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17. Wind-Singers Volume III.I: The Final Quest; Ivordir and Daerfalas journey into Gondor to face the Enemy and find tidings of Guldrambor
Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM (4,113 Views)
Ivordir

Chapter CCCXLVII: From Mouth to Mouth

They pressed onward from isle to isle. Each isle was several miles long and wide. They moved quicker on the drier land, and slower in the marshy parts nigh the Entwash's tributaries. It was sluggish even on the drier land and fens were everywhere. But Ivordir did not, now, have the counsel of wiser minds of the Eldar. If their Quest demanded haste, they ought to have journeyed to where the Entwash split into its tributaries. Ivordir had wanted to avoid running-into the Rohirrim in the Eastfold. He did not heed the old warnings about travelers attempting to cross the Mouths. Now, they simply wanted to get through it all.

Angolhel had been wrong. The ladies hid their hair in their garb and suffered little damage. They were hooded and masked and cloaked in dirty cloaks, snake-skins to shed. They paused every hour and rested as they could between marches. They tapped into their provisions now. They did not want to waste time hunting. Ivordir wanted to drill that Company out and away from the marshes as fast as he could. The day was grueling and the heat of the sun was relentless on the backs of their necks. They had suffered many fly-bites.

Ivordir kept looking at his map whenever they were resting. There were five great tributaries to cross from their angle of crossing. They had crossed one the day before, and now they came across four more. By the time they found the Anduin, they rested for the evening. And Rauros was not far to the north.

The 24th ended and the 25th of March began in earnest. They roused the Company at dawn again and pressed forward into the less sluggish lands nigh the Anduin, north of the Entwash. And Rauros soon towered before them. They took a brief rest, ate rationed provisions, and slowly maneuvered up the high pass that led to Tol Brandir and Amon Hen. The slopes of Amon Hen towered above them. Ivordir wanted a command view of the whole of the region. He feared the Enemy, who held the eastern shores of Nen Hithoel.

Exhausted, they reached the pinnacle, and camped in the ruins nigh the Seat of Seeing, the High Place, reputed to be enchanted with some power of the Elf-Friends of old: the men of Numenor, and of Gondor in its age of glory.
Edited by Ivordir, May 12 2016, 10:16 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCXLVIII: An Impatient Sorceress

Angolhel let-down her hair and changed garb in a secluded clearing. It had not rained on Amon Hen for days, for the grass was fresh, yet dry, and the ground was not muddy. She found a small stream that flowed down the hill in several waterfalls. The stream had carved a bowl-shape, becoming as if a bath. It strangely reminded her of the famed baths of Umbar far away. She bathed and anointed herself in oils, carefully rationing them. She knew she could find more in Rhun if she needed to. She emerged from the waters, and in time, she came back up the slope in her sorceress robes and cloak.

Ivordir sighed at her, "What are you doing now? This is a serious journey, not an afternoon of preening!"

Angolhel closed her eyes, "I must look my best, if I am to impress...."

Ivordir laughed, "Who is there to impress in the wilderness?"

Angolhel nodded, "You will see.............. Long ago, my mentor, an aged sage, who dwelt atop one of our sacred temples nigh Saraj, made me sleep in that height, and as I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed of two great statues of men commanding a view of a great river. I dreamed of this hilltop upon which we stand. I dreamed.... that I could gaze afar, if I but sat within that Seat........"

Ivordir pointed to the north, "Yonder are your statues. The Argonath of old. The Seat........ I had not considered it. Only the Kings of old could gaze from it."

Angolhel smiled strangely, "I process to the Seat. You do not understand our rituals..... our cult, as you call it...... of beauty, of art, of power......."

Ivordir smirked, "Superstitious nonsense. I know the true magic."

Angolhel smirked in return, "Come then, Prince of Gondor. Come and let us sit, to see what we may see."

And they slowly began to process up the hill. Ivordir felt strangely compelled to withdraw his cloaks from hiding in his pack. He reached for them, almost against his will.
Edited by Ivordir, May 12 2016, 10:16 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCXLIX: The Ritual of the Seat

Angolhel's cloak now gleamed bright purple in the sunlight, as Alagossel, Lerion, Silevren, Tinnuchon, and Uialchon, ranked themselves behind her, upholding her
cloak. Their own robes were draped higher around their arms and shoulders. The ground was dry and grass-laden. They processed into the ruins of Amon Hen. Amon Hen was
not dusty, for the winds blew often on the hilltop.

Ivordir walked at Angolhel's side, his own cloaks draping freely, for they were enchanted by the West.

They found the rest of the Company standing on a ruined ship's prow, gazing at them all in awe as they processed. Ivordir motioned for Daerfalas to come beside him.
They slowly processed up the ruined steps.

Sainion whispered in Arhbaineth's ear, "This is very foolish. Orcs and worse could be watching us! And here we are, exposing ourselves in the open for all to see."

Orel whispered, "Worry not. My rangers' eyes and ears are keen. They'll be able to tell if a foe is close at hand. But I must say, tis very strange...... are these
Southron arts, or Elvish?"

Arhbaineth nodded, "I very much doubt these arts are purely Southron. Apparently they..... never mind. See, they are reaching the pinnacle."

Ivordir gazed at the long leagues of marshes down beneath him, the Anduin circling to the left. His eyes followed the river till it fell out of sight. He sat down as
if some ancient King, his cloaks wrapped around his shoulders. He sat down, gazing again from afar.

Angolhel whispered, "What do you see?"

Daerfalas watched Ivordir, silent and pensive.

Ivordir's eyes took him far away. He steel his will to endure the shock. Umbar was in flames, some rebellion was underway, and the Black Sorcerers were surrounded.

The Haradwaith seemed to teem with life, as tidings spread of their defeat. His eyes took him around himself, northward. Ivordir's eyes were burning with fatigue. Lothlorien was in flames, parts of it were smoked, and some great power marshaled, marching toward the black fortress of Dol Guldor, rising out of the bleak leagues of Mirkwood. He felt tempted to turn directly East, but he
resisted. He gazed northwest instead: Auruiron and his large Host had reached the great Fork- where the Carnen met the River Running. He felt relieved at first, but then he knew how far they would have to press forward, for hundreds of leagues lay between them. He turned in haste, resisting the temptation, as he gazed directly south again, and then southeast, and he saw a great Host, lead by a stern and kingly man, who seemed as if sprung from the legends of all the Kings of old, a powerful sword gleaming at his side. It reminded him of tales of Narsil of the age of yore. An Elf and a Dwarf stood at the man's side, and a halfling. And there stood the great Wizard himself, whom Ivordir had heard much tale of, but seldom seen, save when in hiding from their procession from the Rath Dinen. A sorcerer approached them, riding a black steed. Words were spoken, a shiny coat thrust onto the ground. The Black Gates opened. The Host of combined Rohirrim and Gondorians was surrounded by Orcs. And Barad-dur was visible in the deep distance, in all its horror. Suddenly, and swiftly, Orodruin erupted, a blaze of liquid fire exploding, and plunging down its slopes. They had not seen the Eagles flying southwest when they were in Ost Rimmon. But now Ivordir saw them, in awe and wonder, and his gaze turned onto Barad-dur itself, as the Eight Nazgul were consumed in a blaze of fire. And Barad-dur suddenly crumbled before Ivordir's weary eyes.

"Push me forward!" He yelled. He felt as if he was falling off the cliff, but Angolhel merely pushed him off the chair. Ivordir gripped the ruined stone floor
precariously, "I...... I saw the north, Auruiron is marching, and lands are blazing, and there's a rebellion in Umbar, and trouble in Harad, and I........... I saw
a great King, leading a massive Host, of Rohan and of Gondor, and........ they were fighting and................ the Enemy is destroyed! His Tower has fallen!"

Ivordir gripped the stone in terror as everyone else applauded. "No, Daerfalas," Ivordir yelled. "Do not sit there. It would strain you gravely......... its over now.
Be glad you have not witnessed it....... it was terrible..... great, but terrible..... and...."

Daerfalas crouched by Ivordir, resting his hands upon his brother's arm to steady him. "I would not sit there," he replied calmly, "hush. All is well. We are here,
and you are safe."

"I believe that I can brave it," Angolhel scoffed. And she grabbed Amarthandor's cloak, for Amarthandor and his brothers had sneaked-up behind them, wearing their
gleaming glory. She had guessed why he was able to see so far.

Daerfalas looked up at her sharply. "Have a care," he warned, "Ivordir's spirit is shaken. You would do well to heed his words."

Angolhel sat herself down on the seat, not heeding Daerfalas' words. She gazed to the southeast, finding great eagles soaring toward Orodruin, a wizard perched on one of
their backs. But then her gaze turned directly east, and north of the Mountains of Ash, for she felt drawn to do so. And she found much a-stir in Rhun. She followed
the rivers toward Mirkwood and up to Erebor, bracing herself, finding it besieged by Easterlings. But then she was drawn back to the East. Someone drove her. Her gaze
pierced the Sea, and then across the Sea, where she beheld great capitals of men, vast cities of magnificence. She found tribal lands filled with flocks of nomads and
caravans and wainriders. She found vast encampments. And then she gazed on a familiar sight: a cavern she had once visited. And then her gaze was drawn forth across the Sea to lands of great, vast cities, and the foremost among them gleamed in golden beauty on the southeastern shores of Rhun, and upon the balcony of its Citadel, a figure stood, gazing eastward across the
Sea. And another army was marshaling in the courtyards nigh his position. The figure's cloak was gold lined with crimson. "How can this be," Angolhel thought. "He gave the cloak to
Amarthandor." The figure gazed at her with piercing eyes. He gazed at her as if he was reading her mind. His cloak became iridescent. His beauty intensified.

Angolhel's heart was throbbing to gaze at him. And there were more acolytes at his side. He spoke: "I feel a great power has fallen away, a power that had blinded my
great vision. Now his failure is complete..... the lands of the East art mine.........." He did not seem to notice her gaze. He was gazing on his army with terrible
pride.

"Push me," Angolhel demanded. Ivordir nodded and did so. "He knows," Angolhel gasped, clutching the stone floor of the platform. "He knows Mordor has fallen. His
cloak is iridescent now........"

Ivordir nodded gravely, "From what Auruiron has told us in Eriador...... I gather he is claiming the right of lordship, now that the Dark Lord is gone. Our final
Quest has grown far dire. Rangers of Gondor! We fight to ensure this newly-established freedom of our Realm."

Orel nodded, kneeling before Ivordir, "We shall serve the White Tree, and drive this evil back. You have my word." Then he rose.

Ivordir smiled, "Angolhel, did you happen to see any Mumakil on the march?"

Angolhel shook her head, "The vision passed too quickly..... I did not see....."

Ivordir shook his head, "Bah. I will sit again!"

Daerfalas started forward. "Wait..."

Ivordir turned, "What is it Daerfalas?"

He continued, his voice low. "Be careful, brother. I think that such far-seeing may come with a price. Do not sit for longer than you must."

Amarthandor turned to Arancir, "You sit, brother. Yes, I mean it. I would have thought it was my destiny...... but that destiny is forfeit. Brave it, brother....... I
believe in you...."

Arancir paled, balking, yet after a moment of some consideration he inched towards the chair, glancing between his brother and Ivordir with a cautious look.

Arancir sat, and steeled himself. At first, little happened. The horizon swam before him, and he calmed, his muscles relaxing. Soon enough the scenery shifted. He saw
Pelennor, and the aftermath of battle. Bodies were being buried. There was a great dark mark upon the earth, scorched black and ugly. Curiously, Arancir turned his
sight northward and east. He saw a great city near the peak of a sloping mountain. The city burned as Men from the East set fire to hearths and homes. He saw
refugees, women and children, clambering into the Mountain. Arancir shuddered and looked away. His temples began to pound with the threat of an oncoming headache.
Again he turned his gaze away, this time south. He saw a figure glow brightly in the dark. It seemed to reach up and beckon to him, it's visage blurred, but it's
voice clear, as though it's words were being whispered into his ear, "My moment has come; here I shall seize victory..." Arancir gasped, and felt himself being
wrenched from his vision. When he opened his eyes, he was upon the floor. He looked up frantically to Amarthandor, "Brother! I...I saw far and I..." he shook his head
as though to clear it.

Ivordir gasped, "Did you see the Mumakil?"

Amarthandor impulsively tugged at the cloak on Angolhel's back. She yielded. He took the cloak and sat down on the Seat, himself being propelled unto the East. He
thought he saw some large creatures marching in the shadows, but he could not be certain, for his gaze pierced beyond the Dead Marshes, and into the heart of the
East. He beheld Amanuiron Guldrambor in all his power. He felt something coarse through his veins. It seized him. He was writhing on the Seat, his insides threatening
to burst, his pain was deep. But Amanuiron Guldrambor spoke seized control of his mind as he writhed, "Ah............ thou hast returned, son of Malnoron! Prithee....
hast thou taken thine Throne? Traitor!" Amanuiron struggled to gaze north, Auruiron was gleaming, but did not see him, and Amanuiron's vision was tugged back, and
Guldrambor declared: "The Prince of Gold approaches.......... we shalt await our guests. We are most gracious hosts!"

Auravon clutched at his brother, pulling him from the Seat, until he ceased to writhe in his deepening pain. Amarthandor gasped, "He knows everything........ he knows
that we are coming........ he does not seem frightened.......... of the Elves, or of us........."

Arancir covered his mouth, his eyes wide and terrified. He rushed to aid Auravon, grasping Amarthandor and helping him to his seat, and he gasped, "The figure in the
dark!"

Ivordir balked, "Here we are, we fools, taking turns in these enchantments. They are clearly in vain....... we cannot trust our visions. They might have been derived
to deceive us. The Dark Lord may be alive for all we know. Come, let us away from this hallowed place, before our Enemy destroys us completely, or before we destroy
ourselves! Enough of this madness! Angolhel, I should not have hearkened to you! Tell me, was this thy wretched plot all along?"

Angolhel balked, "I do not know......... I do not believe that we were deceived. What shall we do? He knows all by now. He will prepare his armies. Who knows where he
will strike, if we dare not. Your precious Gondor is in ruins, it shall not be able to hinder him."

"Then we will march, and if we die, so be it!" Ivordir stammered bitterly. "So much for the element of surprise. I suppose that he would have known anyway. This
mission was botched from the beginning, with the bile, coursing its way through all your veins! Come, down to the Parth Galen, where we will camp. Then we will head
north, following the river to the undeeps. And we will see if Mumakil await us, or if we must die of starvation and thirst, on a hapless, hopeless journey, that is
likely to be our doom. Come now, away from here! And put those cloaks away, lest we betray our cover again!"

It was now nightfall. They wearily tread down the hill, down the aged steps, till they reached the lawn below. The Nen Hithoel was vast and deep. The reflections of
the stars gleamed on its sullen surface. The deepening shadows of the Argonath loomed, far to their north. They rested on the grass for what remained of the night.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 1 2016, 09:56 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCL: Through the East Wall and the Wold

At dawn, they roused themselves from sleep. The road was long and bleak. They followed the ancient, ruined road through the deep forests of the East Wall that
bordered Rohan. They came upon a large copse of trees. There was old, browned, dry blood at the base of one of the trees, surrounded by the reeking skeletons of Orcs.
Ivordir felt strangely drawn to the site. He did not know why.

They passed through long vales. At nights, they camped along the road. Rangers hunted and nobles snored. They were all garbed in their worn traveling clothes again.
They followed the Anduin in the Vales above Sarn Gebir. The road was cheerless for many in the Company. Daechon felt out of place. Nenthor thought of songs he could
write about their journey. Fingaereth and Malfinseron held each other close at night, while Isenadin moaned in sorrow, wishing he had not come. The nephews of
Dinalagos remained haunted by their past, marred by the trauma, and the road was hardest on them.

Angolhel was miserable. They had stopped at the Argonath and she and Alagossel had robed and cloaked themselves and they had outstretched their arms, but it brought
them no satisfaction. She was beginning to question her old sage's prophesies.

The Company passed into the Wold, where there were signs of battle: Orc and easterling corpses rotting in the sunlight. The air stank. They covered their noses as
they passed through. There were gigantic footprints of a sort they could not identify. And it seemed a forest loomed on the horizon, where a forest should not be,
ancient and mysterious, weathered and worn. Now, across the golden fields of the Wold, beneath blue and cloudy skies, the road had grown more barren, as did the
promise of victory. But there were watering-holes in the Wold and their water supplies were still intact, and the river had served as a promising source as well.
And they had fished in the river and they still were not starving, and while the provisions had grown thin, there were still enough from Ost Rimmon, for they had
supplemented their diets on boar and auroch and river-trout and fawn and buck. The rangers were their lifeline for survival. They split the carcasses of their slain
game and did not eat huge meals.

They traveled from March 26th through April 1st. Throughout these days, there was little conversation. For they had to conserve their breathing, the rhythm of their
march. When they would pause for meals and rests, some conversed. The rangers had begun to wonder if they really were marching to their deaths, to starvation and
thirst in a desert without hope. They finally reached the South Undeep. They paced themselves, but their provisions were growing thin. The rangers turned to hunting
more game on the plains.

By April 4th, they reached the North Undeep. The Brownlands stretched beyond them, bare and bleak. A watchman gazed from atop on of the barren hills. There was a
strange noise, and the sound of thundering thumps. The Mumakil finally came into sight at last. And the Company crossed the river.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:54 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLI: A Fractured Unity

And now, their hopes were rekindled. And Saljuk approached Ivordir and Abrazan, "Hail men!"

Abrazan smiled, "Saljuk! How did you make it past the armies?"

Saljuk laughed, "It was one tiresome stink of a journey, but we made it. And oh, those marshes reeked. But we filled our flasks and drank from the Wetwang. The Dead
Marshes were bad, though. Stinking waters. You don't want to drink them. We managed to make it past Cair Andros after the army occupied it. Not much to tell. We slew
game in the forest, but game became scarce along the marshlands. We're famished, for we focused on preserving our meat. Have you anything to eat?"

Ivordir frowned, "Only our scant provisions. I do not know how we are going to survive this journey. The Wanderer did not want us going through the golden woods to
the northwest..... said there's some elf-witch there, perilous and she must not know of our Quest for whatever reason."

Saljuk nodded, "We do need supplies of some sort. Want to pretend to be your Enemy? There's some fortress to the north, the Eye used to rule from there."

Ivordir laughed, "Maggoty bread and raw flesh? That will not keep us alive. Besides, they would find us out fairly quick. We have to stay away from there."

Saljuk smiled, "Look. We still have barrels of salt left on our Mumaks. Its how we ration meat. Why don't you send your archers back into the fields across the
Undeep?" In truth, Saljuk was much suspicious of the rangers.

Ivordir was gazing in awe at the tall Mumakil, who trumpeted their trunks every now and then, a loud and blasting sound. Their towers were wide and well-constructed.
Ivordir sighed, "We already did. Our pack-steeds are overloaded as it is."

Saljuk inspected the pack-horses, "We have enough for..... a month, if we each eat only one bite per day."

Ivordir shook his head, "Could there be game to hunt in that big forest I saw on the map, where the fortress is?"

Saljuk nodded, "Maybe. Only one way to find out."

Ivordir nodded, "We better head north and follow the forest eaves then. Crossing these barren lands would be deadly. I am more concerned about the water. Have you any
empty barrels?"

Saljuk nodded.

"Then fill them here at the river. We'll have to ration to one cup per man per day. How many men do you have?"

Saljuk laughed, "Seventy."

Angolhel strode forward, "You have brought the entire tribe, haven't you? The whole Shadhadmaradi.........."

Abrazan's eyes grew wide, "So that's why you sided with us so quickly."

Saljuk nodded, "We planned it. And we planned for a far longer journey. We didn't let the other tribes know about it. We even have the tents packed-up. Between game
in the forest and what we have, we might be able to make it. But we are undecided, Lady Sorceress. What makes you think we would side with Gondorians so easily?"

Angolhel scoffed, "We have already had this discussion numerous times."

Saljuk scoffed, "We already lost several men in the fray. I'll tell you who they were in private. But I do not trust these ranger curs!"

And Orel laughed cruelly, "And what makes ye think, Captain, that we're going up in that Mumakil with them? That's treason! What of our own blood that fell at their
hands!"

Ivordir stammered, "Follow the wisdom of your Captain for once in your lives! Not me, Faramir! Faramir hated war, from what I've heard......."

"Aye, that's true. Mithon told us." Orel closed his eyes. "Our Captain could be dead for all we know now. Fine, for his sake, we'll endure it, though we won't like
it!" He sneered at Saljuk.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:54 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLII: Toward Mirkwood Eaves

They combined their provisions and set the pack-horses free across the river. They were tempted to kill them for meat, but Ivordir forbade it, for, like the Rohirrim,
he had great respect for horses, and there were plenty of lands for them to graze-on. Several of the Haradrim had indeed died. There was room on most of the Seven
Mumakil.

The tribe had dwindled in size over the years becoming a small family rather than a large horde. Angolhel divided her own forces. She placed the most
distrustful Haradrim directly under her watch. She put Alagossel in charge of the next ten. Angolhel knew them all and their views toward Gondor. Lerion took command
of another Mumak. And then it became more difficult, for the sailors who had rowed their ship up the Anduin to Harlond were no more. Angolhel placed Silevren with the
most trustworthy of the tribe. She placed Abrazan and Malagi with others in between. The Host was formed: a hundred and fifty-nine men atop seven strong Mumakil. Three occupied
the top-most tiers. Twelve occupied the middle-tiers. The rest occupied the lowest tier of their tower. It was cramped in space between all those men and all those
provisions.

It was a wonder the Mumakil did not crumble under all that weight. But these Mumakil were tall and strong and resilient. They teathered the provisions to the sides of
the tower. The towers had many straps. The towers had three major tiers per Mumak. They all held-on tight when the Mumakil bent lower to the edge of the river,
thrusting their trunks into the currents, filling-up their reserves. Mumakil, when pressed, could maintain a long distance with little water. This was how they
marched from Far Harad to Gondor. They used rope-ladders to descend and ascend the Mumakil and each tier. The drivers began asserting their control over the beasts,
steering them northward. They followed the river carefully.

At nightfall, they would dismount the Mumakil and set-up the tents. The towers were constructed in several separate components, which were teathered together, while
the Mumak is still lying on its tummy. They would tie ropes around the Mumak's legs, to lure it down on its tummy, and Mumakil were trained to do this since their
youth. Then, they would undo the straps, component by component, and every male member of the tribe would contribute his back-breaking strength, to move each
component away from the Mumakil. This was done on all seven oliphaunts. They were exhausted by the time each job was done. The able-bodied Gondorians contributed
where they could, easening the job. The Mumakil slept on their sides at night outside the tents, the components of the towers and provisions scattered around them. It
was a heavy price to pay for transportation.

A Mumak could journey fifty miles in a day, due to its massive strides and endurance. They were far more resilient than horses and reared for war since birth. The
weaker Mumakil would perish on long journeys. The Haradrim took only the stronger ones to war. The men also knew how to handle the towers efficiently. The towers were
made of a lighter-weight wood from the distant southeastern jungles. The wood could withstand the weight of men and supplies. The wood could not withstand an
oliphaunt standing on top of it.

Sorcerers were forbidden to assist in such labors. Angolhel extended this rule to the Gondorian nobles, who had grown in their survival skills, but not enough to lift
heavy components of war-towers. These components were then placed properly as rudimentary tent-poles, with beams crossing over, and the vast tarp unfurled and draped over it
all.

They reached the eaves of Mirkwood within two days. It was now April 7th.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:54 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLIII: The Destruction of Dol Guldor

As they traveled, tales were woven and tales were told. Daechon told tales of his antics. The Haradrim could not tell the differences between a magician and a sorcerer. Daechon gave-up. Silevren's beard was slowly re-growing. On the night of April 3rd, they saw a great force of light explode in the forest to their north. They all clamored atop the Mumak-towers to watch it. Ivordir saw Dol Guldor in the far distance. On a distant plateau, a Lady stood, and her Lord stood at her side. Wind billowed her bright blond-silvery hair that stretched down her back as if a cape. Her silver and white garb glistened brightly. She outspread her arms, she was shrouded in light, and a great light burst him her, and it swallowed the walls of the fortress before her. Her light glistened in Angolhel's eyes as the latter watch, believing that she was witnessing the acts of the most powerful of Sorceresses, if not the Golden Serpent herself in her human form, goddess of her people.

Ivordir guessed that it was Galadriel of the Noldor, of whom Auruiron had spoken long ago.

No one uttered a word to it. Foundations were laid bare, countless Orcs and fell beasts were destroyed, and when the powerful display was done, there stood the ruins of an old Sindarin citadel, the land of Oropher long ago upon Amon Lanc.

But the East was dark. And Angolhel began her tale.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLIV: Immortal Fea

They were all gathered in the large tent formed between the Mumakil tower sections when Angolhel began her tale. And Amarthandor and Saelbainor sat by her side. They would tell the tale in full, from the origins of their tribe, to their arrival in Gondor. It was a tale of half-truths, for parts of it were unknown to them, known only to Yucalwe, and to Macilon of the Noldor. The West was shrouded in mythic legend. None of the Haradrim understood it completely. They only knew that it was the home of their greatest gods and goddesses, and that some of them had crossed eastward, to watch over their peoples in the desert. There was Orthano the Wise, the storm-god, and his wife, Eleria of the Stars, and Irko of the Dreams, and Namon of the Halls of the Dead, and Oromon of the Hunters, and Nesia, the Huntress, and Niena, the Golden Serpant Goddess of Pity, and Auli the first Black Serpant, and Melci, the Greatest, and Manwo of the Winds, and many others besides. And Auli's Heir was Maro, who became the new Black Serpent when he defeated his Master, and Maro became the Lord, who dwelt nigh the fiery mountain in the ashen land of Mordor.

But Angolhel learned Maro was false, and a liar, and did not pity him when his fortress crumbled.

Many of the tribes wandered in groups out of the far East. The desert tired them, and so they settled, and when they dug wells, they found the waters refreshing, believing them to be gifts from the gods. Some of them had ventured farther, led by they who would become the folk of Ulfang, and no tidings of them came from the West. And they discovered silk-worms and oliphaunts in the jungles to the south. Some of them died to unknown causes, known as illnesses and sickneses. And many perished beneath the heat of the desert. The tents shielded them from the hot sun, but many remained hot and sweaty. Some of them watched their skin turn red and painful. And so they sought-out rivers and dwelt alongside them, bathing in them daily, and some of them chose to dwell nigh many wells. And some of them built larger cities along the rivers and developed comforts from themselves.

Eventually, they encountered the men of paler skin, who had worn fancy robes and shining armor, who had built a vast Haven, with many ships. These men did not tolerate the Haradrim at first. In time, other ships arrived, and they claimed that their large island Kingdom had sank beneath the sea. They remained bound to their Golden King, their Messiah, and they remained bound to his chief counsellor, the god Maron. And the intolerance was ended. And many Haradrim settled along the coasts, and many rose to power within the Haven-City, Umbar.

Saelbainor then interjected the tale regarding the Great Masters of Umbar, the slave-pits, and the long lineages of Black Numenorean blood, and of the Sorcerers who were trained among them. This began the tradition that spread like a vast cloak eastward among the Haradrim tribes. Saelbainor revealed that his former name, 'Gurthbainor,' was, in fact, a title, and that he was but one of a long line of Gurthbainors, of the ancient Order of Gurth, who held high positions of power among the High Council of Umbar, the Chief of which was the Captain of the Havens. Swarthy men became pirates in the Captain's service, raiding the coastal towns of Gondor, while the elite maintained their might. Throughout the years, this power-structure had dissolved and reformed itself in the farming plains outside the Havens, on the edge of the Great Waste, the vastest desert in the south, where the dunes were tall and threatening, where the lands became freezing at night, and scorching at daylight. Gondor had taken the Haven several times. Umbar had regained its power. Eventually, the old Numenorean blood became well-wedded with that of the Haradrim. Pale skin turned darker and redder, generation by generation. One cult of Black Numenorean Sorcerers remained 'pure,' and it was from this that the Lord of Mordor had derived his emissaries, among other such cults, scattered across the East. But now they were nigh extinction.

Saelbainor had been brought before the high altar as a baby. He was taken from his parents and raised by the Gurthbaini. He became one of the Gurthbaini on his ascension to adulthood. But he was one of many. The Gurthbaini had many roles to play, from Gondor to the innermost reaches of the Haradwaith. Saelbainor was sent to Pelargir. Another was sent when Saelbainor fell. But this other fell, literally, with his correspondent, Malnoron, according to what little Sainon had witnessed. And a few of the Gurthbaini served the one called Guldrambor, and the rest believed that this Guldrambor might serve the interests of the god of Mordor, whom they served and worshipped. They had believed that anything that struck against Gondor fell within those interests.

Then Angolhel continued, going backward in time again, to the time when she was a little girl. Lerion's father was a younger man, then, and Saljuk was even older than he. Saraphet was his aide, and Salagon was his servant and chief Mumak rearer. The Shahadmaradi was a poor tribe, then, among the poorest tribes. With few prospects for success in Umbar, Salagost had led the tribe as its chief Sorcerer, and both Angolhel and Lerion remembered the long years toiling in the desert, digging at dry wells, till the faint gleam of water wet their eyes. They remembered how they trailed the Ephel Duath till it ended, the ashen plains of Mordor giving way to the long steppes of Khand. Many of the Variags were black-guard mercenaries. Salagost and his strongest warriors had fought the Variags occasionally. The Variags had feared provoking the Mumakil, and few assailed them, knowing it would prove too dangerous. A fire-arrow might cause the Mumak towers to burn, but the Haradrim had buckets of water prepared to put-out any flames, and the Variags were wise enough to know that everyone, in the end, would be dead, by the time a fight was over. They were strong with horses and tended to pick-off other horse-tribes or grounded infantry. The Variags preferred wielding axes.

The Shahadmaradi had migrated through the steppes, conserving their water supply, for they had heard legends of a great, glistening sea to the north, where many folk now dwelt. Some of the Easterlings were dark or red or brown or pale in complexion, while others had slit-shaped eyes and spoke in strange tongues, some were poor shepherds and fisherfolk and farmers in the plains nigh the sea, and others were great warriors and organized soldiers in golden armor and red silks, and some were robed and cloaked in silks, mightly nobles and lords of their people, and some served in ancient orders of sword-wielders with entrenched codes of honor, and while some towns were made of tents and old, crudely-constructed huts, others were of vast manses with tiled, curving roofs, golden shingles and red walls, and vast palaces and tall towers, and of white stucco and marble, richer even than Gondor during the years of the Plague that did not spread across the deserts or the lands of Brown. There were tribes with Chieftains and Orders of Sorcerers, and there were lorddoms, and even Kingdoms ruled by Emperors. It was among the most diverse lands. And Angolhel reflected on these, her memories of the East, knowing that they were far from the sole representations of the vast diversity and vaster unknown that comprised RHUN, the mysteries East. The East was more vast than Angolhel herself could comprehend, her experiences embodying only a small fraction of it. There were jungles, deserts, vales, rivers, streams, mountains, forests, and all manner of lands, within the East. The East was ever trapped, preventing Western comprehension, because of the vast wastes that severed the majestic whole: the Brownlands and barren plains and steppes, the ashen lands of Mordor, the towering mounts of ash and shadow, the noxious Sea of Nurnen, and the great deserts of the South.

One time, Angolhel nearly fell in love with a follower of the Blue Caste, who served two strange old men robed in blue with staves who had arrived with a White Wizard, who in turn wielded an obsidian staff that he ever clutched close to himself. But Angolhel had never met them, or seen them, and only heard the tales from her boyfriend. Her boyfriend left her and never returned, leaving Angolhel vulnerable and sad.

It was then that the Shahadmaradi chanced upon a cavern within a cliff, the Sea of Rhun glistening far below it, and they camped themselves above it, and when Angolhel climbed beneath, into strange halls, she could feel the thumping of the Mumakil far above through the strong limestone rock. She turned to see a figure who appeared to be both male and female, majestic was his golden silvery hair, and his cloak of gold was lined with fiery red, in all his beauty.

And Amarthandor recounted his tale to all, Angolhel nodding in confirmation, for Amanuiron Guldrambor had done the same to her that he had done to Amarthandor Amarthon, years later, when the Shahadmaradi had left the cave long behind them, before stumbling in the gold ore lodes in the southern Ephel Duath, mining the stone, selling the gold in Umbar, and raising great wealth for themselves along the sea. Their nomadic life had ended, and they camped in the desert on occasion, on missions of their own. They had entered into the confidence of certain members of the Gurthbain by means of Guldrambor's Sigil. But Salagost, whom had served Amanuiron Guldrambor, believing him to be a living god, had joined his Mumak in a larger caravan, and never returned from Ithilien. Lerion traveled to Pelargir, and Angolhel had led part of the tribe south, to the great temples in the junglish forests nigh Saraj. Here, she and her sister met the old Sorceress, who told them of her dreams, of Uireb, a mysterious god, who warned them in cryptic words, of a being fitting Guldrambor's description. So it was that Angolhel and Alagossel were persuaded of the evil of Guldrambor, whom they realized had been using them, to gain what he wanted: knowledge of the actions of his servants in Umbar. That knowledge never reached Guldrambor until one of the Gurthbaini journeyed to Rhun himself, which Angolhel learned to her sorrow and disatisfaction. And Angolhel had led her tribe north through Harondor, coming into the parts of South Ithilien that followed the coast briefly, and then the Anduin, and then she revealed herself to Silevren and the others.

Such was her tale. And then Saljuk continued with a tale of his own.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLV: The Treason of Saljuk

The Mumakil had broken with Angolhel's force in northern Harondor. Saljuk had scowled at the known criminals whom Angolhel ordered into Southern Ithilien. He knew they would not make it out alive. But they had their own concerns. The Seven made their way along the dusty Harad Road, and across the bridge at the Crossings of Poros, where old Rohirric graves marked the sites where Folcred and Fastred had fallen during the Battle of old. They made their way past the spot where Salagost had been slain by none other than Mithon of Bar Hurin, which Orel confirmed. Orel had remembered that day. And Lerion was even more glad at the thought of Mithon's death on the mountain slopes. Orel was still mistrustful of Saljuk, but he kept quiet and listened carefully.

And Saljuk told them of how they met with Abrazan, who confirmed their loyalty even further. They thought that Abrazan was a Sorcerer, due to his strange cape. When they had parted Company with Abrazan, they had followed the Road with little incident, till they reached the old bridge that crossed the Morgulduin that flowed toward the Anduin out of the cursed vale. And then they fought with Mithon and his men, and suffered few casualties, for they wished not to replicate the vanity that was Salagost's ultimate demise. When the Morgul Signal had been given, they deprived themselves of sleep, riding for a whole day and night, up the Harad Road, north of the Crossroads.

They kept to the road as long as they could, and narrowly avoided the Morannon Army that marched from the Black Gate to Cair Andros. Here, they had deviated from Abrazan's initial plan. They turned toward the Dead Marshes only after they had parted from North Ithilien. The rangers who had harried earlier convoys were gone. The Seven took advantage of this, and reached the Dead Marshes, and followed them for several long days, only along their borders, and closer to the Slag Mounds of Noman's Land. They eventually followed the borders of the Emyn Muil until they reached the Anduin above Sarn Gebir. They had seen the Ents in the far distance slaughtering Orcs and Easterlings alike. The Seven Mumakil attacked any remaining Orcs they could find, suffering some casualties from poisoned darts and arrows, and they buried their dead in the westernmost parts of the Brownlands. Then they met Ivordir and his Company at the North Undeep.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLVI: Far in the East

Anzulbar smirked at the gold-armored guards standing quietly with their halberds crossed at the entrance to the Citadel. They sighed and withdrew their halberds. Anzulbar passed into the golden halls, many pillars lining them. Then he entered the cathedral-sized great Hall of the citadel, stretching toward a golden throne. The large stained-glass windows opened onto the Sea of Rhun, and the doors to the balcony behind the Throne pedestal were open. Anzulbar wore a black silk cloak with black velvet robes, all lined with gold. He was the new youngest novice of the Gurthbaini, but he had been sent directly to Rhun before his scheduled naming ceremony, where Anzulbar would vanish, and Gurthbainor would be all that remained. The Hall was unusually quiet. Normally, the counselors would gather in service of the Emperor. It had been a long-staged coup.

A large army comprised of many Easterling peoples had marched south toward the Morannon. Their commander had received the old Emperor's assurance that all would proceed according to plan. Then, the other large Easterling force, with all its cavalry and wainriders, made for the Carnen, to follow it and the River Running all the way northwest to Long Lake, the realm of Dale, and ultimately, Erebor. The old Emperor had watched the procession of Samu Knights, Blue Caste Sorcerers, and all their forces. The old Emperor and the Mouth of Sauron did not know what became of the Blue Istari, who had presumably traveled even further east for an unknown purpose. They had been thorns in the old Emperor's side, and of other Emperors in the past. But now their loyalists had been persecuted, burned at the stake or flayed, or fed to wild beasts, and the only followers who remained were those who had re-aligned themselves with the Great Eye.

Now the old Emperor had also been visited by one of the Nine, who had once been a great Easterling King of old: Khamul, who once ruled all the Realms of Rhun. The old Emperor's own power was far smaller in comparison. The old Emperor had obeyed every command of he, the Lieutenant of Dol Guldor. And now the old Emperor looked on his departing forces with pride. But there was something he did not know.

All his loyal princes and top brass were in the line of fire, for another had arisen, seeking power, and the old Emperor had no real heirs, although he had many illegitimate children, Anzulbar being one of them. And Anzulbar was beguiled by the strange being who dwelt in the caverns in the cliffs above the western shores of Rhun. He found the old Emperor to be a traitor. He detested that man, who was known to take liberties with many of his subjects. And so, the time finally came, the plan set into motion. Anzulbar had formed an alliance with the Gurthbaini, traveling to Umbar, investing himself in their ranks. When he returned to eastern Rhun, he found the strange being had already journeyed there, and had garnered many allies of his own.

Some of these noble sons and Sami Knights, pledging their allegiance to he, Guldrambor, had vowed to slay their commanders, once Erebor was thoroughly besieged.

And this was Guldrambor's plan:

They would claim the high brass' titles, and rally many of the poor soldiers in the army, who detested their commanders more often than not, and claim Erebor for their own. Guldrambor would seize it as his new base of operations, and lay siege to Thranduil's Halls in Mirkwood, and then he would take Dol Guldor, and then he would assail Lorien and Caras Galadhon, if the Dark Lord of Mordor's forces had failed to seize it. Then he would enter Hadhodrond of old, Khazad-dum, and claim many of their forces to his side, and then they would overrun the plains of Rohan, and burn Edoras to the ground. They would seize Isengard and recruit Curunir to their side, or make him perish, and rally the Uruk-hai and Dunlendings to their side. They would sweep into Gondor from the West, and entrap it completely, and Guldrambor would sit on the Throne of Minas Tirith. By now, Anzulbar would be Lord of the Gurthbaini, and Captain of the Havens of Umbar, and with Gondor crushed, they would defeat Mordor itself, and Guldrambor would force the Lieutenant of Angband to bow to him, and chain him, and cut off all his fingers, and claim his Ring for his own. Then, Guldrambor would march into Eriador, destroy Imladris, and all who would dare oppose him, the Shire burning, and then he would finally reach Mithlond, burning the last Haven of the Elves, and knock on the doors of Minas Noldorion, and slay Auruiron and all his followers, fulfilling his oath from the First Age of Arda. Then he would build ships, and lay siege to Valinor. He had been in the East for so long, he knew not the fate of Aman, and knew only the fate of Numenor. He did not know that the world had been made round.

Such was the plan of Guldrambor.

And once the army had left the great City of Sakuta, the old Emperor had returned to his Citadel, to find his servant Anzulbar waiting for him, who revealed himself as the Emperor's illegitimate son, one of many, and then all the illegitimate sons gathered around their father, and murdered him with daggers. The servants cleaned-up the mess and tossed the corpse into the sea. In processed Amanuiron Guldrambor, first of his name, in all his wretched might, and he sat himself down on the Throne in all his vainglory, and commanded that the Citadel be paved in gold, and that the City be beautified in his image. He declared himself the Light Lord, who would conquer the Dark Lord of Mordor, and rule all of Middle-Earth. Such was the vanity, and all the delusions, of Guldrambor. For he was no Third Dark Lord, despite his deepest desires, and it was all ever a display. And many would shed their blood for that display, many the innocent blood would spill, and the Sea of Rhun would boil in the wake of his turpitude.

Anzulbar passed beyond the throne, and came to his Emperor, Amanuiron, clothed in gold. "What of Amarthon?" Anzulbar asked curiously.

The Emperor at first did not answer. He gazed at the sunset solemnly. He turned and smiled, "Amarthon remains in our service, though he knows it not." Guldrambor had had a new cloak sewn for him, brighter and vaster than his previous cape, and he had bathed it in the bile, augmenting it with his power. But this false cloak was not the cloak that his brother, Uireb, had given to him in Aman, long ago.

Anzulbar smiled, "And when shall we know of the fate of our army in Erebor?"

The Emperor smiled, "As soon as our messenger returns with the tidings, once it is captured, and all the Dwarves destroyed. And their jewels and gold and mithril shall feed all the starving folk of Rhun, everyone shall become rich, endowed with our favor."

Anzulbar bowed, "And if Amarthon does not remain in our service?"

The Emperor laughed, "Then it will be up to you, Anzulbar of the Gurthbainor. Keep thine name, this grace I grant to thee."

Anzulbar bowed, "I am grateful to my Emperor for this."

The Emperor smiled, beckoning to Anzulbar, "Come and watch. One day, the sun will never set upon our Empire. The Kingdoms of the past will fade away. Our Empire, our Dominion, shall alone, remain. And one day, even all the gods shall bow, and worship me." He put his arm around Anzulbar's shoulders, draping his cloak around them both. Neither of them spoke further as the sun set, fiery, its fingers reaching toward them across the sky, as strange stars slowly appeared, the light faded, the darkness pervading, above the crystalline sea.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLVII: What the Seat Saw

Days prior, the Emperor and Anzulbar had gathered their loyalists in a military parade before the Citadel. Women cheered, girls tossed clumps of roses and marigolds from the roof-tops, and ravens flew throughout the city. The men of Rhun were arrayed in their golden armor, golden masked helms, and in their finest ceremonial silken red cloaks, shining and fluttering behind them in the breeze. They seldom wore the full cloaks for combat. Some had red paint tattooed on their faces. Some had almond-curved eyes, some were swarthy, others were young and fair, and their faces varied in their complexions, for they had gathered from several different tribes. Some of the Blue Caste Sorcerers were present in their velvet robes and iron helms, and traditional sashes, marked by the words of the blue Istari, whom they had betrayed. The Blue Wizards were long since gone, somewhere in the even more distant East, with whoever followed them. The Emperor had kept himself aloof, veiling his presence, when they passed through his lands, for he did not seek an outright conflict with Maiar of his own Order.

The Emperor had marched among his ranks, processing among them, inspecting them, reading their thoughts. Traitors, or even any soldiers who had misgivings, were called forward from the line, marched away to a fate unknown to Anzulbar and the rest of them. The Emperor would meet with them individually, and probe them ever further, and those who would side with him, he would spare, and keep close to him in his service. But for those who resisted, their skeletons were piled on the rocks below the cliffs behind the Citadel, the large sea-monsters devouring what little remained of their bones.

And all who remained loyal were greatly rewarded with riches and finery. The Citadel's floors and columns had been bathed in gold. The Emperor had visited the southwestern mines in the Mountains of Rhun, he had granted hope to their spirits, and rest for the weary, so that the gold was mined fairly. He had then aided in its transportation to Sakuta, and protected all who were involved in the melting and cooling of the liquid gold. Morgoth failed because he was cruel to his slaves, The Emperor thought. But I know greater means of gaining loyalty.... and progress....... for it must be earned....... The rest of the treasure was protected in the treasury, and dispersed to all who gained the Emperor's favor, as well as to all whom the Emperor so deigned to gift his vast wealth.

The Emperor had processed among his ranks, and suddenly, he became openly afraid, and felt watched. But then he knew whom he sensed: none other than Amarthon and other traitors. And so the Emperor had laughed and declared his power, much to the initial confusion to all around him, until he suddenly declared the death of the Dark Lord of Mordor. The dark clouds of the Dawnless Day had been dimly visible, from Dol Guldor to Mordor. But now the clouds dispersed. Panic filled the streets. The citizens were restless, on the brink of despair.

And the Emperor outstretched his arms, his cloak draping beneath them, in all his beauty, calming all who gazed upon him. They all turned madly in love with him, turning to him as their last refuge in the absence of the Great Eye. They knelt before their Light Lord, declaring him their Golden King, and so it was that Guldrambor the Easterling supplanted his predecessor, Khamul, one of the Nine. And unlike Khamul, whose face had vanished beneath his dark hood, who had become naught but a 'Black Rider,' clothed in black woolen cloaks and fell Morgul silver from the crown of his helm to the tips of his boots, their new King, their Emperor, was beautiful, fair and majestic. And the few who sensed the foulness veiled beneath the fairness suffered terrible dooms. And when the Emperor spoke, his golden and crimson cloak became endowed with a flurry of many colors, astonishing all who observed him, alluring them, entrancing them within his power. They felt honor and pride and loyalty and fortitude, all of which are virtues, save when they are displaced. Then, the soldiers chanted their war-chant. Many were the folk of Rhun. Many had marched to war in Gondor, and many had marched to war in Erebor. But many remained to serve their Emperor.

For all his cruelty, the Emperor was a wise prince. He preferred to be both feared and loved. He preferred that his subjects should love and serve him willingly. And he truly believed that he was building a better Arda, greater than anything devised during the Great Music, that he remembered. He thought himself the new order to the chaos, and he thought himself a hero. He would be the harbinger of the Third Theme of Eru Iluvatar. The Emperor had even betrayed Morgoth in his final moments in Angband. But with his brother, Uireb, he had gravely disagreed. He fled from Uireb, longing to rebuild the world himself, to repair the damage that he had done, through his own lordship. And through these means, greater damage was wrought forth upon the East of Arda.

And Uireb did not surrender, entrusting a secret mission to an Elf who had been rescued from the mines of Angband. The Emperor had fled from his brother. And Uireb had received permission from his superiors in the West, who gave to any who followed it, a great and glorious boon: as Beren won the hand of Luthien, by capturing the Silmaril from Morgoth's Crown, amidst deep sacrifice, so would any who sought to place an end to the threat of Uireb's brother in the East, be pardoned for their crimes, and permitted to return to the Uttermost West, the Doom of Mandos lifted from their fea'r. But the Doom would remain upon them: until their quest was ended.

And their tale would be granted immortality, transcribed, deep within one's innermost mind, from generation to generation, from memory to memory, until the descendant of he who received the Sigil, of the Keeper of Horses, found the tale within his mind again, and so also would any who would transcribe the tale with him, remembering the roles of whom they had been entrusted. Errors would be made within the transcription. And these errors would be overcome: through keen and sharpened eyes. The survival of the tale would depend on the discovery of the Red Book of Westmarch, destined to occur, within the Seventh Age of Arda. Some had known of the Book: a curious hobbit was writing it during his days of dwelling in the Vale of Imladris.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLVIII: The Gurthbaini and the Surrender of Mordor

The Emperor had sent his crows bearing messages to the enclaves of the forces of Mordor. No Orcs lingered in Rhun, for they desired manflesh, and the Easterlings wanted little to do with the cannibals, save when united on the same side in a war. They also could not withstand the sunlight. Half-trolls from Harad were rare, and they could withstand the sun. But most of them remained in the deep south. While some trolls might have been found in the caverns of the Mountains of Rhun, few served Mordor in Rhun directly. The Dark Lord's highest elite were responsible for cowing the folk of Rhun to the Great Eye: the Mouths of Sauron.

The Mouths had long been brainwashed into the Dark Lord's service. The enigmatic Overseer also inflicted terror throughout Rhun, but he did little to disturb the plottings of the Emperor Amanuiron Guldrambor. The Mouths had lost their own identities.

The Mouths had traveled to Sakuta from all across the shorelands of the Sea of Rhun. Some of the Mouths had fled to their own accord. Some had remained with loyalists of their own. But many more hearkened to the call of the Emperor.

The Emperor, Light Lord, Master of Rhun, Golden King, and Harbinger of Dreams, did not demand that the Mouths bend the knee, for he knew it would prove a waste. He interviewed them individually, probing their minds, bringing long dormant memories to the surface. Some remembered their old identities, long since buried by the cruelty of Mordor, and others could not remember, but sought to serve the Emperor nonetheless, now that they were bereft of their Master. These, the Emperor used, to communicate his will to any who remained loyal to Mordor, but there were only Thirteen Mouths, and Rhun was a vast and storied land. So it was in the latter days of March that the Emperor kept his range of influence to the eastern shores of Rhun, biding his time, waiting for tidings from Erebor. He would contend with Mordor's remaining loyalists later.

A Chief Mouth was elected among the Thirteen, and he remained by the Emperor's side. The Emperor always chose the youngest to be his closest servants, for their minds were the most pliable: rash and easily surrendered to anger, but also easily manipulated, and fiercely loyal if their loyalty was earned. He preferred young adults. Children, he reasoned, were better raised by loyal mothers, mothers who were loyal to his cause. They would trust their maternal figures in their lives most of all. The young adults had already feigned themselves masters of their own minds, and these were the easiest to control, for the Emperor would utilize their conviction to his purposes. And so it was that the youngest Mouth in the history of Mouths, a young adult in his early twenties, became the Chief Mouth, advised closely by his elders, and given to serve as a strong counselor for their new Emperor. Some of them even believed that their Emperor would one day restore the Great Eye to power. They knew not the nature of the Ring. Nor did they know of its role in the Dark Lord's downfall.

The Chief Mouth remained robed in the dark wool of Mordor, at first, from the corrupted sheep along the shores of Nurnen, woven by slaves along its placid shores. The Emperor demanded that he wear dark silk. The Chief Mouth slowly regained fragments of his identity. But he still did not remember his name.

The Emperor and Anzulbar were still conversing on the balcony in the light of the torches beneath strange stars and bright moonlight that reflected subtly off the waters' sullen surfaces. The Chief Mouth approached, "What is thy bidding, my Lord?" He knelt before the Emperor and his dark hood and iron helm covered the upper features of his face.

The Emperor turned, smiling, "Come, arise. I am gravely disturbed, Mouth. For enemies are pressing toward us, far from the West. I have foreseen their arrival within the month......"

The Mouth did not speak.

The Emperor spoke in a low, grim tone: "Rally thy forces of Mordor. Summon any of the Haradwaith who remain thus loyal unto thy word. Trust not the mercenary Variags, who will run when they first gaze upon our foes. Summon the Mumakil of the East! And they shalt meet the Mumakil of the West.... upon the field of battle. Summon any among the Gurthbaini who might hearken to our call. Thou shalt not fail thine Lord."

The Mouth nodded, "I shalt not fail. I obey!" He bowed and departed from the Citadel.

Anzulbar bowed, "My Lord. Shall I summon the rest of the Thirteen?"

The Emperor shook his head, "The Chief Mouth will see to it."

Soft footsteps were heard in the hall beyond the balcony. The footfalls trotted into a run. A Haradrim arrived, travel-worn and sorrowful, robed in a cloak of dark blue wool. He bowed before the Emperor, "Sajak! Mi Emperi! Dar Gurthbaini das defedas........"

The Emperor rang his gong, summoning his servants, "Tend to this weary man, and give him a room in thy lower quarters."

When the servants left, the Emperor turned to Anzulbar, who had started shedding tears. The Emperor wiped his tears from his face, "Anzulbar........ you are now the last of the Gurthbaini. For Umbar has perished in rebellion. The Sarajim have retaken it. Friends of the Shahadmaradi Tribe have done it, the temple-dwellers in the forests of the Southrons. The weary man did not even need to utter a single word. The Gurthbaini have perished, the Havens will likely make peace with Gondor....."

Anzulbar bowed, "Command me..... my Emperor.........."

The Emperor smiled, "Summon our attendants, who attend to me in our highest feasts and rituals and dances. Anoint them with mine drink, wrought from the nectar of the flowers of Lorien, upon their tongues. You shall be Lord of the Gurthbaini and their chief commander, within our service."

Anzulbar knelt before his Emperor, "It shall be so."

And Anzulbar woke the attendants, and exclaimed the tidings to them. They were sorrowful at first, but then jovial, when they learned the further tidings. And so they all obeyed, and drank corrupted Dorwinion wine, fairest of the Wood-Elven vintages, that had been laced with bile. That night, they all dreamed flamboyant dreams of their apparent destinies. They wore the silken black robes and cloaks, lined with silver. And Anzulbar found a silken black cloak within his chamber, lined with gold: the cloak of the Chieftains of the Gurthbaini. Anzulbar Gurthbainor summoned his followers into the presence of the Emperor on the following morning of April 1st. And the Emperor confirmed their anointing. The Emperor came forth from his throne among them, and together with Anzulbar, they performed the ritual dance. And the ritual exchange of kisses took place: the Emperor granting all of them. It was the Emperor's tradition. From Guldrambor to Angolhel it came, and from Angolhel to he who became Saelbainor, and all the rest who served the Darkness, the ranks of the Gurthbaini in Umbar.

But now the Emperor ruminated, Umbar is lost to us.... and Khand is a savage land...... but my agents among the Haradwaith remain. They shall retake Umbar when the time is nigh..... but rest my blades for now. I am coming for thee, Auruiron of the Ainon Cundan......... and for thee, Yucalwe.... my old friend........... and for thee......Amarthandor. Thine thoughts betray thee..........traitor.........
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLIX: The Emperor's Tale Begins

The Emperor summoned the Gurthbaini, who settled themselves on cushions in the great Hall, as the Emperor stood, hooded and cloaked in gold lined with crimson yet again. He was reserving his many-hued appearance for particular moments. Using the lexicon of the Easterlings, of their beliefs in gods and goddesses, he told the tale that later became inscribed with correct referents to the Valar, to Melkor, and all their subjects.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLX: The Great Music of Arda and Life in Aman

As Ea was sung into existence, despite Melkor's discord and Iluvatar's silences, the one who would be known as Amanuiron was caught in between them, the order and the chaos. Parts of him gravitated toward Melkor's discord, while others suppressed those urges, longing to remain with the orderly Song of Iluvatar. He hearkened to the themes intently. He was particularly enamored by the Third Theme. Then Eru declared that Ea shall be, and Amanuiron ventured into the world. He longed for the Light of the Lamps, and dwelt in Almaren with his peers. He observed. He did not partake. For his mind was as distraught as the mountains that became vales, and the vales that became mountains, as the Valar warred with Melkor. He beheld the Balrogs and found them ugly, and did not wish to share their doom. But he found Mairon beautiful.

In time, when the Eldar awoke in Cuivienen, Amanuiron aided the Valar in bringing Melkor to justice, although the former was not of much assistance. He followed in the retinue of Lord Irmo of Lorien. And in Lorien, he learned how to craft precise visions as if a writer. He knew how to manipulate the physical senses of one caught in a vision, making the vision appear as if it were truly reality, and he enjoyed this power. But it was of no avail to him. His sight was forbidden to pierce beyond the realm of Aman.

And it was in those days that he came upon a young Noldo boy who had strayed far from his people. The boy was famished, and Amanuiron fed and clothed him, and tried to teach him, longing to share the former's powers with someone. But Amanuiron could not make Yucalwe craft visions of his own. He could, however, craft visions for Yucalwe. Whenever Amanuiron would stray toward the Spring of Nienna, her tears seemed to grow for him, and he could not fathom why.

And he was among one of several to befriend Melkor upon his release from Mandos, ages later, ages after Utumno had fallen, ages after Mairon, now called Sauron, fled with the Balrogs into the depths of Angband.

Amanuiron had robed himself in his majestic cape, gold and red, the same cape he would later give to Amarthon in a moment of weakness. And Yucalwe had ever rested with Amanuiron within that precious cape, along the shores of the lake of Lorien.

One day, as he rested, Yucalwe asked of him: "Do you really believe that we are all destined to greatness?"

"I believe we are...." Amanuiron replied. "I believe we are...."

And they had embraced each other deeply, kissing each other on their cheeks affectionately, in brotherly ways. And Yucalwe seldom felt lonely during those greater days.

And there in the Gardens of Lorien in the Uttermost West, they had shared fair dreams and visions of innocence. Yucalwe wished to befriend the one known as Auruiron, and Amanuiron granted it, and Auruiron forged a jewel within the Halls of Aule, alongside others who particularly served the House of Feanaro. And Auruiron sought to give it as a gift to Amanuiron, of whom Yucalwe had spoken. Auruiron and Yucalwe had spoken of their fathers' feigned to and fro at Court and found it all absurd. Amanuiron accepted the gift, and augmented the jewel, submerging it in the Tears of Nienna, and within the lake of Lorien. Auruiron witnessed its augmentation, and Amanuiron refused to reveal its use to him, for reasons he could not explain.

For Melkor had tempted Amanuiron with promises of power within a Kingdom of his own, and Amanuiron became entranced by Melkor's beauty, by his cape of many colors and by his charm and wit. In time, Amanuiron was enthralled by Melkor, and sought to sow discord of his own, when Yucalwe sought the company of Findekano over that of Amanuiron. And jealousy was the curse of Amanuiron. He gifted the jewel back to Auruiron, instructing him not to allow Yucalwe to touch it. This widened the rift between the noble Houses of Ainon Cundan and Yuale, leading to Yuale and Yucalwe's exile from the Court of Finwe. Yucalwe sewed his own cloak, black and red, on his own.

Throughout this time, there had been subtle hints of discord between Amanuiron and his brother Uireb. For Uireb did not stand in the middle. Ever did he support the Greater Themes of Iluvatar. And Amanuiron wished for a friend of Elven kind to be as if a brother to him: Yucalwe. And Yucalwe seldom wished to speak with Uireb, for Uireb's ways were strange to him, and Uireb often wished to confer with Amanuiron alone. Amanuiron seldom parted company with Yucalwe to speak to Uireb. And Uireb seemed similar in appearance to Amanuiron, only less wild, gentler, and wiser. It mirrored the dynamics between Manwe and his brother, Melkor.

Now Uireb sought to make peace with Amanuiron, in the wake of his spurts of discord, in the wake of Melkor's release from Mandos. And Uireb suspected that Aman would pay dearly for Melkor's release, but he spoke not of his misgivings to others of his Order, desiring not to partake in the discord that was slowly rising. Amanuiron bid Yucalwe to avoid Uireb completely. And after the jewel was granted to Auruiron, Yucalwe wanted little to do with Amanuiron, whom he felt betrayed him.

When the Two Trees of Valinor were uprooted, Amanuiron turned on Yucalwe, and fought him tooth and nail, desiring revenge for the latter's perceived treachery. For while Yucalwe had befriended Auruiron far earlier than Findekano, he ever preferred the company of Amanuiron over that of Auruiron. When his preferences changed, Amanuiron's jealousy flowered in all its shadow. And Amanuiron had stolen seeds from the sacred plants of Lorien. Guldrambor, Amanuiron would name himself, a dread terror to any who came into his path, lost, bereft, in the wilderness, lonely and terrified, to be swallowed by his shadow.

The once bright fire of Amanuiron's goodness had been diminished into a flicker of flame, buried deep within his shadows, a flicker that he nourished at the same time he tried again and again and again to stamp it out. It was not the flicker of inherent goodness, but that of the light of hope, despite the sea of despair that surrounded it.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:56 PM.
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Chapter CCCLXI: Lurking in the Halls of Angband

Guldrambor had fled Aman and came in time to Angband, where he rendezvoused with his fell Master, who had revealed his true form: a behemoth of black terror, armored and cloaked, an iron crown upon his head, that was singed by the three Silmarils that the latter had stolen. And when Sauron and the Balrogs saw how paltry Guldrambor was in his appearance, they mocked and laughed at him, for he was naught but a pale shadow, a fleeting figure. And Morgoth placed him in charge of the cisterns for the bile and filth of the Orcs. Guldrambor ran his gross business efficiently, but ever was he mocked and spat-on by the flaming breath of Gothmog and his ilk. Guldrambor had become irrelevant, and the promises of Melkor toward him were all rendered lies.

Guldrambor stalked the halls of Angband, afraid when the flames would leap to lick the legs of the Balrogs, terrified of their shadowy forms, darker than clouds, and of the flames that trailed them. Some of the Balrogs lashed Guldrambor with their fiery whips for sport, particularly when he was in his fair form. Other fallen Maia were treated similarly in the hierarchy, but Guldrambor ever took everything personally. Even the Orcs jeered and mocked him. The Orcs were never afraid of Guldrambor's dreams. And whenever Guldrambor revealed his fair form, they mocked him all the more.

In time, Guldrambor sneaked away from Angband to harry Yucalwe and the Feanorians, against the orders of his superiors. For this, Guldrambor was forced to work in the mines alongside Elvish and mortal slaves. He was allowed away from Angband only once, due to 'good behavior,' on a special occasion: the fall of Gondolin. Guldrambor would watch the people whom he once loved so dearly suffer terrible deaths, to darken his heart all the more.

Guldrambor dared to pity one of the Elves, one of the House of the Mole, who often wore a flamboyant cape in secret. He nursed the Elf back to health, sensing something peculiar about him: that a branch of his House in Aman had been devoted to Uireb, and to Amanuiron long ago, who had passed the dream-rituals of cape-dancing and other frivolities down through the House, inadvertently, throughout the centuries. This particular Elf's House had wedded itself into that of the Mole during the Golden Age of Gondolin, long after the death of the Mole's forefather, Eol. The Elf's mother had taught him the rituals, behind the father's back, for the father had a no nonsense attitude and wanted to obey the orders of Maeglin, who preferred unadorned skull-caps and unadorned hauberks. The Elf had kept his ways secretive, had befriended someone in the city, had ultimately fought that someone, and apparently fell to his death in the square beneath the walls. He had bounced off of a haystack before he was left for dead.

And Guldrambor found him, pitying him, and with other survivors of the Mole, nursed him back to health. For this, Guldrambor's superiors banished Guldrambor and the Mole survivors to the mines of Angband, and Guldrambor was particularly lashed hard, the other Balrogs venting their anger for the deaths of two of their kind: one at the hands of Glorfindel in an abyss, and the other, Gothmog, their commander, at the hands of Ecthelion in the Court of the Fount. The Elf did not know what to make of Guldrambor, for he both feared him, and yet felt strange comfort in Guldrambor's efforts to console and counsel him.

And so it was that Guldrambor encountered his brother, Uireb, during the War of Wrath, and he fought him and Macilon. He then appeared subdued, seemingly repenting of his misdeeds. But he refused the offers of Uireb for peace, believing that he, Guldrambor, must rule the world of men, and restore order to the world, in the wake of Morgoth's disorder. Guldrambor fled from the ruins of Angband. And Uireb took the Elf whom Guldrambor had saved under he, Uireb's, wing, and gave him his secret mission, for which Guldrambor had unwittingly planted the seeds.

But Guldrambor reached the Misty Mountains, and came in fair form through the realm of the Dwarves of Khazad-dum, and came in fair form through the realms of Silvan and Nandorin and Wood and Avarin Elves, who rightly feared him. Some became his victims in the wilds.

But Guldrambor wished to know where men might dwell, for they were easier to beguile, and to slay, than Elves. And the Elves who did not catch-on to his ruse pointed him, as Amanuiron, toward the East, for word had traveled by way of rumor in those days. And Amanuiron, requiring neither food nor drink, made his way past the Gardens of the Entwives, who did not trust him, and eventually reached the glistening strange sea before him, finding a safe cave. And he would travel in disguise around the Sea of Rhun, ever returning to his cave, that felt most pleasant. And Amanuiron thought he could lay claim to all the Kingdoms of Rhun. But there would be much to do.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 21 2016, 11:20 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLXII: A Plan of Years a Thousandfold

When Amanuiron Guldrambor learned that Sauron had come to those lands, he cursed and cursed and cursed, and hid himself in the caverns along the shores. He brought a tribe of Easterlings into his confidence, who were enamored by his strange powers, and Guldrambor finally planted the seeds that he had preserved from Lorien, corrupting them with a phial of poison that he had preserved from Angband. And he made the tribesmen tend and cultivate the crops. Ever had Guldrambor kept the seeds hidden from his superiors, by burying them out of sight on the slopes of the Thangorodrim, until he recovered them prior to his flight from Beleriand. The bile was brewed and preserved in phials, and Guldrambor beguiled further supporters in secret. Guldrambor also took pleasure in luring any who opposed him into lonely places, slaying them through instigations of their insanity, luring them to plunge off the high cliffs into the Sea of Rhun.

But he knew that Sauron was far more powerful, and that he must bide his time. And while Numenor and Eregion rose and fell, Guldrambor contented himself with 'ruling' over his insignificant 'kingdom.' He avoided bonding with any of the tribesmen, for he knew their doom was death, and that it would only bring him pain. When tidings reached him from the south, that Sauron had been defeated, he leaped for joy, but then he sensed that the spirit of Sauron was not yet finished, guessing that it had something to do with the Rings of Power, one of which that Sauron had offered to a King of Rhun named Khamul, a great Emperor in his days of ruling. And so Guldrambor maintained his patience.

Guldrambor did little to hinder the plots of Sauron, when Sauron took residence as the Necromancer of Dol Guldor, and then returned to Rhun, and then became the Necromancer once again, until the White Council drove him out. Even then, Guldrambor foresaw that Sauron's plots were just beginning. He was not surprised to learn of the new rise of Barad-dur, Lugburz, in the Land of Mordor to the distant southwest. But all the while, Guldrambor had slowly garnered more allies in Rhun, his network spreading through the Haradwaith by way of Khand, and eventually to Umbar, where the Gurthbaini were founded in his name.

Guldrambor had seen many parts of the East and South by now. He dwelt at the headwaters of the River Harnen for a time and learned that Yucalwe was dwelling nigh Edhellond in Gondor, much to the latter's misfortune. He also dwelt in a cave-system in Umbar, similar to his own in Rhun, and similar to that of Yucalwe nigh Edhellond. Guldrambor had come to relish Yucalwe's unconscious imitations of him. Guldrambor had also overlooked a young woman in Saraj who did not trust him. This young sorceress eventually became the mentor of Angolhel and Alagossel, who warned them of the bile, having tried it herself to her deep physical and emotional pain and regret. But Guldrambor had busied himself too much in the affairs of Umbar to meddle with her in her temples. Guldrambor, meanwhile, attacked Emyn Arnen, to lure Yucalwe out of hiding, he had planted spies in Minas Tirith with poison, and he had done many other ill deeds. Guldrambor eventually returned to Rhun again and rebuilt his base of power, satisfied that his plots in Gondor were well underway.

Then something happened that Guldrambor did not expect: the arrival of Amarthon son of Malnoron in Rhun after being slave-driven across the South and East. The nearly emaciated Amarthon reminded Guldrambor of the Elf slave of the House of the Mole who labored and was whipped ruthlessly in the mines of Angband. And Guldrambor became afraid, for he pitied the young man, and he blamed the cloak that had been endowed with the powers of Lorien, a cloak with which he sustained his own longevity, grappling with it on a daily basis, for ever did the powers of the West war against the malice of Guldrambor. So Guldrambor parted with the cloak and sent Amarthon on his way to work his mischief in Gondor. Guldrambor had felt tempted to kill Amarthon, but then he realized the mischief that the young man might work among his noble household. He also needed tidings to reach the Gurthbaini in Pelargir.

Guldrambor left Rhun on another journey, taking some of the bile with him, and he came to Umbar. He learned through his spies that his chiefly expendible spy on Tolfalas had been defeated by the House of the Silver Swan, Yucalwe, and Abrazan, and that Amarthon had correctly laced Yucalwe's wine with bile, and had him captured by Corsair pirates and sailed north to Eriador. Guldrambor felt curious, longing to see his former old friend again, and to torture him to death if possible. Then Guldrambor sailed on his own, settling in Minhiriath for a time, garnering allies among leaderless outlaws and other men. He spied on Minas Noldorion from a distance, remembering his old foe Auruiron, and he instructed the outlaws to trail him, veiling one of the outlaw's appearance to look as if he was Yucalwe. He did not want his journey to Eriador to be rendered fruitless.

Auruiron was stabbed in Tinnudir by the outlaw in Evendim, and the Dunedain were beset in disarray by the outlaws, who had disguised themselves as Corsairs of Umbar, by way of Guldrambor's instructions. Guldrambor, however, was defeated by the likes of a newly-resurfaced Macalaure son of Feanaro, Ancalimo, and other allies of Auruiron. Guldrambor sailed back to Umbar in defeat, and ultimately returned back to Rhun, after facilitating the arrangements between the Gurthbaini and Lord Malnoron of Pelargir, by commanding the Gurthbaini to do so. He would attack the realm of Gondor from within, feigning loyalty to Sauron, while weaving his own fell and dire plots. He also knew that the Son of Feanaro, Auruiron, and Yucalwe, might be coming for him, even if Yucalwe never escaped from the fell influences of the bile.

Then Guldrambor began plotting his master plan to take-over a huge swaft of the eastern coast of Rhun. He chose the eastern coast because the western coast often lent its armies to Sauron, whereas the eastern coast might yet contain many more men, and Guldrambor did not count-on the western coast sending a huge army to the Morannon, while the eastern coast marshaled its forces for the Siege of Erebor. During this time, Guldrambor garnered many supporters in secret throughout Sakuta, and learned of the old Emperor's illegitimate children. He befriended Anzulbar and plotted his coup and executed it after the Grand Army left the City on its way to Erebor, with some of Guldrambor's spies in tow, waiting to commit their half of the mutiny.

So it was that Guldrambor became Emperor of Sakuta, relishing the Fall of Sauron when he sensed the sight of the Seat of Seeing falling upon him, and thus he became the Light Lord, his plans, thousands of years in the making, seemingly coming to fruition at long last. And he thought ruthlessly, after the ritual dance of the Gurthbaini was complete: Now, my dear Uireb, I shalt spite thee...... and make mine dreams become reality........

And he told his tale in ways his followers might comprehend it. And then his tale had ended.

Edited by Ivordir, Jun 21 2016, 11:22 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLXIII: Self-Pity

The new Gurthbaini sat in shock and awe at all that they had heard. Then, they truly believed that the other gods and goddesses, and Dark Lords and fire gods, were all cruel to their Emperor, and they bowed down and worshiped him, and the Emperor relished their worship, for he had ever pitied himself most of all. He was fine with pitying himself or being worshiped by others. It was when -he- would dare to pity that he would grew intensely frightened. He wished to dive-deep into Melkor's discord in the Music. He remained trapped between order and chaos, light and dark, fairness and foulness, and ever deluded himself into believing that he had become the Discord. Once, he was noble and great, and now he was loathsome in his feigned nobility and greatness. But his followers did not perceive his loathsomeness, and nor did they perceive his self-pity. In their deepest hearts, they perceived a Hero who would lead their lands to greatness, and finally crush the presumed self-important pride and vanity of the realm of Gondor, that had once conquered the lands of Rhun. It had been in the Gondorian days that Guldrambor had learned of Numenor and its fate, disguising himself as an Elf of Dorwinion, speaking to the Gondorians who had set-up their outposts along the coasts of Rhun. Now, those outposts were old ruins of a time long past.

Guldrambor seemed to pity and love and admire and befriend his followers. To protect himself from these realities, Guldrambor ever ascribed his actions to self-interest, and reveled in those thoughts, ever protecting himself from the thought that he might be guilty of those sins, sins that would have made Morgoth murder an entire population.

Guldrambor turned to gaze at his followers in the Citadel. His eyes gleamed like stars. His hair then appeared longer and fairer even than that of the Lady of the Golden Wood. And his vast cape both gleamed and sparkled. He practiced his flamboyant art, spinning around, twirling his cape, as it rose and fell, flew and dove, over the heads of his followers, and then he ran to his throne, and faced them, their Golden King. His golden folds gleamed ever brighter as he covered his lips with them, processing toward them, without saying anything. He outspread his silken wings, and all his followers knelt down before him, worshiping him, kissing his cape in their ecstasy, all young faces of men and women on the cusp of adulthood. And then their capes gleamed and sparkled. He processed around them and they followed him, and he sat himself down on the cushions, and they surrounded him, and he enclosed his folds around them and over their heads. Their heads peaked out of the folds. And then they all closed their eyes and began to dream even worse delusions of grandeur: many of them dreamed of him levitating and flying beautifully above the sea of Rhun, as if his cape had flapped with the same powers as a span of wings, red and gold glistening and flickering in the sunlight, before he would envelop them and perform the kissing ritual. These rituals and rites of passage and flamboyant displays of vainglorious beauty were all of his own invention.

Such was the craft of Guldrambor. He feigned intimate friendship and so gained the loyalty of his closest servants. He manipulated them terribly, beguiling their youthful hearts as Melkor had done unto the Feanorians long before him in Aman, and as Sauron had done unto the Gwaith-i-Mirdain of Eregion. And for those whom he did not trust, he would beguile them from afar, as the crowds would cheer and then bow and worship him. The sun had set again.

So ended April 2nd in the Citadel of Sakuta in the Realm of Rhun, on the easternmost shores of the crystalline inland sea. The outside-guards had already changed their shifts. Little did they know of the madness that transpired within the walls of the Citadel that they were guarding. The madness was ever the madness that was ever the unending repetition of an eternal madness that never seemed to end, all false ecstasies driven by corruptions of the sacred plants of Lorien, ruining all the lives they touched, Elvish and mortal.

At dawn on the 3rd, when the Emperor came forth from his Citadel, his battalions awaited him, chanting: "Za Guldram-bor! Snaku Rhun Durbgu nazgshu! Durbgu nazgshu! Durbgu dashshu!"
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 06:57 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLXIV: The Council of Sakuta

"No we cannot levy that many men!" Sakrat slammed his fist on the round table. "We can get caravans from Saska-by-the-Mountains, but it will cost our coffers dearly." Sakrat was a middle-aged Lord of the Coffers, in charge of overseeing the Treasury, and of the flow of goods throughout the realm. He was spiteful and easily angered.

Naifrati sighed, "The gold lodes are nearly dried-up in the western mountains." He gazed slyly at the golden floors, pillars, and throne. "It all costs a fortune. Where shall we pay our men from now?" Naifrati wore the maroon cape of the golden ring, and his eyes were dark as coals. He was the Chief Commander of the Grand Army.

Anzulbar smiled, his black and gold cloak folded over his arms, "From Erebor itself."

Sakrat shook his head, "You trust that we will conquer the Lonely Mountain with such ease."

Anzulbar nodded, "I do. I believe our little coup will prove successful. I believe that there will be a great victory. How can the Dwarves and Dalemen think to defeat our 7,000? Dwarves are metal-headed. They only have one main way of fighting. And the Dalemen are disorganized fighters. We have strategy. We have the right battle formations. The most the Dwarves can do is barricade themselves in their precious halls and hold a protracted siege."

Sakrat stammered, "And that is precisely what they will do! And how will we fund such a siege?"

Anzulbar scoffed, "Through the pride and loyalty of our men."

Sakrat sneered, "You may be in our Lord Emperor's highest graces, but you are young and naive. Men don't serve on the basis of pride or loyalty. They serve for their pay! They serve for bread on their tables and roofs atop their heads. They worry themselves about the seasons. Fishermen worry themselves over what catch they'll get when they sail out of harbor. Farmers worry about what the droughts will do to their crops. You are a little Prince."

Anzulbar laughed mockingly, "I have known poverty, good Sir, when our previous Emperor disowned me. Don't say it! I know you want to. But say it, Sakrat, call me what they all call illegitimate children, and the Emperor will have you bound and gagged with heavy stones and toss o'er the cliffs behind the Citadel with the others."

Sakrat shut his mouth, grumbling.

Shikon had been watching quietly. He was an old, weathered sage, who wore the garb of the Blue Caste. He was the Caste's representative. He nodded at them, "This bickering will get us nowhere. Continue to promise gold and riches to all who partake in the siege. If they want to be paid, they have to get their shares themselves, ripping them from the greedy hands of the Dwarves. Then we shall prevail. The rest of our people shall have to remain patient. I suggest that our Emperor perform more public displays of his......."

Anzulbar tapped the table quietly with his left fingers, "His what?"

Shikon's eyes glowed, "His irreproachable glory. You have seen how they all look at him, younger men and ladies alike. And we older men feel something else. Something we have not felt in ages. We feel... powerful when within his presence. We feel strength in our older bones. He invigorates us. And if his plans reach their fruition, we may never even see death, for we may set foot upon the lands of the gods, and become immortal. For this, I would give anything. Death is the cruelest doom visited upon us by the gods."

Anzulbar nodded, "Indeed it is."

Sakrat nodded reluctantly, "Fine then. Let us hope the siege will not last long."

Anzulbar scoffed, "It depends on how fast the men want their pay. And for the others, tell them to do something useful. Tell the farmers to grow their crops and provision them. Our Emperor believes that enemies are marching toward us, to besiege us."

Sakrat spat on the floor, "What?! Then why send our Grand Army away!"

Anzulbar smiled, reminding him, "Our previous Emperor did that. Do you not remember?"

Sakrat nodded, "I do. But the coup could have taken place already! We were going nowhere with that previous Emperor, I do not mourn his passing. He got us embroiled in foreign wars with no prospects for victory. He made us fight alongside man-eating Orcs! March beneath dark skies! And serve a Lord who never cared to show his precious face to us. Ever did he hide in his Dark Tower. Our armies ran roughshod through that bleak land of ashes, and do you know what?! Some of them got into battles with Orcs. It was all madness....."

Shikon nodded, "Indeed it was. I believed for a long time that the Lord of Mordor was our only hope, the Great Eye in all his glory. But my faith in him waned when the clouds dispersed to the south. I believe our Emperor when he states that the Great Eye is no more. Our Emperor is wise. Let us pray he will not make the same mistakes as the Eye."

Anzulbar nodded, "He will not."

Naifrati sighed in fatigue, "Have we any further business?"

Anzulbar smiled, "The Gurthbaini have been reformed. Umbar will be retaken, eventually. For now, Erebor remains our prime focus, and then the Woodland Realm. Of the potential for a Siege, I will now speak. Several of the ghastly Elves are marching hither to seek our ruin. Some men from Gondor may be coming with them, as well as some traitors from the Haradwaith. Our standing force that was left behind to guard the City should be enough to withstand their assault. We will still outnumber them five to one."

Naifrati nodded, "But each Elf is worth at least twenty if not more of our men."

Anzulbar closed his eyes, "But we have our Emperor, who is worth one hundred of their Elves. He possesses powers you cannot guess."

Sakrat laughed, "Is that why our wise Lord will not lower himself to attend his own Council meetings?"

The Emperor never attended Council meetings, for he held himself above such 'trivialities.' But he advised Anzulbar in secret, and Anzulbar was appointed as the Emperor's Voice on the Council.

Anzulbar frowned, "Be careful, Sakrat. You shall not receive another warning."

Sakrat folded his arms smugly, "And who will render account of our most gracious Emperor's taxes? His tariffs? The flow of traffic through the City? Of commerce in the markets? Who will levy the funds necessary for war, that I have carefully manipulated in order to barely support this Siege of Erebor that we are all discussing?"

Anzulbar laughed mockingly, "You think you are the only Lord within this City who knows about money. We will find another if we must. Careful, Lord Sakrat of the Treasury. I hear it is a long drop."

Sakrat nodded smugly, "And that was your third warning."

Anzulbar clicked his fingers, "You are correct!" Two Easterling Guards came out from hiding. Naifrati laughed mockingly at Sakrat. Shikon did not say a word. He was staring into space passively.

Anzulbar nodded at the men, "You know what to do."

Now Sakrat was cowering. His cowering and stammering could still be heard as he was dragged down the halls toward the balcony. He had never believed that Anzulbar ever had the guts to do it. He had been born in poverty and had served as a soldier, until his brave actions against Variag hordes managed to earn him a lordship. His parents had died of leprosy, which they concealed from their son, sending him away to the southern borders. Sakrat's life flashed before his eyes as the strong soldiers dragged him. Sakrat spat in a soldier's eye, kicked at the other soldier, and tried to wrestle control over one of the halberds. The soldier whom he had spat at drew his sword and stabbed Sakrat in the heart. Then the soldiers quickly tossed Sakrat's body over the ledge, and servants were quickly summoned to clean-up the blood stains.

Silence filled the council chamber. Time passed slowly in the tension.

Shikon finally smiled, for he was glad to be rid of Sakrat, with whom he had ever argued about religion: "I know a young man, like yourself, who could potentially fill Sakrat's position. He knows the flow of money, and he could be taught much more. He was apprenticed to Sakrat, but he and I often spoke in private, and he told me how he loathed Sakrat and only used him to learn even more."

"An ambitious young man," Anzulbar smiled.

"His name is Narushon."

"Send him to me. Our Emperor shall test him, and see if he is worthy."

Shikon and Naifrati stood and bowed. The council dispersed.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 07:35 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLXV: Narushon of Beggar's Way

Narushon was a young, shy man on the surface, similar in age to Anzulbar. His hair was long and his mind was keen and brilliant. He had not yet drank any of the Emperor's Drought, though he had heard the horror tales about it from Sakrat, whom he loathed. Narushon saw the Emperor from afar, and found himself enamored with him, and with Anzulbar, from a distance. But he checked his mind and slowly worked his way through the ranks. He had been born on Beggar's Way down by the south harbor, where the cliffs ran down to join the sea. The harbor was set in a small inlet. The cisterns of the Citadel had their flow moved through there. So the harbor always stank of dung. It was far away from the higher arenas and grand porticos and manses of the rich.

But it was also from here that Guldrambor had staged his coup. And after his coup was over, he had ordered that Beggar's Way be enshrined in a golden plaque as a title, and that rooms be made larger, buildings built taller, at the Emperor's own expense, and that the cistern ramps take a different route through delvings beneath the cliffs themselves, avoiding contact with the districts of men. He had effectively outlawed poverty in the city by making all the poor rich through the excesses that had poured-in from the southwestern mines, mines that had been worked safely. Guldrambor had been prudent in how he won the affection of all who had become his loyalists. The works had just begun. But Emperor Amanuiron Guldrambor ensured that the families of Anzulbar and Narushon in particular would have their homes guarded, prepared, and beautified, and that their families be sent away to the retreat City of Nashu along the southern shores, well-provided and cared for by servants, and given allowances of gold. Guldrambor wished to keep his most talented servants away from being pressured by their families for a time. They would be allowed to visit occasionally.

And in the areas still latent, controlled by a now-defeated Sauron, poverty remained at its height, men and women and children lacked occupations sufficient for survival, other than to hunt kine and fish along the shores of the sea, out of the purest desperation, and these other lands became run by many competing warlords of several tribes. Such was the fate of the nomads and poor settlers. The warlords would demand fees paid-out in fish and kine in exchange for their 'protection.' Meanwhile, for those regions that had great cities, their nobles competed ruthlessly with each other, and many fled to eastern Rhun, hearing rumors of the great realm that had been built there. Some warlords had tried to wrest control over the mines, but Guldrambor put a swift stop to it when he tortured them with nightmares, causing fell rumors to spread among any who might contend with the new Emperor of Sakuta. The Sami Knights protected the laborers and caravans along the dusty road that circumnavigated the Sea of Rhun.

And several Easterling guards took possession of many farms in territories formerly ruled by Sauron, and made them run efficiently, by committing many farmers to work smaller plots of land, putting many who were unoccupied to labor, causing the crops to be harvested faster, in less time beneath a hot sun, even bringing some measure of pleasure to the farm-labor. And they were well-paid. Farm owners rose to become lords and their men were well-paid as well. And the realm appeared to prosper. And a portion of the crops would automatically be allotted to the fishermen, who no longer depended on their trade for food, and who were encouraged to continue fishing as a form of leisure and as a form of business that would increase their wealth through larger catches. And then Guldrambor ensured that the servants of the Master of the Treasury enforced price-fixes to prevent inflation. Ships were constructed to ship the goods to Sakuta across the Sea. Sailors were well-paid and a long list of minor Houses entered into the lists of the Treasury. Coats-of-arms had been bestowed. Guldrambor had brought the Elven divisions of Houses into the world of eastern men.

It all seemed as if some glorious dream.

Narushon had begun as a poor miner, sent by his parents to the southwestern mines before the gold boom, before the coup and beginning of beautification works, and he had caught Guldrambor's interest, when Guldrambor was inspecting the laborers. Anzulbar had worked in a different part of the mine, but he had caught Guldrambor's interest as well. For Guldrambor could penetrate minds, and he could sense their intellects. He knew that he would have need for their talents, which he deemed ill-used in the labors of a miner. Guldrambor waited to reveal where the gold ore was most likely hiding until after his coup. Then, the better work began.

Long before the coup, Narushon returned to the City in Guldrambor's retinue and became apprenticed to Sakrat by Guldrambor's orders, and Sakrat could fear to lose his tongue, or more, if he disagreed. Sakrat loathed the older Emperor and Guldrambor, at first, appeared to be a great opportunity. But he could hardly stand the presence of Narushon in the latter's youth and naivete. So Sakrat and Narushon had a rocky dynamic in the business chamber. And Narushon learned much of coin and how it was forged and minted into the economy. He learned much of how trade occurred. He learned from Sakrat's shrewdness and double-dealing among the nobles of the City. But he hated Sakrat.

Sakrat had been permitted to maintain his position in the aftermath of the old Emperor's defeat during the coup. And now his days of testing Guldrambor's patience were over.

Narushon was reviewing several parchments when there was a knock at the door, "Lord Anzulbar! Please enter, my Lord. Sit down."

Anzulbar smiled, "I have not much time. And nor do you. We are going to see the Emperor. You will not ask me any questions. Gather your things and follow me."

Narushon obeyed at once. He entered the Citadel and marveled at the new gold throughout the great Hall. But neither of them saw the Emperor anywhere.

"I know where he is," Anzulbar whispered. "Come." They turned down a hallway and then descended deep beneath the citadel, down winding stair-cases, till they reached a sequence of chambers that had great windows peering outward from the cliffs, overlooking the sea. No one had ever seen the Emperor eat or drink. The Emperor was gazing out the windows, "Ah. You have arrived. First, report, Lord Anzulbar."

Anzulbar nodded, "The Council proceeded as expected. Sakrat finally ruined himself, he is no more. The Siege of Erebor will proceed as planned. And the City will ready itself for its own Siege, if and when these Elves and Gondorians arrive, as you have most aptly foreseen. Some of the councilmen are concerned that we have not enough men, but I have reminded them that you are worth one hundred score of those Elves. Besides, our walls are strong. This City has never been conquered. And it never will be. I ask for your favor and permission to order the Council to an informal session, in which we shall take stock of our provisions in the City, and make certain that the supply-lines are strong enough by ship, to keep the City fed during a Siege."

The Emperor scoffed, "Yes, I know. You have my permission. And this is our presumptive new Master of the Treasury, am I correct?"

Narushon was quivering in fear, "Yes...my... Emperor." Narushon knelt down before the Emperor, bowing low.

The Emperor laughed, "Rise, my Lord!"

Narushon obeyed.

The Emperor smiled grimly, "I know why you are afraid. Your mentor, whom you detested, is dead, and you fear to follow in his footsteps off the cliffs. Fear not, young Narushon, for I have foreseen that thine own fate shall be far different, and glorious. Narushon, you shall be made a Lord of Men, and your House shall stretched forth through many generations. You may still dwell in Beggar's Way, if you wish, but for now, you shall dwell here, in the Citadel, for your continued presence will prove quite necessary for the wars to come. Fear not... for I will name you a Sami Knight of the Realm, and have you trained by the best of them, that you may defend yourself in darkened days. But for now, go and feast and drink. Enjoy the moment. I, too, much despised Sakrat. I am glad to be rid of him. Men who refused to serve suffer his fate if they cannot be persuaded. But you are not such a man, Narushon. You know what to do to gain great favor.... Ah............ so you have admired me thus. Come....for before you begin your celebrations, I have a gift for you......"

Narushon reluctantly rested himself within the Emperor's folds, and the Emperor revealed a phial, containing a black liquid. The liquid tasted foul, but Narushon forced it down his throat, for it was the Emperor's command. Then the Emperor brought Narushon to a place of rest, where Narushon then fell asleep, and dreamed great dreams of grandeur concerning his future. Narushon awoke a passage of the Sun later. He followed his Emperor back into the main Hall and out onto the balcony. Anzulbar followed them.

And the Emperor bade them gaze over the ledge, "Do you see those bones far below? They are the bones of the guilty. Young, old, male and female, rich and poor, all must pay the iron price. Prosperity is offered. When it is spurned, life is forfeit."

Narushon bowed, "I do not spurn it. I accept it most graciously. What could have driven these fools to refuse thy graces?"

The Emperor sighed, "Love of power. Love of agency. Love of Sauron, of Mordor. Love of their lords. Love of their older, impotent Emperor. Love of money. They had many loves. But they did not love me. You have surpassed the test with agile wings, Lord Narushon."

Anzulbar escorted him to the chambers of the Gurthbaini, where there was much wine-drinking and feasting on wild kine and grapes.

Narushon awoke, queezy and sick, on the morning of April 4th. And then he returned to his old work-chamber later in the day, gathered his parchments, and he was then brought to his new workspace in the Citadel. He took a careful account of Sakrat's most recent records. Then he began sending his emissaries abroad to gain a full grasp over the City's financial situation. Narushon also now knew far better than his former master Sakrat: the Emperor -did- rule his realm despite his refusal to attend the council sessions. And Anzulbar was an effective Voice. And Anzulbar and Narushon then decided to room together in the Citadel: befriending each other closely.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2016, 07:38 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCCLXVI: Siagon the Sami Knight

Siagon was a middle-aged Sami swordsman with olive-skin and almond-eyes. He wore a suit of golden-plated bronze armor in the manner of his Easterling kindred. He had endured long weeks of tracking and hunting in the wilderness through his training. He had hunted many a bear. He had hunted many kine and oxen. And he had slain bulls.

He had been appointed by Anzulbar to train Narushon to fight in the wars to come. Many times would Narushon fall beneath his sword. And many times would Narushon stand-up. Many times would he parry and counter-attack. Many times would he use all parts of his sword against his foe.

Siagon once journeyed in the wilderness and found a Sindarin swordself. The Sindarin wished to save the life of the bull that Siagon would try to kill. Siagon did not understand Sindarin, and the Elf did not comprehend the Easterling tongue. The Elf shouted at Siagon, who remained calm and silent. Siagon slowly drew his sword. The Elf had no bow with him, nor quiver, nor arrows. The Elf drew his long pale sword. They fought in the heat, sweating, and the Elf was surprised that a mortal would prove himself so resilient. Siagon sighted the Elf's shining silky cape. He grabbed it, the Elf quickly unclasping it, and the Elf laughed at Siagon. Siagon flashed the cape as the bull charged toward it. He tossed the cape at the Elf. The bull charged the Elf. The Elf was too quick and evaded the bull. Siagon grabbed the cape. The Elf stood between Siagon and the bull. The Elf struck again, but Siagon kicked at him, and flashed the cape, as the bull charged again. The Elf ran from the bull as he charged. Siagon grabbed his spear that was resting on the ground nearby. He tethered the cape to the spear as the Elf was chased by the raging bull. The Elf ran behind Siagon, who took the spear and ran ahead.

The Elf balked, "I have lived for ages beyond your own life. Your life is naught but a breath compared to mine. You are a man of shadow, conceived in darkness, servant of the Enemy. But I...I am a Sinda of Doriath! My realm fell long ago, long before your birth. It fell to the hands of kinslayers, Elves who had betrayed us. I slew the Noldor defending my land, ultimately forced to retreat. And now I will slay you, man of darkness, and call it justice!"

"Come at me then," Siagon solemnly replied, not understanding a word the Elf had said. "Come, courageous Elf. Come and see what fate awaits you. This bull has lived with many cows. It has yielded many sons and daughters. But it has slain many men, who have tried to tame it. It even charged a child, an innocent boy, who had run towards it, while his parents were being harassed by less honorable men. These men had found the boy was dead. The sight made them feel the horrors they had done. So they tried to kill the bull. All were slain, save the bull, who escaped the burning farmstead, and save the one wounded man who crawled for a mile till he died in the camp, gasping, as he told his tale, before he died that evening. Many then rallied to try to kill this bull, and many died to its hard horns. It is a ruthless, beautiful beast, wandering these steppes above our sea. Call it noble, call it courage, call it tragic, call it evil... but this bull will die this day. You do not understand me. And I do not understand you. But you are patient, standing there as you are, hearkening to me speak words that you will never know. You are an honorable Elf, be you spirit fell, or ghost, or ghoul, or glorious prince, whatever you are. So will I let you die with honor, and you will die with this brave bull." And Siagon raised his spear. The Elf moved to stab Siagon, but felt the bull's protruding horns goring him as he fell to the ground, the horns piercing the dirt. The Elf was pressing down on his wounds with his hands.

Siagon then lifted his sword and plunged it into the bull's neck. He lifted the carcass off of the Elf, who was covered in blood, the bull's and his own. He knelt down beside the wounded Elf. And he kissed the Elf's sweaty forehead. The Elf tried to reach Saigon's sweaty hand, and Saigon grasped the hand of the Elf, holding him tightly. The Elf finally smiled, and closed his eyes, his fea departing from his hroa. Siagon built a dual-pyre, for the Elf and for the bull, and then Siagon rubbed the sticks and set the pyres ablaze, according to the funerary rites of his culture. He sang an old funeral dirge of the Easterlings, and then he buried them, their ashes, in the soil. He wandered back to the camp and rejoined his comrades, bearing the cloak of the fallen Elf upon his shoulders, and he told everyone gathered there, the tale. And they applauded him for his honor and his courage.

And Siagon's Sami Knight superior prompted him, recommending him to serve in the Guard of the old Emperor, who had served Sauron. Siagon had publicly disagreed with the old Emperor's allegiance with Mordor. Siagon had marched with his troop to Mordor. When his troop had marched out of the Black Gates, Siagon and several of his loyalists had sneaked out of their encampment at nightfall, slipping beyond the guards, and eventually they returned to Rhun, rationing their water, arriving at a camp with wells brimming with water, after having crossed the wastes of Dagorlad and the Lands of Brown and other uncharted lands. By the time Siagon reached Sakuta, the Battle of Pelennor Fields had already been fought, and the old Emperor had already sent his army toward Erebor, and the coup had already been accomplished. He knelt before his new Emperor, who was beautiful in his sight, and his Emperor commended him for his honor in betraying Sauron. The Emperor also recognized Siagon's cape. For this, the Emperor placed him in charge of training some of his newer adherents. And Narushon became Siagon's chief student.

As time passed, Narushon became better with the sword, but he had a long way to go to become any sort of a master. And not much had changed among the politics of Sakuta. Siagon had forced Narushon to fight young bulls as part of his training. He taught Narushon how to avoid death while being closest to it. And Narushon had braved his contests courageously. Siagon's bulls had been well-treated, bred on his farm that was run by many servants, as he had risen to prominence as a Sami Lord as well as a Knight. And once his bulls had served their purpose with his cows, he had used them for training. Siagon would donate the meat for the poor of Sakuta, aiding in the Emperor's restoration efforts, especially in districts such as Beggar's Way. He loved and cherished his bulls and his students. But his bulls were always slain and replaced with new ones purchased at market. A bull who would survive a bullfight could kill many young students of the sword. The bull would always remember. And Siagon never forgot.

Siagon's training alternated between sparring between his trainees and bullfighting. He believed that both forged stronger warriors. One of his students had remained in Gondor. None of the Easterlings who had fought in Gondor returned. But Siagon imagined that his student took many of the Gondorians with him before he perished.

Siagon made an agreement with Narushon on the 23rd of April: if Narushon defeated the bull without killing it or severely wounding it, but successfully mounted it and remained atop it, Siagon would give Narushon the cape of the fallen Elf. Narushon was scrapped by the bull's horns several times, and came closed to being gored at others, but he narrowly avoided severe wounds and suffered only a few scratches. Siagon did not know if it was luck or destiny. Narushon won the cape. It was silver, lined with a fiery orange.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 6 2016, 09:51 PM.
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