Middle Earth was silent.

No songs of mirth were being sung. No tales of old were being told.

"Master, the Metas are waiting for your command."

Shacbur looked at the servant who had just inturruped the silence. It was Yyran, the captain of the dreaded host.

Shacbur's eyes glowed with pleasure. Long had he toiled at creating this new breed of indestructible orc. He knew best what unforseen weaknesses orcs had and took all into consideration. These Metas felt no hunger, no thirst, no weariness. No sword, arrow or axe could injure them, as their entire bodies had been made of Mithril, the precious dwarven craft. The Metas would willingly do Shacbur's bidding without complaint, as they felt no emotion; they were formed without a heart. And no heart also meant no mercy.

With a menacing grin Shacbur replied, 

"Kill them. Kill them all, starting with the Shire. No mistakes this time."

A/N
I can't tell you all how excited I was writing this!! Please please let me know that you thought. And consider this part a fair warning- lots and lots of character death.