Your objective decided, the impromptu council disbands in order to ready their respective forces for the attack on Haudh Eldacar. As the chill night air settles over the vast expanse of Lake Evendim, you see to your own duties, namely the act of selecting a Herald. In Esteldin you were taught that every Captain's strength comes from his ability to inspire and lead those who follow them. In the field, this strength is represented by their banner, the standard of their forces, and the Herald who bore it into battle. If a Captain's Herald falls, his forces could lose hope and morale, thus, the selection of a Herald is vitally important. The more powerful and influential the Captain, the more powerful the Herald must be. Halbarad himself is the Herald to the mightiest of all the Captains of the Rangers--Aragorn Elessar. In Esteldin, your Herald was a recruit from the farmlands of the North Downs, a boy who could barely hold a sword and your banner at the same time. Now, however, your greater status requires a more powerful Herald. After some minutes of mental deliberation, you choose Riannel, a Ranger born and raised in Esteldin who sings with a fierce pride in the heat of battle. Riannel simply nods deftly as you hand her the grey-white bundle that is your banner, but you can see the glint of surprise in her eyes.
Ranhelm approaches you, lighted only by the dim flame of his torch, and his eyes seem even older than when you last saw him some minutes ago.
"The men are ready." He accompanies his words with a nod towards the twenty-odd men arrayed near the edge of the clearing. More than half will be staying behind or scattering into the forest to provide aid for this main force, and your sister's hunters have silently slid off while no one was looking in order to take their positions for the gambit. Surveying the men, you can see that Ranhelm has chosen wisely. The men he has selected are not the strongest, but they are the quickest. If all goes well, they should be able to strike the trolls and draw out the enemy in Haudh Eldacar before leading the enemy on a fruitless chase.
"Good. The hunters and I will be in the forests."
As you turn to depart, you notice the men looking at you, and you can see apprehension on the faces of some of the younger Rangers. Words, you feel, might be needed. You never were one for great speeches, yet you stride out before the congregation of soldiers. Casting your gaze over the twenty-odd men gathered in the light of Ranhelm's torch, you fill your tone with command and strength, letting the conviction that bolsters your own heart sound in your voice, carrying out across the camp.
"Warriors. Rangers! Man of Evendim or Warden of Annuminas, it matters not. We are Dunadan, and this land, this land is ours. It is our home and our right, and we will we take it back piece by blood-stained piece. Let no fear touch your heart. Let no cowardice stay your blade. Be quick. Be smart. Be safe. For all we have and are. For Arnor." You tear your ancient bronze blade from it's sheath, and swing it in the direction of the great tombs to the west.
"For Arnor! ", chant the Rangers in a single voice, drawing their blades as one. You look them over a final time, then nod to Ranhelm. He barks a loud comnmand, there is a flutter of grey, and then they are gone.
As you and Riannel slide through the woods to where your sister and her hunters are waiting, you begin to smell an acrid odor wafting through the air, the scent of smoke and rotting flesh, of blood and bile. As it grows stronger, you grimace. Trolls. Wherever they congregate in large numbers, they leave waste and filth--remnants of their food, of their droppings, of their battles. But for the smell to be this strong...
You find your sister and her hunters on a ridge at the edge of the vast forest, overlooking the ancient rood of Men Erain and the tomb you mean to raid. As you pace onto the wooded overhang next to her, you take in your first true glimpse of what you have sworn to defend.
The road below stretches almost forty man-lengths wide, a vast path that must have been truly great in days of old. In your mind's eye, you can see gleaming armies marching over the road's polished marble tiles in days long past, tiles that have long since sunk into the earth and faded with eight hundred years worth of disuse. Vines and roots have lain low white-gold pillars and columns that long ago marked the way to Annuminas, that was the greatest of the cities of men. Resplendent statues that once towered above the earth now lie shattered on the road they once watched over, long ago laid low by time and foes. On either side of the road rise great crypts, some as large as palaces and some as small as cabins, some carved from marble and some hewn from stone. Each of them stands high and proud, defiant to the years that have scarred the path that winds between them, testaments to undying might of the Kings within, who once walked the world when it was young.
This is Men Erain. This is the path of your ancestors. This is the Way of Kings.
And it is polluted.
Men, bandits and traitors in tattered leathers and stolen rags, saunter down the hallowed tiles, their harsh laughter echoing in the night. Sorcerers in red robes and black hoods, adorned in the trappings and fetishes of Angmar, stride carelessly past the tombs of the Kings whom their ancestors denied. Trolls, hideous and misshapen, lumber down the Way, cracking ancient tiles with feet like slabs of stone. leaving filth and waste in their wake. Great fires burn ceaselessly in the night, trees from the forests that Elendil himself walked, burnt like so much tinder. Hate flares in your heart, and rage, as you lock your eyes on the tattered banners that have been planted periodically along the road, a blood-red, lidless eye on a standard blacker than death itself.
"This...I can't..." Riannel murmers behind you. Even your sister seems at a loss for words. But you have seen Angmar itself, the blood-red plains and the obsidian mountains. Any horror you feel at the desecration pales before the knowledge of what it might become, a place worse than the bleakest desert and the most barren waste. Already you can see the corruption of the sorcerers in the earth, rotting the plants and killing the soil. Angmar has come to Men Erain, and you will drive it back.
"Aramel. Are your huntresses in position?"
Your sister nods, yet her grey eyes never move from the road below. With a wordless gesture, she indicates Haudh Eldacar, though you needed little help finding it. Almost directly under you, a ways away from the road proper, a ring of trolls, massive beasts with skin like rock, cavort around a great fire underneath the overhang of a medium-sized tomb that spreads out in front of you. There are sixteen, give or take a few--a formidable number, but one you hope your men can handle until the sun rises. Bones and rotted flesh surround the vile camp in a great ring, and the stench is stronger than ever before. Many trolls must use this place as a gathering point, likely due to the nearby caves in the hillside. Trolls are among the foulest of the Enemy's creations, and so greatest is their weakness to the things of the light--when touched by the rays of the sun, they are turned to stone. It is on this fact your plan hinges.
Just as the sun begins to crack over the horizon and the trolls move to lumber towards the nearby caves and the safety of the shade, a horn splits the heady air. On cue, grey-clad figures burst from the darkness, their swords glinting in the firelight. You can hear Ranhelm's ordered yells, and two trolls fall almost instantly in the ambush, spears sprouting from their necks. Another is blinded by a stray strike from one of it's fellows, and begins lashing out madly, smashing and killing three of it's brethren in a crazed frenzy before stumbling backwards--into the great fire. It's screams echo in the dark of the night, and the very trees seem to shake as it howls. You can see arrows whipping from the trees to bury themselves in the troll's eyes, and you know Aramel's hunters are aiding from the shadows.
Yet the surprise seems to be wearing off. The trolls are regaining their senses, striking back at their attackers, and the Angmarim still have not been drawn from the tomb. Without hesitation, you raise your captain's horn to your lips and blow. The sound of the horn echoes in the night, ringing out loud and clear with the sound of strength, of might, of attackers from all sides. The trolls, dim-witted as they are, are thrown back into confusion by the blast, and your men continue dancing between their feet, slicing at their heels. Moments later, the first of the Angmarim in Haudh Eldacar emerges, a tall man in red robes who is greeted by an arrow shaft to the forehead. A cry issues from within the tomb, and he is followed by a band of almost twenty Angmarim warriors who rush towards the Rangers. Their mission done, the Rangers begin to run, splitting into small groups that vanish in different directions. The trolls begin to lumber after them, all thoughts of the dawn's threat gone.
You grin.
Seconds later, the light of the sun splits through the trees. Many of the trolls are hit, and four or five are turned to stone before your eyes. Yet with impossible speed, the last of their number make it into the tree canopy moments before the sun's rays hit them--right on the heels of a group of fleeing rangers. The grin slides from your face as two trolls converge on a group of six rangers, and you grit your teeth as their screams echo loudly in the morning air. Behind you, Riannel curses in Westron, and Aramel lets out a sigh of grief. You steel yourself, remembering that they did what they did so that you could have a chance, and after a silent moment of respect, you slide down the ridge, and you can hear Aramel whistle for her huntresses as she slides down behind you.
You dash through the ruins of the troll's camp, leaping over the tattered bodies of trolls and Angmarim. Behind you, Riannel bears your banner aloft, a white tree on a dark grey cloth. Around the two of you, grey shapes slide from the darkness, shifting figures who seem to evade the very light itself and slip from your eyesight when you're not looking. You bound up the marble stairs of the tomb, striding through the shattered doorframe the Angmarim broke down to gain entrance. As you pass through, you hear a guttural yell from the left and turn to meet it, swinging your sword as you do so. The Arnorian bronze slices through your would-be-Ambusher's chest, and the Angmarim soldier falls back, nearly bisected. As you turn away from your kill, however, a crossbow bolt thuds into your upper shoulder, and you stumble backwards with a grunt. You look up, to find that Riannel has cleanly separated the archer's head from his body, and you yank the bolt from your arm. There is a whistling sound from behind you, and you duck, turning to find a tall Angmarim warrior swinging a massive claymore at your head. You move, but not quickly enough, and he scores a long gash down your side--not deep, but painful. The fight is short, but brutal, and you tear the wound in your side open a bit more in dodging one of his brutal swings, though you score a few of your own before impaling him with a single jab. As Amasel's hunters pour through the door mere moments after you entered, you finish pulling your blade from the Angmarim's body.
"Those were the remainders," you guess with a grunt, and a survey of the tomb, which consists of a large antechamber and myriad twisting tunnels that wind down to smaller chambers, makes this clear. Amasel's hunters set up in the tunnels, and you and Riannel follow suit. After some long, tense minutes of waiting, you hear the angry mutterings of the Angmarim as they file back into the tomb, and the barked commands of their leader makes it clear that Ranhelm's men outran them. As they begin planning, you strike. The hunters loose multiple volleys from the cover of darkness, and you wade into the mass of Angmarim warriors. Unlike the trolls, however, they quickly recover from the surprise, and though you kill several, you are forced to fall back, leading them into the tunnels. There, however, they are prey for the hunters, who pick them apart and destroy them.
The captain of their force, a large Angmarim with a close-cropped beard and blood-red robes, however, eludes all attempts to kill him and singles you out for open combat. His first blow scores alongside your side, and his second nearly removes your head, but you return in kind, forcing him back into the antechamber. In heart of the tomb of Eldacar, you cross blades with one of the most powerful servants of the Enemy you have encountered thus far. His blows are hammerfalls, and his strikes take your all to evade. Riannel strikes from the side as she can, but in the end it is you and him, locked in a bitter struggle to the end. The battle stretches long minutes, until at last you swing your blade with all the strength your heart can muster. The might of your ancestors fills your veins as you cleave through his sword and sever his head, sending the red-robed body crumpling to the ground.
As you stumble back from his corpse, you notice a twisted black medallion hanging from his neck. Curious, you pull it from his mutilated neck and take it as a spoil of war.
Wounded, but alive, you survey the situation. Your forces have taken Haudh Eldacar, though not without losses, and all enemy witnesses are dead. Several choices stand before you:
[] Hold Haudh Eldacar. Station eleven men, enough to hold the cramped tomb against all but the most overwhelming of forces. It will weaken the strength of your main force, but allow you to project your might onto the road itself. You block up the troll caves, as well.
[] Block up the caves and the tomb. None will be allowed entrance in here, not ever again.
[] The Angmarim here sought something. Find it, then...
--[] Block the tomb.
--[] Hold the tomb.
[] Intimidation and fear. Plant the banner of the rangers on the stairs, and block the tomb and the caves.
[] Transfer your main camp to this tomb. It is out of the way of the main road, can be held indefinitely by a small number of men, and is large enough to hold most of you forces, leaving the Inlet camp to serve as a base for Amasel's hunters.
