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 Posted: Fri Jul 23, 2004 7:12 pm
 Being unable to face the judgement of the Powers after the ruin of Thangorodrim, Morgoth's greatest servant fled far to the south, and hid himself in a land surrounded by vast, newly upraised mountain ranges. Thousands of years later, the name of Mordor inspires only fear and loathing, as it is here that the Enemy makes his kingdom. Protected on three sides by the Ephel Dúath and the Ered Lithui, the only passes into Mordor are guarded unceasingly, and the Black Gate is opened only when Sauron's captains command it. Though Nurn in the south is fertile, Gorgoroth in the north is a vast wasteland, where the very air is a poisonous fume. From here Sauron rules, in his Dark Tower east of Orodruin, where the One Ring was forged. -Written by Falathrim-
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Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2004 8:26 pm
Mordor ~ Sauron's Throne Room
Sauron the Great sits on his throne in the heart of Mordor, plotting in his mind the downfall of the very civilization of man. Great plans are afoot, great workings of many great minds, all controlled by, all answerable to him. He and he alone holds the fate of Middle Earth in his malignant and misshapen hands. And now, with the fool of a Dunedain in his grasp...
Isildur of Gondor had withstood his questioning for a session. For hours, the Great Lord had questioned the Man, to no avail. Nothing broke him. But...any number more of those sessions, indeed, of sessions to make that one pale in comparison, were possible, and even enjoyable to Sauron. Pain, agony, suffering; all are beautiful to Sauron the Maia.
An Orc walks in with a knot of rank on his shoulder plate, rapping his spear on the walkway as he stumbles in. The creature is obviously wounded and scared out of whatever mind he may have been endowed with. The clatter yanks Sauron from his reverie and brings him back to reality. His eyes blaze with the irritation at being interrupted.
What is it, worm?
The Orc flinches as though he had been struck by the stinging hatred in the voice of the Great Lord, but he raises his head and speaks clearly, if a little shakily.
Th'prisoner, m'lawd. 'E's gone.
Sauron sits a moment as the words sink in, then replies, far too calmly.
Gone, Ordeith? How is he gone? Isildur of Gondor had no more spirit left in him than a tiny pebble, indeed, than a grain of sand when I finished with him. Do not pretend to tell me he fought his way through the tent fields and ran out the Black Gate.
Sauron's voice takes on a dangerous quality as his monologue goes on, and the Orc draws in on himself, knowing that he is about to die.
No, m'lawd. Eagles, Great Lawd, Eagles, them's swooped out o' th' sky and took 'im away. We killed a few of 'em, and the Nazgul wounded an Elf, but Isildur is gone, sire.
Sauron roars wordlessly, raging at the news of a huge setback. With a flick of his massive gauntleted hand, the Orc captain goes crashing into a wall with a scream that continues after he crumples to the ground, for the impact fails to break his neck. Sauron looks pointedly at him and his eyes blaze as he points at the horrible creature. THe screams intensify as suddenly, the very blood within the Orc begins to boil, not gently, but all at once. It boils out his mouth, out from around his eyes, out his snout. With a choking gurgle, the Orc is silent as his body is consumed in its own flames.
Sauron whirls around to face the other messenger in the room, who is cowering by the doorway, hoping to escape. He roars at the Orc, but this time does not kill him.
Bring me Angmar. I have a task for the Nazgul.
Without words, the Orc scurries to do the job set before him, seeking the Nazgul.
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Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2004 10:27 pm
Mordor - Barad-dûr
Khamûl looks skywards as Sauron's rage echoes throughout the tower. The Second-in-Command of the Nazgûl shudders slightly, wondering how many orcs died before the Dark Lord's wrath. Next to him, Adunaphel seethes in anger at his wounded pride. He broods in silence and Khamûl smirks.
Look alive. I am sure the Dark Lord will want to see us, he tells his comrade in Black Speech.
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Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2004 10:34 pm
Mordor ~ Barad-dur
An Orc shuffles up to the two Nazgul, not raising his eyes to meet theirs. He speaks in the Black Speech, though a debased form of it.
My Lords, The Great Lord needs to see yous now. He is very angry.
Without seeing if they follow, the Orc runs back up the steps toward the throne room.
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Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2004 10:54 pm
Mordor - Barad-dûr
Khamûl glances sideways at Adunaphel and nods without saying a word. Adunaphel rises as well and waits for his superior to enter first, feeling slightly uneasy about facing the Dark Lord after their defeat. Khamûl storms past, his dark robes billowing about him as he enters the tower and follows the narrow stairway upwards towards the Dark Lord's chamber. Of all the Ulairi disguises, the black shroud is the one preferred. The wraiths are invisible in this realm however, they wear dark hooded robes to mark their presence.
Orcs watch in fear as eight of the nine Nazgûl stand and stride into the great Tower. Adunaphel enters next, followed closely behind by Dwar, Ji Indur, Akhorahil, Hoarmurath, Ren, and Uvatha. All stride into the tower, the clanging of their metal boots on stone echoeing as they climb the stairs towards the Dark Lord's chambers. Murazor, the Witch King of Angmar himself, is absent. His comrades figure he is already before the Dark Lord.
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Posted: Tue Jul 27, 2004 7:38 pm
Mordor ~ Barad-dur
Sauron seethes in his chair as the Nazgul gather in his throne room. He had been hoping to avoid using direct tactics, but he must demonstrate a willingness to strike when struck at, or he risked having the Men come at him with a force. It would be unlikely in that event that any force of Men short of all Men united would prevail against Sauron's own forces, but if even one survived, not only would the Dark Lord's forces be greatly weakened, but the humans would then know just how massive his force was.
No, no, Sauron is not happy at all. As soon as all of the Nazgul are assembled, he turns to them and speaks in the Black Speech.
My Nazgul, I wish you to mount an attack. Take a small legion of Orcs with you and mount an attack on Minas Ithil. We must show the Men of Gondor that we can and we will strike at them from the interior of their own realm.
Kill for pleasure, kill for purpose, and be sure to kill a great many of them. You will also order small legions of Orcs to mount an attack and Osgiliath. The whole of Gondor must feel the rebound of Sauron's wrath. Go now!
Sauron's hand waved in dismissal and he sat back down on his throne, turning the Ring on his finger. He is most displeased. On a whim, he leaves the throne room after the Nazgul, appearing briefly on each of the guard towers of the realm to berate the Orcs stationed there and warn them to watch the skies against all attacks, lest they be destroyed by his hand should they survive an airborne attack. With fearful Orcs watching from every guard tower and the tent fields having been attacked by Eagles, nothing would break the skies of Mordor without being shot down except the mounts of the Nazgul.
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Posted: Tue Jul 27, 2004 8:04 pm
Mordor - Barad-dûr
Khamûl glances sideways at Angmar but says nothing, mildly surprised the Dark Lord did not reprimand his most faithful servants for losing his prize. Upon the Dark Lord's command, he and his comrades bow in unison.
As you will it, so shall it be! Khamûl replies, his voice but a dry whisper.
The Nazgûl's Second-in-Command raises his long sword in salute and follows the Witchking of Angmar out of the Dark Lord's chamber and down the narrow winding steps. The seven others follow closely behind, all stepping in unison as they descend the staircase, all eager for the Hunt.
Upon reaching ground level, the Nine intimidate their way into rallying together the small legions of orcs that will march upon the free lands of Gondor and execute the Dark Lord's plan for retribution.
Prepare my steed! Khamûl orders the bandaged Captain of Orcs as if he were but a lowly foot-soldier. Mauhúr scowls, but knows better than to defy any of the Nine. Cursing under his breath, he kicks at an orc foot soldier and has him see to Khamûl's winged beast. Many of the fell beasts were destroyed during the most recent conflict with the elves and eagles and new beasts must be wakened.
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Posted: Tue Jul 27, 2004 8:16 pm
Mordor ~ Tent Fields to Gondor
Two legions, one of 300 Orcs with a Cave Troll and one of only 150 Orcs form up and set out at the command of the Nazgul. Both forces, accompanied by the Nazgul, set out on a course for the crossroads between Minas Ithil and Osgiliath. It is five days hard running with camp time for daylight to reach the crossroads, and the Nazgul drive the Orcs as hard as possible, and even then never let up. A few of the legion drop to the ground, only to be lifted by the fell beasts high into the air and carried until they recovered enough to begin struggling, at which point they were set down.
On the dawn of the sixth day, the forces arrive at the crossroads and make camp for the last time. All are within a few hours hard march from the strongholds they intend to target. 200 Orcs will accompany the Nazgul to Minas Ithil, and the remaining 250 Orcs with the Cave Troll will execute the attack on Osgiliath. All save the Nazgul know it is unlikely that they will return to Mordor, but they serve Sauron, and they will serve him out of fear until their deaths.
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Posted: Fri Jul 30, 2004 1:08 pm
Crossroads
As the lesser orc footsoldiers stop and set up camp, hacking at the trees for firewood and setting ablaze great bonfires, Khamûl sits atop his winged beast and surveys the legions of orcs and cave troll all resting one last time before their siege on Gondor's stronghold of Minas Ithil. Adunaphel and Akhorahil flank Khamûl on their fell beast, also sitting still and watching the lowly orcs scurrying about. They smirk beneath their dark hoods, knowing full well that the majority of the orcs before them will not make it back to Mordor. They do not care in the least.
All is going according to plan and by tommorrow, they will reach the walls of Minas Ithil while other legions march on Minas Anor and Osgiliath. The free people of Endor will suffer under the Dark Lord and his ruling ring.
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Posted: Sat Sep 04, 2004 12:14 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Tue Sep 21, 2004 7:06 am
Barad-dûr - Khamûl's Chambers
Sulking, Khamûl untangles himself from Nessie's reins upon touchdown in the Dark Lands and storms into the Tower, heading straight for his room. He blantantly ignores the snickering and nasty comments from the orc underlings he passes. However, he is sure to make mental note, deciding he will amuse himself with their tortured cries once he is in a better mood.
Upon entering the stinking, damp, and disgusting underground chamber he calls his own, Khamûl proceeds to smash things and kick walls and cause an all-round ruckus, frustrated with the outcome of the attack. He is sure the Dark Lord is furious.
Stupid Murazor! It's all his fault! he whines. I should have been the one to plan and direct the attack! Not that good-for-nothing sissy of a WitchKing.
Collapsing against a wall, Khamûl wraps his arms around his legs and broods for awhile.
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Posted: Wed Sep 22, 2004 3:55 pm
Mordor
Outside Adunaphel's room
Whack!
Ouch! Someone listening closely could have picked up a sound that strangely resembled a gauntleted hand rubbing a new bruise in order to dull the pain.
Stop that NOW!
But my lady, you could be injured!
I told you, I escaped before the Elvenking could strike me! Now stop this foolishness! You are not even a true healer!
Well, I certainly try, my lady.
This racket was being produced by Ren and the just-returned Adunaphel marching down the corridor; the former had insisted on "checking for injuries" as predicted, and the latter was protesting all the way. How many injuries could you develop in your behind and chest during one battle, anyway? And did squeezing hard really do any good? Probably not. Adunaphel always found it strange that no matter how badly Ren might be hurt when fighting, even to the point of fleeing his mortal body, he was always feeling fine enough for an active inquiry into her health when the two met up again.
Then do not try! And cease with the pet names! I am not your lady and I shall never be, not for the dominion of all of Arda and all the treasure therein!
'Tis merely a term of affection.
Nearing the door to her room, Adunaphel delivered another of many baleful looks at her fellow wraith. And I feel none of it for you. Now get away from me or I shall hit you again, and this time it will not be with the flat of Naurmel.
Very well, sighed Ren. At any rate I hope your rest is pleasant, he added as the door began to close. Think of me in thy dreams, fair one!
Shriek! Thoom! The door slammed in his face.
Once inside, Adunaphel started to feel better. After all, it was her room, and it was quite nice for someplace lived in by an undead ex-ruler. It was rather large, done in black and malachite green, and full of the things she'd taken from her old family home when she'd left with the one who called himself Annatar. The room was tidy, too; it had to be, considering the things she did there would have caused half the place to burn down before the fire could be brought under control.
She started to giggle slightly as she stepped towards a small box in one corner of the room. From it she took a handful of dry grass and a chunk of reddish metal, and placed them in the large stone basin that sat in the middle of the floor. Giggling even harder, Adunaphel stripped, then took up two faintly shining rocks and stood before a mirror. She could not see herself in its surface, but it amused her greatly to watch the rocks dancing alone in the air, it seemed, as she moved.
When she tired of that activity, Adunaphel returned to the stone basin and struck the two rocks against each other. Sparks flew and hit the dry grass, and the copper that lay there caused the flame to turn an unearthly green. She blew on it and clapped her hands like a child on her birthday, then turned to the window.
What shall I burn today? she wondered as she peered out. Finally she lit upon something satisfactory: she couldn't tell if it was a large bale of hay or just some new object for target practice -but now it would be her target. She giggled more hysterically then ever and picked up a bow and arrows that leaned against the wall.
I believe that I can strike the center, she said to herself as she held the tip of one arrow within the green fire. Adunaphel returned to the window, drew back the arrow, and let it fly. It hit the center of the object, igniting it and sending up a huge blaze with a loud whoosh!
Yes! Bull's-eye! Adunaphel's giggles erupted into full-fledged maniacal laughter as she leaned out the window and witnessed the confusion below from her handiwork. How she'd hated learning the Elvish tongue as a girl, but when she did things like this it came in wonderfully handy. Narvo! Narvooooo! she cried, sending chills of fear down the spines of the poor Orcs trying to put out the fire.
Unfortunately for Adunaphel, Ren happened to be passing by at the moment she made her hit. Hearing the laughter and the command, he knew the speaker and looked up in the direction of the sound. Since both were members of the wraith-community, they had no difficulty seeing one another, and when Ren saw her, a trickle of blood issued from his invisible nose and a blush spread across his invisible cheeks. He began to snicker and waved up at Adunaphel, who realized her mistake too late. She, too, blushed furiously and ducked back inside.
Is my lady well? Ren called cheekily as he wiped his nose. Shall I come up and see her?
Seconds later, a flaming arrow zipping by millimeters from his head told him he'd better go somewhere else instead.
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Posted: Mon Nov 08, 2004 5:27 pm
Barad-dur :: Tower of the Nine
The Nazgul did little in the weeks after their failed attack on Gondor. In fact, rarely were they seen outside the Dark Tower itself. Their lord and master's cruel wrath had been directed entirely at them following the mishap they alleged to be a battle, so much so that whenever the slightest mistake occurred anywhere in Mordor, the blame was placed upon the Nine. Of course, when the dark generals of Sauron were penned in their rooms, they had little opportunity to lead the fell Orcs out to battle, and so Gondor knew for a long while respite from the ongoing battles with Mordor.
~~~
"I don't think I'll ever see why these bloody Nazgul insist on dwelling in the tallest rooms in the tallest towers," cursed one particular Orc. Three weeks had passed since they had lead their companies to the Mannish realms, and Sauron had finally decide to allow the Nazgul a mission. However, the Dark Lord was still infuriated at the very sight of the Nine, and so rather than summoning them personally to hs chambers he sent a messenger instead. The poor fool tasked to carry the message to Murazor was none other than Wurmha, a rather low-ranked and especially expendable Orc.
He came at last to the tower of the Nine Ringwraiths, but only after climbing for what seemed an eternity. After taking a moment to regain his stamina, he glanced about him. He was in the correct place, clearly, for all he saw were doors, doors that lead into the personal chambers of the Nine. The message, naturally, was for Murazor, the Lord of the Nine, and so Wurmha waddled over to his door. Or he would have, at least, if not for all nine doors being perfectly identical. He stared at all of them for five minutes, having no idea which one lead to the chamber of Murazor.
"To 'ell with it," he finally snarled. "They can sort their own messes out." He strode forth, and knocked on the closest door, not caring whether Murazor was inside or not. The sooner he was back in the tent fields, the better. He didn't like the Nazgul one bit.
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Posted: Mon Nov 08, 2004 6:22 pm
Barad-dur
Oh dear, a visitor -I do hope my eyes aren't too puffy...
Ji Indur heard the knock at his door and jerked his head up, drying his invisible eyes. Ever since the fiasco, he'd been crying nonstop when his dark master's wrath caused several of his favorite pieces to melt into shiny smoking puddles.
Quickly, he checked his reflection in a mirror -not that it did any good, but we're talking an undead, jewelry-obsessed king here, not a rocket scientist. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, Ji drew himself up to his full height and said in his most impressive voice, Come in.
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Posted: Mon Nov 08, 2004 7:17 pm
Barad-dur ::Tower of the Nine
Wurmha
Slowly, the Uruk thrust open the great door, its rusted hinges creaking far more ominously than even he, an evil Orc, though it should. The sound of that gate was just as terrible and horrifying as the Enemy returned. Or perhaps Wurmha was simply exaggerating things because he was bored. In this day and age, who can say? And yet, who knows what terror Wurmha awaited beyond the threshold?
Jewels. Thousand upon thousands of jewels. Wurmha had never seen so many jewels in his life. He wanted them, oh how he lusted for them! If he could just seize but a few, he could barter them off for enough Man-flesh to keep him satiated for the rest of his woefully short life. That sapphire on the ground, near the corner, yes, that would do well in the Mordor black market...
But quickly his attention was grabbed by the dark wraith before him. Terror and horror were in that foul being's dark eyes, those oh-so-very-invisible dark eyes. Those non-existant globes of darkness that would wretch any person's soul in half, and make even the most noble Dwarf-woman pull her beard out in agony, they were there, and they made Wurmha squeam like a little school-Orc. For a whole second, Wurmha was siezed by terror. Then he recovered and gave the Nazgul the message.
"Yeah, I’ve gots here a message for Murazor from da Boss. You Murazor?"
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