Flapping the fell wings of Thuringwethil, Lúthien flies through the rugged lands of Morgoth. Her new mobility allows her to climb the mountainous terrain of Thangorodrim with ease. Behind her follows a werewolf, leaping across rocks with tongue lolling, a strange brightness behind his lifeless eyes.

Soon there were fewer mountains. Lúthien in ghastly bat-form wheels above the yawning pits of black that make up the remnants of Morgoth's legendary fight with Fingolfin.

Ahead lay the impregnable gates of Angband and forward ventures Lúthien, to the fortress no host of Elven lords have yet to crack. Lúthien flitters a bit before doing her best to land, crawling beside the werewolf form of Beren with her wings folded. Finally, she is at the next point of their adventure. But there are trials still ahead.

"Oh hello," Spotting you, she attempts to greet you as how she imagines the vampire herald of Sauron might. The light of the slender moon casts her in an eerie light as she spreads out her leathery wings and bows, speaking with a rasping tone.

"I came hither in dire need to seek an audience with Lord Melkor." Whether Thuringwethil really had such a voice, Lúthien could never know. She had never beheld the vampire in life, so she could only guess at Thuringwethil's manners.