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Senate of the Mornclaur Federation

Snaga

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Kara Ordu, High Captain of the Black Guard of the Palace of Osclaur was fearsome, near as loathsomely powerful as a demon of the elder days. Nigh seven foot high he stood, enormous mighty arms and chest, his black mail shone fiercely with the insignia of Mornclaur, and his commands were obeyed without question by the Guards: and there were many. For this was the very seat of power of Dengen-Goroth. None passed that gate, or returned, save by the will of the Dark Lord. Kara Ordu was the instrument of his will: unswerving, unrelenting.

A guard came to him and said: ‘A man has come within the outer gates and asks for Lord Gonnilclaur.’

Impatiently, Ordu’s voice boomed at him like a punching fist. ‘What of it?’ For Lord Gonnilclaur journeyed afield with the regiments of the military, not sitting at leisure within the palace: this was known to all the guards.

‘He is a foreigner, and perchance the one the city guard are seeking for the murder of that street villain.’

‘Ahhh indeed! Excellent.’

Ordu came to the waiting area. He walked in, looming large, like an omen of violence, like a raging cloud of the very storm of the East that prepared to break upon the world. He addressed the stranger, briefly. ‘Come with me!'

He led him to a small room, and ushered him in. Spartan it was in the extreme, bare of all but a rude wooden bench, and upon the door were bars, and a heavy lock was on it. A jail cell? But Ordu did not close the door but, indicated that the man should sit. He spoke: 'Martial law is in force, so we have no time for trials. You have killed, contrary to our laws and so your life might be considered forfeit. You come at a great hour.’ He paced for a moment, and then looked upon the man before him.

‘The hour foretold is nigh. The forces of the West are like swarm of locusts on our borders. Each one is but a puny insect, fit only to be squashed without thought, but there are many and much harm comes of their gathering.

'Long have been the years of peace, and the Mornclaur Federation has waxed in its strength. For though the tittle-tattle stories of the shrieking wives of Gondor would paint us as villains, we have ever maintained peace in our land. We have traded, we have sought after knowledge and excellence, yea we have grown strong. And what have those in the West done with their time, but fight amongst themselves. Yes, for they speak of peace, but they bring only disorder and war. Even amongst themselves they fight, passing thrones amongst each other like small items of little honour. None rule by merit or wisdom.

'For a time it was little concern of ours. Not that we do not care, but the wise cannot force wisdom into the heads of fools! If it is the way of the West to shed each others blood in such a manner, they can only learn from their own mistakes, however grievous. So ever we have kept our peace, and let them continue their barbarian ways according to their own desire.

Now his monstrous voice resounded about the small room like the clamour of marching feet.

'However, like some cancerous infestation that forms about us, they linger in foul plots. Ever they brood, wishing to come together in appalling assault upon us.

'In coming days shall their people curse them for their folly, as their doom befalls them. And yea, at the end, even they shall curse their own names, as the realisation dawns of the desolation of all their dreams. In that hour they will realise the emptiness of their philosophy, the flimsiness of their power, and vacuity of their wisdom.

So my friend, we gird ourselves for battle. And we do so with a proud song in our heart, knowing that all that befalls our foes is richly deserved, and is no less than they crave. We are mighty, for our armies are trained beyond measure of all in Middle Earth. They have none to match us. And our armies are vast beyond the realisation of the dim-witted counsellors of the west. Those who fly count each foe twice it is said, and those who rashly consider war, never guess the strength of their foes.

And yet...' he paused in his oratory for a moment. 'May I...?'

Ordu picked up the strangers sword, weighing it in his hand for a moment. 'I sense some service you might bring to us. Thus in this hour I offer you the chance to repay your debt to Mornclaur with your sword. I insist that you say yes, less I bring word to my dark master of your conduct...'

'How say you?'
 
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¤-Elessar-¤

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The hunter's eyes laughed at the tall easterling. "We have a missunderstanding. I am not here to cause disharmony. I have come here for one reason. I have decided that life as a Mercenary is more suited to my liking, and where better for one of my kind than the Kingdom of the Dark Lord? I also have something that may be of interest to the lord Goroth, and through me only will he be told. Now, I will be having that back." In one fluid motion he snatched the awkward sword out of the guardsman's hands. It whistled through the air, and in a blur of motion it hit home in it's scabbard, where ancient Sinarian runes spelled out the word 'Hunter'. "My sword is my life, guardsman. If you lay hands on it unbidden again you shall taste it's honeyed steel." He rose from the seat. "And yet, I have not been given permission to see the lord Goroth. Would it not be helpful to him to know that his advantige of surprise is gone?"
 
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¤-Elessar-¤

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(have to move this along... sorry about the rather comprimising post)
The hunter nodded. He walked out and was escorted by a group of twenty fully armed guards. He was still a threat, and would not be out of sight. He was set outside the council chambers, and silently waited for permission to enter. He could feel the evil of the dark lord, lurking just within.
 

Kyrè

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Mirina walked in, dressed in a green emerald gown. She could see the tension in the room. She sat down at the seat offered her, and sent her handmaidens to her room. She would die, if needed, to defeat this truly evil thing.
 

¤-Elessar-¤

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The hunter stood from the chair and smiled. He was tired of waiting for the lord Dengen. If Mornclaur did not wish to see him, that is all that they had to say. He did not need them to back him. He was unstoppable on his own. As he stood he pulled a dagor descretely from his boot. When the guard stopped him to ask why he was leaving, spun the man around, knocking him into the wall. He lifted the back of the struggling man's helmet and made a quick blow to the back of the neck with the hilt of the knife. He turned the paralyzed man around, and hit him in the front of the throat the same way, crashing the voice box. When the Hunter let go, the man slid to the floor, and lay there, silent. The hunter walked from the building the rest of the way unnaposed. He stood on the front steps of the palace, and smiled to himself. The now paralyzed and mute man was the only one who knew what he looked like, and one of the only ones to know that he was in the room.

He stood there for a second, looking out into the crowd. Suddenly, though, he reached his left hand over and grabbed his right shoulder. He cried out in pain. He turned and held out an angry fist to the north, and cursed under his breath, before turning back to the street. It was very crowded, and very hectic. If he had any persuers, they would think that he went that way. He turned, and ran down the width of the steps, coming at last to their end, and the end of one of the buisy streets. There was a shop there, an Inn, rather. He went inside and told the man at the desk that he already had a key to his room. He went upstairs.

Once upstairs he surveyed the scene around him. There were numerous doors, each going to different rooms, he supposed. At the end of the hallway was a closet, for linnens, he guessed. He went, and opened the door. There were shelves, with sheets and such piled in various ways. He climbed in and shut the door. Inside, he wormed his way to the top shelf, and was surprised that Mornclaur made such strong shelves. He drew his sword, rather awkwardly in the tight space. He plunged it into the planking above, and made a hole in the ceiling. He climbed through, and onto the rooftop. He turned, and saw the city wall looming up on his right. He reached into his pack and retreived a rope and hook, and hoisted himself up.

The wall was well patrolled, but he kept to a shadow between two slots. The men were watching the outside, and did not see his approach from the inside. He waited a while, surveying the patrols around him. He determined his best time. And, before taking another look back, rolled off of the side of the giant wall... as he hit pain shot through all of his body, wracking his mind and what would have been a spirit. In the woods to the north the deer turned their heads, and looked to the nearest mountains in curiousity.

He lay there for a while, days, perhaps, in the shadow of the city wall. Before he stood on newly healed legs. He walked in that walls shadow until he came nigh on the gate, and there joined the traffic leaving the city. Completely unaware to any guards of the city that may have been watching for his leaving.
 
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Tar-Ancalime

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Tar-Ancalime looked towards mirnia, "why how lovely that dress is? Where on earth could you find such a thing?" she asked Mirnia
 

Snaga

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In a word aside, Lord Gonnilclaur makes known some appointments which he has made:

Aglaroth Serewing is given the title of Grand Admiral of the 2nd Fleet.

Lord Drygo is promoted to Proctor of War, with responsibility for the forces of Harad and Khand.

Azog is given the rank of Centurion, charge with leading an elite Century of warg-riders.

All are to be congratulated on their appointments. I have every confidence they will distinguish themselves in the coming weeks.
 
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Kyrè

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It is plain cotton, died with ink made from our verybest trees.

Mirina said no more. She was trying to focus on the evil force somewhere inside the city. She sensed death, or pain. One usually followed another.
 

Snaga

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A message arrives borne by the black wings of swift-flying raven. Lord Goroth unravels the close wrapped words, and it reads thus:

From Rashdug, High Commandant of Gundabad, on behalf of the Urukgush, Lord Gonnilclaur, to Lord Dengen-Goroth:

By means of many crawling creatures we have sought out a great number of concealed obelisks. For their number was sensed readily, as their power was great, and the power of the Dark Legion runs through those mountains from Methedras to Ostmor, and in Ered Luin in the west.

Then was forged in response through the knowledge of the dwarves and Lord Drygo a cunning response. Great containers of mirrored interior were created, that through the knowledge of the pyromancers and the stone-craft of the dwarves endure all heat and light and reflect it inwards. And these were placed over the obelisks, and they were taken without harm from their cavernous resting places. Perchance through some study of their design Lord Drygo will be availed of their art, however they have now been melted in the forges of Khazad-Dum and the Blue Mountains and trouble the land of Zirak Khazad no more.

Other tidings will come to you soon.

Greetings and friendship always!
 

Dengen-Goroth

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Dengen-Goroth stood and quickly made his way from the Imperial Palace. Behind him strode some twenty individuals cloaked in black. He paused as he neared Maetha and turned, though now he cast about him fear and was feared.
"The time is nigh, Barad-Gostannen is to be emptied. The Inquisition shalt ride." With that he turned and was gone.
 

Tar-Ancalime

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Tar sighed, war again she thought to herself. Tar stood from her seat and left to her royal palace/ spa in Rhun followed by her gaurds and enterouge.
 

Kyrè

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Mirina stood, and paced. Her country was left alone. Who knows what could happen?! She had no govereners! She couldn't leave that was for sure, but she didn't want to stay.. back and forth Mirina tore herself apart, until she plopped into a chair and passed out.

((I have dissolved all Governers rule, seeing that none of them have done the things I wanted done, and not being active))
 

Tar-Ancalime

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Tar just reentered the main hall and awoke mirnia."If you wish to have a break, I would make you a guest at my spa in rhun. We have the best slaves in all of mornclaur there. You'll at least relax some." Tar said to mirnia
 

Kyrè

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Mirina rose and stumbled. That is a great Idea. But-- there is no one to rule my country... maybe I should message Belina... (her messager, aide, and bodyguard)
 

Tar-Ancalime

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It should relieve some of your stress...and you have much. *Tar said this and got up* pack your things we leave soon.
 

Kyrè

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Yes.. alright.. be right there... 'Mirina looks to Snaga' I know you are supposed to be 'the enemy' but, could you watch Lorien for me? Send for me if anything goes wrong. I'll be in Rhun!
 

Tar-Ancalime

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Indeed, you can trust Snaga, i"d trust him with my own life! *Tar said with great confidence and Mirnia and Tar leave to rhun*
 

Kyrè

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Mirina, back and tanned from Rhun, turned toward the newcomer.

'One does not just request audience from the great lord. By what power do you represent?'
 

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