The Golden Hall of Meduseld

[Beren One-Hand]

*The reinforcement had arrived -  a confident fighting force of seventy-five dwarves.  The spies would be at a great disadvantage, as they did not know they area.  The scouts, who consisted of five elves and five dwarves joined the seventy-five.  They saw the small fire burning in the distance and made to approach it with great care and quietly.  They would slay as many as possible in their sleep and take the rest as prisoners to gather vital intel on their enemies in the south.*

[Wolfchild]

The tower of Harad had received word of Vargaz' accomplishment well into the morning. Unbeknown to them, the knowledge that the remainder or her people still resided there had spread to the ears of those in Mordor who would not favor their survival lightly. Vargaz herself held no memory of care or desire for their protection, and indeed the path of extermination appeared more obvious than ever. They were mistakes anyway- their species not meant to be, save for one; the first...and soon the last.

With that dawning news, an order was dispatched for the Haradrim to take their animals and withdraw from the tower, sealing the entranceway as they provoked flaming torches with a mixture of uncertainty and revulsion, Zalsmuhn himself turning his face away, unable to watch the fires catch against the palisades, spreading to the eaves and the rafters with a black trail in its wake. The half wolves had been sleeping within. In minutes, an eruption of coughing and screaming spluttered and echoed from behind the wall, as ash-ridden smoke bellowed from the windows, and the sound of flame spat viciously below.

Meklian could see nothing, but heard each and every voice trapped in that room with him. As a shape was made aware, he could see it was Vrehuln, but the man did neither wake nor breathe, and by him, his two sons and the orphaned Gondorian looked with terror at their father's lack of movement. He was long since dead, and as sunlight crept overhead, the bodies like him were littering the ground, or barely moving. The heat and smoke from beyond the locked door told him the fire was just outside, and their was only one choice left for him to take. Turning to the window, he saw the Haradrim in the distance, and then the drop they faced over two looming floors below. There was no other choice. "Quickly!" he told the children, as the door began to incinerate. The fall could kill them, but Meklain held on to all three in his arms, as with a muttering to Awle, he jumped.

The pain from a broken leg rushed through his body in seconds, but he would rather it was him than the young ones. They appeared only bruised, and helped him to stand, although weakly, as all tried to see a way out of the place, discovering the gates that now smoldered little in comparison to the tower. As Meklian tried to open it, the smoke cleared, revealing a multitude of Harad archers in the distance. One arrow pierced his chest as a warning, but still he attempted the lock. Another followed, causing him to stumble. He stood with his arms outstretched in front of the children, taking a third shot as his strength buckled to the floor. He tried the lock again with a feverish shiver, slamming it with what power he had left to use. The iron swung open and groaned with reluctance. Two more arrows hit him directly, one after the other. He fell back against the ground, nothing left to move his dying body, but muttered "Run" as breath left him before the end. Khruna took the hand of his sister and younger brother as they disappeared through the smoke. With neither direction nor place to go, they ran as far and as fast as it was possible.

[Beren One-Hand]

*Though not himself a child, Erekuil knew he would have to run also.  He eyed Khyleru with a look of respect, nodded, and then jumped down an irrigation ditch.  The arrows flew past him and even into the waters of the ditch, but to no avail.  The wolf-man was an able swimmer, and was quickly out of their site.  He mourned Meklian and his downfall, but also missed Vargaz.  But he would not dare to venture into the dark lands of Morgul and Mordor.  He would head north to the woods by Rhun, and eventually make his way back to Moria.*

*Eighty-five against twenty-two.  The spies would not have barely heard their attackers.  The dwarves and the few elves among them cut down the spies and their encampment.  Most were done in their sleep, but a few awoke only to meet their inevitable doom.  Though the instructions from Dwalinstone were clear - take a few back to the Lonely Mountain as prisoners.  These prisoners would be interrogated for intel, and then executed.  Thus Minasal's attempt at espionage failed, and the three Corsair prisoners, chained and shackled, were being marched up the north road as we speak.*

[Wolfchild]

Khruna was barely ten, his brother Rouhl almost half that. Althiu, the orphan, had spoken her age of seven when her life amongst wolf people had been first recognised. Yet although their youth was obvious, they were by no means incapable of survival. The eldest had already been well trained with a bow, not being a fool to the ways of the world. To live, one needed to learn early.

For a day, they only walked, with little urge or desire for conversation. The respect for their father had extended further than it had for Vargaz. In truth, they often despised her. She left them without word, and handed responsibility to Vrehuln to ensure their upbringing went flawlessly, giving no time to care as she should. And too often her heart was manipulated, so much so that few could tell whether a mother or a monster had spared them a passing glance.

The children resolved, thereof, to harden their strength, gather what resources they could find, and take time to let the futility of their species die down, before reigniting it again triumphantly. None knew their names, and would not once their destination had been decided. To Umbar, said Khruna. A forbidden place, were his parents there to consult. Yet beneath the enemy's very nose would prove to soon be the safest. 

[Beren One-Hand]

*Erekuil felt that he would never again see any of his people.  The few that remained headed to who-knows-where, and Vargaz was bent on her own agenda in Mordor.  As he thought about these things, the lone Wolf-man decided to make camp for the night.  He was about a days journey from the older tower in Harad, and none were on his path.  He was very hungry and caught a rabbit for his supper.  This would suffice to sustain him until he reached the greener pastures of Rhun.  He cooked it over a small fire, making it into a soup-dish.*

[Wolfchild]

"Baiter...baiter, watcher, waiter,
Strike the pits and bleed the traitor..."

Scavenging the skeletons of a barren landscape, the children decorated their bodies in an unusual mixture of clothing; most of which was the carefully selected armor of perished Haradrim, although only certain articles would suffice the size of the young, such as the occasional odd fitting cuisse and greave, an aged pouldron, of odd similarity to their mother's. Khruna developed the habit of wearing several belts over an ill fitting shirt, and indeed looked the vagabond for it. Much like his sibling, who followed in his footsteps, and their adopted sister.   They did thus to serve the purpose of blending in, and to illustrate a separation from an immaturity which they began to believe was desired from them in the half wolf company.

Within another few weeks, they would arrive upon Umbar. If they were fortunate, they might chance a merchant's cart before then, and barter for transport. If not, then they would take it by force. 

[Beren One-Hand]

*The prisoners were pushed slowly up the north road leading the the Lonely Mountain.  They had rarely stopped to rest and had continued on through the night.  They were very close to the Mountain now.  The dwarves would have the prisoners interogated and tortured for information.  If they didn't talk, they would be dead.*

*Minasal still had troops in Minas Tirith, but knew that he needed to head back to Umbar to regroup.  He stationed his top general in command of the garrisson at the White City.  Rohan was still unwaveringly his, as Barahir constantly admired the pirate lord.  But to Umbar he would go with his personal elite guard alongside.*

[Wolfchild]

Vargaz heard news of the tower of Harad within the following days, including the reports that at least four had escaped and fled their attempted assassination. Amongst them, the guards told of those witnessed as three children, which she knew from their descriptions meant her own. They had not spotted Erekuil or the others, and neglected to mention Meklian's name, saying only that a fool had given his life so that the younger ones might flee. Vargaz laughed deep with a carving echo. She became more wraith-like day by day.

Proclaimed a Captain by the Dark Masters, her duties lead her around Mordor with six of the most trusted and skilled warriors, carefully selected from the legion she commanded. They included uruk-hai and men, the latter of whom had either betrayed their original fractions, or worked their way up through the hordes of captured slaves. It was during this time that the plans were being made to engulf Gondor, and purge the White City of all citizens who would not yield to the forces of evil. The Mordorian numbers were growing rapidly, with armies that eclipsed those legendary forces of previous years; all increasingly ravenous for battle and bloodshed.

[Beren One-Hand]

*The prisoners had arrived at the Lonely Mountain.  There were only three of them and they didn't seem prone to talking.  Dwalinstone had them brought into an interogation chamber in one of his lower halls.  Beren and Thranduil had joined the dwarves some days earlier.  So the prisoners were each interogated individually.  Dwalinstone conducted the first interogation himself.  The pirate's name was Miron.  He spit in the king's face and would say nothing of his intentions or mission in the northern land.  Dwalinstone was furious on account of the pirate's disrespect and insolence, and thus he slammed the Corsair's face several times onto the table.  The pirate was left bruised and bloody, but consequently became more stubborn and even more violent.  He stood up and spit in the face of one of the guards in the room and said
simply: "Northern scum."  Dwalinstone knew that his next move would not be the best one, as he could not tolerate the pirate any longer and would result in killing him.  Thus he left the room and called in Beren to get the man to talk.*

*Beren entered the room and immediately rolled up his sleeves.  He sat down in the chair oppposite to where the man was seated.  "So you mean not to talk, eh Corsair?  You might think that you will simply die here and that you will be a martyr for your people and your cause.  But die you will, but your death will not be a quick and simple one.  If you talk, your death will be quicker."  The pirate looked at Beren and fear could be seen in his eyes.  "Talk pirate."  Beren shouted the words as he stabbed his knife between the man's neck and his shoulder blade, causing severe nerve damage and causing the pirate some excruciating pain.  The man started to shake violently and seemed to start to talk, but still no words came from his mouth.  Beren took a flask of wine and poured it into the wound, causing the man's pain to increase greatly.  The pirate went into a seizure-like condition.  His body shook violently and he seemed to lose consciousness.  As the other two pirates in the other rooms failed to talk, Thranduil and the other interogator left them alone for the time being and watched as Beren continued to press his prisoner.  "You have one more chance to talk, sea scum!"  Beren showed the man his knife and as the pirate pleaded in pure fear, Beren thrust it into the man's left knee cap, twisting the knife slightly to one side.  The man screamed in pain, as the knife remained in his knee.  He was sweating profusely.  "Okay.  I will talk.  We come here, to your lands to provide our lord Minasal, Corsair King of the south lands with intel on your kingdoms in the north.  We rule all the lands of the south now, including Gondor and Rohan.  Your former allies weakened under our pressure and superior force.  We have only to take your lands in the north to rule all Middle Earth."  Beren looked like a wild animal as he stared into the man's blood shot and pain filled eyes.  "So you speak, pillager.  But know this.  Our forces are more powerful than you know.  To attack our lands would be foolish and would end in your doom.  Minasal might have corrupted the kings of the south, but the kings of the north remain united and strong."  The man seemed to be fading and was losing consciousness.  He was dying of his wounds.  "One last piece of information I still need which you posses.  Where lies the Wolf-woman Vargaz?  And to whom does her allegiance lie?"  The pirate laughed as he spat blood in Beren's face: "Hahahaha.  You think I will reveal that to you?  Oh great lord of the north," he mocked.  Beren commanded Thranduil to bring the other prisoners into the room.  As they came into the room they cried in horror as they saw what remained of their comrade.  Beren face the other prisoners and said: "If he doesn't talk he will die."  Beren took his knife and plunged it into the man's eye.  Beren grabbed his hair and shouted at him.  "Talk now!  What of Vargaz?  And what of Mordor?"  Beren twisted the knife and commanded the man to talk.  Finally the man mumbled out the following words: "You face more than the south kingdoms and Umbar.  You face Mordor reborn, and her who rides with the Dark Knights."  The man faded and died of his wounds.  Beren had gotten what he needed, though the man did not name Vargaz by name, Beren knew that evil had once again ensnared her into its trap.*

[Wolfchild]

Times were growing ever more dangerous. From Mordor, the signs that chaos would soon unleash became increasingly evident. The hostilities of gathering troops and wayward scouts sparked rumors in themselves, with the threat upon Gondor and its people becoming a direct matter of concern. By each new morning, the King received word that more of his far patrolling guardsmen had disappeared, where by the next, their bodies would be found, deliberately mutilated and tortured beyond imagination. Not only did these horsemen fall to the hands of assassins, but many of the eyes and ears that Eldarion relied on to gather information were slain in their masses- and all by night, through skills which surpassed his people's own. Little did he realise that this was simply the rain before the storm. Soon all the White City itself would know of what stole away its fathers.

A coil of a human sat like a creature carved from stone upon the high battlements of the gate of Minas Morgul. The wind bit against her ice cold skin, and chiseled her complexion until hollow eyes shifted slowly to the sounds of marching below. More troops from the south. Her torn clothing grappled with the frostridden air, giving no peace or rest for the mind. Drums boomed in the deep.

There is no life in the void. Only death.

[Beren One-Hand]

*Erekuil had now journeyed a full day along the north road and made it to the edge of Rhun.  He reached the south east woods by the sea, and made a temporary camp in the woods.  Though in former times, the dwarves of the Iron Hills had not inhabited these woods; but since the skirmish with the Wolf-people previously, these woods had now been claimed by the dwarves (the north woods had always been the territory of the dwarves).  After making a small fire, the Wolf-man lay down to sleep.  But as he did so he heared a branch or twig snap somewhere behind him.  He knew he was not alone.  Being of the Wolf-kind, he had superior hearing ability and pretended to be asleep, but kept his wits about him.*

[Wolfchild]

The majority of his patrol burn in great fires, as warnings to the city that something foul was astir. Wolf riders, in small, unconventionally organised groups, would dart between night and day in the quest of blood, now making few qualms whether other remaining watchmen of the battlements saw them or not. Soon enough, new tides brought black clouds of fell beasts, which seemed to circle the city like ravenous carrion birds, waiting for something, or someone, to give the final command of attack. That someone lingered still within the pit of Mordor, but did not wander as her scouts relayed their vital information. She stayed to make ready for the onslaught, looking with a mixture of trepidation and great wonder at the sea, nay, ocean, of fully armored uruk-hai, of various denomination, regiment and fraction, each a new wave to break over Gondorian borders. What they lacked in stature was made up for in heavy warg riders, trolls and further beasts of the sky, with the unification from wavering forces in the south gave the rare and virtually unknown privelidge of a substantial cavalry. It dwarfed the armies of Pelennor fields by thrice, and with it's magnitude did force the very earth not to tremble, but to quake.
 

[Beren One-Hand]

*Eldarion knew that more was afoul than a vengeful Minasal and his minions.  Some new foe gathered in the east, and now surrounded the White City.  Gondor faced its most difficult challenge in its entire history.  At least in past times, allies existed, but because she had alienated herself with her former allies, Gondor faced this challenge alone.  But the king was reborn, and knew he must call for aid from his estranged brothers in the north.  Only there lied the power to defeat Minasal and Mordor.  Thus he sent out riders to call out for aid from the North.  But ironically, or if by some fate of the gods, Glaustar the great eagle, and friend of the gods came to the high tower of Minas Tirith to counsell the king.*

*Glaustar spoke to the king: "My lord, you must ride on my back and come to the northern lands to call for aid yourself.  Your riders will not make it in time, if they make it at all.  All once good lands in the south have fallen to the dark side, and a foe of unimaginable power has arisen in the wicked land of Mordor.  She that rides with the wolves comes to wreak havoc upon your old city.  Come with my now.  Place your stuard in charge of the city in your absence.  Tell Remard the Stuard to defend the city if necessary, but tell him that your return will be immanent, and that you go to plead for the aid of the great northern host."  Eldarion did what the eagle had asked, and they flew off toward the Lonely Mountain with great haste.*

[Wolfchild]

Glaustar had a difficult time maneuvering away from the city, as mounted fell beasts attempted to bring him and his passenger down, smelling the stench of royalty upon them. But the skybound creatures of Mordor were heavier, and far more cumbersome in comparison to the eagles, who with their skillful agility made another quick, but close escape. Nevertheless, the word was quickly brought back to Vargaz that the king had left, and with the leader of Gondor elsewhere, the time to strike was ideal.

"The King has taken the first step towards weakening his defenses. Leaderless, his people will turn to an uncertain Steward that will cower at the first signs of responsibility. Tonight, our armies will march, to meet the White City by the following dawn. Give the command, and find our company a dozen wargs fit for the journey. To arms, all- to arms!" With Vargaz' last shout, a grizzled messenger scurried into the black abyss, and alerted the higher guard. The half wolf herself then ran briskly from a darkened hall to a large enclave, where her six mercenaries conversed with other legion masters, and welcomed her sadistic smile. “To war” she grinned, maliciously.

[Beren One-Hand]

*Erekuil sat with both hands and feet bound beside his own fire.  He now remained a captive of the dwarves of the Iron Hills and would be brought back to the Lonely Mountain for questioning and interogation.*

*Minasal knew that what he feared most was at hand.  Though he commanded the forces of Haradrim, the Easterlings, his Corsairs of Umbar, and the hosts of Rohan, the resurrgence of Mordor under her new wicked queen, put some worry into his heart.  He could not risk war on two fronts, but he would not yield to the She-wolf either.  Evil and dominion was his to grasp and to hold.  Gondor resisted, but she would be crushed soon, and it appeared that Vargaz might beat him to it, before he had the time to harness his forces to war against her.  But nonetheless, Minasal would not let all that he had fought so hard to earn slip away in a whim.  He had brought the pirates into their glory days, and he would not allow anyone to take this from him.  As Minasal had not heard back from his spies (who went into the north land), he would hold off on fighting a war with the north kingdoms.  His focus was on Mordor.  He would let the She-wolf attack and plunder Gondor.  Then he would crush her like a vice grip!*

*Remard the Stuard knew he was abandoned.  He was the grandson of Faramir, and though others thought him to be weak, he was strong of heart and mind, and would fight to defend the city to the death.*