And it came to pass after the days of Eärendur, the seventh king that followed Valandil, that the Men of Westernesse, the Dúnedain of the North, became divided into petty realms and lordships, and their foes devoured them one by one. Ever they dwindled with the years, until their glory passed, leaving only green mounds in the grass.
Penn Annûn: A Dúnedain Quest
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Intro: The Old North
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"The hobbits did not understand his words, but as he spoke they had a vision as it were of a great expanse of years behind them, like a vast shadowy plain over which there strode shapes of Men, tall and grim with bright swords […]"
T.A 1298
It is the Third Age of Middle-Earth, and it is the twilight of the Dúnedain.
The north is sundered. The Old Kingdom of Arnor, once the greatest power on the shores of Middle-Earth, is dead, save in memory alone. None now living remember when these lands were ruled by tall kings with bright eyes and a might to match their wisdom, for the days of the kings of men have waxed and waned and passed away on the stone hills like sun or rain. Plague and war and ill fortune have eaten at their cities, have hollowed their fields and emptied their villages. Time and greed have done what all the powers of Mordor could not: they have reduced the kingdom of the men of the west into nothing. Even fair Annúminas, great city of the Dúnedain and seat of their kings -- once the wonder and the terror of all Middle-Earth -- has been lost; abandoned slowly and left to fall into disrepair. Her streets now are empty, and her fires all cold, and there is now no high king upon her high throne.
Many self-proclaimed successors have risen themselves up in the wreck of Arnor, high lords among the ruins of their fathers. Each of them, descended in some distant manner from the line of Elendil the High King, imagines himself sole heir to the glory of the North-Realm, and of Númenor-that-was before her. They dream of Arnor restored, Arnor renewed, Arnor again as a queen among nations. But they are little lords, these kings of dust and stone, and for all their dreams, their words carry little weight beyond the walls of their fortress cities. There is no strength left in the dwindling north or it's fading princes. More and more, these would-be restorers are driven to wage war against one another simply to defend what little remains to them, garrisoning those ancient towers which those kings of yore raised for the defense of their land against older and greater foes than their inheritors can now imagine. They rule by the sword alone, and to keep their realms whole they must rely entirely upon their vassals: overmighty lords who have grown strong even as the power of their kings has waned; lords who have come now to rule these lands in all but their own names.
While Arnor dwindles, it is these petty chieftains who squabble over her bones, riding forth from their mansions to play at war. They are grim and ill men, these last of the Númenóreans, and they cling with hard hands to dead titles and ancient rights, shedding blood freely in little feuds over little glories, holding nothing sacred and keeping nothing in safety, swearing oaths now to one master and now to another, and there is everywhere in the land strife, everywhere bad blood, everywhere hunger and mistrust.
You are one of these lords. By chance or strength or perhaps even worth you have come to rule some small part of what was once the Northern Kingdom of the Dúnedain. You have sworn yourself to a king who is both distant and powerless. There are swords which will obey you, and in a time such as this, that is perhaps the only true security, save those walls of cold stone within which you have made your seat -- and even these may fail you, in the end.
Gone are the days of the bold lords who came over the sea, and gone are the star-clad knights who rode with the elves to Mount Doom. Gone are the days of the king, and who knows when they may come again.
Three realms were born from the breaking of Arnor, each one ruled by a different branch of Isildur's line -- there is Arthedain in the north and west, Cardolan in the south, and Rhudaur in the east. Between and among them, there are many dozens of petty fiefs, domains, and chiefdoms, often held to the crown they serve by the faintest of oaths. These kingdoms wage war bitterly among one another, most often for possession of the palantir -- the seeing-stones, mighty artifacts out of Elder Days, the possession of which might allow any one of them to finally triumph over the others. Which of these scattered crowns do you serve? (Pick one. This vote does not need to be in a plan)
[] Arthedain: The land of the sceptre, the kingsward, the old north -- seat of the heirs of Islildur. Unable to overcome his brothers in the civil war which destroyed Arnor, the firstborn prince Amlaith withdrew to the heartlands of the kingdom, between the rivers Lhun and Brandywine. With the fading of Annúminas, he made his seat in the cold north downs, at a great fortress which in the centuries since has come to be called Fornost Erain, the northern fortress — Norbury-of-the-Kings in the common tongue. The people of Arthedain are much like their kings: cautious and stern, men of grim nobility, whose chief concern is the defense of the whole north. They have in their possession the Palantir of Annuminas, one of the last of the great seeing-stones, which is said to give them wisdom beyond their dwindling years.
[] Cardolan: The southland, the river-realm, seat of the sea-kings. The men who bear the White Crown of Cardolan are descendants of Eärrion, third-born son of Arnor's last king, who was the flower of Arnor in his day, and beloved of the nobility of the Dúnedain. The great port cities of Tharbad and Lond Daer, ancient colonies of Númenor, took his side in the civil war, and the nobles of those cities became the men of Cardolan -- gloomy men and proud, lords of river and sea, who think ceaselessly of death and dead glory. They have become now the wealthiest and strongest at arms of all the men of the North.
[] Rhudaur: The east-kingdom, the hillrealm, the land of the sword. In the redstone keep of Sarnost rule a line of kings as unbending as their sire: Malandur, the second-born prince of lost Arnor, a lord of battles and a captain of men, who was driven eastward by his brothers. In those hills lived many wild men, long subjects of Arnor, who swore to his cause and made war for his claim. Their descendants, the hillmen of Rhudaur, are a hardy kindred, strong and warlike, whose chieftains respect strength alone. Of late, the lords of Rhudaur have won a great victory against the men of Cardolan, seizing the Tower of Weathertop in the Weather Hills, where is held the Stone of Amon Sul, one of the last of the great seeing-stones, which may give them terrible advantage against the other realms.
[] Cardolan: The southland, the river-realm, seat of the sea-kings. The men who bear the White Crown of Cardolan are descendants of Eärrion, third-born son of Arnor's last king, who was the flower of Arnor in his day, and beloved of the nobility of the Dúnedain. The great port cities of Tharbad and Lond Daer, ancient colonies of Númenor, took his side in the civil war, and the nobles of those cities became the men of Cardolan -- gloomy men and proud, lords of river and sea, who think ceaselessly of death and dead glory. They have become now the wealthiest and strongest at arms of all the men of the North.
[] Rhudaur: The east-kingdom, the hillrealm, the land of the sword. In the redstone keep of Sarnost rule a line of kings as unbending as their sire: Malandur, the second-born prince of lost Arnor, a lord of battles and a captain of men, who was driven eastward by his brothers. In those hills lived many wild men, long subjects of Arnor, who swore to his cause and made war for his claim. Their descendants, the hillmen of Rhudaur, are a hardy kindred, strong and warlike, whose chieftains respect strength alone. Of late, the lords of Rhudaur have won a great victory against the men of Cardolan, seizing the Tower of Weathertop in the Weather Hills, where is held the Stone of Amon Sul, one of the last of the great seeing-stones, which may give them terrible advantage against the other realms.
In times such as these, men of all walks and deeds may find themselves risen to positions of power. No longer are high lineage or great ancestry barriers to lordship. Mercenaries may win thrones, deserting soldiers may name themselves as great lords, and wild men out of the hills may decide the fate of storied kingdoms. By what right or claim do you rule in the north? (Pick one. Please place this and subsequent character creation votes into a plan. No votes which are not in a plan will be counted.)
[] Birthright: You are one of the last of the lords of the Dúnedain, a noble of the dwindling Men of the West. The grandfathers of your grandfathers came to Middle-Earth with Elendil from the wreck of Númenor-that-was; they marched south with Isildur to the black land of Mordor, and they returned without him. Your right to rule is in your very blood, and your dreams are filled of tall ships and tall kings, of ancient glories and cold seas. (Begin with an extra Glory)
[] Appointment: You were a captain in service to one of the kings of the land, a great battler and a fighter and a leader of men. For your brave deeds and leal service, you were rewarded with land and title to call your own, and a keep to hold and guard through your heirs and the heirs of their heirs. The men you led in his service are your sworn swords now, and your authority is rooted firmly in your dispensation from a royal power. (Begin with extra troops, more legitimacy)
[] Conquest: Perhaps you were a bandit, or a deserter, or a traitor. Whatever the case, you have come to power through blood, through strength of arms and force overwhelming. Men obey you because they must, and the king whom you serve is all too aware that your power does not come from him, but from your own will to mastery. (Begin with an extra Infamy)
[] Appointment: You were a captain in service to one of the kings of the land, a great battler and a fighter and a leader of men. For your brave deeds and leal service, you were rewarded with land and title to call your own, and a keep to hold and guard through your heirs and the heirs of their heirs. The men you led in his service are your sworn swords now, and your authority is rooted firmly in your dispensation from a royal power. (Begin with extra troops, more legitimacy)
[] Conquest: Perhaps you were a bandit, or a deserter, or a traitor. Whatever the case, you have come to power through blood, through strength of arms and force overwhelming. Men obey you because they must, and the king whom you serve is all too aware that your power does not come from him, but from your own will to mastery. (Begin with an extra Infamy)
In these latter days of the Northern Realm, lords and kings alike clutch close any echoes of old Arnor which they may, drawing prestige and legitimacy from these scraps of the dusted past. Stories are spun up about great lineages or distant relations to heroes of old, while ancient crowns and rusted swords are paraded as heirlooms of an age now lost. What dead glories have you held? (Pick One. Please place this vote into a plan.) (NOTE: Each Glory has major and significant gameplay effects. Pick carefully)
[] Unmingled: As you tell it, your forefathers have married close and right, kept the lineage straight and pure. The pedigree you produce is not merely storied, it is unimpeachable. In an age when even kings may not boast of such, you may say proudly that you are descended in a true line unmingled from the lords of the West, the race of kings, the Númenóreans. You are taller than most, all agree, and you seem to be aging more gracefully than some. Perhaps the old blood runs true after all. (Incompatible with Intermingled)
[] The Blade of Westernesse: At your side is a sword older than these castles and these cities and these kings, a long white blade out of the drowned deeps of time, a noble sword of the ancient West; or so you have told it. It is lighter than steel, it is always sharp, it does not rust. If it is a forgery, it is a master forgery indeed.
[] The Star of Arnor: In the Old Kingdom, the kings wore no crown. Instead, the chief sign of royalty was a five-pointed gem, a rayed star worn on a bracelet about the forehead of the king, which was known as the Elendilmir, or the star of Arnor. Copies were sometimes given as signs of royal favor to great men of the royal court, who wore them either as brooches or about their necks. All which remain are much-loved as relics of the highest days of Arnor.
[] Royal-Blooded (Eärrion's Line): It is said one of your ancestors was a child of the royal house of Cardolan. In you is the blood of the River Princes, the wealthiest and fairest of the scattered kings of Arnor. Most of Cardolan's nobility may boast the same, for they have married often with their kings, and the blood has grown thin.
[] The West-Helm: An old helm, high and tall, of a bright metal like adamant, with wings of white silver, as a bird of the sea. Of old this was the style of the war-helms of the men of Númenor, and after their passing it was the model for the crowns of the kings of Gondor. Its' like is not seen in the world today.
[] Wardenship: Of old, the Wardens of Arnor were those men appointed to guard the far marches of the kingdom. The titles survive in the successor kingdoms, no longer bearing any responsibility or true power, but designating one of great martial skill.
[] Armor of the Dúnedain: This suit of armor must have been made in the forges of Annúminas when they still burned, for no work of men's hands now or since could have produced it. Each piece is burnished spell-wrought steel, so pale it is nearly white, and the white star of Arnor shines on the breastplate.
[] Sindarin-Speaker: The old tongue, the elfspeech, the language of the Kings. Once the common tongue of all the Dúnedain, Sindarin is now rarely spoken save by kings and high lords. To speak it is to speak the tongue of Arnor's glory.
[] The Elendilcorma: You possess one of the Elendilcorma, the signet rings of Elendil and his heirs, made from mithril at the coronation of each king of Arnor. Long thought lost with the fall of Annúminas, one, or a very convincing replica of one, has found its' way into your possession.
[] Royal-Blooded (Malandur's Line): In you is the blood of the Red Kings of Rhudaur. Malandur's blood has been spread far and wide among the stern hillmen of the east, who respect such a lineage greatly.
[] The Eregion-stone: Over the long millennia, many treasures from the fallen elf-realm of Eregion have made their way into the possession of the high lords of Arnor and the three kingdoms which followed her. Eregion was home to the Gwaith-i-Merdain, the greatest craftsmen of the Eldar, and the works of their hands are the fairest in Middle-Earth. You have acquired one of their treasures -- a striking blue sapphire, set in a brooch of starsilver.
[] War-Banner of the Dúnedain: Of old, the banner of Elendil which flew above his armies was a white tree on a field of blue, with seven stars about it and a crown above in white; and the stars were made of diamond, and the crown of mithril and gold. Only one such banner was ever made for Elendil and his sons, but in the dying days of the North-kingdom, many lesser copies were made by men who laid claim to the sceptre. A few of these still remain in the north, preserved through the long years; yet the blue in them is long faded, and the precious stones were all pried clean many years ago. One such waves now above your hall.
[] The Blade of Westernesse: At your side is a sword older than these castles and these cities and these kings, a long white blade out of the drowned deeps of time, a noble sword of the ancient West; or so you have told it. It is lighter than steel, it is always sharp, it does not rust. If it is a forgery, it is a master forgery indeed.
[] The Star of Arnor: In the Old Kingdom, the kings wore no crown. Instead, the chief sign of royalty was a five-pointed gem, a rayed star worn on a bracelet about the forehead of the king, which was known as the Elendilmir, or the star of Arnor. Copies were sometimes given as signs of royal favor to great men of the royal court, who wore them either as brooches or about their necks. All which remain are much-loved as relics of the highest days of Arnor.
[] Royal-Blooded (Eärrion's Line): It is said one of your ancestors was a child of the royal house of Cardolan. In you is the blood of the River Princes, the wealthiest and fairest of the scattered kings of Arnor. Most of Cardolan's nobility may boast the same, for they have married often with their kings, and the blood has grown thin.
[] The West-Helm: An old helm, high and tall, of a bright metal like adamant, with wings of white silver, as a bird of the sea. Of old this was the style of the war-helms of the men of Númenor, and after their passing it was the model for the crowns of the kings of Gondor. Its' like is not seen in the world today.
[] Wardenship: Of old, the Wardens of Arnor were those men appointed to guard the far marches of the kingdom. The titles survive in the successor kingdoms, no longer bearing any responsibility or true power, but designating one of great martial skill.
[] Armor of the Dúnedain: This suit of armor must have been made in the forges of Annúminas when they still burned, for no work of men's hands now or since could have produced it. Each piece is burnished spell-wrought steel, so pale it is nearly white, and the white star of Arnor shines on the breastplate.
[] Sindarin-Speaker: The old tongue, the elfspeech, the language of the Kings. Once the common tongue of all the Dúnedain, Sindarin is now rarely spoken save by kings and high lords. To speak it is to speak the tongue of Arnor's glory.
[] The Elendilcorma: You possess one of the Elendilcorma, the signet rings of Elendil and his heirs, made from mithril at the coronation of each king of Arnor. Long thought lost with the fall of Annúminas, one, or a very convincing replica of one, has found its' way into your possession.
[] Royal-Blooded (Malandur's Line): In you is the blood of the Red Kings of Rhudaur. Malandur's blood has been spread far and wide among the stern hillmen of the east, who respect such a lineage greatly.
[] The Eregion-stone: Over the long millennia, many treasures from the fallen elf-realm of Eregion have made their way into the possession of the high lords of Arnor and the three kingdoms which followed her. Eregion was home to the Gwaith-i-Merdain, the greatest craftsmen of the Eldar, and the works of their hands are the fairest in Middle-Earth. You have acquired one of their treasures -- a striking blue sapphire, set in a brooch of starsilver.
[] War-Banner of the Dúnedain: Of old, the banner of Elendil which flew above his armies was a white tree on a field of blue, with seven stars about it and a crown above in white; and the stars were made of diamond, and the crown of mithril and gold. Only one such banner was ever made for Elendil and his sons, but in the dying days of the North-kingdom, many lesser copies were made by men who laid claim to the sceptre. A few of these still remain in the north, preserved through the long years; yet the blue in them is long faded, and the precious stones were all pried clean many years ago. One such waves now above your hall.
But it is not high men who rule Arnor today. The hills are thick with cruel lords and petty tyrants, merciless chieftains and masters of men. The star of Arnor has sunk far from her heights, and it seems as if all the strength of the world of men lies now only in the sword. There is no glory which is not stained, in this twilight of the Dúnedain. What shadows gather about your name? (Pick Two. Please place this vote into a plan.)
[] Intermingled: Your ancestors have married freely with the men of Middle-Earth. The blood of Númenor is diluted in your veins, and there are many who say that it is due to you and men such as you that the strength of Arnor has long waxed. Those who have let the blood go weak are ill-loved by high lords -- but they are at home among the common folk of the hills and fens, where they may find family. (Increased reputation among common men)
[] Bandit: At one point, you roamed the roads of Eriador, preying on travellers and common folk. Men whisper still of your black deeds, and the shine of the lucre they brought. (Begin with extra wealth, one extra Infamy)
[] Tomb-Robber: Many high tombs dot the landscape of old Arnor, barrows of great lords and small raised by the Dúnedain of yore. They were guarded once, but few keep watch now over dead. In your youth, you plundered these tombs of your forefathers, and were rewarded richly for it. (One extra Glory, ???)
[] Mercenary: You were once a sellsword, fighting for this lord and then that, owing loyalty to none. Such a past means you are treated with scorn by many, but you have greater experience with battle -- and more hardened men at your side -- than most in the north today. (Begin with veteran troops, gain advantage in battles.)
[] Chieftain: By birth or marriage or dint of strength, you have emerged as the chieftain of a clan of wild-men -- those untamed free peoples who live in the hills and forests of lost Arnor. Fiercely loyal, they will serve you until the day of your death. (Begin with many wildmen troops)
[] Oathbreaker: You were sworn once to one of the kings of this land. When he called on you to honor your oaths, you defied him, asserting your own rights and dignities over his own. The kings who claim to rule Arnor trust you little, but among the high lords you have gained a measure of respect, as one who would rule in his own right. (Increased reputation with other lords, increased levies and taxes from your lands)
[] Kinslayer: At some point in your past, you quarreled with your own brother over an inheritance. Whether the root was greed or pride, the struggle was brief and vicious. From his corpse, you took what was yours by right. (One extra Glory)
[] Betrayer: Famously, you once switched sides in the middle of a battle, delivering a victory for your new allies and a crushing defeat to those who had placed their trust in you. Such treachery is still frowned upon deeply in Arnor, and men whisper your name as a curse -- but the rewards from your new masters have been princely indeed. (One extra Glory, One extra Infamy, begin with increased troops and gold.)
[] Adventurer: You have spent a long period of your life as a wanderer, a traveler and an explorer. From Norbury to Rivendell, from Bree-land to Forochel, you have traveled the length and breadth of the old north. Some may scorn you as a vagrant and a wastrel, but you have seen and done more than many who now live. (Add one extra Glory)
[] Ruthless: You have gathered a reputation for a lack of mercy. (Gain a significant advantage in diplomacy with other lords)
[] Arrogant: It is not enough to believe that you are great, to feel that all things which are yours are deserved. You must know it, you must be assured in your bones of glory, as were the Tall Men of old. (Increased Glory effects)
[] Greedy: You are rapacious. You hunger for wealth and riches, and tax those villages under your rule heavily. But your wealth has given you splendor, even if it has not given you love. (Add one Glory, begin with extra treasure.)
[] Farseeing: You were born with the rare gift of Sight, the ability to see glimpses of the shifting future in dreams. This ability was long revered among the Men of the West, and held with honor in old Arnor, but in these latter days of the Dúnedain it is has come to be seen as a sign of sorcery and dark magics. (Reduced reputation with all characters)
[] Bandit: At one point, you roamed the roads of Eriador, preying on travellers and common folk. Men whisper still of your black deeds, and the shine of the lucre they brought. (Begin with extra wealth, one extra Infamy)
[] Tomb-Robber: Many high tombs dot the landscape of old Arnor, barrows of great lords and small raised by the Dúnedain of yore. They were guarded once, but few keep watch now over dead. In your youth, you plundered these tombs of your forefathers, and were rewarded richly for it. (One extra Glory, ???)
[] Mercenary: You were once a sellsword, fighting for this lord and then that, owing loyalty to none. Such a past means you are treated with scorn by many, but you have greater experience with battle -- and more hardened men at your side -- than most in the north today. (Begin with veteran troops, gain advantage in battles.)
[] Chieftain: By birth or marriage or dint of strength, you have emerged as the chieftain of a clan of wild-men -- those untamed free peoples who live in the hills and forests of lost Arnor. Fiercely loyal, they will serve you until the day of your death. (Begin with many wildmen troops)
[] Oathbreaker: You were sworn once to one of the kings of this land. When he called on you to honor your oaths, you defied him, asserting your own rights and dignities over his own. The kings who claim to rule Arnor trust you little, but among the high lords you have gained a measure of respect, as one who would rule in his own right. (Increased reputation with other lords, increased levies and taxes from your lands)
[] Kinslayer: At some point in your past, you quarreled with your own brother over an inheritance. Whether the root was greed or pride, the struggle was brief and vicious. From his corpse, you took what was yours by right. (One extra Glory)
[] Betrayer: Famously, you once switched sides in the middle of a battle, delivering a victory for your new allies and a crushing defeat to those who had placed their trust in you. Such treachery is still frowned upon deeply in Arnor, and men whisper your name as a curse -- but the rewards from your new masters have been princely indeed. (One extra Glory, One extra Infamy, begin with increased troops and gold.)
[] Adventurer: You have spent a long period of your life as a wanderer, a traveler and an explorer. From Norbury to Rivendell, from Bree-land to Forochel, you have traveled the length and breadth of the old north. Some may scorn you as a vagrant and a wastrel, but you have seen and done more than many who now live. (Add one extra Glory)
[] Ruthless: You have gathered a reputation for a lack of mercy. (Gain a significant advantage in diplomacy with other lords)
[] Arrogant: It is not enough to believe that you are great, to feel that all things which are yours are deserved. You must know it, you must be assured in your bones of glory, as were the Tall Men of old. (Increased Glory effects)
[] Greedy: You are rapacious. You hunger for wealth and riches, and tax those villages under your rule heavily. But your wealth has given you splendor, even if it has not given you love. (Add one Glory, begin with extra treasure.)
[] Farseeing: You were born with the rare gift of Sight, the ability to see glimpses of the shifting future in dreams. This ability was long revered among the Men of the West, and held with honor in old Arnor, but in these latter days of the Dúnedain it is has come to be seen as a sign of sorcery and dark magics. (Reduced reputation with all characters)
If you have little to no experience with Tolkien's universe, that's fine. Here, I'll lay out some of the most basic elements of the quest, so that you can read it without being baffled. The informational posts provide in-depth looks at various (canon and quest-invented) parts of the universe, but the absolute most need-to-know is this:
What is Arnor?
The North-Realm, the Realm of Elendil, the Kingdom of the Dúnedain. It used to be the greatest kingdom in the north of Middle-Earth, and it was the foremost of the Realms in Exile.
Woah, that's a whole lot of concepts! What are the Realms in Exile?
The Realms in Exile are Gondor and Arnor, the two great Kingdoms of the Dúnedain in Middle-Earth. Gondor is in the south, and Arnor is in the north. They were founded by Dúnedain exiles who came to Middle-Earth from the destroyed kingdom of Númenor.
What's a Dúnedain?
The Men of the West, or the Dúnedain, are the last descendants of the Númenóreans — a very old and very powerful island kingdom of men who were blessed long ago to be taller and more long-lived than everyone else. They lived hundreds of years on average, and had skills and technology which would seem like magic to regular men.
Okay, so what happened to them?
The Númenóreans established a massive empire with colonies around the world. They grew so powerful and arrogant that they attempted to take immortality from the gods, and were destroyed for it. Only seven ships survived the total destruction of their island, commanded by a Númenórean named Elendil the Tall and his two sons.
Oh, and they became the Dúnedain?
Exactly. Elendil and his sons landed in Middle-Earth and founded the realms in exile. Elendil founded Arnor in the north, while his sons Isildur and Anarion founded Gondor in the south. From his capital in Annúminas, Elendil was the high-king of Dúnedain in Middle-Earth, and his people enjoyed an age of prosperity and wonder.
But I'm guessing that didn't last forever…
You'd be right. An old enemy of the Númenóreans, the Dark Lord Sauron, began causing trouble in the south. Elendil and his sons joined forces with the elves and the dwarves to defeat him, and in the war which followed, all three of them died. Isildur's son Valandil returned north to take up Elendil's crown, while Anarion's heirs remained in the south.
And what then? How did we get here?
The war against Sauron was devastating for the Dúnedain of Arnor. Their population never recovered, and by the time of the ninth king after Valandil, Arnor was in the middle of a serious decline. That king's sons all claimed the throne, and the civil war which followed destroyed Arnor, creating three successor kingdoms with competing claims.
Okay. That gets us to where we are. But what's going on with the Elves? They live in forests and sing and stuff, right?
Some of them do, but not all. The Elves are the oldest of the races of the world, and the most weary of it, since they can never die. In the First Age the Elves had many powerful kingdoms and fought great wars against the Dark Lord (and sometimes each other). After the epic battle that ended the First Age, many of them got tired of the world and left over the sea to Valinor to wait out eternity in paradise. But there are still a lot left, running their own kingdoms and cities all over the continent (only some of which are in forests).
Right, so is there anything else I need to know?
Middle-Earth is a big continent. There's a lot of stuff kicking around. The Dwarves have their kingdoms in the mountains (you'll run into them later), and there are various groups and civilizations of men running around. Beyond Gondor, the continent continues far to the south and east, but most people don't know what lies in those directions (except the Númenóreans, who explored a lot). Other than the Dark Lord, there's not really much else to --
Wait, wait, the Dark Lord? You mean Sauron? I thought this was before Lord of the Rings?
Indeed it is. But Sauron's defeat in Lord of the Rings is only the endpoint of several thousand years of making everyone everywhere very miserable. This quest takes place after his first defeat, when all the elves, dwarves, and men of the world teamed up to defeat him. They didn't destroy the One Ring, however, and so Sauron survived, and has been building up his power in the shadows…
Oh no. Can anyone stop him?
Maybe, maybe not. But his return isn't for hundreds of years yet. The threat of Sauron himself will not be a concern during the lifetime of the quest. But as his power grows in the darkness, it seems less and less likely that the fragmented and weakening kingdoms of Men will be able to stop him when he makes his move.
And? What next?!
And nothing. That's where the story starts. The Dúnedain, inheritors to a very very old glory, are fading. They no longer remember how to build the same sort of things their ancestors did, and they're more concerned with fighting one another than protecting the world against darkness. There seems to be little hope of reversing this decline…
What is Arnor?
The North-Realm, the Realm of Elendil, the Kingdom of the Dúnedain. It used to be the greatest kingdom in the north of Middle-Earth, and it was the foremost of the Realms in Exile.
Woah, that's a whole lot of concepts! What are the Realms in Exile?
The Realms in Exile are Gondor and Arnor, the two great Kingdoms of the Dúnedain in Middle-Earth. Gondor is in the south, and Arnor is in the north. They were founded by Dúnedain exiles who came to Middle-Earth from the destroyed kingdom of Númenor.
What's a Dúnedain?
The Men of the West, or the Dúnedain, are the last descendants of the Númenóreans — a very old and very powerful island kingdom of men who were blessed long ago to be taller and more long-lived than everyone else. They lived hundreds of years on average, and had skills and technology which would seem like magic to regular men.
Okay, so what happened to them?
The Númenóreans established a massive empire with colonies around the world. They grew so powerful and arrogant that they attempted to take immortality from the gods, and were destroyed for it. Only seven ships survived the total destruction of their island, commanded by a Númenórean named Elendil the Tall and his two sons.
Oh, and they became the Dúnedain?
Exactly. Elendil and his sons landed in Middle-Earth and founded the realms in exile. Elendil founded Arnor in the north, while his sons Isildur and Anarion founded Gondor in the south. From his capital in Annúminas, Elendil was the high-king of Dúnedain in Middle-Earth, and his people enjoyed an age of prosperity and wonder.
But I'm guessing that didn't last forever…
You'd be right. An old enemy of the Númenóreans, the Dark Lord Sauron, began causing trouble in the south. Elendil and his sons joined forces with the elves and the dwarves to defeat him, and in the war which followed, all three of them died. Isildur's son Valandil returned north to take up Elendil's crown, while Anarion's heirs remained in the south.
And what then? How did we get here?
The war against Sauron was devastating for the Dúnedain of Arnor. Their population never recovered, and by the time of the ninth king after Valandil, Arnor was in the middle of a serious decline. That king's sons all claimed the throne, and the civil war which followed destroyed Arnor, creating three successor kingdoms with competing claims.
Okay. That gets us to where we are. But what's going on with the Elves? They live in forests and sing and stuff, right?
Some of them do, but not all. The Elves are the oldest of the races of the world, and the most weary of it, since they can never die. In the First Age the Elves had many powerful kingdoms and fought great wars against the Dark Lord (and sometimes each other). After the epic battle that ended the First Age, many of them got tired of the world and left over the sea to Valinor to wait out eternity in paradise. But there are still a lot left, running their own kingdoms and cities all over the continent (only some of which are in forests).
Right, so is there anything else I need to know?
Middle-Earth is a big continent. There's a lot of stuff kicking around. The Dwarves have their kingdoms in the mountains (you'll run into them later), and there are various groups and civilizations of men running around. Beyond Gondor, the continent continues far to the south and east, but most people don't know what lies in those directions (except the Númenóreans, who explored a lot). Other than the Dark Lord, there's not really much else to --
Wait, wait, the Dark Lord? You mean Sauron? I thought this was before Lord of the Rings?
Indeed it is. But Sauron's defeat in Lord of the Rings is only the endpoint of several thousand years of making everyone everywhere very miserable. This quest takes place after his first defeat, when all the elves, dwarves, and men of the world teamed up to defeat him. They didn't destroy the One Ring, however, and so Sauron survived, and has been building up his power in the shadows…
Oh no. Can anyone stop him?
Maybe, maybe not. But his return isn't for hundreds of years yet. The threat of Sauron himself will not be a concern during the lifetime of the quest. But as his power grows in the darkness, it seems less and less likely that the fragmented and weakening kingdoms of Men will be able to stop him when he makes his move.
And? What next?!
And nothing. That's where the story starts. The Dúnedain, inheritors to a very very old glory, are fading. They no longer remember how to build the same sort of things their ancestors did, and they're more concerned with fighting one another than protecting the world against darkness. There seems to be little hope of reversing this decline…
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I: The Trollshaws
- Location
- Texas
[X] plan: Blood is only blood
-[X] Birthright
-[x] Sindarin speaker
-[x] Eregion stone
- [X] Chieftain
- [X] Intermingled
-[X] Birthright
-[x] Sindarin speaker
-[x] Eregion stone
- [X] Chieftain
- [X] Intermingled
Your name is Barador. In the tongue of the elves, which your father taught you on his knee, it means 'fierce warrior'. You were born in Rhudaur, the east-realm, among somber hills and black trees. The name of this land, too, is elvish — rhû taur, the old elves named it long ago, which is the Trollshaws in their tongue. Since time immemorial these forests have been home to trolls and wyrms and worse beasts yet which have crept down from the Misty Mountains over the long years, creatures old and wicked which lurk under vines and slumber in deep caverns. It is a hard land, unforgiving and unkind, growing little, feeding few, and it has never been mastered by men, not truly. Here, atop these foreboding cliffs, your people have long watched from their silent castles over a wilderness both cruel and untamed.
Men have lived here in Rhudaur for an age undreamt before your ancestors arrived, eking out existences on the barren hillsides and under the dark eaves. The elves and the Dunédain know them as the the Hillmen of Rhudaur, but to themselves they are the Byriaig, high-backed and proud, the last of the four old clans of the great old north, and their songs are filled with the days of their glory, before the kings came from over the sea. When Arnor stood, they paid fealty to her kings, and for long centuries the dauntless warriors of the Byriag kept a long and lonely guard over the trollshaws and the Great East Road, that the beasts of the dark lands might never menace the fair cities of the tall kings on the shores of the sea.
But the days of the kings came and went, and Arnor fell. There was war among her sons. Two brothers claimed the heartlands, and one fell back, licking his wounds, to the black and lonely lands of the east. Malandur was his name, a Prince of the line of Isildur, and those Dúnedain who marched with him were the last of his men, the most stubborn and loyal, lords who abandoned their lands and their lives to follow their master into exile. Malandur, it has long been said in the legends of your people, had not the birthright or the beauty of his brothers, but he was a man who commanded above all else the hearts of other men.
On a hill of red stone, the chieftains of the Byriag swore to him an oath that their children have kept for these four hundred years: that their swords and their lives would be his and heirs, for so long as stone should stand and iron abide.
Emildil your forefather was one of those who stood at his side. He married the daughter of one of the great chiefs of the Byriag, and built a great castle at the neck of the kingdom, in those lands between the rivers Hoarwell and Loud-water. He raised his seat at that point where they meet and form a great angle that is called the Sîriath by the elves, which is the Horn of the Rivers, and which is known as the Angle by mortal men. The name of that castle was Dol Sîriath, though in the common tongue men call it Emil's Hall. In time, the line of the chieftains and the line of Emildil became one and the same, and for over a hundred years the lords in Dol Sîriath have also been chieftains of all the Byriag of the Horn.
You were the latest born into this line, a lord and chieftain of Rhudaur by right of birth. But Rhudaur is home to noble men no more. Four hundred years is a very long time, and the stones of the castles of the kings have crumbled, while their swords of old iron are now dust. The hillmen hold no love for their lords or each other any longer. They are proud still, but it is a cold pride and bitter. Men rekindle ancient rivalries while ignoring ancient oaths, answering no more the call of the king in Sarnost. The great watch has failed, and trolls creep unmolested from their dens to menace the lands of men.
And what of the Dúnedain of Rhudaur? They have grown bitter and harsh in their exile. Few and fewer remain, a sullen and stubborn people, tall kings over black hills. Most cannot now be easily told apart from the hillmen they rule. Some, vainer and prouder than the rest, have kept the old ways against all odds, speaking still the elf tongue and holding themselves in the manner of the men of the West. Your father was one such — a tall warrior, fierce and stubborn, unyielding to time or foe alike, a man in the mold of Númenor, as cruel and great as any lord of that lost land.
Four weeks past, four great lords, your father among them, made alliance against the marcher lords of Cardolan. They led a force of two thousand down the Great East Road to the Weather Hills, where they won a mighty victory over the men of Cardolan, seizing the fortress of Amon Sûl. Your father did not live to see the victory. In the heat of battle, he was struck through the throat by a river-man's arrow, and died fighting atop his horse. As proof, his messengers have brought you his sign of office: that elfstone which he wore about his neck in life, a brilliant gem set in a necklace of gold and mithril, called the Anglestone by some.
There is little other proof you need. The stone is a treasure beyond all gold. He would not have surrendered it were he still living. You are the Lord of Dol Sîriath.
Counting the stragglers from the battle, you have perhaps five hundred men at arms remaining in your lands. Your coffers are nearly empty. Your neighbors, hard men all, may soon begin to test your lands, desiring them for themselves.
What will you do first?
[] Challenge for the Seeing-Stone: Your father was the strongest of the four border lords who made alliance against Cardolan. As the new Master of the Angle and Lord of the Riverlands, all that was his rightfully falls to you, including the spoils of victory. And yet, the loot of the battle and the conquered lands will certainly be divided amongst the other three lords, who no doubt imagine you too weak and distant to stop them. Worse, you have even received word that many of your father's men deserted to their armies upon his death. To ignore such provocations would be to appear weak. You will ride west to the Weather Hills, to put forth your claim to the loot of the battle — including the seeing-stone of Amon Sûl, one of the greatest remaining treasures of the Elder Days.
[] Assert Inheritance: With your father's death, the chieftaincy falls to you. But the Byriaig are not what they were. Many proud and strong men among them have long scorned the rule of Dol Sîriath, holding little loyalty to blood or oath. You have cousins and uncles who might seek to usurp your position in your absence. Perhaps you should assert your right to rule early, at the next clanmoot in a fortnight.
[] Troll-Hunt: In the Angle, there dwell a small, broad-footed folk called the Stoors, fishermen who dig their homes into the hills. They have long paid your ancestors tribute, but it has slowed in recent years. Recently, they have sent word that their lands are badly plagued by trolls out of the east. These Stoors are a little folk, knee-high to a Númenorean of full blood — they cannot face trolls alone. You will declare a troll-hunt, as your ancestors did, and ride the black hills in search of monsters. Such a show of strength may well prove your fitness for rule.
[] Raid: You will strike out with your men into neighboring lands, pillaging farms and seizing goods. Raids are common and frequent among all the lords of the north, and what a man raids one summer may well be taken back from him in blood the next. Your father raided his neighbors often, funding his armies and wars on the labor of others. You should let them know early that nothing will change.
[] Pay Fealty to the King: All the Lords of Rhudaur are meant to travel to Sarnost and pay fealty to the king upon their ascension. In practice, it rarely happens, and he is certainly in no position to punish those who put off the task. However, you have a great victory to report — if you outpace the messengers and bring first news of the triumph at the Weather Hills to the king's ears, he may reward you as richly as he is able. It was your father's victory, after all, and the man who tells the King that he is now lord of Amon Sûl may be well loved for it.
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II: Hill of the High
- Location
- Texas
[X] Assert Inheritance: With your father's death, the chieftaincy falls to you. But the Byriaig are not what they were. Many proud and strong men among them have long scorned the rule of Dol Sîriath, holding little loyalty to blood or oath. You have cousins and uncles who might seek to usurp your position in your absence. Perhaps you should assert your right to rule early, at the next clanmoot in a fortnight.
Your decision is quick. All else aside, you must assert yourself decisively over the clan, or all is lost. Within days of receiving word of your father's death, you set forth from Dol Sîriath for Amon Geld, the Hill of the High, ancient meeting-place of your clansmen at the confluence of the rivers. A few armsmen ride with you, but you yourself go unarmed to the Stone of Meeting, in keeping with ancient law.
By the time you arrive, the majority of the clan elders are already there, their many tents spread like a forest across the hillside. A few greet you with the deference and respect you deserve, but many more do not. Also present is your distant cousin Agraven — a tall lord with coal-black hair, with an oiled beard and thick furs. He wears his glory about his neck: many great torcs and chains of gold, which shine in the torchlight. Agraven is a warrior, a raider of great renown, and he and his family are in held high esteem among the clan chiefs. Of all your kinsmen, Agraven is the proudest, and the quickest to rash deeds.
You set up your tent on the slope of the hill and raise your father's banner above it. For the entire afternoon, you receive many visitors, clansmen and elders who come to kiss the ring and offer the hands of their daughters in marriage. Many chiefs, you note, pay a visit his tent.
That night, at the clansmoot, all the great elders of the clan are gathered upon the bare head of the hill, in the same spot where their ancestors have met and broken bread for over an age. Each man may speak his piece in turn before the weathered stone, and not threat of war nor hate of foe may take this right from him. The rightful lord of the land, by tradition since the days of Emildil, speaks last, and so you listen in silence as the elders speak.
By and large, their concerns, as yours, orbit around your dead father. This claim to that plot of land, that old right to be renewed, that daughter stolen, that oath broken. The issues are heard by all, discussed, and resolved by consensus. The moon wicks across the sky as the debates continue, until at last, in the black hours of the night, only two men around the stone have not spoken.
Yourself, and Agraven.
You watch him across the fire. All eyes are upon the both of you. If he intends to put forth his claim, to challenge you for leadership of the clan, it will be here and now. He must cast a rock upon the stone and make the challenge, call you to stand against him in single combat for the right to rule. All men of the clan have this right, to be sure — but for the last hundred years, none have ever challenged the eldest son of the last Lord of Dol Sîriath.
After what seems like an eternity, Agraven strides forth into the center of the circle. He speaks a little of his family, of their pride, of the father-history of his clan. He gives a eulogy for your father, whom he praises in high words. Your father, he says, was a battler and a warrior and a great captain of men, a terror to behold. He will be sorely missed.
Having said all this, he turns to face you, stoops down, and takes a knee. You are his lord, he calls out aloud, from this day to your last.
Slowly, shufflingly, the other clan chiefs follow suit. There is an odd tension in the air. None are more surprised than yourself. You had expected the challenge, the call to single combat, the test of your strength…but perhaps, after all, this is the test. Challenge you here, and he might lose, and lose his claim with it. Defeated, he would lose all support. But now…if you prove yourself weak, then Agraven, his claim undiminished and already loved by the elders, might find himself proclaimed clan chief without a blow struck.
You must act to corral his strength before that day arrives. Here and now, at the stone of meeting, while all are gathered and submitting themselves to you, may be the best chance you will ever have.
What do you do?
[] Win Loyalties: You will make a grand speech to rival Agraven's, promising wealth and lands for those who follow you into battle. The clan elders are easily swayed by displays of wealth, and by promises of such.
[] Take Hostages: You will take a measured and decisive tone, demanding that the elders give proofs of the loyalty they have just sworn — a son, from every great man atop the hill, who will remain at Dol Sîriath until they are full-grown. The greatest of these hostages will certainly be Agraven's son, Dorhael.
[] Divide: More than a few of the clansmen who rode to Weathertop with your father left no heirs for their lands and wealth. You distribute these spoils among the great families of the clan just so — a hill claimed by one family is inherited now by their rivals, one brother is given gold while his brother is given nothing, Agraven is awarded prime riverland while his neighbors must content themselves with rocks. Hopefully, these giftings will sow internal divisions among the clan, driving the elders against one another.
[] Cooperate: It was often the principle of old Arnor that a man should keep his enemies closer than his friends. Before the assembled clan elders, you proclaim Agraven your new war-master, chief captain of your armies: an honor he cannot refuse. This honor on their favored candidate will woo the elders who back him, while the man himself, now leading your raids and fighting your wars, will find himself hard pressed to scheme behind your back.
[] Union: You call up Agraven and bow before him, humbly requesting his daughter's hand in marriage. In one blow, you make an offer publicly which he cannot refuse, honor him beyond all words, and bind him to you as the sword to the hilt. The kin-bonds are iron, even in these days of strife and sorrow. Agraven would not dare challenge his own son-in-law while his daughter still lived…but you may only have one wife, and should so strong an alliance truly be spent upon one who is not even your equal?
[] Nothing: Let him plot. Nothing will come of it. Your presence here has already done all it needed to, and once you have strengthened yourself elsewhere, you may easily put these upstart elders in their place.
[] Write-In