Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
Our tale takes us to Middle-Earth, dear listeners. A land of beauty and wonder not seen in our realm of existence. Kingdoms of Men most noble exist in these lands, chivalrous Gondorians and the Rohirrim Horse Lords; mighty bastions of good. Within their halls of stone and under mountains old dwell the Dwarves, a proud people with whom the world watches enviously, for their mounds of wealth are plenty and theirs. In forests yonder with music, art and song have the age-old Elves made a home, a race of peace and tranquillity that will do all to defend what it has. Finally, the Hobbits most fair reside in their small dwelling; the Shire. They are a peaceful folk, not willing to get involved within the diplomacy and tidings of the other peoples of Arda.
All is not well upon Middle-Earth however, for after an eon of waiting, the Dark Lord Sauron; Servant of Morgoth, has returned. He brings with him fire and malice to conquer the lands of Men, Dwarf, Elf and Hobbit and will do all in his unquestionable power to seize the territories that he believes are rightfully his, to bring forth an order of excellence and efficiency, to succeed where his master could not. To his South reside the Haradrim, or Southrons in our Western-Tongue, tribal confederations aplenty united in their hatred for the Men of the West. To his North we find the powerful and militaristic Easterlings, Men of Rhun who have themselves brought Gondor onto her knees innumerable times. Saurons numerous legions are filled with Orcs, creatures that themselves are testimony to the defiance against Eru Ilúvatar and Sauron will unleash them upon Arda when he is ready.
Long ago, Sauron forged a mighty tool: The One Ring. He lost this weapon long ago - at the final battle of the War of the Last Alliance. Now he yearns for its return and will stop at nothing to get it to assist him in his quest for unification and conquest of Arda and funnily enough, it has ended up in the hands of a young Hobbit. Now, now is when the time is to strike for both parties, to end the stand off once and for all.
In the East Mordor and her countless evil men allies march, the Last War readied. Since the Dark Lord sent forth his hosts in TA 2998, much of the lands of the Free Peoples have been lost. After a bold counter-attack and desperate defense Osgiliath is fallen, and the hosts of the Great Eye have forced the Crossings of the Anduin at the Tower of the Stars, Cair Andros, Pelargir. The forces of the evil have bridged the river at Tol Brandir and the Mouths, with rock and stone, and raised a mighty fortress men name Ungband to bar the passages. Down have been cast the Argonnath, their stone used to pave the Black Road that winds from Mordor even to the borders of Lorien and through the Wold. All Mirkwood is invested, save the stronghold of Thranduil, by the giant spiders of the spawn of Ungoliant, and much of the southern wood feeds the fires of Dol Guldur, for Sauron's forces have taken it and the eastern half of the vale of the Anduin for their own. Gondor's southern fiefs are under threat by forces from the Pelargir, and siegeworks have been raised against Minas Tirith. In Rohan Dunlendings raid and pillage, though they have been thrown back many times, and always a smoke is rising from Isengard. Though the Elves of Lorien have tried to guard their realm and push back the shadow, many fair folk were killed in battle upon the eastern shores of the Anduin before the Tower of the Eyes. Dain's folk hold still the passages of Erebor, and have dispatched a great expedition to retake Moria from the fell folk that slew Balin- but they still face evil creatures without number in the depths, no easy task even for the stout soldiers. Rhun marches, and even the Iron Hills are threatened, and the Corsairs and Haradrim raid up and down Gondor's southern fiefs. It is a fell time for men, but there is some hope- the Ring, though pursued by wargs even to the steps of the Last Homely House, has been found. If it can be unmade, the dominion of Sauron can be undone. But if it cannot be destroyed, much may go ill with Middle-Earth, for the shadow only grows.
Pelennor Fields, Gondor
Ringed the great city was, in steel and flame. The marching hosts of the Enemy filled the passages of the Rammas Echor, and already banners of the Red Eye waved from many of the Causeway Forts that had held since time immemorial against the darkness. Fire burned in pits about the city, immense trenches dug to confound any attempt at a sally. And the siege engines of Mordor went to work. Terrible and fell they were, many and strange to the Men of the West. With some dark magics they fired their shot wondrously high, higher even than men looked for, over the first unbreakable wall of Numenorean stonework to crash down into the city beyond. There as the stones landed they burst by some devilry in to flame, a flame which stuck and burned whatever it touched. Even without his siege weapons, though, the forces of Mordor had brought two other devices that had laid many great citadels and mighty men low; dread, and hunger. The siege of Minas Tirith was begun.
Northern Lossarnach, Crossings of the River Erui
South marched the warriors of the Great Eye, to join with their kin at Linhir. Spies of the Black Land had brought word of an army marching north to reinforce the beleagured White City, vassals and raw recruits from the southern fiefs of hated Gondor. Four thousand Orcs bearing the sickle moon of the Morgul Vale, and a thousand Uruks of the Barad-Dur, heavy-handed folk and battle-hardened. In their number marched Sadaauk the Bleeder and his lads, and from the front of the column came the blare of large warhorns. The wretched Westrons had been sighted, hurrying up the road to aid their desperate fellows. Nearly three times the number of their foe did the force sent out by Gothmog, Lieutenant of Minas Morgul, have- and in contrast to the new soldiers of Gondor, all shiny and freshly minted, each one was a fighter by nature as well as experience. Harsh cries came from the lips of the Orcs as they rushed to bar the road, cruel hooks and scimitars glittering in the little light the scudding Darkness from Mordor allowed to pass it. Another surprise too was preparing for the foe, a thrust unlooked for and lethal to the bone.
Gaur-na-Elath, Tolfalas
A stiff east breeze cracked in the sails of the Corsair ships as they made from the protected harbor of Tolfalas, their canvas full and creaking before the wind. It was a good omen- the Lord of Night had sent a boon to his warriors, to carry them upon their errand. High and proud the prows of the men of the Free City rose from the waves even as they broke them like knives, and the open ocean beckoned. Ballista gleamed in their sockets, and men sat about the deck happy for their opportunity to raid anew. Pirates would always be pirates, regardless of what banner they sailed under, but they were under strict instructions as to how they should treat the people of Gondor. Before long she would be restored to the rightful heirs of Castamir instead of the usurper Eldacar and his treacherous steward. Once that lineage was broken, glory could again be restored to the houses of Men.
Mouths of the Entwash, Rohan
From the south they came, iron-shod feet treading upon the rolling meadows and gentle streams of the land of water and quiet. Few trees rose here, save scattered groves of hunched over maples. Their leaves were an inferno of rich scarlet and deepest orange, but they were only some hundreds in number. Prevailing winds from the East meant they leaned west as a single man, a curious inclination of the land to the eyes of those accustomed to more upward-standing arboreal denizens. No men or beasts even roamed these lands, save wild dear and some shepherd's lost charges. But it was fertile land, and fed well by the Ondlo with all the irrigation a farmer could wish. The Orcs were uncomfortable here, for there was nothing to kill, or fight; they were warriors first, not artisans, though some among their number had the skill. Their role was the most important of the folk that had come north from the Firien Wood- upon the farthest bank of the Great River, where the tumult ran sluggish between marsh and delta, other servants of Lugburz were at work. A causeway had their raised through the fens of the Nindalf, shod in cobble and with now spans of wrought stone reaching out into the current. Supply lines here were still tenuous, but the foresight of some military planner was in evidence- a barge had been launched from the Wetwang's shallow pools, bearing stone for the workers to use to work on their own spur of the Black Road. Soon the Anduin would be bridged anew, and the passage of arms to the still restive West be a matter of little concern to the hosts of Mordor.
Limlight River, South Limlight Vale
Still across the ford streamed the host of Mordor, black figures clad in steel barely visible in the pre-dawn light. Several thousands had already gained the far shore, and were deployed in their companies and commands for battle. With them too came stomping Olog-Hai, towering above both pike and spear, their bodies near invisible in the heavy armor they wore like a mere tunic, their maces as large as horses. The crossing of the river had been uncontested, thankfully, and many of the archers heaved a barely audible sigh of relief. Upon the side nearest the Celebrant camp of the Elves more Orcs continued crossing in their wooden boats, while those already across marshaled to their captains. Above Warwarg's bolts of doom flew anon through the air, luminous fire descending upon the last few mallorns of the Celebrant, which had begun burning like merry torches. Amongst those trees the Orc captains were sure enemies were sheltering, and every one consumed by the pyre was another pointy-eared bastard that wouldn't need spitting on a spear later. Some of the catapults that had been set up to support the landing were unlimbered and turned west, Orcs straining to heave the devices across the dun gray fields of the Limlight.
The Jagged Fastness, Northern Vale of Mirkwood
To the west the Orc archer on duty noticed some press of warriors, men strangely, men who spoke with the tongues of Dale and another accent no soldier amongst them had heard. Fangs were bared and curses snarled. In time the men would pay for their elf-loving predelictions. At least now it would be a fight. Some of the sons of the Morannon had been moping about, dispirited at being able to only slay a few dozen foes- such was the work of Snaga, of infants, not of soldiers of steel and the Black Land. But now there would be a proper scrap, and beyond that, manflesh. Ah, yes, sweetest and most succulent manflesh. It was still a bit before dawn, but the red light in the southern skies told the commanders of legions that the attack their went forward apace. Soon all would be in readiness here too. Down to near the river companies were marshaled- with no command to speak of amongst their foes, three armies working together, it would be child's play to sweep the vermin aside and plunge the dagger deep into the unprotected flank of Lorien.
Bridge of Khazad-Dum, Moria
Bestirred were the Goblins, and the pale Orcs. Ever since they had sworn their allegiance to the Great Eye, their numbers had only been mounting. Within the endless labyrinthine passageways of the Halls of Durin, between broken smithies and treasure holds now stripped bear, the denizens of the Black Pit had been preparing. Now, with the agitation of some of their war-chieftains and messages brought by dark birds, the swarming folk would come forth. In times past they had sallied to slay Dwarf, or Elf, taking the passes of Carathras for their own. In force the hordes came to war, their chittering a rising wave of sound. Across the Bridge they came scampering, nearly six thousands all told- a part of the strength of the Deep Realm. Though weak creatures and frail, they were swift and cunning, and poison was ever their favorite weapon. Beneath the moldering smoke of the Darkness and the pre-dawn darkness they came forth from the steaming gate. The Mirrormere lay before them, but some of the noses of the creatures scented nasty elves in the vicinity. With a clash of weapons and high war cries, the goblins searched for their foes.
Ungband, Tol Brandir
Along the span of obsidian that bridged the Falls of Rauros the tramp of marching feet came, and the iron gates of Ungband the Terrible opened. A host of Morannon Orcs, ten thousands strong, came forth. Their burning brands lit the tableau in garish red and black, glinting steel weapons and snarling faces upturned under the murk of Mordor. Long prepared to hold the passages of the river, now Mairon perceived that his foes had been beaten down, the valor of men spent and the time of the elves ending. Word came from Lugburz to send forth all legions, and like a sea of barbed corn tossed by a summer storm the roiling army of the Barad-Dur marched west.