In the early centuries of the Second Age, the Dark Lord Sauron tricked the Elf-Smiths of Eregion into forging nineteen rings of unmatched power. He came to them in fair disguise as a teacher and a helper and friend, and under his tutelage first nine, then seven, then three rings they made, wrought with the deep old magic of the world that does not fade. But the elves were betrayed. In secret their Enemy made another, final ring, which would be master over all the others: the One Ring, called in later days the Ruling Ring. Taken altogether, these twenty bands were the Rings of Power, which brought great suffering to the world after their making.
Here are named these twenty, and their histories insofar as they are known to the Men of Numenor.
The Three, or the Elven Rings. Forged by the hand of Celebrimbor, the greatest smith of the Second Age, and Lord of Eregion before his dying. They were made without the knowledge of the Enemy, and do not corrupt or manipulate as the others do, though the One Ring permits him to look unseen upon their bearers from afar. They grant their wearers great power to resist evil and the passing of time, for they were made to preserve and protect. Their names are Narya, Vilya, and Nenya, and all three are kept close by mighty lords of the Elves. Nenya, the Ring of Water, is held in the guardianship of the Elf-Lady Galadriel. Narya, the Ring of Fire, was given to the safekeeping of the High King Gil-Galad, and entrusted by him in later times to his steward, the Elf-lord Cirdan. The strongest of the Three, Vilya, the Ring of Air, was given by Gil-Galad to his herald and chief servant, the Elf-Lord Elrond.
The Seven, or the Rings of the Dwarves, which are called also the Rings of Earth. At first hidden by Celebrimbor, he surrendered them to Sauron after torture, and the Dark Lord later gave them one by one to the seven chieftains of the Dwarven clans. Those who wear them came to possess wealth and splendor unrivaled, building for themselves mighty hoards under the earth. The dwarves are as stubborn as the stone from which they come, and thus their rings cannot twist them into Sauron's service -- however, they guide their wearers imperceptibly towards greed and ruin, as surely as stone is sanded by the sea. These Rings bear the names of the chieftains who bear them. Foremost of their number is the Ring of Durin, first borne by the greatest of all the Dwarf-Lords, Durin III of Khazad-Dum, and held after his passing by his heirs, who are kings under the mountains. It is said that also in their possession is the Ring of Bror, given once to the Broadbeam Dwarves, though it is not known how it came to be in their grasp. In the Blue Mountains, the Firebeard Dwarves hold the Ring of Uri, a great lord of their dwindling house, who slew two dragons in the dawn of the Age, and built their bones into his hall. Of the eastern dwarf-Houses and their rings, the fate of only one is known: the Ring of Rhaz, a king of the Ironfoot Dwarves, who it is said delved a mighty hall to rival Khazad-Dum deep in the Red Mountains far to the east.
The Nine, or the Rings of Men, called also the Black Rings, the most well-known of all the Rings made by Celebrimbor, whose fate has been recorded the most thoroughly of all. Nine Rings Sauron gave in darker days to nine kings and princes of the race of Men. These Rings, of the nineteen made in Eregion, were the only ones who fulfilled utterly the wicked purpose for which they were made. They wormed their way into the hearts of men, brought down empires and kingdoms, and created for Sauron nine awful servants who would be his heralds and his captains forever after -- those Ringwraiths of whom much is written, the Nazgul that are forever undying, who ride on steeds of shadow and speak with voices of death. The Nine Rings glimmer on their fingers, the most ruinous and seductive of all the works and arts of Sauron...save one.
The One, the Ruling Ring, the Ring of Power, the Master Ring -- the last ring, and the greatest. Forged in secret by the Dark Lord in Mount Doom to rule all other Rings, it is one of the mightiest artifacts ever created in Arda. It bears bound in itself the greater part of the spirit and will of it's maker, a piece of his hatred and malignancy made solid and real, and it amplifies his strength tenfold, making him a force unrivaled among the powers of Middle-Earth. The Ruling Ring permits it's Master to see and surveil unawares the bearers of the other Rings, to exert his influence over them, and to have mastery over their souls and destinies unto the end of days. While the One is with him, the Dark Lord cannot fall to mortal arms, and all the armies of all the world could not hope to stand against him. Even now it burns bright on his finger where he sits ruling on his dark throne in the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie.
The Lesser Rings, though not numbered or counted, are those rings made as essays in ring-craft by the smiths of Eregion, to prepare for the making of the greater Rings. They have minor powers of their own, making their bearers faster, stronger, or wiser, though not all three, and never to the same degree as the greater Rings might. The Lesser Rings are unadorned, bearing no jewel or gilt, and after the fall of Eregion, were lost and scattered across Middle-Earth. Some rest even now upon the fingers of mighty Numenorean lords, or in the vaults of the dwarves, or around the necks of Haradrim chieftains. Each and every one of them, from lesser to least, is still (even if dimly so) under the power of the One, though they cannot fully bend a wearer into it's service as their cousins might. Their influence is more subtle still -- an inopportune moment of rage, an uncharacteristic twist of jealousy, a loss of empathy at a moment when it might have been most needed.
All of the great Rings have certain shared powers. Uniformly, they unnaturally extend the lives of their bearers and amplify their natural strengths and powers beyond imagination. A great speaker will find that his voice is now immeasurably seductive, while a skilled warrior will become a warlord without equal in the world. All mortals who bear the Rings are stronger, faster, haler, greater in flesh and form and spirit than ever before. So long as they wear their Ring, they will never die, though they may become worse than death. All the Rings, but especially those under Sauron's power, pierce the thin veil between this world and the Unseen world of wraiths, allowing the bearers to perceive ghosts, to turn invisible by shifting their flesh into the spirit world, and to exert varying forms of control over dead and unseen things. The Rings have wants and wills of their own, being capable of impelling their bearers to protect and shelter them, and of inspiring ring-lust or even obsession in the weaker-minded. Despite their properties, it is said the elves do not wear the Three save in the most dire circumstance, for all the Rings of Power, no matter their making, are under the dominion and the desire of him who is Lord of the Rings.
One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all,
And in the darkness bind them.
[X] Plan How to Win Friends and Influence Shapers Quarry Site -[X]The Isenfields: Called also the Iron Fields or the Angrenmarsh, the Isenfields are a wide region of marshy land a league or two from the city, fed by a tributary of the river. A distant fen thick with flies, your surveyors nonetheless report signs of promising deposits of good stone there. The fens are used by the Middle-Men as a source of bog iron, but if they could be dealt with and the issue of transportation solved, the Angrenmarsh might prove a valuable source of building material. Actions -[X] The Mariners: You direct your Shapers to focus their efforts on the harbors and coastal regions, which will allow your mariners to begin making expeditions to the Blessed Isle and other colonies of Numenor. The seafaring Romennans will be gladdened by such attentions. - [X] Give Excess Land To The Shapers: Room to grow. Room to build. Room to make. They may love you for it. -[X] Establish Outposts: Hovels in the wood. Towers on the hills. Eyes in the night. The city shall not be approached unawares. -[X] Establish An Alarm System: Horns on the heights. Flames in the dark. A warning in the night: Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake! -[X] Orcs: Orcs. From end to end they scour Middle-Earth, leaving filth and ruin and woe in their wake. They are in the north and the south and the west and the east, more virulent and violent than any beast of earth or sky. They are everywhere. And now, it seems, they are here. Send scouts to pick the land apart for them. And then, hunt. -[X] The Lord of the Middle-Men: Braelor, a proud chieftain of the Enedwaithrim who have dwelt in these lands since time immeorial, has offered to come pay his respects to the Sea-Lord at the mouth of the Isen. Take him up on the offer, if you wish. (requires Imrazor)
--[X] Imrazor - [X] The Master of the Gwathlo: Hazrabân, the scion of the Wardens of Tharbad and the lord of the lonliest and northernmost of Numenor's military bastions, has called you to audience with him. If you wish to break words with this wild and lonely magistrate, or learn of this 'mastery' he claims to have achieved over the Middle-Men, or how, exactly, he and his have 'made do', you will have to travel to Tharbad yourself. (requires hero)
--[X] Inzilbeth -[X] The Pukel-Paths: Ancient, winding paths have been cut into the White Mountains, guarded by twisted pagan statues in the shape of squat, monstrous men. You could send scouts within, to find the men who cut these paths and learn their purpose. - [X] The Misty Mountains: The Misty Mountains which straddle the spine of Eriador are some of the tallest mountains in Middle-Earth. From the great outposts of the dwarves to the deep caves of the goblin-kings, there are many secrets to be found amid the snowy peaks. You send men into the high mountains to explore and map them. -[X] The Land of the Ringmakers: Eregion, to your north, was once one of the great Elvish realms until it's destruction by the Dark Lord in the War of the Elves and Sauron long ago. Here dwelt the elf-smiths whom the Enemy tricked into creating the Rings of Power, and amid the ruins of their halls and cities lie ancient artifacts from the glory days of the Elves. You send explorers and riders into this land to map it. Mapping Eregion is the first step towards beginning to search it's ruins for the lore-treasures the Shapers hope lie within.
The City-Under-The-Stars
At the mouth of the black river Angren, on the shores of the Belegaer, lies the Númenórean colony known as Târ Nîlon. Founded by Imrazôr the Shaper in the eighteenth year of the reign of Ar-Belzagar the Conqueror, it stands as Númenór's premier outpost in the middle lands of the continent, straddling the wide land between the great wilderness of Minhiriath and the eastern sprawl of Rhovanion. Though small and newly-founded, the city burns star-bright in the shadow of the Misty Mountains, a dim glimmer of the glory which is Númenór.
Population
The city's population is diverse, drawing from across the vast breadth of Númenór. The greatest bulk of the initial colonists hail from Andustar, in Númenór's west, bold Faithful stout of heart and strong of spirit who have settled along the spine of the Angren, near the running waters of the black river. Large numbers of Romennans, born seamen, have settled along the shores of the Angren, where they may gaze out across the sea. An enclave of Hyarrostari, the small and shrewd men of Númenór's south, have settled on the outskirts of the city, helping to tame the thick woods around the river. Scattered among these are a number of Forrostari, stout workers hard of body who have thrown their backs into the development of the city proper. A handful of Mittalmari round out the colony, hardworking King's Men whose experience tilling the soil has proven valuable in the colony's early days. All together, these number some one thousand, five hundred and nineteen.
The colony is a year old, and some disputes have begun to emerge among them, though no clear factions have formed.
Military
The 'army' of the colony is small, but growing daily, and consists currently of several dozen repurposed seamen and ex-soldiers who ply the river in small, swift boats. Aside from this marine infantry force, you estimate that some seven-hundred people could be raised to the colony's defense in an emergency, roughly organized and semi-trained. There exists also a small scout force of Rangers, lightly armored scouts equipped with bows who number some thirty-odd men and women.
Your fleet consists of the fourteen ships which carried your people and supplies here, though they are not built for combat, and of Inzilbeth's pride and joy, the Pillar of Heaven. A fully crewed Númenórean warship with bristling masts and a gleaming hull, the Pillar is more than a fair match for any other ship upon the seas.
Guild Influence
The Guild of Shapers have the greatest influence over the city at the moment, providing most of your backing and resources. They have poured a great deal into this venture, and stand to lose much should it fail.
The Guild of Venturers has little direct influence over the colony currently, though the foundation of a colony by the Shapers has greatly angered them towards you, causing them to place an embargo on all Guild dealings with your colony, harming your trading potential greatly. Dealings with them will be sour until you make steps towards appeasement.
The Guild of Workers has no influence on the colony at the moment. Their power in the continent is weak, and your colony does not even have a large enough workforce to currently even merit a guild representative.
The Guild of Striders has no influence on the colony at the moment. There are mercenary companies and exploratory groups across the continent, and they trust you will have need of their services sooner rather than later. The Nardū̆ are patient.
The Pharazarim have no influence over the colony at the moment. There is no wealth to be found here just yet.
Heroes
Imrazôr, the Sea-Lord of Târ Nîlon
Yourself. A distant descendant of the royal line of the Kings, you are a studied Shaper and a skilled loremaster, an expert in many arts. You are counted among the Wise, a master of old songs and secret words, studied in the deep secrets of the world and the old songs of the elves. The colony is yours, and by this right you are not only a master Shaper, but a Sea-Lord of Númenór, a lord of cave and cove and shore.
Ûrîphêl, Lady Shaper
A brilliant, cold, and ambitious Lady Shaper, Ûrîphêl is one of the greatest students the Houses of Learning have ever produced, and the youngest Lord Shaper in the history of the Guild. Despite all this, she abandoned a prestigious career and a life of luxury in Armenelos to accompany you on this colonial venture, for reasons as yet unknown to you. She brings with her her household, her retinue, and her own unmatched mind. Inscrutable to say the least, she is an enigma even to those close to her.
Inzilbeth, the Seastrider
Inzilbeth, called the Seastrider, is the famed captain of the Pillar of Heaven, who for years served as a renowned warrior in the fleets of Númenór, and afterwards continued to serve the Blessed Isle as an explorer and a venturer. She has seen the furthest corners of the world, and has earned herself a legendary reputation among the mortal men of the continent, whose grandfathers' fathers have for generations passed down awestruck tales of the Pillar of Heaven and it's captain. One of the most accomplished mariners to ever grace the western seas, she has joined your decidedly land-bound venture out of obligation for your old friendship.
The Realms of Middle-Earth
Numenor is mightiest among the powers of the world in the Second Age, but they are not alone among the realms of Middle-Earth. The Elves and the Dwarves survive and persist still, in their golden forests and their iron halls. Here are listed those who would claim to be peers of the Blessed Isle:
Lorinand: The Land of the elven King Amdir, and his son Amroth. Beneath these golden eaves are gathered many of the Sindarin Elves, but also many of their cousins, the Noldorin Elves who survived the war with Sauron in the early Second Age, and so hold much of the knowledge and power of the dwindling Elven Race. The warriors of Lorinand, known as the Amdirim, are matchless in war.
Edhellond and Dor-en-Ernil: In the lands between the Anduin and the Gwathlo have settled a great host of Silvan Elves, the wood-elves of bough and birch, at mighty city called Edhellond, the Elf-Dwelling, ruled by the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn. Their settlement on the shores of Belfalas coexists with a settlement of Numenoreans called Dor-en-Ernil, and it's inhabitants are elf-friends who share land and love alike with the elves.
The Woodland Realm: Beneath the eaves of the mighty northern forest of Greenwood dwells Oropher the Elvenking, and his people, the Sindarin elves. Reclusive, isolated, and powerful, the Sindarin Elves dwell in relative peace in their sprawling northern forest, and deal little with Men or other Elves.
The Kingdom of Lindon: Known as Ossiriand in Elder Days, the land now called Lindon once stood upon the eastern borders of the continent of Beleriand, which is now lost beneath the waves. Here, the last of the High Elves of Elder Days, the Noldor who once brought ruin and fire upon the world, are gathered under the rule of their High King, Gil-Galad.
Khazad-Dum, the Dwarrowdelf: Beneath the Misty Mountains in the heart of Middle-Earth, the Longbeard Dwarves have tunneled a vast and mighty kingdom under the stone. Richer and more beautiful still than even the spires of Armenlos in Numenor is the Dwarrowdelf of Durin's Folk, greatest of all the mansions of the dwarves, that few men living have ever seen.
Rivendell, the Last Homely House: In the north of Minhiriath lies a mighty mansion fair and great in the wild, a place of learning and brotherhood unlike any in the world still. This is Rivendell, the Last Homely House, where dwells the Elf-Lord Elrond Halfelven and his people.
Mordor: In the east of Middle-Earth lies the Dark Land, Mordor, ruled by a spirit of horror and terror out of elder days: Sauron, the Dark Lord, called also the Enemy. In centuries gone by, he tricked the elves of Eregion into forging the Rings of Power, and created the One Ring to rule them all. Numenor is at constant war with his vast armies of orcs, trolls, and enslaved Men, led by his terrible and dreadful servants, the mysterious spirits called by Men the Nazgul, or the Nine. His armies are vast and mighty, and though Numenor has grown to become a match for him, the Dark Lord is yet a force to be reckoned with.
When Inzilbeth the Sea-Strider was a young girl, young even by the reckoning of the Middle-Men, her father had been made the lord of Vinyalonde. It was not an auspicious assignment, nor a kind one. He was an Elf-Friend, who summered often in Harlond, on the shores of Lindon, and was held in high esteem among the Eldar. But even in her youth such associations had come to be frowned upon by the King and his men. Her father been exiled for his sympathies, driven from the Blessed Isle to this forgotten corner of Middle-Earth to wait out the last of his long years. It was here she had been raised, amid the Middle-Men whose lives were short and whose loves were fleeting. She had grown restless later, as all youths do, and had taken to the sea, which was to be her greatest love. In the many years since she had seen far waves and strange shores, but never had she forgotten the land of her girlhood, and the high forests of the wild men.
She had never visited Tharbad in that distant youth. Even when she was a girl, it was half-forgotten: a six-and-a-half-hundred year old afterthought on the fringes of Numenor's world, most notable as the northernmost point on a map where one might point and say "Here also are the tall men." A relic of an ancient war, an outpost against nothing, buried in the wilderness.
But this was no outpost. The envoy had not lied. As her black horse trotted over cobbled roads past thatched roofs and stone houses, Inzilbeth had to stop herself from gaping. The Middle-Men of her youth had been wild -- proud, yes, but wild all the same, men who lived lives huddled around campfires in the dark, wearing rags and sheepskins, eating whatever they might kill with their hands. They were not as the High Men were, this truth all knew. They did not build, or farm, or plant growing things. They lived half-lives little better than animals, and fled in terror before the coming of the Númenóreans. It was only with the greatest effort that they could be taught something like civilization.
Yet now they strode down the streets of what was unmistakably a town, garbed in cloth and cotton and silk, wearing bracelets and armbands of gold. And far from fleeing in terror, they merely regarded her with a cool curiosity, their dark eyes and pale faces betraying little emotion. The tall men were nothing new to them, it seemed.
Could so much change in three hundred years?
The settlement Tharbad had become stretched to either side of the River Gwathlo, and it's streets were populated with traders and farmers and travelers. It was not quite a city, not yet, but Inzilbeth had seen enough settlements rise and fall over her long life to know that it was merely a matter of time. In a generation, perhaps a little less, this town would expand and spill out from these already impressive beginnings, until something undeniably a city of the Middle-Men straddled the river Gwathlo.
And at it's heart...Tharbad. A wonder of Old Númenórean construction, it had been the beating heart of a wall of fortifications erected in older days -- over a thousand years before Inzilbeth's birth -- to hold the Dark Lord out of the North. Tharbad alone remained, four stories tall and ringed by high walls of black Númenórean Iron with arched battlements and fortifications that ten men could hold ten years against ten thousand. Above it all rose a tower with three spires, black as the dark behind the stars, that loomed over the river and the forest and all the wide world below. It made for a jarring sight -- amid the longhouses and wooden constructions of the Middle-Men rose a bastion of something older and greater than they might ever dare to dream.
Here, it seemed to say to all with eyes to see, is Númenór. Here it shall remain.
Her guide, a woman with dirty blonder hair perhaps three feet shorter than Inzilbeth herself, guided her slowly through the simple city streets. The town was loosely planned and cramped, and ran right up to the walls, where the streets grow too thick and unkempt for horses. She left her steed -- a great stallion foaled in the stables of Armenelos and reared on the golden fields of Tal Karab -- in a wooden stable which scraped it's head, tied up next to draft horses which it made look like ponies.
The guide led her up the path from the stable and through the great main gate of Tharbad, an imposing structure with a mighty portcullis that could be lowered in times of need. The gate-guards, she noticed, wore armor in the Númenórean style, though worn and cracked, showing signs of many mendings. As the envoy reported, the courtyard beyond the gate sat in a state of disrepair. Several of the walls had clearly been repaired many times, and entire sections of the battlements lay crumbled from some long-ago assault.
Through the worn courtyard they went, past the wide gates of the tower and up the winding steps, past kitchens and mess halls and mouldering libraries, past rooms painted white with cobwebs and others blanketed in dust, past barracks built for thousands of men that now housed dozens, until at last they were come to the Hall of the Warden, where her guide departed with a small curtsy.
Hazrabân awaited her there, standing before a long painted table that dominated the room. He was tall, even as the Númenóreans reckoned such things, perhaps seven and a half feet, with dark hair and ruddy skin. Like his men, he wore burnished golden armor that shone as it moved. The White Tree burned on his chest. His armor, Inzilbeth noted, was in far better condition than the ones at the gate. It must have been tended with great care to survive a thousand years in such a state.
She entered the Hall and paused before the Warden. There was a long moment's silence, and she dared to wonder if they had forgotten even this. Then the tall man lowered his head and made the ancient sign of greeting with his forearm.
"Welcome, daughter of the Gift, to mine hall. Gimlun bêl nakhat-ze 'nNê."
May a star shine on the hour of our meeting.
Inzilbeth nodded and released a breath she did not know she had been holding. Not all was forgotten, then, even here. The form was archaic, but the words were right, even if the accent was slurred.
"Hail, son of the star. I come as a sister and a friend. Gimlun bêl nakhat-ze 'nNê. Aglâr Nâkhadâ."
May a star shine on the hour of our meeting. Glory be ever upon you.
"I am Hazrabân, Algadar's heir and Beruphiel's son. I greet you."
"I am Inzilbeth, Círhael's heir and Abrazân's daughter. I greet you."
She closed the ancient greeting with a bow, then rose to face the lord of the tower.
The Warden smiled. "Did you think perhaps we had forgotten?
She chose her words carefully. "There were some among us who feared you might have...strayed."
Hazrabân fixed her with his eyes. They were soft and green, but something hard and strange glinted deep within them. "We are Adûnaim, as our fathers and their fathers before us. Ours was the Gift. We do not stray."
There was a note of something strange in his voice. Inzilbeth flicked her eyes over the polished armor again. It was polished to a shine, to a gleam, polished furiously and lovingly, polished by hands that she noted were still red with the intensity of it. She saw the rod-straightness in his back and then, once more, looked into his eyes. She recognized the hardness now, and smiled sadly to see it.
"Of course, my Lord Warden. I am sorry for the suggestion. You are proud men of Númenór, as fine and bold as any knights I have ever seen. You honor your land and your king."
Hazrabân's shoulders shook almost imperceptibly, and his next breath came shakily, though he tried to hide it. She had been right, after all. Not hardness, but fear.
"We are the first, are we not? In your lifetime, at least."
The man shook his head. "No. There was another. When I was a boy. A mapmaker. My father was Warden then. But he had been born on the Isle. He knew the right things to say, the right words, the right..."
He clenched his teeth and fixed her with a passionate glare. "I know how it must look. How I must sound. How we must look. The walls, rubbled. The tower, half-empty. Our last Shaper died when my father took up the post of Warden, and that was...what, almost two hundred years ago?"
Hazrabân falls into silence. In the quiet that follows, he runs a hand over the painted table. A featureless golden ring glints on his finger. The table is a great fresco of the War with Sauron, lovingly illustrated down to the finest of details. Orc-eyes shine and elf-swords gleam, and at the very center of the table, Tar-Minastir the King holds his sword aloft atop the battlements of a tower that can only be Tharbad itself, as it stood one thousand years ago. Beneath, the forces of Mordor break upon the walls, black blood spilled on silver spears. Here, the Dark Lord's hosts were broken in the War of the Elves and Sauron, and Sauron himself fled before the Sea-Kings. Here, Númenór saved all Eriador. The two Númenóreans study the table for a long moment.
When Hazrabân speaks again, it is almost a whisper.
"All I ask...all I ask...is that you not judge us too harshly. We have done right with what was left to us. The tower stands. We remain. Is that not what our fathers' fathers were left to do? Have we not done the duty?"
Inzilbeth heard the tightness in his words.
"As I said, my Lord Warden: you are proud men of Númenór. As fine and bold as any knights I have ever seen. The Middle-Men below, however..."
"Middle-men? Oh, yes, the Baradhrim."
"Baradhrim...men-of-the-tower?"
"Yes. In my grandfather's day, orcs came to cross the Gwathlo. We held them back, but even then we were too few. We could not hold the lands around the ford. We could not protect everyone. So we called them here, lest they be slaughtered in their thousands. They remained, after. They bred, and took up our speech and our ways. We shelter them from harm and in turn they grow our food."
"You said also that the Middle-Men came against you with fire and sword?"
"A lifetime ago, by their count. A trifling thing. There was trouble. One of them claimed himself a king. He sought to take Tharbad, and fomented his kinsmen against us. They no longer remembered how we had saved their ancestors -- all they could think on was the wealth they imagined we held in this tower. It was orc-work, plain and simple." His eyes grow dark with memory.
"What happened?"
"What happened? My lady Seastrider, we are Númenóreans still. They came against us in their thousands, and they died in their thousands. We lost thirteen, a loss we could ill afford. They lost too many to count, and their upjumped chieftain fell beneath these very walls. No, they did not trouble us overmuch. It was the men of darkness who cost us far too much."
"Servants of the Shadow, here?"
He nods. "Enemies. Aliens. They are not of the Edain. They brought death to our doors perhaps...thirty years past? But we drove them back, though we could ill afford the price.
Inzilbeth rested a hand on the young Warden's shoulder. "You have been through much, and perservered against more than most of our people know in such times. When I return to the colony, I shall beseech my lord for aid for your men. There are many Shapers among us, skilled workers of the Iron who could repair your walls."
He turns and bows deep. "That is more than I could ever have dreamed, my lady. You show too much kindness to these simple servants of the King. If this kindness can be returned, let it. Tharbad has become a center of trade for many of the...Middle-Men, as you call them. We recieve traders here from north and east and south, and from places I doubt they have heard of even in Númenór. Even the Dwarves visit, though uncommonly. There are many things bright and strange that lie in our vaults now, and these lands are rich with their own natural treasures -- dyes, herbs, growing things which could be of great use to a colony. We would gladly offer them in friendship if you did this thing for us."
Inzilbeth bows herself. "You are too generous, Lord Warden. I must depart, but may the stars shine always upon you, son of the star."
"And upon you, daughter of the Gift."
Opportunity Unlocked:
The Walls of Tharbad: Tharbad has stood a thousand years, and it's walls once repelled the forces of the dark lord at the ford of the Gwathlo. Those same walls lie now in ruin, but might be raised again given time and effort. The master of Tharbad has promised great things should his walls be restored to the glory of his fathers' time, and endless friendship besides.
On the day you are to receive the chieftain of the Middle-Men, you gather with some of your retinue outside the half-built walls of the city. You do not know what to expect, but you will not receive some wildling prince as a beggar. You are a Sea-Lord of Númenór, and will look the part. Your household guards are formed up in battle-array, all twenty-something of their spears and shields shining in the sun. You garb yourself in your finest robes of midnight blue, with what few trinkets and finery you brought with you over the sea. Upon your brow, the golden circlet of your office, stamped with the seven-rayed sun-and-tree which is the sigil of the Blessed Isle. Whatever motley array the Middle-Men present themselves with, you will be ready.
Or so you think.
In the early morning, just as the sun begins to crest the mountains, a horse and rider melt out of the woods. The horse is little better than a pony, and the rider is a man of middle age with fading hair streaked with grey. He wears a simple cloak over a woven tunic of thick furs and leathers. A thick golden torc sits about his neck, and a golden ring on his finger. He draws the horse to a stop a few yards from you and your soldiers.
"I am Braelor, lord of Brun Gledd, and all who therin dwell." he calls. "I have come to meet with the lord of the tall men." His speech comes in the thick, rough dialect of the Middle-Men — a strange tongue, and crude, but mutually intelligible with that of your people, for their ancestor's ancestors were kin to the Edain of old, who became the Númenóreans. This is what holds his folk, the Middle-Men, apart from the men of darkness, who are no kin to you and yours.
Feeling almost foolish to be surrounded by twenty men before one, you call back. "This is I, Imrazôr, Belrubên's heir and Zainabeth's son. I greet you, Braelor of Brun Gledd."
The Middle-Man slides off of his horse and approaches you. His eyes flicker warily over the assembled soldiers.
"If you had hoped to cow me into kneeling with such a display, I am afraid you will be sorely disappointed, Númenórean."
You frown. "I ask no one to kneel."
The chieftain smiles tightly. "Yes, the Númenóreans rarely ask."
One of your retinue steps forward, his face a mask of rage, but you wave him back with a hand.
"Explain. We are no masters of your people."
"By who's doing? Mine, and my fathers', and my fathers' fathers. But those days must end, I admit. I am no fool, though I am proud, which I have found is much the same thing. You will live to see my grandchildren grow old, Númenórean, and their children's children. Who can stand against this, against a will that will outlast theirs by a century? But your hand comes in silk and words, and friendly faces out of legend, and so I will kneel to you rather than the others who seek my fealty, that I might go to my grave in the belief my people are safe, foolish a hope as it might be."
You shake your head slowly. "I do not seek your service or your fealty. I am newly come to these shores, and wish only to greet my neighbors and extend to them friendship. I am master of nothing but this city. Whoever or whatever has done you wrong, it was not me or mine."
The old chieftain studies your eyes. "Truly? I had thought..."
He trails off.
"Perhaps I have been mistaken, then. I have taken for threats offers made in innocence. I apologize, my Lord Imrazor. It would seem you are not like the others who rule in these lands. I do not come alone out of humility, but because none of my people's warriors may be spared. We defend day and night for an enemy that may sweep down from the darkness and take all we hold dear."
You nod. "Your error is forgotten, and I extend my sympathies. We have already seen orc-signs in these parts. If your people wish aid--"
The old chieftain cuts you off. "Orcs? Bah! The men of the wood have little to fear from orcs. They die in our traps or on the ends of our spears. Nay, I speak of the others like you. The slavers who come in the night. The tall conquerors who butchered my father and his father's father, who have reduced my people that once ruled all these lands to quivering in the dirt."
He points a single quivering finger to the north, towards the river that cuts slowly across the horizon and winds towards the sea.
"I speak of the Tyrant in the Tower. Once we stood against him. All of us, from the river to the mountain. We hoped it might be enough. We hoped -- well, it does not matter what we hoped. My father is dead, and no king rules in Enedwaith save the master in Tharbad. Minhiriath has fallen, and all too soon we shall be next."
Diplomatic Opportunity Unlocked:
The Tyrant in the Tower: The chieftain of the Middle-Men spins a tale of woe and horror. He speaks of tribes butchered and enslaved, of the lands north and south of the River Gwathlo bent in servitude to the fortress on the ford, to the Tyrant in the Tower. It is, to hear them tell it, a tyranny of centuries, one which has nearly reached it's grim conclusion. The Enedwaithrim of Brun Gledd throw themselves at your feet for aid. They, they claim, are the last of their people who breathe free air. Some among your advisors insist that the truth of this matter must be investigated, while others dismiss it as the ravings of Middle-Men -- or, worse yet, a lie of the Enemy.
You dwell in a land with old history. Eriador, the western arm of Middle-Earth, was not always the wide and wild land it is now. In the early days of the Second Age, the elves built a great city called Ost-in-Edhil on the banks of the Sirannon, in the shadow of that great mountain called Celebdil by the elves and Zirakzigil by the dwarves. A road of red stone ran from this city to the very doors of Khazad-Dum, which then stood open always to all friends of the Dwarves. Beryls, opals, pearl and jade all flowed along this mighty road, and the cities of the elves and the dwarves alike swelled in splendor and riches. They shared not only wealth, but friendship -- in those days, the finest artists and craftsmen of the elder races joined together to make works of beauty still yet unmatched in Middle-Earth. Elvish songs were heard beneath the mountains, and wonders untold were made of mithril bright in the thousand forges of Eregion. Deep then they delved together, and high halls they wrought, and fair things and fey they worked upon the world.
But now the great road lies in ruins. Ost-in-Edhil is deserted, and the Doors of Durin are shut. No elf-songs are heard in the halls of stone, and no hammer rings in the city of the smiths. A shadow lies over the land of the Ringmakers, and their forges lie forever cold.
Yet some things remain from those bright days. Great elvish ruins dot Eregion, echoes of an age lost to time. Most have been picked clean over the course of a thousand years, but some hold their treasures still. Not all the ghosts of this land belong to the Elves, however: old halls lie forgotten on the slopes of Celebdil and Caradhras, dwarven fortresses from kinder days when they still dwelt in friendship beneath the sun. These were abandoned in the war with Sauron, and many dark things have crept in to fill them in the millennia since. Many believe that the ruins of Eregion may hold arts and secrets that were lost in the downfall, scrolls of lore and ways of working steel that even the dwarves no longer know -- and greater knowledge besides. Here of old, all know, were forged the Rings of Power. Here yet might remain a trace of their making.
You send riders out into the wide lands and the misty mountains, searching for places long lost to time and memory. The going is not easy. The best maps you possess are nearly seven hundred years old, and much has changed. Rivers have shifted, old ways have been overgrown, and landmarks once unmistakable have crumbled or fallen away. The rangers you send to Eregion cannot even make their way to the old elven capital, so badly decayed are their maps, but in their wanderings they stumble across a sign that they are close: an overgrown mansion in the wilderness, a great dwelling-hall in the Elven style. After cross-referencing with old maps and books, they determine that this must be Nargil-Dûm, a place of dwelling built for the Dwarf-Prince Thain, who was a great friend to the Dwarves of Eregion.
The explorers who traveled to the Misty Mountains were sucessful as well, to an extent. In the high passes of Caradhras, in the spine of the mountains, they stumbled on an abandoned dwarf-dwelling called Nelchrost. With it's high walls and deep tunnels, it served as a formidable redoubt against the Enemy when Sauron invaded Eregion. The fortress in the mountain is only one part of the complex -- the histories say that the tunnels of Nelchrost run deep and wide beneath the mountain's skin, and just how far they stretch even the dwarves no longer remember.
Your maps of Eregion and the Misty Mountains are now both barely begun (2/6).
Exploration Location Found:
Nargil-Dûm: A manse in the wilderness, built by the elves in better days for their friend Thain, a son of Durin III and a prince of the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum. Overgrown and dilapidated, it stands still imposing in the wild, a memory of a finer time. The dwarf-hall's doors were sealed, and, as far as your explorers can tell, have not been opened in a thousand years. Nelchrost: An outpost nestled in the spine of the Misty Mountains, Nelchrost was a great dwelling of the dwarves in the days before the making of the Ring. When war came to Eregion, it became a formidable redoubt against the power of the Shadow, from which the Dwarves and their friends struck against the Dark Lord. The fortress lies empty, but who knows what remains in the tunnels the dwarves delved below?
Your scouts have returned also from the White Mountains, bearing news of dread and unease. They have walked the Pukel-Paths, climbed the steps carved into the stone. They wind all through the mountains, but the one your scouts followed lead them to a dark and brooding mountain that rose high over all the others, a lonely white horn stark against the sky, covered in grim fir trees that seemed to sneer at them as they passed beneath. Men dwell on this pale mountain, amid these cold trees. They have left monstrous runes carved in the trees and foul statues upraised in the dirt. Your men caught no glimpses of them, but felt always the uneasy prickling of eyes in the darkness. Many of your scouts turned back here, but a handful of the bravest continued. They came to a great plateau overlooking a wide valley in which ran a river that shone white in the sun like snow.
Atop this plateau sat a dark fane, an altar built of stone and wood and worse things yet, and at the head of the altar was painted in no earthly paint a certain sign, a sigil that turned their stomachs, that forced even the bravest of their number to unease. It is a sign all men know, for they have seen it in their dreams, bathed always in black fire.
It was a single crimson eye, unearthly red and brighter than blood.
It means one thing alone: the Men of the White Mountains, the carvers of the Pukel-Paths, are Men of Darkness. They worship Sauron, as many do who were bound under his heel in Elder Days -- for when the world was young, all mankind was a slave to the Enemy, and many serve him still. They keep now to the shadows and the hills, fearing most likely the strength of Númenór. But what happens when this fear fades, and the voice of their cruel master urges them down from the mountains?
Diplomacy Opportunity Unlocked:
The Men of the White Mountains:The wildmen who dwell amid the snow-capped peaks of the white mountains to the east are worshipers of the Dark Lord Sauron. They have given their hearts and minds to Mordor, and act as it's servants in all things. But they are not orcs or wolves, but men still, and they might be parlayed with, could you find them and break word with them. Númenór, in her glory, has turned many who toiled in shadow from the whip of their master -- but it may be no easy task. Defense Opportunities Unlocked:
The Eye in the Mountains: Deep inside the white mountains, servants of the Enemy wait and watch. Men, but free and fair no more. Their hearts are turned to cruel things, and their minds to wicked deeds. Drive them out. Drive them back. Watch the Mountains: Eyes in the crags, voices in the dells, a shadow on the heights. The White Mountains hold a threat that at any moment could spill over all Enedwaith. Plant a guard, to watch the Pukel-Paths.
While you have been busy exploring the land and learning of your neighbors, Ûrîphêl has been building. Under her whiplike lash, your builders have spent the year since your arrival bringing her exacting vision to life. Wooden palisades become stone facades, and clustered dirt streets become organized grids of stone. The city is build in grids, expanding sections laid out in precise patterns. Ûrîphêl wastes no time in making use of the first slabs of stone from the quarry in the Angrenmarsh -- work such as this would take the Middle-men years, but now, a little over a year after your landing on the shores of the Isen, a city of stone flourishes at the mouth of the sea. Farmers and builders and woodsmen walk paved and pillared streets, and though it is no peer of anything on the Blessed Isle itself, Târ Nîlon stands like a beacon in the wilderness of Enedwaith.
But all beacons attract things from out of the darkness. Orcs have been seen about your land. They are fell creatures, and foul. Your men are few, but they are eager, and they are Númenórean. Your hunters crawl the riverbank, searching high and low for orc-sign. They find them, here and there. Filth in the forest, crude etchings on stone, wretched campsites made by no mortal men. Once they find the trail, it is easy enough to follow. They find the Orcs some distance from the southernmost edge of the Misty Mountains -- a band of thirteen, you are told. Your hunters are a dozen, but a dozen of the Tall Men would be fair match for fifty orcs. Though untested in battle, their arrows found orc-neck as fitting a target as deer, and what followed was violent, but short. They returned triumphant, orc-heads swinging from their waists.
One of the hunters in particular wins special acclaim from his fellows, a young man with a sharp eye and a calm head who returned with seven orc-skulls about his belt. You make a note to keep an eye on him.
Hero Event Successful! Opportunity Unlocked:
The Orc Hunter: Some men are good at hunting. Some men are very good at hunting. And others hunt a different sort of prey.
These few may have been slain, but you know well that where one orc is, there are many more close by. The orcs bear a strange brand upon their skull, burnt into their grisly flesh -- a strange rune in the orcish tongue. No doubt this rune is the sign of their tribe or clan, and will bear further investigation.
Your people have settled in well, but settlement, as you well know, brings idleness, and idle tongues are never still. Your people whisper of the news from Tharbad, and of the news of the Middle-Men and their petty-king. Some hold that even if the claims of the Middle-Men are true, well, to master them is not so wrong. It is the right and the duty of the Númenóreans to guide lesser men, is it not? Others argue that guidance, not mastery, must be our goal. We are the kings of men, not kings over men. Others argue for other positions still, stranger ones not often spoken on the Blessed Isle. Regardless, the issue has divided your people into factions, who argue bitterly for their positions in the drinking halls and the public squares. At the end of the day, however, the final decision falls to you, and your feeling on the matter is that your people are...
[] Kings over Men: You are the tall men. Yours is the Gift, and to rule is your right. Not all are so blessed, and it seems only right that these should bend their knees before you, who are the greatest of the race of men. This is how the King's Men carry themselves, in their great cities in the south, where they rule over numberless masses of lesser men, who build them their temples and towers tall. This is, you gather, a minorityopinion among your people, though you are not sure who, exactly. Should you pick this option, you will be more domineering and aggressive towards the Middle-Men diplomatically, seeking to rule and gather tribute.
[] Kings of Men: The Tall Men were not given Middle-Earth. They are not rulers and conquerors and takers of tribute, but friends and teachers and guiding hands. Those who hold this stance believe that it is the duty and the forbearance of the Númenóreans to safeguard and protect the Middle-Men however possible, to raise them up and shelter them from harm until they may take their place in the sun, as the elves sheltered us in older days. This is how the Faithful carry themselves, in their cities such as Pelargir, where they marry the Middle-Men freely. This is a majority position among your people -- you can hardly help but hear them cheer for it in the streets. Should you pick this option, you will be more friendly to the Middle-Men diplomatically, seeking to form deals, educate, and peacefully vassalize.
[] Lords of the Sea: The Middle-Men? They are simple wood-folk. They fight bitterly and bloodily for mere parcels of land, and to rule them is more trouble than it is worth. This should be no interest of you or yours. You are the Sea-Kings, and your dominions are the seas. Leave the Middle-Men to their own doings and dooms, for you shall rule the waves. This is a minority position among your people -- you have heard very few argue for it, though maybe you have just missed them. Should you pick this option, you will largely ignore the Middle-Men diplomatically.
[] Men of the West: The Númenóreans were mortal, once, and their lives were short in the days before the Gift. Many have forgotten that, in their hubris. Once we bled and wept and crawled in the mud, and we were not noble teachers then, or mighty kings, or aloof lords, but men, who suffered as men must. So we are tall now, and our days long, and our eyes bright -- what changes this? Cut our skin, and we bleed as they bleed. You will not come to them as conquerors or masters, but as peers. This is a slim minority position among your people -- a great many of them support it. Should you pick this option, you will treat every group of Middle-Men you meet as peers and equals. The various Middle-Men groups you encounter will be granted entries in the Realms of Middle-Earth tab, and will be mechanically treated as distinct entities.
A note: The various choices here are supported by distinct groups among your people. Compare the votes, their portions in the majority, and their ideologies in order to figure out which groups stand to lose or benefit from the choices before voting. Politically scorned groups may cause trouble. Anger the Rommenans, for example, and the fishermen may strike.
The heated debate has brought the idea of politics, so long slumbering, back to the forefront. The groups which form among your people do so along natural lines -- the builders and the soldiers and the shapers and the seamen, the farmers and the miners and the hunters. Each one wants different things, and each one may feel scorned should their views be ignored in future. This is not a new issue, of course. You have long known that once the dust settled on your colony, you would need a way to organize your people that every man and woman might have their voices heard. You decided upon...
[] Council of the Sea-Lord: You form a representative Council drawn from the most influential factions in the city, to advise you on the people's feelings towards your actions and to serve as capable functionaries. Once the Guilds begin to burrow their tendrils into this city, as they do all cities, they will certainly like this familiar system -- it is how Númenór is governed, though at some point along the way 'influential factions' came to mean 'The Guilds, and the Guilds alone'. Dealing with them would likely interfere somewhat with your ability to get things done, and the Council's power may grow with time. (Reduce the amount of vote options a turn to 8. Each turn, your advisors will inform you to a vague level what the people are most interested in seeing done. Your people will be only slightly disgruntled if you ignore their opinions. Councilors may attempt to increase the influence of their faction through...unsavory means.)
[] Hall of Speakers: Rather than an oligarchy of the most powerful, you separate the city into great divisions. Each division shall select from among themselves a Bêthan, a speaker who will represent his people's interests to the Sea-Lord, meeting in a great convocation called the Bêthzadan, the Hall of Speakers. This form of representation first originated in the densely populated cities of the Faithful, where with populations so large it was possible for individual voices to be lost in the fray. Here, every man has a voice through his Speaker. Dealing with them would probably interfere a fair amount with your ability to get things done, and the Hall's power may grow with time. (Reduce the amount of vote options a turn to 7. Each turn, your advisors will inform you to a somewhat accurate level what the people are most interested in seeing done. Your people will be fairly disgruntled if you ignore their opinions. You will have one Speaker for every two hundred people, and for every five Speakers you have, gain a permanent population growth bonus.)
[] Makâtha: This system originated in the soldier-colonies of the Southern jungles, where every man demanded a voice and every hand needed to be counted. Literally meaning 'With All', the Makâtha is just that -- a system of public representation based around loud debates in city squares, where any might stand on his shield and say his piece, and the strength of his position be judged by the cheering or booing of the crowd. Though often criticized for being time-consuming and vulnerable to sudden swings in opinion, there is truly no better way to know the will of your people. Dealing with them would probably interfere significantly with your ability to get things done, and the people's power may grow with time. Given such voice and opportunity, the brightest minds among your people might make themselves more easily known. (Reduce the amount of vote options a turn to 6. Each turn, the people will inform you exactly what they are most in favor of. Having gone to all this trouble, they will be very displeased if you ignore them outright. Gain a permanent +10 bonus to all Hero Event and Hero Opportunity rolls.)
[] The Sea-Lord: You are a Sea-Lord of the Land of the Star. None advise you, none control you, and none may force your hand. You decide what you do, and you alone -- though this means you must do everything. (The amount of vote options remains at 10. You will have no idea beyond whatever obvious rumors reach you what the people are in favor of (this is the current state of things). Your people will be incredibly displeased if you ignore their opinions, since you are the only one who hears them -- but they may love you more, since you are the only object for such passions. All political ramifications are tripled. Whenever you select yourself for an option, have one less vote next turn.)
Pick Ten (10) options. You may personally assign yourself, Ûrîphêl, and Inzilbeth each to any votes you pick, making them personal options. As you have 3 heroes, you may make three votes personal options. Specify which character you want to send on which mission in the plan vote.
Growth:The city begins to grow, and with it's growth come a host of issues and decisions for you to make. These may be put off until later, but absent input your people may do what they will.
[] Begin Construction Project: Ûrîphêl and the Shapers have many plans for unique buildings and expansion projects that could dot the city. Hear them out and pick one. [] Begin Construction on the Harbor: Begin using your stores of Númenórean Iron to build a great harbor that will stand as a wonder of the continent. (Requires Shaper Hero, will take 10 turns/six years, whichever comes first)
[] The Wide Woods: The woods that ring the mouth of the Isen have already been pushed back in order to accommodate your growing colony. Push them back further yet, and gain valuable wood for sale and land on which to settle. There is another steward. He watches with bright eyes. [] Give Excess Land To The Shapers: Room to grow. Room to build. Room to make. They may love you for it. This helps if you have angered them recently, or plan to. [] Give Excess Land To The Milita: Room to train. Room to fight. Room to learn how to kill, and kill well. It is the sort of thing that breeds loyalty. This helps if you have angered them recently, or plan to. [] Give Excess Lands To The Farmers: A city is built on till and plow and seed. There is enough now. Will there be always? Set aside more, just in case. This helps if you have angered them recently, or plan to. [] Encourage Immigration From Home: Now that you are more than a cluster of buildings by a riverside, you may write home to encourage immigration from the Blessed Isle proper. You will need decent amenities to encourage Island-born Númenóreans to come live in the city. [] Encourage Immigration From The Southern Colonies: Encourage warlike southerners to make their way from the southern colonies. To entice the loyalist Southerners, you will need to be in good favor with the King's Men. [] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies: You encourage the wise and well-read Faithful to make their way from the eastern colonies to dwell in your city. Your proximity to the Elf-realms makes this easier, but being known as an open Elf-Friend would help matters further. [] Encourage Immigration From The Middle-Men: Let it be known wide and far that the doors of your city are open to any of the Men of the West who wish to dwell therin. The Middle-Men are unlearned, wild, and hold no love for Númenór, but they may still come in droves. [-] ????: Unlock further immigration options through gameplay.
Defense: You are not alone in Middle-Earth, and Númenór the Blessed has many enemies. The defense of your fledgling colony is one of your foremost priorities.
[] Expand the Militia: Enlist more volunteers to the defense of the city, should you think it necessary. [] The Artifice of War: You have seen war in far Harad, and know something of the engines of killing and destruction, of the mighty machines your people have loosed in the southern Jungles. Some of these principles might be applied to the defense of your fledgling colony. (Requires Imrazor)
[] Requisition Weapons: You have few weapons or armaments at the moment, but you could request a stock of such from the Shapers...putting you more in their favor. [] Forge Arms: With basic forges complete, you may begin forging blades and weapons to arm your people. With no source of iron presently, you will have to use inferior bog iron -- but a sword is better than no sword. [] The Eye in the Mountains: Deep inside the white mountains, servants of the Enemy wait and watch. Men, but free and fair no more. Their hearts are turned to cruel things, and their minds to wicked deeds. Drive them out. Drive them back. You do not know their number or their power, but what does it matter? You are Numenoreans, and they are not. They shall fall. [] Watch the Mountains: Eyes in the crags, voices in the dells, a shadow on the heights. The White Mountains hold a threat that at any moment could spill over all Enedwaith. Plant a guard to watch the Pukel-Paths, and see who comes and who goes by them. [] Orcs: Orcs. From end to end they scour Middle-Earth, leaving filth and ruin and woe in their wake. They are in the north and the south and the west and the east, more virulent and violent than any beast of earth or sky. They are everywhere. And now, it seems, they are here. Send scouts to pick the land apart for them. And then, hunt.(There are no orcs in Enedwaith at the moment...that you know of)
Diplomacy:You are not alone in Middle-Earth. There are many realms and powers which dot the land, some more receptive than others. Making friends with even a few could ease many future worries in the days and years to come. With a harbor now built, you may send emissaries by ship, significantly reducing travel time. However, lacking supplies, they cannot travel far. One diplomatic option unlocked.
The Walls of Tharbad: Tharbad has stood a thousand years, and it's walls once repelled the forces of the dark lord at the ford of the Gwathlo. Those same walls lie now in ruin, but might be raised again given time and effort. The master of Tharbad has promised great things should his walls be restored to the glory of his fathers' time, and endless friendship besides. (Sends Shapers. All building projects delayed by one turn)
[] Send An Envoy To Lond Daer: Once the mighty harbor of Vinyalonde in days gone by, the port city now known as Lond Daer, sat on the mouth of the river Gwathlo, has declined since it's glory days. It's once-packed harbors are bare, and a dwindling population of mariners and woodsmen eke out a living among it's pillared halls. It is said the men of Lond Daer keep close contact with the elves. The Men of the White Mountains: The wildmen who dwell amid the snow-capped peaks of the white mountains to the east are worshipers of the Dark Lord Sauron. They have given their hearts and minds to Mordor, and act as it's servants in all things. But they are not orcs or wolves, but men still, and they might be parlayed with, could you find them and break word with them. Númenór, in her glory, has turned many who toiled in shadow from the whip of their master -- but it may be no easy task. Still, you send an envoy to break words with them. [] Send An Envoy To Rivendell: Imladris, or Rivendell, is an elvish stronghold deep in the heartlands of Minhiriath. Founded and ruled by the Elf-Lord Elrond Halfelven, it serves as a bastion of wisdom and learning in these later days of the world, projecting Elvish might into all eastern Eriador. The elves of Rivendell are force to be reckoned with, and are great traders and loremasters besides. It would not be unwise to make their acquaintance. [] Send An Envoy To Lindon: Far to the north, beyond the Blue Mountains, lies the Elvish realm of Lindon, the mightiest realm between the mountains and the sea. Here rules undying Gil-Galad, the High King of whom the songs are sung and the greatest of all the elven-lords of Middle-Earth. Though their might has dwindled much since they warred with Sauron, the northern Elves are still great in strength and skill, a fading echo of the glory of Elder Days. [] Send an Envoy to Dor-en-Ernil: The sister-settlements of Dor-en-Ernil and Edhellond lie far to the southeast in the Bay of Belfalas beyond the Anduin. Populated by both men and elves, the greatest power in these lands are the Lord and Lady of Edhellond, the Elf-prince Celeborn and his wife, the Elf-Lady Galadriel. Belfalas is a rich land and a good land, packed thick with food and fair things, and establishing a relationship with it's masters might benefit your city. [] Send An Envoy to Pelargir: Far to the southeast lies Pelargir, silver city of the ships. A dwelling of the Faithful, it is among the greatest of all Numenor's colonies. Send a ship here and seek fair words with the city of the swan. (Takes two turns)
[] The War of the Blacklocks and the Longbeards: War is come to the Misty Mountains. Durin's Folk, the Longbeard Dwarves of Khazad-Dum, are assailed by their kindred out of the deep east, a strange and warlike race of Dwarves who shun cavern and cave, and dwell instead in the sun. Their grievances, it seems, run as deep and old as any mine ever delved beneath the world, and the mountainpeaks blaze with smoke as the dwarves make war on the dwarves. And at the heart of it all burns like a coal that word: Ring. The Rings of the Dwarves were lost long ago, or so it is said in the Houses of Learning. Perhaps the Houses of Learning do not know everything there is to be known.
-[] Send an envoy to Durin's Folk (requires hero)
-[] Send an envoy to the Blacklocks (requires hero)
[] Ironbark: In the deeps of the Iron Forest dwells an ent, an old thing with old eyes. He is no foe, not yet. But he is no friend of men, you do not think. Not anymore. Break words with him, and see if the strength of oak and yew might be bent in friendship. (requires hero)
The Tyrant in the Tower: The chieftain of the Middle-Men spins a tale of woe and horror. He speaks of tribes butchered and enslaved, of the lands north and south of the River Gwathlo bent in servitude to the fortress on the ford, to the Tyrant in the Tower. It is, to hear them tell it, a tyranny of centuries, one which has nearly reached it's grim conclusion. The Enedwaithrim of Brun Gledd throw themselves at your feet for aid. They, they claim, are the last of their people who breathe free air. Some among your advisors insist that the truth of this matter must be investigated, while others dismiss it as the ravings of Middle-Men -- or, worse yet, a lie of the Enemy. You must visit Brun Gledd, and learn the truth of it yourself. (Requires Imrazor)
-[] Alternate: Do not visit the Middle-Men, but travel to Tharbad instead to question them on the Middle-Men's claims. (Requires Imrazor)
Exploration: These are vast lands, and wild. Venture into them, and discover things long forgotten. You may launch explorations of the surrounding lands and seas from here, but be careful -- Middle-Earth is not safe, nor is it tamed, and not all you send out may return.
[] Fulfill Guild Map Contracts: The Guild of Venturers has a permanent contract for any new maps of inland Middle-Earth, for which they pay lump sums to colonies and individuals who fulfill it. You currently have 1 map for sale, and could reach out to sell it, earning money and reputation with the Venturers. [] The Misty Mountains: The Misty Mountains which straddle the spine of Eriador are some of the tallest mountains in Middle-Earth. From the great outposts of the dwarves to the deep caves of the goblin-kings, there are many secrets to be found amid the snowy peaks. You send men into the high mountains to explore and map them further. (2/6)
[] The Land of the Ringmakers: Eregion, to your north, was once one of the great Elvish realms until it's destruction by the Dark Lord in the War of the Elves and Sauron long ago. Here dwelt the elf-smiths whom the Enemy tricked into creating the Rings of Power, and amid the ruins of their halls and cities lie ancient artifacts from the glory days of the Elves. You send explorers and riders into this land to map it further. (2/6)
[] The Gwathlo: You have made contact with the master of the Gwathlo, and the ford is held, as it has been for ten thousand lifetimes of the small men, by Númenór. If you so wish it, your men may pass beyond the ford, and see how Minhiriath has changed in ten centuries. The men of Tharbad speak of myraid towns and villages, and of civilizations flourishing in the wild. Venture past the Greyflood, and see what has become of these lands. [] Nargil-Dûm: A manse in the wilderness, built by the elves in better days for their friend Thain, a son of Durin III and a prince of the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum. Overgrown and dilapidated, it stands still imposing in the wild, a memory of a finer time. The dwarf-hall's doors were sealed, and, as far as your explorers can tell, have not been opened in a thousand years. (Hero Required)
[] Nelchrost: An outpost nestled in the spine of the Misty Mountains, Nelchrost was a great dwelling of the dwarves in the days before the making of the Ring. When war came to Eregion, it became a formidable redoubt against the power of the Shadow, from which the Dwarves and their friends struck against the Dark Lord. The fortress lies empty, but who knows what remains in the tunnels the dwarves delved below? (Hero Required)
Opportunity:There are a variety of miscellaneous opportunities available to you which could benefit either yourself or the colony.
[] Investigate the Branded Orcs: You begin to dig into the matter of where these orcs came from, and what, exactly, the strange brand on their head means. [] Contact the Striders: Your scouts and repurposed mariners serve well enough, but opening a contract with one of the mercenary forces scattering Middle-Earth would both allow you access to professional explorers and a dedicated force of trained soldiers. [] Appease the Venturers: Currently, no Guild-licensed traders or explorers are permitted to visit your growing colony, stifling trade and travel from the mainland. If you have enough money, reputation, or believe you can make a go of it, appeal to the Venturers. If you offer enough coin, or your colony has grown too large for them to feasibly strangle it in it's cradle, they may pay you heed and stop their embargo. [] Invite Survey: A year on from your colony's establishment, you are now stable enough to invite the Shapers to send a Guild inspector to appraise your progress. If the inspector is happy with what they find, they may recommend an increase in your funding, or a lessening of your debt -- or greater rewards yet. However, he may also demand certain changes to better suit the Guild's interests. Every turn you don't summon a Guild inspector, they will grow angrier -- take care you do not force them to send one of their own accord, as he will not be very charitable. The Orc Hunter: Some men are good at hunting. Some men are very good at hunting. And others hunt a different sort of prey. Perhaps this one is ready for greater responsibility. Hero opportunities are unlocked by successful Hero Events, and may be failed. If successful, they give a new hero character to send on votes and impact the story.
QM ANNOUNCEMENT: No votes not in plan form will be accepted. This is a massive post with important votes, so there Is a twenty-four hour moratorium before voting can begin. No votes before this time will be accepted.
Bess darted through the doors of her families abode. "Dear Pa! Dear Pa! A Tall Man's ship has come! Another has come!" The old patriarch of the house, Bran's face lit up at that, as his grandaughter raced into the room, the empty rocking chair of dear Millie seating her easily.
"Tell us dear, of the Tall Men then Bess." He chuckled, the horns of the Great Tower now roaring to herald the sealord ship. "Tis, that lady Sealord from before Grandpapa." She shook with excitement. "In all the finest silks I've ever seen. Do you think more will come?"
Bran had no answer to that, their family had lived behind the walls of 'The tower', for near 7 generations now, working first as farmers, and then later under good Lord Algadar, as farriers and occassional smiths for 'The Lords' guard. Few men could say that they had held sealords steel, let alone met 'the lord' himself on occasion, but it made them no more prouder than to serve the lord and keep the peace. Had to really with all them savage folk about, his pa's old man may have claimed they were blood, but all he saw of them were savages rollin in dirt.
"Dunno lass. Word from the markets say that the Sea Lords have made another haven to the south..." He said after a while. "Though I don' think we seen the last of them yet. " He chuckled at her sudden moodiness. Rubbing her hair. "Good lord 'Hazra's' been wantin them walls fixed since longer than your pa's been alive, an I don't see him passin up that opportunity of a lifetime." He slapped his knees. "Now, of you go, I'm sure your friends 'll be itchen to talk about her." It'd be good for the lord, as the last he saw of him, hadn't look like he'd slept for near a fortnight...
"But the fear of death grew ever darker upon them, and they delayed it by all means that they could; and they began to build great houses for their dead, while their wise men laboured unceasingly to discover if they might the secret of recalling life, or at the least of the prolonging of Men's days."
Of all the houses of lore in the world, none are so famed or respected as the Houses of Learning in Númenór. The great domed halls hold thousands upon thousands of scrolls, books, tablets, and more, the gathered intellectual wealth of an empire. The elves, the dwarves, the lords over the sea — all aver that there has never before stood (and mayhaps never shall again) such a place of learning in all the world. Beneath the silver spires of the City of the King is gathered the combined knowledge of twenty centuries, where the finest and brightest minds debate and query the problems of millennia. Here are solved in equal measure debilitating sicknesses and ancient formulae, twisting riddles and arcane secrets of old lore. It often said that the answer to every question mankind has ever asked lies within the Houses. Countless thousands of scholars and students toil away within the titanic domes, where the full study of any one topic may take a whole Númenórean lifetime. The wisest among them, men and women at the height of their powers, have joined together into mighty schools of knowledge devoted to uncovering the greatest questions that plague the Númenórean race. These schools are known collectively as the Houses of Learning, after the place of their dwelling, and each House is utterly devoted to a single topic of study. To gain entry to a House is often the culmination of hundreds of years of devoted study — and merely the beginning of a far greater endeavor.
Here are named the most influential and renowned of the Houses, and their fields of study.
The House of Life: Devoted to the study of life in all it's forms, the great scholars of the House of Life have delved deep into the mysteries of flesh. They have broken bodies apart down to the bone, and named and recorded each bit and piece and organ. They understand much of sickness and illness, of the functioning of the flesh and the properties of all living things. They seek all and any methods to extend the natural course of flesh: strange treatments of the blood, potions of the skin, and rituals from far-off lands — nothing is taboo, and nothing yet has worked. They grow and tend the great gardens of athleas, the healing plant of the Kings that cures most ailments and wounds of the body. They cooperate with and sometimes vye against the House of Death. Together, they are known as The Houses of Life and Death, most powerful among the schools.
The House of Lore: Most learned in the secrets of the Elder Days are the House of Lore, who dig through ancient tombs and sunken ships to recover knowledge long thought lost. Their libraries hold the final record of many things which are now gone from the world, and exist only in paper and memory. Once great in influence, their power has declined in recent centuries, as many on the Blessed Isle look less and less towards the past and more and more to the future.
The Charting Houses: Once three houses — the House of Seafaring, the House of Star-Readers, and the House of Waymakers — they have all but joined together into a single entity known as the Charting Houses, though they are often simply called the Mapmakers. They are among the most important of the Houses, for the beating heart of Númenór's empire are her maps that chart the ways over the waves. The Mapmakers are closely tied to the Venturers, as the efforts of the one depends on the efforts of the other, and their scholars often accompany Guild expeditions as a matter of course.
The Houses of Craft: The collective term for the half-hundred or so various houses engaged with the various arts of crafting and building. Notable are the House of Swordsmiths, the House of Armorers, the House of Gilders, the House of Farriers, the House of Ringmakers, and the House of Architects. It is from these houses that the Guild of Shapers draws most of it's new initiates, and The Houses of Craft are the largest of the 'collective' houses...save for one:
The House of War: Three generations ago, nine hundred and six discrete Houses were joined together into a single body by order of the King: The House of War. Here, men study war in all it's forms: from the engineering of weapons of death, to tactics, strategy, and sea combat, all of which the Númenóreans now count themselves peerless in. Many of Númenór's greatest weapons were first conceived here. A great number of Númenór's finest captains have emerged from the ranks of this House — dealers in death and fire, who have made of conquest an art and murder a science.
The House of Tongues: Founded as a study of the various dialects of the Númenórean speech, the scope of the House's studies has grown broadly with the centuries. Here is kept a record and analysis of every language and script encountered by the Númenóreans, of the relations between these various speeches, and of the myriad roots of their words. From the elvish tongues to the dwarven Khuzdul to the lumbering speech of the Ents, every tongue known on Arda is gathered here. The House bears it's own special importance to the empire: those Men who speak languages identified by the House as relatives of the Númenóreans' own are classified as Middle-Men. Those who are outside this linguistic family tree are numbered among the Men of Darkness, for they are not the blood of the Men of the West, and thus served (and must still serve) the Dark Lord.
The House of Death: The favored House of the Kings for nearly seven centuries, and undoubtedly the greatest in it's influence across all Númenór's dominions, the House of Death studies what follows the end. Theirs is the noblest and most keenly desired pursuit of all the studies of the Houses: the conquest of death itself, and an end to unlife. Founded by splinters of the House of Life, they have long sought to devise reagents and mixtures which might revive the mind and flesh, return a soul once fled to it's skin, or through some other arcane means cure the curse of death. Owing to the importance of their task, they have an almost limitless remit — valuable chemicals and agents (many of which are worth the ransoms of kings) are sent to them from all across Middle-Earth, and their scholars have free leave to test their mixtures across the breadth of the empire. The House stands apart from the others in the massive Hall of the Dead in Armenelos. There, countless lifeless Númenóreans are embalmed and preserved in the hope that they may be revived once a cure for their 'condition' is found. They have long argued for a royal permit to requisition test subjects, but it has never been necessary — it has become almost tradition for aging Númenóreans to will their corpses to the House in the hope that they will be the first success story in twenty hundred years.
"Yet they achieved only the art of preserving incorrupt the dead flesh of Men, and they filled all the land with silent tombs in which the thought of death was enshrined in the darkness."
[X] Plan Say no to Oligarchies, oh men of the west! - [X] Men of the West - [X] Hall of Speakers - [X] Begin Construction Project -- [X] Ûrîphêl - [X] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies - [X] Forge Arms - [X] Expand the Militia - [X] Send An Envoy To Rivendell - [X] Send an Envoy to Dol Amroth - [X] The Tyrant in the Tower --[X] Alternate: Do not visit the Middle-Men, but travel to Tharbad instead to question them on the Middle-Men's claims. (Requires Imrazor) - [X] The Misty Mountains - [X] The Land of the Ringmakers - [X] The Orc Hunter -- [X] Inzilbeth
[X] Plan Destiny
-[x] Men of the West
-[x] Makâtha
-[x] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies:
-[x] Begin Construction Project
-[x] Watch the Mountains
-[x]Ironbark
--[X] Imrazor
-[x] The War of the Blacklocks and the Longbeards
--[x] Send an envoy to Durin's Folk -- [X] Inzilbeth
-[x] The Misty Mountains
-[x] The Land of the Ringmakers
-[x] Nargil-Dûm
--[x] Uriphel
-[x]Investigate the Branded Orcs
-[x]The Orc Hunter
[X] Kings of Men: The Tall Men were not given Middle-Earth. They are not rulers and conquerors and takers of tribute, but friends and teachers and guiding hands. Those who hold this stance believe that it is the duty and the forbearance of the Númenóreans to safeguard and protect the Middle-Men however possible, to raise them up and shelter them from harm until they may take their place in the sun, as the elves sheltered us in older days. This is how the Faithful carry themselves, in their cities such as Pelargir, where they marry the Middle-Men freely. This is a majority position among your people -- you can hardly help but hear them cheer for it in the streets. Should you pick this option, you will be more friendly to the Middle-Men diplomatically, seeking to form deals, educate, and peacefully vassalize. [X] Council of the Sea-Lord: You form a representative Council drawn from the most influential factions in the city, to advise you on the people's feelings towards your actions and to serve as capable functionaries. Once the Guilds begin to burrow their tendrils into this city, as they do all cities, they will certainly like this familiar system -- it is how Númenór is governed, though at some point along the way 'influential factions' came to mean 'The Guilds, and the Guilds alone'. Dealing with them would likely interfere somewhat with your ability to get things done, and the Council's power may grow with time. (Reduce the amount of vote options a turn to 8. Each turn, your advisors will inform you to a vague level what the people are most interested in seeing done. Your people will be only slightly disgruntled if you ignore their opinions. Councilors may attempt to increase the influence of their faction through...unsavory means.) [X] Begin Construction Project: Ûrîphêl and the Shapers have many plans for unique buildings and expansion projects that could dot the city. Hear them out and pick one. [X] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies: You encourage the wise and well-read Faithful to make their way from the eastern colonies to dwell in your city. Your proximity to the Elf-realms makes this easier, but being known as an open Elf-Friend would help matters further. [X] Expand the Militia: Enlist more volunteers to the defense of the city, should you think it necessary. [X] Forge Arms: With basic forges complete, you may begin forging blades and weapons to arm your people. With no source of iron presently, you will have to use inferior bog iron -- but a sword is better than no sword. [X] Watch the Mountains: Eyes in the crags, voices in the dells, a shadow on the heights. The White Mountains hold a threat that at any moment could spill over all Enedwaith. Plant a guard to watch the Pukel-Paths, and see who comes and who goes by them. [X] Send An Envoy To Lindon: Far to the north, beyond the Blue Mountains, lies the Elvish realm of Lindon, the mightiest realm between the mountains and the sea. Here rules undying Gil-Galad, the High King of whom the songs are sung and the greatest of all the elven-lords of Middle-Earth. Though their might has dwindled much since they warred with Sauron, the northern Elves are still great in strength and skill, a fading echo of the glory of Elder Days. [X] Send an Envoy to Dol Amroth: The sister-settlements of Dol Amroth and Edhellond lie far to the southeast in the Bay of Belfalas beyond the Anduin. Populated by both men and elves, the greatest power in these lands are the Lord and Lady of Edhellond, the Elf-prince Celeborn and his wife, the Elf-Lady Galadriel. Belfalas is a rich land and a good land, packed thick with food and fair things, and establishing a relationship with it's masters might benefit your city. -[X] Alternate: Do not visit the Middle-Men, but travel to Tharbad instead to question them on the Middle-Men's claims. (Requires Imrazor) [X] The Misty Mountains: The Misty Mountains which straddle the spine of Eriador are some of the tallest mountains in Middle-Earth. From the great outposts of the dwarves to the deep caves of the goblin-kings, there are many secrets to be found amid the snowy peaks. You send men into the high mountains to explore and map them further. (2/6) [X] The Land of the Ringmakers: Eregion, to your north, was once one of the great Elvish realms until it's destruction by the Dark Lord in the War of the Elves and Sauron long ago. Here dwelt the elf-smiths whom the Enemy tricked into creating the Rings of Power, and amid the ruins of their halls and cities lie ancient artifacts from the glory days of the Elves. You send explorers and riders into this land to map it further. (2/6)
[X] Plan Say no to Oligarchies - opportunities edition
-[x] Men of the West
-[x] Hall of Speakers
-[x] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies:
-[x] Begin Construction Project
-[x] Forge Arms
-[x] Watch the Mountains
-[x] The War of the Blacklocks and the Longbeards
--[x] Send an envoy to Durin's Folk (requires hero) -- [X] Ûrîphêl
--[x] Send an envoy to the Blacklocks (requires hero) -- [X] Inzilbeth
-[x] The Tyrant in the Tower --[X] Alternate: Do not visit the Middle-Men, but travel to Tharbad instead to question them on the Middle-Men's claims. (Requires Imrazor)
-[x]Investigate the Branded Orcs
-[x] Invite Survey
-[x]The Orc Hunter
[X] Plan Men of the West, preparing
-[x] Men of the West
-[x] Hall of Speakers -[X] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies - Inzilbeth -[X] Expand the Militia
-[x] Forge Arms -[X] Send An Envoy To Lond Daer -[X] Send An Envoy To Rivendell -[X] The Tyrant in the Tower(Requires Imrazor)
-[x] The Misty Mountains -[X] The Gwathlo -[X] Invite Survey - Ûrîphêl
-[x]The Orc Hunter
[X] Plan Say no to Oligarchies, Brun Gledd edition - [X] Men of the West - [X] Hall of Speakers - [X] Begin Construction Project -- [X] Ûrîphêl - [X] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies - [X] Forge Arms - [X] Expand the Militia - [X] Send An Envoy To Rivendell - [X] Send an Envoy to Dol Amroth - [X] The Tyrant in the Tower - [X] The Misty Mountains - [X] The Land of the Ringmakers - [X] The Orc Hunter -- [X] Inzilbeth
[X] Plan Say no to Oligarchies - opportunities edition
-[x] Men of the West
-[x] Hall of Speakers
-[x] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies:
-[x] Begin Construction Project
-[x] Forge Arms
-[x] Watch the Mountains
-[x] The War of the Blacklocks and the Longbeards
--[x] Send an envoy to Durin's Folk (requires hero) -- [X] Ûrîphêl
--[x] Send an envoy to the Blacklocks (requires hero) -- [X] Inzilbeth
-[x] The Tyrant in the Tower --[X] Alternate: Do not visit the Middle-Men, but travel to Tharbad instead to question them on the Middle-Men's claims. (Requires Imrazor)
-[x]Investigate the Branded Orcs
-[x] Invite Survey
-[x]The Orc Hunter
The City-Under-The-Stars
At the mouth of the black river Angren, on the shores of the Belegaer, lies the Númenórean colony known as Târ Nîlon. Founded by Imrazôr the Shaper in the eighteenth year of the reign of Ar-Belzagar the Conqueror, it stands as Númenór's premier outpost in the middle lands of the continent, straddling the wide land between the great wilderness of Minhiriath and the eastern sprawl of Rhovanion. Though small and newly-founded, the city burns star-bright in the shadow of the Misty Mountains, a dim glimmer of the glory which is Númenór.
Population
The city's population is diverse, drawing from across the vast breadth of Númenór. The greatest bulk of the initial colonists hail from Andustar, in Númenór's west, bold Faithful stout of heart and strong of spirit who have settled along the spine of the Angren, near the running waters of the black river. Large numbers of Romennans, born seamen, have settled along the shores of the Angren, where they may gaze out across the sea. An enclave of Hyarrostari, the small and shrewd men of Númenór's south, have settled on the outskirts of the city, helping to tame the thick woods around the river. Scattered among these are a number of Forrostari, stout workers hard of body who have thrown their backs into the development of the city proper. A handful of Mittalmari round out the colony, hardworking King's Men whose experience tilling the soil has proven valuable in the colony's early days. All together, these number some one thousand, five hundred and forty-one.
The colony is little over a year old, and some disputes have begun to emerge among them, though no clear factions have formed. The colony is politically organized into divisions of a few hundred each, each of which is represented by an elected Speaker who informs the Sea-Lord of the views of his constituents. There are currently 7 Speakers.
Military
The 'army' of the colony is small, but growing daily, and consists currently of several dozen repurposed seamen and ex-soldiers who ply the river in small, swift boats. Aside from this marine infantry force, you estimate that some seven-hundred people could be raised to the colony's defense in an emergency, roughly organized and semi-trained, many of whom are equipped with weapons of brittle bog iron. There exists also a small scout force of Rangers, lightly armored scouts equipped with bows who number some thirty-odd men and women.
Your fleet consists of the fourteen ships which carried your people and supplies here, though they are not built for combat, and of Inzilbeth's pride and joy, the Pillar of Heaven. A fully crewed Númenórean warship with bristling masts and a gleaming hull, the Pillar is more than a fair match for any other ship upon the seas.
Guild Influence
The Guild of Shapers have the greatest influence over the city at the moment, providing most of your backing and resources. They have poured a great deal into this venture, and stand to lose much should it fail.
The Guild of Venturers has little direct influence over the colony currently, though the foundation of a colony by the Shapers has greatly angered them towards you, causing them to place an embargo on all Guild dealings with your colony, harming your trading potential greatly. Dealings with them will be sour until you make steps towards appeasement.
The Guild of Workers has no influence on the colony at the moment. Their power in the continent is weak, and your colony does not even have a large enough workforce to currently even merit a guild representative.
The Guild of Striders has no influence on the colony at the moment. There are mercenary companies and exploratory groups across the continent, and they trust you will have need of their services sooner rather than later. The Nardū̆ are patient.
The Pharazarim have no influence over the colony at the moment. There is no wealth to be found here just yet.
Heroes
Imrazôr, the Sea-Lord of Târ Nîlon
Yourself. A distant descendant of the royal line of the Kings, you are a studied Shaper and a skilled loremaster, an expert in many arts. You are counted among the Wise, a master of old songs and secret words, studied in the deep secrets of the world and the old songs of the elves. The colony is yours, and by this right you are not only a master Shaper, but a Sea-Lord of Númenór, a lord of cave and cove and shore.
Ûrîphêl, Lady Shaper
A brilliant, cold, and ambitious Lady Shaper, Ûrîphêl is one of the greatest students the Houses of Learning have ever produced, and the youngest Lord Shaper in the history of the Guild. Despite all this, she abandoned a prestigious career and a life of luxury in Armenelos to accompany you on this colonial venture, for reasons as yet unknown to you. She brings with her her household, her retinue, and her own unmatched mind. Inscrutable to say the least, she is an enigma even to those close to her.
Inzilbeth, the Seastrider
Inzilbeth, called the Seastrider, is the famed captain of the Pillar of Heaven, who for years served as a renowned warrior in the fleets of Númenór, and afterwards continued to serve the Blessed Isle as an explorer and a venturer. She has seen the furthest corners of the world, and has earned herself a legendary reputation among the mortal men of the continent, whose grandfathers' fathers have for generations passed down awestruck tales of the Pillar of Heaven and it's captain. One of the most accomplished mariners to ever grace the western seas, she has joined your decidedly land-bound venture out of obligation for your old friendship.
Barazîr, the First-Ranger
Barazîr, captain of the Rangers of the City and foremost among your hunters, is an odd man to define. He is short of stature and dark of hair, speaking little with others and preferring instead to spend his days in the wild far from friends or companionship. The only time his icy heart stirs, it seems, is when the hunt begins. He has strange old eyes, and it is said among his followers that he fears neither death or doom, and laughs --harsh and terrible, like the baying of the hounds-- only when the hunt is on.
The Realms of Middle-Earth
Numenor is mightiest among the powers of the world in the Second Age, but they are not alone among the realms of Middle-Earth. The Elves and the Dwarves survive and persist still, in their golden forests and their iron halls. Here are listed those who would claim to be peers of the Blessed Isle:
Lorinand: The Land of the elven King Amdir, and his son Amroth. Beneath these golden eaves are gathered many of the Sindarin Elves, but also many of their cousins, the Noldorin Elves who survived the war with Sauron in the early Second Age, and so hold much of the knowledge and power of the dwindling Elven Race. The warriors of Lorinand, known as the Amdirim, are matchless in war.
Edhellond and Dor-en-Ernil: In the lands between the Anduin and the Gwathlo have settled a great host of Silvan Elves, the wood-elves of bough and birch, at mighty city called Edhellond, the Elf-Dwelling, ruled by the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn. Their settlement on the shores of Belfalas coexists with a settlement of Numenoreans called Dor-en-Ernil, and it's inhabitants are elf-friends who share land and love alike with the elves.
The Woodland Realm: Beneath the eaves of the mighty northern forest of Greenwood dwells Oropher the Elvenking, and his people, the Sindarin elves. Reclusive, isolated, and powerful, the Sindarin Elves dwell in relative peace in their sprawling northern forest, and deal little with Men or other Elves. Brun Gledd: A place of dwelling of the Middle-Men of Enedwaith. Built into a warren of caves in a hillside some miles north of the Isen, this eminently defensible location is, it's residents claim, the last free town of the Enedwaithrim.
The Kingdom of Lindon: Known as Ossiriand in Elder Days, the land now called Lindon once stood upon the eastern borders of the continent of Beleriand, which is now lost beneath the waves. Here, the last of the High Elves of Elder Days, the Noldor who once brought ruin and fire upon the world, are gathered under the rule of their High King, Gil-Galad.
Khazad-Dum, the Dwarrowdelf: Beneath the Misty Mountains in the heart of Middle-Earth, the Longbeard Dwarves have tunneled a vast and mighty kingdom under the stone. Richer and more beautiful still than even the spires of Armenelos in Numenor is the Dwarrowdelf of Durin's Folk, greatest of all the mansions of the dwarves, that few men living have ever seen.
Rivendell, the Last Homely House: In the north of Minhiriath lies a mighty mansion fair and great in the wild, a place of learning and brotherhood unlike any in the world still. This is Rivendell, the Last Homely House, where dwells the Elf-Lord Elrond Halfelven and his people.
Mordor: In the east of Middle-Earth lies the Dark Land, Mordor, ruled by a spirit of horror and terror out of elder days: Sauron, the Dark Lord, called also the Enemy. In centuries gone by, he tricked the elves of Eregion into forging the Rings of Power, and created the One Ring to rule them all. Numenor is at constant war with his vast armies of orcs, trolls, and enslaved Men, led by his terrible and dreadful servants, the mysterious spirits called by Men the Nazgul, or the Nine. His armies are vast and mighty, and though Numenor has grown to become a match for him, the Dark Lord is yet a force to be reckoned with. Gundabad: Once called the Mountain of the Dwarves, Gundabad was among the most revered sites of all the dwarven race. A thousand years ago, it fell under the Shadow. Orcs rule there now, goblin-princes and uruk-kings who dwell in the defiled halls of stone and tunnel their vast empires in the dark under the world. A place of filth and ruin it has become, blackest of all the mountains of the world -- save that one which lies in Mordor. A power has arisen there now, a Master with dominion over the squabbling orcs, a Power whose hand might soon stretch out over all the west. Gundabad stirs.
Inzilbeth rode far north. The woods fell away, and the river swung to the east, and the earth rose up from fair plains to high hills and down again ere the Misty Mountains rose white and cold on the horizon, snow-capped spines stabbing at the sky. There she found encamped in the foothills of the mountains the strange dwarven army, those who called themselves the Folk of Vâr. They were like no dwarves she had ever seen. They all wore armor of pitch-black, with great visored helms filigreed with silver, and underneath it all thick heavy tunics of shifting silver metal. Save for a few, their faces were all obscured, and some, she saw, wore their helmets even at rest or sleep. As she arrived at their camp, she called out to the guards in a tongue of the men of the east, announcing her name and her purpose, and to her surprise, they replied in Adunaic, the tongue of Westernesse.
"I thought your people knew not the speech of the West?", she questioned them.
"We did not, when first we met your kind," answered one of the guards. "We have since learned."
With that strange statement, they led her silently through a maze of dark tents to a wide-open grassy field where many of the dark-armored dwarves sat eating and talking in the khuzdul-speech. Even here, they still wore the great helms, only lifting them up as needed to pass food under the grilled visors. They led her through the mess-field to a great table that stood apart from the others, and where a single dwarf sat and ate alone. Only then did the dwarf-guard speak again, his voice a growl.
"You are before Vâr."
Their leader wore armor black as boiled pitch that caught the light strangely and shone at odd angles. Great runes were carved on it in the khuzdul-script of the dwarves, hard glossy black letters that seemed to move in the light of their own accord. Completing it all was a great visored helm with a golden crest, embossed with silver and gold, beneath which nothing could be seen of the wearer's face save two dark eyes glinting behind the grille. A strong-looking axe hung from the dwarf's hip, a large black thing with a head of wicked steel.
"I am Vâr," the dwarf-lord boomed. "Daughter of Vâr, son of Vâr, son of Vâr, who was a grandson of Vâr who was wronged. Name yourself, envoy."
Inzilbeth bowed. " I am Inzilbeth, Círhael's heir and Abrazân's daughter. Hail, my lady."
She paused a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I had heard it said that your people showed their women but rarely, and that almost never do they go garbed for war, or crowned in the halls of stone. In fact, it is recorded there were no queens among the dwarves."
Vâr daughter of Vâr did not stir, but the eyes under the black visor gleamed. "Vâr's Folk do not enjoy the luxuries of the Longbeards, nor may we until Vâr's bones sit right in stone. We are dressed forever for war, and all of us who can bear arms from the day they may walk."
"And you have heard it said right, Númenórean. There are no queens among the Dwarves. Vâr's folk knew no king but Vâr, who is dead. Sit, and tell me why you have come. Did we not tell the other all he needed to know?"
Inzilbeth eyed the rune-carved table where the chieftain reclined. It was large, for a table of the dwarves, and she had certainly had more unpleasant seats in her long life, but the tall woman did not relish the prospect of bending her knees quite that far.
"I prefer to stand, my lady."
"Suit yourself. Now speak what you must."
"I am an envoy from a newly-founded city of my people, far to the south of here where the river spills into the sea. We are new-arrived to these lands, and seek to make all who are strangers known to us."
"We are strangers to these lands ourselves," the dwarf-chief noted. "So it is curiosity that drives you hither, then?"
"To a point. We seek to know all that we can of the doings and dealings of Middle-Earth and it's folk, and strangers or no, you are counted among that number. And besides -- what finer friends could two strangers have in strange lands besides one another?""
The Dwarf-lady chuckled at that. "So you would be a friend to Vâr's folk, then?"
"Perhaps. My lord merely wishes to have the measure of you. I myself must admit to some special curiosity, however. I have sailed the world from the ice-plains of the Helcaraxe to those burnt lands where the tide steams at the rising of the sun. I have heard in my travels tales of those black-armored dwarves who live under the sun. It is said you are a curious folk who do not live under the mountains, who have axes of cold steel, who go here and there a-wandering, for-ever masterless and inscrutable. Such things and stranger yet I have heard spoken in the sunless halls of Haben-Harâth, and darker deeds as well."
The dwarf-chief leaned back in her chair, appraising Inzilbeth as if truly looking at her for the first time.
"Men say many things of Vâr's folk, few of them true. It is true we do not live under the stone, but we have had in our time many masters. Indeed, in the great wars of the east we have had too many masters to count, each richer than the last. Feared were the axes of the Blacklocks on the plains of Zagan-När, and death was upon our foes at the heights of Baralad. It pleases me to know that in distant Haben-Harâth the pale men bemoan still the name of Vâr. We have wandered far and wide in our days -- as, it seems, you have."
Inzilbeth tilted her head in recognition. "It is said more graves grow on the plains of Zagan-När than stalks of grass."
A somber chuckle rang from the black helm. "And not a single one of them our own. Great indeed is our asking-price, but few indeed who have looked bitterly upon paying it."
"And which master, my lady Vâr, do your people now serve?"
The black helm shook as the head beneath moved in laughter. "None, save ourselves. No coin has sent us hither, and no amount could now persuade us to return, for the prize that draws us nigh outweighs all the gold in all the vaults of all the kings of the world. What think you of that, far-traveller?"
Before Inzilbeth could make response, the Dwarf-chief slapped the table with a single gauntleted hand. "I have decided," she declared, "That I like you. Better than the last one, at least. Not many make the journey to the sunless halls and return -- and fewer yet who are not of the Unharim. There is a spine in you, at least. Speak whatever question you will, and I shall answer as I can."
Inzilbeth smiles. "You honor me with praise, my lady. I would know one thing only: tell me of your people -- why you walk so armored, and what this oath is that you have sworn that binds you so."
For a few moments, Vâr did not speak. Inzilbeth felt a shiver of unease in her bones, and then, looking around, she realized why. The black-helmed dwarves had fallen quiet, and every head in the place was swiveled towards the spot where she stood. An eerie silence lay over the whole great host.
"It began with the mountain. Gundabad." Vâr's voice was low and somber, like a drum in the dark, and the uneasy silence of the dwarves was amplified rather than broken by the somber voice of their chieftain.
"It lies in the North, beyond the Misty Mountains, near the crown of the world. It was where Durin woke and walked alone, first of our kind to stir from sleep when the world was new. For this the mountain was held sacred, even among those Houses who were no friends to Durin's Folk afterward. In years of strife, the chieftains of the seven kindreds would gather atop the peak, for all held it hallow, and no steel was ever drawn when they met there in peace."
"The mountain lay for centuries unmarred...until those days when Mordor came with all its power to the north. The dwarves defied that land and its master then, though it was not their fight. For that crime, their Enemy stretched out his black hand in reproach, and his servants in their endless numbers fell upon Gundabad. They overran the mountain. The orcs threw down the statues of the fathers that had been carved when the moon was young, and trampled with filth the white stones that Durin named when he walked alone. They filled the first tunnels that the dwarves ever delved, and Gundabad the great became a dwelling of orcs and goblins and fouler things still. The stone wept."
The dwarf-chief's voice rose and fell almost like a chant, or a dirge. She had said this many times before, had heard it many times before.
"None among the seven houses of the seven fathers could sit idle at this. None among the khazad could know that Gundabad lay in darkness and sleep right in their beds, or feel ease in their days. From east to west to north the Dwarves came together and decided as one that we would as one make war on the orcs. A thousand years ago and two hundred more again, Vâr and all his sons and the sons of their sons left their great hall under the Red Mountains and went into the north. None were spared the call -- only their wives and their children remained. There was a war then, war such as the dwarves will never know again, for never again shall all the houses bear arms for common purpose. Many sons were slain."
As one, the great black-helmed host broke their silence and echoed her, a rumbling chant that passed through the whole army, falling as a moaning wind from a thousand lips: "Many sons were slain!"
The silence swept in like a dark wave afterwards. Vâr did not speak again for a long time.
"And then?" Inzilbeth ventured.
The black visor gleams coldly, and the dark voice rasps out again. "Vâr did not come back. Nor his son. Nor the son of his son, or any of the host who followed him. Gundabad lies still in shadow. Their flesh is dust in the orc-halls, and their axes lie dull in the dark. Their bones are not right."
Another echo, this time a keening wail that rose into the sky, accusing and bitter, from a thousand black visors: "Their bones are not right!"
"News did not return east to to those they had left behind for many years. But when Vâr's mother heard the terrible fate of her son, she tore her beard and beat her breast and wept. And when she had no tears left to her she took up her son's axe, and swore she would see his bones laid aright in stone, ere she ever dwelt again beneath the earth. And Vâr's wife swore with her, and his daughters too, and all Vâr's folk who still drew breath."
"But my lady," Inzilbeth pressed. "You have not told the whole of the tale. What was the fate of Vâr?"
"Of that I cannot speak, not til his bones are right. But know this: Vâr wore on his finger when he went west a mighty ring, a gift given to honor him in older days, which brought good fortunes untold to it's wearer. That selfsame ring burns now on the hand of Durin's heir. It shall be ours again."
A final echo, this one a roar from a thousand throats, like the bellowing of a dragon: "It shall be ours again!"
Diplomacy Option Unlocked!
The Blacklocks: You have struck up a certain rapport with Vâr (sixth of that name), chieftain of the Blacklock Dwarves. Her and her people, an odd clan of dwarves out of the deep east, make war on Khazad-Dum for an ancient wrong done to their forefather. Though somber and wary of strangers, she has not turned away the idea of Númenórean aid. Inzilbeth has reported that the Blacklocks have struggled to find a secure source of food in this corner of Middle-Earth, resorting to buying what they can from villages of Middle-Men they pass. Procuring them a surefire source of supplies would go a long way to winning their trust.
Over a thousand years ago, the doors of Khazad-Dum were shut. The Doors of Durin, the western doors to the dwarf-realm, which had once stood open to all friends of the dwarves, were sealed. To reach the East-Gate, more properly called the Great-Gate and the Dimrill Gate, one would have to travel through the mountains themselves, by the treacherous path known as the Redhorn Pass, or otherwise ride the long way around the mountains, through the land of Calenhardon and the elvish realm of Lorien.
Either route was risky and uncertain, and would by necessity pass through ways and lands long unmapped by Númenóreans. Furthermore, it was well known that the Great Gates too were sealed, and written with warnings and curses for all who came nigh without a summon from the lord of Khazad-Dum. Durin's Folk took no visitors.
Risk and uncertainty were not factors that Ûrîphêl favored -- and she had no desire either to traipse through snow and ice, nor to go cavorting pointlessly through elven lands. When Inzilbeth rode off to visit her faction of the dwarves, Ûrîphêl followed in her own turn, but did not swing north towards the mountains or east towards the Gap of Calenhardon. Instead, she headed for the wide and wild lands once known as Eregion.
There, she traveled for several days between the scattered villages of the Middle-Men, questioning them tersely in their own tongue. She, had, after all, recalled clearly from her studies in the Houses of Learning that the Dwarf-Kingdoms of old Beleriand did not produce most of their own food -- for how could one grow grain in halls of stone? -- but rather traded for supplies with the men living outside their mountain-homes.
Unless something drastic had changed in two thousand years, the dwarves, she surmised, still needed to eat.
So she questioned and cajoled and, on a few occasions, terrified -- which was more than easy enough. Her eyes shone like cold blue diamonds, and her hair was like that terrible fire which had been spun from the forges of Aule when the world was new-made. The Middle-Men trembled and boggled to see her in her sternness, and when she turned her eyes in that royal and piercing manner that had once made men hundreds of years old lower their eyes in shame, they could not help but tell her what she wished to know. There were, as she had suspected, secret ways in and out of the mountain-kingdom. Men knew them not, but every few fortnights dwarves would come out of the mountain-stone as if by magic, would trade in certain villages for grain and fresh foods, and then vanish into the rocks as suddenly as they had come.
The next time the dwarf-traders issued from their secret passages and made their way to the towns of the Middle-Men for the monthly market, Ûrîphêl was waiting for them. The coldness in her eyes was as unnerving to them as it had been to the Middle-Men, and when she proclaimed herself an envoy from the King of Númenór over the sea, they blanched and bowed and bid her wait. She stood awhile waiting amid the longhouses and hovels of the Middle-Men, and perhaps an hour later, the dwarf-lord came.
He was stout and ruddy-faced, with a high nose and a bright red beard bound all in brass bells that fell to his waist and jangled as he moved. A thick circlet of iron sat about his head, though it fitted him ill. He whistled as he walked.
"Ullo there," he started in slow, halting Adunaic. "I'm Froin. Captain of the Gate."
She pulled herself up to her great height. "Hail, dwarf. I am Ûrîphêl, Razanaur's daughter and Núnadië's child. I come over the western seas in the name of Tar-Calmacil the King, and my voice is the voice of the Land of the Star."
The Dwarf whistled appreciatively. "Well...as I said, I'm Froin."
Ûrîphêl glowered down at him and set her eyes with imperious steel. He did not seem to notice.
"Captain of the Gate," he pitched in helpfully, as if she had maybe forgotten. "And my voice is none but Froin's. The traders said there was one of the tall folk making noise outside the gate, and now I'm here. What d'you want?"
"I would break words with your king."
"Well then, I'm afraid you've come a long way for nothing. The gates are shut. And 'tis not my place to speak for the King, but I dare imagine that Durin's heir does not oft running for every Man who knocks at his door."
Ûrîphêl frowned. This was growing frustrating. "I come on behalf of Númenór, and the King of the Men of the West."
Froin glanced about pointedly, the bells on his beard jangling. "I do not see a king anywhere, do you? And since you are not your king, and I am not mine, what say you tell me what you came to ask, and I shall see if it's worth his time."
Ûrîphêl had had enough. Her mouth was a thin line of impatience. "I am the second-born of Razanaur the Golden, who was Lord of Orrostar in a line unmingled from Tazayâr the First, who was a Prince of the Star and himself the blood of Elros Tar-Minyatur. I am a Lord Shaper and a holder of one of the seventeen Rods of Making, and I am counted thus among the Zimrailai. I come in the name of the Lords of the West. I am worth your time,dwarf."
"And I," the dwarf repeated slowly and with patience, as if to a child, "am Froin. Ori's son, if you wish, though he was a coppersmith and bit of a fool. I am Captain of the Gate. And the Gate is shut. None may pass, and certainly not you, unless you speak your business."
Ûrîphêl stared for a long moment, her jaw tight as a spring. Froin son of Ori whistled a light tune.
"Very well then," Ûrîphêl failed not to hiss. "I am come to bear word from our new colony on the shores of the Angren. We wish to open communications with Durin's Folk, and to seek, if it is possible, a friendship with the Dwarrowdelf and it's king."
Froin smiled and clapped his hands. "Now, was that so difficult? I'm afraid, though, that won't be possible. The king takes no visitors without invite, and he parlays not with those who are no friends of Khazad-Dum."
Ah. Now there we go. Ûrîphêl smiled -- a problem. She could handle a problem. "And how might one make friends of Khazad-Dum?"
"Many have tried to answer that question while I held the gate, and far and few are those who succeeded. I wish you luck at it. The gate will remain shut until you find an answer."
She clicked her tongue as she often did when her mind was at a task. "Perhaps we could offer you aid? Weapons? Arms? Supplies?"
The dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow. "Whatever for?"
"Why, your war, of course."
"War? I fear Razanaur's daughter has been ill-informed. There is no war in Khazad-Dum."
"Come now. Armies in black march about the mountains. The land is torn with signs of battle. All can see plainly that war is come to Khazad-Dum."
Froin snorted. "Oh, you mean our unwelcome visitors. Nay, that affair is no war, and they know it well as we. They beat at our walls above and below, but they have not the numbers or the means to overcome them. The Gate-Guard alone holds them at bay. It is well-fought, I will give them that -- and honor on the folk of Vâr that even their daughters are so fierce -- but it is no war by the reckoning of the Longbeards."
Ûrîphêl narrowed her eyes. "There are scars on the mountains. The earth is rent up for many leagues, and fires smoke under the earth. And you tell me that the invaders have not stepped a foot into Khazad-Dum? That all of this is -- what, them beating upon your doors?"
Froin son of Ori, Captain of the Gate of Khazad-Dum, rolled his shoulders. The bells on his bright beard danced in the sun. Something proud glinted in the stone-grey eyes.
"Do not mistake me," he growled,"The Blacklocks are fearsome indeed. Were we elves, or tall men out of the sea who put our strength in ships and wooden things, we might perhaps tremble and wail to see them at our door, and gird all our kin for battle. But our doors are of dwarf-make, and their stones were laid by Durin's hand. The sun itself might fall from the sky before the first of the walls of Khazad-dum fell. There is no power above the earth that could bring them down. The West-wall holds. The Gate is shut. None may pass who are not friends."
Ûrîphêl wondered for a moment on the violent things she had seen in the Houses of Learning and smiled a soft and mirthless smile. Nothing above the earth, indeed. The dwarves, buried these long centuries in their halls of stone, did not --nay, could not-- imagine the powers which the Land of the Star could now bring to bear, power that might give even Durin pause.
But she did not say this, and instead tilted her head perhaps a centimeter -- for her, a sign of humility. "Great indeed are the defenses of your realm, master dwarf. Is there however nothing we might ply you with to begin winning the friendship of your people? "
Froin fingered his belled beard again. "Well-llll. The merchants have been mighty sore of late. Many of the towns in these parts have had less and less to trade these past years -- near half of what they make is sent downriver to some new lord of theirs. They must roam further and further. It is no matter to the city herself, as the traders out of the east-gate gather more than needed from the elves and travelers down the Great River. But on our side of the mountain the Guard have had to tighten our belts a few winters, it is true. We could use something to fill our bellies. And..."
The Dwarf thought a moment on what he was about to say, then shrugged. "Perhaps it is my old age, but I remember the men of these parts being fatter in my youth, and greater in number. It is a painful tribute indeed that this lord wrings from them, I suspect, and were I younger and bolder, I might march down the river and have words with him myself. But alas, I am the Captain of the Gate. I cannot forsake the post, even for mercy's sake."
Ûrîphêl grimaced. The dwarf could be speaking of none but the halfbreeds of Tharbad. Perhaps they were not so innocent as they pretended -- no tribute came from Tharbad to the King, and none had been ordered. Still, she would not speak ill of Numenoreans (no matter how thin the blood) to a dwarf. Especially not one so insolent.
She bent her head a sliver once more. "Your words are noted. Thank you for the audience, Master Froin."
The dwarf-lord bowed stiffly, then turned and walked away, whistling in time to the jingling of his beard.
Diplomatic Opportunity Unlocked
The Doors of the Dwarves:As they have been for ten centuries, the Doors of Durin are sealed. None may enter the Dwarrowdelf. The westward gate of Khazad-Dum is shut. But it is guarded. You have made the acquaintance of that guard: Froin, Captain of the Gate, Lord of the Western Wall, who with his Gate-Guard holds back all foes of Durin's Folk. He denies entrance or words with the king to all who are not proven friends of the Dwarves. He has suggested you could begin to earn this friendship by filling the bellies of his Guard, or by some means easing the hardships of the men living in Eregion, of whom he has grown fond.
You ride out from Târ Nîlon along the now-familiar northwest path to Tharbad. You cross over plain and fen and dell, and quick is your time, for in perhaps two days you are come to the rushing river Gwathlo, called the Greyflood in the mannish tongues, and to the tower which stands black upon the ford. With your own eyes you see the burgeoning industry of the Baradhrim, their mills churning and their fisheries grinding. Tharbad grows and stretches outward with every passing day, and greater and greater seems it's need. Wooden ships come paddling down the river, packed high with dark black bags of grain, and you wonder briefly at their source, for the news from the mouth of Froin has reached your ears.
Through the town you go, the eyes of the Baradhrim upon you, and past the crumbled walls and up the high tower over the river running. There the Lord of the Tower waits for you, as tall and fair of eye as Inzilbeth reported. His armor gleams golden, and his face is bright as he bows before you in the ancient greeting of the Men of West. He names himself and his parents, and you do the same in turn, and then the two of you straighten.
"Hail, Sea-Lord. You pay us great favor with your presence. The garrison is heartened indeed to recieve two such noble visitors in so short a time."
"The honor is mine, to come as guest to such a storied place. Númenór first reckoned with the Dark Lord upon these very banks, in the days when the siege lay on Imladris and all between the mountains and the sea fell under the shadow."
Hazrabân nodded. "My father would often tell me the story. It is a noble duty that was set on our shoulders all those years ago. In their darkest hour, the elves called, and we came. We broke Zigûrun* upon the ford, and the Enemy fled horseless and friendless to his Dark Land with not even an honor-guard about him, so great were his losses at this place." The day he speaks of is nary a thousand years gone, but he smiles to speak of it as if he had seen the ancient flight of Sauron with his own eyes. "Many years have we seen since then, and many battles, but the duty that was laid on us then has not failed. The tower stands. The ford is held."
"Long the duty, and long the service," you agree. "But was it perhaps too long?"
Hazrabân tilts his head. "I am sorry, my Lord?"
"I have heard reports out of the wilds. The men who dwell between the Greyflood and the Isen have much to say of Tharbad and it's master."
An unreadable expression crosses the Warden's face. "Of that I have no doubt."
"They claim they are hard-pressed. That their daughters are made slaves and their sons are slain. That blood and sweat and more are given in tribute to the river-tower, and that all the lands about the Greyflood know the terror of the Tall Men."
Hazrabân's mouth turns. "So you have come not in friendship, but to peddle the whisperings and malcontents of urchins and wildlings. I had imagined a Sea-Lord to be above such things."
"A Sea-Lord I am, and by that right I query as to the suffering of my neighbors."
"Aye, my neighbors, as we were neighbors to the elves in Elder Days, when we too were urchins and wildlings, and lived in fear of what came in the dark. What comes in the dark now for the Middle-Men, I wonder?"
Hazrabân seems almost struck by your words. His jaw works silently for a few rigid moments, confusion dancing in his eyes. "Forgive me, my lord," he says at last. "I suppose I did not truly appreciate the...depth of your feelings on the matter from my previous audiences with your emissaries. Give me leave to voice my own telling of events."
He heaves a long breath. Clearly, he did not expect the audience to take this turn. "There was need."
Your mind is drawn back, for a moment, to trees whispering mouthless in darkened woods, and glinting eyes like starlight. Need.
"A little under a century ago, in my father's day, there came a winter like none we had ever before seen. The fields died. The river froze. From the mountain to the sea was snow, and ice, and death. We were more then, but we managed. My father was foresighted. There were long, lean weeks, but we had enough to make do, and even when our stores ran thin, we were hardy enough to bear it. But the Baradhrim...they suffered. The graves outnnumbered the homes. Many were lost. Even when the thaw came, there were not enough to make the harvest. More starved. More wept. They called for aid and beat with thin hands upon the walls."
You see where this is going, and the corner of your mouth tightens. "There was need."
Either Hazrabân does not hear your tone, or he does not care, for he continues. "We asked at first, and they sent food. But the winter had been hard. It had hardened hearts. They did not send enough, or as much as they could. They still believed we horded great treasures in the tower. So my father sent out bands to take. It was not easy work...or rather, it was too easy. Food we took first, then cattle and lumber. But the harvests were still tight, and we needed more hands. So we took...more."
He sees the look in your face and sneers defensively. "They did not want to leave, once they came. We gave them food and shelter and high walls -- better lives than they would ever have known, out there in the mud. My father stopped taking...well, he stopped certain forms of tribute once the harvests came in high, but it was not enough. They did not forgive, and they did not forget. Short lives they have, but longer memories. When we loosened our fist, they would come in the night to plunder and burn. So we squeezed instead."
"And you have not stopped squeezing for a century hence."
The Warden's voice was an icicle now. "It is better this way. The tribute feeds all who live along the river. Tharbad thrives. We could see ten winters like the one that came in my youth and not lose a soul -- the Guard grows, for the first time since my grandfather was a boy. We are not unkind, either -- we guard them from orcs and wolves and worse things yet. Who would sleep quiet in their hovels at night, what roads would simple men dare to tread, what safety would there be from the mountain to the sea, were the Númenóreans of the Tower gone to the grave?"
"Indeed," you echo darkly. "What safety would there be?"
Hazrabân continues. "I do what I do not for my sake, but for those in my care, and for the duty that was laid on me. You would do what what you needed for your colony, of that I cannot doubt. But you are of high birth, and the Gift was under your feet, and so you imagine you can wander in over the sea and cast aspersions upon the duty that I hold. My mother's people will not starve again -- this I swear."
"And so you bind them in thrall instead."
His mouth is a thin rude line now, and his fair eyes are dark. When he speaks again, frost drips from each syllable. "I apologize, my lord, for decieving your envoys before. I did not wish to answer to the King for tribute unsent -- word has reached us even here of the great tithes they pay to the crown in the southern lands, where they have bound many Men of Darkness in service, and I did not want to suffer my people such a heavy price."
"Your people?"
His mouth works a moment, and then he nods, and the green eyes flash bright. "Yes. Yes, my people. I am Lord of the Tower and master of the Greyflood. I have done the duty."
"So it seems, and more besides."
Hazrabân taps a gauntleted hand on the carved table, running a finger over the illustrations of ancient warriors cutting down orcs. "I am not foolish enough to refuse to admit that we may have overextended our remit, even for good cause. You sit upon the Isen, so then let the lands north of the Isen and south of the Gwathlo go in tribute to you and yours -- should you wish it." He speaks with the languid confidence of a man for a moment startled who has now remembered that he sits behind the mightest walls on this side of the continent, with the greatest Númenórean force for a thousand leagues.
And yet...
You have heard many arrogant men in your long years, and many foolish men too, and lies without count. You notice a tenseness in his voice, behind the self-righteousness and the ice. He knows more than he dares say, you gather, of the attitudes of the King and his Men. But his offhanded comment about the tribute has revealed his hand -- that is the root of the fear, you would guess. Ar-Belzagar the Conqueror does not frown on tribute, so long as the greater share of it ends in his hand. For nearly a hundred years, one could well argue, Hazrabân and his father have stolen from the crown. High are the walls of Tharbad, and sharp the spears of the Baradhrim, but here at least is a chink in the armor. The Lord of Tharbad is very, very afraid.
He bows in the rite of farewell, though with considerably less deference than he did in greeting. "Fare thee well, Sea-Lord. Think on my offer, and for your people's sake choose well."
Diplomatic Opportunity Unlocked!
The Lord of the Tower: At the close of your terse meeting, the Warden of Tharbad made you an offer: the tribute of all the lands south of the Gwathlo, which he currently holds, or claims to hold. Implicit in this offer was a desire to keep the affairs of Middle-Earth between those who rule on Middle-Earth. As is often said in the colonies of Númenór,"Êphal îdôn Yôzâyan, Êphalak îdôn ka-Bâr"-- Númenór is distant and the King is far away. You perceived something of his true heart in this discussion, and understand that you might have more leverage with the master of the ford than first believed.
On your order, the people of the city are divided up by their places of dwelling and apportioned into groups of roughly two hundred, then given leave to select from among themselves one to speak for all of them -- a Bêthan, or a Speaker. The issues your people most desire to see dealt with are filtered through them, from land disputes to territorial claims to their feelings on the city's future. From the moment they are gathered, you find yourself more in tune with the desires of the populace. Where once you had been forced to guess or assume the wishes and wills of most folk, these Speakers present to you clearly the general moods among those for whom they stand. You will have a finger on the pulse of your city for all future decisions. (Votes will now make explicit the desires of your people.)
As your city coalesces, you find it important to turn an eye towards future growth. You send messengers on your swiftest ships down south towards the Anduin and the cities that dot the fields of southern Middle-Earth like stars. They travel far and wide among the Faithful that Târ Nîlon seeks new colonists, spreading word of the city all along the southern shores. It will be difficult, you know, to attract many living in the south to a newly founded colony -- it is inviting them to trade the relative safety and security of the cities of the Faithful for uncertainty and hardship.
Some weeks after you send out the messengers, a single ship returns from the South to drop off what is (you hope) merely the first in a wave of arrivals. The ship brings five families, their skins tanned by the southern sun, who speak in a lilting, airy tongue -- Sindarin, the elf-tongue of the west and the chief speech used among the cities of the Faithful, which for all other Númenóreans has been relegated to a second tongue.
They are disheveled, and few, but they are the first new arrivals since your colony's founding, and your people welcome them with open arms. You, however, keep your eyes fixed upon the southern shore, hoping for more to come -- and maybe they will. Perhaps, you wonder, the results would be more impressive had you the means to send out more messengers, or something besides proximity to the elves alone to draw prospective dwellers.
On this matter, you do two things: first, you send a messenger to the Shapers in Numenor, summoning their envoy forth. If they are pleased with your progress thus far, they may foist great rewards upon you, or even aid you in recruiting more colonists. (The envoy will arrive in approximately two turns. Be ready.)
Secondly, you meet with Ûrîphêl and some of the Shapers. They have readied many plans and designs for the city, some more ambitious than others. Each of them might open up new paths for development, or close off others. (Pick one. You may pick extra if you assign a Shaper hero to a construction (sacrificing their action for as many turns as construction lasts). Construction on all projects may last between 1-4 turns, depending on choices, and may be affected by availability of materials. You have space left for FOUR projects before the city must be expanded.)
[] Build A Shaping Hall: A domed hall of cast stone, where the Shapers may plan, gather, and study. Most every colony has one. It would allow for a greater variety of construction projects, they assure you, and allow for several projects to be worked on at once. (Grows Shaper Influence)
[] Build A Crafting Hall: Here, gilt is laid and diamond chiseled, here chain is wrought and beryl shaped. Here, your people might begin to make art, and finer crafts. [] Build A Lore-Hall: Here may be gathered and laid ancient works of lore and prized scrolls from over the sea -- the collected knowledge of a people. A library would have many benefits, and allow Research once you had enough scholars. [] Build A Ranging House: A place where your Rangers may rest their heads, gather supplies, and string their bows. It would allow for more extensive explorations. [] Build A Barracks: Not just a clearing where the swords are kept, but a building made for soldiers to sleep. A necessity in transforming the militia into a viable City Guard. [] Build A Granary: A large domed building for the storage of food and other supplies. Resources would necessitate it be built from wood, but it would insulate the colony against hard winters and short harvests. (2 turns) [] Build Proper Forges: Great foundries of steel and iron, churning engines of fire, vast pits of molten metal. Here may be built weapons of war in vast amounts.You do not have the necessary resources. Perhaps the Shapers can help, or the Dwarves.
[] Build A Guild-Hall: A place where visiting Guild representatives may rest, abide, and conduct business. Almost a necessity for attracting Guild attention. (All Guilds gain influence)
[] Build A Shipyard: To properly utilize the Shipwright you brought with you, you begin construction on a great shipyard where vessels in the Númenórean style may be built. [] Build A House for the Sea-Lord: A place of dwelling for yourself and your heirs. A place to collect yourself and conduct private business, something sorely needed. [] Build A Charting Hall: A place for explorers and scholars of the Charting Houses to congregate. This may draw interested explorers to the city, seeking to make profit in the wilds. [] Erect Logging Camps
[] Expand the Farms: With your city more than provided for, this would begin making surplus grain which could then be sold. [] Expand the Stone Quarry: With your stone needs met, this would begin extracting surplus stone which could then be sold.
When you have a few spare moments, you begin to pry into the matter of the branded orcs. Dead they may be now, but you know well that where one orc goes, many more are soon to follow. The branding suggests a greater cohesion to their actions beyond warbands and raiding parties. It smacks of loyalty, of organization, of heirarchy, of planning and command structures -- all dangerous things for orcs to have. You are wise and much-learned, but you do not speak or read the language of Mordor, and so the going is difficult. You consult with Shapers, root through old scrolls brought with you from over the sea, and puzzle through rhymes of lore. Finally, you cross-reference an oblique statement in a research paper with a testimonial of the mouth from a veteran of the southern wars, who saw the Black Speech written and spoken aloud in his youth, when he was for a time a prisoner of Mordor.
The sigil burned upon their skulls is Burzagh -- in the mirthless tongue of the Black Land, which was devised by the Dark Lord himself and is spoken aloud by none save his servants, it means Black Mountain. This confirms what you and some of your advisors had feared, but dared not say: these were no wild orcs or stragglers of a roaming band. These were scouts, for the only permanent settlement of Orcs west of the Anduin, the greatest bastion of the shadow between the mountains and the sea:
Gundabad.
It sits at the crown of the Misty Mountains, a black blot upon the spine of Eriador. There, orcs beyond number or imagining dwell in the dark as they have dwelt a thousand years since the Mountain of the Dwarves fell to the Dark Lord. Whispers have filtered in from the settlements and towns of the Middle-Men, and even from far Tharbad -- the branded orcs were rare upon a time, and many believed them contained by the dwarves, who's ire has not dimmed in ten centuries. But in recent years orcs bearing the black brand have been seen further and further afield, and now it seems they have passed beyond the Ford by some secret means, and that their influence has spread from their northern stronghold across all the westlands.
Critical Result!
Many mutter that this can only be the work of the Enemy, but you have your doubts. If it is him, it can only be indirectly -- a thousand leagues and more lie between Mordor and Gundabad, and all the power of Pelargir and Lorien between them. All Middle-Earth is to some extent under the Shadow, but messengers of the Dark Lord still cannot travel so freely or so far in any great number. Nay, your learning and wisdom suggests to you that whatever power has begun to rally the orcs of Gundabad, it is a local evil, one perhaps in ultimate service to the Enemy but nonetheless located within the Mountain itself.
There is little more you can learn through guesses and suppositions, however. If you wish to learn more, you will need intelligence of your own. Perhaps they may know something of Gundabad in Imladris or Khazad-Dum.
Faction Discovered!
Gundabad: Once called the Mountain of the Dwarves, Mount Gundabad was among the most revered sites of all the dwarven race. A thousand years ago, it fell under the Shadow. Orcs rule there now, goblin-princes and uruk-kings who dwell in the defiled halls of stone and tunnel their vast empires in the dark under the world. A place of filth and ruin it has become, blackest of all the mountains of the world -- save that one which lies in Mordor. A power has arisen there now, a Master with dominion over the squabbling orcs, a Power whose hand might soon stretch out over all the west. Gundabad stirs. Defense Opportunities Unlocked:
Scout Gundabad: Beyond the Misty Mountains lies a mountain the dwarves mourn in their hearts. Evil stirs there now. Send rangers to scout the Mountain, and see what wakes in the north. Search For Signs of Gundabad: There are whispers. Shadows in the dark. Shapes in the waters. Eyes in the forests. Evil awake in the lands of men. Orcs are about all Eriador, from the wide woods of Minhiriath to the ruins of Eregion. Seek them, and uncover their vile purpose.(Takes Two Turns)
With orcs and rumors of orcs about the land, you begin to inquire into the matter of the bold young hunter who so recently led the hunt for the branded orcs. Barazîr is his name, you learn, a man some sixty-three years old, lean and lanky with muscle, yet short for a Númenórean -- just under six feet. Dark of skin and hair with a sharp face, he seems as one born to flit through the forests sight unseen, wing-footed and wood-sure. When you question him on where he learned his skill with the bow, he shrugs simply and tells you that there are still wolves in the forests of Hyarrostar, and many are the herds of his people which need safeguarding. But still, there is something strange about him, something you cannot quite place, at least not until you look into his eyes.
A Man may change in terrible ways over a hundred years of war, something your people have learned well. Some break, some fail, some go mad and suffer worse fates yet. Precious few last more than a century on the front lines, and it is said of these oldest veterans (who have survived horror and fear and fire for three lifetimes of lesser men), that there is a certain cold stillness to their eyes. It is known to soldiers as the Eyes of Mandos -- the grim look of one who fears neither doom nor death, but seeks only to bring them to their foes. You have seen that gaze but twice in your life: once in the eyes of a two-hundred and ninety-seven year old captain who had seen exactly a thousand battles in her day, and was readying for her thousand-and-first...
...and again, here and now, in the eyes of this shephard turned hunter.
Hero Unlocked!
Barazîr, the First-Ranger: A small man with cold eyes and dark hair. He hunts, and he hunts well. He leads the rangers.
One bright morning, Inzilbeth comes to you with a hungry gleam in her eye. The colony's very first harvest has just come in, and though it is not great by any measure, it is enough. Enough to fill the holds of the great ship that has for nearly a year sat basking like a titan at the mouth of the Isen. The Pillar of Heaven, she tells you with undisguised joy, may sail again. It might deprive the colony of fifty good men, (and Inzilbeth herself) for a time, but the benefits of the great ship taking to the water again are almost too many to name. The captain is willing to trade, to make friends, to explore distant horizons -- whatever you will her to do, she will, so long as she may sail upon the sea once more.
Seafaring has been unlocked!
Supplies set to 2!
Ship unlocked:
The Pillar of Heaven: For long centuries, the silver-hulled Pillar of Heaven has been seen upon the waves from eastern cove to northern waste. Many and famed are the voyages it has undertaken, and great the battles in which it has fought. The old ship and it's captain have set asail again, in the name of Târ Nîlon. The Ship has known many voyages in her day, and her sails yet thirst for strange winds, driving her further and further afield. Gain 1 extra Exploration turn per unit of Supplies.
The Númenóreans are the Sea-Kings, lords of wave and cove and shore. They are mighty at many things, but they are matchless upon the sea. Possessing a harbor, a ship, and supplies capable of feeding a crew (and a captain to lead them all), you may now launch great Expeditions from Târ Nîlon. Each unit of Supplies allows a ship to visit up to three known costal locations a turn for any purpose (say, diplomacy or trade), or to embark on a Exploration to the North, South, or East for as many turns as you have supplies. A single well-stocked ship can do more in one turn than a dozen scouts and envoys on land.
To make it very clear, the exchange rate is 1 unit of Supplies to 3 locations (anywhere on Middle-Earth connected to the sea) a turn, or 1 unit of Supplies to 1 turn of Exploration in any cardinal direction save West. Currently, you gather 1 unit of Supplies every three turns, though you may gain more through events and in-game actions (say, a particularly good harvest or a lucrative trade).
Exploration by sea is more powerful, more risky, and almost infinitely more rewarding than by land. You can travel to far corners of the world, sail burning seas and silent oceans, and uncover terrible treasures from Ages long past. The more capable your captain, the more hardened your crew, and the sturdier your ship, greater yet are the rewards.
Pick Eight (8) options. You may personally assign yourself, Barazîr, Ûrîphêl, and Inzilbeth each to any votes you pick, making them personal options. As you have 4 heroes, you may make four votes personal options. Specify which character you want to send on which mission in the plan vote.
The Speakers inform you that the issues which concern the people most are making friendships with the nearby elves, learning more on Gundabad (news of which has them worried), and taking to the sea. In a general sense, they seem eager to grow and expand into new industries, and any actions taken to that end will please them.
Many of your speakers also have suggestions for what actions you may take, should you choose to hear them out. (WRITE-IN VOTES OPEN)
Growth:The city begins to grow, and with it's growth come a host of issues and decisions for you to make. These may be put off until later, but absent input your people may do what they will.
[] Begin Construction on the Harbor: Begin using your stores of Númenórean Iron to build a great harbor that will stand as a wonder of the continent. (Requires Shaper Hero, will take 10 turns/six years, whichever comes first)
[] Establish Pastures: Grain is well and good, but some among your smallholders have been aching to purchase sheep and goats in large numbers from the Middle-Men, that they might establish their own herds. Stake out plots of land where they may graze. (will reduce possible construction projects by one) A decent population of your people support doing this -- 3 Speakers are behind it.
[] The Wide Woods: The woods that ring the mouth of the Isen have already been pushed back in order to accommodate your growing colony. Push them back further yet, and gain valuable wood for sale and land on which to settle. There is another steward. He watches with bright eyes. [] Encourage Immigration From Home: Now that you are more than a cluster of buildings by a riverside, you may write home to encourage immigration from the Blessed Isle proper. You will need decent amenities to encourage Island-born Númenóreans to come live in the city. [] Encourage Immigration From The Southern Colonies: Encourage warlike southerners to make their way from the southern colonies. To entice the loyalist Southerners, you will need to be in good favor with the King's Men. [] Encourage Immigration From The Eastern Colonies: You encourage the wise and well-read Faithful to make their way from the eastern colonies to dwell in your city. Your proximity to the Elf-realms makes this easier, but being known as an open Elf-Friend would help matters further. [] Encourage Immigration From The Middle-Men: Let it be known wide and far that the doors of your city are open to any of the Men of the West who wish to dwell therin. The Middle-Men are unlearned, wild, and hold no love for Númenór, but they may still come in droves. [-] ????: Unlock further immigration options through gameplay.
Defense: You are not alone in Middle-Earth, and Númenór the Blessed has many enemies. The defense of your fledgling colony is one of your foremost priorities.
[] Expand the Militia: Enlist more volunteers to the defense of the city, should you think it necessary. A noticable population of your people support doing this -- 2 Speakers are behind it.
[] The Artifice of War: You have seen war in far Harad, and know something of the engines of killing and destruction, of the mighty machines your people have loosed in the southern Jungles. Some of these principles might be applied to the defense of your fledgling colony. (Requires Imrazor)
[] Requisition Weapons: You have few weapons or armaments at the moment, but you could request a stock of such from the Shapers...putting you more in their favor. [] The Eye in the Mountains: Deep inside the white mountains, servants of the Enemy wait and watch. Men, but free and fair no more. Their hearts are turned to cruel things, and their minds to wicked deeds. Drive them out. Drive them back. You do not know their number or their power, but what does it matter? You are Numenoreans, and they are not. They shall fall. A small section of your people support doing this -- 1 Speaker is behind it. [] Orcs: Orcs. From end to end they scour Middle-Earth, leaving filth and ruin and woe in their wake. They are in the north and the south and the west and the east, more virulent and violent than any beast of earth or sky. They are everywhere. And now, it seems, they are here. Send scouts to pick the land apart for them. And then, hunt.(There are no orcs in Enedwaith at the moment...that you know of)
[] Scout Gundabad: Beyond the Misty Mountains lies a mountain the dwarves mourn in their hearts. Evil stirs there now. Send rangers to scout the Mountain, and see what wakes in the north. A sizeable population of your people support doing this -- 4 Speakers are behind it.
[] Search For Signs of Gundabad's Influence: There are whispers. Shadows in the dark. Shapes in the waters. Eyes in the forests. Evil awake in the lands of men. Orcs are about all Eriador, from the wide woods of Minhiriath to the ruins of Eregion. Seek them, and uncover their vile purpose. (Takes Two Turns)
[] Defense Write-In: One of your Speakers has a suggestion...
Diplomacy:You are not alone in Middle-Earth. There are many realms and powers which dot the land, some more receptive than others. Making friends with even a few could ease many future worries in the days and years to come. With a harbor now built, you may send emissaries by ship, significantly reducing travel time. However, lacking supplies, they cannot travel far. One diplomatic option unlocked.
[] The Blacklocks: You have struck up a certain rapport with Vâr (sixth of that name), chieftain of the Blacklock Dwarves. Her and her people, an odd clan of dwarves out of the deep east, make war on Khazad-Dum for an ancient wrong done to their forefather. Though somber and wary of strangers, she has not turned away the idea of Númenórean aid. Inzilbeth has reported that the Blacklocks have struggled to find a secure source of food in this corner of Middle-Earth, resorting to buying what they can from villages of Middle-Men they pass. Procuring them a surefire source of supplies would go a long way to winning their trust. (Requires 1 unit of Supplies)
[] The Doors of the Dwarves: As they have been for ten centuries, the Doors of Durin are sealed. None may enter the Dwarrowdelf. The westward gate of Khazad-Dum is shut. But it is guarded. You have made the acquaintance of that guard: Froin, Captain of the Gate, Lord of the Western Wall, who with his Gate-Guard holds back all foes of Durin's Folk. He denies entrance or words with the king to all who are not proven friends of the Dwarves. He has suggested you could begin to earn this friendship by filling the bellies of his Guard, or by some means easing the hardships of the men living in Eregion, of whom he has grown fond.
-[] Give Aid to the Gate-Guard (Requires 1 unit of Supplies)
-[] Give Aid to the Middle-Men (Requires 1 unit of Supplies) (There may be other ways to ease their hardships)
[] The Walls of Tharbad: Tharbad has stood a thousand years, and it's walls once repelled the forces of the dark lord at the ford of the Gwathlo. Those same walls lie now in ruin, but might be raised again given time and effort. The master of Tharbad has promised great things should his walls be restored to the glory of his fathers' time, and endless friendship besides. (Sends Shapers. All building projects delayed by one turn)
[] The Lord of the Tower: At the close of your terse meeting, the Warden of Tharbad made you an offer: the tribute of all the lands south of the Gwathlo, which he currently holds, or claims to hold. Implicit in this offer was a desire to keep the affairs of Middle-Earth between those who rule on Middle-Earth. As is often said in the colonies of Númenór, "Êphal îdôn Yôzâyan, Êphalak îdôn ka-Bâr"-- Númenór is distant and the King is far away. You perceived something of his true heart in this discussion, and understand that you might have more leverage with the master of the ford than first believed.
-[] Accept his offer
-[] Write-In
[] Send An Envoy to Brun Gledd: Several leagues north of the city lies Brun Gledd, a town built into and under six seperate hills. It was dug by the dwarves long ago, but it's first name is now long lost, and it is ruled by the Enedwaithrim and their aging lord Braelor. Send an envoy to break words with the Middle-Men. [] Send An Envoy To Lond Daer: Once the mighty harbor of Vinyalonde in days gone by, the port city now known as Lond Daer, sat on the mouth of the river Gwathlo, has declined since it's glory days. It's once-packed harbors are bare, and a dwindling population of mariners and woodsmen eke out a living among it's pillared halls. It is said the men of Lond Daer keep close contact with the elves. You may also do this through an expedition.
[] The Men of the White Mountains: The wildmen who dwell amid the snow-capped peaks of the white mountains to the east are worshipers of the Dark Lord Sauron. They have given their hearts and minds to Mordor, and act as it's servants in all things. But they are not orcs or wolves, but men still, and they might be parlayed with, could you find them and break word with them. Númenór, in her glory, has turned many who toiled in shadow from the whip of their master -- but it may be no easy task. Still, you send an envoy to break words with them. [] Send An Envoy To Rivendell: Imladris, or Rivendell, is an elvish stronghold deep in the heartlands of Eriador. Founded and ruled by the Elf-Lord Elrond Halfelven, it serves as a bastion of wisdom and learning in these later days of the world, projecting Elvish might into all eastern Eriador. The elves of Rivendell are force to be reckoned with, and are great traders and loremasters besides. It would not be unwise to make their acquaintance. A very large portion of your people support doing this -- 6 Speakers are behind it. 1 is stringently opposed, representing the farmers.
[] Send An Envoy To Lindon: Far to the north, beyond the Blue Mountains, lies the Elvish realm of Lindon, the mightiest realm between the mountains and the sea. Here rules undying Gil-Galad, the High King of whom the songs are sung and the greatest of all the elven-lords of Middle-Earth. Though their might has dwindled much since they warred with Sauron, the northern Elves are still great in strength and skill, a fading echo of the glory of Elder Days. A large portion of your people support doing this -- 5 Speakers are behind it. 1 is stringently opposed, representing the farmers. You may also do this through an expedition.
[] Send an Envoy to Dor-en-Ernil: The sister-settlements of Dor-en-Ernil and Edhellond lie far to the southeast in the Bay of Belfalas beyond the Anduin. Populated by both men and elves, the greatest power in these lands are the Lord and Lady of Edhellond, the Elf-prince Celeborn and his wife, the Lady Galadriel. Belfalas is a rich land and a good land, and establishing a relationship with it's masters might benefit your city. You may also do this through an expedition.
[] Send An Envoy to Pelargir: Far to the southeast lies Pelargir, silver city of the ships. A dwelling of the Faithful, it is among the greatest of all Numenor's colonies. Send a ship here and seek fair words with the city of the swan. (Takes two turns) You may also do this through an expedition.
[] Ironbark: In the deeps of the Iron Forest dwells an ent, an old thing with old eyes. He is no foe, not yet. But he is no friend of men, you do not think. Not anymore. Break words with him, and see if the strength of oak and yew might be bent in friendship. (requires hero)
[] Diplomatic Write-In: One of your Speakers has a suggestion...
Exploration:These are vast lands, and wild. Venture into them, and discover things long forgotten. You may launch explorations of the surrounding lands and seas from here, but be careful -- Middle-Earth is not safe, nor is it tamed, and not all you send out may return.
[] Explore Enedwaith: There is still much in the lands around your city that you do not know. Send searchers to find valuable natural resources or ancient treasures, and map your new home fully. A sizeable share of your people support doing this -- 3 Speakers are behind it.
[] Fulfill Guild Map Contracts: The Guild of Venturers has a permanent contract for any new maps of inland Middle-Earth, for which they pay lump sums to colonies and individuals who fulfill it. You currently have 1 map for sale, and could reach out to sell it, earning money and reputation with the Venturers. [] The Misty Mountains: The Misty Mountains which straddle the spine of Eriador are some of the tallest mountains in Middle-Earth. From the great outposts of the dwarves to the deep caves of the goblin-kings, there are many secrets to be found amid the snowy peaks. You send men into the high mountains to explore and map them further. (2/6)
[] The Land of the Ringmakers: Eregion, to your north, was once one of the great Elvish realms until it's destruction by the Dark Lord in the War of the Elves and Sauron long ago. Here dwelt the elf-smiths whom the Enemy tricked into creating the Rings of Power, and amid the ruins of their halls and cities lie ancient artifacts from the glory days of the Elves. You send explorers and riders into this land to map it further. (2/6)
[] The Gwathlo: You have made contact with the master of the Gwathlo, and the ford is held, as it has been for ten thousand lifetimes of the small men, by Númenór. If you so wish it, your men may pass beyond the ford, and see how Minhiriath has changed in ten centuries. The men of Tharbad speak of myraid towns and villages, and of civilizations flourishing in the wild. Venture past the Greyflood, and see what has become of these lands. [] Nargil-Dûm: A manse in the wilderness, built by the elves in better days for their friend Thain, a son of Durin III and a prince of the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum. Overgrown and dilapidated, it stands still imposing in the wild, a memory of a finer time. The dwarf-hall's doors were sealed, and, as far as your explorers can tell, have not been opened in a thousand years. (Hero Required)
[] Nelchrost: An outpost nestled in the spine of the Misty Mountains, Nelchrost was a great dwelling of the dwarves in the days before the making of the Ring. When war came to Eregion, it became a formidable redoubt against the power of the Shadow, from which the Dwarves and their friends struck against the Dark Lord. The fortress lies empty, but who knows what remains in the tunnels the dwarves delved below? (Hero Required)
[] Exploration Write-In: One of your Speakers has a suggestion...
Opportunity:There are a variety of miscellaneous opportunities available to you which could benefit either yourself or the colony.
[] Contact the Striders: Your scouts and repurposed mariners serve well enough, but opening a contract with one of the mercenary forces scattering Middle-Earth would both allow you access to professional explorers and a dedicated force of trained soldiers. [] Appease the Venturers: Currently, no Guild-licensed traders or explorers are permitted to visit your growing colony, stifling trade and travel from the mainland. If you have enough money, reputation, or believe you can make a go of it, appeal to the Venturers. If you offer enough coin, or your colony has grown too large for them to feasibly strangle it in it's cradle, they may pay you heed and stop their embargo. [] (Special) Reach Out To The King: Send an envoy to the king, informing him of the tribute taken by the soldiers of Tharbad and their failure to pay it forward.
Seafaring: At last, your colony is stable enough that your people might take to the seas once more. Sail the wide world, as your fathers did in years of yore.
Your people are the Numenoreans, the finest mariners who have ever lived, and no matter their leaning or beliefs, all of them, to a woman, love in their hearts the wave upon the shore. You can greatly increase morale and happiness by launching expeditions and building ships, or taking naval actions.
[] Plan An Expedition: Expeditions are unique journeys taken by one of the great ships of the Blessed Isle. They can sail the corners of the world, visit distant locations, or trade a great many supplies all at once. Plan the destinations, allot supplies, and select a ship and crew. (To make things less complicated, I've pre-planned the vote with several routes, but you may still disregard these and construct your own expeditions by picking any three known coastal locations. Current Supplies: 2)
Ship:
--[] The Pillar of Heaven: For long centuries, the silver-hulled Pillar of Heaven has been seen upon the waves from eastern cove to northern waste. Many and famed are the voyages it has undertaken, and great the battles in which it has fought. Set the old ship asail once more, in the name of Târ Nîlon. The Ship has known many voyages in her day, and her sails yet thirst for strange winds, driving her further and further afield. Gain 1 extra Exploration turn per unit of Supplies.
-Captain:
--[] Inzilbeth Seastrider
--[] Recruit A Captain Crew:
--[] Gather a Volunteer Crew: Fifty seamen will be roused from your harbors.
--[] Draft a Crew: Recruit fifty seamen from among your militia.
--[] (Special) (Requires Inzilbeth) Reunite the Crew of the Pillar: Inzilbeth's old crew have been sailing the rivers and serving as an impromptu city guard. Have them trade the sword for the seaspray. (Temporarily disbands the Seastriders) Route:
-[] The Three Jewels: This route travels to the elvish harbors of Forlond, Harlond, and Mithlond, the 'Three Jewels' of the elvish realm of Lindon. (Costs 1 supplies)
-[] The Princes' Triangle: This route charts between the cities of Pelargir, Umbar, and Adûnayar -- the City of Ships, the City of Swords, and the City of Jewels. (Costs 1 supplies)
-[] The Mariner's Route: This path travels from Lond Daer to Romenna on the Blessed Isle, and finishes at Pelargir. (Costs 1 supplies)
-[] The King's Way: This route charts from Umbar to Adûnayar and finally to Sûzâyan, the great southern cities of the Kings' Men. (Costs 1 supplies)
-[] The Elf-Friend's Path: This route travels from Pelargir to Edhellond and lastly to the Grey Havens of Mithlond in the north -- the traditional 'pilgrimage' of a Numenorean Elf-Friend. (Costs 1 supplies)
-[] South: Sail southward, and explore the coasts of Harad. (Costs 1 supplies)
-[] East: Sail east and explore what lies around the Fang of Harad in the eastern corners of the world. (Costs 1 supplies)
-[] North: Sail northward, towards the lands of ice and snow, where the great islands that were once the mountains of Beleriand dot the sea. (Costs 1 supplies) Purpose:
-[] Diplomacy
-[] Trade
--[] Stone: You have a small amount of surplus stone left over. You have heard they hunger for it in crumbling Lond Daer and ever-besieged Umbar.
-[] Exploration (Must pick an Explore option)
NOTE: While expeditions are plenty modular already, they CAN be twisted a lot more -- say, a Diplomatic expedition that later becomes a trading journey in the second leg. This is simply not shown here since the Expedition section is complicated enough already, but can be set up if you wish to do so. If you have any concerns, feel free to ask, and don't be afraid to play around with it.
[] Build a Ship: Since you have in your employ a Shipwright, you may begin the process of building another ship to tame the waves. Colonies with sizeable fleets are a powerful force upon the waves -- and may even send their fleets to battle in service of the King for great rewards. -[] Cannibalize Ships: Having no Shipyard or permanant source of wood, you will need to break down some of the fourteen ships which brought you here (which are not battle-worthy and cannot hold enough supplies to travel far) in order to construct a proper Ship. It will take 5 ships to make one Ship. This will mean less ships to ferry future colonists or establish regular local trading routes. Cannibalizing will take a turn, and construction will take another.
QM ANNOUNCEMENT: No votes not in plan form will be accepted. There is a TWENTY-FOUR HOUR moratorium before voting can begin. No votes before this time will be counted.
Reaction posts and Omakes are rewarded.
*Lit: 'The Wizard', archaic Adunaic. When used as a proper noun, a name for Sauron.
Far away from the eyes of men, dark in the tales of Durin's folk, and bitter in the memories of the Elves, the wreck of Eregion lay mired in pale ruin. The trunks of great trees stood without their green crowns and no flowers took shelter under their boughs. Lesser trees huddled together as soldiers around a campfire, for they would never match the splendor of their ancients. It was a country of scars and silence, only the faint calls of stange birds cutting through the chill air. Not even the cry of the wind rang out in Eregion, for the land itself remembered the horror and betrayal.
A stranger passing through would know discomfort, and dark dreams fell upon all who lingered too long. The sun was dim, even on a summer's day, and warmth faded from thought. A thick mist lay upon the land, and here and there great hills rose up, appearing like islands in a grey sea. Great works of stone were set upon the summits of these hills, and none were whole. The great forges and workshops of the elves were all dark and cold, never to be lit again. Edifices and statues were hewn or torn down, or marked with evil symbols and words of malice and cruelty in the Black Speech.
In the very heart of Eregion, a deep valley sat surrounded by steep cliffs and near-mountains of grey rock, where no life dared dwell and no river ran. Two pairs of great gates still stood at the southern entrance, the walls flanking them long cast down and their doors, portcullises, and bars smashed inwards. Cálennyn, they were once called, the Gates of Light: it was said that Celebrimbor named them such for through them shown the lights of the hundreds of forge-fires within the valley.
The ever-present mist writhed and seethed in the valley, as if unfelt winds marked the motions of armies long dead. The ground was black with the signs of a great and terrible fire, and the carved stone of the road and walls was split and scattered. In the center of the valley, the mist abruptly halted and circled a half-league away from a single tower, split in two down the center. Here, Sauron fell upon Celebrimbor, demanding in all his fury and rage the location of the Three, and tore the secrets of the Seven and Nine from the smith's tongue.
But a little further beyond, past the northern, narrower, unguarded entrance to the valley, past the furthest excursion of the forest and past the quiet streams flowing out of the earth, a small golden band lay under grass and soil, unadorned and unnoticed. Whether deliberately hidden or cast aside in fright, this ring laid quiet during the burning of Eregion, and no evil thing had touched it. Far from a great ring, it was a lesser- a step on the road to greatness, but still a remarkable creation. Deep within Eregion it rested, unnoticed and forgotten.
Eregion, once the forest of crafters and smiths, now was only a place of cold anger.
Scheduled vote count started by Telamon on Feb 3, 2021 at 6:48 AM, finished with 90 posts and 42 votes.
47
[X] Plan Laying the Foundations
-[X] Construction
--[X] Build A Shaping Hall.
---[X] Ûrîphêl
--[X] Build A Shipyard.
-[X] Options (8)
-[X] Defence
--[X] Scout Gundabad.
---[X] Barazîr
--[X] Search For Signs of Gundabad's Influence.
-[X] Diplomacy
--[X] Send An Envoy To Rivendell.
--[X] Send An Envoy to Brun Gledd. (Write-In, see below.)
--[X] The Lord of the Tower.
---[X] Write-In: (Imrazôr) ---[X] The League of Enedwaith
---[X] We will attempt to broker a lasting peace settlement between Tharbad, the men of Brun Gledd, and the local Middle Men, To do so, we will create a league in which all of the major stakeholders have representation, and can resolve disputes, raise concerns to be decided mutually. We shall form a League of free Men.
---[X] Tharbad will end the extractative tributes it levies from its subjects through fear and main force - they shall become League members, subordinate but with rights.
---[X] The sentinels of Tharbad may still ask for less penurious contributions for the defence they provide - official League contributions.
---[X] As Tharbad helps us to fight Gundabad, Târ Nîlon will pay League contributions also, in coin and also through lending our skilled crafts, and our ships. We will also pledge rebuild Tharbad's wall next year, once they have joined the League.
---[X] Through trade with us, and through us the rest of the North, Tharbad should be no worse off and will in time actually grow far wealthier by trade, as we shall do also.
---[X] Brun Gledd will join the League, agree to provide at least some token contributions for its common defence as a show of good will. In return, they will remain independent, their brothers will gain in freedom, and in years to come we will trade together and girt their warriors in steel.
---[X] Braelor of the Enedwaithrim and the Warden of Tharbad shall swear a binding oath of peace, for themselves and their heirs unto the tenth generation, under our gaze and in the sight of Eru and the Vala.
---[X] Raise the rising spectre of Mt Gundabad, sharing Barazîr's findings, and that free Men standing together for the common defence is the only way forward now that the thread from the Shadow is greater than it has been in a millenium.
---[X] Make it clear to both sides that this is the best deal they are likely to get. For Tharbad, raise the fear that we will go to the King and negotiate with the next Warden, as well as of Mt Gundabad. For Brun Gledd, focus their minds with the prospect that this is their best and only chance of a settlement which does not end with them as the feudal subjects of some Westron prince.
---[X] Try to negotiate firmly, but don't play such hardball that if a lesser settlement is possible which is still in the spirit of this, we can't agree on it.
-[X] Exploration
--[X] Explore Enedwaith
--[X] The Gwathlo
-[X] Seafaring
--[X] Plan An Expedition ---[X] Inzilbeth Seastrider ---[X] The Pillar of Heaven
---[x] Gather a Volunteer Crew
---[X] Elf-Friendly Colonies: Pelargir to Edhellond, to Lond Daer. (Costs 1 supplies)
---[X] The Three Jewels: Forlond, Harlond, and Mithlond (Costs 1 supplies)
---[X] Trade & Diplomacy: (Trading Stone with Lond Daer, building ties with all, and investigating what they might like to trade on future trips.)
[X] Plan Surveying the Land -[X] Build A Shipyard: To properly utilize the Shipwright you brought with you, you begin construction on a great shipyard where vessels in the Númenórean style may be built. -[X] Build A Shaping Hall: A domed hall of cast stone, where the Shapers may plan, gather, and study. Most every colony has one. It would allow for a greater variety of construction projects, they assure you, and allow for several projects to be worked on at once. (Grows Shaper Influence) --[X] Uriphel -[X] Scout Gundabad: Beyond the Misty Mountains lies a mountain the dwarves mourn in their hearts. Evil stirs there now. Send rangers to scout the Mountain, and see what wakes in the north. A sizeable population of your people support doing this -- 4 Speakers are behind it. --[X] Barazir -[X] Search For Signs of Gundabad's Influence: There are whispers. Shadows in the dark. Shapes in the waters. Eyes in the forests. Evil awake in the lands of men. Orcs are about all Eriador, from the wide woods of Minhiriath to the ruins of Eregion. Seek them, and uncover their vile purpose. (Takes Two Turns) -[X] Send An Envoy to Brun Gledd: Several leagues north of the city lies Brun Gledd, a town built into and under six seperate hills. It was dug by the dwarves long ago, but it's first name is now long lost, and it is ruled by the Enedwaithrim and their aging lord Braelor. Send an envoy to break words with the Middle-Men. -[X] Send An Envoy To Rivendell: Imladris, or Rivendell, is an elvish stronghold deep in the heartlands of Eriador. Founded and ruled by the Elf-Lord Elrond Halfelven, it serves as a bastion of wisdom and learning in these later days of the world, projecting Elvish might into all eastern Eriador. The elves of Rivendell are force to be reckoned with, and are great traders and loremasters besides. It would not be unwise to make their acquaintance. A very large portion of your people support doing this -- 6 Speakers are behind it. 1 is stringently opposed, representing the farmers. -[X] Ironbark: In the deeps of the Iron Forest dwells an ent, an old thing with old eyes. He is no foe, not yet. But he is no friend of men, you do not think. Not anymore. Break words with him, and see if the strength of oak and yew might be bent in friendship. (requires hero) --[X] Imrazor -[X] Explore Enedwaith: There is still much in the lands around your city that you do not know. Send searchers to find valuable natural resources or ancient treasures, and map your new home fully. A sizeable share of your people support doing this -- 3 Speakers are behind it. -[X] The Gwathlo: You have made contact with the master of the Gwathlo, and the ford is held, as it has been for ten thousand lifetimes of the small men, by Númenór. If you so wish it, your men may pass beyond the ford, and see how Minhiriath has changed in ten centuries. The men of Tharbad speak of myraid towns and villages, and of civilizations flourishing in the wild. Venture past the Greyflood, and see what has become of these lands. -[X] Plan An Expedition: ---[X] The Pillar of Heaven ---[X] Inzilbeth Seastrider ---[X] (Special) (Requires Inzilbeth) Reunite the Crew of the Pillar: Inzilbeth's old crew have been sailing the rivers and serving as an impromptu city guard. Have them trade the sword for the seaspray. (Temporarily disbands the Seastriders) --[X] The Mariner's Route: This path travels from Lond Daer to Romenna on the Blessed Isle, and finishes at Pelargir. (Costs 1 supplies) --[X] Trade ---[X] Stone: You have a small amount of surplus stone left over. You have heard they hunger for it in crumbling Lond Daer and ever-besieged Umbar.
[X] Build A Barracks: Not just a clearing where the swords are kept, but a building made for soldiers to sleep. A necessity in transforming the militia into a viable City Guard.
[X] Build A Granary: A large domed building for the storage of food and other supplies. Resources would necessitate it be built from wood, but it would insulate the colony against hard winters and short harvests. (2 turns) - [X] Imrazor
[X] Establish Pastures: Grain is well and good, but some among your smallholders have been aching to purchase sheep and goats in large numbers from the Middle-Men, that they might establish their own herds. Stake out plots of land where they may graze. (will reduce possible construction projects by one) A decent population of your people support doing this -- 3 Speakers are behind it.
[X] Scout Gundabad: Beyond the Misty Mountains lies a mountain the dwarves mourn in their hearts. Evil stirs there now. Send rangers to scout the Mountain, and see what wakes in the north. A sizeable population of your people support doing this -- 4 Speakers are behind it.
[X] Search For Signs of Gundabad's Influence: There are whispers. Shadows in the dark. Shapes in the waters. Eyes in the forests. Evil awake in the lands of men. Orcs are about all Eriador, from the wide woods of Minhiriath to the ruins of Eregion. Seek them, and uncover their vile purpose. (Takes Two Turns)
[X] The Lord of the Tower: At the close of your terse meeting, the Warden of Tharbad made you an offer: the tribute of all the lands south of the Gwathlo, which he currently holds, or claims to hold. Implicit in this offer was a desire to keep the affairs of Middle-Earth between those who rule on Middle-Earth. As is often said in the colonies of Númenór, "Êphal îdôn Yôzâyan, Êphalak îdôn ka-Bâr"-- Númenór is distant and the King is far away. You perceived something of his true heart in this discussion, and understand that you might have more leverage with the master of the ford than first believed.
-[X] Accept his offer
[X] Send An Envoy To Rivendell: Imladris, or Rivendell, is an elvish stronghold deep in the heartlands of Eriador. Founded and ruled by the Elf-Lord Elrond Halfelven, it serves as a bastion of wisdom and learning in these later days of the world, projecting Elvish might into all eastern Eriador. The elves of Rivendell are force to be reckoned with, and are great traders and loremasters besides. It would not be unwise to make their acquaintance. A very large portion of your people support doing this -- 6 Speakers are behind it. 1 is stringently opposed, representing the farmers.
[X] Ironbark: In the deeps of the Iron Forest dwells an ent, an old thing with old eyes. He is no foe, not yet. But he is no friend of men, you do not think. Not anymore. Break words with him, and see if the strength of oak and yew might be bent in friendship. (requires hero) - [x] Uruphel
[X] The Misty Mountains: The Misty Mountains which straddle the spine of Eriador are some of the tallest mountains in Middle-Earth. From the great outposts of the dwarves to the deep caves of the goblin-kings, there are many secrets to be found amid the snowy peaks. You send men into the high mountains to explore and map them further. (2/6)
[X] The Land of the Ringmakers: Eregion, to your north, was once one of the great Elvish realms until it's destruction by the Dark Lord in the War of the Elves and Sauron long ago. Here dwelt the elf-smiths whom the Enemy tricked into creating the Rings of Power, and amid the ruins of their halls and cities lie ancient artifacts from the glory days of the Elves. You send explorers and riders into this land to map it further. (2/6)
[X] Plan A mixed expedition -[X] Build A Shipyard: To properly utilize the Shipwright you brought with you, you begin construction on a great shipyard where vessels in the Númenórean style may be built. -[X] Build A Shaping Hall: A domed hall of cast stone, where the Shapers may plan, gather, and study. Most every colony has one. It would allow for a greater variety of construction projects, they assure you, and allow for several projects to be worked on at once. (Grows Shaper Influence) --[X] Uriphel -[X] Scout Gundabad: Beyond the Misty Mountains lies a mountain the dwarves mourn in their hearts. Evil stirs there now. Send rangers to scout the Mountain, and see what wakes in the north. A sizeable population of your people support doing this -- 4 Speakers are behind it. --[X] Barazir -[X] Search For Signs of Gundabad's Influence: There are whispers. Shadows in the dark. Shapes in the waters. Eyes in the forests. Evil awake in the lands of men. Orcs are about all Eriador, from the wide woods of Minhiriath to the ruins of Eregion. Seek them, and uncover their vile purpose. (Takes Two Turns) -[X] Send An Envoy to Brun Gledd: Several leagues north of the city lies Brun Gledd, a town built into and under six seperate hills. It was dug by the dwarves long ago, but it's first name is now long lost, and it is ruled by the Enedwaithrim and their aging lord Braelor. Send an envoy to break words with the Middle-Men. -[X] Send An Envoy To Rivendell: Imladris, or Rivendell, is an elvish stronghold deep in the heartlands of Eriador. Founded and ruled by the Elf-Lord Elrond Halfelven, it serves as a bastion of wisdom and learning in these later days of the world, projecting Elvish might into all eastern Eriador. The elves of Rivendell are force to be reckoned with, and are great traders and loremasters besides. It would not be unwise to make their acquaintance. A very large portion of your people support doing this -- 6 Speakers are behind it. 1 is stringently opposed, representing the farmers. -[X] Ironbark: In the deeps of the Iron Forest dwells an ent, an old thing with old eyes. He is no foe, not yet. But he is no friend of men, you do not think. Not anymore. Break words with him, and see if the strength of oak and yew might be bent in friendship. (requires hero) --[X] Imrazor -[X] Explore Enedwaith: There is still much in the lands around your city that you do not know. Send searchers to find valuable natural resources or ancient treasures, and map your new home fully. A sizeable share of your people support doing this -- 3 Speakers are behind it. -[X] The Gwathlo: You have made contact with the master of the Gwathlo, and the ford is held, as it has been for ten thousand lifetimes of the small men, by Númenór. If you so wish it, your men may pass beyond the ford, and see how Minhiriath has changed in ten centuries. The men of Tharbad speak of myraid towns and villages, and of civilizations flourishing in the wild. Venture past the Greyflood, and see what has become of these lands. -[X] Plan An Expedition:
--[X] The Pillar of Heaven
--[X] Inzilbeth Seastrider
--[X] (Special) (Requires Inzilbeth) Reunite the Crew of the Pillar
--[X] Custom Route: Lond Daer for Trade, Lindon and Pelargir for Diplomacy.
--[X] Trade and Diplomacy
---[X] Stone
Elemir Master of Anfalas frowned as he read letters from the lesser colonies east of Pelargir. Tales of Orc and wolves. Tales of a great shadow...
The lands of Lossarnach to their north bordered the great Anduin, and were oft first hit by ranging orcs, though thank Eru, that number had sharply declined in the centuries following The Great Enemies, breaking at Tharbad. That was until word from Anórien faded without a trace during the great winter, he remembered from when he was but a child.
"You fear the return of the Great Enemy, old friend." His noble neighbor, Anardil Master of Pinnath Gellin asked as he warmed his hands by the fire.
"That I do." He sighed. "When word from Anórien ended so long ago, my father feared it heralded 'his' return. That Orcs have pushed so far into Lossarnach of all fiefs only proves his words true." He rubbed his brow. "Has there been much word from the home Isles?" Anardil only grimmaced. "It is seen as a colonial affair. The guilds expect us to continue to pay our tribute as is, and threaten sanction should we delay."
Elemir grimaced in turn. "What of the Haven?" Anardil only laughed. "The Sealord of Pelargir despite his piety, owes his position and favor, to the guilds. He can neither spend men or resources to remove the spread till they reach his lands, unless he seeks to enslave more of the Drúedain or mountain men, than our grandfathers already have." They both looked darkly into the fireplace at that. A necessary evil, it had been claimed, one that the lesser men would welcome in due time...
"At least Lord Celeborn has offered aid to any that call for it." Castamir master of Andrast said mulling over a cider native to his people. "Though it grinds me so, should worst come to worst, we will make that call." The three of you nodded at that.
"And Eru save us, should the Kings Men take notice..."
Edit - my interpretation of the southern colonies, is that may of the fiefs in gondor were founded during the Numenorean era. But the Sealord of Pelargir was the overseer of the region. The lesser colonies barely even number a few thousand put together. But it helps explain how come the third age, Gondor could field armies near half a million strong, despite only taking half of the ships that fled Numenor/those that already lived in Pelargir.
Their conscern about the kings men taking notice, is that the King will take direct control over things in Middle Earth, should he find their performance lacking. Much like the british government and the New England colonies after the disaster that was King Phillips War.
