Relentless in their pursuit of the bearer of the One Ring the Nazgûl take to the skies of Middle-earth born on the leathery wings of fell beasts.

A piercing croak from the toothy creature and shrill scream of the hunting wraith shred the still air of the Dead Marshes sending Frodo and his companions diving for cover.

Saurons intent is single-minded and unceasing channelled through the husks of his dead servants. The Nazgûl are but hollow instruments of his will his hands at work in the world: find the One-Ring. Leave no place untouched no land unseen. Return the Ring to the grip of its shadowy master.