Darkness enveloped the land, that much was certain. No moon nor star shone within the night sky, instead there was a shroud of eerie cloud, coloured a deep red which gave the illusion of fire or some form of sorcery. None of it was natural, which could be said about the entire land. This was the silent realm, dead and decaying. This was Angmar; home of the Iron Crown.
At the foot of a cave stood two figures, their full attention focused upon the terrain before them. The silence was only broken by the trickling of water, pooling into a foul smelling mere corrupted by all manner of filth below. Each man stood leaning upon their longbows, wrapped within waxed green cloaks to offer some degree of comfort whilst exposed to the elements. This was the only form of comfort they dared indulge in, for a fire or any other welcome offering would risk doom upon their hidden encampement.
“The far left, beyond the clearing” one man spoke in a hushed tone. He subtly reached for an arrow within his quiver encouraging his companion to do the same.
“I see nothing” the second man spoke, holding his nocked bow loosely below his waist. “What is it?”
The man first to speak remained silent for a long while, before replacing the arrow within its quiver. No words needed to be spoken, the gesture alone sufficed in saying that it was a false alarm. From then on, hours passed and their watch remained undisturbed, until another man clad in grey and green emerged from the cave.
“Arthenion” he whispered, “You are needed below.”
The one named Arthenion lifted his longbow and turned towards the mouth of the cave, his duty being taken by Dagnal, the man who recalled him. Dagnal was freshly trained and had much to learn, however Arthenion had overseen his teaching personally and had no concerns relinquishing his vigil to him. Silently and slowly Arthenion made his way through the cave and into a tunnel. He felt along the stone walls to guide his way through the darkness, taking care with each step. Eventually, light could be seen ahead. There, surrounding a fire, sat several men dressed in similar garb who hailed the new arrival.
“Arthenion” said an older looking man who rose to his feet offering his hand. They clasped each other's arms as a form of greeting. “How fares the watch?”
“Uneventful” he said, gruffly. “Marauding wargs and other wildlife roam the land, but nothing of any consequence”. Arthenion lowered his hood, allowing a mass of scruffy black hair to cascade down to his shoulders. He brushed the hair from his face, revealing his shining grey eyes and rough-hewn features before the fire. The man to whom he spoke as his mentor and friend, Vintar. They had been on many excursions together in the past and had a mutual fondness for one another. When word reached Arthenion that Vintar was to lead an expedition to Angmar, Arthenion simply couldn’t refuse.
“Scouts report a band of Orcs manoeuvring through the passage of Himbar to Nan Gurth” said Vintar, spreading out a makeshift map of Angmar upon a nearby stone. “We believe they are planning on using this as a funnel to move their forces closer towards the North Downs.”
“To what end?” asked Arthenion.
“We cannot say. A full-scale invasion of the land at this time would be foolhardy, but there is something more at work. Here…” Vintar pointed to a spot on the map titled Barad Gularan. “This is where the forces are mustering, the tower. Something is going to happen soon. We need to know when and where the enemy will strike.”
Arthenion studied the map for a brief moment. The tower of Barad Gularan was a place no ranger dared set foot. Evil and sorcery surrounded it, not just living creatures but magics and power said to be wielded by the Witch-king himself. He pondered for a moment, stroking the stubble upon his chin before asking “What is the plan?”
“The plan” continued Vintar, drawing his finger along the map to the West, where a small clearing was drawn in the mountains between Imlad Balchorth and Nan Gurth “Is to scout the tower from a distance. It is a dangerous path, but one that we must take to ensure the expedition's success” he paused for a moment, placing a hand upon Arthenion’s shoulder. “I need you on this one, my old friend. A group of seven shall set forth on the morrow. We will travel light and should reach the mountain pass four days from now.”
Arthenion fell silent, turning his gaze from the map to Vintar. This would not be an easy journey, nor would it be safe by any means. He knew the importance of the mission not by Vintar’s request, but by his overall demeanour. He could tell when his friend was troubled and tense, based upon his overall body language and tone of voice. A tell-tale sign of danger being afoot. “I shall prepare at once” he said, nodding to the others gathered around the fire before making his way deeper into the cave.
