Angmar

Zorzimril's eyes blazed as she shouted at her men to stop the ranger, she knew it was one of the loathed Dunedain. He was tall and dressed in the colors of the forest, masked and hooded. The wargs snarled on their chains as the horses stomped and whinnied as one of them lost his tether and was stolen by the ranger. 

The victory was a small one yet the celebration was intense, there was nothing like the hate between those close and the Trev Duvardain were at war with their own clan. Smoke rose in thin tendrils from Donnovail, an ancient city in the heart of Fai-a-Khro that they had forced the Gallorg out of. Zorzimril licked the grease from her thumb, enjoying a slice from a haunch of boar. The meat was tough and stringy but it was something other than infernal peas. All the side dishes were made up of the legume, which had been cultivated with success in the land outside the city.

Stone colored eyes stared out at the barren wastes, lit by the flickering pale lightning in the ashen sky. Zôrzimril watched for movement, for her scouts have reported members of Trev Gallorg moving through the area. Those spineless cowards, afraid to go to war, hiding out in their dung hole village ready to flee to the arms of the enemy. She sneered at the thought, some had run down Ram Duath already though Augaire still stood. It was well fortified in but soon it would fall once her father rallied all of the Duvardain together.

Osyth closed his eyes.

As he opened them again, he let out a sigh and stretched his long muscular legs until his toes broke the surface of the water. He wriggled his toes and grinned at them, before leaning back on the edge of the bath. “Life is good” he murmured, the warm water massaging his thick muscles as the scent of soap filled his nostrils.

Leothross opened his eyes with a start. He must have fallen asleep. He had not meant to. He sat just where he had the night before, perched near the edge of the cliff that their camp was atop. It was still dark, he had not slept for long. He rose quietly, and fetched one of his books from his pack. As he returned he glanced at the others, hoping that they were getting more sleep than he.

There was no freshness in this morning. The air did not carry the sweetness of growing things, awakening again to the sun. No, it was just barren; barren and dry. A foul layer of dust covered the ground, the buildings, and everything, almost overnight, it seemed. But this was not even the light, and gentle dust the clouded courtyard in front of the Pony in Bree. It was not even that rich brown dust that could be found outside the Old Forest. This was black, and choking, and filled the air with an evil smell.

Leothross folded up the parchment map and slid it into his breast pocket. As far as he could tell that pass would be the best. There were no orcs or Angmarim, by all accounts, though such a thing was very strange. Was there something else there that kept them away? Surely it couldn’t be worse alerting the enemy that was camped about the borders. In any case, he had confidence in Zargodon and Acurith. They were both seasoned warriors, he thought.

The sun had sunk beneath the far off mountains of Emyn Uial by now, bathing the sky in fantastic shades of orange, scarlet, and purple. Esteldin lay somewhere beneath him, hidden among the hills and trees. The world seemed at peace. It was hard to believe the fear that had truly taken hold. Unless, of course, you looked to the north. The northern sky seemed darker than it ought to have been. As if a storm, was constantly building, and would soon break.

They had made good time today. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon, but they were already safe inside Esteldin. It was hard to believe they were actually on their way. True, the real journey would begin sometime tomorrow. There was certainly an increase in goblins, orcs, and other foul creatures here – as everywhere else. But at least here, the rangers knew of them, and could point out a way around them. Once they really reached Angmar, their knowledge ceased. Nobody chose to go there.

Leothross slowed his steed to a walk as the road wound out of the gorges and the Last Homely House came into view. He had visited the halls of Imladris several times already in the last few months, but no matter how many times he visited, he could not help but catch his breath at the sight. The night was already deepening, but it no longer held the same fear as it had in the canyons of the Trollshaws.