A Light from the Shadow (Tolkien CKII)

[ganonso]

The Masters of Spirit

You have gathered before you what remains of the elders of the Orcish villages you have in your guard and no few of the youths that didn't leave for war at the behest of Azog. You feel pity in seeing them for you gaze upon malnourished limbs, mutilated faces, ravaged flesh. Orcs were made to be hardy and survive nearly anything the world could throw at them but they were also crafted to be scarred and repulsive, their ugliness a calculated insult to Eru Allfather. Yet you see no ugliness in the throng gathered along you for, with the eyes of Nienna, you see them as wounded, broken, bent and twisted to horrid purpose but not ugly. Some of the oldest seem possessed with a sad majesty, their emaciated faces broken in trying to understand why they are here. In the youngest you have hope for even twisted shoots can grow into fair trees. And most of them are young enough to be tainted only by the shame of their birth and the sins of their maker.

You see both male and female in that assembly. How curious it is that despite their presence on the battlefield and elsewere the women of the Orcs appeared not in tales, and neither did the children of that race for that matter. Sometimes you wonder if the Children of Eru are even aware how their enemies reproduce or if they believe such legends as how Orcs were born of stone and mud given life by Melkor. Such tale you heard from the Dwarves and laughed at the hearing. If Morgoth had the power to breathe life to stone, he would have been mightier than any Vala by far. No the Secret Fire of awareness and consciousness is only Eru's to give and even to Aule, this gift was given but once in an immortal's life.

You gathered them to talk to them about the Valar. From what you observed Orcish religion is strange but not illogical. They seem, like Humans and Avari, to worship whatever is near them and have only dim memories of the mutilation of their ancestors. Those in Moria worshipped you of course as a power they could sense through their alignment to Discord and who encouraged them to more atrocities. From Morgoth or Sauron they heard only rumors in the dark and whisper in the endless nights of the cave. As for the fate that waits for them after they shed their mortal forms, you don't know but they seem to hold that their fea return to the darkness to be extinguished or disappear entirely. In that last proposition, you recognize an all too common lie Melkor made to Humans. Still they have no notion of the Powers of the West, which is strange as you remember the contingents of Angband being in fear of Tulkas and the dread Maïar that would one-day lay siege to the stronghold. Orome in particular was feared beyond all for the Hunter was always keen to remedy to aberrations in the Music.

So you talk to them about your masters among the Powers, about the Masters of Spirits that have in their charge the most esoteric parts of creation and perhaps the most relevant to their situations.

You speak of Mandos the Doomsman that wait for any living thing. You tell them they have a fea, a spark that never will die or be consumed by the darkness but will depart the Circles of the World like the Aftercomers and go to a place without pain or shadow. As they are mortals the Halls of Mandos are not for them but your speech makes them trust in the mercy of the One and his promise to mankind. You speak of what you know of the prophecies of Mandos but also how even he cannot see all that transpire on the world.

You speak of his spouse Vaire the Weaver and expounds on fate in the world. You tell them they have a destiny they can meet, something weaved in the Music before it was marred and dismal possibilities that were introduced by the marring. What their destinies are, you don't know, for free will is of the Maker's gifts the most precious but you are sure they made a step towards it by not being under the dominion of Azog. As you are sure your redemption saved you from an unpleasant fate and the long decay that follow any attachment to the Discord.

You speak of Lorien lord of dreams and discover that Orcs dream despite all efforts of the Umaïar to the contrary. And not only bitter nightmares of blood and ruin but remembrances and ancestral memories about the time where their forebears were Elves walking under the sun. They are buried deeply but there's still in part that drove them to such rage in the prime of their age. For as they suffer, they feel a longing for what they cannot have and never had, for sensations robbed from them and values they've been taught to hate. You hope that by talking to them about the poppies gardens of Valinor, you can assuage some of their torment.

You speak of Este his spouse, the mistress of all healing arts and you promise them an escape to all pain with her guidance. Most of them are misshapen by centuries of inbreeding and degeneration added to all the plagues Morgoth's servants let loose in their blood. So they are keen to understand the blessings of a healer. While they have their own medicine, crude but extremely effective, you teach them what you know about minor applications of herbs and spells, at least about how to enhance a little their disgusting cordial and their ointments. You hope that the Healer will smile on them

Lastly you speak of Nienna the Mourner you now follow. You speak of she who mourns for every path not taken and every harm done to the world and assure them they have an advocate in Valinor. Perhaps because you owe that to her who showed you the path to redemption, you depict her as the blessed lady that will in time see them all in the farthest shore and listen to their sorrows as she listens to everything. For Melkor she still mourns, for what he could have been and may yet be.

Strangely enough Orcs take to worship rather well, and learn what prayers and rituals you impart to them. Apparently, and not unsurprisingly considering the great slaughter you wrought, the afterlife was a subject of worry for them and they are thankful to have answers. You can expect the Masters of Spirits to be revered among each of the three villages you administer.

 

[ganonso]

Nan Curunir part 1

Long is the road to the great tower of Orthanc near the greatest pass in the Misty Mountains. Long and harsh to do on foot, as you have no mount and you cannot hope to be well received if you travel with the form Nienna allowed you in remembrance of your first glory. Furthermore you cannot help but wonder that this form should only be employed for deeds worthy of song, especially as you understand that these wizards that elves call the Istari, are restricted in power to not impress the people of Middle Earth and fight Sauron power to power in a struggle of might who would corrupt them to the core. Also you have acquired a taste for the pain your old fana gives you. It's not like the pleasure of the depraved but the great ecstasy of penance and atonement as you understand that ages of torment would not suffice to undo the part you took in the Great Marring and the audacious rapt. So you walk for days, old but quick until you arrive to this place which is called Nan Curunir, the Wizard's Vale

The valley is beautiful, filled with trees and boughs where Saruman must walk in peace, meditating the course of the war and pondering the devices of the Enemy. It is of course nothing compared to the majesty of Lothlorien where winter is unknown. Still you feel the Music in there too, different but potent, as if many instruments though muted let forth a great melody, remembering echoes of old glory. And of course there's the tower itself which hold your gaze as soon as your eyes meet it. It is a long needle of black stone, stronger than obsidian but alike in that you can see your reflection dimly displayed in the ancient stones. By the art of the Men of Numenor was this tower erected and their craftsmanship still show as no sign of wear or any injuries of time can be noticed. Furthermore, the tower disappears above the cloud and you can spy a little of its crowned summit, Orthanc where Saruman gazes at the stars of Varda. You see no guards opposing your entry as you walk a cleared path leading to a great staircase where the wizards await. The trek is no more trial than the mountain's passes and treacherous way you already passed. Still you see your kin, three of them while you were expecting only one.

One is tall and clad entirely in white. White velvet, on white silk on white linen, embroidered with an art surpassing the craft of mortals. He's standing tall and not bent by age or grief, proud and serene as a colossus alone in the clouds. His hair and beard are white as snow although light playing with their whiteness makes them seem to be bright and changing like clear water. His staff is long and black and a ring is on his finger. In his eyes you sense dreams of crafting, of gears turning of earth crumbling, dreams of thoughts and knowledge that will one day be discovered. The Music around him sings his name: Curunir. He looks at you, shining with calm authority, sure and serene.

The second is crooked like you and clad in elven grey. At first it seems to you he's in rags but with further thoughts you see his clothes are sturdy as a travelers' would and in good shape. Seeing you he reasserts himself and you see him as an old man untroubled by the weariness of age and still valiant in spite of its pains. His hair and beard are not disheveled but not inhumanly groomed as they fall like rain on his shoulders. His staff is a long cypress branch made more for walking than the staff of office of his kin. His eyes echo with the same voice as yours, with mourning and compassion, and good when evil could have been chosen, and evil serving to good. Above that yet is the cry of an eagle. The Music around him sings his name: Olorin. He's smiling to you and his free hand is nearly extended in welcome.

The third is the most disheveled and savage of the three. While fat is not a world you would employ to qualify him, it's the impression he gives. An old brown bear crowned with birds and flowers. His robes are of dirty brown and his staff is of living yew, a living branch bearing leaves and berries. He's crowned with flowers and grass and birds attend him and sing around him in chorus. In his eyes you hear the cry of many birds and the howl of many beasts but also the long patience of all growing things and the power of nature uncorrupted. The Music around him sings his name: Aiwendil. He looks weary and waiting for the others to indicate a direction.

[First Impression roll: 26+30(Word of Galadriel+ Hand of the Powers – Ancient Adversary)+78: 104: Return of the Prodigal Son ]

"Greetings Istar of Nienna! Greetings Herald of Mercy. Wisdom and help you have come to seek in these troubled times and you came to the right place. Long ages had passed since one of the Powers came to the Light from the Shadow rather than the reverse. The touch of the Lady of Compassion is upon you, plain to see and I grieve for your penance. Welcome to Orthanc and to the circle of your brothers."

[Roll:26-40(Earnest Praise- The Voice of Saruman) +5: -11: Speech of Aman]

This voice! Even Galadriel who saw the two Trees in flower and keeps her light in her eyes was not so sweet and regal as this. You see him as more king and mighty lord than wizards, chief of the Wise and great instrument of the Music against the Discord. The two others have almost dissaperead so is the beauty of Curunir's voice that carries to you perfume from the fair lands to the West you never saw.

What will you do?

[] Write in.

 

[ganonso]

Nan Curunir: Part 2
The voice of Curunír is a marvel worthy of rivaling any of Aulë's craft. It's not only the words that are uttered, as they are plain and that was but a simple greeting. The Voice is an echo of the Music and you wonder grimly - when you remember Sauron's own skill in the arts - if that's a trait common to the Aulendili. Which it may be. Aulë is the Vala of all crafts, and oration and rhetoric are crafts not unlike the smelting of metal or the mining of gems.

Yet you cannot help but be impressed - and not entirely in a good way. You had only heard such sweet melody and compelling voice two times in your long eternity. One was when the maiden Lúthien, alone and unafraid, entered Angband and sang for the assembly of the Umaïar, putting your raging spirits to sleep. The other was when Sauron came to Morgoth and tried to sway him in many a matter, to restrain his wild impulses that would have ruined the war. Even now you cannot say if the old Aulendil was being evil by focusing your former lord's attentions or good because it turned his jealous rage from his direct servants. You doubt you will ever know.

But then the problem is perhaps with you. After all, did you not Fall in the power and seduction of Morgoth at the time of his splendor? Some spirits that were of your order and company deserted him in the time before creation, when for the first time he dared speak against the All-Father. You did not. You followed him in his great descent and always believed his word.

Perhaps some weak part in your core always longed for the charismatic and the bright, was always ready to bask in another's glory like a sunflower turned to a star. Curunír is not Melkor, but perhaps his Voice or something approaching it had more effect on you than in others. If that were true, who could say what would happen if you were to be brought in Sauron's presence? While the rumors in the world say he's been destroyed and his power broken, you know it isn't the case, else the Valar would not have sent the Istari.

Still, you must be prudent. And observation is but the first of precaution to take in an unknown situation. Yet it won't hinder you to be polite to your future colleagues, and so you turn first to the most eminent of them.

"Hail Saruman the White, Chief of the Wise and Leader of the Council. I remember of old you were first of the People of Aulé when Sauron deserted the place. I come to you, leader of the Maïar in this Middle-Earth, for I passed from Shadow to Light in a strange world where years uncounted have gone since I walked the land unafraid. Galadriel has explained to me your mission, and I am ready to render aid for aid as I remember Sauron when he was high in the councils of Angband."

"Help you shall have," answers Saruman. "As soon as we are aware of all the details of your situation. Many things I see, but my eyes cannot pierce the darkness of Moria. We will have to speak of what has happened since you slaughtered the Orcs at the East-Gate."

You turn to Olórin next and greet him. You heard the Dwarves name him Tharkûn in their tongue, but Galadriel referred to him as Mithrandir - the Grey Pilgrim. In him you sense much of your own nature, for he passed many eons at Nienna's side learning mercy and compassion. You see that in his eyes, where in Saruman's you see only the gears of some vast intelligence. When he answers you his voice is like crackling embers to your ears and you are filled with warmth. It is not the power of Curunír's Voice, but still it is power. When Olórin's power is nearly uncloaked in a place like this you feel his voice lifts weariness and fills the heart with new-found vigor. One dark corner of your mind whispers how an army accompanied by this voice would never falter, even against superior numbers.

Aiwendil, you cannot understand. He's distracted, more accustomed you think to the voices of birds and beasts than humans, and whatever the mission of the Istari you see he's in danger of forsaking it. He loves Arda, but he loves the olvar and the kelvar - the trees and the animals - a bit too much to fight the Shadow efficiently. While you have nothing but respect for Yavanna, you cannot see the wizard raise the Tree Shepherds or send packs of wolves and flocks of birds against the Enemy. Alas for the world, for the living nature needs its advocate even more than the children of Eru.

Yet he follows as Saruman guides you atop his tower and Gandalf, as he was called in the West, speaks. "Your arrival is a boon in several ways it seems. For Saruman has decided to reveal much of what he jealously kept previously. Even some things that will be discussed later at the Council."

Indeed you are now in one of the high chambers in a room, whose ceiling depicts the stars of Varda. At the center on a table of thrones is a sphere of what could be glass or crystal. No. Not crystal. As you examine the item, you see the material is unknown. Artificial. Long were the days when you beheld the Silmarils of Fëanor and it doesn't take you long to recognize some hints of his craft. For those who can feel these things, an echo of the very fiery spirit of the craftsman is still embedded in the sphere. You are going to inquire as to the purpose of the contraption but Saruman anticipates your question.

"This is a Palantir: a seeing stone brought from sundered Númenor. Many things it enables me to see..." His eyes meet yours. "But perhaps your old allegiance will yield more results. I have long sought the servants of Sauron in whatever guise they hide, but even the stone of Elendil has limits."

What will you do?

[] Gaze into the Orthanc-Stone

[] Refuse to gaze.

 

[ganonso]

Nan Curunir part 3

It would be an honor to gaze into the stone of Fëanor," you begin. "But I must inquire what it is exactly, as well as what you felt when you looked into its depths. It would be grave indeed that I gaze by mistake on our Enemy and succumb to his wiles."

"It is only natural," answers Curunír without any change in his musical voice. "I for myself can only describe the sensation as being a bird, and seeing under me Arda and its inhabitants. Seeing them as they live. Occasionally my mind is strangely turned to the past, and I behold echoes of past epochs as if they were happening at that very moment. By gazing to the North, I beheld the fall of Arnor without consciously meaning to. As for the nature of the stones? The Palantírs are relics of Númenor, brought to the Great Isle by the elves of the Lonely Isle. Seven existed in the world, but three of them are lost to deep water. Of the remaining mine is one, the second stands with the elves, the third is surely in the great city of Minas Tirith, and the fourth…"

"The fourth was surely in Minas Ithil when the forces of Mordor took the city a thousand years ago," interrupts Gandalf. "There it must remain, as the Nazgul renamed her Minas Morgul; the Tower of Sorcery, and keep it still as their hold."

For a moment you see a shadow of anger passing on Saruman's face, and for a brief moment, so brief you believe to have imagined it, all traces of majesty and beauty desert his face. Then the storm passes and he acquiesces with a nod while pointing to the sphere. You remember what you know of the Nazgûls, just legends in truth. While Galadriel spoke to you of the Rings of Power, she remained evasive on the subject of the Úlairi, the undead kings who long ago accepted a Ring each and became enslaved to them. Well, she didn't fear them. So neither should you.

You approach the table and cast your eyes on the blue glass. For a moment you see nothing, but shortly thereafter you distinguish shapes: the shade of the heavens, and the wings of great birds. Too slow for you to realize how it's happening, you find yourself floating in the blue expenses of a bright and clear day, right above the tower of Orthanc, whose crowned top and clear sylvan paths you can see.

You take your time to understand how your senses can move in the field of the visions, and soon you can dive and see the chambers of the towers. You see yourself and the other Istari around the Palantír, seated in deep council. Effect of the stone of your own innermost nature, you see them as great forms of light in the Unseen, with great majesty and terrible shackled might. They are powerful and wise and good....and yet you cannot help but fear them, as you know what damage a Maïa can do to the Music. Still, you surrender to the pull of the stone and forsake the tower for the bright world.

Your old travel bring your mind back to Lórien. Surprisingly you see nothing in the forest, even in places you are sure to have seen the cities of the Galadhrims. You see shapes made of light and webs of gold hung between trees, but not much more. It takes you minutes to notice what you saw as webs are the golden hair of Galadriel, whose presence is so vast she shields her entire domain. You see the territory of the only person in Middle-Earth whose eyes still contain the light of the Blessed Realm, but you cannot draw any tactical information from that. You sense you could, if you were to fight the lady of the woods. Mind to mind, strength to strength, you could unveil what her power hides. Yet you don't want that.

Your mind ventures next to other kingdoms, the great havens where swam boats leave for the Straight Road and the deep forests that remind you of Doriath. The power of the Firstborn is evidently waning but the remains will fight against the Shadow. Or flee to Valinor as apparently is their habit since the end of First Age.

Next are the realms of the Dwarves, or rather what remains. Your own Moria stands at the center with all sacred places and secrets exposed. In the high chambers where Thráin now rules his people, you sense the acrid smell of the Discord, faint but powerful. A song of greed and hunger you know all too well. There the stone betrays you for the first time, showing you Khazad-Dûm as it was, just before you broke from your stony prison. You see yourself, shadow and flame against a wall of metal, a torch in a sea of true silver leading the swarms and calling the gnawers below to the great feast.

Yet the Halls of Durin are not the only place where the Children of Aulë live. You see the Iron and the White Hills, and the Blue Mountains, where their holds are proud and unconquered. Yet so many places were lost: Gundabad, nearly overflowing with Orcs. Erebor, where amidst the waste you sense the presence of Smaug, greatest of this Age's dragons, who sleeps on stolen gold in the rooms delved in imitation of Moria. How many of the Khazads will come to battle when the time comes?

The stone controls now your vision, being attracted to the lands of those who placed it in the circle of Orthanc. From the North you see only disjointed images. Hills bearing cairns and barrows where whispers fell spirits and unquiet shades you once called kin, havens full of desperate people defended by arrow and spear against the terror of the nameless hills. The sights you catch in your flight are enough to confirm worse things than Orcs still crawl in the dark forests and the trackless wastes. Yet your heart is glad when you behold the jewel of the south: The Tower of Guard, white and secure in her many ramparts. Colored flags hang from the battlements, steel defends her gates, and keen are the eyes of the White Tower. You see trained troops and veteran rangers, wise councilors and vigilant guardians, and for a moment you are reminded of Gondolin in the First Age, a mute challenge to the might of Morgoth. Yet the Palantír is now leading you to another city, beyond a great ruined city ravaged by flame, beyond Anduin the Great, near the very mountains of shadow.

You see Minas Morgul and cringe at the profanation you guess. For the city is white as her sister, but it is the white of slow decay, and you easily understand the red flowers of the vale bring only death. Ruined fountains are now loosing only filth, while Orcs of a breed you have never seen before feast in defaced halls, and worse things still haunt Isildur's quarters.

You understand something has made his lair of the ruined city, presiding on blasphemous councils and dark gatherings. Great statues represent Sauron in an aspect you are familiar, but with strange iconography. You recognize the Lord of Werewolves, but to see him in dark armor and with a crown on his brow as Morgoth nearly makes you laugh. Artfully are these great idols made, but they don't change that you are gazing on a mere shadow of Morgoth, a lesser follower claiming the mantle of the Corruptor.

The pressure of the Stone is nearly gone and you know you can gaze to a place of your choosing. Will you see:

[] The high chambers of Minas Morgul.
[] Nan Ungol, The Spider's Vale.
[] The ruins of Barad Dur.
[] Dol Guldur in Mirkwood.
[] Angband and Utumno that are below the sea.
[] Carn Dum.

 

[ganonso]

Nan Curunir Part 4

Perhaps it is your regrets that guide your vision now. Perhaps it is the strange will of the Stone, ready to torment one of his crafter's killers. You don't know, and perhaps even you don't care. For you agree you want to see again the places you walked while the world was young, the great strongholds of the Discord you helped to edify and defend, and then fled from in shame and pain. The vision begins to blur as you are projected to the North at great speed, seeing forest, and mountains disappear in a mist of colors. For a moment you are tempted to laugh with the ecstasy of speed like someone falling from a great height, still alive to appreciate the time where he is suspended between heaven and earth. Strangely the Palantír turns first your thoughts to Utumno, the first and greatest lair of Morgoth, rather than Angband where he ruled during the Ages of the Sun.

You see a mountain range standing proudly in the frozen ocean, and you know without knowing no other mountain raised by the Valar is as high as these black peaks, still clawing at the skies despite the ruin of the first wars before the Sun and Moon. There's no sound here, and vaguely you understand there would be no sound, not even the howling of the bitter wind, if you came here in the flesh. Only these mountains that are not mountains, too high to be natural, still standing despite the many wounds they were being dealt. You are near enough now to see that the summits are strangely regular, yet asymmetric, even counting all the caves opened and the stone hewed by the fury of the Valar. Yet it's only when you see the broken gate mockingly left wide open that you remember you arrived to Utumno in the frozen waste.

Even the Stone of Fëanor seems wary to allow you to continue your path now, and yet you continue through dark corridors and bloody council rooms, seeing nothing alive and yet feeling it, lurking below the surface. You follow your feelings and you see, even as the Palantír wants you to recoil, what crawls in the deepest pith that the Power left unprobed.

You see, and even with the blessing of Nienna and your erstwhile allegiance you cannot suppress your disgust, for even the first creations and servants of Morgoth Bauglir are hideous beyond all imagination. Seas of mud and impure matter changing and recomposing, singing in a voice you don't understand anymore. Crawling essays and prototypes of Orcs, simple sketches left by the artist, still immortal and still lamenting in muted voice the waters of Cuiviénen. Beings of your old order, spirits of trees and ice and fire, reduced to unthinking savagery and filling the caverns while dreaming of the return of their master. For all these things, from the basest mushroom to the greatest of the fallen Umaïar hope and know that Morgoth will one day return home and give them life and sentience anew. And it is a frightening thought, for these beings are from the beginning of the world when elemental fury was the main power of the Marrer and you doubt Arda could resist their primal might. And to think on how many still sleep the sleep of the dead in the fields of heaven, having been wounded or imprisoned since the first war when Discord sought the mastery of all domains.

For a moment you have the vision of a world of ice and fire and wild jungle, where the only thing built would be the peaks of Utumno, and great beasts would stalk for the blood of every living thing while the Umaïar would laugh and hunt at their leisure. Is this a trick of the Palantír? A prophesied outcome or a dark fancy from the depths of your own mind? You don't know. But it is with an heavy heart that you let the Stone guide you to the raging sea that hides Angband.

There you lose control like in Moria. The sea, red with the blood of crazed beasts maddened by the proximity with Morgoth's old domain, recedes, and the great wound dealt to Beleriand closes. Anew rises high the peaks of Thangorodrim and the web of caves below resounds with shriek and blows. It is home, it was home, and even the gates look inviting. Yet memory and the Stone bring you back, not to the days of glory or even of struggle, but the day where hope was moved to despair and power to ruin. For a moment you are struck blind and you remember.

You remember rising your eyes to the heavens and nearly casting them down, so great was the light and thunder of the battle above. On one side, every creature of Morgoth that could fly. Vampires with wings of bat and claws of iron, great winged dragons that none had ever seen, filling the skies with red and green hues as they breathed fire on their opponents. Among them was Ancalagon the Black himself, as great as the mountains, who spread his wings like a cloud of death, whose flesh housed the wailing spirit of your old commander. Arrayed against them were all birds of the sky and Vingilot crowned with fire in a battle that could have, you know it now, only one issue.

You had never seen, or even imagined the light of the Jewels to be unleashed this way. And yet unleashed it was, burning all creatures of the reign of Morgoth and filling them with dread. Corpses fell from the torn skies amidst the storm and the lightning, to crush squads and hordes under their weight. But you were transfixed by the interplay between the great vessel and its opponents, for even the Lord of Eagles had not wrought such a slaughter on your forces. And when Ancalagon is struck down by burning light and under his weight crushes the triple peaks hiding the entrance to Morgoth's lair, you knew, even then, that the battle was lost.

And yet it continues raging. Hordes of Orcs, deformed by your own evil, fear you and your cohorts more than they fear the bright children of the West that advance on your lines. Men in great number, enthralled by the terror of your forms and abandoned by the Valar in their proud exile in Aman. And of course all the monsters of creation, for the Valaraukar are not the only Maïar to have chosen the side of the Discord. Great wolves and captains wearing horrid shapes, giants and genies; all gathered for this last battle.

For what purpose? Against you are arrayed the forces of wind and water and light, for the Powers who remained faithful to the Music are the elements of the world. The world that fights against you even in this place where your master disseminated so much of his power. As you fight with blade and whip, trampling beast elf and man under your feet, you are surprised to sense how much the land hates you and fights your presence with all her might.

At this moment the Valar come and the Children retreat as Oromë, Tulkas and Aulë lead the host of the Maïar in the final assault. Even with the vision of the Palantír you can't distinguish their shapes, for they are storm and lightning and burning metal, but you remember the terror of your servants as they are met and slaughtered, dispersed like straw in the wind and broken forever. You fight and fall at the gate against a Maïa of Oromë, and while you disperse the Hunter's servant you fight long enough to see the cave be exposed and the light of the Silmaril fall on you.

It burns. It burns more than any wound you ever suffered. It burns even if you are a creature of fire. And the worst part is you can, perhaps even then, perhaps only now, understand it is not meant to burn. It is not like the arrows of Oromë or the cold touch of Mandos, made to rectify errors in the great design. It is light, sweet and unending, but so debased and corrupt have you become that you burn under its touch. It is too much and you flee the battle, battered and burning, running and flying through secret routes amidst the ruin of your stronghold to the dark roads at the roots of the earth. There to fall asleep in stone and mithril.

The Palantír shows you that, but also the last defense you didn't see. When the throne of Morgoth was defended only by Lugorthfin and the others of your Orders filling the cave with leprous flame and unnatural darkness. Three they were at the end where twenty had stood, but stood they did against the Valar themselves and fell defending the gates. You are not surprised to see Gothmog's successor try at the last to put his broken bodies against them, giving time to Morgoth to prepare or flee.

The vision breaks at this moment and you are sent flying from the sphere, which appears to your bloodied eyes as wreathed in white fire. Gandalf rushes to your side as Saruman looks into the Palantir, seeing perhaps the Valar seizing Morgoth and chaining him. The fires dies down slowly, and you are forced to admit you gained little precious information from this endeavor.

Still, it was not useless. Contemplating your former fate and the deeds of the Discord from another point of view seems to have increased your wisdom and attunement to the rhythm of the world. You feel as you understand things that were hidden from you and some of the Music's more secret proprieties.

Trait Gained:
Atoner: +5 Learning and Piety

 

[ganonso]

Turn 2

Diplomacy (Choose 2)

[] The White Hand : You have returned from strong Orthanc where rules Saruman the White, chief of the Council and leader of the Wise. While departing, he mentioned having need of metal and more especially mithril for his experiments and the arming of the mercenaries coming to pay him homage. From what you understand he is nearly alone in his dream to rejoin the Dunlending, these forsaken offspring of the Edain to the rest of the Middle-Earth. Such help in this field would go a long way to secure his approval. Approval that could be necessary to other looks in the Palantir.

[] Gifts to Lorien Your audience with the Lady of the Golden Wood was splendidly done and you sense you can call on her aid. While for the moment the only goods you can barter are trinkets lying in the ruins and small deposits of true silver you know the folks of Lorien will be enchanted by the metal and will happily trade back anything but not weapons. You hope also that "nomal relationships" with the elves, and some encouragement to the dwarves to send ambassadors too will perhaps result in a rekindling of the relationship between the mountain and the forest. As long as no one talks about any of the ancient grudges between the three races of course [Send messengers to Lorien]

[] Introductions: Elrond: Elrond Half-Elven is a name you often heard in the mouths of Durin's folk. They say his secret refuge of Rivendell is the last great fortress of ancient might in the middle of the wastes of Eriador. While you don't have the manpower yet to cleanse the way between the Last Homely House and Khazad-Dum you can still come in person to contact the loremaster yourself. Who knows what he has learned in millennia and perhaps what portions of the ancient lore could be useful to you? You know he's in contact with Cirdan the Shipwright oldest elf in Middle-Earth, so his knowledge must be great and his arts mighty. [Leave for Rivendell]

[] People of Stone You must admit you have a problem. Dwarves and Orcs hate each other with a passion which makes their acceptance of your proposal of coexistence a miracle. You are surprised by the total absence of fights when the children of Aulé saw the state of their ancestral city. Cynically you think your new link to the Music of Compassion and the fact they know slaughtering the Orcs will unleash the full might of a Valaraka on them. Still your new mandate is to build bridges and thus you will do. An audience with Thrain could solve many problems. [Settle differences between Dwarves and Orcs]

Intrigue (choose 1)

[] Explore the Mines: The Mines of Moria, or at least their depths are a great unknown, even for you. There was a time where you knew every nook and cranny of this place but the transition to the service of Nienna wrecked so many of your memories you are not sure of everything. Sending explorers and going yourself alongside the lonely roads is risky but the reward could be great indeed for the depths of Khazad Dum were left alone even by the Orcs that feared that dwells in the dark, mostly yourself in your sleep of stone but also many creatures born from the discord. Thus the explorers will need to be fearless and also discreet. [Try to map the labyrinths beneath Moria]

[] Eyes of Beasts: Sauron spies on his enemies by the eyes of birds and his domination over the lesser beasts twisted by Melkor's evil. You don't seek the same level of control for in this way lies the Discord but you wonder if you could convince the beasts and birds around Moria to serve as your ears and eyes in the name of the Valar that rule creation. Such an endeavor would enable you to be warned early from future invasions but also to experiment with the possibility of swarm of creatures fighting for the light as the wolves of Morgoth fight for the shadow. [Develop animal spies]

[] Flora of the Depths: Some think the depths of the earth are sterile. There are fools that never wandered far in caverns deep and mountains old. There is a fertile flora of mushrooms and lichens in the depths of your home that would shame any forest above-ground. In few places can you see more clearly the love between Aulé and Yavanna than in these sylvan underground. Still you don't know, and neither do the Orcs what most of these plants do. Some are evidently poisonous but which ones. You must test it. [Classify the flora of your home]

[] Tuning in: Perhaps most dangerous of all your ideas. You realize you have a chance of listening to Sauron commands to his otherworldy servants by listening to the Music and the Discord. Now to tell the truth, Nienna is the Vala that does that the most and tries to understand the Discord to heal and rectify it but it is still dangerous. The rewards are immeasurable of course, having a line directly to the great lords of evil would enable you to spy on the Nazgul and even having premonition of the thoughts of all things stepped in darkness. You could even learn to affect what you hear this way. [Listen to the Music and the Discord to discern the hidden rhythm within]

Learning Choose 1

[] Healing Arts: Now that you have openened the eyes of your faithful to the tune of the universe, you must see to the uses of the Music they can develop. Healing is an honored field of lore and Orcs are already proficient in it, albeit with crude and disgusting methods. Your next work will be to attune your budding sorcerers with the song of Este's who is Healing and offers respite in the halls of Lorien. You hope that such arts will teach them compassion or at least make their lives less brutish and short.

[] Sights from Afar: To one who hear the Music of the universe, sight needs not to be impeded by stone or metal. In addition to the Palantiri of Féanor you understand that many of the good people of Arda were able to see things coming from afar. This is a skill you can teach. By teaching your charges to imitate the song of Irmo lord of Dreams and visions are difficult to decipher but even Orcs have reason and thus are able to understand what they see and hear. You hope such arts will enable them to perceive evil before it raises its head.

[] Contact the Dead: Necromancy is the art of Sauron and his lackeys. It's the art of summoning these spirits that refused the summons of Mandos and remained bound to Arda by pain and fear of judgement. These wraiths long for new bodies to live in and generally are not understanding their sin. It's for that they are in the remit of Nienna that can show them mercy. What you would teach are only means to call the unquiet dead and then to urge them to their destination. If before that they can impart some wisdom, especially those elves that faded and remain by love of the earth and its creature, it would be fine.


[] Blasting Powder: In your dreams you see a strange mixture of minerals you could use to create miracles. A powder that could be used to blast obstacles, destroy walls and break mountains. The potential for such an invention are unlimited but must be reined by concern for the Music. While an explosive could be useful and is born from the natural world it must be used with precaution. Indeed, while your dreams will help you to identify the elements needed you have no idea of the exact proportions of the mélange and his efficiency. Well Eru didn't forbid experimentation in the possibilities of the Music. Not this kind anyway. [Develop black powder]


[] The Ring of Durin : You've learned by Galadriel of the existence of the Rings of Power and the terrible strength they possess. One of these infernal contraption is in your reach, to the finger of Thrain in truth. You learned that Dwarves seem to be more resistant to the corruption than the other races but you are still eager to learn of the secrets of this artifact. In your experience, nothing created by Sauron is without danger or aftereffects and these rings seem to be no exception. You would also learn about their workings to better destroy the One if it came into your reach. [Try to study Durin's Ring]

[] Secret of the Dwarves: Dwarves can reach in the Music and their parts are very near the parts you sung at the beginning. Earth, Fire and Craft are elements you know and would like to practice again. Fortunately, there are some runes and items of power scattered in the depths of Moria. With these items, not only shall you be able to reconnect with these parts of the Music but perhaps could you teach to the Orcs to be more like the Dwarves than ever, absorbing many of the qualities associated with the Children of Aulé. After all despite their wars, the two races share many traits already. [Study Dwarf Magic]

Martial

[] Hunters of the Underworld: You have tamed Trolls, the great answer of Morgoth Bauglir to the Ents. While their strength can be used to peaceful purpose, it occurs to you there are things worse than Orcs in the depths of the world, things that can only be hunted with great strength. There's also the fact that even if they are less intelligent, Trolls could be made into an honor guard of some sort as was the case for Gothmog's. In any case you must train them for war and battle and adorn them in armor and weapons adapted to their size.

[] Light of Arien: None of Morgoth's creatures can easily bear light. Indeed, the more you advance in corruption, the more even the gentle radiance of the stars becomes painful to one's eyes. There are rare exceptions like the Dragons and Sauron himself but generally repugnance for the light of sun and moon is a sign of taint. It is time to accustom your young charge to the sun's touch and to not let them cower in darkness. This will prove advantageous because being able to move when your enemy is not is a tactical asset you cannot deny.

[] Plumb the Depth: The depths of Moria are infested with strange creatures you have no words to describe. While most are only corrupted animals and things born of the first Discord you are not sure some of them are not Umaia like you were, so stepped in darkness and savagery they are roaming like great beasts gnawing at the root of the world. These things are far fouler and dangerous than Orcs and thus you'll assemble hunting parties to plump the secret hallways under the great bridges and halls of stone and purge them of vermin and monsters. Thus you'll make your home secure. [Hunt primordial monstruosities]

[] The Armories of the Sub-levels: Some of the great armories of the Dwarves lie intact and untouched in the domain the Children of Aulé left to your Orcs. While you preemptively agreed to return any significant artifact you'd stumble upon, weapons and armor of dwarven make are invaluable. Perhaps you can even dream of coats of mithril and swords engraved with runes of power (even if these weapons would strike at your flock as they were forged against the enemies of the Dwarves). Only problems significant work will be needed to unlock the way to these sealed rooms [Unseal an Armory]

[] Winter Wolves: You don't know how but there are wolves in Moria. Wargs even, these far off descendants of the werewolves of old. How is it possible you don't know but you know Orcs and Wargs are natural allies. The monstrous wolves are strange, sitting on the border of sentience and yet animalistic in their urges and hunger. Yet you think you can try to approach the more intelligent of them and try to convert them to your cause and to the stewardship of Yavanna and Orome. Or if you fall in this, you will have to purge their packs from your home [Try to recruit Wargs]

Piety (choose 1)

[] Doomsman's of the Valar: Of Mandos it is said he gathers all willing spirits to his halls and there they find respite before being sent to their destination. For the elves whose fëa doesn't leave the world, there is judgement and purification, for the Men who leave the Circles of the World there are vessels to bear them across the void to the fate the Valar know not. Of the Orcs nothing is said and many are doomed to uncertainty when they don't know. To urge your charges to look to Nämo is to urge them to consider the afterlife and their place in it. And perhaps at last adopt proper burial rites.

[] Weaver of Fate: Of Vaïre, it is said only a few things. She weaves great tapestries in which the past and the future are laid and is knowledgeable in all thing of lore. There are two aspects her worship could take. The first and most literal could be an appreciation for the gentle craft. While weaving and spinning is often considered women's skills, the simple fact to introduce your charges to art and creation could be stunning. The second could be to turn Orcs to the future and what it may bring rather than the endless tyranny of the present.

[] Lord of Dreams: Of Lorien it is said he seats among lotuses and poppies and lightens all burdens. While you are not sure of the dwarven interpretation making him, or at least some of his servants, the creator of all these plants and mushrooms that enhance perception, you cannot fault the logic. To worship the Lord of Dreams is to open yourself to visions and fight the shadows in your mind. What better god for those who struggle against their tendencies and seek what is their true self? Also apparently some of the plants growing to the mind have a strange effect on the mind of the consumer. Perhaps it would be wise to explore this path.


[] Lady of Healing: Of Este, it is said she's the source of all healing and that the waters of her spring lifts all disease and all pain from those who drink it. She's the mistress of all these plants and poultices used against wounds and every spell used against plague. Aren't the Orcs sick, for the poison of Morgoth runs through their veins, twisting their countenance and ravaging their bodies with pain. Not only your worship of Lorien's spouse would enhance knowledge of the mundane healing arts, it will also turn your new society to the path of healing pain rather than causing it

[] Mourner's Delight : Of Nienna that led you to redemption and brought your light out of darkness, it is said she mourns for all and offers compassion for all. Rarely was she worshipped even by the Eldar for they dared not invoke she who is Mercy in their wars against the creatures of the reign of Melkor. Yet Nienna is no stranger to penance and demands redemption be sincere. Her worship would definitively turns your charges and yourself into defenders of the weak, which while having no consequences for the moment would mean new duties as you gain in power and understanding.



[] The Warriors of Heaven: Orome and Tulkas are the warriors of Arda and Nessa the wife of Tulkas is no less fierce than them Orome is the mighty hunter who teach both the respect of the prey and the art of the chase, while Tulkas is the warrior that defend the weak and laugh while in battle. If you want to make your flock warrior for the light, these three are perhaps the most appropriate to teach them about. Unfortunately teaching both violence and the need to restraint is very difficult and could perhaps backfire. Yet war is a part of Arda Marred and none should ignore those who weave it in the Music.

[] The Monarchs of Arda : Aule, Ulmo, Manwe and Varda are linked to the substance of Arda for they are Earth, Water, Air and Stars. To worship them is to bind yourself to the substance of the world, becoming one with the great Music that is the foundation of everything. The first orcs were elves, and it was their provinces to remain in the circles of the world to embellish it and make wonders in it. So why not teach them about those who built the world and what they can also represent: Craft, Freedom, Rulership and Light? Of course there's the thing about Aule Maîar being prone to corruption and the fact confounding Manwe and Eru could be very problematic.

[] The Green Ladies: Yavanna and Vana are the source of all life and worshipping them is to connect with everything ever alive. What could be better for a race so accustomed to dealing with death than to be linked to the web of life? And that's not even speaking about the potential for growths and agriculture, freeing them from at least some justification from their violence. Yet there's still the risk that by succumbing to the Music of growth, your flock forgets the wars of light and dark and care only for what grows and walk on four legs, forgetting their duties to the wider world.

Stewardship Choose 1

[] Rebuild the Mines: It is said that destruction lasts for an afternoon and creation a whole life. And truly such words were said for it took far less time for your creatures and your dark fire to ruin the mines and caves you live in than for the Dwarves to built it. Now that the strength of the Trolls is at your disposal you are ready to use your workforce to at least makes these halls livable. Dragging your charges from their filfth would go a long way to make them appreciate beauty and the thought of Eru Allfather, after all.


[] We dig, we dig: While the Dwarves will surely come about claiming some deposits for themselves, they left you with the depths of Moria who contain many precious metals. Iron, copper, and all sorts of gems are found here but the true treasure is the true-silver Elves call mithril. You've decided that your Orcs will mine the earth and find the deposits and reopen the ancient mines. Such riches will better their places in the world and enable better relationships with the Dwarves that always seek metal for their forges and smelters. Still it's dangerous work and training your flock into it will take a bit of time. [Dedicate time to mining]

[] Give a fish to a man: The great underground lakes and still rivers that spread in the deep levels of the mines are home to some species of blind fishes that live and die in the darkness. Such fishes could be a great source of food if you manage to teach your flock to raise them rather than simply fish them and risk destroying the supplies. Teaching orcs to farm, even fish, will be difficult but it would be a step in avoiding famine and moreover train them into more peaceful pursuits. Of course some of your produce will go into feeding the Dwarves for the sake of good relationships. [Etablish fish farms]

[] Swords to plowshares: Agriculture underground is not very much possible but you have the solution of farming mushrooms. It is not as if wheat and barley will grow in caves and the lands around Moria would need serious care to be considered arable again. Still you can hope that the flora of the depths, at least those species already eaten by the orcs are fecund enough to feed a people. If not you don't know what you are going to do to feed or even how the ancient Dwarves managed it before you wrecked their kingdom. [Try to farm]

 

[ganonso]

Turn 2 Results: Plan Unorc the Orc.

A new year comes, and you prepare to a new journey to hidden Rivendell with the support of Gandalf and the other Istari. Saruman listened well to your tidings even if you felt he was disappointed you didn't find Sauron nor his main servants. While he judges with Mithrandir that the things you saw crawling in Morgoth strongholds could prove dangerous, he deems that the two are far too removed from any civilization to present an immediate danger. Besides you didn't see any hint of Sauron hiding in these forgotten places and he is the main instrument of the Discord present in Arda. Curunir was also very interested by your visions and the fact one could see the very Valar and indeed Morgoth in the Palantir, offering perhaps possibilities of communing with them.

While you returned to Moria to plan your next move, you noticed that the Chief of the Istari seems to view your redemption as a much-needed sign of the Powers of the West and think that you represent a chance of victory in the long defeat.

People of Stone: [64+41: 105: Friendship of Durin]: You meet again with Thrain in his high halls and find him weary of life and death alike, pondering upon old maps and talking of a restlessness filling his bones. While you take note, he wants to depart to the East in the shadows of Mirkwood, which you deem strange as no dwellings of the dwarves exist in the region, he fights the temptation to contemplate recovering lost territory. While you assure him of the truth, that is your Orcs are in no condition to go to war yet and you are not to risk relapse by immersing yourself in the chaos of battle even against the throngs of Gundabad or Smaug the Golden (Albeit you confirm even a fire-dragon would in theory be no match for a Balrog, created as they were at the end of the reign of Morgoth when all his power was already spent). Still while the dwarven-lord lose himself in his dreams of journeys and conquest, his advisors appreciate you more and more. Your larders are so full it's a trivial matter to give extra food to the Dwarves, ensuring they are in no danger of starvation. You even persuade Thrain in one of his more lucid moments to sign oaths and treaties to this effect, buying peace with food and reagents only found in the depths. The corpse of the Child of Ungoliant you fought in your first explorations was also deemed an excellent argument against Dwarves exploring the depths of their old home. Official Alliance between Khazad-Dum and your Orcs. Thrain dreams of Southern Mirkwood for some reason.

Flora of the Depths: [28+27:55: Meagre Harvest]: Your attempts to catalogue the flora of your new home goes well. Considering that your workers are young Orcs whose idea of nature is twisted by the Discord. Some of the elders that remain accompany you in the tunnels and identify at least what species are venomous and what species are edible, but that's all they can do. For most mushrooms and lichen you are forced to use willing test subjects and the results are terrible in their diversity. Fortunately, the inhabitants of Moria had at least correctly catalogued all the deadly species which you order harvested in preparation of a battle with one of the monsters gnawing below. You discover two species of interest. One gives vision and seems to make the body forget pain and fatigue while provoking great joy and silencing fear. You tasted it yourself and the effect, even muted, was astonishing. The other is a lichen that glow in the dark, which you order planted everywhere possible in your domain. You know it's a sign of things created by the darkness they can't abide the light of the sun so you want to make your home as light-filled as possible even if it's just the pale blue phosphorescence of lichen-covered walls. Found hallucinogenic and glowing mushrooms. The first give a bonus when used in religious ceremonies, the second decreases Orcish's fear of light.

Healing Arts:[41+29: 70: From Humble Beginnings]: While Orcs wield medicine, albeit crude and harsh, compared to the arts of other races, teaching them the ways of healing is difficult. You are not a creature of healing even after the shift in your essential nature enabled by Nienna. You are still Fire and fire while cleansing and purifying doesn't heal without pain or consequences. Your students are also handicapped for more often than not the blood that enable them to tune to the music is the blood of the Umaïar linked to the Discord and the denial of life. Thus you labor for the better part of the year, teaching but also learning alongside your students. You decide naturally to build on the foundations they have, trying to make sense of the crude cordial and scarring poultices they already use. In the case of the cordial, you have no other solution for the moment to mingle the foul-tasting brew with alcohol bartered from the Dwarves. You suspect the mirùvor of the Elves is still far from your skill. Yet you can at least train them in the mundane arts of healing, enhanced by some rhymes of ancient lore you remember from your part in the creation of Arda. It's not much but it will have to do, until you get access to a true healer. Orcs a little more proficient in healing.



Winter Wolves: [79+31: 110: Redeemed Packs] At the beginning Morgoth created werewolves by summoning some of your lesser brethren into wolf bodies and making them mate with natural wolves. Of these first, Draugluin who was slain by Hùan was the greatest and the most prolific. While the werewolves of the First Age were intelligent and even able of speech, this trait was apparently lost in the generations, present now only in some pack leaders. How do you know that? Well it so happens that apparently your makeshift kingdom has grown enough to attract the attention of the local packs who ran to you to know if their alliance with the Orcs was still in effect. While most of them are barely sentient, their leaders are equal to the Children in this field and you can converse with them. They know not what you are as no true werewolf has led these Wargs for centuries but they bowed to your power and accepted to learn your lessons. How are they able to teach these lessons back to their more bestial brethren, you don't know but it seems efficient and they seem obedient enough. In fact their leaders are anxious to learn of the Powers in the West that rule over the olvar and kelvar. They are wise enough to distrust their hunger and their age and wish to return to nature if they could. Three Warg Packs offer their allegiance.

Lord of Dreams: [73+31: 104: Lorien the Fair]: Next Post

Give a Man a Fish: [33+27: 60: Bountiful Waters]: While you don't discover much more fishes this year, you manage to teach to the Orcs about farming the vast band of blind beasts. They take to the husbandry of fish with some difficulties but manage to establish zones where they can at least observe the vast cycle of life and death. Even with the Dwarves at neighbors you realize you won't be starving and can in fact import much food. Your Orcs, from the youngest to the oldest are overjoyed and astonished by this realization. It is obvious that, at least during the War of Dwarves and Orcs, starvation was the daily reality of those civilians among the Orcs. A fact you are happy to consign to the past. Orcs are in no danger of starving, Dwarves dependant on Orcish food exports.

 

[ganonso]

Rivendell Part 1:

For the third time, you leave Moria in the able hands of your disciples, confident dwarven oaths and the magicians you're training will ensure you don't find the place torn apart. Still you long for both the day you will able to stop worrying when you leave like that and the day when you will be accompanied by your children and servants in these journeys. Even after two years, Orcs are too rough to be trusted as diplomats, and you must accustom the leaders of the Free People to not shoot your people on sight. Fortunately seeing Elrond Half-Elven, who is the closest to be the High King of the Noldor will advance your cause. Even if isolated, both Olorin and Curunir assured you Elrond still receives dwarves and men in his home, spreading the news of your return and the change you've enacted to the courts of men.

Not for the first time you are astonished by the rarity of life you encounter in your journeys. The first leg of your journey is spent in old Eregion ravaged by the armies of Sauron during the Second Age. Apparently, nobody ever returned to these lands. That surprises you. You don't know the psyche of the Elves but you're nearly sure that, in these rare times when they actually regained territory in Beleriand, they colonized it anew. If not the Second-born should have established themselves. You know there are villages and hill-forts not so far in the South where the Dunlendings dwell. From what you remember to the North of Rivendell remain the pitiful shambles of Rhudaur, another people who could have try to inhabit this region.

Speaking of that, what happened to the Kingdom of the North after the destruction of the Witch-King? What the Dwarves described to you make little sense. Even if Angmar had exterminated every inhabitant, which they seem to have not done, there should be more than some villages in the region. Thabard and the other cities should have been rebuilt. If we were talking about Maïar you would understand, but to Men, the fall of Arnor dates of a thousand year at least, an eternity for them.

Strangely you have these thoughts among the dilapidated stones of the House of Jewelers, where the Rings were forged. Not that you knew that of course. You saw only a ruin until the sound of hooves dragged you from your morbid reverie. A gaze and you were smiling, whistling a greeting to the grey robed rider. Mithrandir greeted you in kind and, apparently going to Rivendell himself, he accepted to make the way with you, and even to share his horse with you.

It's there you noticed you never had the idea to have a weapon on you. Of course, after reflection you are sure it's because you can assume the form of the Valarauka and thus have weapons forged from the matter of the world available to you. But still what a difference with Gandalf the grey who, for all his seeming as a harmless old man, still bears a keen sword of steel at his belt. Like when you saw him in Isengard you wonder on what roads he wandered and what he saw on them. For where Curunir appears as old but simply venerable, Olorin appears as weathered by time and trial. Yet he claims no precedence over you, despite him being your elder and uncorrupted. It encourages you, one night near the fire to ask the question burning your lips.

"Why these deserts? Why these wastes? When a forest burns, it grows anew yet everywhere I cast my eyes I see places where none come back. Are there creatures here I cannot sense that could destroy a reborn city?"

Gandalf the Grey listens then chews on a time on his pipe, eyes lost in thoughts. Then he answers:

"The Wise do not know for sure what is the cause. Here apparently, the memory of the Jewelers endure and no mortal men not of the Edain is comfortable in Eregion. Other places where the Elves reigned and were ousted are like that for their power is still great over the land." Still. As if destined to disappear. It will come a time when the shadow of their presence will fade as they leave all Middle-Earth or fade away in streams and forests. "In other places such as Arnor, what was done to the land and the people by the servants of the Enemy was more than physical atrocities. All attempts by the heirs of Isildur to rebuild their kingdom were in vain. Some of our fallen brothers make their dwellings there and nights are dark and full of terror." He breathes deeply and then achieves. "It is my hope than when the Enemy will be cast down his throne and reduced to nothing, the scars his servants left will heal. Or perhaps." He nearly smiles at the thought. "Perhaps that Nienna redeemed you to aid in this healing ere the war goes hot again."

These are your last words for the night.

After several days of journey, you see at last the Bruinen of Rivendell and are immediately accosted by an armed escort. Most of it are elves but there are some men, albeit clad in elvish fashion. Yet among them, one stand taller than the others. His plate is of silvery mithril, his helm letting flow long golden hair is set with gems, shining brightly even in the clear day. In his eyes the light of Aman shines undimmed. And in the Unseen world you see his shape, distinct but rivaling the sun in splendor, mightier than any, save perhaps Galadriel, you ever met since beginning your journeys.

When he announces himself as Glorfindel, you sense you should remember something but what? He demands you announce yourself, before bringing you to Elrond.

[] Write-in

 

[ganonso]

Rivendell part 2:
You look at the golden lord wishing you could remember where you saw him. You remember dimly a Glorfindel in the hosts of the Hidden City at the battle of Unumbered Tears but the details are hazy. You are sure you were in the army that devastated Gondolin. Morgoth's hate for Turgon demanded the slaughter and defilement of this reflection of Tirion upon Tuna would be overseen by his closest guard. It was the only time your entire host was ever deployed in the field since the first days of the world where Morgoth led you and fought by your side. Not for the first time you regret the insularity of the Dwarves. Elves would have sung to you all the history of the First Age, shame and pleasure mingled. Durin's people could simply confirm some of your memories while the Orcs of the depths did know nothing. You decide to hold to your pledge of truth.

"Hail, Glorfindel, Lord of the Noldori Elves. I feel the stirrings of familiarity when I behold the light of Aman shining from you in the Unseen World, but I recognize you not. I would that this should change, even should I learn that you are yet another one of many whom I wronged in the far past. I am Morianor who the dwarves once called Durin's Bane before my errors were laid bare and my shame kindled into hope by Nienna's tears. I come to Lord Elrond of Rivendell with tidings of Cassarondo that is now known as Moria."

For a moment, he doesn't speak but lock eyes with you. You do not tremble even if the light of the Blessed Realm still evokes conflicted feelings in you. You sense his thoughts turn both to you and to the paths of memory. Briefly under the eyes of your mind you see scenes of a life not your own. You feel the chill of the Grinding Ice and hear the cries of those who thought themselves beyond death as the ice craked and the abyss claimed so many. You see the towers and spires of Gondolin and you weep because you admire such beauty and understand why Turgon was loath to leave the works of his hand and earth. You see the sack of the city when you brought dragons and trolls and orcs there. And you see… And you see.

You see through his eyes how a Child of Eru can battle against one of your former order. Bright sword against blade of fire, centuries of training against an eternity of rage. Even as you see only half of the battle you find it beautiful. In the mountains, the eagles cry and those who fled from the burning city passed unhindered. Yet Glorfindel of the Golden Flowers did not survive the duel he fought with the Balrog above the mountain' passes and both fell to their death, smiting the rock in their flight. Your brother never returned to Morgoth's side for such was the rage of the Valaraukar than when one of you died you could not reconstitute a vestment of flesh. Only Gothmog was coherent enough to be rehoused in the greatest of dragons to have ever flown and even he was dreadfully weakened by the process.

Yet Glorfindel the Fair does not look at you with hate but with a smile and before guiding you with Mithrandir on the river, he answers your silent question.

"When my spirit was undergoing penance in the Halls of Mandos, I saw a bright lady so fair I begged her to command me. Nienna who mourns for everything in the world told me my penance would be short for I helped the design of the Powers and gave my life for others. When I was given flesh anew I came to abide with her for half an age. In her household serve many who left the service of the Discord. I would be foolish indeed to gainsay a Vaïle."

He pauses and smiles before continuing.

"Besides even if Mithrandir and Curunir and Aïwendil welcomed you as kin, we can be sure you are to be trusted. When the White Chief of the Wise and the Grey Pilgrim agree on something, you now it is the truth."

"Even the Wise cannot see all ends, Glorfindel" interjects Gandalf, as you are guided through Rivendell. "Yet in this case we received words from on high. Even if we hadn't it is better to err by too much mercy than by too much rigor."

Rivendell is not like Lorien. In Lorien you felt the song of nature at its peak, carefully controlled by Galadriel but still potent. Lothlorien is a realm of Sylvan Elves despite her Noldorin lady and it shows in the smells and the sights. Here you see buildings not wed to trees, you see statues and arches and monuments of stone. The song you hear is the quiet rushing of the pages, the smell of ink and fire slowly burning. Lorien is a mighty kingdom standing secure in its might, here is a refuge for students of lore. Even the slight touch of Discord confirming the lord of the house wears a Ring is more subdued than in the golden woods. This place has true life, not maintained by magic. Outsiders find it and are not enchanted. Men's lives would not burn at the contact of its light. You understand why when you meet Elrond.

Wearing the simple unadorned robes of a master of lore, the Half-Elf is not, at first sight, an impressive figure. His mixed heritage show in that he seems older than Glorfindel or Galadriel, his elders by millennia. Indeed, from what you remember of the ages of the Children of Eru, he would seem a man in his forties, wise but not entering old age yet, vigorous but past the prime of youth. He wears on black hair a simple circlet of silver instead of the crown of the High Kings. On his finger sits a circle of gold with a pearl of blue, burning softly like fire. While Galadriel's presence was imposing as the light of the Blessed Realm, his feels like a homecoming after a long journey.

Meeting his grey eyes, you understand why the Dwarves spoke so highly of him. He raises his arms to welcome you to the Last Homely House.

"Welcome and well met, Istar of Nienna. Rumors have travelled even here about your intervention in the battle of the East-Gate; And my kin in Lorien have sent messages. The Valar are merciful indeed, if even the Valaraukar can return to their splendid beginnings."

You answer to the greetings in kind but are soon at a loss with what subject to begin with. Will you speak first? You will be able to abord two subjects in this meeting.

[] Of the Orcs under your care?
[] Of the danger of the Rings?
[] Of the doings of the Shadow and the actions of the White Council?
[] Of the People of Durin?
[] Of the lands, you traversed and their deserted state?
[] Of the defeat of Sauron in the War of the Last Alliance?
[] Of the might of the Elves?

 

[ganonso]

Rivendell Part 3
That's the second time you are called "Istar" of Nienna. Before talking with Mithrandir and Curunir you could not understand what the term really meant. Now you know how, in order to counteract Sauron, the Valar sent five Maïar in the mortal lands. They were clad in mortal flesh and ordered to never confront the Shadow in their full power. A sensible precaution, considering what happened the last time the Powers went to war against the kingdom of Morgoth. It's a title who could suit you, for Nienna has indeed given you a vestment of human flesh in addition to your redeemed form. Yet their mandate is not yours for you have chosen to seek more than Sauron's unseating. Let those who always walked in the light content themselves with the destruction of the wicked. You, who were with Melkor before he became Morgoth and aided in the great Marring must heal the world and the people you so grievously abused. You can do nothing less. And in this task, you need help. Elrond is one of the greatest masters of healing still present in Middle-Earth and his lore would be a great boon in your efforts. So you speak even if you know it will provoke the crowd who remembers the atrocities wrought by the Orcs in times gone by.

"Lord Elrond of the House of Ëarendil, I thank you for your hospitality but I am not an Istar. The White, the Grey, the Brown and the Blues are untouched by corruption." At least that's what you think, you realize you don't know what happened to Allatar and Pallando at all. "I walked in the Shadow and thus must work for my redemption. In this endeavor I rule what remains of the Orcs of Khazad-dum and will lead them into the light."

[Roll
41+100: Crit Success]

There are a few, let's be frank, more than a few whispers in the crowd. These whispers quickly become shouts of incredulity, for the thought that the Orcs will be redeemed seems absurd. How quickly have these elves forgot that Nienna mourn for all that Morgoth marred and that includes his servants as well as his victims. Besides the two categories are not so distinct as many of his creatures were born into pain and agony, raised in the darkness and then unleashed in a world that didn't know them. You are very interested in Elrond expression which do not show the same hatred than the members of his court. Yet he lost much to the hands of the Orcs. You know his wife Celebrian journeyed to the uttermost West after enduring grievous torment in the caves gnawing the Misty Mountains. Yet when he speaks, he do so after demanding silence and obtaining him. He turns his eyes to an elf at his side before asking a question you are sure he knows the answer.

"Erestor. What do the Laws and the Customs say about the Orcs?"

"Both Law and Customs say that, even in times of war when they are but fingers on the hand of Morgoth Bauglir, we must spare the Orcs who cry mercy and treat them as we would with other prisoners." He adds without prompting: "While this case presented itself but a few times for the Orcs believed we would torment and eat them if we took them alive, I can recall a handful of survivors who were nursed to health. None of these lived very long for the power of Morgoth seemed necessary to their continuous well-being"

To be fair you think it also had to do with the fact that the Valar forsook Middle-Earth until the War of Wrath and thus didn't bother with interfering with Morgoth's essence. You promptly answer that none of your charges has in two years shown any signs of weakening. Besides they are the most part children and elderly as you slew those who fought against the Dwarves. The Elves of Rivendell are thoughtful at that remark. You understand why: In the First Age of the world and even before that, all Orcs that were non-fighters lived in the caverns of Angband where they either worked or bred at your command. Even the Firstborns who can remember Beleriand would be hard-pressed to remember an occasion where Orcs were not hostile. Yet nearly all can remember cases where they took villages of Men faithful to the Dark Lord and in such occasion, they spared civilians if they could. To your surprise it's Gandalf who speaks then:
"Friends! While we are all here fighting the Shadow, we must take care to not become what we fight or our war is in vain. If we are ready to believe one of the Valaraukar, one of the Balrogs who sacked Gondolin, who killed Féanor and many with him, who stood guard at the side of the Marrer himself, can find redemption, why would the Orcs, mortals being of less sin and foulness be unable to?" He genially smiles: "I for myself will see Khazad-Dum where the Dwarves and the Orcs live side by side after such a war. Perhaps this act of healing and compassion will have more bearing on the world than we would think."

Elrond does not smile for he is nearly lost in thoughts but he declares himself ready to help you in your quest. Yet he warns that, in his opinion, healing the Orcs will surely results in them becoming Men anew for after the Elves, it is the Second-Born who make the bulk of the Orcs' ancestry. The lord of Rivendell is ready to try his arts on some of your charges, if they are willing to do so but you see in his mind he cannot imagine, for the moment, another outcome than the partial reversing of the changes Morgoth wrought in their bodies.

Fortunately, you are able to convince Elrond to receive you and Mithrandir in private before you can speak of your second problem. One that is all the more pressing when you consider Rivendell is the second bastion of Light preserved by a Ring. You don't know where is the third but…

[Roll
29+71:100: Eyes of Shadow]

"It is strange. I thought that Curunir was the Chief of the Council and the authority in the matter of the Rings. Is he aware you wear such a jewel?"

Indeed, at the finger of Mithrandir, you see it. A band of gold with a ruby shining like blood. Strange you didn't notice it before for its nature is kin to yours. It is Fire like you were before you stained your essence with shadow. It is not like the two others who protect sanctuaries. No you understand that the wearer of this Ring can kindle hope and banish despair, have dominion over the will of the Free people and feed its flames. It is a dangerous weapon. But then, Sauron cannot be allowed to touch one of the Three, let alone bring them all in his dominion.

"It was long decided that the Ring of Fire would be more aptly used in the hands of a traveler rather than add to Orthanc's might" That is not an answer, Gandalf. "I am more surprised your eyes perceive the Rings at all. Radagast doesn't see them." You sense Elrond's eyes peer into your skull as you answer perhaps less diplomatically than you should.

"My eyes are accustomed to the working of the Shadow. As Sauron's thought went into these Rings, it marked them in the Discord." You gesture to silence Elrond's objection before it is uttered. "I don't doubt Celebrimbor was convinced his masterpieces shone with their own light. But as Féanor forgot where he took the light of the Silmarils, his grandson forgot who taught him the craft of the Rings. Still they are instruments of the Shadow and their passing will be good for the world."

"Thus, none of what we built will endure." Elrond sighs. "We will diminish, go into the West, leave the lands of our birth and leave them to the Secondborn. Will the defeat of Sauron even bring us joy?" He looks at you: "And what will become of your charges if you succeed in your work? Will they take boats with us from the Havens? Will they stay and inherit the world we have prepared?"

You don't know the answer. Yet as you examine the two Rings together and hear the faint whisper of the Discord, you perceive something you didn't see in Nenya. You see a thin thread, a nearly unheard tune. Yes, the Three must be less corrupt than the others for the call is nearly unperceptible but you don't doubt some compulsions will be stronger.
"He calls them," you realise; "The Lord of the Rings call his creations to his side." Ignoring the faces your companions make: "I could find him if I listened carefully."

Gandalf's expression suggest it would not be the wisest course of action.

Discovered: Gandalf has the Ring of Fire
Gained: Elrond is ready to assist in healing the Orcs or at least assess how they were changed
Gained: Elrond and Gandalf are aware of Sauron's calling the Rings
New Learning Option: Try to divine Sauron's location.