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Ohtacárë i nwalmë úquétima: The March from the North

Snaga

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In the Far North a great force was mustered, and was ready to march.

It came in three great hosts: a force of dwarves from the citadels of the North-East was eastern-most. 34,000 of them there were, marching tireless, clad in the finest mail, bearing axes and swords, and great round shields. And they were crafty engineers too, cunning in siege-craft and the like. On the western side came an army of orcs, 20,000 all told. Many rode on wolves, in light chain mail with scimitars, and small bows with poison darts. Others of a larger stronger kind wore heavy armour, and carried great bows and shields, and swords of cold steel, and in their midst strode huge olog-hai. And set between came a host of Easterlings. In front rode horse-men 12,000 strong, swift and fast, wearing stout armour with bows, and swords. Behind came 17,000 stout men, clad in mail, bearded and fierce with great axes. All were schooled in the military code of Mornclaur: loyal, cunning and mighty in arms.

From the Ice Bay for 50 miles ran a Great Wall: 50 miles to the feet of the Hills of Angmar. Word had come too of traps laid in the Misty Mountains. But this was of little account, as the armies passed over the Hills of Angmar, far to the west of the last of the Misty Mountains, and descended into Angmar. They came in the dark of the long nights of the north, for the winter months had not yet passed.

Dark creatures circled in the air seeing everything before them, going even as far south as Forogond, Fornost and Antothore to bring news, and wolf-riders scouted the ground.

The orcs went south-westward, while the host of men came south towards the northern most hill of the North Downs. Behind them came half of the dwarven forces who turned eastwards.

And they sent messengers to the castle of Lorien, saying: The forces of the East are come. Here is the last chance for ye, and all those who follow ye. For many an age thou were loyal unto the darkness. Then in folly, thou placed thyself at the service of the Emperor of Arnor. Even now he retreats to the innermost reaches of his kingdom caring naught for ye or your fate. Thus choose again: return to the darkness, and march with us, or the darkness will overtake ye!
 

Azog

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And out of the mass, a small band was led by Azog the great orc. They rode on the Wargs of the Mornclaur Federation, and were skilled in the art of battle. They weilded great swords and great spears and were clad in great mail. They rode with fury as did their Wargs. They had archers, whose arrows burned with fire as they sunk deep into the hearts of their enemies. Their accuracy was exact, and their bows of strong wood. They had daggers, and were trained to fight with the sword as well as the bow. They also rode the Wargs and were skilled in melee combat, with bow or knife. Finally, there was Azog, their leader. His sword glimmered in a twisted evil as he rode. Many of his enemies had been overcome by fear of him and fled, only to be trampled by the Wargs under Azog's command. This small century rode on the front line of the orcs and were dedicated servants of the Mornclaur Federation.
 
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Ciryaher

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The order was give for the city of Forogond to evacuate, and the citizens fled south to the walls of Annuminas.

The now-burgeoning army or Arnor was split into two distinct groups. One--a force of 40,000-- was positioned along the Baranduin east of Evendim to guard Annuminas. The other--a force of equal size--occupied the hills of Fornost Erain and guarded that large city.
 

Ciryaher

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The Emperor of Arnor grinned slightly. Hidden was much of his satisfaction with the enemy's delayed invasion, and he had had more than enough time to turn his borders into an iron curtain of defense.

The three largest, northernmost cities of Annuminas, Fornost Erain, and Antothore were now bastions of defense, and a leaguer of troops was scattered in Rhudaur to espy any advance through that area.

The obelisks had been no great loss, although Ciryaher regretted the time they'd taken to be hand-crafted by local artisans. No great loss, though. He had been reactivating a group that had been recently disbanded, and was preparing to put them to use once more.
 

Snaga

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No word came from the castle of Angmar, and time passed, tedious waiting in the cold of the north.

The dwarves in the hills about the fortress set great siege engines in readiness, in crafty locations high overlooking the castle, and before the gates.

Then Borin, Lord Engineer of the Iron Hills, craftiest of all the dwarves of the northwest of Mornclaur took counsel. For word came to him the a new force was come unto Angmar. A muster of orcs from Ostmor, Gundabad and Mount Gram was come. Rashdug of Gundabad lead them from their mountain fortresses. These were guarded still by the troll guards, and a small force of orcs in each, but such a mustering of the northern orcs was recalled in tales of the battle of Erebor, that followed the death of Smaug. Here they he had 16,000 at his command, and they came ready for a great siege.

And Rashdug came to Borin and said: 'You dwarves and folk of Mornclaur are wasting your time 'ere. Get gone to the south, where your real foe lies. We'll deal with the renegade.'

Borin looked at him, impassively. 'We dwarves can master this citadel. Our siege-craft will reduce it rubble! And we have our Orders!'

'This is a Dark Legion dispute, and we are a Dark Legion force. The renegade of Angmar will be crushed by the Dark Legion.' replied Rashdug. 'He only has this land 'cos it was given to him by Lord Cygnus, the greatest of the Necromancers, 'afore he took off to Rhun. Whether I do it by fire or starvation, or I blow down 'is gates and slaughter every last one of 'em... what is it to you?'

At that moment an aide came and spoke urgently to Borin, whispering in the secret tongue of the dwarves. 'It seems you are right, orc!' rumbled Borin. 'I have new instructions from Lord Gonnilclaur.'

And he saluted in the fashion of the Mornclaur Federation army, and went to order his troops for marching. As he did so, with a clamouring yell, the orcs took up the trebuchet and catapults of the dwarves, and began to hurl an unending barrage of burning missiles high over the walls and into the castle....

To the south, two great encampments were begun by the advance guard of the approaching armies: one on the northern most hill of the Hills of Evendim, and one on the northern-most hill of the North Downs.

And another thing befell: a band of 100 orcs fell upon the deserted town of Forogond. Any foods they found they took away, but set fires amongst the buildings that rose high in skies, and were seen far away.
 

Ciryaher

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Celegram, Captain of the 3rd Infantry of Arthedain, peered over a rock and beheld the camp upon the northenmost rise of the North Downs. He looked over the rolling conglomeration of tents and nodded, then ducked back down and stole back over the ridge.

"Lieutenant, prepare our men. We will teach the scum to seek shelter upon the Downs!" he said spiritedly. The others nodded and grinned, then moved out to call up their men. A good five thousand men crept back over the ridge, clothed in grey raiment to match that of the stones. Like stones come to life, they rose to their feet and raised their steel bows--indeed those of the same rediscovered art of Numenore. Nocking long arrows, they waited.

Then, an eagle high above cried out, and the men bent their bows. Many deep, low horns shouted out a terrible note, and the air was filled with a sharp droning sound as the bowstrings were released and arrows tore through the sky. A storm of barbed and poisoned arrows rained down on the camp, piercing and impaling. A second line of archers stood behind the first, who knelt, and fired another volley as holes opened in their ranks. A rush of four thousands swept out, wielding torches and bottles of oil. "Forogond!" they shouted, and hurled the torches and lit firebombs into the tents and pavilions with their swords and axes drawn.
 

Snaga

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'Ahhhhh!' the Easterling proctors sibilant whisper savoured the smell of battle and war. 'Those ten centuries fight well! I sacrifice them, without remorse, bait for my trap! But e'en as small pieces cast aside, they die with great reluctance!'

'Aye!' said the scout, a long-sighted man. 'I saw upon the crest of the hill, the Arnor's accurssed bowmen fire uphill at our advance guard. Strong are their bows, but the slope was against them somewhat, though our defence was not ready. Yet though the first arrows found many marks, their drill was beyond compare and they made their shield wall strong. The next wave was less damaging. Arnor has not yet made the summit, and they become easy prey of those left when they try to hurl their fiery devices.'

'So it is, as I have forseen. I have long seen in my mind all you see with thine eyes. For were ye back upon your steed, master scout, you would see that now two companies for light cavalry charging around the flanks of the hill. And more infantry climb the hill.'

And so it was, that the bowmen of Arnor found, as they knelt to fire at the foes above them, that the pincer sprang shut. From about the cover of the slope of the hill came, from east and west, two groups each a thousand strong that broke upon their flanks, hewing and slaying. And from atop the hill, the next company took position, and they sent kindled arrows down, as they fired from behind the shield wall. And the Arnorian men were easy prey: swords and axes in one hand and flaming brandings in t'other they were shieldless as they laboured up the slope. And soon the very grass was aflame, as kindled firebombs ignited halfway up the slope in the reek of the fallen.

'But tell me, Lord Proctor!' the scout said, as he prepared to go. 'What is that plume of smoke I see rising thither?' He pointed westward.

'Ahhhh!' the proctor breathed. 'You percieve the wrack of Forogond. It is but a small ecstacy, in the beauty of war!'

'Nay, lord. I speak of the second burning, beyond yonder hills. Perchance your eyes do not see it...'

The proctor licked his lips slowly, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. 'Soooo....... an orc band has set Helkamardi ablaze. A kindness to the cold Lossoth-hai! I had word that a band of five hundred raiders were to be sent hence. Swift are the legs of the wargs, when the riders have the scent of death in their nostrils.' He paused, and breathed in slowly. 'Ahhhhh! Yes.... a sweet aroma it is!'
 

Lorien

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Lorien paced impatiently within the walls of his council room and threw things about in a furious rage. He screamed himself hoarse and destroyed the entire dressings of the room. When his trusted second-in-command finally broke down the locked doors of the room his eyes met a strange sight as he beheld Lorien sitting in a circle of roaring fire, evidently his lord had seen it fit to burn all the tapestries and curtains in the room and place himself in it. Spying Morgwathion through the flames, Lorien said, "Scared? I am I think, this decision is harder than I thought. Who would have believed that the Lord of the Necromancers, nay, the ex-leader of the Necromancers would have trouble in choosing an alliance between the Dark and the Light? But come, you must know, you've always known, which side do I choose my faithful?" Looking at Morgwathion's face, Lorien laughed and said, "You hesitate too! That is good, I am not alone then."
Giving a few hasty orders Lorien rode under the shadow of the night with only 20 men accompanying him. Often narrowly avoiding companies of orcs they made their way towards the southern borders of Angmar.
 

Arathin

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Arathin impatiantly paced about her newly gotten home. Mithlond's militia had all finished their training and were looking for battle, as was Arathin. Suddenly, two of her special Dunedain warriors brought a man into her chambers. He had burns and slashs all over his body, and was on the verge of death. "M'lady Arathin," the man's every breath rang in her ears as if it were his last. "The city of Helkamardi has been destoried utterly. Orcs, 500 hundred, on Wargs, taken by surpris-----" With that the brave man died. "We found him two miles from our borders, m'lady. He was brought to you immediately as he refused medical attention." Arathin closed the man's eyes and called to her people to prepare for battle. ~This brave man's death will not be in vain, nor will the deaths of all those the accursed Orcs of the East have killed.~

The Mithlondian militia, men and women, set out in many small groups of 250 to a unit. Twenty such units were under Arathin's command. Two of Arathin's special Dunedain commanded each unit. Arathin led her own group of 250 Dunedain, while 210 Dunedain stayed to guard Mithlond's board. These remaining 210 were spread thinly, but effectively in groups of 5 making 42 groups about the border of Mithlond.

Arathin and her twenty attack units rode out to engage the Orcs of the East, but not in battle as the Orcs fought. In such battle Arathin could have no hope of victory. But Arathin had her own ways of doing battle.

After having their fill, for the moment, of death and plunder, the Orcs and Wargs now in Helkamardi were all resting or keeping a sparse lookout, for they expected no trouble. Arathin and her unit of Dunedain hid within the edge of the forest by the once standing, now mere ashes of the city. She separated her party out and soon they had the remains of the city surrounded, though the Orcs didn't know it. 25 groups of 10 surrounded the city and the Orcs and Wargs within, but as the Orcs had burnt the city, they had no defences against Arathin's Dunedain. Suddenly, her group attacked a small group of sleeping Orcs, killing all of them. Arathin sent up a call like the scream of an eagle, and all of her groups attacked. Each one moving in as silent as moonlight, killing all they could find, and slipping away with the dark as if each had their own magic ring. Soon all the Orcs were skittering this way and that as sudden Dunedain warriors would spring up, as if out of the ground and kill them.

At dawn, Arathin and her people left the remains of the city. A few of her other units had joined them in the night against the Orcs and Wargs. In the end, five units marched back to Mithlonds main borders, their weapons covered in the dark blood of Eastern Orc and Warg.
 
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Ciryaher

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The Emperor rapped lightly upon a heavy oak door. War was but a threat at the time, and Angmar had not yet been besieged, and the city was dark, though not blacked out entirely.

The door was to that of the home of Goldram, one of the ten or so dwarves residing within Annuminas, who also happened to be a cunning weaponsmith.

The door was opened slowly, and a stocky, red-bearded dwarf stepped out rubbing his eyes wearily. "Look, mate, it's bloody past midnight," he said in a grumpy fashion, then looked closer at his guest, "Penn! I didn't know it was you, sir! Do come in, friend, and have a mug of this fine ale I bought. Then you may tell me what it is you'd like."

Bowing deeply before the dwarf, Ciryaher entered quietly as his somewhat bewildered host fetched two mugs of ale and sat down after serving one. "Well, now, Mr. Penngristion," he began after a long sip, "What can I do for you?"

"Goldram, I need you to make a weapon," the Emperor said after a similar drink, "It must be the strongest, keenest, and most magnificent axe to ever be wielded by a human. I know you make axes for the people here, but I want one made with your secret dwarven arts."

The dwarf made a doubtful face and leaned back a bit. "You ask much, Lord. What will I receive for such a task?"

"Name it, and it shall be yours," Ciryaher replied earnestly.

Goldram immediately knew what he wanted. "Five hundred lauren and...I want to be with your personal company. With the big darkie and the red-bearded man."

"You wish to be in my personal escort? Very well. Your price and request shall both be granted. When will the axe be ready?"

"Within two weeks, Penngristion, I will give you an axe that will cleave helm, shield, plate, and blade! Do not fear!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And so the next day, the dwarf began selecting metals. He chose a beautiful blue metal that could deal terrible blows and would not shatter under force, though it had low tensile strength and would snap if subjected to a lateral blow. To counter this, he created a special core of copper with silver veins, and then beat the blue metal onto it. He locked this blade into place within a strong handle of a steel handle with a trace of mithril mixed into it.

Then, using the hidden magic of the Children of Aulë, he enchanted the axe, so that nothing save the Flames of Anar could destroy it. On it were tooled runes of nobility, vengeance, and purity. No evil could mar or withstand its blow when wielded by a pure heart.

And so, as the castle of Carn Dum was being sacked, and the archers of Fornost released a storm of arrows upon the camp of Mornclaur, Goldram Onyxhelm the weaponsmith presented his creation to the Emperor. He was clad in a hauberk of his own making, and wielded a similarly styled axe (though the blade was gold-tinted rather than blue) as he knelt before Lord Penngristion and presented the axe to him.

Ciryaher bid Goldram rise, and saluted him. "This axe I shall name," he swung the axe about and saw the blue flame as light caught the metal, "Bregoldramb Naurlhûn...the violent blow of blue flame!"

The dwarf grinned slightly, "It has my name in it, so you know it will be mighty!" He laughed, and so did all present...it was a light moment in heavy times.
 

Dengen-Goroth

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There was amide the rear gaurd of the Mornclaur Assault marshalled a pillaging force of slight number. Foward they went till they were able to reach the Emyn Uial, for the might of Arnor was spred and certain areas were left wih minimal defenses. At dusk they quickly entered that land, cloaked by a fell parallel to the cloaks of Lorein.
 

Ciryaher

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Two runners came to the camp of the 1st Army of Arnor and reported to their commander, who in turn reported to Ervurkea. Grinning, he dispatched the 8th and 11th infantries (about 6,000 troops combined) and sent them to form a screen of archers and blitz infantry in all the passes and strategic points in the hills. There was no way that the intruders could pass through their unblinking eyes.
 

Dengen-Goroth

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Nawael glanced over an outcropping of rock towards where his companion had indicated. There, quite a distance away, lay yet another Arnorian gaurd. He slide back dowanward and crept northward till he reached the entrance to a cave. It was well hidden by greenery. Within it ran far, and solemnly the two proceded through winding natirual corridors. At last they reached a light, a sentry stood at watch.
"Greetings General!" They procedded. The incline grew steeper and the walls above vaulted ever higher. The flicker of the flames soon was incappable of illuminating the ceiling. Naweal paused and ran a hand through his black hair. Voices echoed dimmly. The two continued, at a rapid pace. Soon, upon rounding some corners and passing through a very narrow hall they reached another open chamber, with a pool of water in the center. About the walls there were placed torches and foods and supplies littered the floor. Matts were rolled to conserve space. Yet upon them sat great men from the east and south, men in service of the Dark Lord. All wore raiment of battle, scabbard at their sides. One man with a great red beard stood and saluted.
"General, we feared you were lost."
"Nay men, I fare well. However our course of option is limited. They have succeded in blockading the exits, we are neath their girdle."
"Can it be so General."
"Indeed it may and is. However we have discussed this option prior to setting forth. All here knew of the potential for utter failure within our excursion, and now it is no longer hypothetical."
"As is our course of action of course."
"Yes indeed that is, but now as it is to be tested let us hope it does not fail."
The General strode towards his matt and quickly unrolled it. He procedded to sit upon it and grasped a goblet, which he then filled with wine.
"Not quite Dorwinion, but as near to as we will get here."
"And this pool is as near to the Sea of Rhun. I have spent many a month within those mclear azure waters. To be there now, bathing neath the eastern sun."
Another man grunted in disbelief.
"What greater endevour is there within the confines of our world then war. Where is your mind."
The conversation continued as such, however the man who had accompanied the General had not awaited further instructions, he quickly left after entering. It was deep within the nigh when a small pass gaurded as were all others, was assaulted with a great volley of flaming arrows.
 

Arathin

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The Archers of the Dark Lord got no response. Suddenly, the night's gloom about them began to move and shift. A flash of light, as if a ghostly sword unseen, struck down the captain of the archers. As if on signal, hundreds of thousands on ghosts appeared to the men of the Dark Lord. These ghosts struck down a man and then vanished into the night, until all of them were dead, with the exception of one. Stained with his fellow's blood and dazed by his terror, he had fallen to the ground. In his hazed confusion, he ran and ran to the first place he could think of that would be safe. The cave in which the Dark Lord and his men were in. Arathin and her "ghosts" followed. Now easily finding the cave enterence as the man dashed into it, she called to one of her eagle pets, and reported the placement of the cave to the Arnorian captain by eagle letter post. Squatting down to wait with her men, she set archers to kill any that came from the cave.

Deep within the cave the survivor fleed. Upon reaching the main area. He demained to see the Dark Lord. Permission was granted and he told his tale of blood, flame, death, and ghosts. Doubt neared the Dark Lord's heart.
 

Ciryaher

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Thelion heard a cry above him and held out his arm. With a flutter of wings, a noble eagle perched upon his arm. He took the note out of the creature's beak and quickly read it. He grinned to his lieutenants, "Ahh, so they have found the Felyamande? We shall show them the meaning of its name!"

The force stole through the night, and Thelion raised his hand in greeting to Arathin. He wordlessly gestured to the mouth of the cave, dim, though showing light from fires within. She nodded, and the Arnorians scattered, going to their positions.

The commander returned with the severed head of one of the Mornclaurians and forced a white stone into its gaping mouth. He flung it into the cave and then whistled.

Men crept down into the backmost bowels of the cave through secret passages and espied the enemies. Stones were lifted in the roof of the main chamber, and flaming vials of oil were thrown down into and behind the clustered Mornclaurians. There was a storm of arrows from the back of the cave, and they had no choice but to stay and die or try to flee out the mouth of the cave.

They ran out in a frenzied attack and hewed down at least six of the Arnorian sentries, but the Mithlondian and Arnorian archers shot them down so that not one of the enemy survived.
 

Dengen-Goroth

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Dawn, the early rays of light flickered about the great banners of Mornclaur, of the Dark Lord. The Proctor reclined in a great seat which had been acquired from the sack of Fornost.
"They came unto our force with fell apparitions, and hewed all. I was at that moment about with a scout group, venturing back northward to find a suitable means of retreat if need be."
"General, your account is credible, though your actions less then. Behold, we have hewed many an archer and swordsman of the infidels, and a loss of eighty men, though troubling, is not to great a defeat nor does it hinder our effort. It has been thus ordained that upon the coming of Warmaster Aei, who is near, we are to have the following positions."
The proctor indicated several lines on a map near to the two.
"What we have gained from your excursion, however, is information to which no sum can be placed. Their fear rises with fell ardor, and permeates from their citadels. Let us first engage in an entertaining enterprise." A fell grin came upon the Proctor.

As dusk had long descended, and now it was near the first hour of the new day there came unto the Arnorian Encampment perplexing sounds, and then the great gallop of numerous steeds. The Sentries glanced to and fro, and quickly drew their blades or fit arrow to bow. And yet from the northwestern passage there was a great onslaught of cavalry, and they drove into the camp and hewed the sentries. Arrows glanced off of their armor. The Arnorians, however, were not taken fully at unawares. Quickly those who had slept awakened and formed a defensive ring, and great spears were thrust forward to prevent an effective cavalry charge. The Mornclaur cavalry continued to move beyond the ring, for as told arrows did little harm. Some did strike steed and thus dismount rider, but few hampered man. A rider drew forth a horn and thus struck a great note to which came a response, though some thought but an echo. From the north there came flowing forth warg divisions and then infantry columns. Arrows flew from the Mornclaur lines against the ring, yet few were hampered as well. However it was then that the Cavalry seemed to retreat, turned and began to gallop as quickly as possible towards the ring. Just prior to the spears the steeds reared in unison and the riders hurled at the Arnorians the severed heads of those who had fallen in the assault upon their positions. And when the heads fell, like a morbid rain, the cavalry hurled yet another wave. An infantry charge was sounded, and a great column charged against the wall of the ring. And when a third volley was hurled there came another note, and the cavalry retreated, and the infantry retreated. Yet the archers remained firing flaming arrows at tents and crude buildings meant to store munitions.. However the Arnorians did hew many, and it seemed as though the assault was greater folly for they had lost numbers due to their sleep but very few fell from the ring. And yet they then glanced upon the faces of their comrades, many with whom they had spoken days prior and had formed friendships. And they did bemoan the fate of those gallant souls. And a wrathful fire grew ever greater in their hearts. Yet it was at a certain moment, when there came over those hills the cry of a bat, that the heads were rent apart by flame, for by a dark art of the east within their mouths and nostrils were placed explosive elixirs which were held in glass such that the shrill cry broke the flasks. And incredibly great were the explosions for the size of the that which created them. Many fell to their knees in horror, for they were singed or burning, and felled by the face of their friends. Some ran about as flames and heat consumed them. And then there came a third note, for the cavalry had retreated, and then turned and charged towards the camp again. Now though the fires had caused considerable chaos, and many flew about not knowing their destination. And the cavalry simply slew at will, beheading and then hurling those heads at others who cried out in pain and fear, for they knew not if those to would explode. Yet there was marshaled a force of determined and utterly enraged Anorians who made battle unto the cavalry, and hewed steeds, dismounting the riders. Yet they bore their blades unto the Arnorians and such fierce battle was naught seen within those hills prior. However the cavalrymen knew well that they were far outnumbered and that their task was complete, so they did retreat, some steeds bearing two riders. The cavalry returned to the Mornclaur camp at dawn.
 

Arathin

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An eagle flew into the tent where the generals argued with a note. It dropped note and waited for a reply to it.

Rangers and our new allies,
Lord Ciryaher has informed me of your approach. I must insist that you come to my city. If you try to attack Mornclaur's forces you will interfere. Please come to my province of Mithlond. You will be welcomed most graciously and will be given many supplies and weapons. Also we might discuss tactics.


The message was sealed with the Lady Arathin's signet as every Ranger that saw it knew it was from her. Also the eagle was the same as the one that had been bringing her messages to the Rangers for the past few days.
 

Ciryaher

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Ërvûrkeá ran his hand over his face. "If you would consider my advice," he spoke for the first time, having long stood in the corner of the generals' pavillion, "I would tell you to heed the insistance of Governor Arathin. Mithlond is in need of...guerilla forces. Archers, and small, lightning-fast attack groups would be able to wreak havoc upon the enemy's raiding parties in that heavily wooded province. If we return south, to Fornost Erain, we can take the High Road to Annûminás, and there we may take the South Pass through the Emyn Uiál, and come into Mithlond in less than 3 days. There, we may replenish our supplies and be always near the North Watch of Arnor, and be able to aid them."

He crossed his arms and continued running his hand over his goatee while he awaited the others.
 

Mablung

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'I respectfully agree with this. We are fine warriors all but more than outnumbered in a head on fight. There is no way we could attack the bulk of the Mornclaur by ourselves, and if we stay here so near to them we risk being wiped out.' Lolik watched the other's faces to see what they were deciding to do.
 

Anamatar IV

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"Heren Istarion will aid Mithlond and we hope Mithlond will aid us," Ingolemo said. "The banners of the Alliance will fly high in the air and we will come to Mithlond."

"Were it not for the havens I would come less grudgingly," Nenya spoke. "But I will harden my will and come to Mithlond."
 

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