The Lord of the Rings RP [IC]

[Black Marshes]

Outskirts of Morgul Vale, Contested Lands of the Dead City
The great host of Orcs and riders marched into the plains between the Dead City of Minas Morgul and the rubble of Osgiliath. The air was filled with the combined beats of drums, boots and hooves on the grass, as well as the flapping of the Witch King's fell beast.
He looked over his army, inspecting it and it's surroundings, and then turned his empty crown towards the 'city' of Ogiliath. 'Those ruins,' he thought, 'Will soon belong to the Dark Lord- a bastion from where he could attack the White City. He then looked towards the wilds of Ithilien, home to the rangers of Gondor. They needed to fall before Osgiliath was taken- the forests burnt and the men purged, but first the Morgul Vale needed to be secured.
The Orc mass was called to a halt, and they began the deployment of crude defenses, such as shield walls and stakes. Here they would battle the men of Gondor if need be, and take the region once and for all, from where they could slay the rangers and push Gondor back across the Anduin. The Witch King scouted his encampment's perimeter atop his mount, leaving the army to do their business.


Minas Morgul
The Orcs and Trolls who remained in the Dead City continued the construction of their towers, whilst regular patrols were sent across the Vale.


Barad-Dur, Mordor
The Black One flew across the skies of the wastes of Mordor. Below him the ash of Mount Doom fouled the air and blanketed the plains, and the Black Gate in the distance stood proud, ready to deter any attack from the doomed people of the West, but he cared not for those lands, for his true calling was the lands of Khand to the East, which he had once reigned over. He now awaited his master's command.

Witch King and his army have set up camp in contested region.
Construction of towers in Minas Morgul continues.
Adunaphel the Black One awaits his commands from Sauron.
Minas Morgul claims South Ithilien

[Valentir]

Rivendell, the Last Homely House East of the Sea
Sylvanas, Arveleg and her Rangers walked down the path into the Valley where Rivendell stood. They marched single file along the windy rocky path. The sounds of pots and pans clinking together and metals boot stomping on the ground filled their ears. The party walked for a short distance before the Vale of Imladris revealed itself. There sat the Last Homely East of the Sea, perched on the sides of vale. The air was fresh and Sylvanas took a deep breath. The valley was full of beautiful trees, the ground lush and vibrant. The waters fell from the sides of the valley cascading down into the river. "There my lady, Rivendell!" said Captain Falwyn.

Sylvanas smiled, "Yes, the Last Homely House. Even after all these years it is still beautiful." The rangers continued their walk. The light of the sun illuminated off of Imladris, the beauty of this outpost legendary. The party walked up the winding path to the gates. The architecture of the Elves was astounding. Elegant, graceful, full of life. Its good to be home again, thought Sylvanas. She went to the head of the column of her rangers and announced herself. "Greetings my kin of Rivendell! The Rangers of Fornost return! I, Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger General of the Elven Dunedain, seek audience with Elrond, Lord of the Last Homely House!"

[The Overlord of Spree]

Kel'Thuzad's Keep, Rhudaur
The smell of death and decay filled the Northern air. The cart moved slowly along the road, winding along the rocky path towards the worn down hut. Smoke rose from the old brick chimney and the smell of corpses stuck to the small little hut. As the cart approached the hut cultists could be seen. They wore flowing robes, tattered and worn. Their boots were of leather, old and black. The men wore the skulls of dead animals on their heads and many appeared to have cloaks made out of...skin. I've made a terrible mistake coming here, though Barliman as he halted his cart.

A cultist approached him, "Greetings Barliman, we are glad to see you. It seems you upheld your part of the bargain, now we will uphold ours." The cultist went into the house. Voices could be heard, dark voices. A screech came from inside the house, a flash of green light. Barliman unhooked his horse from his cart and was ready to flee when a voice called out to him, "Barliman, do not think of running, I will catch you." Barliman shivered in fear, his horse let out a neigh. He looked around him, the cultists were gathering around his cart and him, forming a circle. Then he saw him, coming out of the small hut, a dark presence. It appeared as a skeleton, and yet it was floating, hovering above the ground. It had no legs and no skin and chains were tightened on it's shoulders. It's hands were long, sharp, and bony, plated in iron. The remnants of purple robes fluttered about it, and a strange blue glow came from it's head, and where it's heart would be. The thing approached Barliman and came up to him, face-to-face they were now.
"Ah, Barliman, my friend, I'm so very glad to see you. Tis cold today, and the night is dark and full of terrors," the thing looked at the cart, "Ah, capital! A fresh batch of corpses! Please, come join me my friend, let us drink wine and talk of our lives!"

Fear overcame Barliman, he let out a yelp and quivered in fear, "Please, I have a wife and children, please don't kill me! I've been bringing you corpses for years, please let me leave!"

The thing let out a maniacal laugh, "Oh my friend, I do not seek to kill you. And you may call me Kel'Thuzad, the Lich Lord. Now, come in and join us!" Kel'Thuzad pointed a bony finger at his hut. The cultists were entering, one by one.

"Please my Lord Kel'Thuzad, just let me go! You don't even have to pay me. This batch is free of charge. LET ME GO!" The fat old oaf fell of his horse and and was shaking on the ground.

Kel'Thuzad sighed, "Arthas, get out here! Bring me my knife!" A cultist with flowing white hair and pale blue eyes came out of the hut. He was followed by three other cultists and he held a dark iron knife in his hand. "Stand him up and get him inside. Kill the horse, get those bodies to the cellar, and get a fire going." The cultists bowed and obeyed. Barliman was dragged to a small crypt not far from the hut. He was pushed down the cold stone steps and into the depths. The cultists tied him to a wooden table and began to undress him. He was half awake, but he could hear their voices and the deep voice of Kel-Thuzad. He thought they were going to torture him, but the room got quite. It sounded as if they had left him there. A surge of pain went up Barliman's leg as a knife plunged into his flesh. Another shot of pain came from his arm as he was stabbed there as well. Water splashed his face, it was cold. "Well Barliman, your time has come. We thank you for your service to our cause, but we have need of your body. Don't worry, it won't go to waste. We have a use for every bit, your eyes, ears, mouth, skin, legs, your member, and you buttocks! You are fat too, so much flesh to experiment with, so much meat to add onto our specimens! Good bye, my old friend, and let the pain take!" Kel-Thuzad plunged a knife into Barliman's neck. Blood was everywhere. He screamed and cried and begged for mercy, but the cultists would not stop. His screams could be heard all the way from the hut, and Kel-Thuzad chuckled everytime he cried for his wife. Barliman still clung for life, begging and pleading. It was hopeless. Soon he was dead, his body ripped apart, divided into sections and set aside for later use.

The Cultists, part of the Cult of the Damned, had been experimenting with humans for years, and Barliaman was but one of thousands. He was not the first, nor was he the last. Kel-Thuzad formed great and terrible creations within his keep, and Barliman a project he was eagerly excited about possible. This was the terror of the Cult of the Damned, dark experiments, necromancy, fel magics, and a hunger to spread death. Kel'Thuzad, the Lich Lord, King of Death, Overlord of the Damned, and Master of Dark Magic, had been at this for nearly 2000 years, and even now, his new reign of Darkness was just beginning.

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Barad-Dur, Mordor

From the top of the spire a presence manifested next to Adunaphel, a figure of shadow, as of roiling smoke over a flame. An effervescent hand waved eastward before the eyeless face of the Black One, and the Dark Lord spoke, his voice as deep as the depths untrammeled of Arda itself.

"Many years ago, my son Adunaphel, my allies amongst the men known in the west as the Wain-Riders waged war alongside my forces, slaying many great men of Gondor, and bringing low the kings of old. Their like is not found in the world today; the blood of Numenor is all but spent, spilt by our hands over the years upon foreign soils, by the blades of kin, the spears of foes, the knives of deceit. Seek again their allegiance, those who would wage war anew upon the West, and win glory, renown, and lands for their people. With them in train with the hosts now marshalled, the west will burn. They worship me as a god made flesh, and so your words to them will bring all to anger and wroth, and then another army will be upon the doorstep of the last sons of Isildur."

As a wind passes over the dying lands of Westernesse, the form of smoke dissolved, a flitting column dispelled by a breeze- only to be replaced by the cloying smoke of Orodruin.

[Liecthenbourg]

Gongtown, The Mountains of Rhun
The Mouth's smile widen immensely and he nodded at the request of the Elder Gong.
"I shall return with these Blades Black, rest that assured. As Sauron's Voice upon Arda, my words carry the weight to sway the fate of this land."
With that said, the Mouth departed from the peculiar area known as Gongtown. Walking back through the stony and jagged passes with the full heat of the Rhunic Sun upon him he eventually returned back to the main valley pass, where his steed had been awaiting for him. No sooner than by mid-day had the Mouth set off once more, travelling North to Dorwinion to retrieve the Blades Black. Gold and promises would be used, for the hearts of men were like that of Dwarves, filled with greed and with a lust for security.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Eastern Mirkwood

Like wind of the plains the men of the band that Mahor led had passed through the Brown Lands. No soul had they seen, save some Rhunic traders returning with goods from the fortress itself. Their exchange had been amicable enough, and the trading was good; here rain fell frequently, and though the grass was shorter than it might be, it had a pleasant nutty aroma that was kind to the senses, and seemed to fill the horses and remounts of the Eastern soldiers well. A tough band they were, drawn together by the charisma of Mahor and personal achievements over the years. There ranged Barthan, a slender man like a willow, capable of putting an arrow through the eye of a bird at a hundred paces at a gallop. Here rode Turumbar, a great beast of a man, his hair as red as the coals of a campfire, who had slain a bear by crushing its ribcage in his arms. All stout fellows, to whom Mahor would trust his life. As the horsemen eyed the woods ahead, he hoped he would not have to. Here a road went beneath the trees, paved in fine basalt and guarded by some disciplined Orcs emblazoned with the symbol of the Eye Rampant. They had already spoken, and passage was fine.

Onwards trotted the company, in to the cloying close air of the forest. Dol Guldur was their prize.

[Liecthenbourg]

Southern Dorwinion
The Mouth of Sauron sat atop his horse as it galloped along the road upon which he had been instructed to follow by the Elder Gong - to his left and right were vineyards, rumoured to grow the finest grapes for the finest wine in the entirety of Arda. Delectable, surely, but not to the Mouth's forte. He shook the reins of his steed, causing its slow and graceful trot to erupt into a steady and pacey gallop. Eventually, as the sun set over the Misty Mountains in the distance, the Lieutenant had hitched his steed upon a post and walked within the Town Hall of this Dorwinion Village.
He sat inside, ready to converse with the Lord.
"Greetings" the Mouth began as he extended a hand forward. "You seem to be in the possession of somethings of great importance to my Master, Sauron the Great." Before more could be said, the Mouth held up his arms.
"Do not fear, Man, I come in the words of diplomacy and only wish to offer you a deal for the Blades Black." The Mouth then tossed a small purse filled with gold onto the table. "A fair trade, as well if you accept I shall inform my Master to not harm this village when and if the legions of Mordor arrive North. What say you, lord of the village?"

[G-Tech Corporation]

Amon Lanc, Southern Mirkwood

With the clatter of hooves on stone the part of the East-Men passed in to the stronghold of Dol Guldur, once a great redoubt of the Lord Sauron and the Great Eye, now a mightier citadel still. On all sides battlements rose, manned by men drawn to the service of the Dark Lord and Orcs innumerable. It was tall, its gates thick, its ramparts as fortified as any save those of the fortresses of the High King of the Easterlings. With a touch of trepidation the dark haired man dismounted from his destrier, and asked of the stabler that came to take charge of it where he could find the servant of Khamul who would allow him access to the labyrinthian passages below this ancient fortress. With a crooked finger the Uruk indicated a small squat bastion, and with a bow and a small copper coin Mahor accepted the advice. With long strides he made his way to the thick obsidian doors that barred the passageway into the fortress, and passed within.

High Pass, Misty Mountains

The Nazgul peered west, towards the accursed Imladris and their elvish lands. The Hidden Valley, it was called, but he could almost smell the enchantment upon the wind. About him goblin-soldiers stood straighter, now better trained and led since he had selected new leaders for their clans and forged them in to a more cohesive whole. The Great Eye's fingers were many, and his grasp long indeed. In the shadows of the Mountains men termed Misty the Orcs teemed, a plague upon travelers, and now more organized, a foe worth reckoning with instead of the pathetic rabble he had found them in. But this was merely a dalliance, for in the distance, near Rivendell, a fell power moved. Faceless the Nazgul looked west, still feeling the radiant malignancy that his master had discerned from so far afield. Some great power for evil, for destruction, walked there, and Sauron would find what was the source of that potency, for all evil things now were in the time to come forth.

Eastern Emyn Muil

Great horns winded, and marching lines of Orcs clad in the black armor and red banners of the Great Eye trudged north and west, having come safely along carefully discerned paths through the fens of Dagorlad. At the head of the host one of the fell beasts winged hither and thither, watching from afar for ought to slay in these many trackless hills. Hosts upon hosts the great lord had, and this land was empty save for the crags and the stones. But use it would have, for the Falls of Rauros were upon its western borders, and Tol Brandir would provide a useful staging point for many purposes that came from Lugburz in the east. The shadow spread, anon and anon.

Dagorlad

Over the fens and muck of the immense swamp winged one of the Nine, the Ring-Wraiths that served the will of Sauron, his first children. A shadow at night it was, but below it its eyeless face saw a darker shadow still; it moved as it walked, a snare for light and sight, and behind it scuttled low forms. The spawn of Ungoliant, perhaps, perhaps, and powerful and fell indeed. Such a sight could not be ignored, and down the Nazgul swept, landing before the path of the shadow and standing forth to assess it.

[Prusslandia]

Calemvir watched as the fellbeast softly landed, noting the presence of the Nazgul. Ordering his smaller brethren back, he walked towards the fell being, momentarily bowing before speaking. " Greetings, one of the Nine, servant of Glorious Sauron, servant of Melkor the Imprisoned. Why are you here ? " Calemvir hissed, his tone respectful yet fearful. Though he was powerful, the being before him was one of the Nine, and could slay him in a heartbeat.

[The Miaphysite Church of Coptic Archism]

Saruman's chambers, Orthanc
Saruman the White, head of the white council, highest ranking and most powerful Maiar on the free people's side, Warden of Orthanc and a wizard of frightening potential, paced his chamber. His humble servant, the slimy Grima Wormtongue, stood, bent over as if he was about to wretch, in a corner of the room. "Do you know what a Palantir is?" Saruman's booming voice asked. "The Seeing-stones, my lord." Saruman nodded as he paced. "Very good. The Palantiri, or seeing-stones, were built by the Ñoldorin in ages past. Powerful magical items with the ability to see leagues into the distance, to communicate with other users of Palantiri, to gain knowledge and for other purposes still." Wormtongue listened closely to his master's words, often they carried knowledge in them. "Were you aware, Grima, that the tower of Orthanc housed a Palantir?"

Wormtongue was slightly taken aback. He had not put much thought into the subject, but was vaguely aware of this fact. "In fact, the Palantir of Orthanc only vanished from this tower recently. On a relative scale of time." Grima furrowed his brow and asked "What of it, my lord? The Palantir has been missing for hundreds of years." Saruman nodded once again. "It has, and now you will find it, and you will bring it back here." Grima's eyes widened and he spluttered out a protest, "My lord, where am I to even begin?" Saruman stopped pacing and turned to Grima, looking him directly in the eye. "You will look north, to what was once called Arnor." Grima, obviously upset at the idea, nodded and bowed.

As Grima was leaving the room, a several crows, seemingly organized together, flew through the window and landed on Saruman's desk. Grima expected some magical punishment for these birds, but Saruman simply approached them, leaned in and began whispering. Soon, the crows flew out of the window again. Of course the White Wizard's eyes and ears were everywhere. Saruman would likely have been looking for signs of the Palantir with his birds for some time now. Saruman stood tall once again, and turned to watch Grima leave to begin an arduous journey north.

[Liecthenbourg]

Southern Dorwinion
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" the corrupt lord yelled as his hands clutched the curse of bold protectively, in the eyes (Hehe) of the Mouth, it appeared to be like a father holding his son. Regardless, the lord did his bit and with a quick flurry of many-a-keys he opened the large wall cabinet, pulling forth the three Blades Black. The Mouth placed the three in their hilts, as given to him by the Elder Gong. He slung one of the ebony black hilts over his back, whilst keeping the other two at his waist.
"Your dealing here will not be forgotten, Lord of the Village" with a quick, evil and malicious smile the Mouth turned, his cape swiftly turning due to their air created and he departed. Unhitching his horse for the post is what he did next, for he was tired of this place and wished to return to the Gongs. No sooner had he mounted the creature, it had turned to darkness and now night was upon him. This did not bother him in the slightest, for the vision given to him by his master was eternal and everlasting. He reared his horse, digging his metallic boots into its side before it began to gallop rapidly off back towards the Mountains of Rhun.

[The Miaphysite Church of Coptic Archism]

Somewhere in mid-Dunland
Grima Wormtongue muttered to himself quietly, complaining of his sorrows and his troubles. What had he ever gotten from his service to Saruman? But there was no leaving the service of the White Wizard. Grima longed for many things, most of which it's likely he'd never acquire. In any case, he had a job to do for his master. Grima looked into the sky to see several crows overhead. Saruman was at least keeping watch on his servant, whether this was good or bad for Grima was debatable. As he looked back down he noticed a small group of men with spears and leather armor approaching from the hills around the road. Just what Grima needed, Dunlandings. "Who passes through Dunland?"

Grima cleared his throat. "I am Grima Wormtongue, servant of the great and powerful wizard Saruman." One of the Dunlandings stepped closer, spear still held high, and asked "You with the Straw-Heads?" Grima shook his head so ferociously it might have came off. "I and my lord serve not Rohan, but our own purposes. In fact, Saruman has plans to court your people soon in the future. My master will bring with him gifts and protection from the, erm, the straw-heads." The Dunlandings, thoroughly confused by the eloquent language used by Grima, lowered their spears. Grima stood silently for several seconds, an idea forming in his mind. Quickly, he began to speak.

"Saruman sends me on a great task for him, to find an artifact, a very important one. Saruman is your ally, he shall stop the Straw-Heads from ever attacking your people again, and he will extend his hand in friendship. You men must join me, and guard me on my mission." One or two in the group looked convinced. Wormtongue quickly added, "There will be great rewards for those who serve Saruman well. Gold, prestige, real armor..." The band of four or five Dunlandings looked set. The one who had done the talking before took another step forwards, held his spear in the sky and shouted, "We will fight for Saruman!"

It's only like 4 or 5 guys who I'll be using for RPing purposes with Wormtongue only. Please no one get their knickers in a twist.

[Limborg]

Erebor
Dáin had been travelling from Erebor to the Iron hills very often lately. He himself looked to the north, the Grey Mountains, Ered Luin. For a long time they had been great Dwarven Strongholds, but since the arrival of the drakes they where destroyed aand burned down. Dáin wasn't going to let that go, he wanted those regions back, and he would start whiping out those Drakes by himself.
Soon he gatherd 700 Dwarves and started his march towards the Withered Heath, where the nests of the Drakes where located.

Some of the Lords in Erebor objected, stating that it could lure a drage to Erebor. But Dáin had no worries, Smaug had been called the last great Dragon, the last of his kin, even by those who had traveld North. Dáin was going to proceed his way, to whipe out these lesser worms. These weaklings amongst the Dragons. He would put an end to their reign of terror.

---

Claiming Ered Luin
Started Quest: The hole of the Dragon

[G-Tech Corporation]

Gongton, Mountains of Rhun

As the Mouth of the Forge-Lord entered Gongton once more, at the rising of the sun, the sentries bowed low, seeing he bore the ancient blades as requested. Most of the village turned out as word of the masked man's success spread from hovel to hovel, and many great warriors clashed spear on shield, shouting out, "The Mouth! The Mouth returns victorious! Praise be to Melkor the Rampant, and Sauron of the Forge!" Rendered in Orc-speech it was a harsh cry, but the martial pride within it was obvious, and as the Mouth dismounted the Highest Gong came towards him from the longhouse. Fat he seemed, but under the fat was layer upon layer of muscle, and he was almost Uruk-high in stature, a great brute and powerful fighter in his time.

He bowed, as one would to a respected friend, and spoke in a deep voice.

"So, you return victorious. You need not enter in to the council and convince us to join your war; the hot blood runs strong in the youth and warriors, and ever since your arrival they have talked of naught but war and glory to be had. Many of our finest warriors wish to march west with you, and crush the foes of the Lord Melkor and Lord Sauron. I thank you, on behalf of the village, for your faithfulness in retrieving these, our ancestral weapons. They are all we have now of the glory of the ancients, the honor and power that was in the hands of the Gongs when Utumno was delved and Angband raised, when the Darkness was fell and terrible. I would see those days come again, and those who cursed the name of our Lord and trod us down spurned in to the dirt in their turn."

Behind him came clanking a line of Gong archers, clever compound bows at their backs, eyes keen, five hundred in all.

The Highest Gong turned.

"To war!"

The cries were fierce and loud in the vales of the Mountains of Rhun, as the Gongs marched to war for Sauron, Lord of the Earth.

[Of planets]

Edoras
King Theoden was a cautious man, he had sent his lower marshals recruiting for the men for the war effort, it was likely the militia would be mobilised in the near future. For now, however, it was Theoden, Eowyn and just over 3000 men. Theoden had decided to stay and oversee the construction of some defences, as he'd requested of Theodred in Helms deep. Eowyn had come just short of begging Theoden to allow her to go with Eomer, however he remained adamant that her duties remained at Edoras

500 royal guard
2400 Infantry
300 archers
Edoras walls and gate improved

Helms deep
Theodred's men arrived at the Hornburg in good time, the bastion of Rohan had not been used in some time and, while well-maintained, the fortifications were not built towards today's system of warfare. Theodred set to work on the fortifications immediately, planning out his options and making ready for any kind of attack. Theodred thought of an attack on Dunland but discounted it as it would create a multi-front war.

1900 Infantry
700 archers
4 archer towers and 2 ballistae towers constructed.

Marshlands border
Eomer looked over his troops, he did not think the marshlands were worth a single life to Rohan. Rohan only needed the Marshlands to keep Mordor off-balance, incapable of quickly staging an invasion force and preventing Mordor's strategic advantage. Eomer knew all these men were experienced, they wouldn't question their orders even if it killed them. Eomer didn't want to take the horses over the marsh, he took 800 men on the initial expedition, 500 archers and 300 infantry men, they hunted the passages for the troops of Mordor, as if daring a response from Sauron himself

1700 infantry
1000 archers

[Emilio Aguinaldo]

The Haradrim had already set camp in an open field that stretches for a long distance, both them and any army that will try to march through the night can be easily seen. With that security, Mehmet, the host’s leader had counted his men. In his count he listed: 2000 Infantry 1000 Archers 600 Cavalry 50 Half Trolls and 2Muhmakils. The massive host now await the enemy, if they will give battle or not.

[Liecthenbourg]

En route to Mordor
The Mouth sat atop his steed, as his new Gong Force marched across the land to return to Mordor. At his left marched an Orc whom he had learnt was called Durnazag, a large Gong indeed. This Durnazag was a proud warrior, and the Mouth had noticed one of the Blades Black was being used by this formidable fighter.
Durnazag grunted as he marched alongside the Mouth and his Mount, the remaining Gongs behind him. He held the banner of Sauron high as they marched, for the calls of war were soon to be approaching.

Marshlands Border
Along the mist filled paths of the Marshlands, shadows of Orcs moved. Their marching was rhythmic, each left boot of the Orcs present pressing into the stone pathway simultaneously, as did their right foot. They marched onwards, this segment of the undying war machine of Sauron would not falter. Orders were barked from the Orc Captains to keep in formation, for their Commander would not be pleased when he saw them. They marched onwards, the voices of the Orcs growing quieter in the mist. Surely, Rohirrim Scouts would have heard this peculiar event.

[The cold ice]

Thranduil looked upon the walls around the opening of the great cave, with their large gate rising tall, and the beginnings of six towers upon them. How I hope war does not come here, he thought, for he remembered still when his father moved north from Amon Lanc, and he knew that there was no place to go now, if the Shadow moved farther north still. His memories of the past and of peace were interrupted as a scout report regarding a strange massing of spiders came in.

Legolas was with a scouting party in the woods, and thought of the coming storm. He held little envy of the defenders of Lorien, for the war would soon come there. He held little fear, however, for he had heard such great power lay with Galadriel, that the forces of the Enemy could not hope to take it as long as she was there, save if Sauron himself came with the One Ring in tow. The prince of Mirkwood frowned. Something was off about that last part. Dol Guldur could not take Lothlorien unaided while Galadriel was there... His thoughts were interrupted by one of the other elves. "Look," he whispered, while pointing at a source of quite some noise (as elves reckon), which Legolas had ignored in his thinking. It was a diminutive figure with a rather grand beard, and as Legolas looked upon his face a memory from not so long ago stirred. One of another time dwarves were found wandering in the woods. He told the others to lower their bows, and stepped out of the foliage.
"Greetings, friend dwarf! What brings you to our woods?"

Thranduil was troubled and torn. On the one hand he wanted very much to stay away from Dol Guldur, especially if Dale faltered, and on the other he wished to be able to defend himself from armies marching north. He had after long thinking decided that he needed a perimeter more than he feared reprisals from the south, and ordered the borders expanded modestly beyond the old road, and a defensive line prepared.

Claiming whichever unclaimed Mirkwood region between Dol Guldur and me lies the farthest north.
Started quest (sort of): Light of the forest.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Dagorlad

The Nazgul mused over the name the spawn of Ungoliaht gave. Not one his master was familiar with, but it appeared that had to be changed. This spider had intellect beyond that of his brethren indeed. The fallen Ringbearer waved a plated black iron hand and spoke.

"I could ask the same of you. I watch the lands of my Lord, Sauron. Why travel you through his dominion?"

[Prusslandia]

Dagorlad

The Nazgul mused over the name the spawn of Ungoliant gave. Not one his master was familiar with, but it appeared that had to be changed. This spider had intellect beyond that of his brethren indeed. The fallen Ringbearer waved a plated black iron hand and spoke.

"I could ask the same of you. I watch the lands of my Lord, Sauron. Why travel you through his dominion?"

" I wish to greet my mother, Shelob. She lives within the Glorious ones lands. I also wish to greet Sauron the Glorious. " Calemvir said, less wary now. The Spiders behind him waited, a few of the younger ones scuttling about Calemvir's legs. One leg shift, and a very young Spider, only the size of an arrow shaft, was crushed beneath his feet. Calemvir paid no mind to the death of the young one.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Dagorlad

The Nazgul nodded. Shelob was known to all those who had passed time in the Tower of Sorcery. An ancient evil, one Sauron tolerated for she guarded a passage in to the Black Land with great strength.

"I will carry your words to my lord. It may be the Eye will count you among its friends; travel safe to Ciroth Ungol, great spider."

With a swoop of scaled wings, a rustle of talons, the Nazgul took to the air, resuming its surveillance of the Dead Marshes.

[Maineiacs]

The messengers sent forth by Celeborn journeyed together along the bank of the Silverlode until the point where it met Nimrodel. There, they separated. The first, named Edrahil, went west seeking Théoden at the hall of Meduseld at Edoras in Rohan. The second, named Galathil, went north to Thranduil of the Woodland Realm in Northern Mirkwood. The third, named Erellont, also went north, but turned aside to seek the Beornings in the Vale of Anduin. Each had a long journey ahead of them. Time was of the essence. The Lady Galadriel had seen through her gift of foresight that Dol Guldur would soon make war upon Lórien. While the Golden Wood itself would not fall save the Dark Lord himself coming forth and bearing the One, which he did not have, a battle would cost many lives, and once the Nazgûl of Dol Guldur realized he could not conquer Lórien, he was likely to turn aside and assail one of Lórien's neighbors. The task that the Lord Celeborn had laid upon each of his envoys was to travel to each of Lórien's neighbors offering a warning of the imminent attack, along with the counsel of the Lord and Lady and, if they wished it, an offer of alliance.

Galadriel reasoned that Thranduil would at least accept counsel, and gird his people for war, even if alliance was less likely. Thranduil was more likely to seek out the Men of Esgaroth and Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor. Perhaps some small force from Lórien could help strengthen Thranduil's own force if he needed to send troops east to the Long Lake. Rohan was likely to prove more reticent. First, Théoden had Saruman the White for a neighbor, and would probably turn there first if he felt any need for alliance. Second, the Men of Rohan spoke of the Golden Wood with dread and superstition, referring to Galadriel herself as "the Sorceress of the Wood" -- usually in whispered tones, possibly making even gaining admittance to Meduseld difficult. And further, Rohan would at some point come west, not to Lórien, but at the request of Gondor. The Beornings were another matter still. They were a secretive people, few in number and distrustful of strangers. It was said that they were not overfond of Dwarves, but since they had little dealings with Elves, negotiations might prove difficult.

[Verdo-Releignia]

Akhorahil stirs, but not from a dream; he never sleeps. His black cloak of a head slowly turns to face the direction of a small noise. He is on his dark steed, outside of the Black Gate. His business there is not official...he simply roams where he pleases until given an order. His very soul(whats left of it anyways) is attached to the ring on his finger; a ring of power. An uneducated man might say that this ring corrupted him, made him sickly inside. But a man with a taste of it might say he evolved when he took its power. He now serves Sauron, who was once a Lowly Lieutenant of Melkor and a Necromancer. But now, as Akhorahil had done, he has risen to greater things.

[Liecthenbourg]

The Black Gate
Before the immenseness of the Black Gate stood the Mouth of Sauron, atop his dreadful steed that he had now given a name: Shakhgul; Dark Sorcery in the tongues of men. He gestured to one of the nearby Gongs, one whom he had promoted to the rank of officer to lead this battle group.
The Gong nodded and obeyed the Voice of his Master, reaching onto his leather belt and grabbing a curved ivory war horn. He blew greatly into the device, creating the tune unique to the Mouth as to inform the trolls and sentries it was the Lieutenant of Barad-dur.
Within a few moments the Gate to Mordor, the Gate to Hell itself in the eyes of men, opened and the Voice of the Abhorred Dead and his entourage of vengeful and warmongering Gongs marched inside. Durnazag himself was impressed, a little on edge as well, for he was being led to his new home, that of the Forge-Master, Sauron the Great.

[Limborg]

Somewhere in Mirkwood
Glóin had walked around for days now, he started to fear that he was lost when he suddenly heard a voice. He quickly turned towards the sound, seeing some Elves from the Woodland Realm. "Greetings, my friends" he said. Glóin was one of the few who had no problems with Elves, he was there, at the day that the Dwarves fought alongside the Elves, he was there when friendship was born. He lowerd his axe, wich he had raised when he turned to the voice. He walked close, "I am heading for my cousin in Khazad-Dûm, but i might have lost my way through here. Time has changed this place so much that i could not remember the paths." he told the elves.

Withered Heath
Dáin and the 700 Dwarves had arrived at the footsteps of the Withered Heath, a wasteland between the end of Ered Mithrin. Drakes where still present in this area, and Dáin planned to whipe them out for good, he wanted to secure this place, to bring back the old Mountains under the rule of Dwarves.
His men consisted out of volunteer soldiers, he could not demand such quest, he could not force soldiers to face a dragon, even a small one. In the end he had to do with what he had.
They would march along the foot of the Mountains, they would search out every cave there was, the Dragons would have no place to hide and they would face certain death.