And Thus the Earth Shook...

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Morsereg's army, 39,000 total, stood on the borders of Mordor, glancing upon the Black Land. His face lit with sadism as he felt Alucard slowly gather one on side, with his other generals silently sort through the sects. The torches had long been snuffed out, and the army sat in the dark, waiting. Lothlorien would come upon them with no hint of where they were, and although it was not his aim, it would also hide them from any scouts of Mordor.

He slid in within the Duskwraiths, sitting amongst his army and letting his flowing hair glide down his back. Silver arm pads covered his shoulders, with his chest fairly bare with straps to hold his shirt together and a silver adornment in the center. He wore a long jacket made of a leathery substance that started underneath his arm pads and stopped at his shin. The jacket was connected to gloves of a similar material that covered his hands and arms. His pants are of a black cloth, along with thigh high boots.

As Morsereg sat in the dark, he felt the slightest whisper of the Dimlokhi and Guards of Karna passing by, led by Karasu and Ithilwen, to await Khand's forces at the Morannon. Knowing that even his top servants could not sense his whereabouts showed even more about their cloaking in the darkness. One hand idly gripped the firm hilt atop the sword he had gained from Aule those many years ago, or...moreso, the blade which had once been a gift from Aule.

Darkness had twisted it, and it was no more the blade he had departed from Valinor with. With Morsereg's magick infused within, it is truly a different weapon. The length had increased, for now the blade was a ghastly two metres long. It now leaves a distinguishable signature upon the victims, and one can tell whether a corpse was slain with the particular sword by simply looking upon them. It was still, however, the source of his doom.

Morsereg gazed into the darkness, slowly falling into thought and reaching out over space and time, to find where Lothlorien's forces were. All the while, the Morgul Pass was in sight.

[Envin]

Andor of House Green Cloak, lieutenant of the Rangers of Gondor, bent down nearer the neck of his horse as he sped through Ithilien, nine men of his house close upon his heels. His aim was to find Morsereg Dindaedel, and as much as he despised the man, such was his course, ordained by his Lord. And so he spurred his horse forward, ever meeting the advance scouts that crawled back to the road. For this force was comprised of a score of the Rangers, handpicked by their commander, to relay the message of Gondor's arrival at Dagorlad, to Dindaedel. Stealth and mystery were perhaps the ways of Angmar, and mayhap were even prized in that land, but to the Rangers of Gondor who had been raised from small children in these very forests, and beside whose woodcraft and sheer knowledge of Ithilien those talents of Angmar paled, the attempt of Angmar's host to hide itself from all eyes brought chuckles of mirth from the party as they rode south, for their scouts had almost too easily found the patrols and picket lines of Angmar, and had silently moved away to inform Andor. He grunted, and kept riding, and soon the small force neared Angmar's position. Andor could not yet see the guard, but his swift nostrils took in the scent of the fellow, and he rode his horse right up to him, vaulting from the saddle but four feet from the gaurd's nose.

"I am Andor, emmisary of Gondor, and you will take me to your lord now, for thy stench is nearly unbearable. Please do leave, for my horses cannot be allowed to suffocate," he calmly said. "Their throats will soon close up, you see." His men nearly erupted with laughter at their clan leader's cavalier treatment of the guard, but they held back their howls. The guard's eyes narrowed, and he detailed a few other folk to watch these upstarts, but he did meander rather swiftly back to the main camp, and once or twice he sniffed beneath his arms.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

"You'd do well not to upset my men, Emissary," Morsereg's voice slithered from the darkness behind him. "My sword might slip if you do," He growled, his cold breath beating right on the mans neck. "As prized as your stealth and tracking are in Gondor, you still seem never to be able to get ahold of me, have you?" His malicious smile was not seen in the pitch black that engulfed them at this hour of the night.

"Keep it down, would you? There's no telling where Alcorad's spies could be." He ordered calmly, looking around. "What is your business here?"

[King Darre]

Twas on this fourth day, as promised, that the Dwarven reinforcements arrived at their destination upon the ancient battleground of Morannon. Numbering in more than 3,000 ships... they had travelled by ship into Gondor's harbors very early this fine morn, and had travelled north. Past the festive docks of Harlond, north, through the Cair Andros blockade, the Dwarven armada sailed. The army docked at the marshy region of Nindalf and departed from their great, sturdy, wooden confines.

King Darre led his now-assembled army further north, yet still as they marched for the Black Gate of Mordor, atop an enormous, yet seemingly tame, boar. He wore a full suit of armour, as did the boar he rode upon. By the time the Dwarves reached the warsite, night had swallowed up the day and the bright stars shown overhead. In the far distance Darre noticed the faint glow of the Gondoriancamp light... He figured Angmar and Lorien would be at Minas Morgul by now. The stout Dwarf-Lord signaled to a nearby Dwarf riding alongside him in a War Chariot. The Dwarf nodded and picked up a horn. He bellowed into the mouthpiece and the deep sound boomed throughout the large, bleak, plains, signalling their arrival.

[Faron]

Lord Ashuron sat upon a pile of rocks, facing westward, eyes closed, ears open and scanning the area. "Awake, warriors of Lorien," he said, "Our forces arrive." At the base of the pile ten Elves, Ashuron's elite guards, woke up and looked west with their Lord. In the distance Lorien's army, 42,000 strong moved swiftly forward.

"You could hear that from here?" one of the guardelfs asked.

"No," Ashuron replied, slidding down the pile of rock, "But I plotted how long it should take it to arrive. From there it was guesswork on their arrival."

Far ahead of the army, Ashuron's wolf, the fully restored Arken, ran and leaped at the Elvish Lord, the two of them straining with all their might to knock the other to the ground whilst the other elves stood by and laughed at their Lord's childish competition with the wolf. At last Arken won, using both front paws and his head to push Ashuron backwards to land on the pile of rocks. "It's good to see that even near death dosen't weaken him, I suppose," Ashuron said, while standing up. The rest of the army camped nearby, while the various captains and commanders approached the Lord to recieve orders.

"We head for the Morgul Pass. We ally with Angmar for the moment; for good or ill until I decide otherwise. Prepare."

[Envin]

"You ought to listen to your own people for a change, my dear lord," Andor sweetly replied, ignoring Morsereg's rebuttal of their woodcraft, and openly scoffing at his poor defense. "I have already told the wretch that I am here simply to inform you that Gondor has arrived, and has offered battle to Mordor. I will be going now." He leapt upon his horse and spun away, glancing back at Morsereg as he rode. "You do plan on attacking through the Vale, do you not? Sometime soon, I hope." He shrugged, and the Rangers were gone.



~



The scouts that Aragorn had sent south to intercept Darre met the host of the Ered Luin just as the horn sounded, and seeing the crests of Gondor, the guards and outrunners of the Dwarves allowed the Rangers to pass with all speed; they made their way right up to the guard of the King. Their leader dismounted, a tall fellow and a lieutenant among the Rangers, one Frealar by name, and he bowed deeply to Darre.

"Good my Lord," he said, and kneeling, "the High King Aragorn has offered battle to Mordor, but there is but little response from within the Black Gate. He fears aught that may be amiss, and so begs you to come with all speed yourself to join him upon the field, with those few guards you trust, but suggests that the main of Ered Luin's host be left in its current position, that the element of surprise may best be used against our common foe. All haste is needed, lord - if this counsel seems good to you, then may it please you to follow us at once."

Frealar stood at attention before Darre, awaiting his response.


{OOC: Darre, there are two threads for the attack - one for through the Morgul Vale, and the other for the Morannon.}

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Morsereg watched the Rangers dissapear, and fell into silence. His eyes watched the horizon as he saw the arrival of Lothloriens troops, riding off to meet with Ashuron atop his own horse. He stopped before the Elven Lord, looking upon him slowly. "With all the haste that we require, I propose we strike now. Through the Morgul Pass we go," He motioned to the dark pass that loomed before them. "I'll see you on the battlefield,"

Morsereg then rode to his army, riding around the perimeters of the Angmarian camp to rally everyone into position. "Today, we end the blood feud! Today, the last threat that we have shall be diminished. On this day, we do not fight Gondor, nor Lothlorien, nor the Ered Luin, yet with them! We fight against Mordor, the soldiers of which you have all shared the battlefield with. Do not fail me, and think of this as your ultimate test of loyalty!" He slid off of his horse to be at ground level with his troops, "Today, we spread our seeds of discord. Do not harm Lothlorien, we march through the Morgul Vale and towards the very tower of Barad-Dur itself!" His voice echoed like the screeches of the lost as he whipped about on his heels to face the pass.

Around him filed Dwar, Akhorahil, Alucard, and Maugrim as they stalked towards the Black Land, Morsereg's horse galloping away from the battle. The Sorcerer of the North's eyes lit up with a deep hatred towards his brother as his army slowly entered the pass, and he drew his long blade. Morsereg's eyes forever glanced in the shadows as they marched, looking for any signs of resistance.

[King Darre]

((Apologies))

[Faron]

With Elven speed, Ashuron scaled the pile of stones and turned to face the Army of the Golden Woods. "I'm told that to seek revenge is a rather maleovolent trait," he said, "But we do not seek revenge for Lothlorien's forests that have burned, but rather we seek a more holy justice. It is said by those that pass down the histories of Middle-Earth that Yavanna, the Kementari, protects all living things. Today we are her right and left hands; the right to strike our swords into these foul creatures hearts, and the left to prevent any future acts from this Empire Spawned from Morgoth." At the brief speeches' conclusion, Ashuron slid once more down the stone pile. "I never have been good at speeches," he said quietly as he walked past the military leaders of Lorien. The Elvenlord quickly climbed atop his wolf mount, drew both of his golden swords, and spurred both Arken and his army onward toward the glorious combat that lay past the Morgul Vale.

[Alcorad]

As the armies of elves and ghastly horrors of the North charged forward and the earth did shake. Before the Western Gate of Minas Morgul many fissures surged forth and difused the ranks of the armies of Lorien and Angmar. Dirt and ash lifted into the air creating a cloud to veil the hosts' sight and seperate them from their comrades. Silence fell and the long dark took hold as those who had been afflicted by the great tremor looked about in dismay. They had seen so few orcs at Minas Morgul and the penetration of the lower defenses was thought to be an easy one but still something terrifying had come to hinder them on their way. "Yee who come with blades sharp and sheilds broad doth not be welcome upon the soil of the living graves. I am the tombmaker great and wise with eyes of crimson and roar of putrid doom. Thou hath not been granted passage into the domain of the Lord of Defile. Be gone now or face the wrath of the tomb maker." A shadow moved amongst the veil. It was a massive beast long and serpentine that slithered among the fissures around the soldiers. It was coiling around the earth below them tightening its grip as if to deliver a finishing blow in one fell tug.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

"Is this what the Lord of Defile has for us? A talking serpent?" He hissed back at the snake, "You cause no fear, mighty beast. Not in the hearts of me, nor within those within my men!" His voice called towards the being, "Come and face me, beast to beast. We shall see who is greater on this day," As he spoke his sword was slowly unsheathed, knuckles whitening around the hilt as he waited.

[Alcorad]

The rock croaked and rubble flaked from the edges of the islands that held the soldiers above the black chasms below. The great scaly body of the serpend moved upward and coiled around the rock nearest Morsereg. "You shall not decide who lives and who dies save by the words from your mouth against mine. Your sword might aswell be a needle sealed in stone for no blade will pass my mane. My eyes make for stone and my teeth make for death but still they shall not be used here. You will answer my tolls or fall to your death, the choice is yours. I am your only way in, I am your only way out. Choose wisely."

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

"Very well," Morsereg spoke calmly, aware that it was his words that would decide the fate of them all. He sheathed his sword, "Speak then, wretched beast. Let your vile tongue release your tolls, for I shall pass. You shall not stump me." He closed his eyes just slightly to listen for the serpent moving. "Are you scared that you will fail your master?"

[Alcorad]

The snake smiled and dove back down into the earth. Its hissing penetrated the air and filled it with an awful wreak. "Then now is the time for the first riddle. If you answer wrong then you lose our little wager and shall be pulled down into the core of the earth. If you answer the riddle correctly I shall ask two more. If those are answered correctly then you may pass. The first riddle is: The old king is dying, and wants to leave his kingdom to the wiser of his two sons. He tells them that he will hold a horserace, and the son whose horse is the last to reach the church and come back will inherit the realm. Immediately the younger son jumps on a horse and makes for the church at top speed. The king now knows that this is the wiser son, and leaves him the kingdom. Why? Answer wisely." The beast made a noise that seemed to be laughter and dove below the surface of the earth positioning itself around the great stone pillars supporting the assulting armies.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Morsereg listened, and for a moment he let a sliver of something resembling doubt slip into his mind before banishing it. For a long while he was quiet, working it over in his head as the dust cloud swirled around them and he felt the impatience of the serpent brooding below him. He spoke to himself quietly, repeating the riddle over and over before a spark of realization flashed in his eyes. "The younger son took the older sons horse. He knew if he was to take his own horse, the race would never end because him and his brother would never leave before the other to come back last, so he took the horse that was not his own and rode off."