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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 27, 2005 4:09:54 GMT
In the north climes of Eriador, past even Mount Gundabad, lived a race of Men now lost to the world. These days, little is known of them and, even in the days of their strength, there was little knowledge to be found of who they were. Bitter and mean-spirited, they were nonetheless an intelligent race and had mastered all the arts of stonework and forging. This they used to raise great fortresses of black stone and in their pillared halls were assembled armies clad in chain and scale. Where they came from is forgotten, perhaps deliberately so. Were they Black Númenóreans, lesser men who escaped the conflicts of an earlier age, or merely deserters from a dozen realms?
These men made their home hard against the Misty Mountains, those jagged peaks that form a spine to Middle-earth, and were ever a terror upon their neighbours, raiding and pillaging for nothing more than the love of war itself. The Dwarves of the northern Misty Mountains and the Men of Arnor lived in constant threat of their attacks for more than a thousand years. Whether the Witch-king had long known this land or had set his claws in it afresh is unknown. Whatever, when first he recovered from his master's fall, the Lord of the Nazgûl came to Carn Dûm and marshalled its peoples in his name, choosing the efficiency of Men over the fractious brawling and squabbling of the Orcs. Where before the Men of Carn Dûm were simply brigands and raiders, albeit highly skilled and organised ones, they were now the instrument of one of the greatest evils upon the face of Middle-earth. Some began to worship the Witch-king, begging him to share his power. Some feared him. All served him.
By the year 1300 of the Third Age, the kingdom of Carn Dûm was no more, now just part of the wider Witch-realm of Angmar. In service to their dread lord, the Men of Carn Dûm were more formidable than ever, driven onwards by the inhuman malice of their sorcerer-king. Whilst the spectral vassals of the Lord of the Nazgûl were his chief weapon of terror upon the northern kingdom of Arthedain and the Elf haven of Rivendell, it was the iron shod Men of Carn Dûm who would prove to be his invaluable tool of slaughter and conquest. It should never be forgotten that it was these warlike folk who toppled the great tower of Amon Sûl and brought the kingdoms of the north to their knees.
When Angmar finally fell, the Men of Carn Dûm were scattered, their power broken forever. Though the Witch-king escaped his pursuers his armies of mortal followers were hunted, ridden to ground and slain. For a time, the name Carn Dûm could be spoken, and not feared. That time is no more. Carn Dûm became inhabited by Orcs in the years after the Witch-King's passing, and with the rise of the Lord Morsereg to power, Carn Dûm is a feared name once more.
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Post by Alcorad on Dec 28, 2005 2:21:12 GMT
Silence had come over the Mountains of Angmar, and the tall mountains were sillhoueted behind the wide full moon. Low howls echoed over the horizon from the wolves and an eery aura settled over that Dark Land. High in the sky, a mighty shadow flew once more. Rumors had spread throughout Middle Earth of a giant winged shadow. It had appeared before the murder at Edoras. It had appeared before the mysterious dissapearance of Saruman's records of the Black Powder and now it was appearing above one of the most haunted lands in all the world, Angmar. Here was the home of Morsereg, the Black Istari.
Lower, the beast descended upon Angmar and its rider looked sternly ahead towards the battlements of Carn-dum and the tall towers that made its crown. The Fell Beast of Mordor descended through the center of the mountain peaks and made its perch atop Carn-dum's tallest spire, where the Black Istari dwelt. The beast turned its head slightly to see the ghastly form of Minas Sereg, where dwelt the most dastardly servants in Morsereg's service. The rider slowly turned his head towards the city aswell. The products of Morsereg's sorceries would come to be of use soon enough.
Silently the rider dismounted his beast onto a large balcony, lit by eery torches. The light revealed the features of his face and in especial his eyes, which were so easy to distinguish from other beings. The man pulled back his hood to reveal himself as Alcorad, the Dark Lord of Mordor. With a slight smile of both mirth and malice, Alcorad brought himself before his brother and nodded slightly. "I have travelled far from Mordor to come here. I have not seen you for quite some time, Morsereg Dindaedel. I was surprised when the bats of your minion came to my tower, but the minds of rodents are so easily interpreted."
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 28, 2005 2:29:12 GMT
Morsereg looked to Alcorad as a smirk slowly dawned upon his face. "Welcome to Angmar, my brother," He rose, approaching him until they were merely arms length apart, cold eyes locked together as their gaunt faces were matched.
"My minion?" He raised an eyebrow for a second, trying to see who he could mean, "I have no minions that have any way to send bats to your land, Alcorad," For a minute he paused, when realization dawned on his face, "Oh, you must mean him. The mistake." He was referring to Cile, of course, who in all aspects was his son.
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Post by Alcorad on Dec 28, 2005 2:37:20 GMT
A slight look of confusion nearly dawned upon Alcorad's face before he dismissed the thought. Alcorad himself had left many bastard sons to wonder their way through Middle Earth, trying to learn who they were. Their mother's never told them. Often Alcorad himself would walk amongst the villages where he had spread his seed to learn of tidings of his children. They never knew their identity and even still when his crimson eyes locked upon those of the whore that he had taken to his bed, she would say nothing. Few of Alcorad's sons remained living. During those days the Dark Lord was still a wanderer, a murderer striving to have pleasure through many different ways. As the era of his nomadic live drew to an end, he made his runs throughout Middle Earth and fed upon the souls of mate and of his child, strengthening his body. Even still it was a surprise to hear that one who's heart was so frigid had taken it upon himself to have a child and if Alcorad was correct in his assumptions, why was the child still living. "A mistake?" Alcorad questioned hesitantly. "What kind of mistake do you refer to? Surely you have not let your abilities stray to far from your northern stronghold."
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 28, 2005 2:53:09 GMT
"Nay. He is not far from here. His true location, I shall not betray, however. I could kill him if I wished, but he is of use. He's the first of them that was, atleast," Morsereg motioned for Alcorad to follow him into the council chamber so that they could sit. Morsereg had attempted the experiment that had resulted in Cile many times before, and he was the first to bring along a worthy result. It seemed he had attempted as early as his first month in Avathar, on the bodies of the Elves that he didn't eat but merely killed.
He had gone back and found each of his real mistakes, taking their souls for a younger-looking body. He was always working on more, trying to make an improvement to take Cile's place. "When was the last time you tasted Elf, brother?" They reached the council chamber, sitting down as some of Morsereg's Orc minions slowly marched in, carrying a coffin above their shoulders, through with muffled cries could be heard.
The coffin was placed down, and the lid moved to reveal a bound Elven woman, obviously having been pregnant for awhile, with a gaunt face showing that she had seen horrors worse than most would see in their worst nightmares. "Vintage. She is nigh a hundred years old, and the baby she carries is my sole biological heir. Perfect meal to start our meeting, is it not?" He grinned devilishly, and in instants he had plunged an opened hand into the womans stomach.
With a yank, he pulled out the crying baby, umbilical cord and all, placing his hand on the baby's skull, slowly crushing it. He raised the body above his mouth, letting the blood drip before sinking his teeth into the poor souls arm.
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Post by Alcorad on Dec 28, 2005 3:06:23 GMT
Alcorad furrowed a brow as his brother began to eat the child but as he considered the events that were soon to take place, he decided that he too needed to eat. Slowly he moved his hand over the woman's neck pushed two sharp fingernails into the skin and spread them apart to tear open the flesh. His hand went further into the neck and moved carefully around, feeling here and there until he grapped hold of something. The breaking of bone could be heard and what little life remained in the woman was gone. Alcorad pulled a peice of the spinal corde from the open wound and snapped it in half, digging his long tongue into the contents of the hollow bone. He licked the bone marrow from the inside, a slight twinge of contentment arising from his being. He did so enjoy to pick his food out of difficult places. Once he sucked the bone dry, he cast it to the floor for the mountain rabble to chew on and took the vocal corde from her mouth, inserting it into his mouth and chewing openly, allowing the blood to seep over his lips and run down the creases at the corners of his mouth. "Why is it that you cannot tell me the whereabouts of your mistake? Are there things now that you must keep from your own brother?" he said after swollowing the contents of his mouth loudly.
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 28, 2005 3:14:48 GMT
Morsereg looked at the baby, which was now missing one whole arm and part of the other hand. He took his free hand and carved a hole in its chest, pulling out the still beating heart to take a bite into it, blood gushing down his face and splattering onto the floor in thick, red drops. "The fool lies in Moria. Do not kill him. I need him for now. He is to be my lackey, my servant. I shall use him for the trivial things that mean nothing in the scheme of things. When another creation rises to take his place, we shall kill this Cile Dindaedel."
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Post by Alcorad on Dec 28, 2005 3:27:00 GMT
The words had been spoken. Nearly the exact words that Alcorad had waited to hear since the first mension of Cile Dindaedel. So he is naught but a pawn? Interesting. My brother seems to hold much confidence in me to confide such information in me.
Alcorad himself was no longer hungry. As the light of the elvish woman's soul filled the room during its attempt at Namo's Halls, Alcorad engulfed it and looked back towards Morsereg. The woman was bound and unable to move. The meal wasn't much fun and the anticipation of hearing more news had ruined his appetite. "Brother, I am quite done with my meal. Would you care to elaborate further on your plans?"
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Post by Orrë the Wise on Dec 28, 2005 3:44:10 GMT
A small gate deep within the northern Misty Mountains creaked open from it's ancient slumber. Dust rattled off it's hinges as the old doorway slid adjar. Footsteps sounded from within.
Cile's silouetted form appeared in the darkness, and drew nearer. The man paused outside his tunnel, letting his eyes adjust to the lighting. Three spider riders flanked him, as they strode through the rocky terrian of Angmar, and towards the main citadel of Carn Dûm.
"Remain here." Cile instrusted his protectors, who nodded hesitantly, and awaited by the main door as they arrived. The Prince walked up and into the main chambers, where he found Morsereg and.... Alcorad. "Good evening father."
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Post by Alcorad on Dec 28, 2005 5:09:11 GMT
Alcorad turned his gaze to the newcomer. Father. Alcorad's mind worked furiously as he asessed the situation. This timely arrival complicated the entire scheme of things. Not that Alcorad cared whether or not he could further discuss the role of Morsereg's problems but he had plans for the evening and considering Cile's deceived notions of being important, he may just ruin everything.
"Well you must be Cile, the one whom I have heard so much of. Greetings. I am Alcorad of Mordor. I am hear speaking to your father on the matter of your winged spies that were flying around my dark citadel not two days ago. Would you care to explain that intrusion? It isn't polite to spy on others, especially when they have so many secrets." A small smile grew upon Alcorad's face as his true hunger began to grow. Where Morsereg's meal was a mere elf, bound and weak, this one was a dark entity of a calibur worthy of being consumed. Had Alcorad not understood the now delicate balance that was in effect, who would have sprung for the kill.
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Post by Orrë the Wise on Dec 28, 2005 13:34:25 GMT
A small smirk spread accross Cile's pale face. "The bats serve me well. Fret not, paranoid follower of my father, they were told to scout everywhere, not just your waistland." His eyes fell upon the poor Elven maiden. Her not-yet-born son was not with her. "You took the best part." Eyes locked onto Morsereg in sarcastic annoyance. "Elf doesnt fit my needs anymore anyway. Down in Moria I have become partial to goblin flesh. Much more raw."
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 28, 2005 16:00:14 GMT
Morsereg shook his head, "Goblins? Pathetic scum. Rolling around in your dank mountain halls all day. Its a surprise you haven't dropped dead from the stuff their bodies must pick up!" He rose, walking to his son. This one had power, yes, but it was nothing compared to his, or to Alcorad's. He was not a true Maia created by Eru, no, he was a fake creation of Morsereg himself, from bones and little bits of Morsereg's essence. He had not given so much this time as he had in the past, for he found if he gave them too much it was possible that they would turn on him and have the power to possibly match him in battle.
He began to circle his son, wondering where the next move would be. "Now that all three of us are here, let me have something known," He first locked eyes with Cile, "This one is not my follower, but my equal. We were created by Eru and in all aspects were considered brothers among the Maia."
"Now, to the real business. No doubt you, Alcorad, have realized Gondor growing on your doorstep. I hear whispers from my spirits that a ruler has arisen in Mithlond as well, and, if my ears hear right, Mirkwood. Where the other rulers are, I don't know. This is the opportune moment to strike, don't you see? While their numbers dwindle low, before they can get more to join their ranks! Do not let them find a lord for Arnor, or Angrenost. Let the Elves live without a King or Queen in Lothlorien and Imladris. Let the Dwarves stay in the dark in their halls of old. Let us take them down now, while they have little alliances to protect themselves!" He had been pacing as he said this, drawing from under the table a map of Middle-Earth, which he placed atop the table.
"Questions? Comments?" He looked about to Cile and Alcorad.
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Post by Alcorad on Dec 28, 2005 16:29:35 GMT
Alcorad's brow furrowed in anger as he noted the insolent brat's comment. None could speak to the Dark Lord in such a fashion and be granted further life. Soon enough Cile would realize the folly of his actions. Alcorad was one never to forget and Cile had deeply insulted him. Even a word from a useless peice of empty flesh such as the boy was enough to spark tension in him. It was well-known among those ancient Maia who had served Melkor that Alcorad was one of short temper and not to be trifled with. The days of servitude had served Alcorad well but those days were over and the time for him to dominate had begun. He began to see, further and further, how useless Cile actually was and thus he concluded that one way or another, he would end his life. For now he would play along with the scheme at hand. Some locations vital to his plans had been mentioned after all.
"No questions, Morsereg. I beleive that this is exactly the course of action we need to take. In fact, I beleive our first target should be Mirkwood." Yes. Mirkwood was exactly the realm that Alcorad wanted. The Land of Elves, where Dul Guldur lain dormant however a new plan began to formulate within Alcorad's mind and he decided after all to set aside his original intentions for the evening.
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Post by Orrë the Wise on Dec 28, 2005 16:38:35 GMT
Cile glowered at the ruler of Mordor... his non-by-blood related uncle. "Yes father." How, with all his being, he loathed Alcorad. Jealousy as it may be, he did not know nor cared. This abomination of the Valar was actually giften from them. He, however, was not. Never, he knew, would he get the full respect from his creator... his father.... as Alcorad had.
Morsereg spoke his thoughts... There were indeed rulers springing up like wildfire all around Middle-Earth... Claiming their land borders with malice and greed. "The forces are not equal. If these rumors are indeed true, then we have Gondor, Rohan, Mirkwood, and Mithlond oposing us. Unless more allies are to come to us? Surely the strength of Mordor, Angmar and Moria arent enough to hold back four other realms. But... there is a weakness....." He pointed to the forest of Mirkwood. "The forest is isolated from the rest of their allies. If we can manage to keep Gondor and Rohan at bay, we may stand a chance."
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 28, 2005 16:55:38 GMT
"Good, good." Morsereg nodded, looking to Cile, "Rally your troops, travel to Mirkwood. We will meet you there," A sinister smirk lay on his face as he locked his eyes on Mirkwood. "Hold the fort at Mirkwood while we gather our strength. We shall take them down in one stroke." He growled at the realm on the map. "Alcorad, we still have business to discuss. Come with me," He and Alcorad stood, moving into another room, and locking the door, where they discussed their plans in secret.
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