' universe. Now, the interesting thing about this, is that as one shots, I am completely open to suggestions. Chances are, if you suggest something, it will appear in a chapter, coming soon to a monitor near you! Of course, I will try and keep the characters in...well, character. And I dare you to try and shock me. Try your best to find something that you think I won't write about, and I just might shock you in the end. As a note, chapters probably won't be more then one thousand words.

TRAINING

"No, ya stupid git! You're too stiff, you need to relax for the blow to be properly executed!" came the shout across the training field, and Donovan Cerridwen, the Lord of Vampirism in all of Arda, raised his eyebrow as his eyes searched out the disturbance. The rest of the men had stopped their hand-to-hand drills to watch the short Gondorian woman rail out a Durvagorian cadet.

One would think, Donovan mentally sighed as he shoved himself off of the wall he had been leaning against, that a Gondorian would be no match for a Durvagorian. Then again, I trained Hanariel Âmul myself. I wonder how her father, David, is doing? He walked slowly and pointedly towards the two arguing people, always mindful of that soft yet ever present ache in his chest, reminding him that he was no longer as young as he used to be. Damn the Witch-king to the void! "Hana!" he called out, voice imperious yet fatherly at the same time. "Need help?"

Hanariel was no doubt the shortest person in the expansive courtyard. Donovan would have been surprised if she measured more then five foot even. She had voluntarily joined the Durvagorian Army, wanting to serve in the Black Guard. If it weren't for her…'vertical challenge'…Donovan would have had no problem letting her take over her own father's position, that is, commander of the Black Guard. However, she was too short, but she was not to be wasted, no sir!

She had possibly the greatest knowledge of Durvagorian tactics, weapons, and equipment. This, of course, was thanks to the fact that she had read all of the different editions of the military manuals Donovan had made. Also David Âmul, who was one of the men Donovan trusted most, was her father, and Donovan himself was named her godfather. He had made certain to pass some of his massive amounts of knowledge onto her.

This was not to say that Hana wasn't a lady of status. She knew all the codes of etiquette and could perform marvelously in the higher echelons of society. She always was of a more adventurous blood then most of her heritage. She had married a Rohirric outrider when she was sixteen, and surprisingly the marriage worked out. They were, above all other things, happy with one another.

Hana, who turned thirty not to long ago, had already given birth to three children. However, due to constant training and other such physical activities, her body was just as well built as it had been when she was twenty. She would age extremely well. And because of her expertise and her experience, Donovan had made sure to employ her as a trainer, a Drill Sergeant, if you would. She was more then happy to comply. She particularly enjoyed teaching hand-to-hand skills, something she was frighteningly good at. Which led to the current problem.

"Don't worry, sir, I've got this covered," Hana said with a particularly predatory grin. Donovan shrugged, and stopped outside the training circle. "Now, you pathetic bastard, try it again."

The Durvagorian, possibly one of the few pure bloods born of Durvagorian mother and father, sighed as he awkwardly swung his tomahawk in what was intended to be a short and brutal strike.

Hana snarled a particularly startling oath, and stomped over until she stood directly in front of the recruit, who looked at her with bewildered eyes. "Strike me," she growled.

The recruit flinched. Evidently the Uruk-hai mentality of 'crush first, ask later' had not been passed down onto him. He would learn, though. Hana would teach him, or another would. "Why?" he retorted, trying to mask his shock and fear.

"So I can show everyone why it is necessary to strike properly."

The recruit, who still appeared apprehensive, asked timidly, "Will it hurt?"

Hana, without missing a beat, replied with a firm shake of her head. She was a very good liar.

The recruit swung again in a half-hearted blow. Hana simply swept the attack aside. "Do it again, ya worthless peace of dung!"

Again he swung, more angrily this time. But again, Hana deflected his blow. "When I say strike me, then do it! Rûk talûn-karkû!" Even Donovan started at that, wondering just why David had seen it befitting to pass orc curses down to his daughter. Finally, though, the recruit reacted. With a vicious scream he swung a hard and brutal strike…with a stiff shoulder and arm.

Hana caught his arm, pulled forward, and wrench the arm back more brutally then was really necessary. There was a sickening crunch as the recruits shoulder broke under the awkward and massive pressure that had been applied against it. He screamed as he was effectively flipped, and with a dull thud he hit the ground and lay still, right arm bent in entirely the wrong position.

"THIS IS WHY YOU DO WHAT I TELL YOU THE FIRST TIME!" Hana shouted in frustrated anger. Donovan would have a talk with her later. She was not a person who overly enjoyed hurting people, but the lesson needed to be taught. And, damn, Donovan thought with morbid amusement as he cast his eyes upon the stricken recruit, does she teach her lessons well!