Minas Sereg

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Minas Sereg - The Citadel of Blood[/u]

In the northern wastes of Angmar, Morsereg ordered a stone structure to be erected. It was a great structure, and housed many of Morsereg's servants, built of black marble that instilled a venomous fear into all who saw it. Forged in mockery of the White City of Minas Tirith, the Citadel of Guard, here now is formed the Black City of Minas Sereg, The Citadel of Blood. In the topmost spire, Morsereg often watched over Angmar, looking over a map of Middle-Earth as he did so.

The halls are patrolled by Ghost, Man, and Orc alike, with Giant Spiders hiding on the ceilings to ambush those who thought to ambush their Lord. The halls twisted and turned, and often those who wandered in for purposes against the lord Morsereg never found their way out. Many corridors are never explored, for they lead off into eternal blackness, but the rumors say that they lead deep into the mountains, where Morsereg is breeding a new being, one which feeds off of shadows, and is nigh unstoppable, though none have the heart to speak this beings name.

[Foxfoot Lonebuck]

Dindaedel. It was a name long forgotten by the men of Middle-earth. Arnor's glory days had long since past and legends of Gondor's conflict almost all revolved around the lands far south and east. Foxfoot was no man however. Dindaedel was a name any elf from the northern lands would recognize. Dindaedel was to the Elves what the big bad wolf was to men. Mothers recanted the tales to their children to keep them from wandering the woods at night, or often used him as a threat to make lax children do their chores. Fox's own mother would often claim Dindaedel would have him for dinner if he played when he should be at his studies. As he grew older he learned more of the factual accounts of Dindaedel's wrath upon the Elves, though, they were of no more comfort and Elves being on the menu was not so far fetched as one might have believed. If only so many of his people had not left the shores of Middle-earth, perhaps the growing threat would have been recognized sooner.

Foxfoot found comfort in his elvish cloak as he peered out from behind a crag, knowing he was all but invisible to any would-be onlookers. He dare not move closer and risk being caught upon the open plain of the waste that lay before him, but on the horizon he could see the menacing black tower. His keen elven eyes watched as any number of foul creature scurry hurriedly about, busily doing their master's bidding.

Foxfoot knew orcs well and the filthy creatures were not capable of accomplishing such industry on their own accord. Some dark force was behind this, a master puppeteer pulling the strings from atop the cursed black fortress. And the puppeteer had a name. Dindaedel.

[Foxfoot Lonebuck]

Fox remained hidden for some time in his vigil in hopes he would chance a glimpse of the cursed Dindaedel. It was not to be, however, and after having spent two nights in the crag he concluded he would have to risk venturing closer to the dark tower if he were to learn any more of its goings on.

He made his way slowly and deliberately, keeping to the shadows as oft he could and crouching behind rocks when he could not. The trek brought him precariously close to many an orc patrol and at times he felt certain he would be discovered. The creatures’ foul stench was so overwhelming at times he felt he might gag. Discovered, though, he was not and soon enough he stood nary a stone’s throw from the towering hulk of black marble.

The patrols here were thrice fold that of those in the wasted plains. Fox had to keep ever vigilant now, lest he be caught, for that would surely be his end. He set his mind now in designing a scheme to breach these defenses and slip into the dark fortress.