Post by Alcorad on Jan 13, 2006 17:52:00 GMT
Deep within the Yellow Mountains of Far Harad, there was a single city nestled far among the high peeks of the great mountains. This city was the last in all of Harad that still paid homage to Sauron.
It was comprised of many levels and surrounded by a tall gate lined with severed heads, staved upon the sharp posts. They remained there for months, days, sometimes never being removed. Some were fresh showing travelers how recently the guardians of the blood city had killed. Others were gruesome and pale, the hair and skin still flaking from the body due to the beginning stages of decay. And others still were naught but skull, skeletal and devoid of flesh.
The Gorishnans had been killing for thousands of years, before the time of Sauron. Their hearts were black and their stature, mighty and tall. Those nomadic tribes who lived at the foothills of the Yellow Mountains often exchanged stories of them under the settings sun. They said that they were possessed with Hirishi Nonadras, demons famed in the wet regions of Far Harad for taking hold of human bodies and using them to execute their fell will. It was the cursed city.
Many times disturbing rumors would fly about the highlands and the deep river basins on further onto the eaves of the great jungles, dominated by massive apes and mumaks but even more deadly in their habitat than any, the giant sloth bears. All of these things were pale in comparison to the words spoken of the Gorishnans. There were stories that time and again, rivers of blood would flow from the peeks of the mountains and rain upon the villagers of the nomadic tribes. Those who were exposed to the blood, or said to be, were killed. Even those who were touched by it spoke of the doings on the mountain to the nomadic chiefs for they feared the fate that would befall them from the mark of the black blood more than anything. These poor souls were known as the Hishira, the cursed.
It was said among those at the far side of the mountain range, those opposite the black peaks, that there was a grand blood temple perched high at the top of the city and that from all over the regions of Harad, mercenaries from the village were deployed robed in black. They would go here and there, they say, as ominous shadows in the howling desert winds and in their search for higher blood they would cross the mighty Erg Desert, and trek through the Dune Sea of Near Harad until at length they would come to the Northern Villages as far North as Umbar. Upon their arrival they would kill those they deemed worthy. Nobles, artisans, soldiers, serfs. Their dark eyes passed over none without passing judgment.
Those who were worthy of the sacrifice were captured alive and stashed deep below the blood temple in a dark catacomb. They were well nourished, treated like kings even, but at the coming of the Sylvester Moon they were gathered and placed upon alters before the high Blood God and upon the coming of the twelfth hour when the moon casts its shadow over the highest axis, they were each of them slain.
The alters were specially crafted for this particular sacrifice. The arteries were severed in particular for the maximum release of blood. The blood would pool around their bodies but be maintained around them due to large ridges on the side of the alters that trapped the thick liquid. On each side of the victim there were three holes that led down into an intricate network of small tubes, each corresponding with the other alters into one large pipe. The pipe dropped down into a hidden chamber far below the temple into the heart of a maze of subterranean chambers. The blood emptied into the hollowed head of a tall upright statue who's eyes were made of glass and skin depicted through mortar from afar. Mortar from the 'Sacred Land'. Those of Goi Grishob hoped that once the statue filled with the blood of their gathered sacrifices, the Blood God would manifest himself among them and bless his loyal servants with eternal life...
It was dark upon the peaks of the Yellow Mountains and an ominous cloud of fumes stretched out from the horizons of Mordor and Khand, moving over to cover all of Harad with darkness for Alcorad's arrival.
The city of Goi Grishob was alight with the bright glow of torches that casted an eery light over the severed heads of unworthy travelers. The guards at the gate wrapped in black Haradrim riding cloaks turned a wary eye toward the sky as the clouds echoed with thunder that sounded across the howling desert wind to create the illusion of moans crying out from the sky. It was not fear that felt but a sense of waiting. They had never witnessed such a spectacle... not since the fall of Sauron Gorthaur. They began to file from their homes in silence, leaving the woman and children to their homes. It was not an aspect of protection... no. These people had no compassion and families were nothing more to them than designated units of life to create more life. A family was naught more than a breeding method. The role of the father was to impregnate the woman who's role was to bear the child. If it was a male then they would be enlisted into the guard of the mountains or be given a job as a farmer, cook, or merchant but despite what task they were given they were trained in the dark arts of combat and sorcery.
The gates of the city opened and the scouts were called back to the great gates as the soldiers moved into a formation of arms as if preparing for a battle. They stopped upon the edge of the high roads and peered out into the dark clouds that hovered around then and the vast jungles beyond them. From within their ranks was a stirring and at the base of it was a man of incredible age. He appeared to be older than any living being in all of Middle Earth. His arms and legs were thin and his elbows and knees were knotted. One of his eyes was a milky white shade and the other was not existent, instead replaced by a round wooden sphere etched with strange carvings. He turned a feeble glance toward the sky and muttered in his native tongue to man of tall stature. The man nodded and shouted foreign orders to the rest of the fearsome men who replied in unison one phrase again and again.
A shadow passed over the horizon, one darker and deeper than the veil that choked out the sun. Something was coming. A great beast with broad wings, horned and without feathers. They were more like strips of hide similar to those of the bats but this creature was different. It was adorned in shining armor, horned and menacing in its form with a long neck and large spines stretching across its back to the tip of its tale. It dove down between the gap in the mountain wall and landed before the mage who stood at the head of the ranks. The creature approached and turned on its side to reveal a large figure in a traveling cloak not so different from those adorned by the Gorishnans.
"Orri nishni." came a stony voice from the figure atop the beast.
"Orri nishni." replied the chieftain and approached the figure with a respectful glance eyes.
Alcorad pulled his cloak from his body and smiled darkly as his crimson eyes were illuminated by the torch-light. "Greetings priest." he said smoothly with a flash of his canines as if to signify his identity. "I have come to end your long period of waiting. I am the Lord Alcorad, he who holds dominion over Mordor."
The mage nodded and closed his eyes. "Then you have come." he said in his Haradrim accent, annunciating each vowel harshly. "My job is done. My sacrifices have finally been seen and my prayers answered. You have come to cleanse this world of the infidels. The unworthy ones."
"Indeed I have." Alcorad said in an ominous tone. "But I shall need your aid, peoples of darkness."
"Anything!" the elder said dropping to his knees.
"I need you to spread the word... tell these people of Harad of my presence and rally them to the cause. Establish a temple in Pashaar and bring a congregation of these peoples so great, that the crown city of Haradwaith can barely contain them all. And then... send them to war... to their deaths."
"And where shall we send them, my liege?" the high priest asked reverently.
"To Gondor. To the King Elessar..."
(TO BE CONTINUED! DUN DUN DUN!!!)
It was comprised of many levels and surrounded by a tall gate lined with severed heads, staved upon the sharp posts. They remained there for months, days, sometimes never being removed. Some were fresh showing travelers how recently the guardians of the blood city had killed. Others were gruesome and pale, the hair and skin still flaking from the body due to the beginning stages of decay. And others still were naught but skull, skeletal and devoid of flesh.
The Gorishnans had been killing for thousands of years, before the time of Sauron. Their hearts were black and their stature, mighty and tall. Those nomadic tribes who lived at the foothills of the Yellow Mountains often exchanged stories of them under the settings sun. They said that they were possessed with Hirishi Nonadras, demons famed in the wet regions of Far Harad for taking hold of human bodies and using them to execute their fell will. It was the cursed city.
Many times disturbing rumors would fly about the highlands and the deep river basins on further onto the eaves of the great jungles, dominated by massive apes and mumaks but even more deadly in their habitat than any, the giant sloth bears. All of these things were pale in comparison to the words spoken of the Gorishnans. There were stories that time and again, rivers of blood would flow from the peeks of the mountains and rain upon the villagers of the nomadic tribes. Those who were exposed to the blood, or said to be, were killed. Even those who were touched by it spoke of the doings on the mountain to the nomadic chiefs for they feared the fate that would befall them from the mark of the black blood more than anything. These poor souls were known as the Hishira, the cursed.
It was said among those at the far side of the mountain range, those opposite the black peaks, that there was a grand blood temple perched high at the top of the city and that from all over the regions of Harad, mercenaries from the village were deployed robed in black. They would go here and there, they say, as ominous shadows in the howling desert winds and in their search for higher blood they would cross the mighty Erg Desert, and trek through the Dune Sea of Near Harad until at length they would come to the Northern Villages as far North as Umbar. Upon their arrival they would kill those they deemed worthy. Nobles, artisans, soldiers, serfs. Their dark eyes passed over none without passing judgment.
Those who were worthy of the sacrifice were captured alive and stashed deep below the blood temple in a dark catacomb. They were well nourished, treated like kings even, but at the coming of the Sylvester Moon they were gathered and placed upon alters before the high Blood God and upon the coming of the twelfth hour when the moon casts its shadow over the highest axis, they were each of them slain.
The alters were specially crafted for this particular sacrifice. The arteries were severed in particular for the maximum release of blood. The blood would pool around their bodies but be maintained around them due to large ridges on the side of the alters that trapped the thick liquid. On each side of the victim there were three holes that led down into an intricate network of small tubes, each corresponding with the other alters into one large pipe. The pipe dropped down into a hidden chamber far below the temple into the heart of a maze of subterranean chambers. The blood emptied into the hollowed head of a tall upright statue who's eyes were made of glass and skin depicted through mortar from afar. Mortar from the 'Sacred Land'. Those of Goi Grishob hoped that once the statue filled with the blood of their gathered sacrifices, the Blood God would manifest himself among them and bless his loyal servants with eternal life...
It was dark upon the peaks of the Yellow Mountains and an ominous cloud of fumes stretched out from the horizons of Mordor and Khand, moving over to cover all of Harad with darkness for Alcorad's arrival.
The city of Goi Grishob was alight with the bright glow of torches that casted an eery light over the severed heads of unworthy travelers. The guards at the gate wrapped in black Haradrim riding cloaks turned a wary eye toward the sky as the clouds echoed with thunder that sounded across the howling desert wind to create the illusion of moans crying out from the sky. It was not fear that felt but a sense of waiting. They had never witnessed such a spectacle... not since the fall of Sauron Gorthaur. They began to file from their homes in silence, leaving the woman and children to their homes. It was not an aspect of protection... no. These people had no compassion and families were nothing more to them than designated units of life to create more life. A family was naught more than a breeding method. The role of the father was to impregnate the woman who's role was to bear the child. If it was a male then they would be enlisted into the guard of the mountains or be given a job as a farmer, cook, or merchant but despite what task they were given they were trained in the dark arts of combat and sorcery.
The gates of the city opened and the scouts were called back to the great gates as the soldiers moved into a formation of arms as if preparing for a battle. They stopped upon the edge of the high roads and peered out into the dark clouds that hovered around then and the vast jungles beyond them. From within their ranks was a stirring and at the base of it was a man of incredible age. He appeared to be older than any living being in all of Middle Earth. His arms and legs were thin and his elbows and knees were knotted. One of his eyes was a milky white shade and the other was not existent, instead replaced by a round wooden sphere etched with strange carvings. He turned a feeble glance toward the sky and muttered in his native tongue to man of tall stature. The man nodded and shouted foreign orders to the rest of the fearsome men who replied in unison one phrase again and again.
A shadow passed over the horizon, one darker and deeper than the veil that choked out the sun. Something was coming. A great beast with broad wings, horned and without feathers. They were more like strips of hide similar to those of the bats but this creature was different. It was adorned in shining armor, horned and menacing in its form with a long neck and large spines stretching across its back to the tip of its tale. It dove down between the gap in the mountain wall and landed before the mage who stood at the head of the ranks. The creature approached and turned on its side to reveal a large figure in a traveling cloak not so different from those adorned by the Gorishnans.
"Orri nishni." came a stony voice from the figure atop the beast.
"Orri nishni." replied the chieftain and approached the figure with a respectful glance eyes.
Alcorad pulled his cloak from his body and smiled darkly as his crimson eyes were illuminated by the torch-light. "Greetings priest." he said smoothly with a flash of his canines as if to signify his identity. "I have come to end your long period of waiting. I am the Lord Alcorad, he who holds dominion over Mordor."
The mage nodded and closed his eyes. "Then you have come." he said in his Haradrim accent, annunciating each vowel harshly. "My job is done. My sacrifices have finally been seen and my prayers answered. You have come to cleanse this world of the infidels. The unworthy ones."
"Indeed I have." Alcorad said in an ominous tone. "But I shall need your aid, peoples of darkness."
"Anything!" the elder said dropping to his knees.
"I need you to spread the word... tell these people of Harad of my presence and rally them to the cause. Establish a temple in Pashaar and bring a congregation of these peoples so great, that the crown city of Haradwaith can barely contain them all. And then... send them to war... to their deaths."
"And where shall we send them, my liege?" the high priest asked reverently.
"To Gondor. To the King Elessar..."
(TO BE CONTINUED! DUN DUN DUN!!!)
