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Ohtacárë i nwalmë úquétima:The Girdle of Goroth

Ciryaher

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Leagues to the west...

Even as the battle began upon the Pelennor, the riders of Rohan were thundering over the plains of Lamedon. The hills north of the Belfalas were passing swiftly by as the riders rode forth, their regal horses sensing the urgency and becoming tireless in their quest. Whispers ran among the men that the blessing of Nahar and Oromë were upon all of them, and they sang many songs as the hours passed by.

The signs of destruction and pillage could be seen, increasing until far off in the south, next to the sea, smoke could be seen rising from the citadel of Dol Amroth. Dark clusters that were enemy troops could be seen about the city, and the commanders of the Rohirrim nodded to themselves.

Éodath and Éomer Malham had been appointed by Ciryaher Hyarmendacil to command a major portion of the Éorlingas, along with Aerin and Lorien. They had been given a schematic of the city which included all of the secret houses, passways, and armouries of House Penngristion, which was still the ruling family, descended from the very same prince at the time of the War of the Ring. They studied the maps and gave many of the copies to their commanders, who also looked closely at them.

Now the riders of Rohan raised their voices and weapons into the sky and shouted Vengeance! with one united voice. Then their trumpets and horns rang out in a terrifying note, sending all the land into an awed silence as the thundering hooves of the horses drove into the encampments of the enemy outside the city. Eighty thousands came, for every man able to bear a weapon had been given many months training at the least, and they were now a deadly, formidable force.

As the vast cavalry crashed into the enemy, bringing death and carnage, a good number of infantry went in through the hidden ways of the city and began to systematically retake it, spurning many of the captured people to take up arms from the Emperor's old, hidden armouries.

Within an hour and a half, the battle was in full swing and the city was now being retaken and cleansed of the enemies that had so recently captured it. The voices of the Amrothians and the Rohirrim now went up, Liberation and revenge! They fought on, showing no mercy to any that stood in their way. They vowed to avenge the surrender that had been forced upon them, and took no prisoner.
 
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Anamatar IV

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As Anamatar rode through his home city onward to Edhellond he stopped short as if stricken with a dart. He stared into the eastern skies and beheld a great battle. Lines upon lines of horsed soldiers fought fiercely against lines and lines of what seemed to be the Mornclaur inhabitants. The clash of steel was heard above all.

“Does Anamatar of Amroth dare go against the will of Ulmo, Lord of the Waters?” he said to himself quietly. He stared back at the shores and the seas where in the night before he had spoken to an Aratar. “Folly was Feanor in his oath and he was slain, folly was Ar-Pharazon in his rampage against the Valar and his land was lost. Folly it would be for Anamatar of Amroth to go to battle and not Edhellond but let Ulmo break my body!” With that Anamatar spurred his horse once more and rode eastward.

He did not ride to the front lines but rather around the battle, out of range of arrow, until he came to the rear flanks of the Rohirrim army. Tents and camps were set up. The injured were treated and the wary rested before they went again into battle. Anamatar dismounted his horse and ran from tent to tent. He knew not of what he looked for but he went on. He went mindlessly as if Ulmo himself was steering him.

Soon Anamatar came to a tent with two lordly looking ones in it conversing.

“Greetings,” Anamatar said while dropping to one knee. “I am Anamatar out of Dol Amroth. Who are you?”
 

Mormegil

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And as the battles raged across the southern plains of Gondor, a new sound was heard. A beat of drium and blast of horn as yet unheard in this war, for the host of Ered Nimrais was finally on the move.

The fields of Lebennin came alive with the beat of Dwarven drum as the regiments moved down from the mountains. The Dwarves intiated violent conflict upon the Orcs that stood in their way as they moved towards Dol Amroth.

Mormegil was at their head and he swung his sword with the might of the king he was. and beside him his flag bearers held up the standard of Ered Nimrais, and the gleam from the black armor of the Dwarves was brilliant under the rays of Arien, and it gave the Dwarves hope in their hearts.
And they marched forth.
 
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Ecthelion

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If I tell you will you come say hi?
The great dwarves of Mormegil now beat their drums again at the final coming of their allies, The Rangers. The journey for the Rangers was rough, but they made it with no loss.

Now the forces of The White Mountains and The Rangers joined together, a gran army they had now. Ecthelion and Nain of The Rangers met up with Mormegil at his tent and discussed their plans once again while the Ranger army now rested and ate to their full content, rough days were surely to come. Soon would the plans of Mormegil and Ecthelion play out in the war.
 

Dengen-Goroth

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The young man lay upon the hill without the slightest care. Victory had been attained, and he had not seen a moment of battle. There was nothing to concern himself with now other then the mountains to the north. A pleasant site at first glance, though after a number of hours it became cumbersome even so much as to look at them. He was quite a distance from Dol Amroth, though had a very able steed. Not to worry, he told himself repeatedly, there can be no danger here now. His heart was never kindled by talk of war, or by the sight of death. He wished to simply be left to plow fields and reap their bounty, or to entrench himself in the great libraries of the far east. Or, now, Minas Tirith. Yet never to slay another, he winced at the thought. The sky was slightly overcast, the remnants of the storm which had passed days before. There was a faint, barely perceptible, rumble to the north. He had abnormally keen hearing, for otherwise he would have been ignorant to the distant din. He rose from the grass upon which he had rested swiftly, gazing northward. There was nothing but the rumble, though very faint. He fell back to the grass, placing his ear against the ground. And surely there it was, a subtle rumble rising from the ground. For an instance he would not allow the realization to grasp him. He yet again stood and slowly gazed over the wide north. Yet the mountains were there, and his eyes faltered before them. Cursing he mounted his steed hastily, spurring it forward with all might. To Edhellond he rode. Night was falling.

The first rays of dawn crept upon Dol Amroth. The gentle lap of the waves against the shore was a stark contrast to the vociferous cries heard but days earlier, when news had come to the people the city’s surrender. A gentle summer breeze crept over the great armada of Mornclaur, resembling a dormant sea monster in the Bay of the White Ships. There was a cavalcade of man and beast, forces of the Dark Lord, moving about the land hastily. Numerous echoes wound about the passages of the Palace of Dol Amroth, as generals, commanders, admirals, and others went about councils and their sleeping quarters. There had not been a great amount of pillage, Uldrik Aei had mandated that there would be none of it. Yet some men, after enduring a perilous journey and gazing upon the very face of death, felt a primordial urge to lay upon the face of their enemy’s home a scar of some sort or shape. It was to this that Uldrik Aei awoke, a western Gondor in bondage.

He slowly rose from an opulent bed, which had before been home to many a great Western.
“Oh war, thy face is ever present,
Like to a cooked golden pheasant,
Possibly disturbing on the outer,
Delectably deserving on the inner,
I know not what else to say,
My Verses sound like a drunken bray.”
Aei chuckled at the “poetry” he had crafted. It was the air of the great palace, the house of Penngristion, which had sent him into that lofty spirit of mirth. After placing upon his being a white robe and great bullion cape he left the affluent apartments which he now called his, though had belonged to the long line of rulers of Dol Amroth. Great lines of guards patrolled the high vaulted halls. Uldrik held a distaste for western architecture, though begrudgingly conceded that the palace was well made. Light seemed to permeate from every crevice, reflecting from the polished floors or walls, and it seemed to Aei’s eye, from each and every piece of armor the Mornclaur guard wore. He held light in high esteem, despising the damp and dark places of the world. That, to him, signified death, and unlike many other warriors of the east, he despised that as well. Yet now his thoughts centered over pheasants, or anything consumable for that matter.
“Curse this bungalow. So many halls, yet none where a man can eat.” He muttered, wobbling slightly as he went. “Curse my impudence, you there!” He called towards yet another line of guards who were approaching.
“Hail Warmaster!” The spoke in unison.
“Enough, enough. Hail your mothers you fools. Where in the name of all that you hold sacred is the feasting hall!” His craving was making him intolerant towards idle conversation, or shows of reverence. The leader of the column, a tall, dark individual, curtly raised his steel towards the west.
“I know not where it lays precisely Warmaster, though I know it is towards the land of the setting sun.” Aei cursed neath his breath and charged forward.
“They can lay waste to cities and kingdoms but fail at knowing where a cursed place to eat is.”

Gwador casually sauntered across the central avenue of Edhellond. He and a handful of his men had moved southward. Initially they were to have gone to Minas Tirith, and some had. Yet he had received orders to “move towards the harad”. When that parchment had reached him, he was stupefied. The glory of ceising Tirith was purloined from him. The treck had gone speedier then expected. At the feet of the White Mountains there were steeds made ready, and they carried Gwador’s band with all imaginable haste. It had taken slightly over a week for him to arrive at last and sleep not under the stars of Vanya but under the roof of man. This change he did not rue in the slightest.
“Ho! Ho there! Gwador!” The fatigued strident cries awakened Gwador ever more. It had been but minutes from his leaving his quarters, and he had the irksome habbit of not fully regaining his faculties till near to three hours from the rising of the sun. It was Edenlach, a young member of his band who he had sent out some days earlier to scout the land.
“What’s the cryin’ for!” He called out. The lad was weary and dirtied, the steed in even worse wear.
“There’s big trouble coming, big trouble.” The emphasis on big was more then enough to catch any primed military mind.
“I’ve heard that line more than enough times to fill Nurnen.”
“Not like this you haven’t, and won’t if luck shines on you.” The boy’s voice was weak, becoming less and less audible by the word. A group of haradrim on leave had paused to glance at the sight. Gwador passed a hand over his face and released a slow sigh.
“Maybe we should get out of the street. Get into some place better suited for a discussion, eh?”
“There is no time-“
“Quiet. It’ll all be fine so long as you keep calm, otherwise I won’t hear a word that’s flying from your mouth.” Gwador was attempting to be reassuring, though it seemed to have the very opposite affect on the scout.
“No time!” He dismounted and ran forward, grasping Gwador’s forearm. “For His sake, there is no damnable time! I must have a fresh steed, this one won’t go any further. Dol Amroth, Dol Amroth.” He collapsed; still clinging to Gwador, repeating the city’s name continuously without end till the phrase degenerated into an incomprehensible murmur.

“You four, get here now!” Gwador lividly flailed his left arm in the direction of the Haradrim who were the only onlookers to the scene. They obliged, quickly coming towards him and the incapacitated scout.
“Lift him, and get him in there quickly. Haste, men, haste!” He directed them towards a stately building, which was home to a leading commander in Edhellond.
They lifted the scout and scuttled towards the gates of the building. There were stationed four guards without, and a visibly greater number within.
“Hail! What business have you?” Curtly spoke the foremost guard.
“Hail! I am Gwador of the house of Aradan, Captain within the twenty-fourth legion of his excellency, Lord Dengen-Goroth under the command of General Dolliâ, Overlord Belegcardh, Warmaster Lachadaw Saew. I have a matter of the utmost urgency for the attention of General Mithfast. It can not be forestalled.”
“A man from Overlord Saew, strange to see one of you here. Truthfully, I haven’t seen any of you at all yet. What matter do you speak of Captain Aradan?”
Gwador made as if to speak, though no word escaped his lips. He knew not what to say, for he knew not what the issue was.
“That I can not reveal to you, it is urgent, and for the General’s ears only.”
The guard was not swayed.
“When all goes awry you will stand to blame,” Gwador paused, seeking some way to alarm the guard more, “though there will, most likely, be few to penalize you. Think that over a bit.”
The guard was not swayed. Gwador spun about, his gaze falling upon the scout.
“There are others here who may yet prove more useful then that one.” He said, just so that the guard found his words barely audible. He waved the haradrim forward, speedily overcoming them. The avenue was growing more congested by the moment, a great column of men having entered the city. Gwador ran a hand through his hair, his eyes roaming over the proceedings restlessly.
“This won’t do at all. Not at all.” Swerving again he took three great steps forward towards the scout, and to the surprise of the haradrim, began to shake him vehemently.
“Damn you man, damn you! What is it, speak, least the hounds of Utumno descend upon your soul!”
A faint wisp of a word escaped his lips, his mind besieged by delirium.
“Rohorrim.” Gwador stood still, his complexion quickly turning pale. After some pause he spun and moved forward, then turned back again.
“Get him to aid, he needs the attention of herbs.”
Within moments he had obtained a steed and was riding as quickly as he could towards Amroth.
 

Dengen-Goroth

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“Now, now Overlord. You are overreacting!” A roar of laughter burst from every man assembled in the hall. Aei could hardly maintain his composure; he was never particularly able in doing so.
“Verily, I grow burdened with this mirth, it is akin to ale for the soul, and a quite potent ale at that!” Aei spoke stridently. The mid day meal had been completed, and the great generals and admirals, Overlords and others, were gathered in a council of war. They had taken Dol Amroth, but now discussed how best to proceed within the next campaign entrusted to them by the Dark Lord. Aei rose from his great seat and began to move towards a great portico which was the western face of the hall. He placed his weight against a great marble pillar, allowing his gaze to center upon the Mornclaur Flotilla.
“My trusted men, I am growing ill at ease and I know not what ails my mind.”
”The ale!” Cried out an Overlord, met with a flurry of applause and merriment.
“Come now, compose yourselves! Have you had such poor upbringing that you burst into laughter at every word that escaped one so revolting as our beloved Overlord Fuiaiâ.” A great roar passed over the hall. Aei allowed it to subside before speaking again.
“We are well positioned, and our scouts scower the lands in all directions. This city has been mapped, each and every crevice. We know all that goes on, and I receive ill tidings. There is a planned uprising when the bulk of our forces depart. What say you all of this.”
Overlord Fuiaiâ was the first to speak, in a seeming attempt to regain whatsoever prestige was lost in the Warmaster’s comments. He was quite a rotund individual, having obviously been enath the sun’s rays for many years. A beast rapped itself about his neck, a prized pet of his. A great scar ran from his left eye to his chin, a wound from the great battles with the nomads of the east.
“Your excellency, I propose those suspected be brought to the center of this village and slain as befits them, to set an example for all others.” There were scattered nods of agreement. Grand Admiral Saew stood and spoke abruptly after Fuiaiâ completed his statement.
“With all due respect Overlord, I believe that is an inappropriate course of action. These are not the gentiles of the east; these are infidel whose passions are enflamed by such sights, not quelled. A potent messege must be sent, but not as you would see it. We must gather them indeed, and ensure that, before this city, they renounce their positions as utter folly. Then they shall opt to serve Mornclaur. Of course they shall leave Dol Amroth, and shall never return. We will implicate that they were slain by their brethren. That should cause dissent among their ranks.” He smirked grimly and sat. More approval lit over the faces of those assembled. Aei simply stared out towards the seas. Another Overlord rose and spoke.
“I believe the Grand Admiral made a superb proposition, though I would alter but one aspect. And that being that some are slain now and their deaths made to resemble the hands of their brothers.” He took his seat. Aei awaited others, but there hung a silence save for the muffled crash of waves against the shore. He turned and again addressed them.
“Here is my decree, and let it be carried out before nightfall.”

“My Lords, I have here one who claims to have dark tidings requiring your knowledge instantly!” The sonorous tones of the Mornclaur Guard meandered through the hall. Aei turned swiftly, directing his piercing gaze upon the weary man who stood behind the guard.
“Come.”
“Hail Warmaster Uldrik Aei! ! I am Gwador of the house of Aradan, Captain within the twenty-fourth legion of his excellency, Lord Dengen-Goroth under the command of General Dolliâ, Overlord Belegcardh, and Warmaster Lachadaw Saew.” Gwador sunk to his one knee.
“Rise man of Saew!” Aei spoke. “What brings you here to my halls?”
“There comes word from my eyes that scour the lands of dark deeds.”
“Speak of them.”
“The hooves of the rohorrim roam our lands, and they come nigh to regain the land which was once of their brethren.”
“In what numbers?”
“I know not.”
“You have done well Captain Aradan, I shall convey my wishes of your advancement to the Warmaster when next we meet. What else now you? Where are the infidel now?”
“I know not Warmaster.”
Aei turned towards the council. There were troubled expressions upon the face of every, save Overlord Fuiaiâ who was, seemingly, deep in slumber. The silence now overcame everything, there was no more a sea nor wind, no more the ring of steel nor the solemn marches of sentries. It was broken by Overlord Fuiaiâ, who had grown discomfort able in his position of repose. He gave forth a startled cry to find himself within the council.
“Overlord, I trust your rest bodes well for us.”
The Overlord faced the Warmaster, a look of humiliation and question.
“The Rohorrim are come, and we have scant hours, it seems, to create the plan which will bring ruin or victory.”
“Ah, nothing to worry of!” The Overlord murmured.

An hour had passed since Gwador had brought his disquieting report. Two other scouts had arrived, though these with estimates of the numbers within the force. The debate had been great, many plans had been discussed, discarded, and salvaged. Every mind peered over a map of the surrounding region, ran their hands over the lands where the Rohorrim were sighted. There were impassioned cries and subdued curses. A course of action was gradually taking form, and even as it did so, so too did the moral of many rise.

“Captain, you will serve as a messenger yet again, and yet again you shall come bearing grim tidings. Though be harried not by those thoughts, but by the knowledge that your presence will bring victory to us in these impending days of battle, the greatest victory yet to be garnered in this war.”
“I understand Warmaster. I thank the council for their trust in my abilities, and for not discounting my words. We shall be bettered from this far more then wronged.” Gwador did not have the most gifted of tongues, and now he rued that fact bitterly. The council, most of which was either standing over a great map of the region or near to the portico, were entrenched within their own thoughts and paid not notice to him. Aei, however, was most intent in ensuring Gwador knew full well what to do and how to proceed. He was not pleased that such a level of trust was to be placed into a man of Gondor, wherever his loyalties were said to lay.
“Good. Go then, with all haste.” Aei placed within Gwador’s hand a scroll sealed with his seal. Gwador did not delay, bowing deeply he left the hall and went as quickly as one could towards the great docks of Dol Amroth. Aei turned towards the council and languidly strode towards them.
“Men, I see by your faces that many of you are troubled. Though I ask you, with what. Have you all been so keen to quake before our enemy? Have you all been so keen as to discard the particulars of this conflict.” He paused, glaring at each and every man before continuing. “We are of the Mornclaur Federation, not nomads searching for fertile field. This land is ours by right, it can not be entrusted to the filthy hands and minds of the infidel. We have come by His decree, He who served the great master before his fall. Our men are well trained, far to well. Our hearts must be like to the steel upon which our lives are pledged. They must be obstinate in determination and unyielding in times of need. We have now a plan for war, for our victory. We have not the time to remain deep in thought as to the perils of this venture. Lay down your uncertainties, for a warrior has no place for them in heart, mind, or soul. A warrior must slay his enemy and revel in the act. A warrior must not cower before adversity, but accept and revere it. The call for action must be met with reaction.” He paused again. It was then that each and every heart grew firm and was aglow with the fires of wrath and malice. They had no more fears, but were utterly resolute and stalwart in their confidences. The ground upon which they stood would not be shaken nor taken by the infidels, the heretics, the brutes of the west. “It is well then.” Aei said inaudibly.
“Forgive us for our uncertainty Warmaster. It set upon us like a fell cloud, and has passed as swiftly.”
 
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Dengen-Goroth

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Gwador stalked impatiently to and fro on the deck of the Mornclaur warship Erebfalas. He had done all which was directed, and yet now was reduced to this state of fretfulness. The skies had been darkening as the day had wore on; it appeared as though a light rain was immanent. The ship was virtually empty, save its rowers, and berthed at a great quay, seemingly empty of all with the exception of a scattered amount of rowers. The captain of the ship was missing as well; otherwise Gwador would have found leisure by conversing. It seemed to him that he was left bereft of all luxuries, including knowledge of proceedings. This, above all else, troubled his mind and darkened his spirit evermore. His very actions may have done more ill then necessary. Perhaps the scout had been writhing in delusions, it now seemed unprecedented to place such trust on the boy. Gwador was indeed without knowledge of the deeds of that moment, for he had not been informed of the other scouts who had attested to his words. It was, in all likelihood, that this vessel of wood and metal would be his prison barge. Had they interpreted his words as falsity, he thought, surely they would consider him a spy. He was a man of Gondor, and this weighed heavily against him, however exalted his conduct and loyalty was. His hands began to quiver, his eyes, before having kept vigilance over the deck of the ship, now anxiously roamed over the docks for any sign of the Inquisitors who would surely lay his heresies bare. It was said that they would obtain the information they desired from any, be they guilty of a crime or innocent. Gwador knew he had committed no wrong, but had done his utmost to ensure victory for his nation. He was equally aware that the Inquisitors would, through their enigmatic crafts, contrive from him a declaration of his heresy. His pace steadily increased, as theories fluttered through his mind. A light rain began to fall. This awakened him slightly from his grave reflections, all to his advantage. For then he seized himself, and spoke words of assurance that soothed his tempestuous mind.

Grand Admiral Saew rode at the forefront of the procession, which held none of the pomp of victory. Behind him, in great number, rode and marched a portion of the army of Uldrik Aei. The Warmaster’s words had strengthened the Admiral’s heart; however his mind began to descend into a state of melancholy. His eyes seemed fixated upon the bridle, his mind over the Bay. Haste was necessary, and he found the procession entirely impractical. It had not commenced by the orders of the Warmaster, but seemingly by the unified pride of the men involved. He noted the nature of the sky, which promised yet more rain.
“Perchance we should quicken our pace, as the enemy is undoubtedly approaching as speedily as the wind.” Saew’s words were intended for his most esteemed advisor, an Admiral under Saew’s command.
“Aye, that appears most reasonable Grand Admiral. I would not want our mission impeded by the seas.” The admiral cast a glance at the skies, and chuckled lightly, “Is it not peculiar that we won this land under rain, and now depart for a battle to keep her under the same.”
“Indeed. Do you deem it to be grim auspices?”
“Nay Grand Admiral, not in the slightest. For was it not that the rain heralded our onset and victory?”
Saew nodded, while raising his right hand. Within a moment he brought it down, signaling an increase in pace.
“You speak truth, as always Admiral.” Saew spurred his steed, his patience ebbing. “This operation is to great for time to be wasted Admiral. It leaves me disconcerted.”
“I do not understand Grand Admiral. Surely if this march would pose a threat the Warmaster would send word of his disapproval.”
Saew turned his head to glance at the Admiral, and the vast body of soldiers behind him.
“One learns, Admiral, not to rely heavily upon his superiors in such a time of crisis. Though I have the utmost trust in the capabilities of the Warmaster, it would be as ill to overestimate as underestimate him. The man can not be in all places at all times, can not entertain messengers from every section of the city and surrounding region and issue orders with the most scrupulous of care. With position comes responsibility, as you well know, and with responsibility the greater trust that you may conduct yourself and those under you in a manner suiting the needs of those above you, without their direction. Thus it would be erroneous to assume that our current pace is that which it should be.”
“Or so you believe.” The Admiral said, with a growing smirk.
“So it would be wise to believe.” Saew retorted, with a grin. The docks were coming within sight, and as they did so Saew’s mind was more at rest then it had been throughout the day.

Gwador halted mid step, his attention directed towards the southern region of the docks from whence there came the sound of numerous steeds and men marching. He quickly moved towards the boarding plank, intending to greet the head of the assembly himself.. Though then he recalled that he was of no rank to greet the individual and that he had conveyed the scroll given to him when he first arrived at the docks. This was, in his mind, a most interesting dilemma. As his mind drifted over these thoughts there came the sound of numerous horns. Each and every ship at that time sounded their greetings to their Grand Admiral. Yet this held quite a separate purpose from mere greetings. When the ship’s horns ceased to sound a lone horn rang in answer from the docks. It could well have been considered an acknowledgment of orders; the captains of the vessels were compelled to inquire to the validity of their commands, as they seemed absurd. The rain was beginning to strengthen, and the seas were growing tempered. The tempests which bore down upon Belfalas in the mid-months of the year were well known for their ferocity and volatility.

“Warmaster, the lines will hold as long as required.”
“See to it. Our time is not great, and only so many souls can I afford to fall upon this plain of battle.”
Aei spurred the steed which bore him, quickening his pace substantially. He rode now from the front lines of what would surely be the Rohorrim assault towards the city walls. There was little movement about him, as most men were in their respective posts and positions, as had been specified. Aei had little time, however, to marvel at the efficiency of the Mornclaur military force. The rain was increasing about him, and he was grown weary then.
“Woe befall me, lord of many yet not self, he who deals out the fate of innumerable and yet knows not his own. Mordant tears of heaven, release me from my bondage.”

The onslaught was fierce and vicious. The Rohorrim, enraged by the pain brought against their people, fell upon their enemy with a wrath unforeseen by the Warmaster and his aids. The horsemen bore down upon each and every man, and hewed many whence they stood. Their lances and steel ran red with the blood of the fallen, and in the blinding sheets of water which fell before them and they never did capture the site of the eyes of their enemy. About a certain perimeter a crude line of defenses had been established. This consisted of wooden shafts implanted into the earth at certain angles, facing outward. This was meant to halt the horsemen’s onslaught as long as could be. In many areas it was sufficient, and the battles were fierce. In others these walls were so ill made and thinly spread that the Rohorrim employed them to their benefits. The skies had significantly darkened, and o’er head came the sonorous rumble of thunder. Men uttered their last words in despair, for the echoes of the hooves of beast overcame even the din of the fury of the gods.
“Whence lay the skies which I knew well from my birth, or the sun which light my mother’s face, or the moon which cloaked my father’s burdens. Where have they departed to in my end.” Many spoke thus, for the plains about the city were soon scattered with the bodies of western and eastern men, and then one could not be differentiated from the other. They were one and the same in their ends, brethren in their anguish. Banners were strewn about, ruined and forgotten by those who know resigned from the realm of the living, and those who had been spurred forward by the fall of their own. Grim was the spectacle, though little discernable from the high walls of Amroth where there stood the Warmaster. All who witnessed the plight of man and beast were stirred by grief. The western end of the battlefield was obscured, though the eastern in plain view. There the lines held as best as they could. Though from the north they had not been breached, it appeared as thought a gap had been delved westward and allowed for a press of Rohorrim harassing the western flank of the defenders. Horns blew, and they attempted to break the enemy’s line. Aei bared his upraised fist towards the skies, so great did his wrath overtake his reason. He had known that those who remained out of the city would be slain, had known the fate of each and every one, yet had concealed this amide other thoughts. He would not encounter the truth least it present itself to him as it did now. And it was now that he cursed, for all his inner innuendo had been in vain, utterly in vain. Cries rose from below him, besieging his mind.
 
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Dengen-Goroth

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Gwador pressed a hand against his forehead, narrowing his eyes to gain a better view of what was coming before him. The great ship lurched downward, and then again rose upward. Great waves with crowning spires of white smote against the vessel. Gwador himself was upon the top of the central mast post. He rued the very notion of exiting the quarters below ship, much less ascending to the mast post. The winds roared by him, threatening to fling him into the churning seas, like to a mere pebble thrown into a mere by a child. He knew then that he would have been able to survive, had it not been for the blinding rain, which bore into his skin. The darkness about him enveloped his mind, seeped him of any strength remaining. His faculties were growing dim within these conditions.
“Two possibilities. Climb down, or fall down. Two possibilities.” He muttered to himself, though only with the greatest of effort heard his thoughts amide the tempest raging about him. He resolved that the later of the two was to be most unpleasant, leaving but the task of making his way down the post. Amide the vicious rains, the violent winds, and the lurching of the ship, he had very little hope. However, resolutely, he began to descend. The storm seemed to calm itself slightly, as though by celestial decree. Within moments, though passing years to Gwador, he set foot upon the deck, gripping still the mast post firmly. The ship remained level, the winds still. He relinquished his grip, lightly. A step forward, then another, and yet another. His heart rose, his mind engulfed in a mixture of fear and bliss. And thus it was, as he ran, the tempest resumed its office.

“All hands ready!”
“AYE!”
Saew grinned, for though he was well within his flagship, he heard their voices. The day would yet be his, victory was within his grasp as never before. The men were rallying about themselves, their wrath increasing tenfold by the passing of the moment, their determination flowing readily over the decks of each and every ship within the flotilla. Saew passed a hand over the map before him, slowing tracing a line from the haven which now sheltered his fleet from the gale, towards the north.
“I am beset with impatience, and a fetid hurt in my mind.” He was growing displeased with the day ever more. He need no longer view the rains of Belfalas, they darkened his spirit significantly. Rising slowly he made his way towards the entrance to the cabin. Even then the ship shuddered; the first volley had been fired.
The fleet had made harbor on either side of Amroth, and now fired on the land before her white walls. These volleys bore into the earth, and all which stood upon it, tearing asunder the alluvium which had stood for the long ages of Arda. The ship shuddered again, as another volley was fired. This was a dire stratagem, yet the council had found little other option. The gapping wounds the earth then did sustain prevented any movement with ease, the rains collected steadily within the craters weakening even the earth unharmed. There would be no retreat for the Mornclaur forces holding what few lines remained, and there could likewise be no cavalry charge or movement towards the city.

“Here then Uldrik, herein lies your fate. For never has this land seen such bloodshed, never has the grim spectacle of the dark race been more apparent. Behold! What man creates in elation, for so appeasing is his work, he destroys with equal fervor. How may we, the bearers of enlightenment, view this in any way but grief.”
There the two men stood, the Warmaster and the Inquisitor, behind a hastily constructed barricade.
“Would you have it, then, that we never went westward. That we never would spread peace and unite the far reaches of the world under one as it was long written.”
“I have spoken to many infidel, and their words weigh upon my soul. They are ingrained within an ignorance, a doctrine which they will not relinquish. You, of all, should be praised. Had Saew stood upon this land he would have felt no qualm in slaying all of the inhabitants of this city. You refrained, to your undoing it does now seem.”
Aei had anticipated the assaults from within, though he had not envisaged the quantity which poured forth into the streets of Amroth, like to a deluge. There now ran about the city fierce battle. In intervals news came to him of another section falling, of another being held, of yet another being gained. The rains had lightened, though did not abate entirely. He now stood upon the central avenue, which led towards the great house of Penggristion. To seize the city the enemy would first be required to seize the avenue. Aei had little say in what occurred at that moment. Within the war council the city was placed into sections, and command of that sections defense issued. Otherwise there may well have been too great a chaos, for communications to reach Aei and return would take too great a length of time, and the very condition of battle may have been altered drastically.
“I fear praise descends upon others, and not myself. Hear you now the screams of a woman and babe as they are slain, of child crying for his mother. The stench of demise clings to the walls of this city, within and without. How may command be exerted over our men, who now are fueled by rage. They will now know not the meaning of mercy.”
“For they know not the import of being.”
A wind came across the great avenue.

The enemy seemed to permeate from the every archway and stair, coming in hordes, yet being beaten back with like number and ferocity. Men roared in wrath, driven by a ferocity akin to the dumb beasts of forest and field, mountain and valley. Blood ran as freely as water, some glanced briefly at the liquid which came encased their legs. Banners flew and fell, horns blew and were broken, blows made by great steel, great steel notched by many blows. These men, these enemies, found common comfort in their strife, each in the others hands, their fates intertwined within a vain struggle which one man could not sway to victory or defeat. The night drove forward, heedless of the massacre. The Mornclaur Forces, which had before been ordered to harm none of the inhabitants, now trode over the bodies of women, children, babes, and others. Those who had been spared the doom of the blade were brought to the docks and placed upon the vessels of the flotilla, to be held in captivity where they had no possibility of escaping or harming their captors. The ships continued to batter the coast, forcing the Rohorrim to withdraw from the walls deeper inland. It was near the hours of dawn that the city was mainly within the hands of the Rohorrim. Aei had withdrawn the vast majority of his men within a defensive perimeter about two regions, the Palace district within the south of the city, and the docks. When the hour of dawn had come, and the storm had at last abated, there came great cries from the lines and they drove forward. Long is it believed that the sun never rose that day, for it would not be pained by the butchery which ensued. Barricades were constructed not of wood or stone, of pillar or beam, but solely of the deceased. By the onset of night, few knew when for the day merged with night as life with death that day, the city was well within the control of Aei. The enemy had been able to drive him back merely by surprise, and having gathered his strength anew he was able to defeat them and discover from whence they issued in droves. Now the city was besieged, and gaurds stationed every few feet. A silence befell the city that second night, one as had not been heard. Only the dull thuds of the bombardment broke it, and slowly as well by the weeping of men.

Gwador awoke, a pain encroaching upon his consciousness from the moment he attempted to inhale. Any attempts to make the slightest of movements were rewarded with pangs of searing pain. About him, through the rhythmic thump he heard above all else, there was great commotion. Stern commands, matched with somnolent words of compliance, the indignant cries of steeds, the thud of machinery. It was as though a city had risen and was moving to war, after the slightest moment of repose. For so it was, as he now found himself in Edhellond, within the expanse of a number of days he had departed a hale man driven to defend the cause he had sworn his being toward perpetuating, and returned a broken man.
“Curse ya’, sleepin away while we be gettin about the war. I envy ya, injured theys are sayin. Hah!” With that two able hands applied a salve upon his forehead, and then his arms. The searing pain came unwarranted, no movement had provoked its onset. He let forth a feeble groan, though in his mind the most deafening cry he had heard. His mind quickly took upon itself the character of a leaden barrel.
“Mother a’ Gora, the dog can cry eh? Come to now ya’ scoundrel, we’ll set ya right. No more sleepin’, not for your like I swear it!”
Gwador knew no more.

“Do any know the duty entrusted upon them? Nay, for then would there be such bloodshed, such pain, such a world fraught with suffering whence man exists as the avatar of its ills.”
 

Nenya Evenstar

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The sun rose on the plains of Minas Tirith in a wash of red and orange. Its rays seemed to reflect a dozen times in gleaming sheems off of the armor of many a fallen man. However, the Pelennor was more empty now than it had been before and less men walked its wake in their slow and grotesque missions. A great host was still encamped there, but not as great as it had been the night before for a host of the Mornclaurian soldiers had vanished from the Pelennor without a trace in the deep shades of the night.
 

Anamatar IV

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Anamatar looked over his shoulder at the evergrowing battle. The blood of it would soon drip into and foam the seas and shores red. He sighed. It pained him to leave the land he was born in and lived in, the shores that he loved but there was no hope there. If the West won the Fair Amroth the scars of battle would be too great and the blood will have stained the white streets. Anamatar would return from terrible victory on the battle field to a terrible ruin before him. He would not be there to see Dol Amroth defiled.
He spurred his horse the faster riding north with the wind to his back. The seas were long behind him now and it would be long before he gazed upon the white sands of Amroth again.
 

Elbereth

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Waking from a world of blackness and pain, Elbereth finds herself lying on the sandy floor of a narrow brick cell. It is early morning and the sunlight is streaming brightly into the room, through two narrow windows high above her in the rafters. Squinting up at the light, Elbereth lets her eyes adjust, before struggling to pull her sore body up, moaning at each strained movement. Looking about her now, she notices that the room is empty, merely a narrow round cell with an unusually high ceiling. Then suddenly Elbereth heard a scratching outside of the cell the un-human sounds of her captures, causing Elbereth to tense and anger.

‘I must get out of here’, was all her mind could muster. She looked about the room desperately for way out. Then looking back up at the light streaming through the windows above, she realized that not all hope is lost.

“O menal, onin thalion! Maryat Elentari ortane!”
(From heaven, give me strength! With my two hands I lift up!)

At these words, Elbereth raised up her hands as the light from the window stretched toward her wrapping it’s rays around her form pulling her up off the ground. Then suddenly pounding could be heard at the door, and a vicious screeching could be heard. Then an eerie silence filled the air, one that she had not heard since the days after the darkening of the great trees of light. Already several feet off the ground, Elbereth felt something had gone greatly awry, but she continued on toward the rafters and the light of the windows above. However moments later, scratching could be heard about the walls of the cell, as if something was crawling up the walls rapidly. Elbereth’s eyes followed the sound as it traveled up the walls toward the top…and then without warning, all was blackness and Elbereth came crashing to the ground.

With a moan, Elbereth sat up and brushed herself off. “What in Eru’s name just happened?” she said in confusion.

However, as she began to ponder the events that had just happened to her, a faint blue glow began to fill the air. From around her neck the shining blue crystal, the Valmir, the jewel of the Gods illuminated softly, it’s light pulsating in the darkness of the room. Her heart then filled with fear and her mind returned to memories of old.

Silently Elbereth sneaks up to Valar, who is gloomily standing near the entrance of the Burning Dragon Singles Bar...and covers his eyes from behind.

"Hey birthday boy! Guess who?" and without a word, Valar turns around and gives Elbereth a hug.

"Valar, I got you a present for your birthday."...and from around her neck she removes a bright blue gem held by a mithril chain.

"I give to you the Valmir, the jewel of the Gods. Those who wear this jewel will have the protection and guidence of the Valar. Wear it well and with great care."

Valar ‘s eyes light up in amazement, he just smiles and looks into the beautiful eyes of Elbereth. "Your like no other girl I've ever met, I’m so used to being alone in the wilderness, I've never felt love." Without a word, he kisses her
 

Elbereth

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Meanwhile, in the king’s chambers at Minas Tirith, Valar awakens from an unusual unconsciousness that left him bedridden for several months. Although he is very weak he manages to sit up and without thought his hand instantly falls to his chest and grabs a hold of the blue stone that hangs about his neck. “Elbereth!” Valar calls out, for his heart is filled with desire to see his lovely wife once again.

The door then opens, and a dark skinned girl enters. She is carrying a pitcher of water in her hands, which she lays on a dark marble credenza near the door. Casually, she walks closer to Valar, her movement calculating and catlike. “So the great King Valar joins us again in the world of the living?” she begins, her accent is thick and foreign, filled with mockery and hatred. “It is too bad that you will not be with us very long…is it not?” She then began to laugh.

“Who are you?” Valar asked suspiciously, his hand still gripping the Valmir.

“It matters not…no? But perhaps you can think of me as a …what do you call it. Ah yes! A friend! For I am doing you a favor.” Then from under her cloak she pulls out a familiar dark curved edge dagger.

“A Southron! I should have known! Guards! Intruder!” Valar began to yell out, but that only caused the woman to laugh harder.

“Yell all you want King Valar. Your guards will not hear you…for they are all dead. As is the rest of your nation. But fear not, I have come here to do you a favor and rid you of this life that you will surely find to be a burden.”

With anger burning in his eyes, he rose to his feet, surged by an energy unknown to him for so several months. Looking about for his sword, he realizes that it is no longer near his side, so he grabs for an andiron near the hearth next to his bed. Swinging at the Southron in rage, he grazes her cheek before she dodges out of his way. Drawing her scimitar from its sheath, she smiles arrogantly at the king before he swings at her again narrowly missing her head.

“You are indeed as brave as I have been told, even if you are a fool, Dunedain!.” She sneers, as she swings at him madly, her blows blocked expertly by Valar.

“We’ll see who the real fool is in this fight, Southron!” he replied as he jabbed at her arm, digging into the flesh of her forearm, causing her to drop her sword.

With hatred in her eyes she glared at Valar and then picking up her dagger in her other hand replied haughtily. “The name is Tirani and I am no Southron! I am of the great Black Numenoreans! I have come to Gondor to kill you and the rest of your damnable race, Dunedain! And that is what I indend to do!” Then with a yell she came at Valar, ducking as he swung at her. She crouched down cunningly and swung her leg out, knocking Valar to the floor, the andiron crashing with a thud several feet from his grasp. Without wasting time, Tirani jumped atop of the great king of Gondor and stuck her blade in his stomach. She then stood up, removing the blade from his stomach and wiped the blood on her pant leg.

“It is an honor to take my revenge on so worthy a competitor as you have been, King Valar. But fear not, this is not personal…you are only the first of your race to meet my blade!” She then placed the dagger back into the holster, picked up her sword and walked out of the room, leaving Valar to die in solitude.

Reaching for the Valimir, Valar began to mutter softly;

A Elbereth Gilthoniel
o menal palan-diriel
le nallon si di’nguruthos!
A tiro nin Fanuilos!


He then fell into a dreamfilled darkness.
 

Elbereth

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Holding the Valmir firmly in her grip, Elbereth closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the power that emanated from the stone. Then letting her eyes open once again she found herself standing across from her husband, sadness and pain in his eyes. Running to him she wrapped her arms about him as their lips met passionately.

Then pulling away suddenly, Valar turned away in despair. “This is only a dream! You are not really here, you can’t be.”

Taking a hold of his arm, Elbereth turns him around and looks into his eyes. “I am here in spirit, as you are here in spirit, as long as we both shall live.”

“Then I shall not be here for long.” Valar said in despair.

With fear and concern etched on her flushed face, Elbereth replied, “Valar, what are you trying to tell me?”

“My love, I am dying. I am not sure how much time I have left.” Then taking a hold of her face, he kissed her softly before saying. “You must be strong my dear Elbereth, for you have to continue on without me. Don’t let my memory die, don’t let Gondor fall.”

Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she stared into his loving eyes. “I promise Valar. I promise, you shall not be forgotten. I will restore Gondor and bring honor back to our people.”

“Then I know now that I can die in peace, knowing you will live on to continue my memory. I am only sad that I am mortal and I will have to wait until the end of Time to meet you again.”

“I shall love you for all eternity, my dearest Valar!” Elbereth cried kissing him softly.

“As I shall I.” Valar replied before kissing her once more.

Then pulling away he smiled at Elbereth lovingly and said “Farewell my dear Elbereth, I shall always love you.” Then turning he walked slowly away into the shadows, looking back once to wave a final goodbye before he disappeared into the mists.
 

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