[CaptainofDespair]

The commotion of battle wafted on the faint trickles of a dying wind; a wind left bereft of honor, and exhausted beyond all means. The sounds of the horrific screams of the dying and wounded, the crackling of a thousand fires, and the collapsing ramparts and towers as projectiles of all sorts bombarded and ricocheted about, blasted into the deafened ears of all. But more so, the ghastly aromas of death and gore flooded the nostrils of the masses. The simple smell of a charred body pummeled and scorched by arrow and catapult shot, the scent of the blood-soaked dead, who have long since gone pale as their own fluids were drained and splashed across their rigid features, drove the carnal orcs insane with lust, fueling their passionate attacks. Some could not stand the carnage, as they staggered about the corpse-strewn field, and vomited in the pools of muck, earth, and blood.

And there sat a mounted Angoroth, upon a warhorse as black as a starless, moonless night, his cloak draped softly over its rear. He watched, with apparent pleasure, at the slaughter suffered to both enemy and ally. He smirked, staring up a reddened sky, a decaying sky, and pushed his boot heels into the hide of his beast, urging it forward. It carried his form forth, through the piles of bodies that had sprung up around the gateway, like moss upon a still stone. He was delighted to hear the crunch of bone underneath the hooves of his steed, wanting to laugh aloud. Upon a wain-rider chariot he spotted Ulrung, commanding his men for a push into the city, where the orcs had already spread like an infestation of rats, disgusting, vile, putrid rats. They had already breached the gates some time ago. As he approached, Ulrung himself pulled his horse all the nearer.

Before the Maiar could speak, Ulrung intervened. “What are your commands, milord? Shall I pursue the Elves inward?” Angoroth chuckled lightly. “Your initiative and ambition is great, Ulrung. That is why you are to finish the attack. I have business to attend to at the palace.” Ulrung nodded, knowing what his master had in mind for this ‘business’. “I am grateful to have your consideration, milord. I will carry on with the attack.” As he began to pull away from his young apprentice, the master uttered what would, in all probability, be his last words to the captain. “You will make a fine warlord, Ulrung. And now, I must depart you. I will take a contingent of my Easterling bodyguard to accompany me. Farewell, Captain, and bear the Dark Lord’s mission well.” The captain nodded once more, as his commander motioned for a few of his guards to follow him into the city’s core. Ulrung watched, for a moment, as his lord vanished beneath the ruined ramparts, and ventured beyond his eyes to the palace.

The city, as Angoroth silently rode through the unpopulated streets of the palace area, which the orcs had grazed as they ransacked the rest of Eregion’s jewel, looked as if it had been left for ruin and decay many centuries earlier. Its streets were filthy, covered in grime that must have felt alone, left to rule over a desolate place. The homes and shops seemed as if nothing had ever lived within, as if they merely were born from the earth, like the dwarves of human myth, and had now fallen into ruination. And so he trotted onward, past the fallen bodies, beyond the decrepit and toppled buildings, to the palace.

~*~

It seemed to Angoroth that he would be an honored guest. He had a royal welcoming committee waiting for him, as he arrived at the palace entrance. The elf, Maegisil, was standing there. Perhaps he would take him to his quest’s end. He shouted out to the counselor, “Ah, such a party has come to greet me, the dark one!” There was no response from the elf, who only silently, sullenly continued to stand firm. “You honor me well, with such invitations to your lands. I come to return the favor, dear elf! Now, kindly lead me to the Lord of the City. I have business with him.” To this, Maegisil now responded with, “Ha! A guest you are! And I treat my guests to the blade!” He laughed, somewhat wickedly. Perhaps there was promise in this one after all, the Maiar thought. “Do not make me slay you, elf. You are beneath my mission, and I only come to complete the circle, and bring the Oath to fruition.” The elf was silent, again, appearing unresponsive outwardly. “The ring, which I gave to you freely at the gates, is your salvation. It is the symbol of my protection. Do not throw it away.” Maegisil laughed, an undercurrent of sorrow visible in his tone, answering with, “Nothing will save the city, and my people, but your death!” The dark one merely smirked, and dismounted his horse, his guards following in suit. Stepping closer to the elf, he proposed something to him, a dark and sinister idea to most. “Abandon your duty to the city, for slaying me will do you no good. The orcs will consume your lord, your city, you…and your precious wife. Take my signet ring, and go with these soldiers of mine. They will escort you and your wife beyond the city, and into the woods. You may then do as you wish, but I advise you not to waste my freely given gift. The Creator will forgive you, for this destruction is not your doing.” Patiently, seeing no reason for great haste, he awaited the answer of the elf-lord Maegisil.