The Angmar War
The Great War between the Witch-King of Angmar and the free peoples of Eriador aslo known as The Great Northern Wars. The Great Northern Wars was a centuries-long struggle between the northern Dúnadan kingdoms and the forces of Angmar, led by the Witch-king. The war consisted of the forming of Angmar's kingdom and the splitting of Arnor. It began with the wars in Cardolan, and innsurection in Rhudaur finally coming to a stand still with the entrance of the elves of Lindon, Imladris, and Eregion.
The Conflict
Prelude
Defense of Amon-Sul The world is changing. Twenty years have passed since the ill-fated Rhudaur Rebellion. While not successful at first, the first insurgency spawned many more which have further weakened the already trepidacious realm. But, despite their wounds, the Dúnedain are not without power. The fortified weather hills and fortress at Amon Sul stand as a shield protecting Fornost and the heart of Arnor. The New king: Arveleg I, Eighteenth King of Arnor, Master of the Annúminas Stone, Heir of Númenor, and Protector of Amon Sûl, son of Argeleb with the help of Cardolan and the elves has checked Angmar's advance. For many years they have held the fortifications at the weather hills. Using the power of the master Palantir of amon sul, Arveleg has withstood the crucible of Angmar's campaign, a bulwark alone. Although not the largest bastion in Middle Earth, Amon Sul is home to a mighty power. Once again you stand in the grand halls of Annúminas, their splendor effervescent in the lake side breeze and waning dusk. King Arveleg, unlike his upstart father has a plan for this Kingdom, his eyes burn with his desire to create a legacy for he and his kingdom. He addresses you three “These are dark times wanderers, and once again your skills are needed. For your aid in the civil war each of you has been recognized by the Lords of Arnor, should this campaign end successfully you will each be granted lands in Cardolan. This land once again calls upon you to defend it. The dark sorcerer who instigated the Rhudaur rebels has this time shown his hand. With diversionary attacks to draw off my brother in Cardolan and the Elves of Lindon, Amon Sul is left to Arthedain to keep safe.” “I call upon you to travel with my host as the forward guard and aid me as commanders of the defense of Amon Sul. Aid this land in any way you are able.” As you approach the pearly gates of amon sul you are struck by its peculiarity. Its walls and battlements are as would be for the men of numenor, however, atop a great acropolis sits a domed building home to the mightiest of the Palantir, the hall a tuning and focusing tool for its awesome power. Around you the preparations of war are underfoot, men train, battlements are repaired, the magics of the seeing stone are put to their best effect, and soldiers are armed, aid in whatever way best seems to you. You have two days. “May the servants of Sauron fall and curse in vain! Hail the Victorious Dead!” As you leave the keep, the battered remnants of the siege greet you in silence and at the sight of the king thunderous cheers as the air of victory eases the unbowed people of Arnor. Long may they protect her beauty and wisdom. At this, you have struck a blow to the powers of fell magics and claimed titles as lesser lords.
A Moonlight Council On the way to Imladris Much has changed in since the Siege at Amon Sul. Battle lines have been redrawn and plans reshaped. Elrond in Rivendell has called a meeting of the north to discuss the ongoing war on two fronts as well as an even more pressing errand. Thus have ye been sent as heralds of Annuminas imbued with the weight and power of the Kings of Arnor. It is Autumn in the year 1410 of the Third Age, a cool breeze flutters through the air as Nefstan, Folcred, and Euric trod through the thicketed Trollshaws and come upon the Ford of Bruinen, it is said that through this way may the hidden realm of Imladris be found. The Search for Imladris Over rolling hills and dark mountains the company has passed until finally reaching the borders of the Hidden Valley. Here they are met by a tall thin elf of the Falathrim and beside him a maiden of the Noldor with hair radiant as the dew of the blossoms in Lorien under the leaves of Telperion before the Sun was raised from the pools of Neste and Vanna. “Maegovanen mellon nin, I enneth nin Lindir, I am the Lord Elronds seneschal and steward of his house. You are well met” “á na márië adan (Be well, second-born) I am Faelwen Daughter of Finrod Felagund Son of Finarfin Ingoldo Son of Finwë First High King of the Noldolthrim.” Lindir Speaks again “Come now, into the hidden valley, the Lord Elrond and his emissaries await, things are now in motion that cannot be undone.” As the party treks forward into the hidden pass the path leads towards the high moor where the wind hisses through the heather. It’s vast slopes climbing the mountains broken into a dozen ravines and gullies filled with trees and resounding crash of falling waterfalls. The House of Elrond itself is a large mansion with many halls, pillared porches and comfortable rooms for guests. Several outbuildings are connected to the main house by covered walkways and winding paths, and gardens and terraces open above the steep bank of the river. The valley of Imladris is dotted with great silver and gold lanterns that shine like stars even by day, but more so at night when they flare bright holding back the dark, save where the Elves have purposefully dimmed them to create a continuous twilight amidst the trees. Wine and good cheer fills the valley, along with fair voices raised in hymns to Elbereth. The characters all have glasses of whatever they most like to drink thrust into their hands as they wander down towards the House of Elrond. As the evening grows dim business must be discussed however. Before in the hall lies a dais upon which stands the Master of the Last Homely House. The Lore-master of Imladris appears as neither old nor young. In his countenance is combined the wisdom of a king and the vigour of a strong warrior. He wears a circlet of silver upon his dark hair, and in his eyes are the memories of years uncounted. “Hail, heralds of Arveleg, be well met in this dark hour and come to my table and hearth” Assembled at the table sits representatives from across the North and from all the races of Middle Earth. At the head of the table sits a stern elf whose crimson hair dances around his glimmering plate steel. Long has it been since those of the Eldar dressed so haughtily. At your arrival the council is complete. The Elven Lord stands as Elrond gathers the attention of all “My kin has been sent from the West to aid in our struggle against the Shadow, and none too soon as the weariness of war ails the people of Arnor. The time for unity within and without the First Born of Illuvatar has come. Behold, Oromendero Arbalruin.” A silence stirs the room as the candles dim yet shadow is banished. “By right of bloodline as son of Maedhros the Tall, son of Faenor the Ultimate, FIRST son of Finwe First High King of the Noldor I have come from afar to claim the Kingship of the Noldoli and if it be so all the Quendi East of the Sundering Sea. The Faithless have left us, the Children of the One dispossessed. For this will shall render blood, for slain they may be, and slain they shall be. By weapon and by torment and by grief. I call upon those here to seek out into the corners of Middle Earth and Drive out the Enemy in the Open! To long have we hidden in Shadows, No longer. Bring this Message to the heirs of Elendil. We March on Carn Dum.” False Piety The road passes through great corpses of ancient trees, running one into another, pierced by clearings thick with bracken. A cloud of birds high in the sky wheeling together grabs your attention. They seem to be enjoying a conversation. The path changes through the day. In the morning it was little more than a track used by wild sheep, deer and goats. By lunchtime it is composed of great dressed slabs of grey stone, risen and new wrought by the skill of the Masons of Tharbad. A Great City of Men is before you though unlike what you have seen before this land seems more hallowed and simple. The walls offer reverence as much as the spiraling temples to the Valar. Here will convincing aid prove difficult, for ever have the people of Cardolan held to their insular and monastic ways, preferring piety and introspection over action and active devotion. So has the Price Araphor ruled from the Wrought Marble tower of Hurin the Broad. The Great Hall (Araphor the Pious) “How now are you heralds in my court. Give your message and begone, for I do not take well to warmongers nor adherents to the kings secularism. I am Araphor son of Aranath whose lineage can be traced to the lords of old and house of Marach. Speak.” “Get thee gone from my house, for I have little pity for those who serve not their own kings.” As you exit A tall blond man in the garb of the Guardians of the Barrow Downs appears before you. “I am Cartheon of the Seven Stars and I am in need of aid. A Shadow grows in the vale of Angmar and covers the once sacred city of Tyrn Gorthad now sacked by the enemy. They defile the barrows with ancient sorcery of which I have no cure. Friends of the kindly west, aid me I beseech you.” In the librarys of Tharbad or in the mind Folcred lies the history of Tyrn Gorthad. Once the most sacred city in the West it now lies ashen its great barrows upended and the dead newly arisen. The great Barrows were built of old in the second age by the sons of Valandil third king of Arnor. Their funerary tradition was maintained for nearly fifteen centuries until the recent sack 4 years earlier during the initial rebellion and subsequent invasion from the North. All that remains is a foul desolation, a cursed plateau of the dark lord of Angmar, an orc infested desert of nameless horror and pitiless abomination. The armies of the dark lord have been busy, as have his sorcerers. The once mighty wards which protected Tyrn Gorthad have been cast down and the shadow has sewn its sickness across the land. Only one extremely well versed in healing magics and sorceries could hope to reenchant them. “Elen sila lumen omentielvo, we shall meet again in the camp of Dunedain a league south of the ruins. May the Seven Stars Guide you” As you leave the city the scents of pine and marble ebb and fade. With the clearing of the morning mist and a rise in the road, the landscape unfolds around you, and you can see for leagues across the Swanfleet Delta to the Great Rolling Weather Hills. To the North you can make out the Peaks of Mount Gram and the dark whisps encompassing the land in shadow. You pass a day of slow inclines and tiring twists to the path. The next day you enjoy a long afternoon of downhill travel that raises your spirits. At the end of the day you catch sight of a great white stag, lifting its head from the sward before leaping away into the distance. The final part of the Company’s journey is by far the most dangerous. The characters swiftly pass into the barren lands that mark the southern outer reaches of Angmar and eventually into the perilous region known as the Grey Waste, a desolate country filled with grey scrub and stunted, gnarled trees. It is swiftly obvious why it would have been dangerous to bring horses here: the broken ground conceals countless holes and pockmarks where a horse’s leg would readily break. The sky is perpetually overcast and gloomy. It is hard to believe that it is summer in Eriador, for there is no trace of it here. Waste of Angmar is indeed worthy of being called “Nan Gorthrim”, for it is here that the Witch-king worked his foul sorceries of old. The Morgul-lord studied his dark matters behind the stone walls of a tower, and that tower miraculously escaped the destruction of Angmar and is still standing today. The Hill-men who used to live in the valley named the tower the “Icy Flame” for the eldritch energies that ignited the sky about the fastness and made it appear as if the snow itself was burning with blue-green flame. Nan Gorthrim opens at the southernmost end of the Frozen Path, the hidden road that runs across the Mountains of Angmar. Fortunately, the company doesn’t have to walk up that accursed trail, rather they pass through the foothills and end up a winding track that eventually leads into the valley itself. It is a long and narrow dale, cut by many steams of putrescent water flowing down from the sides of the dak mountain range. Eventually before the party lies a patchwork of houses, tombs, and great halls. No words in the books of Tharbad spake of their splendor and the devotion to death about them. The Greatest Tomb stands for Elendur 7th King of Arnor in the heart of the city. A gigantic slab of dark red marble sits atop a great stairway in the center of a huge circular hall, with a once-polished floor now tarnished with filth and pitted with age. A few pieces of broken masonry lie about the room but it still retains its splendor of old. To accomplish the task before them the groups loremaster must decipher morgul runes used on the walls and floors to strip them of their strength and corrupt them to evil purpose. After successfully deciphering the runes and reading them a dark muttering is heard growing louder and stronger. A cold draft snuffs all light and fire engulfs the walls as the runes blaze in heat and malice. The room flares with eldritch light as the symbols gleam and subside as a dark malevolence relents. This commotion has drawn the Goblins and their chief. With the runes deciphered they must be reversed at their source. How is another matter entirely. The old books in Tharbad also spoke of an ancient being of good who guarded the greenwood next to the barrows. To seek audience with one of such venerable age may prove quite a task. On the journey to the Old wood the weather grows terrible and land strange, Queer creatures and odd plants festoon the floors and trees in blanketing thickets.Queer Creatures and Queerer Lodging
With the runes of the Cairn of Isildur deciphered they must be reversed at their source. How is another matter entirely. The old books in Tharbad also spoke of an ancient being of good who guarded the greenwood next to the barrows. To seek audience with one of such venerable age may prove quite a task. On the journey to the Old wood the weather grows terrible and land strange, Queer creatures and odd plants festoon the floors and trees in blanketing thickets. As the companions approach where they heard a voice from, a short man with a bushy brown beard and happy blue eyes bounds out of the woods before them. He does indeed, have a bright blue jacket and yellow boots, along with a rumpled hat, crowned by a long feather. The company can introduce themselves Tom brings the company into his home swiftly which is nearby in a knoll clear of all the woods darkness wrapped in a warm vale of dew. His home is built of solid stone and its inside is filled with shining lamps, foods, and books. A beautiful maid, more like to an Elven lady than a mortal woman, welcomes the characters into their home. Her long bright gold hair is loose about her shoulders and she wears a silvery-green dress that almost looks like brightly coloured fish scales, twinkling in the many lights of the house. Water lilies float in earthen jars filled with water and set about the room. Tom introduces her as “My pretty lady, Goldberry”. Tom and Goldberry rush about in a merry, coordinated dance seeing to their guests’ needs (putting horses in a small stable Tom keeps if the Company has them), putting drinks into their hands, removing their cloaks and so on. Goldberry speaks in a melodious voice and seems gracious and kind. At some point, someone will ask the obvious — “Do you know why we’ve come?” or something along those lines. Bombadil turns very solemn for a moment and responds: Tom laughs. “You want my help, noble heroes? First you sing with us!” Tom expects all companions to join in with him and Goldberry “Come Orcs, come Trolls, never a quaver! But ask for a jolly tune and your friend needs a saviour!” All characters find they enjoy Advantage to their Performance checks — even the most tone-deaf find that they can sing merrily in the House of Tom Bombadil. After many hours of singing, drinking and good cheer, Tom and Goldberry insist that their guests spend the night. The Company finds that beds have already been laid for them, ones appropriate to their sizes. In the morning, after serving the companions a big breakfast, Goldberry disappears and Tom sits with the characters to talk. Tom speaks of the Barrow-downs as they are, Tyrn Gorthad as it was, and the hills as they were before the first of the Edain chose to bury their dead within them. His voice murmurs on, telling them great truths of the earth and old secrets that the characters can never after directly recall, but something of the wonder and the majesty of Bombadil’s words remains with them after. Bombadil speaks of the Barrow-wights, their epic greed, and terrible loneliness. Finally, Tom tells the Company that what they are to attempt is a noble endeavour, for many have been hurt and many more will be if the Wights are not confined to the Downs once more. He gives direct answer to few questions. He laughs if asked who he is. “Why, I’m Tom Bombadil of course! All that you see of me, I am! Eldest, that’s what.” Tom walks the characters to the edge of the Barrow-downs and waves them goodbye with a final song: “Heed no shadows, my hearties. Be bold, but be wary! Old Tom’s songs are about you now, But no more time to tarry!” The heroes gain inspiration and lose a point of shadow if they have one. Upon the hill of the elven prince Toms magic must be unfolded. Noon till Four The company are assembled, all is in readiness, the sky is overcast with patches of blue glimpsing through occasionally, but it grows progressively worse as the day wears on. As it gets later in the day the fog begins to swirl about the base of the Hill of the elven prince in odd patterns. Folcred begins to speak a chant of words that roll out of him in a measured and guttural tone occasionally wave his hands in cardinal directions towards the stars invoking the Valar and crescent of Elbereth. Four till Eight As the sun begins to set but light yet remains the swirling fog comes to a sudden halt and voices start whispering out of the growing darkness. The first probing wave of Barrow wights emerges from the fog. 3 lesser wights The wights look at Folcred and seem to approach him but are forced away by his magic. Make a second check. Eight till Midnight The fog returns with vengeance racing over the downs making all difficult to see. Strange sounds echo off the stone hills and the lit fires roar to life around the party. A wave of) 1 Wight-King (Carthean) 6 lesser wights ranged. But they are drawn off. Once Carthean is slain and Folcred makes a third check the Nazgul (Tar-Ciryatan an Ancienct Númenórean Warlord) appears. “Come not between a Nazgul and his prey or he shall slay thee in turn. Thou fools, this is my hour, Die now, and curse in vain.” Midnight till Dawn The fog partially rolls away and the company sees the wights coming from every direction, their eyes like dull stars approaching over the downs. The horde is endless and the company must slay the Nazgul Lord. Folcred makes his final check. On his success Folcred’s voice raises to a thunderous roar, as his left hand stretches out a light blazes forth from it bright that parts the clouds and penetrates the veil of shadow over Eriador. On the banishment of the Nazgul the onslaught ends. A pale blue white luminescence now ripples through the fog far into the distance along the edge of the Barrow downs. Any wights which attempt to exit are repelled back into the barrows. An army now gathering yet trapped in Tyrn Gorthad. Cameth Brin The ominous shadow of Cameth Brin, the Twisted Hill, looms above the oaks and elms of the TrollShaws in Central Rhudaur. The plight of Rhudaur reveals the fate the Witch-king has in store for the rest of sundered Arnor. The few traders and adventurers who dare tread its worn, grass-grown roads are never quite free of a sense of surrounding danger. Trolls, emboldened by the Witch-king's successes, openly stalk the land by night, and the few Dunedain and lesser men who inhabit this twisted shadow of a country openly curse what gods may yet still be remembered more likely to spit on a traveler than offer a hearth. From the shade of the tumbled woodlands the Hillmen watch, brooding, bitter enemies of all outsiders, and deeper in the forest lurk evils so primal their hatred is felt in passing by all of flesh and blood. Settled by Dúnadan adventurers well after the rest of Arnor was tamed, Rhudaur was never fully subdued; the fracturing of the kingdom three hundred years ago was regretted by few of the common citizens, and the evil ones who took advantage of the dividing of Arnor saw it as the first of many victories. Those dreams have been frustrated so far, but Rhudaur remains the tormented ghost of a nation. As the company come upon the forsaken and corroded walls of Cameth Brin a guardsmen in the tower calls down. “Who are ye that come at this dark hour? Leave the lords of carrion in peace.” “Ye may enter, but little hope is there of accord within these halls long bereft of lordship.” The solem and singular mountain hill of Cameth-Brin (S. “Twisted-Hill”) and its tower of Tir-Barad Tereg (S. “Great-Troll-Watch-Tower)”) guard over the small walled city of Carras Bennas (S. “City-of-the-Angle”) whose denezins have long since mixed their blood with the Haeredain and Rhudaurhim. Once five great watch towers bordered the lands of the lower kingdom each belonging to the noble houses of the region who had settled there at in the early centuries of the Third Age long after the initial colonization of Cardolan and Arthedain. As in Arthedain and Cardolan courtly culture has ruled in Rhudaur, however its dictates were in practice a façade for a a more malignant corruption at work. The Hirath (Lords) of Arnor were all descended of the three great houses of the Edain Beor, Hador, and Marach of these only those of the least house of Marach remained in Rhudaur and those that endured had all but spent what Numenorean blood lingered within them. Lessor sons of lesser sires. Thus have you come to the once capital of Rhudaur Minas Brethil, now wrought low. More Exposition if wanted: Until the Third Age, few men dared to come near this dreadful place; many would-be explorers feared the presence of evil spirits, while others were scared off by the unnatural appearance of the hill itself, Cameth Brin rises 830 feet above the only vale in the Trollshaws that might otherwise be called fair. Its base is a steep yet natural hill, but from this foundation erupts a tortured outcropping of naked black granite that leans impossibly far over the southern face. It looks as if a errant breeze would send the craggy top tumbling down upon the town and the valley below. However, the great overhang of rock has endured earthquake and glacier and many changes in the world. Early in the Third Age, the Dúnedain gained mastery over Cameth Brin after a short but fierce struggle with the Hillmen who controlled the vale around it and the spirits who dwelt inside it. They built upon and within the rock a mighty fortress dominating all the Trollshaws, the heart of the land that later became the kingdom of Rhudaur. Cameth Brin lies about eight miles east and south of a great bend in the River Mitheithel, within sight of the western border of the Trollshaws. The Barracks is little stocked and the troops that may have been loyal are ridden with pox and red scourge sent from the North, here Angmar has come down the hardest as mudslick streets run empty with waste and thick smog. At the innermost crook of the hills covering sits the hall of nobles in which bittering bureaucrats argue over the price of grain while the masses starve and throw lavish engagements in their dwindiling halls as their enemies surround them. The Twisted Hill Visitors new to Rhudaur may not immediately realize that most of the fortress lies inside the outcropping. Anyone climbing the back side of the hill without the King's permission is subject to immediate execution An old iron mine yet has machinery in motion extracting the last vestiges of useful ore. Petty dwarves once delved her “Insert Hobbit quote pg. 7? In the hall sits a great stone chair flanked on either side by smaller makeshift thrones, having lost their territory the other disgraced nobles must yet retain some physical manifestation of their will. Three are seated currently, all in lesser seats. The closest noble, a women stands from her chair to address you. “Who comes into the our halls so unbidden, undressed, and unwelcome.” As she says this she makes note to brandish and display her lavish raiment, garbed in fur and gold, a venal covetous gleam in her eyes as she more closely regards your weaponry and arms. “And how may we aid travellers of renown? Speak with us and take counsel.” “I am Melosse of the House of Melessin, this is Rhuntir of the house of Romentiryar, and this is……” A tall dark skinned man stands from the furthest chair. “Amrothar of the house of Marach” (House of Oratayar) At this the other two nobles give an indignant glance. Amrothar comes forward and shakes the hand of one of the fellowship. “Well met in this dark hour, please bring us tidings if you will.” Quickly Melosse intercedes and begins expositing worthless information on the logistics of the remaining territories and the gossip of the town attempting to gleam any information she can from the fellowship. After a while she will attempt to convince the party to aid her and the other two nobles in a attempting a coup against the tyrannical Broddah a noble whose mother hailed from the Dunledings of the south and whose name and temper runs equally so. His nephew Gloranon of sits in the seat of the hose of Laureanoyar through forced marriage as Broddah slowly expands his influence. Melosse speaks “Our plan will be simple and bloodless as is possible. We will call forth a meeting declaring your purpose to levie our troops and resources for an ill-fated yet ‘heroic’ venture at which point you will aid us in the incapacitation of our foul lord and his rancid nephew, and in exchange we will claim stewardship over the remaining lands of Rhudaur, and further should she be reclaimed her lands may lie in vassalship to Arthedain and lordship of Carras Bennas . Do you find the terms acceptable?” Following this Melosse and the gaunt and silent Rhuntir withdraw to the chambers of the many hallways which reach into the great hill. Amrothar however stays behind to speak further and aid you in finding accommodations not infested or ludicrously priced. “Long has it been since my people had hope. I myself am of great part middle blood, yet I would see our land restored and greatened for ever were we the lesser sister of greater siblings. The Kinslaying Broddah is however not the way forth, and sinful in the eyes of Elbereth. He will listen to reason I know it. Please, but speak to him and make reason. He is under some dark wizardry for he was not always so. Once he was the revered Thoronodil of the house of Sorondilyar yet ere the rebellion broke and the foul sorceries of the north wake, his humours soured and he forsook both the valar and his namesake taking a name of his mothers people, though she had always loved him with kindness and raised him as a son of the honoured west.” With this he leads you to a set of accommodations for incoming tradsmen and retainers. The night passes riddled with foul omens and dark portents. However the sky looks yet fairer than yesterday and clearer still than the day before as the sun brakes the horizon. Melosse has left instructions to meet at the hall at noon armed and as introductions are concluded to ‘pacify these barbarians’ once and for all. Melosse-Amrothar-Broddah Remaining Commander of Rhudaur “For your service what men can be spared are yours a compliment of 450 Men at Arms of our Garrison will depart to rally levies across the remaining peasentries and impress what hillmen can be found. Further it is the tradition of our people never to lie too long in debt. Thus may these be of more use to you than those too ignorant to understand them in these hallsDeployment
Ambush in the North Downs and Siege of Fornost-Erain
After the arduous journey from Cameth-Brin to the Fields of Fornost you are met by the sight of an embattled encampment, worn after decades of garrison. Prince Annatheldyn and his Knight Lady Elwing command the force of Rangers and company of Arnor Infantry here as a lookout for attacks from Mount Gram. Upon your arrival the guards part ways for you and nod their heads in earned admiration and esteem. The rangers that tailed you from the shadows (Of which Euric was keenly aware) then make themselves known and offer to take you to the command tent. The camp is tense but quiet, men at arms playing dice, bowmen on patrol, an apothecary speaking to his diligent adopted shire-mouse, and a dark green tent propped on either side by thick pine trees. As you enter Annatheldyn is reading while Elwing surveys maps with a lieutenant conspicuously missing quite a few fingers.
“Hail and well met in this dark hour friends, you come indeed at an auspicious time!”
Elwing is the first to see you recognizing Faelwen and Folcred for their radiance and mercuriality.
“Long have we waited in vigil here for the coming darkness and I fear it will soon be upon us, may the light of elbereth protect us.”
At this Annatheldyn places the book he was reading on the armrest (Herbal and Botanical Compendium of Eriador Vol. II), touches his hand to the Valacirca on his breastplate.
“The Sickle of the Valar knows many enemies Elwing and blessed by Manwë are we that a mighty fist has come to wield it.”
He now addresses the company.
“Champions of the Free Peoples I beseech you come now to Fornost my company and I will lead the way for it is fraught with peril.”
The trek from the camp nested in the forest to the second-capital follows a twisted network of rock gullies marked with small obsidian stones. Finally the terminus, a small narrow opening perhaps three halflings wide, opens into the courtyard of a watchtower sitting on the eastern edge of the battlements. Annatheldyn speaks before you are able to fully take in your surroundings.
“An ancient world of towered fortress cities. Amon-Sul guarding the entrance to the lands of Arnor, Carn-Dum Palace of the Dark Lord the Dwimmerlaik, and look you to yet another. Fornost-Erain Chief city of Arthedain first bastion of hope for the powers of light and good. From the battlement atop the Citadel, like a mariner atop a mountainous ship one could look sheer down 700 feet below and still this was not the top. Behold Formenairë the Tower of Seers, and at the top the banner of the Arthedain for the lords who governed the city. Its silk and arms more fitting Gwaihir lord of the eagles, than those whose emblem it bore. All this Fornost….Was. But now under siege the sparkling gem of Eriador had become dull and flawed with the hell of war. The once lush fields of Annúndir now a wasted battle ground upon which the forces of Evil celebrate their victories. Far superior in number to the battle ravaged Arnor forces. Trolls, undead, orcs, and traitors alike march beneath the captain of despair to their almost certain victory. And in the heavens where no living thing dare now venture Sauron's phantom lieutenants, the Nazgul astride their devil steeds scream battlecries of vile encouragement.”
Elwing and the company are aghast at the sight before them.
“How will we get into the city now all is lost!” A cry from one of the rangers
“Nay not all, not while our strength endures.”Offers Elwing
“Or our conviction” Counters Annatheldyn
Getting into the City
Prince Annatheldyn knows there is a secret passage somewhere in the gullies that leads into Fornost but where he could not even guess. Perhaps with the company's aid the passage could be found and navigated.
3DC20 1DC25 on Fail Mountain Goblin Attack
Lady Elwing prefers taking battle to the enemies of Elbereth and the filth attacking her city. She recommends the party lead a vanguard with her and the prince while the infantry cover the rear and begin dismantling enemy siege equipment.
Annatheldyn “Soldiers of Arnor, Be Steel for the hordes of hell are upon you. Put the monster and the renegade to the sword. Forward.” With this he charges forth. The horns of Orc war blare on the mountain sides far off and the howls of Wargs and Olog-hai are abound. Hillmen of the Gwathló basin pour forth from the wood line their disunity only matched by their bloodlust!
Alternatively a combination of these plans of ideas of the players.
The Fellowship must reach Crown Prince Arvegil and Malbeth the Seer to encourage a desperate sally.
Upon their arrival into the city they find it relatively intact within the sanctuary of its great walls. Townspeople hurry to cover as artillery fire and arrows rain upon the battlements.
The Prince and The Seer
As the fellowship pass into the royal district dozens of Tirrim, the royal guard, patrol the streets, defend junctions, and allow passage to the doors of Elendil made of mighty stone and mithril. Great Halls of Ancient lords stretch into the vast depths of the citadel's corridors. Finally at the zenith of a set of obsidian stairs lay the Audience Chamber. As the party enters two great chairs sit adjacent a great throne of ebony festooned in emerald flowers and a seat of ivory wreathed in bronze leaves. While the greater ebony seat sits empty an elderly yet stern man sits upon the pale throne a great black Orb enveloped in a silk carpet overlooks a glass oculus composite of four enormous windows surveying the expanse of the white city and beyond. Before any of the party speaks Malbeth taps his white staff upon the black marble floor seven times.
“Soon, Soon all shall be burned, the west has failed, it shall go up in a great pire and all shall be ended. Ash, Ash and smoke blow away upon wind…..”
“Pride and Despair! Didst thou think the eyes of the white tower were blind!”
“I have seen more than thou knowest great fools. Thy hope is but ignorance, even with the forces of the Noldor there is no hope, or go forth an fight? Vanity. For a little space you may triumph on the field….for a day. But against the dark power which now rises there is no victory. To this dying city only the first fingers of its hand have yet been stretched. All the east is moving, and even now the wind of thy hope cheats thee and whaffs up an enemy legion of untold abomination, up the river anduin they come, even now the river which leads to the edge of the Fornost Fields. hahahahaha.”
“The west has failed, it is time for all to depart this life who would not be slaves.”
So pases Malbeth son Morwen, and so pases also the days of Fornost, for good or evil, they have ended.
Behind the throne room a thick maple door opens into a small personal apothecary in which multiple practitioners of various healing disciplines tend to a wounded and unconscious Crown Prince Arvegil his Knights unwilling to sally out to suffer being parted from their lord others rather fallen into despair and torment at the ill woes of Malbeth.
On a success Prince Arvegil is brought back from the brink of death.
“The shadow upon his pale face had all but wrought its ill upon him, and yet as the light of the Valar grew within him the darkness was cast out, returning a glimmer of light to Arvegils long stoney eyes.” On his recovery the Crown Prince confers with the party on his fathers commands and plans as well as the business with Malbeth, though unsure of his trusted advisors disappearance for the time being more urgent matters take precedence. Arvegil begins to rally the nobles from across the quarter to their steeds a mighty charge through the square. As all are assembled before the second great gate of Fornost the Prince speaks “Children of Illuvatar, the time has come to show your valor. With the might of Tulkas we shall ride, with will of the seven stars we shall hew the enemy, and by the grace of the one WE SHALL ENDURE!.”
A cry goes out “For the Seven Stars Chaaaaaaaaarge”
The Charge leads to the outer walls of the city in which the party will fight off the remaining aggressors.
Battlefield
The whole of Eriador
Belligerents
Alliance of the Free Peoples
Led by
Strength
Royal Host of Arthedain (Dagarim-en-Arthedain)
5,000 Royal Guard (Tirrim Aran)
3,000 Royal Rangers (Dagarim Feryth)
12,000 Rangers (Feryth)
75,000 Royal Army Infantry (Dagarim Aran Rhivtlyr)
20,000 Royal Navy Marines (Cair Aran Rhivtlyr)
50,000 Royal Militia Levies (Ethiron Aran Ohtari)
60,000 Noble Armies (Degerim Ereter)
6,000 Citadel Guard (Rembar Tirrim)
45,000 Noble Militia Levies (Ethiron Ereter Ohtari)
3,000 Royal Knights (Arequain)
17,000 Knights (Requain)
4,000 Siege Equipment (Ballista, Onager, Ram, Trebuchet)
300,000 Approximate Combined Host
Royal Host of Cardolan (Dagarim-en-Cardolani)
20,000 Rangers (Feryth)
45,000 Noble Armies (Degerim Ereter)
5,000 Citadel Guard (Rembar Tirrim)
25,000 Noble Militia Levies (Ethiron Ereter Ohtari)
5,000 Noble Knights (Arequain)
15,000 Knights (Requain)
115,000 Approximate Combined Host
Noble Host of Rhudaur (Degerim-en-Rhudaurim)
8,500 Rangers (Feryth)
26,500 Noble Armies (Degerim Ereter)
10,000 Hillman Militia Levies (Ethiron Ereter Ohtari)
45,000 Approximate Combined Host
Combined Host of the Quendi
140,000 Approximate Combined Host
Eregion Reformed
10,000 Veterans of the War of Wrath (Primarily Heavy Infantry)
10,000 Veterans of the War of Jewels (Primarily Skirmishers, Cavalry, Bowmen, and Pikes)
7,000 Teleri & Vanyar of Alqualondë (Teleri Marines and Vanyar Phalanx)
25,000 Noldor of Eriador (Primarily Heavy Infantry and Archers)
100 Loremasters of Eregion (Mages)
Greenwood and Lorien
16,000 Silvan (Primarily Archers, Light Siege Equipment, Scouts, and Skirmishers)
24,000 Sindar (The Galadhrim)
7,000 Avari (Guerillas and Light Infantry)
3,000 Moriquendi (Heavy Axe Infantry)
100 Shapeshifters (Led by Hrólfs Grimboar ancestor of Beorn)
20 Ents
5 Eagles
Lindon
20,000 Falathrim (Men-at-Arms and Light Bowmen)
7,000 Laiquendi (Phalanx of Mithlond)
8,000 Sindar, Noldor, and Teleri (Plate Bow & Sabre Infantry)
Dwarves of Khazad-Dûm
25,000 Longbeards
18,000 Broadbeards
12,000 Firebears
5,000 Veterans of Belegost and Nogrod
60,000 Approximate Combined Host
Total Combined Strength: 660,000
Angmar Shadow in the North
600,000 Orcs, Goblins, hobgoblins, and uruks half of which are undead.
I00,000 trolls, Ologhai, giants, ogres, and Rogash
5,000 sorcerers
9 Nazgul (Including Witch-King and Morgamir)
Rebels of Rhudaur and Cardolan
45,000 Hillmen, Wildmen, and Evilmen and Broddah Laureanoyar
50,000 Wights, Ghouls, Full Undead and Karsh
Casualties
Objectives
Destruction of Angmar, Death of the Necromancer in the North, Unification of the Quendi and of Arnor.
Destruction of the Northern Realm of Arnor and annhilation of the line of Elendil.
Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild
Comments