(As continued)
“Halt!” cried the orc, peering down at the massed horde of frosted Hillmen. The olden banner of Angmar was hoisted highest above the other two, the five black trees of Rhudaur, and the Black Eagle of Clan Munso. Gorlakon stood proudly infront of his warband, cheiftains and champions surrounded him.
“The Warriors of Rhudaur have come to pay homage, to the true rulers or Arnor.” yelled Gorlakon, up to the orc sentry. With a grumble, the orc went off to find a superior, who came several moments with a small compliment of orc troops. They opened the gates to Gorlakon and his Warband, unaware of the warrants of death they just signed. Disgruntled, cold, and eager for blood, Gorlakon and the men that survived the elements of the frozen wastes, marched eagerly through the gates, welcoming the stale stench of orc to fill their lungs.
The orcs watched them warily, though were reassured that the Hillmen were friends, much like the ones south of their home. Carn Dum, although long abandoned by it’s previous master, still held a level of dread, thanks to the tribe of orcs who claimed it as their home these recent years. Carn Dum was not as crowded as he thought it would be, something was strange about seeing such a large fortress-city so deserted. Gorlakon and his Warband were guided to the center of Carn Dum, while the sparse orc garrison was patrolling the walls. Soon after, though, a large man, escorted by a small company of large orcs, was brought before the Rhudauran Warlord.
This man stood at least seven foot tall, armoured in a fine iron plate, from head to toe. He had a large sword across his back, though it seemed to be more decorative rather than meant for actual use, as the mace slung at his hip could attest. Gorlakons men bristled at the sight of him, as though an odd chill had come all of the sudden.
Gorlakon himself was armoured in bronze, though the armour his bore was crafted so that he may remain agile enough to fight in the shield wall. But unlike the other man, Gorlakon stood at a stout five foot, five inches. Gorlakon walked forward, his head tilting backward the closer he got to the armoured man, though stopped at a respectable distance. He was silent, as was the other man. They measured eachother with an iron stare, which lasted mere seconds, but felt like an eternity.
The tall man lifted his hands, and twisted off his helmet to reveal an oddly pale colour to his skin. He offered Gorlakon a forced smile, and gestured to him and his Warband, who shuffled in their place, too eager. “It is a pleasure, that you bring such loyal servants from so far. You’ll do us well, to help us push against our enemy in former Arthedain. Come, we shall discuss this in the hall.” said the Numenorean..
Though neither he, nor Gorlakon moved.
