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Post by Envin on Jul 1, 2006 9:39:39 GMT
Núrutyáve the Dark Elf moved in the shadows, flitting carefully through the dark copses and the gnarled forests of northern Middle-earth. He licked his lips and sniffed of the wind. His mouth wrinkled in a slight sneer. Perhaps it was a smile. He thought for a passing moment of bringing forth his daggers, but sighed and left them in their sheaths. Not just yet.
He had crossed many miles upon this day and upon the day before, yet he was not weary. To one unused to travel such as was his wont, the leather that he wore would have chafed the skin. But he took delight in moving afoot and with stealth, and his leather was not new, but worn and supple with use.
He did not recall his original home, for he had been cast out as a child, but he knew well where dwelt his wolven brethren that brought him up from a cub. But afar afield was he now, searching for good hunting and for an opening to work his insidious deviations upon unsuspecting, good folk. His daggers had drunk of the blood of honest people ere now, and he would that it might be so again.
He was in the realm of Angmar, had he but known it, and drawing nigh unto the bastions of the evil Lord of that land. But he knew it not, and, truth be told, had be known it, he would have given the fact but little thought. His feet simply took him where his finely honed nostrils led him, in search of adventure, and in search of mischief.
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Jul 1, 2006 9:56:18 GMT
It was not long before Núrutyáve's passing over the border of Angmar that the border patrol caught sight of him. Wargs howled into the air, resonating off the mountains that bordered a side of the barren lands where no beauty grew. Mist set on, as was normal in the north, and their hunt had begun.
Like so many silent bloodhounds, the Wargs raced down the mountain paths, howling on occasion to alert the others of the realm. Before they had descended upon the Valley of Nan Angmar, word had traversed the secret tunnels underneath the Misty Mountains to reach the ears of the Lord of Angmar.
And thus they took to the plains, rushing across and through the marching patrols of Orcs as if they were nonexistent entirely. They kicked up no dust where they ran, and upturned no rock. Their prey's scent was fresh in their lungs, hastening their speed.
As his Wargs rode, so rose the Lord of Angmar. Securing his black sword in its sheath at his waist, the lord Morsereg Dîndaedel marched through the hallowed halls of Carn Dûm. Drawn by orcs, the fortress's doors were hauled wide, and before him stood a majestic horse. Black was his colour, and in his eyes showed no fear.
Morsereg slowly descended the steps toward the majestic being, silver hair swaying in the cold, frosty breeze. Haunted black eyes were set in his gauntly pale face, locking with the fearless horse. He mounted the beast, unnaturally long fingers locking on the reins. Into the mist they galloped, and the Orcs watched as their master rode off into the unseen Valley, accompanied only by a pack of Wargs.
And thus it was that they came upon the Drow, stopping before him gravely. The Wargs formed a perimeter around Núrutyáve silently, only a circle of red eyes through the thickening mist. Morsereg's horse stopped behind the lines of Wargs, and he passed through them as if they were mere spectres of themselves, and not fully there.
One hand wavered near his blade, ready to draw it in a hurry should the need arise. Cold eyes locked onto the Elf that stood before him, "It is by no idle means that an Elf comes to a land as forsaken as these. What is your business here, Elf? Speak wisely, for we are not alone." His voice came as more of a hiss than anything, a sinister fashion underneath it that seemed befitting of the ruler of such a dead region.
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Post by Envin on Jul 1, 2006 10:10:03 GMT
Núrutyáve cocked his head from one side to the other, in an almost canine fashion, and he aimed a growl at the largest of the Wargs, who he took to be their leader. But there were noises marbled into the simple growl, almost vocal in quality.
Then, glancing at Dîndaedel, he sighed and simply sat upon the ground. He sat with his legs crossed beneath him, and the hilts of his daggers athwart his waist. He gestured for Morsereg to sit nearby. The audacity of this intruder! He took from his belt pouch a small vial, with what appeared to be a needle for weaving attached to it, fine and keen and thin. He removed a tiny lid from the other end of the vial, and poured from a second vial some sort of clear liquid into the first. Then, to Morsereg's surprise, he carefully drove the needle into one of the veins of his own arm, with his finger forced the liquid through the needle and into his bloodstream, and sighed with pleasure. Some few moments passed, until with his eyes closed, the Dark Elf replied:
"Ah, O Great and Mighty One, but you are mistaken. For it is indeed by idle means that I have come to these forsaken lands. Idle hands are Morgoth's workshop, it is said. I search for ... for what indeed to I search? For the first, mayhap we are not alone, but I hold no fear for these four-footed guards of yours. Have them attack me, I beg you. And as for my business, why, it is but idle! I come a'questing for that which my heart bids me. This place appears evil enough, but my heart desires to bring evil and horror into other places, other folk - whether by my own design or following that of another."
When he finally opened his eyes, they were suddenly horribly bloodshot, and had a tint of yellow in them.
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Jul 1, 2006 19:04:13 GMT
Morsereg watched in disgust, scoffing at the Elf's audacity. How dare he sit before me and expect to be treated as equal! It was with even more disgust that he saw the spectacle with the needle and liquid. "Get up, you misbegotten Elf!" He spat, commanding Núrutyáve to stand, and as he did so a calmer look came over his demeanor.
"You say you search to spread evil, is this true?" Morsereg began pacing circles around the Drow, thinking as he spoke, "Here you shall find naught but evils beyond the wildest nightmares of men, and a being that could make Morgoth quiver in his boots. For all that the being Morgoth did was in spite of the other Valar. I am without such weaknesses as pride or jealousy, which both ailed Morgoth." He looked upon the bloodshot yellow eyes with no remorse, no feeling, as he looked to the Wargs for a moment.
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Post by Envin on Jul 3, 2006 11:11:47 GMT
Núrutyáve spat blandly, and inwardly regretted that he had not employed a larger dose - this fellow would soon wear upon his patience. He did not rise.
"Ah, O High Muckity-Muck, but you are indeed ailed by fear at the least, for what else could demand you encircle a poor wanderer with Wargs and come at him as though he were a thief? And I might disagree that you lack pride, for you appear to think that but of course any dreary wanderer through these lands would know your face. And you require that a lesser being, as you would say, such as an Elf, should stand in your presence. Well, I shall stand, for methinks my knees are tired of sitting." He stood and was nearly as tall as Morsereg, right in front of whom he now stood. "Why, my lord, you are nearly as tall as an Elf yourself." He grinned. "And I do not disavow my own weaknesses. I take pleasure in the least pain caused, the softest scream uttered, and the smallest drop of blood spilt. If that is a weakness, then perhaps it would lend itself to your cause."
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Jul 3, 2006 14:59:10 GMT
Morsereg inwardly held back the urge to have the Wargs dispose of the Elf which so blatantly mocked him, "They are for threatening purposes only, you see," He snapped his fingers and as if into the mist, the Wargs melted away. "It is rare that I kill upon Nan Angmar. No, those that die here die within the halls of Carn Dum." He smirked, "I never implied that you must know my name. But there are few Elves who do not...perhaps you have heard of the nickname those of your race have given me? Bragolamarth?" He saw the Drow stand, and his voice took on a slightly...friendlier, if you could call a lightening of the malice in his tone that, light. "I am Morsereg Dîndaedel, the Black Istari. I would not think of killing you at all, methinks, because the world seems to be a much more interesting place with you in it. Never think of that as a weakness, for it is merely pleasure in what you do best, I can assume. If that is a weakness, then mayhaps I share it."
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Post by Envin on Jul 5, 2006 9:04:15 GMT
Damnation be upon his weary feet that took the Drow northward, he inwardly cursed himself. He had indeed heard tales of Bragolamarth ere now, and he licked his lips apprehensively. The yellow in his eyes vanished as he was brought back to his senses. He resisted the urge to slap himself to ensure this was not another hallucination. He actually inclined his head slightly toward Morsereg. "Then by your leave, lord, we shall not mar the tradition of Angmar by spilling my blood upon this ground." He swallowed. "Mayhap you would have uses, tasks, to which I could be set? I would be honored to share a weakness with you, though of course in you 'twould not be a weakness but a rare strength. How may I bend my own humble version of thine own to thy will?"
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Jul 8, 2006 22:27:22 GMT
Morsereg looked at the Drow, smirking inwardly, "I do not have any use for you, as of now. There shall be a time when I will call upon you, and then we shall ride together and blood shall be spilt. Babies shall cry. Men shall cower." His eyes glinted with a sadistic delight before he went on, "I shall hear whispers of your whereabouts through my sources, and will find you when the time comes. Know that Angmar shall always have a room, should you need it, for any ally of mine is always welcome on these haunted grounds." A pause as he looked into the mist, "Also, I must warn you not to cross me. I can be a powerful ally, but should you betray me I will not hesitate to strike you down. I have my means of finding out, and treason is not tolerated."
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Post by Envin on Jul 10, 2006 11:51:46 GMT
Núrutyáve smiled in the way one would to a superior. He bowed quite low. "Then, O Great One, I would beg your leave, for if at the moment there are no misdeeds to be done in your service, I fear I must seek to direct them myself. But, have no fear! For I shall e'er be available at thy beck and call. And never would I think to betray thy trust! It shall remain my secret to the grave. Do not think twice to summon me!"
He bowed even lower than before, and swept his cloak behind him. Backing away several paces, he then turned and sprinted into the night. It was not long ere he made the cover of a distant treeline, and soon after Morsereg could hear him no more. But as the Black Istari turned to depart, he heard a distant howl as of a wolf greeting the evening moon. Núrutyáve was gone.
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Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Jul 10, 2006 20:13:12 GMT
Morsereg nodded silently as the Drow departed, a chilling wind rippling through his hair. He heard the howl, and hid a silent smirk as he turned on his heels towards his horse. Wasting no time, he mounted and around him a group of Spectral Wargs materialized as it had been before.
They rode into the mist, Morsereg and his company, towards the fortress. Things were falling into place, as he had watched long ago from Valinor. Darkness would sweep the land, and one-by-one the Free People of Middle-Earth would be wiped out. A mass extermination was in order.
He approached Carn Dum, dismounting and slowly climbing the steps. The Wargs paced behind him as the sun set and the moon rose over Angmar. Morsereg stopped slowly upon reaching the doors to his fortress, glancing towards the West, towards the Ered Luin. The Dwarves would go down under his iron fist very soon...
"Maugrim," He called, leaving his eyes locked to the West.
"Yes, my lord?" One of the ghost-like Wargs approached him, bowing.
"Gather your kin, and rally a small sect of Dusk Wraiths...You will accompany me to Arnor, to Tyrn Gorthad." At that moment, his eyes broke from the west and traveled to the south. "Be ready to depart by tommorow evening."
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