View Full Version : The Ice Fortress: The Angmar Army Headquarters

28/Jun/2016, 08:26 AM
221(source (https://moshulsf.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/28-alex-popescu-ice-castle.jpg))

A single road leads from the city of Carn Dm to the Ice Fortress, passing through the dangerous, treacherous cliffs of Angmar. The Army of Angmar's New Headquarters, commonly known as the Ice Fortress, are located in the mountains, not far above Carn Dm. The lonely road ends in a massive iron gate, part of the high, white wall of the enormous Ice Fortress. Two banners hanging down on both sides of the gate feature a single white snowflake on a black background, the symbol of the Ice Queen of Angmar. Guards circle the wall nonstop, permitting only army members and those wishing to join the army to enter. Behind the gate, a broad path winds through a wide courtyard. The ground is always covered with a thick layer of snow, removed only from the path by slaves and soldiers. The courtyard is full of strange statues, sculptured from ice by an unknown artist. They are full of detail, and look almost completely similar to real-life men, elves, Dwarves, Wargs, and orcs, except they're made of ice. Dark rumors have spread about the courtyard, and it was soon known by the astonishing nickname "The Queen's Garden". On the other side of the Queen's Garden stands a white tower with eight floors, built into the side of the mountain behind it. That is the headquarters of the Angmar Army, surrounded by the courtyard and a semicircle of a wall which begins and ends in the mountain.

The Ice Fortress consists of the following locations:

The First Floor: The door to the tower is guarded by two stone statues of snarling werewolves. Inside, blazing torches reveal a circular reception hall, the ceiling so high it cannot be seen in the torchlight. A giant white snowflake is located in the center of the black stone floor, and doors leading to long staircases can be found all around the room. There are no real receptionists in the room, but soldiers sitting and drinking or smoking on the chairs and couches around the floor can be asked any questions (whether you'll receive answers or a sword at your neck - that's up to them).

The Second Floor: The kitchens and dining hall can be found here. There's also a pub, The Knife, that serves drinks in a separate room.

Menu (Pub & Kitchen)

Meat - Warg, man, elf, Dwarf, or other animals; served upon request raw, cooked, roasted, or fried
Bread - Do you want it burnt, very burnt, or badly burnt?
Vegetables - in a salad, in a stew, frozen, or accompanying fish

Beer or Ale - the very best (and the very worst; depends on how well you can bribe the bartender)
Wine - from Mordor, Angmar, or stolen (Gondor, Rohan, Mirkwood, Esgaroth - they're all available, if you have some gold)
Orc-drink - even the orcs do not know what it contains
Blood - hot or cold; an Angmar classic

If you want anything else that's not on the menu, ask the bartender or cook.


Third floor: Armory and storage rooms. Weapons such as spears, swords, and daggers are organized in neat rows next to shields, helmets, and other armor pieces. All the equipment has a white snowflake on a black background painted on it. The storage rooms contain food, bedding, shelves, and any other items the soldiers might want.

Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Floors: Barracks for orcs, men, and Dwarves. Please note that many rooms are not labeled with numbers or letters, as the dwellers cannot read, but rather with a symbol or mark representing themselves. This is the reason no one knows the exact number of rooms in the barracks, but somehow there's always a room available for a joining soldier. Each room has a simple bed; basic items for the room (bedding and shelves, for example) could be taken from the storage rooms (floor three), but the rest must be personal belongings of the room's dweller (meaning - not sponsored by army).

Seventh Floor: Exit to training grounds & Training Grounds.

Training Grounds: The training grounds are found inside the seventh floor, on the roof of the fortress, and mostly outside, on a vast platform jutting out of the mountain. See The Lone Lands Archives (http://lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?75730-Lone-Lands-Archives&p=657785#post657785) for more information on the training systems.

Trainee Name & Trainer
Unarmed Combat
Armed Combat
Ranged Combat
Weapon of Choice

Eighth Floor: private rooms & offices of Dhamon and Jadis.

Warg Pits: found underground, the Warg Pits contain Wargs, wolves, and some werewolves to be used in training, battles, and transportation. There are also some pet wolfish animals lurking in the pits. The werewolves may choose to sleep in there or in caves at the mountainside.

Dungeons: You walk down a long corridor. Foul water drip on you from the moist ceiling, and all you can feel is the terrible cold... Ancient cells hold dangerous criminals on both sides of the corridor, and their eyes follow you as you pass the iron bars preventing their freedom. A thin layer of frost covers the black walls... the jailers could not care less whether their prisoners starve or freeze to death. The torches lighting the passage flicker in a sudden blast of wind, and a scream pierces the silence momentarily. Then all sounds die down save the constant dripping sound and the sound of your feet as they splash into a puddle of foul underground water. You are a guard, and your shift ends every 12 hours.

You are a criminal. You've murdered, stolen, or harmed one of the Queen's soldiers or their property. You were thrown into a small, cold cell in the dungeons. Now you sit on your two handfuls of straw and watch the nervous guards pace back and forth. You know you get one meal per day: a moldy crust of bread and a cup of nasty water. Sometimes, the guards will forget to feed you. You'll stay in the dungeon until you die of starvation, of sickness, of freezing, or simply until all the cells are full and the Queen decides to get rid of a few prisoners in order to make room for more important criminals. No prisoner leaves the dungeons alive.

You are an important prisoner. You are an elf, a Ranger, or belong to the Free Peoples. You are thrown into a cell in the deepest parts of the dungeon. You receive a little more straw to sleep on, and the guards know they'll be punished if they forget to feed you. You get better water and one meal every day, consisting of bread, a little meat, and some vegetables. You are scheduled for torture three times per week. Heartless guards torture you in a big room at the end of the dungeons corridor. Thousands of the best torturing equipment are scattered all around the room. Sometimes, soldiers who are thought to be cowards are sent there to watch the torturing. The officers believe it teaches them a great lesson in cruelty.

Guards or Torturers
Tortured Prisoners
Simple Criminals

(If you are a criminal, important prisoner, or guard, your name will be added above)

Wall & Courtyard: There are always 5 guards circling the wall. Their shifts end every 12 hours. The guard with the highest rank (or the one with the most points) is considered the commander of the wall, and the rest must follow his orders.

Stables: for horses only. Wolves go in the Warg Pits, all other animals stay in owner's room or on training grounds.


To join the army RP entering the Ice Fortress and heading towards the First Floor. Inside, an officer ranking higher than an Aggressor will ask you for your name, race, military experience, and summarized biography. The officer will then decide whether you should be accepted into the army or not. If you are accepted, you may head up to the training grounds and begin your training with an Aggressor (or an officer ranking higher than an aggressor, if no aggressors are available).

Follow the Imladris Convention (http://www.lotrplaza.com/content.php?170-Presenting-The-New-Imladris-Convention) at all times.

Follow the general Lone Lands posting policy (http://lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?78736-Three-Farthing-Stone-All-Please&p=657884#post657884).

You may Godmode only if you have the ranks of Imperator or Magnate. Even then, be careful to do so only when absolutely necessary, and try to avoid doing any major Godmoding without alerting the person you're RP'ing with first.

Be family-friendly, do not spam, and follow all orders given by higher ranking officers, unless you think you have a very good reason to disobey them.

Be respectful to your fellow roleplayers! As this is the Angmar army, fights and disrespect IC are completely understandable, but fights and rudeness among roleplayers will not be tolerated.

Any questions or OOC comments should kindly be taken to the Angmar General OOC (http://lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?24205-Angmar-General-OOC).

Please refrain from posting in the Red color, as all updates and notices will be posted in that color.

Angmar Ranks and Promotion System could be found in the Lone Lands: Archives (http://lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?75730-Lone-Lands-Archives&p=656679#post656679).

All army members must post their rank at the top of every post.

The current ranks are:












Imperator (Dhamon, Beren Camlost's NPC)


Magnate (Jadis Snowsword, Queen of Ice and Nolewen's NPC)

(Icons and Ranks courtesy of Greyfang and Beren Camlost)

The current Angmar activities are:

Angmar: The Northern Lands {Free RP} (http://lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?21697-Angmar-The-Northern-Lands-Free-RP)

Angmar: Queen of Iron {RPG} (http://lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?24265-Angmar-Queen-of-Iron-RPG)

08/Jul/2016, 10:32 PM
Unaccepted Man
Brehlon, from the mountains

Brehlon had come all the way from his home in the Mountains of Angmar to the west. He fought his way through the mountain passes inhabited with stray orcs or wild beasts that would've liked to have him for a meal. He traveled the one lonely road to this great fortress. He nearly frozen to death, and once had almost sat down to die. But, he kept going, he wanted to do great deeds unlike his ancestors. He respected them obviously, but they had simply been hunters living in the side of the mountain and never done anything famous. He wanted to change that. Well he went to the doorway and there saw two snarling wargs. They growled at him, but he pulled out his ax and they quickly quieted down. He walked in and saw a massive room. The ceiling was so high he couldn't even see the top. He saw a giant snowflake on the ground in front of him. He was shocked at how large this place was. He looked around him. There were stairs. This place got even bigger than this! He was stunned. This reception room alone was 3 times the size of his mountain cave. He saw some soldiers lying around drinking large pots of what looked like blood, but he could not tell. Some were smoking, others were just sitting there snarling. He looked around hoping for someone in charge to come out. He could not tell who was in charge and who was not. He just stood there hoping someone would notice him.

10/Jul/2016, 03:09 PM


The Warg was not bothered in his journey to the Ice Fortress. As he strolled up the broken path, no animal dared approach him. His fangs resembled sharpened daggers, his eyes burnt with cold fire like coals set deep into the sides of his massive face, his legs were built for running after swift prey. Yet even more terror-striking than his appearance were the rumors, thousands of those sneaky little whispers that are so talented in avoiding capture, and in this case their main subject rarely wishes to catch them, that spread more quickly than fire in the Fangorn Forest to the southeast. They spoke of horrifying deeds all entitled with his name, the name that was still hissed by mothers far to the north wishing to scare their children, the name that was replaced many times, and came as a replacement for something much more ancient and evil than itself...

Maugrim paused only briefly to examine the fortress's walls once he entered their looming presence. The Ice Queen's snowy banners made a dark contrast to the spotless white ice walls. Bored-looking guards paced the wall, lazily stroking their unused weapons. One caught sight of the Warg and instinctively gripped the black top of his arrow, then released it and walked on as if nothing had happened. He recognized Maugrim. Of course he did. Every breathing soul from the slopes of the Misty eastern mountains to those of the westernmost Blue ones had heard his name; so, at any rate, argued the rumors.

He passed into the Queen's Garden, his twisted reflection following him through the amazingly realistic-looking statues. His snarling expression did not change as lightly stepped between the Warg statues. The doors opened before him without anyone touching them, noiselessly welcoming the giant wolf into a loud entrance hall. Soldiers talked, shouted, spat, and jeered all across the vast room, many eating and drinking as they were somewhat entertained by the work of dozens of filthy slaves scraping the floor with whatever piece of cloth they could find under the watchful eyes of higher-ranking soldiers sipping excellent wine. As Maugrim entered the hall, silence gradually spread from the spot where he stood. Even the soldiers who were not facing the doorway fell silent as the shadow of quietness crawled upon them. They turned with a slight shudder, until their eyes looked at him, none meeting his own, yet all attention focused on the Queen's famous, or perhaps infamous, servant. He payed them no attention, looking at the man (Brehlon) in front of him.

"It is my belief that precious few choose the Ice Fortress as a vacationing spot - which naturally leads me to guess you are here because you deem yourself worthy of requesting to join the Angmar Army." Some soldiers snickered, but his eyes darted in their direction so quickly they were seen as a blur; they choked on the laughter that was suddenly stuck in their throats. His attention snapped back to the man. "Tell me... What is your name? What is your military experience, if any? Tell me about yourself, your life, your favorite weapons. Tell me why you wish to join the Army, and why you believe the Army will be interested in having you as a soldier."

OOC: TKWH, welcome to the New Angmar Army! Maugrim is not an official member of the army, but he is allowed to accept you and train you. Answer his questions and tell him a bit about your character. Any questions could be taken to the Angmar General OOC

11/Jul/2016, 12:39 PM
Questioned Man
Brehlon, from the mountains

Brehlon saw this warg enter with a snarl and some smart aleck answer. This warg looked somewhat in charge and since he asked him these questions he figured he was as in charge as any. But, Brehlon examined the warg. This warg was not your average wolf. His eyes looked like the coals he had used to like the fires of his home. They looked alive with some kind of fire, it seemed as though hatred was pored into these eyes, like a pot of molten hatred had just been pored time and time again. Next were his teeth. His teeth were like knives sharpened twice over. The were like daggers, so much, that if you took one out and stabbed someone they would probably stab someone and kill them. He shuddered thinking about this. Then, he remembered something. What is grandpa had told him about some wolf. Yes! The Great Wolf of the North, is what is grandfather had told him. Exactly like this, he remembered his grandpa saying, "eyes like fire, teeth like iron" this warg fit that description.

Anyways, after he been done examining the wolf he decided to answer the questions.

"Well, um," said Brehlon, "I thought about vacationing here, but I decided not to, the water slides looked all shut down, though nice resort you have here. I'll talk to my travel agent about it(he was now petrified)." This got a general snicker from the crowd. "Oh yes my answers! The name is Brehlon son of Mehlon son of Mihlon. I don't really have any military experience, but I mean I've killed fierce animals in life, but no formal military experience. Well, next is my life, right? I forever lived in a small cave in the mountains of Angmar. There I hunted with my father and for a while my father's father. My father is now grown old and nigh on death, so I left him alone, as is our custom. We live off the land, I hunt with my axe, so I guess that is my favorite weapon. Why I decided to join the army! Well I did this because I got tired of the same ol' same ol'. Nothing ever changed in my life. I wanted adventure and I thought this army would bring it. Why you guys'll want me! Well, right now it's not you have 15 batallions or anything, but really because I have no mercy for anyone, and because I know how to use my weapon appropriately. Also, I'm willing to learn." Brehlon ​bowed.

11/Jul/2016, 05:44 PM


Maugrim's eyes naturally narrowed as he listened to the man speak. He was not a trusting creature; he never was. He, personally, would have preferred to simply swallow the man whole as an afternoon snack, but the Ice Queen's orders were clear: men are meant to be recruited, not eaten. Pity she knew him so well.

"​You have a sharp tongue, son of Mehlon," the Warg growled. "I am sure you will soon discover what a necessary tool a sharp tongue is in Angmar... as long as you spare your superiors this insolence."

He decided to move on to more urgent matters, but the soft sharpness in his voice hinted that severe punishments awaited those ignoring his suggestion.

"I hereby accept you to the New Angmar Army. You are henceforth required to follow every command issued by Imperator of Angmar Dhamon and Her Imperial Majesty Jadis Snowsword, Queen of Angmar and Magnate of the Angmar Army. Thus, you are also subject to any punishment the Imperator, Magnate, Sentinel, or any commanding officer may feel obliged to place upon you. Any breaking of the Angmar Army rules will result in severe consequences. You have been warned. You are now a Battler of Angmar, meaning you must receive the required training before gaining a promotion to the rank of a Bezerker. I will train you, starting with the basic Unarmed Combat task. You may now go to the Second Floor and have a... bite... of food and a sip of drink. Serve yourself, the kitchens are open and the food and drinks are ready. You may find yourself a room in the Fourth Floor... let me think... the twenty seventh room to the left should be empty... its previous dweller was murdered in his sleep... pity we never discovered who committed the crime - " he was forced to stop as the crowd howled with laughter, many of them fully aware there was never a "previous dweller" in that room. Maugrim waited patiently, then continued. "The Third Floor's storage rooms should contain some spare blankets and other basic housekeeping items. You might want to supply yourself with those. Exactly at sunset, I will be expecting you in the Warg Pits. Come unarmed and prepared for the first part of your training."

OOC: Please use the Battler icon in each of your training posts, TKWH. You've been added to the list of trainees in the OP.

11/Jul/2016, 08:11 PM
Brehlon, from the moutains

Brehlon bowed and walked away. He climbed the stairs to the second floor. He was starving. He had not had anything to eat since dawn, but all he had then was a little stewed rabbit. This was the first time he hadn't had to kill for his food. He walked into the kitchen. There he saw a few orcs pigging down on what looked like fried something. Whether it was goat, or a badger he could not tell. All he could tell was that it had a beard. He walked into the counter and asked for some fried goat with some stewed vegetables and some burnt bread. His favorite meal ever was fried goat. He didn't have it very often, due to the fact that it was nearly impossible to find a goat with enough meat to make anything and vegetables were not carrots or broccoli or anything like, but more like weeds from the earth. When he got his plate he quickly feasted on it forgetting his drink. Mid-way through he remembered he needed his drink. He walked into the Knife, where some orcs jeered at him. He heard one say something about the newcomer. Others just howled with cackling. He walked up to the bar and got a pint of ale. He quickly sat back down and ate his food in silence. The orcs continued to jeer at him. He was annoyed with their ways. He got up over to where the most jeering orc was sitting and split the back of chair right in half.

"Next time that'll be your head." With that Brehlon walked out.

He then walked up to the third floor and found himself some blankets and he got himself a desk and a shelf and walked to his room. There he saw a simple bed. Everything else was blank. Except for the occasional blood stain or so. He set his desk up, got his shelf oriented, and situated the blankets appropriately. Before he went to bed he thought about what Maugrim had said earlier that day. The Warg Pits, he had said, he had never defeated a warg unarmed. If this is what he had to do he was toast


The next morning, he woke up a little before dawn. Just in time to get breakfast, he thought. He walked into the kitched got a pint of ale and a piece of raw fish and walked down into the warg pits.

12/Jul/2016, 02:16 PM


Maugrim strolled into the Warg Pits with the air of one who had finally found the ideal vacation spot. He ignored the growling, moaning, groaning, snarling, spitting of dozens of wolves, werewolves, and Wargs prowling around the pits. A single orc stood guard at the doorway, desperately pushing the wolfish collection of creatures away from the exit using a heavy pole and various other weapons. He did not, therefore, notice the greatest Warg of all until Maugrim stopped right behind him.

"Let him be!" He commanded in the Warg-tongue. The orc jumped and swung his pole around, straight at Maugrim's face. The wolf ducked, but the pole didn't approach him again. The orc had realized who he was trying to attack and was looking as if he was about to faint. The wolves made way as he stepped into the dark room, partly out of respect and partly out of curiosity. It seemed the trainee was already there. Maugrim walked towards a shadowy cage at the edge of the room.

"The first training task is traditionally Unarmed Combat. Please allow me to introduce your opponent, a snow wolf who was sadly not fed for the last two days. He's very hungry, as you'll surely understand, and will gladly attack for the opportunity to feast. You will enter his cage without a single weapon. At sunset, I will return to inform you of your next task; or collect what's left of you." He gave him a nasty smile, than beckoned towards the cage with his head. After the trainee would enter the cage, Maugrim planned to pretend leaving him and simply lurk in the shadows and wait to see what happens.

12/Jul/2016, 03:21 PM
Brehlon, from the mountains

When Brehlon, walked in the cage he saw a white wolf, who apparently had been the aforementioned snow wolf. He didn't look vicious, he actually looked rather cute. He had a nice face with a cute, sad look on his face. This animal looked nothing like the fierce Maugrim, who's teeth were like daggers. This looked more like a cute and cuddly puppy.

Then his teeth shone. His teeth were sharp as knives. The wolf snarled and then Brehlon saw his claws. They were like fishing hooks but were twice the size. He no longer looked like a cute and cuddly puppy. He looked like a monster. The snow wolf snarled and came charging at the man. Brehlon quickly dove out of the way, but not before he received a massive cut along his chest. It started bleeding profusely. "Where is my axe when I need it," thought Brehlon. He then decided to face him. The wolf ran at him again. This time the wolf tore into his flesh, ripping it out. The unfortunate man grabbed the head of the wolf and threw it to the ground, just as Brehlon was about to kill the wolf, the wolf scratched him across the face. This he thought was the end. The man could not hold himself any longer. He was exhausted, he had bled more than a gallon, and nothing was stopping the bleeding.

"Well this is the end," he thought. Then wolf came running at him again, thinking he had his prey in his grasps. The just as he leaped one more time, Brehlon with a final burst of adrenaline jumped upon the wolf. He took the wolf by the mouth and opened his mouth so wide that it broke his jaw. "Well at least he won't eat me," thought Brehlon. The wolf still used his claws, but Brehlon had taken most of the threat away. Brehlon for one last attack jumped on the wolf and just simply stood on his neck. The wolf clawed and scraped his leg, but this felt like nothing, compared to the gaping hole Brehlon had in his side, where the wolf had eaten his flesh. After several minutes the wolf finally gave in, and Brehlon, just to make sure, broke all of his legs and left him dead.

When he got out he saw Maugrim in the shadows and Brehlon said, "Well, where do we go next on vacation, because that was kinda boring."

12/Jul/2016, 04:47 PM


Maugrim had to admit the man's got nerves. The wolf had left him with some very nasty cuts, he'd probably seen death in the wolf's eyes half a dozen times, then he came out and declared the painful adventure "boring"? The Warg rose and inspected Brehlon slowly. He could sense the scent of death slowly washing off the man's torn body; smelling death was one of his hobbies. Maugrim considered how to reply while circling around the man thoughtfully. He knew the rest of the wolves and weres have smelled the man's blood; Maugrim was able to smell it, too, though for him it did not speak of a delicious meal as much as it sent out that hint to the gathering beasts. By circling around the man, he assured no more painful wolfish wounds would be opened on that day. He was somehow protective, somewhat furious. How did the man kill the wolf so quickly? Perhaps he had more hidden in him than the Warg had guessed upon first seeing him. He was certainly very brave... or very foolish.

"Go. Clean yourself, change your robes, gain some rest. You can get food in the Second Floor, sleep in your room, or go to the Storage Rooms and attempt finding a healing herb or soothing remedy. You will find me in the training grounds, outside the Seventh Floor, when you are prepared to continue your training."

14/Jul/2016, 12:35 AM
Brehlon, from the mountains

Brehlon went up to the storage rooms first. He was hungry, but he side was ripped out and he thought he should probably heal that first. In the storage rooms he found a leaf that seemed a little like a healing herb. He took this herb upstairs, to see what he could do with it. He crushed it up, and then put it some boiled water. He then put some of the herb-water on his hurt side. He then strapped it to his side. His face was not something to worry about, because he had seen worse than this. He went downstairs, just got a vegetable stew, for getting your side devoured wasn't the best thing to build the appetite. There was the orc whose chair would need to be sent to the mender, due to the cruel blow of an ax on its back. The orc continued to laugh at him, saying,

"Well did someone get a boo-boo, does mommy need to kiss it," said the orc with a smirk smile. This got a general sarcastic n'taww from the crowd. Brehlon was furious, but killing the orc would probably get him kicked out of the army.

"You don't have any chair to break this time," laughed the orc. "So, uh, will it be my head." The orc laughed and the crowd roared with laughter. Brehlon kept his cool, and thought, "I can't do anything to him, or I'll just be laughed at more." Brehlon just simply walked out. Brehlon went to bed early, because of his near death experience early in the day.

Brehlon got up the next morning, got a new pair of robes, got a goat ear, and quickly went up to the 7th floor. There Maugrim was waiting for him.

17/Jul/2016, 02:59 PM


The rumors about the newbie were difficult to miss. He'd been in the Fortress for barely two days, and already managed to split an orc's chair in half, calmly threat him, and even assure the entire kitchen was aware of his favorite food. Maugrim was interested only in the last rumor. He thought goats were an excellent snack, but considering them your favorite meal... that deserved a special plan. He was walking down the steps - not the easiest task for a Warg, needless to say - when he heard angry voices just in front of him. He silently followed three frustrated orcs down to the first floor, listening intently to their conversation. He understood instantly that the subject was the new recruit, and that the speakers were the jeering orcs the man's encountered in the kitchens. They were talking of revenge when Maugrim finally interrupted, his voice barely above a soft growl.

"Pity we can't send a nice, hungry beast against him, something that will finish him off early and cleanly..." the orcs turned in alarm at the unexpected sound of his voice, "or perhaps we can..."

"Maugrim, captain," the orc who just a few moments earlier was complaining the loudest bowed so deeply his sword slid out of its sheath. "I did want to speak to you, captain, you see, I was thinking about talking to you..."

"Yes, excellent, you can keep doing that," he agreedsmoothly, and as the orc attempted to figure out the meaning of the Warg's last sentence, Maugrim continued, "but I have an urgent task for you. Find me three large, mean, strong goats and bring them to the Training Grounds by tomorrow's morning. They will be used for training purposes."

"Yes, definitely, immediately, captain," the orc bowed again. "but exactly how mean should they be?"

"Let's just say they'll be used against your favorite trainee...." Maugrim smiled nastily, and the orc understood.


On the following morning, the orc awaited the Warg on the Training Grounds as promised, leaning on a stick with three young, big goats with sharp horns tied to it. He straightened himself as Maugrim approached the goats. He noticed Brehlon was there, too, and turned to face the trainee.

"Your next task, Armed Combat, traditionally takes two days to complete. Your first training mission will be to kill those three goats as quickly as you can, using a single weapon - " he nodded towards an object lying on the grass, indicating he wished Brehlon to pick it up. "you may use this spear only." He sent the orc a sharp look, and with a swift blow of his knife, the orc released the goats.

25/Jul/2016, 12:25 PM
Brehlon, from the mountains

Brehlon was not exactly expecting the goats to be released at that moment. Maybe like a ready set go or something like that. He was really thinking about how to use the spear. Should he throw it? Should he stab the goats with it? Anyways, he picked it up and immediately used it for defense. The goats came running at him. He put the spear to his side and quickly dodged the horned terrors and ran to the side. There he had an opportunity to think.

Should he use the spear to jab at them? He thought this would be incredibly ineffective. He had to get one-on-one with a goat. He couldn't handle three billy goats who had apparently just come out of the trolls oven under the bridge, or something so maddening. How he was to do that was a whole nother story. He had it. He had heard that goats were incredibly dumb. He would pretend to throw the spear at them. They would all look for where the spear went. Then in the moment of utter confusion he would pounce on them.

The goats geared up again they came charging at him. He feigned throwing the spear. The goats were utterly confused. It was kinda like they had just seen a question of trigonometry on a third grade math test. That was the moment when Brehlon pounced. He jumped on the goat closest to him. There he stabbed the spear through the goats eyes, then, as fast as lightning, stabbed him right through the top of the skull.

Death. Instantly. Unfortunately though, he was on the ground. The goats had given up on the trig question. The other two looked at him on the ground. They decided to stampede. He didn't have time to move. The goats came charging straight at him. "This is it," he thought. Then he looked at the spear. He had decided. He would throw the spear. He threw it, right at one of the charging goats. Bullseye! Right through the neck. The goat tried to stumble along, but could not. He slowly fell softly to the ground.

Now, the other goat was then even madder, but took a brief pause to look at his fellow-maniacal companion. Now was the opportunity! He quickly jumped up and looked at the goat who was still living. Brehlon was standing up in a much better position. The goat looked even angrier, if that was possible. He came charging at Brehlon. Brehlon quickly rushed to the side. He ran and wrenched the spear from goat's throat. Now, just one-on-one. A piece of cake. The goat came running at Brehlon. Brehlon stood his ground and when the goat was right in front of him, he stabbed him with the spear, right in the back of the neck.

The goat, slowly and slowly just plumped on the ground.

"Well I know what I'm having for dinner tonight," smirked Brehlon.

26/Jul/2016, 08:06 AM


Maugrim watched in small appreciation as the Battler calmly announced his dinner. The man was definitely a tough creature; he would serve as an excellent soldier... or a crunchy snack.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead and have your dinner. Tomorrow you will go alone to the armory and choose a sword. Here's your second task of the Armed Combat training, to be completed tomorrow. You will go up here to the training grounds and fight this orc with only the sword that you chose. This orc will use a sword, too. The first to disarm his opponent will be the winner. Do try not to kill each other."

TKWH: Your last post was excellent, I enjoyed reading it! Send Brehlon to have a dinner, rest, and then to the armory. Describe the sword that you chose and your fight with the orc in full detail.

09/Aug/2016, 01:14 PM
Brehlon, from the mountains

Brehlon went straight to dinner after his victory over the goat. He went in and just simply asked for vegetable stew. He sat pondering, what kind of sword would he choose. After his feeble dinner, he went straight to the armory. There were swords and spear and scimitars, that looked like they were from orc battles of long ago. He searched around. He did not want a scimitar, he had never used before. Then in front of him he was a great longsword, from ancient days. He looked at it. This was the one for him.


Then next morning, Brehlon got a light breakfast, picked up his sword, and went to the training grounds. He smiled at Maugrim, and to his right stood the orc.

09/Aug/2016, 02:39 PM
OOC: TKWH, firstly - congrats on becoming Mayor of Umbar! Secondly, please RP both Brehlon's and the orc's actions. Give me at least three nice, long paragraphs about your fight with the orc; describe how exactly you use the sword, the reasoning behind each of your movements, and explain how the orc's actions effect yours. Brehlon should attempt to disarm the orc; you should RP as the orc trying to disarm Brehlon. This is your last Armed Combat task; try to complete it to the best of your ability. :nod:

09/Aug/2016, 04:04 PM
Brehlon, from the mountains

Brehlon saw the orc standing with a scimitar in his hand. They quickly leaped on other sides of the training grounds. Then after a few seconds, it was time to begin. Brehlon pulled out his longsword and waited patiently for the orc to arrive. The orc was very patient waiting, for this man to arrive. Brehlon could see the orc beginning to salivate. "Hey, buddy, I think you got some drool on your shirt, I think you might need a bib." This got a icy stare from the orc. Apparently, the orc didn't find Brehlon's jokes overly funny. Soon after a few minutes of waiting for the orc to charge, the man went on the offensive. He walked slowly toward the orc. The orc then leaped right in front of Brehlon, and made a cut to his hand. Brehlon quickly swiped away the orc's blade.

The orc jumped back, blade shining in hand. Brehlon quickly pounced. He went for the blade, then the legs, then the arm. The orc still held to his scimitar. Soon after around 30 minutes, Brehlon began getting very tired. He then realized this is exactly what the orc wanted. Rope-a-dope, they called it boxing. Just get hit a ton. thus wearing your opponent out. The orc had not even broken a sweat, Brehlon wondered "do orcs even sweat?"

He was thinking how to beat this orc. He was definitely not stronger than the orc, he would not make the orc get tired, and the veteran orc would not make any foolish mistakes. Or would he? Brehlon was definitely smarter than the orc. Heck, the goats he had killed yesterday were smarter than the orc. He chuckled silently as he thought of this. He had it! He knew what he would do. He would pretend to be exhausted and then as the orc went easy on him, pounce on him with seemingly new life and disarm the orc. He ran at the orc again. Brehlon did nothing to complicated, but he began to fake his heavy breathing, to be a little sloppy, and then finally to hold up his hand.

Then just as the orc came to disarm him, he pounced on top of the orc, threw him to ground, and held the sword tip to the orc's neck.

"Wanna give me the sword," said Brehlon with a smirk. The orc handed it over. "Well," said Brehlon turning to Maugrim, "I think I'll have the left over goat meat from last night." Brehlon walked out.

09/Aug/2016, 05:02 PM
OOC: Excellent post, TKWH! I liked the humor and how you managed to connect seemingly unrelated situations with the task you were assigned. For your next task, I'd like you to read those two articles on Ranged Combat: http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?41600-Lindon-Archives-OOC&p=573042#post573042 (http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?41600-Lindon-Archives-OOC&p=573042#post573042)and http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?22394-The-Mirkwood-Guard-OOC-Revamped&p=450361#post450361 (http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?22394-The-Mirkwood-Guard-OOC-Revamped&p=450361#post450361). Then, using the information you were taught by those two articles, please complete the following task; remember to post in full detail, at least three nice, long paragraphs, and do keep the amazing humor that adds a lot to your posts:



Maugrim had predicted the man's moves, of course, but some were still impressive - even to his trained, sharp eye. As Brehlon successfully managed to disarm his opponent, and seemed not in the least discouraged by the orc's actions - rather, he seemed to enjoy himself quite a bit, Maugrim took a step forward.

"Get up," he snapped. "Get up, fool of an orc!" The orc struggled up, gave a hurried bow to the Warg, shot a look full of hate towards the man, and limped away.

Maugrim turned towards the man. "Tomorrow, you will go hunting. Take a bow and a quiver of arrows from the armory. Hunt for two days, don't come back before you have shot and killed three wild animals. Bring them back to the Training Grounds at the end of the second day. Use everything you know about archery as you hunt. Do not hurt the birds of the sky, for their wings may bear a message of your actions back to me.​"

18/Aug/2016, 01:38 PM
Brehlon, from the mountains

Brehlon came to the armory and picked out a bow and a dust infested quiver. He didn't know if these had been used in the last 100 years. Anyways he went up to his room and put them in his drawers. Then he went down for dinner.

At dinner the orc was there, filled with hate, giving Brehlon that cold icy stare. Brehlon returned it with a nod. He went over to get a plate of grilled dwarf. While he was waiting for the dwarf to come out, the orc walked over and said with menace, "I'll get you back." Then he walked out of the kitchen. The dwarf came out and Brehlon slowly picked away the beard of the dwarf, thinking what the orc would do. 'No time for this!' he thought, he was going hunting tomorrow. He needed to focus on that.


Brehlon went away up to the mountains to find what he some animals. He hunted twice or thrice with a bow before, but he mostly just used traps. He had never been very consistent with the bow, some times on the money, other times he couldn't hit the side of a barn. He had climbed up the mountain path and immediately maybe 10 yards away was a great brown bear. He knew that, with his inexperience, he could not kill the bear, before the bear had written down "human" on his lunch menu. Thus, he quietly slunk away.

Then after a few hours of seeing nothing but ferrets and weasels, in front of him was a moose. The animal's horns alone were just as tall as him. He decided to take his first kill here. The moose just stood still munching on a little patch of dead grass. Brehlon bent his knees, made his feet shoulder width apart, and pointed his head towards the target, just like his father had taught him. Then he pulled the arrow from his quiver an arrow, he stuck the tip in the notch in the tip of the bow, then Brehlon pulled back with his pointer-finger on top of the arrow, and his middle and ring below. He pulled it back till the string was touching his chin and his pointer finger touching his jaw. He pulled back locked in his target and slipped his fingers away. It sailed right to the stomach of the moose. The moose bled and bled. It looked like the Falls of Rauros were coming from his stomach. The moose tried to run towards him, but he slowly fell to the ground. Brehlon came to the moose, made sure he was dead, and then dragged him against a tree.

It was near nightfall and Brehlon was exhausted. He set up camp against the tree that the moose was slumped against. He had brought along a piece of sliced bread. He nibbled on this. Then once his dinner was done, he rolled out his piece of cloth, that he called a bed, but many just called a rag. Then, he quickly fell asleep.


When he awoke, he surprised to find a moose the size of San Marino sitting sleeping next to him. Then he remembered. He had slain the moose the night before. Brehlon quickly nibbled some more bread, drank a little from his canteen, and put his bed in his bag. He left the moose there, making a trail with orange marks on all the surrounding trees. He then left and went east from there.

After a few hours of travelling he saw a cave. He was curious what was inside, maybe some goat or something like that. He walked in and immediately heard a snarl. He turned to see a mountain lion and her cubs giving the stare of a mother to someone who has just come over to dinner without being asked. Except this mother had not read Emily Post, and did what we all want to do to that said person: strangle them by the throat. While the mother was giving Brehlon this aforementioned stare, he took an arrow from his quiver, notched it, pulled the string back to his chin, and let it go. However, he had not followed through. This wild mother mountain looked at him now with all the hate she could possess. He notched another one. He got his fingers positioned correctly, relaxed (as much as he could with an angry mountain lion staring at him), put his index finger to his jaw, his thumb on his neck, pulled, and, most importantly followed through. This caught the mountain lion right through the neck. In a few seconds she was as dead as a doornail.

He dragged the mountain lion out of the cave and drug her all the way back to the Moose-tree. Brehlon pulled out of his bag the canteen of water and drank it slowly. He was sweating. He sat down to nibble his bread, when to in a bush he heard a growl. It sounded a little like a snort. Then from the bush came the aforementioned ursine giant. The bear. Brehlon stood and trembled. He had never taken on anything this big in his life. He thought of the fundamentals of archery. Relax. He pulled a quiver from his bow, relaxed his limbs, notched the arrow, and nailed in the bear's snout. This made the bear just more angry, and a little more nauseous to listen to, but it didn't hinder the bear at all. The bear came charging at Brehlon. Brehlon notched another arrow, this one aimed right at the bear's neck. He pulled the arrow all the way back to his chin and let it fly. It soared right to the bear's neck. It was shot so well that it came out the other side of the neck of the bear. The bear stumbled down and fell.

Brehlon was exhausted. And now he had to drag a moose with horns the size of a redwood tree, a bear about as massive as all the Balkan countries combined, and just to add a little something more, a mother mountain lion. 'Well,' he thought, 'I better get with it.' Brehlon picked up the mountain lion, slung it over his back, and drug the moose and bear. After an hour of walking, he came to the fortress again. It was right at sunset, but he was done.

18/Aug/2016, 02:33 PM
OOC: TKWH, absolutely amazing post! It is clear you have read the above articles with care and understood the subject. Brehlon displayed the needed archery skills and practiced them in a great post with the same humor, thought, and wisdom you have shown before. Good job! You have only one task you still need to complete: Weapon of Choice training. Follow Maugrim's instructions, and Brehlon might become our first Bezerker!



Maugrim did not think he could be more impressed with the man; but that was until he saw Brehlon enter the Training Grounds with three of the largest animals in the mountains. As he eyed the moose, bear, and lion hungrily, the sun slowly sunk in the far horizon. Finally the Warg raised his head, forcing his gaze up above what would have been an excellent meal.

"Very well," he said, and was immediately surprised. When was the last time such a compliment left his mouth? He remembered not. Turning to a grimmer, snarling voice, the hard-to-please Warg continued. "You have accomplished three tasks: Unarmed, Armed, and Ranged Combat. You still have one task left. This is the Weapon of Choice requirement. Bring your favorite weapon to the Training Grounds tomorrow and demonstrate your ability with it. If I am satisfied, you will not go on into a second Weapon of Choice Training day. You will receive the title of Bezerker, and be an official member of the army. No longer a trainee, the first official Bezerker and a soldier of Angmar. Tomorrow, come here, and find a way, be as creative as you wish, to show how well you fight with your favorite weapon. Battle an orc, slay a Warg, cut down a forest of trees... I do not care, as long as you prove yourself worthy of fighting with that weapon​."

19/Aug/2016, 10:23 PM
Brehlon, from the mountains
Brehlon went down to the kitchen and himself some fried bear. While he was enjoying this enjoyable meat he saw the orc walk in with a taller swarthier companion. Brehlon walked up to these two orcs and stated, with a smirk, "If you want to fight again, we can, just this time bring a friend. At the training grounds tomorrow morning.” He nodded to the orc's companion. “We'll be there.” Brehlon went back to his piece of bear meat and thought of how to defeat the two orcs. He had had enough trouble with one, now two. But this time he had his trusty ax.


Brehlon awoke feeling exhausted after his long two days of hunting and now he had to fight two trained orcs who hated him. He just hoped and prayed that a miracle would occur. He went to the kitchen, got himself some hot blood, and thought about the fight. He couldn't use the same trick twice. He hoped maybe it would be like 1960's movies where they come one at a time. But he could predict this. Well, he just went upstairs with a prayer.

At the training ground, Brehlon saw Maugrim along with the two orcs. He smiled and nodded to the stern warg. “Well a cool refreshing here in the mountains today, eh,” the man said with a smirk. He saw the trio had no interest in the weather, thus he quickly shut up. He and the orcs took their places across from eachother on the grounds. All he needed to do was disarm them.

The sign to begin was given. Brehlon staid back on the defensive. The orcs came charging at him with their scimitars. The man dodged the both with a roll to the side. He then pulled out the ax and came at the orcs. The orcs apparently were expecting finesse moves with an ax, which no one ever does, and were lost by the beat down of sheer force with the ax. Brehlon came with thundering blow after thundering blow upon their scimitars. He went with over the head blows throwdowns, then to a side blow pulling the scimitar that direction, then came up and under to push the scimitar upwards. All this was lightning quick to the orcs who had never seen quite a foe with the ax. Very quickly the swarthier orc retreated and watched his companion getting smothered in blows. Just after a few minutes, the scimitar flew out of the remaining orc's hand

One down, two to go. Brehlon looked at the swarthy orc who had left his friend to be defeated. This orc was prepared for the next wave of beatdowns. Brehlon came at the him with reinvigorated ferocity. The orc moved side to side dodging the blows of the man. The man slowly realized he was exhausted because of his large hefty blows. The orc then came at the with thoughtful timed blows. The man staggered back to avoid the orc's clever attacks. Brehlon, with one last effort, came down upon the orc's scimitar and pinned it to the ground, then the man twisted the sword out of the orc's hand. The sword clanked to the ground and Brehlon said with a smile, ”Well I think I've done my job.“

28/Aug/2016, 09:30 PM

Drest Stoneclaw with Shytha and a large host of Hillmen
Begrudging Emissary party from the Secret Coven of Rhudaur
Arrival at the Ice Fortress

Blacktooth. Bloodmoon. Hawkbite. Cragnest. Coldeye. Skyrain. Stoneclaw. All seven of the best known Hillman tribes that yet stamped out fierce existence within the wide bounds of Angmar. All were represented here, amidst the impressive calvacade of assembled Folk. Their fur-clad monstrosity encroached upon some countless stamping boots, flattening the bleak landscape to muddied streams of passage, as they drew without fear upon the Ice Queen's territory. Yet there came no war cry, there sounded no drum to beat fear into their intended destination. The company bore no banners, but snaked, en masse, to the growing intrigue of the sentry guards.

Numbers had been trickling into the service of Queen Jadis certainly. But here stood over a hundred strong, the entire remnants of the scattered Hillmen of Angmar. Rough they stood, for each and every soul amongst them was grim and fierce; boasting an array of weapons which had surely been hand-crafted. Crude-hewn axes, clubs, mallets and spears, none of these were polished or aesthetically pleasing. The majority of arms were (like their bearers) not even remotely clean, but coated in dried blood and caked in the remains of entrails. Not a single weapon matched another and nary a man was dressed like to his neighbours, nor even like to his brethren. They mumbled amongst each other, tumbling coarse accents in a medley of cursing and curiosity. Despite this distinct lack of all uniformity, still the gathered clans were indisputably a nation. Ill-trained, for certain. Ill-equipped, even more for certain; but all were ably competent in their lifelong ambition; to smite all things weaker than themselves, and survive another day.

Drest headed their pungent procession, with the raptor gaze of Shytha reeling from where she soared, aloft, in the guise of a predatory kite. The bearded Hillman was the last of his ill-fortuned clan, the Stoneclaw, and duely considered himself to be a chieftain by proxy, of enduring no surviving rival to his claim. It was no mean feat for strangers unfamiliar, to gauge why the others all followed him. Chieftains even amongst them. For sure he did not carry himself with a greater bearing. His posture was as slumped as the rest, and neither was he more largely built, or handsome. Dark bristles of wiry coal-hued hair sprouted from his head and from his chin alike, to deflect some of the expected attention from his hook nose. When Drest smiled, his lips parted as though a blade sliced his gums aside. Crooked, yellowing teeth bled through the fissure of expression, and his sallow cheeks were noticeably coloured by some recent bruising that had not yet healed utterly. One eye looked suspiciously bloodshot. And the fall and design of his heavy robes were both flavoured by sure stains of death.

He faltered not, despite the clear pinch of discomfort which suggested that his lungs were being ground inside a vice, with every step. It was his voice which made him however. An orator and an impassioned preacher, Drest was possessed of the same charisma as the most maniacal cult leader.

Raising one gloved hand, his troops fell to a halt behind him. The entire procession parked before the stoic statues of the imposing gateway. Shytha circled with the charm of an enraptured vulture, and the Sorceror readied to get this over with.

"I would speak with She who names herself the Ice Queen," he declared, to the mimicry of a thousand ricocheting echoes. "On behalf of a mutual friend" he sought to seize importance on another's behalf. And proclaim his assumed allegiance.

02/Sep/2016, 08:59 AM
http://www.walagata.com/w/kimli/warg_2.jpg http://www.walagata.com/w/kimli/queen_3.jpg http://rs1080.pbsrc.com/albums/j334/Winterwolf27/Angmar/Angmar%20Test%204.png?w=480&h=480&fit=clip
Maugrim and Jadis, Magnate

Meeting the Hillmen

Maugrim caught scent of the new arrivals even before he shot through the doors and was warned by a gasping sentinel. He'd just finished training the man, Brehlon, which he was finding as irritatingly impressive as usual. He awarded him the rank of a Bezerker of Angmar, quite unceremoniously, as his nose was already prickling with eagerness to challenge the unexpected visitors. He barely paused to snarl "dismissed, follow me if you will, go rest if you don't" at the new official soldier before running with the fastest speed he could master down the seven floors below the Training Grounds and thrusting any object that got in his way, beast or orc or door.

Many soldiers, orcs, men, evil Dwarves, Wargs, and werewolves were already gathered at the doors leading out to the courtyard. They were whispering and muttering anxiously and uncomfortably, and soon Maugrim could see why. A host of men, hillmen, to be exact, had gathered outside the doors, their leader indistinguishable from the rest. When Maugrim arrived, the soldiers of Angmar fell silent immediately, shifting to allow the Warg passage. He arrived at the doors, silent and furious, and said naught as one of the men stopped the marching of the troops with a gloved hand. He made his request, foolishly, boldly, and Maugrim fought a great desire to seize the man with his teeth and tear his flesh slowly and painfully, as a small punishment for daring to utter the words "She who names herself", as though her Imperial Majesty was a regular, arrogant woman who took a title she did not deserve.

Fuming, he took a menacing step forward. "How dare you? How dare your filthy mouth pronounce the name of the greatest, of the only, of the most wise and powerful queen of those mountains? How dare you doubt Her Imperial Majesty Queen Jadis Snowsword, Magnate of this entire army and Angmar's only ruler, namely the Queen of Ice? How dare you, thief who has no more importance than a fly, knock on the Fortress on which her banner is raised, with an army of men which you stole from Angmar and took for your own pleasure and purposes?"

Maugrim paused for breath, raging visibly, so even his soldiers took a fearful step away. "Mutual friend?" He repeated, mockingly, his voice raising to a growling roar. "I care not. You deprived Angmar of useful men at a time of war, when they were most needed, and you will pay the consequences. The harsh, unforgiving punishments that will fall upon your miserable head - "

"Enough." Maugrim's speech was cut short by a clear, cold voice. It pierced the minds of its hearers as a frozen shaft of wind from the north, causing all heads to turn instantly on the spot and all eyes to snap onto the face of its owner.

Queen Jadis Snowsword stepped lightly off her icy chariot, the four White Wolves pulling it standing perfectly still. Behind the Queen, her two completely armored guards shifted in the shadows, the only visible parts of their faces, two red eyes, glaring at the crowd of Hillmen. Jadis walked straight through the group of men without paying them the slightest attention. Her eyes were focused only on the men leading them.

"Drest Stoneclaw." Her words were whispered so softly none heard them save the unfortunate man she was now circling slowly, like a predator surveying a helpless prey. "We meet again."

Her lips curled in a cold smile. "And I daresay Shytha too." Jadis's piercing eyes glanced up momentarily at the bird of prey above her. Those foolish tricks were not ones to trick the Queen of Ice. Shape shifting. Seriously.

"Now, the obvious question is, What in the Name of the Nazgul are you doing with my men?" Her voice did not rise, but anger was now etched deeply into it. "I will guess Queen Aura did not order you to take them. She would have informed me of such a command, certainly. Seeing you back here, I would go as far as say she was not pleased with your actions. Am I correct?"

She suddenly swept up the stairs to stand next to Maugrim, her voice now loud and clear and dripping with cruel amusement.

"Tell me!" She cried. "How did she punish you, the Queen of Rhudaur? Tell me, do not hide a single detail!"

20/Sep/2016, 03:07 PM
'What's the danger ?' asked Pippin. 'Will he shoot at us, and pour fire out of the windows; or can he put a spell on us from a distance ?'
'The last is most likely, if you ride to his door with a light heart,' said Gandalf. 'But there is no knowing what he can do, or may choose to try. A wild beast cornered is not safe to approach. And Saruman has powers you do not guess. Beware of his voice !'

(The Voice of Saruman, TTT)


Drest Stoneclaw with Shytha and a large host of Hillmen
Begrudging Emissary party from the Secret Coven of Rhudaur
'Making nice' with Jadis and Maugrim

The Warg was not all as he appeared. His very tongue betrayed his true ilk. And Drest recognised a spirit fell, in beast form, just as swiftly as he might recall his own shadow. Shytha skirting about her seat of advantage, unleashed a shrill outcry of responsive warning. Lest they not mark the peril she also represented, to match that of Maurgrim, if required.

Allegations however, spilt from the Warg's slavered fangs, that were a touch too familiar for the Stoneclaw's liking. A leaden weight slumped inside Drest's soul as he was ascertained; his own Queen had spoke true. She had somehow sent word of her Hillman's over-zealous efforts, to arrive in Angmar before him. There was no point then, to be observed, in fabricating some untruth here. Jadis and her mangy minion the both were well aware of the answers to those questions with which they now assaulted him. Whether he was to humble himself before them by admitting his error, or else seal his own fate in seeking to mislead them .. there was no way by which he would escape this ordeal with his pride intact.

Except that he was Drest. He was the last of the Stoneclaws. and it went against his very nature to submit to utter subjugation. Truth they asked for ? Truth then he would gift. If only they knew the extent of that truth he would rally to his own defence. If they already knew the answers to their questions, he would give them questions of his own, that their own minds might dare to consider.

The feral ravings of Maugrim, the Hillman utterly disregarded. This was not easily accomplished. For the monster might make a cruel end of him, as easily as Aura's Baldawin so nigh had done. Still, he recalled that he had teetered about the jaws of death in time not soon enough forgot. He had survived that. He would survive this. Aileen was not present, of course, and it played upon the Stoneclaw's mind that Aura might have sent more word to her accomplice than mere news. Was Jadis under orders to carry out that sentence now, that Aura had been placated from managing in Rhudaur ? He would not put it past her.

Still, his close discomfort was swift swallowed when the Icequeen silenced her dog. Drest smirked openly, at the Warg who had been effectively muzzled by his mistress. It might have annoyed him that he exercised no such restraint over the will of Shytha, but he chose to perceive that as a weakness in Maugrim, rather than what it might insinuate of Snowsword's true superiority. Drest's demon had vowed that she would 'enjoy avenging' him. And he elected to marvel that he garnered any control over such a maniacal force of malice at all.

"You must forgive my surprise," the arrogant Hillman shuffled forward, his eyes blinking at the Queen of Angmar's blinding resplendence."For when last we met, Snowsword, you were not yet ascended to know such favour, any more than I had descended from same." He feigned a modest gesture, bowing his head before the one who could have it clean took off his neck, he knew all too well. "I bow, now that I am schooled, before your courage, in accepting the responsibility of Angmar. For we both know full well what comes of those who disappoint, and live up not to Her expectations."

"That these Men," he persevered, rather than answer the Ice Queen's own question. Not until he had laid the foundations good and thick, "were removed of your lands without your knowledge, that is upon me. I recognise the fact, and have been made full aware of the repurcussions owed. Yet my motive was as it ever has been, to succour the strength of those who would seize their birthright. For that, as you see, the Queen of Rhudaur has elected that my life is as ever still of a use to her machinations.

I am her instrument, a weapon in her arsenal. And if it please her to debase me, before all and any that have yet to stand as witness to her might, then this was a necessity that I underwent. I endured yes, much anguish at her hand. For the sake of your host here who were not fortunate enough to behold firsthand, I should be honoured to recount a true rendition of just how powerful she is.

She took of me all those layers that years of practice and lesson had conjured in my defence. With a flurry of her little finger, she deposed me of my strength. She rendered me almost inconsequential, nigh to the point of vanishing from all point of existence. She demonstrated her able potency and bending, bruising, battering each bone within my body, until I ached from the inside out and would have relished an end at the slavering fangs of her feline beast.

For the fortune of this idle, slack-jawed audience about you, who can barely begin to imagine what extents she shall assign, let me make very clear. The Queen of Rhudaur broke all there is of me and took me down to naught, to test my fealty to her, and to her cause.

She demands only the best to serve her, and would test that all beg for death rather than displease her. I am guilty of seeking beyond all expectations to safeguard her interests. And for that she embraced me with the honour of becoming her example, her messenger. That I may compel all those who do not know, to comprehend her might.

I can only assume why she felt a need to send me hither as messenger to you, and those folk here closeted so far from her domain. Save be it to impress upon you, just how almighty she is. And that she learns all. She decrees all. She felt you might require these Men. The finest, the survivors, who have seen what we all adhere to. I can only venture guess at why she felt you might make need of Men who have been trained by Rhudaur. Nonetheless, they are the gift of Rhudaur. From an ally all should do well to appease. She can give and she can take away. Be grateful, Snowsword, to all you are given. And pray that she, who should never be forgotten, even in the aspirations of your own ambition, never be granted cause to deem you worthy of losing everything."

He bowed, and the Hillmen rose up in a mighty cheer, though it might have been for the sole celebration of the Stone Claw finally concluding his vast oratory performance. Little had the Ice Queen recognised her peril, when she demanded that he 'leave out no detail'. There was a reason that Drest was a recruiter for Rhudaur. He knew very well his lines. And he was accomplished as a performer. Whether he believed, or merely feared further reprisals, was a matter none could aught but guess at. Still. He dared any to claim that he had not accounted his allegiance well upon this occasion. Jadis had won the gift of the army that the Man would have had his. Better their lives fall in service to Angmar than his. He sidled snidely at the cheering of his jubilant countrymen.

"Is there any message you would have me return to your most powerful and significant ally, in Rhudaur ?" he assumed, beyond his place. He always did. Shytha might have rolled her eyes, but that it was less than feasible in her current condition.

30/Sep/2016, 01:54 PM
"Now we feel the peril we were warned of. Have we ridden forth to victory, only to stand at last amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue? So would the trapped wolf speak to the hounds, if he could. What aid can he give to you, forsooth? All he desires is to escape from his plight. But will you parley with this dealer in treachery and murder?"

(omer, The Voice of Saruman, TTT)

http://www.walagata.com/w/kimli/warg_2.jpg http://www.walagata.com/w/kimli/queen_3.jpg http://rs1080.pbsrc.com/albums/j334/Winterwolf27/Angmar/Angmar%20Test%204.png?w=480&h=480&fit=clip

Maugrim and Jadis, Magnate

"Welcoming" Drest and Shytha to Angmar
And receiving the so-called "gift" of men.

The Man spoke well. Too well.

Jadis​ interrupted not his foul words. Let the Man speak, until his throat dries as parchment and his lips stick together from thirst. Until his voice dies and his cries fail. Let him speak, let him talk, let him lecture. Maugrim's eyes were ablaze. He was shaking with silent anger, barely able to contain himself, but without a command from his queen he did nothing except stare hatefully at the Man and wordlessly wish him the most violent and terrible deaths he could raise in his thought.

Jadis could bear the Man's disrespectful manner, his mocking words, his twisted truth; but she could not, she would not, bear the hillmen's cheer. She ended the cheering with a casual wave of her hand. Those hillmen who still planned to continue their useless cries, suddenly found their voices stuck in their throat. They coughed and choked as though a splinter of ice pinned their throat shut, but their faces grew blue and somewhat paled, and many began trembling uncontrollably. Jadis pointed her staff down at them, and they collapsed on the ground, gasping and swallowing deep breaths of air.

"Hearken, servants of Angmar, and beware the might of the Ice Queen. Here is a Man who sought personal fame by the theft of Men, necessary servants of Carn-dum, and suffered the merciless consequences. He hoped to lead them by stealth, deeming the Magnate had no knowledge of his actions. Yet the Queen of Ice has many allies; and she is not fooled by Men or Orcs. One of her undoubtedly most powerful allies, whose wisdom surpasses anything you might imagine in those miserable minds of yours, soon discovered the Man's foul plan. She had immediately contacted the Queen of Ice and informed Angmar of the crime; and received the Ice Queen's permission to allow her the pleasure of punishing the aforementioned Man, for she desired to teach him a lesson he will not forget till the very last day of his life, which was to be that very day. She reduced him to the size of an ant, she pinched every part of his body, of his honor, of his humanity. He was left a shell, an empty shadow of what he has once been. You now see him standing before you, admitting the wrong he had done in the sweetest words his snakelike mind could master."

Around Jadis, angry gazes were all fixed on the Man. Satisfied, she continued, "Drest Stoneclaw, you were saved by the pity of your Witch-Queen's daughter only; but you deserve much more." She stroke the head of her staff softly, her eyes boring into Stoneclaw's. "Much, much more."

Reaching a sudden decision, she turned and pointed at several orcs and men who stood among the crowd of fascinated watchers at the doors of the fortress. "Take the hillmen away. Lead them to the Warg Pits, where I am sure they will find appropriate company... or if there isn't enough room down with the wolves, the Training Grounds outside will be quite sufficient." As they hurried to fulfill her orders, Snowsword's eyes returned to glare at Stoneclaw.

The hillmen's theft did not nearly anger her as Drest's arrogant words. She found herself regretting Aura hadn't killed him; but she also knew there was something holding her back from completing the unfinished process, something that was most certainly not pity or mercy. No, she wanted him dead, but she knew it was not up to her to end his life... but how did she know, that she could not tell.

Realizing the hillmen have been taken away, she sent the remaining Angmar soldiers behind her a chilling smile. "Why are you standing there, so hidden? Will you not come down and join us?" She passed her hand in a sweeping motion before her, inviting them to come down and fill the nearly empty courtyard. They agreed a little hesitantly, walking down the steps and surrounding the single hillman left, Drest Stoneclaw, in a large and particularly irritated circle.

"You inquired if there is any message I will have you return to the Witch-Queen. No, Stoneclaw. I trust you not, and should I wish to send a message to the Queen of Rhudaur, I will certainly do so, but not with your help. I have many ways of contacting my allies, Stoneclaw, that do not concern liars and thieves such as yourself." She paused, an expression of triumph spreading upon her face at the clear pleasure of insulting the Man.

"I will, however, give you very specific orders regarding yourself, Drest Stoneclaw, and your pet demon Shytha, too. You are all witnesses," she looked meaningfully at the soldiers around Stoneclaw, "to the following command and the punishment one should receive if it is not followed. Should Drest Stoneclaw or Shytha set foot, paw or any other part of their body, will, power or being upon the ground, air, water, stone or any other area belonging to the Kingdom of Angmar or its Mountains without the clear permission and knowledge of the Ice Queen Magnate Jadis Snowsword of Angmar, any soldier of the Angmar Army noticing them will have the full permission and support of the Magnate, the Queen of Ice, myself, to end their lives in any way they find appropriate. You have all heard my words. I forbid you, Stoneclaw and Shytha, to twist my words and find any ways around them: my meaning is clear and understandable."

She dismissed the soldiers with a wave of her hand, and they quickly reentered the Ice Fortress, many of them pausing at the doors to send Stoneclaw looks of somewhat curious hatred.

"Leave now." She ordered Drest and Shytha coldly, quietly.

"One moment, if you will, Your Majesty." Maugrim had not uttered a single word since his queen had began speaking, but now he suddenly took a step forward, lightly walking down the steps. Jadis did not object, but watched silently as the Warg advanced towards Drest Stoneclaw.

"Let me tell you, very clearly, why Her Imperial Majesty Queen Snowsword​ had not killed you, and why I will not destroy you now. So you will not imagine your own wisdom, or power, or lies have saved your miserable skin from my teeth. We have not murdered you because we can both understand, quite clearly, that if we keep you alive you will suffer much more than if we kill you. Because you, Stoneclaw, are traveling with a backstabber, and you, Shytha, are wandering with a traitor. You will cause each other much more pain and grief than we will. Beware of each other! Mark my words, the day will come when you will wish we had ended your lives."

With those words, receiving the silent agreement of Jadis, Maugrim and the Queen of Ice turned and disappeared among the ice statues. The expressions of the sculptures spoke of pain and fear, as if all of them froze in the midst of begging the sculptor for their lives.

06/Oct/2016, 07:11 PM
'There will be no fade out, this is not the end.
I'm down now but I'll be standing tall again.
Times are hard but I was born tough,
I'm going to show you all what I'm made of.

I've been brought down to my knees,
And I've been pushed beyond the point of breaking, but I can take it.
I'll be back on my feet, this is far from over,

You haven't seen the last of me ...'

(The Last of Me, Cher)


Drest Stoneclaw with Shytha
Begrudging Emissary party from the Secret Coven of Rhudaur
Parting ways, from Jadis and Maugrim

The Ice Queen silenced Drest's brusque chorus of support with a single brandish of her pale hand, and the hillmen cowered, crumpled, contorting in gross discomfort. Though some looked to see if the Sorceror would halt their being here herded off like wild beasts, they found only disappointment in his inaction. For the Stoneclaw moved not. They were pawns now in some other's army. As though he were stood the foulest of all her glacial sculptures, he froze in an absence of reaction. Jadis, understandably, corrupted his own bias of events with hers in turn, playing loud a rendition of propaganda to numb any notion of rebellion from the natives of Angmar. Drest watched her win back her crowd, satisfied that she should have to counter him at all. She raged about the stage of ice as though she had been born to it, her barbs of insult like to searing burns of arctic wind against exposed skin. She saw him to isolation. She banished him from ever returning to the land where she held sway.

The land where his ilk had been exiled by the Dunedain, in the aftermath of the Wutchking's downfall. The fact of her thinking he should ever wish to revisit his childhood in such a land of naught and hardship almost gave him mirth. For why else did she imagine he swaggered under the cloak of Rhudaur but to win back a homeland of far more fertile and man-friendly climes ?! Who indeed would choose to reside amongst Orc's and wolves and beasts ?

In the wake of the Warg's then 'biting' prophecy, the Sorceror came close to barking himself, of quite what fool justice the pair imagined they dished out. Was this the best that they might do to him ? To prove to all and sundry that his tongue was of such threat to Angmar's fortunes, he must be removed from where he may stand as contender ? All rivals to the Ice Queen to be capably expelled, with greatest haste. Drest halted only at the point of recognising; that to mock the sentence handed him would for certain only lead to some harsher sentence as result. He was not .. quite .. that reckless. So he said naught in consequence. He managed to rein in the maniacal laughter which looked ready to escape him. Then, only after the Ice Queen and her pup had commenced with their exit, he mastered all the core of his strength. Raising both palms high into the sky, Drest's dishevelled sleeves ran down his scrawny arms, and his blackened lips danced over silent words that beckoned thunder overhead.

For one glimmer, like a shutter fallen suddenly askance, the eyes, ears and all sense of right feeling ... fluttered ... from all folk of Angmar who stood within a small radius of the Sorceror's reach. Blind, death, cold and seemingly stripped bare. Their shields of power assaulted. They felt the prelude to nothingness. And then all returned to normalcy.

One moment, that was all. It was enough. For then a clamorous fall of ink-pitch wings stabbed low in arcing swoop from far aloft. Shytha unfolded her shadowed bruise into a mortal form at ground level, at last. Her skeletal clamp of fingers closed about Drest's wrist, and lowered both his arms as easy as though her intention was his own. She had no need to speak the clear words of remonstration. The sharp piercing glance of her cadaverous features .. They sawed deep unto the veins of the Hillman. They ground his want back to sense. He was not yet physically recovered in himself from what Aura had put him through. He might strike now, in fury at the jeering of Angmar, far from his full strength and whole potential. No. No, this was not that time.

Stowing this latest of degradations in a pocket of his foulest memory, for later; and it being the second in fact of recent cruelties he had suffered at the hands of haughty women, Drest drew back the poison of fell power, back to where it should smoulder a time more. A while longer. Impatience only further feeds existing fury. When he struck, and he would, one day, it would now be the greater. Now though, this day, the black of his eyes ebbed like a fleeing tide into their fringes, returning white there, and colour. Blood flushed through his face to resemble humanity returned, and he stamped irritably at the snow and cold that gnawed like beetles through his boots.

Return to Angmar ? Let her keep the foul domain ! And as far as the Hillmen he'd lost, .. he'd made such sacrifices of his pride and person for the sake of the endful cause. Let them now do the same. He'd done enough. He left, as bidden. He left and good riddance.

30/Apr/2017, 08:47 PM

Garroc Cragnest and Wulsot Ironfist. Observing from the wall
Mawg the Ravenous with Sznahk the Survivor
An arrival at the Ice Fort of Carn Dm

The Ice Fortress of Carn Dm, it dwelt in a state of ever midnight. For no sun dared close to that bleak eye of Angmar. The stark land for miles in all directions was a colourless mirror of that cloudless sky above. And though the formidable palace rose up in a hard ice eyrie of terrible height, still it was not well seen from a distance. For in a spell of proper acuity, the cold profile of the locale served as though a foreplanned camouflage. Only when a body had encroached so far upon the path towards his doom, that there was no chance to go unnoticed, only then would they notice their peril.

The great iron gate stood representative of no escape. For all that it was the sole means of entrance. Once a soul stepped within, he would abandon a piece of his being, to forever fear the memory which would be there fused to his bones. The Ice Fortress did not fail to leave an impression. There were few souls permitted to leave it’s confines, ever, with breath still to tell of it’s repute. The Werewolf was one of those trusted few. He knew his way and welcomed the haunt which planted a pit of dread in those less acquainted.

The two sentries who knew the misfortune of being on duty, were aware of the impending beast. They were less familiar with one another, though both had been born of the same frigid realm. Garroc was a survivor of the Cragnest clan, one of that ill-fated Hillman collective that Drest Stoneclaw had surrendered to Jadis. He had survived the assault upon the Freefolk’s camp, and duely been ‘rewarded’ by the attentions of Wulsot. The latter was a devout-born Hillman, of the Ironfist clan who had served Angmar since his birth, and followed on a thousand rungs of his family’s slow climb through evolution. It had been the Werewolf Mawg who suggested to their Queen that the rebellious clans ought now be separated, to dilute their else mobminded attitude, and address the point that they were all now under the umbrella of the host of Jadis

For all their different goals, and altered degrees of fealty, both Garroc and Wulsot were drawn in equal wonder to view the procession that encroached on the gate. There were at the rear, a a small party of Orcs, not one of them alike to another; led by a large Uruk and tailed by a great troll ! But in front of these, a snapping swarm of snow-white wolves bore a ramshackle wooden cart of carrion. It was piled high with dead Hillmen and dead Orcs alike, and as their strange shape bred focus with arrival, there could be spied a lone Orc caught up within the mesh of snarling wolves. The pack bristled forth, hauling the load of death behind them. The lone Orc (Sznahk) ran amongst because to stall would assuredly see his life stalled, underneath their relentless stampede. Tethered to a yoke in the centre of their throng, he had no escape. He had only to keep up …

Over the bedlam of baying howls, Mawg’s single snout rose high and proclaimed a long note, like the call of a lonely bugle, to break the desolate canopy of frost. Echoes chased it about the fence of imposing cliffs, and the weeping icicles trembled. Garroc shivered, in spite of a lifetime spent in cold climes.
“Let them in,” Wulsot beat out a path of feet to rouse the guards of the gate. “The Ice Queen will be awaiting word of her henchman”.

It did not hurt either that the Hillman was quite curious to learn more of this odd ensemble which the Werewolf had driven to their door.

Mawg passed through the opened gate, and padded to a place of wait for both his Deity to descend on her audience, and for his circus of entertainment for her sake to fall in. A collapse of panting, putrid stench soon stained the courtyard. The Were released a second siren, as the two Hillmen sentries dragged the great iron gate closed behind them. A curt drop of his intimidating snout prompted Garroc and Wulsot to untether the Wolves from their reins. They cowered at the sound of a greater hound, and Sznahk was permitted to breathe, left alone now with the heavy wooden yoke upon his burly shoulders. He hauled his battered self unto two feet, split though he was from the countless tears which had ripped through his armour and found flesh aneath. The Orc’s head bowed, fearful to now face the Queen whom his tormentor answered to.

Mawg had been sent forth to see what had delayed delivery of dead meats to feed the beasts of Carn Dum. As the one responsible for the disaster at his supply centre on the cliffs, Sznahk had some answering to offer. But the unexpectedly glad discovery of Lumig and his group should prove some consolation to please the Snowsword.New recruits, and a neglectful servant to make play with. What more could a Werewolf hope to please his Queen ? The two hillmen watched, intrigued after a seventeen hour shift upon a bitter-high wall. It had been a while since the Court of Jadis had been resurrected with the promise of excitement and excruciating pain to come .. not since Stoneclaw himself had been reduced to an isolated rock of ruined rebellion, and cast out of sight. On these very same steps ..

05/May/2017, 10:50 AM
"Panem et circenses"

~ Juvenal, 100 CE; a Latin phrase meaning "Bread and circuses"

http://i1076.photobucket.com/albums/w449/Nolelf/queen_3_zpsdpfd8xpu.jpg http://rs1080.pbsrc.com/albums/j334/Winterwolf27/Angmar/Angmar%20Test%204.png?w=480&h=480&fit=clip

Her Imperial Majesty
Jadis Snowsword
Magnate of the Angmar Army
and Queen of Ice

Receiving another "gift" of men.

Jadis was not pleased to be interrupted in the midst of an "inspection" tour. Not that this was her first time in the Ice Fortress, or her first inspection tour. In fact, she had insisted on scouting the Angmar Army Headquarters once a month ever since she had arrived unexpectedly to find the traitor, Drest, mocking her publicly in front of her very own soldiers, and the ones he had so rudely stolen. Furthermore, she had ordered her loyal servant Maugrim away from the Fortress on urgent business in one of the further Angmar Mountains, and did not trust the remaining soldiers to behave appropriately without the guard of his watchful eye.

She had arrived that very morning with four White Wolves and her two Guards, and since the moment her foot touched the courtyard's snowy floor, she was kept quite busy. She ordered three soldiers to scrub the reception hall's filthy floor, and six more to polish the windswept statues outside; eight were assigned the wearisome task of organizing the weapons in the armory, and one unfortunate guard found himself sweeping and removing the snow from the path outside. She expressed her disapproval at the state of the Training Grounds by sending ten men, wearing the thinnest of clothing, to fix it up in the freezing cold; and a particularly stupid soldier who dared inquire why the kitchen was empty of meat was tied outside to a large rock, and given the task of cleaning old swords and spears with his mouth only, "to feast on the ice and rust if he is indeed so famished". She was in the middle of watching a heartless jailer demonstrate some of the newest torturing techniques on a poor criminal when another soldier burst into the room.

"Your Highness," he panted and bowed before her.

"Your Imperial Majesty, Queen Jadis Snowsword, Magnate of the Angmar Army," she corrected him without sparing the shivering form at her feet a mere glance.

"Your Imperial Majesty, Queen Jadis Snowsword, Magnate of the Angmar Army," he repeated obediently. "There is someone... or something, to be exact... a werewolf, if you wish to know - "

"Hasten your speech, or you will fate as that filth here," she cut him off impatiently mid-sentence, pointing at the wailing prisoner in front of them.

"Mawg is back,​" he informed her excitedly, "and he brought along the strangest company... Your Imperial Majesty," he added quickly.

"How fascinating," remarked the Queen, clearly uninterested. She whirled around, almost lazily, and walked out of the room, leaving the jailer gripping bloody torturing equipment above a deathly pale prisoner, with an audience consisting of one man only, who hurried to leave the room as fast as he could.

Followed by her two Guards, she made her way upwards, ascending the steps easily but slowly, as though she purposefully intended the Werewolf to wait much longer than he had perceived. The entrance doors were flung open before her, just as a crowd of curious watchers began to gather outside. She did not bother to dismiss them; it was known that the soldiers were beginning to get restless, not having witnessed enough pain and blood as they have been promised for a while. They needed entertainment, and she needed to frighten them to ensure their alliance to her was kept.

Jadis took her time to survey the curious scene from the top of the stairs, her eyes narrowed slightly with either amusement or anger, none of which was a good sign for the unusual group outside. The crowd parted before her to reveal the Werewolf, Mawg, with several orcs and a troll, standing next to a cart heaped with bodies, pulled by a lone breathless orc and evidently also a few White Wolves who were now cowering to the side, released from their heavy load.

"It appears, Mawg, that you have once more exceeded all expectations," she commented dryly. "I seem to recall ordering you to search for the absent meat only; yet you have so kindly brought along a circus, too. This is a perfect example of your exceptional thinking, Mawg, and also explains why you too were so delayed with completing your simple task. How entertaining, lads, meat and circuses! How unfortunate that while I only asked for meat, you have provided those useless creatures too, and was so late because of them, too!" She studied the Werewolf carefully, daring him to respond, then turned to two of the hillmen watching them, who she was quite sure were supposed to be guarding the wall.

"Ironfist," she commanded coldly. "Strip the bodies of anything valuable. Send the clothes up to the storage rooms, and the weapons to the armory. Everything else, jewelry, silver, gold, and all valuables you may find, you must deliver directly to my office on the eighth floor. Once he's done, Cragnest, take half the bodies upstairs to the kitchens, and with the rest you will have the pleasure of personally feeding the wolves down in the Warg Pits. They are hungry, I can assure you, and will be glad to eat... anything... that passes through their doors. Beware they bite only the dead, and not the hand feeding them as well. The bones may be used later for the basic structure of the practice dummies in the Training Grounds. Mawg, you may choose to feast among your brethren in the Pits, or otherwise pick your share from the bodies sent to the kitchens."

Jadis looked at each of them sharply, to see her orders fulfilled. "While you're at it, Cragnest, take those wolves down with you to the Pits," she gestured towards the White Wolves. "Dismissed."

"Now," she turned to the lone orc heaving the yoke, "if a creature such as yourself can speak, go on and tell us who, or what, exactly are you; where have you been when I have summoned all dwellers of Angmar to enlist for the Army, and why you have not answered the call. Explain what you have to do with those bodies, where Mawg had found you, anything else you may find necessary to convince me not to feed you too to the wolves. I suppose you will find it easier to speak without all that on your shoulders," she added viciously, pointed her icy staff at the now-empty wagon he carried. Ice spread quicker than the blink of an eye over the cart, until it was completely transformed into a frozen statue of ice. She snapped her fingers, and the wagon exploded, shattering into countless icicles, sharp as small daggers, which rained down on the orc.

"Who is the leader in this group?" She would demand once the orc was finished with his tale. "Answer the same questions I have asked that creature. Quickly! You too, Mawg. Where have you found this miserable circus?"

16/May/2017, 05:59 AM
All the Sides of the Story


Mawg the Ravenous

As chilling was the climate in that realm, still more so was the troupe’s reception by the Queen of Ice. Each word assumed the suggestion of compliment, yet derision crept out and, mocking, dared Mawg to stroke his own ego. The Imperious magnate was not easily stirred by the endeavours of even her most loyal subjects. To have expressed admiration would be to demonstrate emotion, affection, weakness. Jadis had been seen to labour tirelessly in securing an iron reputation. Her servant sat as spectator to this latest scene from that show. After her initial and openly ardent (as well as in the Were’s mind, abhorrent) behaviour she had exhibited toward Dhamon, Mawg was pleased to see this altered state. A new queen maybe, but she showed promise.

Wulsot Ironfist

The Werewolf though was not owed the worst of her displeasure on this occasion. For all the disdain that spoke out his name, Ironfist threw himself unto the bidden task. His want as sure to satisfy command as also sate his greed. There were opportunities to be had, after all, in stripping the dead and it seemed now apparent that the bringers of the meat wagon begrudged they had not thought of this afore, and taken due advantage while there was chance. All eyes chased the vulgar aggression of his ‘attack’ upon the mound. The Queen had laid her vocal claim on anything of worth that might be found amongst the corpses, and yet if the Hillman did manage to bring some pretty or useful trophy to her attention, then it might be to his benefit. Certainly it would stand him over those who had failed to find such prizes, much less lacked the presence of mind to seek for them before so ordered. The zealous soldier set about scavenging, as though he were born to it. As in fact all those who had long scratched out their sorry existence in the hostile climes of Angmar had in fact, been born to just such depths.

Garroc Cragnest

Cragnest beheld his peer’s relish to the task assigned him, a far cry apparently from the dejection and utter terror that had seized his own heart. The labours of the scourged Orc were apparent, as was the weight of the dead that had been hauled here from the mountain side. The new recruit was merely shaping thoughts that Jadis might allow him the use of the wagon to drag his new errand to it’s destination, when she duely buried that hope all too soon, by splintering the wagon and it’s yoke entirely to a blizzard of skittering shards. Even the shock that stupified Ironfist and Sznahk (in particular) in that moment did not melt Cragnest’s despair. For he must bear each body now one at a time toward it’s destination. The realisation alone wore at his limbs, as though they fell already leaden from his bitter grumbling. His harsh new mistress deemed him so dispensable to risk his life ? It was as though she somehow knew his mind, knew that he was the ears and eyes for Drest in the realm of Jadis … The White Wolves trained their own eyes and ears open him, awaiting the call of their newly assigned escort.

“Here ! the Hillman pulled at the first corpse which Ironfist had finished routing. Cragnest beckoned to the closest Wolf, who bounded forward eager as though the long trek here had not fazed it. “Take this to the kitchens, Wolf !” he set about a lazy plan to see the Wolves do his work for him. The Wolf did not hesitate. It fell upon the dead and took up with devouring his fill of it right then and there. The Hillman frowned, and tried to pull the meat away from the overgrown dog. He earned himself a snapping yelp and barring of teeth for his efforts, and duely backed off, at least as far as he was able. For already the other Wolves now began to close in about him and as the first ripped the throat out of it’s prize, and blood from a dead hillman, a countryman, stained the courtyard, Cragnest swallowed hard, as a vein of blood spurted out in a lash of colour across his face. He tried very hard not to read a threat in that violent assault.

Sznahk the Survivor

Sznahk managed to untangle himself from the clamouring host of fangs and fall upon his knees before the grand Empress of ice. “O mighty Queen”, he began, breaking only to cower as the Werewolf growled low, and improved upon the mood of his address; “O empirical majesty of all Angmar. I am Sznahk,” The Orc purposefully failed to disclose his reputation as ‘the Survivor’, lest Jadis choose to test that title. “Long have I and my clan about the mountains captured vagrants and stragglers, sending raiding parties forth as far as the Ettenmoors. I was denied the honour of serving your predecessor in the army of this realm, for the sake of supplying your city and it’s citizens with slaves and moreover always meat.”

The Orc did not raise his eyes from the stark hard ground to meet his new sovereign. He had heard much of her reputation and this first introduction did not fail to impress her power upon (and over) him. He knew that to share gaze with her might presume a rank which he had not earned. And he would not have her see unto the depths of his mind, through open eyes, as he had heard she could read. The notion was quite unsettling for such a one who decked himself in the armour of his enemies’ bones to keep himself intact.

“Times though have grown hard, majesty” he admitted. The Orc’s glabrous head glistened with the sweat of his recent toil, what small strands of greying hair were rooted there were oiled to the hard globe of his skull. The longer he spoke and the more he failed to glean her capricious mood, the more wet his fear became. The swifter fell his words, in a tumble of terror. To have the account known and judgement given. Sznahk was not a one to accept failings and, as ever, had others to fling before him as a deflection of the wrath to come.

“When a small band of Elves led my Wargriders unto a hunting troll, I thought it inconvenient. When a single Elvish archer laid waste to a party of my best Orcs, in the mountain paths, I thought it suspicious. Then another Elf, this one with an axe, provoked the hillmen of this country on the very eve of their moot, distracting them from deciding to join your cause to instead pursue him in wrath, I found myself in the fortuitous position of capturing both elves. Being that these foes had depleted my coffers of food for Angmar, I was convinced by the Stoneclaw, that he would reward me greatly with dead if I gave up the two pointy-eared filth to him.

They escaped, Majesty, in the very hour that we were to make trade, and Stoneclaw felt I had cheated him.” Sznahk’s hand tremored, now lacking his fearsome scythe to summon strength in it’s familiar comfort. “That Hillman scum set his vile vagabonds upon the small remainder of my people and destroyed my lair !” The Orc struggled to keep rein on his anger, which began to seep through in the growing volume of his tale. “He rewarded me greatly with dead bodies, as he had promised; the bodies of my own people !” Now Sznahk’s hand were trembling in anger, pure and keen. “Some of his wretched ilk fell in the battle, for we were hardy if few. But I know now and am convinced the Elves were spies, sent by the detested Mordagnir to rob us of our food resources, slay my gatherers, and turn the hillmen against orc-kind. It is too much of a coincidence, that they walked right into my trap and left in perfect moment, as though it had been their intention the whole time. It happened on the eve of the great Elvish army trespassing upon Angmar. Another timely coincidence …It would not surprise me to learn that Stoneclaw himself allied with the Elves as an excuse to break his people away from our united realm. To try and be a king of his own making ..”

Cragnest decided about this moment that the time was ripe for him to creep off, from both the wrath of the hungry wolves who were ignoring his commands, and now possibly the temper which might turn on him, for the part he had played in aiding Drest to slay Sznahk’s Orcguard. Draping a corpse of the lightest Orc that he could observe, the Hillman inched toward the kitchen, as though he only meant to obey orders, rather than escape further sentence.

“I beg your permission, o Queen,” Sznahk was winding down his tirade now, finally, toward a bold objective of his own, “ to hunt down these elvish spies, O magnate of marvellousness. They fled on the backs of colossal eagles, further proof that they had aide we could only guess at. There is a conspiracy I think. And I would drag them back here to answer for their part in it, else I might never raise my head again among my own people. I would do this for you.” The Orc dropped his face down so close to the ground that his breath misted before him, and steamed the ice his knees were nigh fused to by fear and fury both.


Mawg the Ravenous

“The dead orcs and Hillmen before you stand a testiment to the story,” Mawg punctured the moment with his matter-of-fact. “I found this one,” the Were growled his indication of Sznahk before proceeding; “in the company of this Orcish parade. They claim to be loyal to Angmar since the days of the Witchking. They were hunting Stoneclaw and his fell separatist movement.” Silence leant all ears the opportunity to absorb the frank introduction. “Lumig calls himself their leader.“ The Were threw his muzzle in the direction of the immense Uruk, dressing that soldier in everyone’s sudden attention.

Deeming that he had presented all that he might of the strange predicament, Mawg turned from the courtyard and conquered a half dozen of steps that led to the great wall. The two Hillmen having forsaken their watch, in favour of all the excitement, had in turn, drawn an audience from others atop the wall. These were swiftly reminded to turn their gaze outward, their unprotected backs toward the courtyard, as the Werewolf prowled the length of the merciless white fence. The Queen has granted him permission to feast on the dead of his choice, but she ought to have known. That Mawg was that ravenous, he had filled his belly before ever they had arrived at Carn Dum. Several times over.

19/May/2017, 11:26 PM

Ginnabrick, ran Daw'n, Calawen, and Wun-Tung together in the courtyard.
Lmig, Olgath, Gungbang, Nurz and Nerzag entering the fort.

A lone dwarf, Ginnabrick sat by the smithy, sharpening his blade with a shaft of Whetstone. He bore a fine black axe with a hard steel edge. He winced over his shoulder, and there he saw the Wight, ran Daw'n, who stood out on the middle with a long black steel lance firmly grasped from both hands.

Ginnabrick shook his head, disregarding the Wight, and chose to join the Queen and stand by her side. Calawen and Wun-Tung, along side ran Daw'n watched as new arrivals came to the fort, apply Lmig and his orc party.

Meanwhile, Lmig and his companions stepped forward as Mawg announced his presence to the Queen. Lmig kneeled, his sword clenched and pinned nose down on the frosty floor. Nurz and Nerzag stood behind him, while Olgath stood back; Gungbang on the other hand stood went beside Sznakh, Lmig himself was all silent, and all awaited their audience with the Queen. While Ginnabrick joins in.

01/Jun/2017, 12:57 PM
http://i1076.photobucket.com/albums/w449/Nolelf/queen_3_zpsdpfd8xpu.jpg http://rs1080.pbsrc.com/albums/j334/Winterwolf27/Angmar/Angmar%20Test%204.png?w=480&h=480&fit=clip

Her Imperial Majesty
Jadis Snowsword
Magnate of the Angmar Army
and Queen of Ice

Receiving another "gift" of men.

Jadis did not fail to notice the difference between her spoken orders and the way they were fulfilled. Which deeply displeased her, not unexpectedly, especially because the beautifully sparkling snow was now stained with the blood of a wolf's meal. Ironfist had gotten the easier task, understandably, not being one of the men of the thieving Stoneclaw, and did it remarkably well, as though his life depended on this task to discover the valuables hidden on the dead, which was only naturally correct. Cragnest, however, seemed to take interest in setting uselessly foolish plans to pass the burden of the work he was expected to do onto another's shoulders. Jadis followed the feasting wolf from the corner of her eye in obvious disapproval, though most of her attention was devoted to the flatterer at her feet, his little mind apparently busy in forging an emotionally touching story to win his life back from the icy grip that had grabbed them at the will of the Queen of Ice. What he was unaware of, clearly, was that the if there was anything Snowsword could not stand, it was feeble lies crafted to fit a certain purpose, mostly to deform the truth and show the liar's side much more positively than it deserved. She had experienced a similar situation with Drest, and her hatred toward wrongdoers who were trying to justify their crimes had only strengthened. Furthermore, the orc had made the mistake of mentioning her predecessor, imagining perhaps that following the Queen of Iron's orders would be enough to excuse him from serving the rightful, current Queen.

"Let me get this straight," she cut his words impatiently. "Did you, perhaps, just say that my... predecessor... commanded an army in Angmar?" There was a dangerous note to her voice now. "Then let me clarify, Sznahk the Survivor," she paused to gloat at the nickname the orc had so wisely decided to omit, recalling her very first meeting with Mawg, who had declared himself "the Ravenous", a statement she had treated with the same mockery; for when the orc had firstly introduced himself, she had immediately remembered the stories of her spies, who had collected information for a long while about many mysterious and strange creatures of Angmar, and recognized him as the owner of that nickname. She continued viciously, "Let me clarify that the Queen of Iron never had an organized army in this realm. It was I who first raised the idea and worked so difficultly for the sake of a military which would protect the little useless bodies of lazy creatures such as yourself, and it was I who united all the backstabbing, murderous lone fighters of this land into a strictly organized army. If I hear you mention that Queen of Iron as the founder of the Army one more time, I can personally guarantee you will be dead before the next word slips out of your dirty lips."

Fuming silently, Jadis continued to listen to his tale. She said nothing when Sznahk remarked that "times... have grown hard", but her glare seemed to burn a hole in his miserable head. How dare he accuse her reign of being a time of mounting hardship, when surely it was a magnificent improvement compared to the failing reign of the Iron Queen?

"And so you served me not, but bowed to the oily power of the fork-tongued Stoneclaw? Then the result of his wrath, the destruction of your cowardly followers, only serves you right. I am most glad to understand that you discovered the backstabbing quality of the man you worshiped so foolishly. It will not be surprised to learn that you are correct, however, in believing that Stoneclaw is in league with the elves. It does seem characteristic for that hypocrite..."

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Cragnest attempting to reenter the building, and guessed both his false and true purposes. With a flick of her hand, the great doors slammed shut behind her back, right in the hillman's face, sending several onlookers who stood at the doorway flying backwards. "In all my life, it has not been suggested that I am short of memory, Cragnest. I do hate repeating my orders, but you seem to have forgotten them, and now you are trying to test my memory with your idiotic actions. I do believe I had clearly commanded that you feed the wolves in the Warg Pits, not outside in my courtyard. Take those wolves down with you, and drag along the meat." She flung her hand upwards suddenly, and tugged at the air as though pulling an invisible rope. The wolves' heads jerked, and they turned to face her, whining fearfully, cowering in front of her mighty power, instantly clam and tame. "Take them. They will follow your command - as long as you obey mine."

"Bezerker Brehlon," she called the hillman in the gathered crowd. "Assist him. Take the rest of the bodies when Ironfist will finish checking them, and deliver the dead to the kitchens."

She turned her attention back to Sznahk, and swiftly considered his suggestion. If she would not let him go, the army will receive the unpleasant addition of an untrustworthy orc, which might cause more trouble than help; on the other hand, wandering the wild alone, he was no serious threat even if he was caught or chose to join Angmar's enemies. A bonus in letting him go may be, though she believed not he could accomplish the mission he offered to do, the capture of two elves - possibly spies, certainly dangerous. It took her several moments to make up her mind and reply to the orc's request.

"You have my permission to hunt those elves, but remember: should you not return with their heads, dead or alive, I will have yours in exchange. You have been warned. Also, on your way out, do clean the blood off the snow. It is a most disturbing first impression upon entering the Fortress."

Jadis looked at Sznahk distastefully, then shifted her gaze to Mawg when he spoke, and finally rested her cold eyes on the Uruk that was named the leader of the group.

"Lmig," she addressed him finally. "Why have you not answered my summons to join the army, when I firstly arrived in Angmar? Who are your companions, and what news do you bring? Answer swiftly. I have no time nor patience to waste."

10/Jun/2017, 05:15 AM

Ginnabrick, ran Daw'n, Calawen, and Wun-Tung together in the courtyard.
Lmig, Olgath, Gungbang, Nurz and Nerzag entering the fort.

Lmig cranes his head up in near dismay at Jadis's temperment, and he boldly answers; "Forgive me, my lady! I am a uruk captain of the Witch-King's campaign long ago... until Angmar fell and he fled far from these lands; I retreated with several others to the mountains in the Gundabad since, where we laid low. These other orcs you see are my companions; Olgath, Gung-Bang, Nurz and Nerzag herself was the one who came for me, and gave word that a group of humans where plotting an uprising. I assembled only these few before you since then, traveling back until we came across Sznah, who then confirmed suspicions that indeed, The Stoneclaw Clan began wrecking havoc on progress in Angmar, plotting to take these lands for themselves... admittedly me and my fellowship here were considering counter-production, to re-take the lands for the orcs but now with a new master in stead of Lord of the Nazgul, as informed by your emissary Mawg, we knew who's side he had to take.

Ginnabrick leans by and protests. "Did you hear that, my queen?!" he said "He admitted he was planning to take Angmar for his orc rabble!"

Lmig responds "As I said, it was only in consideration... and an idea we then threw out thanks to Mawg. If you are the new ruler then my loyalty is to you; whether I like it or not!" The last few words he only thought to himself.

16/Aug/2017, 12:48 AM
A Circus in the Courtyard
Hillmen of Angmar

Woltoc Ironfist prised a wooden tooth from the silenced jaw of the slain. Turning it over between two fingers, the Hillman shrugged and tossed his prize unto the growing pile of squat, stone knives. Chipped arrow heads. Greasy-furred tatters of cloak that had seen better days. Much of the meat was charred black, bitter cold as bare bone branches, and the servant of Angmar did not rate the meal to come. Still their folk were of a hunger. The delay in food supplies might compensate for the quality of that same. The soldiers would hurl whatever was at hand down their gullets, to choke their growling bellies.

The rifler had prised through the slain orcs first, seeing as they had been far better equipped than the lowly hillmen. He shook an empty water flask with all the hope of a funeral, then heaped up the small mound of leather coin purses which the dead men had paid their lives to protect. He hesitated in the thought of stowing even one in the folds of his rags, but knew better than to risk his throat over such greed. Might be that obedience would serve him better than a clutch of riches .. in the long run. With a grunt, he beckoned over some of the ghoul-faced audience, his tribesfolk, who chased his intention to deliver these spoils to exactly where the Queen dictated.

Garroc Cragnest flinched from an ill-advised staring contest with the closest wolf. The displeased glance of Jadis saw that Wolf shrink from snarling beast to a meek pup, and backstep into line. Still bracing from the hard slap of the Icequeen’s disapproval, the traitorous Hillman shrank himself. Into the mottle hide of his own costume.

He had thought to ease his labour, feeding the wolves here rather than drag the meat down to the warg pit, a place he was terrified of. But now he was halted as he belatedly tried to carry a cumbersome corpse toward the kitchen. The Ice Queen’s arctic blast had stalled him before he escaped her reach.

“They will follow your command, as long as you follow mine ..”

So she had said. So should he trust ? The circle of beasts was edging ever inward. Cragnest made a snap decision, that he would prefer to be devoured still alive by wolves, than to test the temper of Jadis a second time.

“Come you wretches, seize a fleshbag each and we shall see them to your … lair” he rallied the wolves, who seized each an arm, a leg, an open throat.

They dragged a motley of corpses, and all efforts to separate the dead Orcs from the dead Men was in vain. It was as much as Cragnest could manage to keep his head over the tide of cadaver-bearing beasts. He did not feel at all as though they followed him. Except that they literally did. So close that he imagined their vast jaws gnawing about his ankles if he delayed any further.

And so was the word of Snowsword made so.


Snzahk the Survivor
On his way away

It occurred to the Orc that he might correct the Ice Queen, for he had in fact referenced the Delgaran’s predecessor. It was the craven Damrod whom Sznahk had served; long before Amarthel had been replaced in turn by Jadis. It occurred to the Orc also, that he had been fortunate of late, to survive such fates as had come in his general direction. So he didn’t shape his lipless word pit into anything that might offend the amazon, towering as she stood, like a storm over him. Instead, Sznahk kept his eyes low, marvelling about the blood she expected he should bleach out of snow. The cold and nigh impossible task gnawed at his courage. No, best not antagonise her further.

So while the Ice Queen brokered words with Lumig and his cronies, Sznahk spat at the bloodied mess and bandied his legs so that he might squat effectively. Starting small, he rolled the carpet of snow all affected by blood and entrails. It started small, it grew. He wound it in a ball before him until all of the marred surface matter had been hard-packed into the frigid mass. Then he started to roll it out of the general assembly, toward the wall of the courtyard. Toward the gate ..

The monarch of the north had granted him leave, after all, to leave …

All he had to do was kill two elves. The queen would not know necessarily whether they were the same two spies who had trespassed in her kingdom. It was true of course that Lumig and his Orc pack would know … Maybe he could burn the heads of any Elves he caught, so that they should seem unrecognisable save for their Elvish ears ..

The closer he gained ground to the gate, the more dare swelled up inside his chest. He had been given permission to depart. He might flee from the domain of Jadis to a place where she might never again find him .. but to leave Angmar would be to start over. And if not in Angmar, where ? There was an awful great way to travel under sun and through the land of the free folk .. unless he went through the mountain passes .. that was it. He would take the mountain passes. Many Elves went that way regardless. So if caught he could realistically claim that he was on the trail of her prey ..