7 Fourth Age: To Watch the World Burn

7 Fourth Age: To Watch the World Burn; [Morion]
Topic Started: 22 Jan 2009, 09:31 PM (56 Views)
Deleted User	22 Jan 2009, 09:31 PM Post #1
Deleted User	The stagnant waters of the Anduin rose almost past his boots as Dagoras led his horse through the stone ruins of the once splendid city of Osgiliath, now since abandoned. From here, the dark land of Mordor loomed ahead behind a steep and jagged wall of mountain and rock, and in its shadow, it seemed that the wildlife still dared not to frequent Osgiliath, and thus, the only sounds to be heard were the steady drip and flow of water in the flooded city and the buzzing and singing of insects. Dagoras had felt a surge of delight in these past few months. The Hand of Sauron's plague had worked wonders and he had felt awed by the power the illness had had to demoralize Gondor and sap its strength with each body that they buried in the ground. And of course, it was not only Gondor that was affected, he had read reports that the Plague had spread to Rohan and even further afield into Bree, Dale, and even the Shire. The shadow of death had closed its dark wings around the realm of men, save for those, like himself who were touched by the Hand of Sauron. With disease all around him, Dagoras was untouchable and did not fear the illness that he had helped introduce into the city by way of certain vermin. And of course while Gondor was still reeling from loss of life, the Hand of Sauron had sent a murder of crebain to deliver a sinister and gruesome message to the people. A stroke of genius, and now the spark of fear was turning into a wildfire and raging out of control. It was incredible to think that only a few rats and a severed head had already caused this much chaos in the city, they had barely even picked up a blade and already Gondor had been weakened. Now he waited in the rotting city of Osgiliath. He perched himself on the pedestal of a statue, with robes carved so finely that it looked as though the figure's robes would flutter in the wind. Unfortunately its head had been lopped off and was now underneath one of Dagoras's black leather boots. And now he just had to wait to meet another servant of the Hand to begin the next phase of the Hand's conquest. Lighting his pipe, he leaned back as curls of blue smoke drifted lazily into the air.
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Deleted User	5 Feb 2009, 12:33 PM Post #2
Deleted User	Stepping lightly through the destroyed and rotting city that was once Osgiliath, Morion allowed his foul mood to show upon his features for a moment. The wound on his arm that had been inflicted that damn prince was still red raw, although it was healing somewhat nicely. He had gotten his message across nicely, also, he could still feel the dark panic of the city in the very back of his mind, and it kept him happy for the moment. Of coarse, that would not last long. In fact, it faded almost immediately; the screwed up expression of annoyance reappearing as the itching scar brushed against his clothing and sent many tingling bits of pain through his nerves. His footsteps paused for that brief moment and he placed his free hand against the wound, murmuring words to soothe the angry red skin before continuing on. His company was already here; he could hear him, smell the smoke from the pipe and even see the blue tint that it stained the land with. He waited a little longer, watching, since his socializing with his master’s other servants had been next to none, if only for the fact that during their little…meetings, Morion happily rebelled and refused to show up. Stepping forward slowly with a low grin, the Elf soon made himself known, happily walking through the flooded, destroyed and unlivable city to meet the other, raising a hand in some sort of greeting, although it lacked any wave or friendliness, just a motion to gain his attention. “Greetings” If the wound was still hurting, it didn’t show within his voice, in fact, he seemed rather pleasant this day, but one could easily put that down to the fact that he was about to go have some more fun with the residents of Gondor. He watched his companion for a moment, finding it perfectly ironic and amusing how he sat on a pedestal with a decapitated head under his boot – stone or not, it still amused Morion no end. “Are you here to be, what they call, my partner in crime, good Sir?”
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