Lord Zeminoth

From the distance, over the horizon, the dark silhouettes of many thousands of troops could be seen, growing gradually closer as the forces of wrath and hell drew nearer to the Black Gate of Mordor. The barren land of Dagorlad became ruthlessly subject to the murderous hooves of 15,000 horses from Rohan, their tremendous sounds of warring might amplified by those of more hooves from other horses. But the thundering power of all slowed down to a calm, trotting pace as all armies drew nearer to the Dark Land of them all. A number of deadly leaders full of determination and hell-bent on dethroning the Dark Lord of Mordor marched his way, bringing with them immeasurable forces of both light and dark, who hand in hand would see the end of the Lord of the Black Tower.

Zeminoth rode side by side with Celica, his destructive staff in hand and morbid mind filled with his poisonous hate, wrought with the will to annihilate the enemies within Mordor and eradicate all of its inhabitants. A line was formed at the front of all armies; a line of riders. It was composed of the magical casters Celica and Zeminoth and their three sons, along with Zeminoth's general and lieutenant. They rode in a line, and whether mounted upon warg or horse, they would all be bringing the destruction of Mordor to its current dark lord. They were the shards of the shattered death.

All armies assembled, assimilated and more than ready for war marched death's way. Driven by blood or good will, benevolence or malevolence, seeds of grandeur or destruction, they were coming for the Dark Lord of Mordor...

The armies stopped once they were within range. Zeminoth, mounted upon his ghastly black stallion, whose purple eyes stared out over the mass of land like violet globes of abhorrent rage, looked over at the King of Harad, whose petty numbers were weakening considerably by the Ambassador of Sauron's relentless attacks. Zeminoth and the King of Harad had decided not to attack each other, since they shared a common, more terrible enemy. Yet the Witch-king of Angmar had also told this lord of the sandy realm that if he did not give up Narya willingly, it shall be taken by force.

To this, Zeminoth would hold true to.

He and his Army of Angmar and allies stood in formation, not moving any further towards the main land of darkness. They stood within perfect range of Sempai and his troops which were becoming gradually obliterated, able to attack him with ranged projectiles. And in the midst of the forces, catapults, trebuchets and ballistae were being loaded, able to get given huge fiery boulders due to the powerful Olog-hai that Zeminoth controlled. With this artillery, a large number of archers within all armies were lined up and loading arrows, fire at their tips.

The Army of Angmar held its same formation. The front line of the Army of Angmar was made up of scuta-bearing warriors. These were the 1,000 Angmar men warriors, who wielded pila and their broad tower shields. Their armor was thick, covered in chain mail and less plate mail. All troops of Angmar wore helmets, and behind the front line of troops were the 1,000 orc pikemen. Their long spears, their pikes, out-lengthed those of the Angmar men, for they were used for cavalry. These pikemen, too, were protected by thick armor. Behind the pikemen was the meat of the marching factory. 3,000 orc warriors, wielding maces, swords, axes and other brutish, barbarous weaponry of the melee. The orc warriors were the basic infantry. And the whole army of orcs were Great Orcs, the enhanced species of the orc race; stronger, taller, and more intelligent and durable.

In the midst of the whole force of orcs were 230 hill trolls, Olog-hai, acting as the army's shock troops. Their armor was black and very thick, featuring cuirasses, pauldrons and helmets, and wielding hammers and war clubs. The 300 corrupted dwarves wore black armor themselves, wielding axes and hammers. They were positioned with the orc warriors, though tightly set as a whole force, and indeed one of their own.

Marching at the side of the army was its cavalry: 700 orc warg riders and 300 chariots bearing more Angmar men. And 50 Barrow-wights, ghosts in another sense, were at the opposite side of the army. Opposite the cavalry. 62 orc engineers operated the artillery kept in the midst of the forces, and the two of these engineers were at the front of the forces of Angmar. Spaced out from each other at the front of the force, in front of the Angmar Men warriors yet behind the mounted leaders, were two gatling ballistae. They were repeating ballistae, able to fire standard arrows at rapid rates. The two orc engineers operated these.

1,000 archers stood behind the Angmar Men which made up the front line. Yet both forces changed formation: the men stepped back and the archers stepped out to the front line. As Angmar's 20 ballistae and 30 catapults were being loaded, the archers held their bows ready.

Celica De`Solav

Celica looked ahead, grimacing. She could see the fires that rose from the attacks. The oliphaunts were getting attacked. Many soldiers had been disposed of in the fight. The elf couldn’t believe the King of Harad had marched ahead. This was suicide. However, she knew there had to be something done to prevent this. Celica looked back and saw her forces approaching.

The cavalry was already there, the soldiers ready for battle. Off in the distance were all of Gondor and Ettenmoors’ archers. They all ran forth in perfect formation, their thirst for battle quite visible. The elves were high spirited as well, their bows drawn and ready. The lands felt very cold, no doubt caused by the dark lord.

The Eye of Sauron was a short distance away, the immensely tall tower erect behind the gates. Fell beasts could also be made out, along with volleys of catapults and arrows that headed right for the tiny army assembled at the gate. Celica looked up and was satisfied to hear the familiar cry of eagles. However, even they knew not to simply burst forth yet, stalling in the air.

Celica turned to Zeminoth.

“Right. We’ve got to help him.”

With that, the elf made a move to dash forth. She knew it was probably quite dangerous, but with Vilya, it would prove simple since she could hold back most volleys.

Lord Zeminoth

The Lord-Maiar of Angmar was grinning at the petty army getting butchered by Mordor, anticipating the coming attack from Angmar. The putrid horse below him steamed out mucus with each flare of its nostrils, being but one of the many mind-controlled slaves of His Malignance. Zeminoth was ready and willing to start the barrage against the King of Harad and its army, and would have prepared to do so if it wasn't for the notice of Army of the Ettenmoors' formation. Forming to attack. Celica... Of course. She was of the light of the Valar; she was elf-kind. She knew not the change of mind flourishing the morality of the Sorcerer of Malevolence. She knew not his plan to strike down the King of Harad in all horrendous attacks.

As the Lady of the Ettenmoors made a move to dash forward and aid the Lord of Sand, Zeminoth realized immediately he'd have to act quickly, rather than try to chase up with a member of a species that could talk to the horse itself to make it ride fast. Thus as she made her courageous move, the dark wizard swiftly seized her by the arm. The sudden grasp of her limb and her quick dash would cause her to become jerked right off the horse. With his hand still clenching her arm, the Lord of Angmar hastily brought her back to seat in front of him near his lap, keeping her from getting dropped to the ground...

With Celica now seated at the front of the horse in the Lord's lap, Zeminoth loosened the grip on her arm and held a composed appearance. The hate on his countenance, the morbid formation of his lips, changed to produce a grinning Maiar of perversion. He smiled warmly into Celica's face, holding an emerald gaze with her two globes of beautiful seas.

"Steady, dear. The King of Harad possesses the Ring of Narya. Let's let him die so we can finally take it and use it against the Dark Lord..."

Krios

After a few moments the half-elven assassin the pledged his skills to the knight just the other day reached the gate as the arrows were flying around he had his swords drawn of course the one in his left hand was named ruby due to the ruby color of the blade that glows and quietly hummed when he is in danger from an enemy at the moment it was glowing bright red and was humming very loudly the one in his right hand didn't seem to have any thing special other then elvish writing that spelled brotherhood on the blade. Once Krios reached the gate he worked his way to the commander to find out what they were waiting for.

"What’s going on why did we stop here?"

Talondir

~The sounds of drums could be heard for miles, as they echoed ripping through the thick air caused by the retched weather conditions. The armies controlled by Lord Zeminoth and Lady Celica De`Solav was arriving into the realm of Mordor, as they arrived 9 Fell Beasts could be seen in the sky flying over the army and checking its ranks. As the beasts flew over they saw Lord Zeminoth signal, the signal was for them to move to the back of the armies. As the beasts were lead by the malignant Witch King of Angmar, the tragedy of the skies flew swiftly through the murky air of Mordor. The Witch King of Angmar flew over the armies in his dreaded battle amour, with the famous crown put upon his head, this crown alone strikes fear into enemies that are unlucky enough to come across his path. The witch king gripped his reins tightly and let out the shriek which cut through the air before battle. As the Dark Shadow shrieked the figure beside him dressed in his blue robes gripped his staff tightly, with this the Fell Beasts finally reached the back of the armies.~

~The Fell Beast lands in a perfect formation, with the Captain of Despair at the front and the rest in a triangle shape behind him. They all extend there neck and let out a gruesome roar, as they roared you could see into the mouths of the beasts. There jagged, chip teeth were shown, there mouths eventually closed, as it closed the neck come back and just went into a relaxing position for each beast. You could here the retched noise of the men that Commander Sempai is leading, their screams and their commands could be heard through out Mordor. As Talondir watched the army he looked beyond it, as he looked he saw the notorious volcano of Mordor, as he looked the fireballs could be seen flying out from it at a Varity of angles. All of a sudden Talondir’s attention was diverted by the signal of Lady Celica De`Solav, as some of her legions marched forward Talondir’s gaze was fixed upon them.~

Celica De`Solav

Celica only managed to gasp as she was yanked back and clearly off her horse. The next thing she knew, she was sitting atop something very high, that being Zeminoth’s horse. The elf’s first concern was her mare, which had galloped off further away before skidding to a stop. It turned back and paused for a moment, quite confused. However, the mare trotted back. Celica then scowled and turned back to Zeminoth. Holding back the urge to whack him with her staff, she decided to hear him out.

Pondering his words, she looked to the battlefield. With a glare, the elf turned back to face Zeminoth.

“What?! We can’t do that! That’s- Zeminoth, I have to help.”

Celica looked over his shoulder, where her own elves were ready to go forth. They thought like Celica, and also wanted to help. However, was the King of Harad the right person for Narya? The elf looked back at the army that was getting slaughtered. What was she thinking?! Celica made a move to get down from the horse, muttering to herself.

Lord Zeminoth

Noticing that she was making a move to get down, Zeminoth slightly tightened his grip on her and held her to keep her from going. When she would get down, her words and expression clearly suggested that she would simply be getting back on her mare and charging towards the Black Gate. She could only get off his lap once she realized what had to be done. That Narya had to be in their hands.

"Wait... Look, we need that ring to beat the Ambassador. You march to that gate, you can only expect defeat. Instead, we should hit the King of Harad with our own projectiles, and I can ride to collect the fallen ring. With you keeping me safe from Mordor's arrows and catapults with Vilya. Otherwise, we march to defeat. That ring is better off on my finger. You know as well as I do that I as a Maiar will be able to put it to greater use. So...do not march to the Black Gate, my ally...and my Lady of the Ettenmoors... Do you understand what must be done?"

Krios

Krios stood there watching the arrows flying at the men at the gate he was in a spot of relative safety from the arrows and siege weapons he then spotted the other armies standing back seemingly just watching the Army of Harad get pounded by the army of Mordor.

"Why aren't they helping us? Why are they just standing there?"

Celica De`Solav

Celica looked away, no doubt angered at Zeminoth’s words. She sighed and looked back. More soldiers fell. Inside her mind, the elf cursed the fool that marched up alone with a tiny army. What was he thinking? Sure he had Narya, but it was Mordor he was facing. It was painfully apparent that the dark lord was merely toying with him, his entire force still safe behind the walls.

Celica closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. This was a tough decision. She knew she’d only have the support of her elves when it came to this decision. That would land her in the same hole the King of Harad had fallen into. However, there would be a glimmer of hope left if Zeminoth fought with Narya. Then would the King’s efforts be in vain?

Celica used Zeminoth as support and hopped off the horse. Instead of mounting her mare, she simply walked back into the ranks of her soldiers. This was mostly out of frustration. The elf’s conscience repeatedly screamed to help, but the other half knew it was hopeless. Celica sat down on the ground between a few of her soldiers. They looked at her, confused. An elf jogged up to her, bow in hand.

“What is the matter? Are we not going to help?”

Celica looked up, sighing.

“What is there to help, Elendil?”

Elendil looked back, grimacing.

“Yes, but-”

“I know what you’re thinking. But that man made a mistake when he set out alone.”

Elendil looked down at Celica’s hand.

“But, my lady, you have Vilya!”

Celica looked at him dully, “And he has Narya.”

Elendil fell silent. He also realized that not all the troops would go with the idea of helping. The Uruks didn’t even bother looking up. They were conversing among themselves, as if this was only a camp.

Talondir

The air felt thicker as Talondir took a deep breath, with his eyes fixated on Lord Zeminoth and Lady Celica De`Solav to see their next commands. With the army leaded by The Lord of the Desert being butchered by the vast army of Mordor, he looks upon them as if they were already dead. The Fell Beast took a breath, breathing a bit of smoke from his nose, with the Fell Beast long extended neck at full stretch it let out another roar. This time pushing a piece of air at such force the orcs in front felt it, while it roared it long tongue stretched out coming out of its mouth while its disorientated teeth was shown. An orc turned around and a flicker of fear passed through as he looked at a devoured looking monster.

As the beasts neck curled back up its spikes on the back of its neck was stroked by the cloaked figure. The eyes of Talondir were fixated else where for the time, as his head gently, his eyes turned towards the Witch king of Angmar. As he looked at the Immortal Slayer you could see he was consumed by his malevolence, as his eyes moved down the Lord of Kherad-zûl he could see the retched weapons he has equipped. While he was looking down the Witch King of Angmar the witch kings head turned slowly, as it turned the crown was facing Talondir. Not seeing any face of the Witch King because it was consumed by his hatred for man, as he looked straight at him the fear passed through the veins of Talondir, the fear made his back shiver like a ghost has just entered his body. While he looked upon the Lord of Kherad-zûl he could hear an abhorrent voice pass through the ears of himself.

Krios

Krios looked around at the small army he knew the moment they started for the black gate that it would be a losing battle unless their allies helped. After a few moments he looked back at the other armies that stood out of range of the battle and decided to find out what they were doing quickly Krios charged from the black gate doing his best to dodge the arrows till he got out of the battle he then made a mad streak towards the other armies. Upon reaching the other group he started looking for the generals of the armies to find out why they weren’t charging against Mordor.

Lord Zeminoth

Pleased to see Celica's understanding and agreement, Zeminoth turned his head back to the carnage ahead. The army that was becoming devastated by the wrath of the Lord of Darkness and his diabolic minions. The Sorcerer of Malevolence began to wonder when the Harad King would take his fall. The Lord of Angmar narrowed his eyelids slowly as he peered through the distance at the foul land of Mordor. No doubt, the Lidless Eye of the Dark Tower would simply meet the gazes of its soon-to-be destroyers. Yes. The tower would be crumbled to the ground once more. Dethroning the Ambassador of Sauron would destroy the last servant of Sauron to seat the throne of Mordor. Next in line would be a new lord for the instillation of the new world order. Alone or hand in hand, Mordor would receive its new lord or lords.

Zeminoth then thought back to Celica. She hadn't, of course, dealt with containing herself from aiding her natural brethren. Her fellow servants of the light. Zeminoth acknowledged this, understanding what she must be feeling. But he was only doing what he considered necessary. It was fortunate that she agreed with it. Eyes still ahead at the slaughter at Morannon, with blood spewing out at the black iron of the gate, Zeminoth spoke out to her.

"Once the King of Harad meets his death, I'll ride out with my warg riders. I'll need your support. The Dark Lord will simply focus his attacks on me, so you'll need to use your ring to hold back the projectiles. For as long as you can, which should be long enough for me to take Narya and return here. But first...let us give uncanny aid to our Dark Lord enemy and be rid of this Servant of Iluvatar..."

Celica De`Solav

Celica looked up and saw that her mare lowered its head and began brushing against her. The elf smiled and patted the horse before getting up. Elendil stood nearby, looking at Celica with concern. She turned to him.

“We’re getting Narya.”

It was as if all the elves gasped in unison. Celica sighed. She pointed at the army ahead.

“Look at them! They’re being crushed! Narya would be put to good use if used by a true mage.”

The elf turned and mounted her horse. She rode up alongside Zeminoth. However, a grimace still tainted her countenance.

“I…I’m ready.”

Krios

Krios approached Celica quickly he sheathed his swords and grabbed hold of the horse.

"Why are you not attacking the enemy what are you waiting for?"

He says extremely angered at what was going on.

Lord Zeminoth

Zeminoth turned his head to Celica, his countenance displaying the previous look of ill determination and slight spite once more. He took a moment to study his lover's expression, considering her feelings and making sure that he could see in her eyes she was willing to go up against a servant to the Valar. His assumption was proved positive by giving her a slow nod in acknowledgement. The nod followed with his head turning to his other side, giving a single look to General Kralkan who returned with a nod, understanding his master's signal perfectly. He turned to face the army, whilst Zeminoth looked back ahead at Morannon, no longer needing to look behind him. The presence of Krios was ignored with futility of his very existence, disregarding a peon to the battlefield. For now, Zeminoth stayed mounted on his vehement steed at the side of Celica, his marching acquaintance whom he gave to his love and alliance.

General Kralkan had veered his snarling warg around to face the archers who now formed the front line of the Army of Angmar. He veered it around only to observe the numbers, making sure that the thousand archers were indeed ready before turning to face the front again. Extending his hand, he gave a glance back at the troops, and then slowly sent his mouth agape, his foul breath itself seemingly able to be seen just as much as his yellow teeth.

"Archers!"

Zeminoth still gave no look behind with his immoral expression of war as his orc archers followed the command of General Kralkan, drawing an arrow each from their quivers and nocking their bows with them. They then raised their bows in the air, strings pulled back as they stared up at the deadly, crude tips of their arrows.

"Ignite!"

Nearby engineers hastily moved along the front line of the archers, igniting their oil-coated arrowheads, sending flames of fury to engulf each and every one of them upon the next command of the General. Lieutenant Gaglak remained mounted calmly on his warg nearby, sucking on a morsel of meat with both hands on the reins of his vicious beast as he watched the carnage of Morannon for absentminded entertainment.

The archers of the Army of Angmar were ready, as were the catapults and ballistae. Boulders were engulfed with fire, large bolts locked in place, and orc engineers at the ready for the call of destruction.

The King of Harad had no chance to escape. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He was soon to be bombarded by his new enemies, who stood in range of him yet out of range from Mordor. Gaglak tightened the sheath of his large war hammer at his back before spitting out the morsel of meat and readying himself to take part in the service of vocal commands.

"CATAPULTS!!"

General Kralkan kept his hand in the air, taking in a deep breath at his ready archers and casting them another glance, his face emitting a twisted expression of immoral delight and ruthless malice.

"FIREEEEE!!"

Plucked. The bowstrings of the loathsome orc archers flung forward with the sound of lethality being released from the tight stretching they were at, arms being satisfyingly relaxed from the strenuous, tight hold of the bowstrings. Soared. Arrows soared through the air. One thousand arrows of doom flying towards the meaningless Servant of Iluvatar's way, cheered on by the wide-eyed, agape-mouthed orcs who grinned with glee as they watched their newly-released arrows fly with hell.

"FIREEEEEEEE!!"

Gaglak released his last command, sending forth thirty flaming boulders and twenty iron bolts of large size towards the King of Harad, following just behind the volley of horrendous arrows. The King of Harad was now being attacked from both sides.

But what was this? More troops coming from the distance? These troops weren't allied ones. If their friend was the King of Harad, it appeared that the Malignant Oppressor's hungry army would be treated to more carnage and organs to twist with. Spinal fluid of backs to let burst out. Throats to slit and heads to crush and smash. Bones to break, ears to bite, tendons to split and skin to wear... Let the enemies of the Aurellisc and De`Solav alliance crumble under misery's might. Let the despair of the Witch-king of Angmar, the Terror of the Nine, ring out with his own eternally damned corruption like the screams he would give with the shrieks of his fell beast. Let all die. Let all fall. Let all crumble. Let the might of Harmony tear with the inner ripping of everyone's soul.

Let the King of Harad meet his bloody end.

Lord Maelstraus

As the bellowing cry of fiery genocide ripped through the dark sky, Rieth stood firmly mounted on his ebony steed. With all but his helm fastened on his young body, he sat erect on the saddle of his horse, soaking in the roars of battle whose spiteful soul lay suspended above the conflict. It was a truly dark time, the thousands of deaths lining the gates of hell itself to the verge of encumbrance. Sempai's tiny army was suffering more casualties than expected, and as his addiction to chaos grew more fierce, Ysuran found more pleasure in watching the demise of potentially rival armies.

"Poison is the cure."

As Rieth barely dipped his jawline to utter the simple comment, his two foremost riders took note, glancing at each other inquisitively before approaching the Lord of Rohan. Both Azaroth and Quarran mimicked Rieth in appeal, an onyx gleam shimmering from their armor as if a proud ensign or anthem of the army. As their steeds halted, aligned with their master, Azaroth turned his head slowly, his body still pointing straight to the ensuing apocalypse before them. Without the slightest utterance from his mouth, however, the man failed to question Rieth, bowing his head entirely and returning his glance forward. The horselords sat patiently motionless behind the three, arranged perfectly in lines, silently waiting for his temptation to battle. Without hesitating, Rieth raised his hand upwards, outstretching his palm to become fully aligned with his arm as it was completely vertical, readying the signal for attack.

"This shall be an easy victory."

The narrow edging of his lips tightened as he formed a childish grin, a smile only mocking the Dark Lord's power as it stretched across Maelstraus' face. Why should he not be happy? He commanded the largest army known to the battlefield, he could very well be the decisive pawn in this requiem. And as this fiercely dedicated marionette awaited the ideal moment, he dreamed the endless fallacies of glory in his head, fantasizing about his massive army of 17,000 (I was given an extra 2,000) spreading the disease of war throughout Middle-Earth, without the assistance of a wretched ring. Power was within yourself, not given to you by a simple piece of jewelry. Pestilence was only carved into country sides by the malice of dark raiders, not the 'fantastic' displays of weather-altering magic.

A war to end all wars, the day of reckoning, finally unveiled.

Enryon Aurellisc

"Commander, get your troops in a staggered position, every second line is the Uruk Crossbow. I want the Infantry to create a shield wall for our Archer's."

The Commander grunted and gave out a loud battle roar. 2000 more Uruk troops had marched onto the fell land of Mordor. They came from the same direction as Celica and Zeminoth had come from. Enryon was the lead commander of this army. The Commander ran alongside Enryon and the troops quickly behind him. He then turned to Enryon and asked.

"Where should I place our troops?!"

Enryon looked over the battlefield and then looked towards Zeminoth's army. He didn't want to direct catapult or archer fire towards them so his men should be put in their own. Enryon pointed towards the left flank of the gate and then turned to his commander.

"Set your archers and infantry there, I want minimum casualties and I don't want a screw up. Anything that moves on that gate gets shot, anything that comes out gets shot on order."

The Uruk commander nodded and then quickly changed direction to the left flank. Because of Enryon's small army he had to decide which arms his men would take. he had several hundred archers and 1300 infantry. Their purpose was to kill, that and that only. The Uruk put themselves in a stagger position as to avoid heavy casualties from any catapults and so that the enemy archers didn't have any concentrated targets. His infantry set their shields in a sort of wall in front of every row of archers. Thus protecting them from lower bow shots.

Enryon quickly rode across the battlefield and to his mother’s position and then looked at the gate, it was as he assumed. Obsidian and magic, metal. He approached his mother and then poked tapped her on the shoulder and spoke in a stern tone. He being an alchemist and Mage knew of such elements that could bring down such a gate. And his father’s siege weapons would come in much use.

"Mother, as I had expected. The Dark lord has made his gate of metal and magic. Siege weaponry alone cannot break through those thick gates. We need something cold and then something hot. It shall make the metal brittle and then the siege weaponry can break it's thick barrier!"

Enryon’s voice held true, he knew of what he spoke of and was the only one with the ability to freeze such a large object. The only problem was getting close to it. Many things kept him getting there, The archers and Fell beasts being just a few. He then looked to his mother once more, his eyes glistening with nervousness.

"I can do it mother, I can bring those gates down. I need an opening though!"

Servant of Iluvatar

The knight saw the massive armies gathering behind him,

~At last hope~ he thought to himself, but then to his horror he saw that the army of Zeminoth was not marching to aid him instead they were positioning themselves to destroy him

"What was expected has happened, what was hoped for has failed" he yelled out to his remaining commanders.

Then the might of Mordor struck again. The archers did very little damage due to their aim being impaired but the worse was to the Oliphaunts. The lead two Oliphaunts were immediately killed by the catapults and the remaining 17 all broke their ropes tugging at the black gate and started to run frantically.

"Krios!" yelled the knight seeing the elf running amongst his army, "Get out this is not the place to be" But it seemed the Krios did not hear his words. Krios continued to try and yell unheard questions at the knight but to no avail. Eventually to the knight’s relief Krios ran off, but to the knights horror Krios ran towards Lord Zeminoth.

Then hope appeared. Small and large armies of good could be seen approaching. The calls for an alliance were not unanswered.

"There was hope" the knight whispered to himself

THEN IT ALL GOT WORSE

Zeminoth unleashed hell upon the knight and his forces. There was no escape. The knight knew it, and he awaited his death. But his Paladins would have none of it. They had followed the knight for years, left their homes in Middle Earth to bring Iluvatar to Harad and now had marched hopelessly against Mordor. 6 Paladins threw themselves upon the knight to protect him from the arrows. ((Oh how sad, sort of reminds me of the end of the hobbit))

Everything slowed but for a second, before the sounds of death, fire and hell fell upon the knight. The weight of his Paladins was heavy on him but he dug himself out from under them. All were dead. From the attacks of Mordor and the betrayal of Zeminoth only 300 scattered troops remained. A fully 1350 men had died in an instant.

The knight yelled at his troops, "Run to the east! away from the battle, our job is done now the alliance is here and the battle has come, we will try to regroup what is left but I do not want to be caught between these warring evils!"

Though alive, the knight was saddened. He knew his time was coming and he knew what he could do. Turn the power of his ring on the forces of Zeminoth? Lay waste to as much as possible out of spite and hate? No, that was not his way. Calling on the power of Narya the knight lit all of his dead on fire and tried to heat the Black Gate to unbearable temperatures for those on and inside the structure.

Thick black smoke began to rise from his destroyed army. He hoped that Vilya could control the smoke and blind and choke out some of the forces of Mordor. He knew that the Black Gate would not fall to his power, but he could make it unbearable for those inside and perhaps even kill a few with the immense heat he was causing. Looking at his burning army he knew what his last course of actions would be. He turned and started to march by himself towards Zeminoth’s troops.

"My Lord!" cried out one of his few remaining troops, "You are going the wrong way, to the East away from this battle!"

"No, You do not understand. We never stood a chance against Mordor. If Zeminoth had wanted he could have marched on us at Harad and crushed us like a bug. Only by marching here have we been able to unit much of the good of Middle Earth. The good was shattered and broken and never united. Even if the two Dark Lords had battled it out, the victor could be to powerful. Only by assuring that no ONE person gains all the power of Mordor and more can we ensure the safety of Middle Earth. We must get the forces of Good to unite with Zeminoth or else Zeminoth could gain all the power of Mordor or Mordor could gain all the power of Zeminoth.

If I run from Zeminoth, the forces of good may fully understand his treachery and attack him. That would only weaken the forces before fighting Mordor. If the forces of good see me stand by Zeminoth perhaps they might still unite and succeed in defeating Mordor. I must make it to Zeminoth and stand by his side and maintain the illusion of unity"

The knight continued to walk towards Zeminoth’s lines. The weight or Narya was ever more present. Buring his army and trying to heat the Black Gate was taking much out of him, but there still dwelt strength deep inside. With determined step the knight marched towards Zeminoth.

"Iluvatar, my vision is poor and clouded, I have tried to serve you and ensure the survival of your people. and now, let your will be done." he prayed.

Ashadow

On a hill far away from the chaos of war Ashadow watched in delight as he saw man after man die. This was like a dream for him, seeing wretched men die and evil wreak chaos across the world. Perhaps after this he will be able to move easier across the land and bring his own brand of chaos to the desperate good.

Abdul-Azim

On another hill not far away from Ashadow sat Abdul. He felt saddened to know that the forces of good would fall, but he could not hid his joy is seeing the butcher of Harad being killed before him. For too long had the Servant of Iluvatar ruled his home land.

Abdul could not hold it in any more and he began to dance and chant joy as the Servant of Iluvatar's forces were being slaughtered.

Celica De`Solav

Celica looked around, noting that much activity had taken up suddenly. There was chaos everywhere, debris and death encompassing the lands. The feeling was almost unnerving. However, this was what all the troops had prepared for. This was their ultimate goal: The fight for Middle Earth. Where would it lead? Celica turned to Zeminoth. Would her lover take place of the old dark lord, only to continue the reign of malice? Or would he conquer the greater evil and settle into a neutral state? Whatever it was, she would find out only at the end of the battle.

The elf quickly turned when she heard Enryon’s voice. There were voices all around her. She was asked a question by a soldier, but ignored it for the time being. Celica looked to her oldest son.

“I know, I know! But we can’t do that without Narya! The heat has to be enough to not only go through the ice but crack through the metal itself! As for your opening, I’m sure Vilya will help plenty.”

The elf’s hand had subconsciously risen, holding back the flying debris from landing on her and her forces. Celica turned to Ysuran.

“Don’t march till the gate is down and their archers have been taken out!”

Celica bit her lip, hoping against hope the boy would choose to listen. She then turned forth, surprised and horrified to see that the King of Harad made his way towards them. She suddenly grabbed a hold of Zeminoth’s hand, holding him back in case he decided to attack. Celica cried out to the King.

“Please give us Narya! It will save a lot of trouble, trust me. You’re in a very dangerous situation. If you give it over peacefully, you will be perfectly safe!”

The elf felt quite mean. She had never really made a threat before. Even then, there was a hint of pleading in her voice. Celica didn’t want any unnecessary deaths…not more than what had occurred, anyway.

Lord Zeminoth

Zeminoth watched as the airborne arrows, bolts and flaming boulders tore into the flesh and any armor of their randomly selected targets, bearing into the bones of the King of Harad's army. This was only furthered by Mordor's projectiles raining down upon them from the other side. And here the Wizard of Calamity stayed mounted on his steed, staff in his right hand, his left on the reins of his abominable stallion. Both pairs of green and purple eyes watched the butcher of the Servant of Iluvatar, peering out over the far reaches of infernality. Violent violet, and Zem-erald emerald...

Grim was the countenance of the Lord of Angmar, feeling no need for mercy or sympathy, his only odd and yet twisted empathy being for those of his direct kin. His family. General Kralkan returned his right hand from the air to the hilt of his favored dagger, watching like a curious wolf with his master and Lieutenant. Zeminoth looked to his side at Ysuran, curious as to what his standing position would be. He would have spoken words about the extending of the king's hand, his movement to ready a charge, if Celica hadn't stolen the very words from him. Thus he simply turned his head to Enryon, considering his previous words.

"Indeed. That gate won't be going down without the aid of Narya."

As if morbid fate itself was granting the Sorcerer of Malevolence a delightful request out of immoral favor for evil, Zeminoth saw the King of Harad approaching he and his army.

Alone.

The wizard thought it too good it be true. It appeared that the ring was actually coming to him, rather than he having to go and get it. He held up his left hand to his troops, particularly his hungry archers who, having released their arrows of death, had then immediately been brought into the realm of macabre demise from the ruination of the majority of the Haradrim's spirits. But the pallid hand of the Dark Wizard kept their thirsty throats at bay. The hand upon his own was unnecessary, for Zeminoth more than realized that to attack this lone deliverer would be foolish and unnecessary itself. He simply smiled with glee.

"King of Harad, Lord of the realm of sand. You did not come over to me unaided to walk up to the armies of doom and die. You came here for a greater reason. Do you wish to ally with me, hm? Do you wish to form a bond of neutrality between our forces? Do you wish to become our ally? There can be no alliance until that ring encompasses my white finger. Give it to me, and spare your own life. Power against Mordor lies in magic, for even if we outnumber the Dark Lord in troops, his One Ring will lay waste to them in the matter of instants. With Narya, we can gain entry through the Black Gate of His Malice. I am sure you realize that if you hand it over, we have a greater chance of destroying the Dark Lord. And if you do so, I will have no reason to target you."

The emerald eyes of the Lord-Maiar gave not a blink as they stared out into the bright soul of this wasted servant. Strong his spirit must be, however, to press on and on. Strong it must be to fill him with hope and loyalty, determination and the persistence to not give up will for hopelessness and self-destruction. But nevertheless, Zeminoth would remain mounted, staring down before the King of Harad, forever motionless until he would claim his wanted possession.

_ _ _

The Witch-king at the front of the other eight fell beasts stared out over the united armies, looking past his master at the able height from where his foul steed raised its legs to stand at greater height, the claws of its hunched wings clawed into the barren ground like a bat. He peered over the troops, looking upon the King of Harad through the empty pits of his helmet that formed his soulless eyes. The fell beasts were upon the ground yards behind the Army of Angmar, waiting to be sent into mobility and currently formed into a triangle, wedge formation, with the Wraith of the Damned being the crude tip of the blemishing push dagger.

He brought with him his arsenal of merciless totality. Swords and his infamous, diabolic and menacing flail that would take the half of a body in one fatal blow, bringing forth the victim of this ruthless fatality to the awaiting gates of the Underworld where its soul would forever lie awake in eternal misery and suffrage. Just as he did. Just as the former Witch-king of Minas Morgul now the Witch-king of Kherad-zûl had in his time of passing banishment. Loathing, left in his black abyss, like the one that formed his face in his fear-instilling hood.

And now he would bring the world-wide genocide, being a puppet of Zeminoth and the servant of his malignant empire-to-be. Genocide for all to oppose to him, and all who would refuse the dark peace that the Malignant Oppressor wished to bring for ALL of Middle-earth. In the name of Hate, he operated the twisted hands of Fate. Peace for all who didn't oppose him; there would be no reason to besmirch their lands in the coming new world order.

The Captain of Despair was at the call of his master, ready to mobilize the fell beasts with Major Talondir and set fire to the land which he once served without a seeming end. Zero salvation for a soul of the damned. A spirit without rest. An existence for death at its best. A tragedy from the skies, with redemption ripped for cries. Yet inside, underneath the worn hood of his black robes, he cried, slow tears sliding down his cheeks. Red tears of manifestation, given as a curse to individuals as wicked as this one. No cleansing for the tainted soul.

The wraith of the worst. The poison for them all.

Poison is the cure.

The Witch-king continued to stare, breathing from his tattered hood the cold and rotting breath from his mind which possessed the inability to fully decay. This abhorrent creature was apparently remaining in existence for the soul purpose of one:

To serve.

To serve the darkness. If it wasn't for Zeminoth's hold on the putrid spirit, the Wraith-lord would turn nihilistic from his endless suffering and his given refusal of sleep. He would burn everything, antagonizing every slab of meat and cocoon of life to cross his path. Leading himself to his own destruction. For this, he was better off serving...

Without emotion, he could not feel his gloom, acting as a synthetic drone for the squashed organs of Middle-earth. His head remained facing forward, yet he released a deep breath to the cold atmosphere of air, followed by the slow, profound and vile voice of the dark spirit, the eternally damned, as he spoke to Major Talondir.

"Have your riders ready... I lead...you follow... I command...you obey... We fly for Mordor and to the assassination of the Dark Lord... Do not break the line of formation... Stay wedged...and deliver His Malice the end of his physical existence... At my command, we take to the air and eliminate the archers of the Black Gate... We penalize the forces that stand against the Alliance..."

His words were spoken with a frozen heart, the unseen black tongue bubbling with an acidic form of agonizing deterioration. Entitled to a dragging pain of millennia to come, the Witch-king's broken mind and spirit were ready to fly. But the time of the fell beasts and the bringing obliteration of both the Captain and Major of Angmar would not come for some time yet; not until the Leaders were ready. Nevertheless, the king of misery wanted it so that the fell beasts and the cruel riders of them were ready to eradicate.

Ambassador of Sauron

As the knight's troops slowly fell to pieces, the Dark Lord called off his attacks. The catapults ceased fire and the orcs stopped raining arrows down upon the soldiers.

The Nazgûl also returned into the sanctuary of Mordor.

Thaed

Atop the summits of the horseshoe-esque pattern that was created by the congregating mountain ranges of both the Ered Lithui and Ephel Dúath, a brilliant white light beaconed outward for all who cared to look up and witness it. There, spread through the peaks of the mountains, was a shocking display. Two thousand colossal northerners, garbed in the traditional thick layering of wolf furs, stood dormant, several hundred of which were mounted on the larger of the white wolves of the North as well, along with two perched Cold-Drake’s, looking down on their prey below – the force that had gathered to tear the Black Lands asunder. And at their head, the most illustrious Northerner of them all, was Thaed.

The piercing white glow was from the head of Dramborleg, the greatest war axe of Middle-Earth, which had passed through the hands of Tuor and the slaying of 5 Balrogs until it arrived in Thaed’s company with history still left to be written. The hulking mass of man that was the inspired director of this Northern band looked through the ranks of the several thousand troops that scattered to and fro across the earth in front of the looming Gates atop his equally hulking steed, Telos, the greatest white wolf of all the Northern regions. Separated, they’d be more than a handful but while together, there was nothing short of the Dark Lord that could tame their ferocious might.

The party had trekked North of the Grey Mountains and Withered Heath through their own Northern Wastes before turning due south at the far eastern border of Mirkwood. From here they made good time over the gently sloping hills and flat land between the western borders of Rhun and the Wood to their east. They had crossed Dagorlad not but three days ago and had spent the additional time scaling the mighty peaks of the Ered Lithui, the Ash Mountains, bordering on the north of Mordor. Here is where they stayed till the Dark Lord summoned them to do whatever bidding he wished to further his dominance westward throughout Middle Earth. The alliance had come seemingly out of thin air without nigh a whisper to confirm it. Whatever the case, the tandem was sure to wreak what havoc the Dark Lord had planned to its full extent.

“And so it has come to this.”

Krios

Krios realised the horse and rushed towards the knight to speak with him about what was going on but as he reached the knight the first thing that came out of his mouth was about Narya.

"They want the ring I think you should give it to them you can get it back later with a little help of course."

he smiled knowing he could get the ring back from the traitor after Mordor had fallen.

Servant of Iluvatar

The storm of battle was slowing for the moment as Mordor ceased its reign of fire. The knight still angered by his losses focused more of his power onto the Black Gate. He turned from Zeminoth to face the Gate he so hated and from his ring poured forth a fire that struck against the Gate in an attempt to burn and heat the Gate to failure. Without loosing focus the knight addressed Zeminoth.

"If I do not ally with you Zeminoth then the forces of good will surely not fight along side of you. If you strike me down then the forces of good will fully see your intentions and fight you, thus causing Mordor to win. If they see me standing beside you in alliance then we will have over 25,000 troops to march on Mordor and your back and flanks free of worry. So the two of us united will serve your goals best, I believe we can both agree to that.

However, for me to stand beside you in battle I must have assurances of the existence of good along beside you. When you rule Mordor, I want my lands free from evil. A bond of neutrality between good and evil, between Harad and Mordor, can be as you as the Lord of Mordor. Give me this non-aggression pact and a 1/4 of the power of Mordor, and I will give you my ring, an eternal vow not to march against you, and will tell all the forces of good gathered here to ally with you on your day of glory."

A bluff, most likely, but the knight still had hope. That was his one eternal and unwavering weakness. He had hope for Harad free of the relentless destruction of Mordor. He had hope for a more stable Dark Lord. He had hope for an eternal struggle between good and evil that was his life. And he had hope that Zeminoth would realize that anything granted to the Servant of Iluvatar would never threaten him and that his eye of evil could fall upon Middle Earth while Harad would become the new Kingdom of Light. 1/4 of Mordor's forces would not weaken Zeminoth, but it would secure Harad from anyone else except the future dark lord. And the threat of Zeminoth would cease with the non-aggression pact. Or so he hoped. The knight had hoped that he would have more that 300 screaming and running troops at this moment to, but plans never go as hoped.

Lord Narâktrahda

The skies thundered and the air stunk of the burning dead: Haldrium’s dead. Narâktrahda grinned with a certain alloyed glee. This was perfect the Dark Maiar felt the force of the Narya, the flame consuming the dead, the inferno raging as the rocks start to feel the heat, even this faraway from the destruction and holocaust of the forces of good, and the heat came to even the ‘Sadistic Sword’ of Umbar. That was what the locals called it, the army of their lands, the Sadistic Sword. Only pure darkness entertained these ranks, rape, murder, torture, these where all common practice for these sickening and revolting men. The Gauntlet of Grief and the Sword of Sadism, appropriate names for any army that followed Narâktrahda into battle.

The towering battle leader of the Sadistic Sword was in a sombre mood, unusual for a man who craved battle and whose drug was apocalyptic warfare. For once maybe he realised the odds were stacked against him, maybe it occurred to him that death could come to him. Maybe it was all of that, or perhaps it was because in his inflated ego and abyss of arrogance he tried to presume the power granted by the golden band that glints with a twinkle of malice on the hand of the Dark Lord.

The mammoth of the human grinned as he lifted Cancer, the blade seemingly made out of arrowhead glints in the light. The darkness seemed looming over the peaks of Mordor’s natural defences. For once, the machinations of industry had not melted away the ice from the peaks of the mountains. The Dark Lord had not wanted it to, the ice settled upon the peaks as the shrieks and sounds of the orcs gradually became louder and more prominent through the air as the usual chills that encompassed men when they heard the harsh sounds were non-existent by the men that went to battle behind Narâktrahda.

Turning, Narâktrahda grins; it was an endless line of ships. Huge, magnificent, majestic, gleaming, they rode the shores with an assurance, the gilt never dulling as the boats rode forth, upstream towards the Sea of Nurnen, into the depths and bowel of Mordor. Two thousand and three hundred soldiers, all ready for battle, all begging for a chance to destroy, to bring glory to the Sadistic Sword held by the apocalyptic arm in the heinous hands of Narâktrahda: Lord Abhorrence.

Out of the window, Narâktrahda could see the great ships in front of him, hardly swayed by the waves. He and his two hundred greatest soldiers where slightly cramped in this small barge, yet this was a small price of a slaughter. They where still a few miles away from the mountain pass into the lands, there where many men in these smaller and less ordained barges, they stretched for a long distant, but only as much as a any usual supply train of armour and engineers and food would last. So that did not allow much space to work with, so that lead to a little cramp.

There where six barges, with around thirty-three tower shielded and spear wielding men per barge and around a hundred and seventy men with thick armour, serrated blades and cross-bows. The crossbows only came with a few of arrows, so that upon landing the secret door of the barge could fall and men could release arrows from behind the line formed by the spearmen to allow enough space to come out in battle. There were fourteen grand ships, each armed with five ballistae on each side, each armed by bowmen to use, it was also littered by crossbows for suddenly annihilation of the front-line, with longbows as well to get further as well target with more speed.

The boat was of about three decks, in the bottom compartment, the on that felt the most of the water turbulence were equestrians, ready to be released and spring forth in battle immediately. Around a hundred on four of the ships, two ships went equestrians less, they where to give the illusion that mean were situated upon those ships.

The other eight ships where with fully armoured oliphaunts, five men per oliphaunts, the pit littered with bows and crossbows. Yet men was not the only weapon the Sadistic Sovereign brought to battle. He also was armed with magic, powerful and devastating magic. With his gleaming black orb, the Maiar had spent many a day meditating, bringing out of all the lands of Umbar the magical power and diverting it into the orb. Mainly the power accumulated over the lands after Sauron’s great deception of the Númenor King. The resonates and shards of power left by Sauron after his capture were massive, all of it had been drawn into that one black orb that seemed to pulse with venom and darkness.

Narâktrahda grins as Haldrium draws more and more through the magical ring of Narya. The magical resonance of that was humungous, and it allowed him to produce his magic without fear of being traced by the Dark Lord. He grunts as the orb pulses slightly more then usual and suddenly a piece of paper that had been lying on the desk disappears in a flash and would arrive at the camp of Lord Zeminoth. He would not know it was Zeminoth of course, he would presume it would be Haldrium. Though this would make little difference in the phrasing of the letter that read so:

I come. Let the fires flicker outside the Black Gates if his orcs fall upon the gates to stop your siege. For then I will attack him from his flank.

- Narâktrahda, Lord of Umbar

Haldrium

~In the way distance towards the north Haldrium appeared, with 2,000 elves and his brother, but the elves looked like they were holding on to something, what could it be? They saw the fight had already started so they started running, they slowly gained speed, and now they were close enough to see their faces. All of a sudden a huge rock came flying through the air and was going at great speeds... It luckily flew just over the elves and into the mountain of sand.~

Talondir

~A dark shadow figure sat upon his half devoured beast, as he sat the beast, the beast opened his mouth showing his disorientated, jagged and sharp teeth. The monsters long tongue could be seen with steins of blood from past battle, the Fell Beasts neck was fully extended with its spike on the back pointing upwards. The beast let out a fierce flap of his wings, the beast sat there anxious for battle. Sat on the Fell Beasts back was a person consumed by malevolence for his hatred for man, as Talondir is dressed in all dark blue robes all that could be seen is his face. While sempai was still in battle a malicious look was on the face of him, the beast roared, the sound being projected through the air while it rippled the air as it gets further and further.

The beast curls his neck up a little bit but is still anxious for battle, all of the sudden the cries and the whimpers of Sempai’s men stopped. Talondir eyes diverted over to the battle, he saw the men been butcher with in 5 minuets. A smirk come across the face of Talondir, as he grinned he gripped his reins tightly. As he sits upon his noble steed he begins to feel malignant, thought of twisted darkness are passing through his mind as he awaits eager to get into battle.

The Witch King of Angmar head turned towards Talondir, the wretched monster looked straight at him. While the Immortal Slayer looked straight at Talondir a flicker of fear went through his body, the Witch King consumed by his malevolence began to speak. As he spoke the shadows in his mind and twisted thought were passing through him, this would be unbearable to think of for any normal man.~

"Have your riders ready... I lead...you follow... I command...you obey... We fly for Mordor and to the assassination of the Dark Lord... Do not break the line of formation... Stay wedged...and deliver His Malice the end of his physical existence... At my command, we take to the air and eliminate the archers of the Black Gate... We penalize the forces that stand against the Alliance..."

~As these words were said to Talondir in an abhorrent voice, the very voice that would strike fear into any living soul. After the Wraith Lord finished speaking to Talondir, he nodded his head firmly. Looking at the Immortal Slayer, he saw a malignant figure consumed by the darkness that has dwelled in his mind for thousands of years. As he looked further down he saw the wretched beast which the Lord of the Nazgûl rides, as he is looking at the beast, it starts to flap his wings causing circles of dirt formed under the wings of the vehement Fell Beast. As this was happening Talondir face looked surprised, his eyes had the shadows of darkness living in it. His head rose to face the Lord of Kherad-zûl. As he looked at the Witch King of Angmar his mouth began to move, as it moved his lips let out a loud voice.~

Yes my lord, I will follow you into battle and follow the instructions you give me.

Haldrium

~Haldrium rode ahead of the elves, and so did his brother: Halrain. They rode at full speed up to Servant of Iluvatar and spoke to him.~

"Servant of Iluvatar, we have a giant ladder if you wish to try and climb the gate, otherwise I’ll enter from the north were my troops are with another regiment to flank the dark lord."

Lord Zeminoth

Lieutenant Gaglak veered his warg around to the sergeant of the Army of Angmar, who carried with him a letter. With a curious gaze, Gaglak snatched the paper from his sergeant's hand and read it over. He grinned. So the Lord of Umbar has joined this war as well, evidently fighting against the Dark Lord, rather than with him. To besmirch his black lands. Gaglak turned with the letter to face Zeminoth, but saw that he was still preoccupied. Thus he would wait to show it to him.

Zeminoth paused momentarily after the words of the King of Harad, but in truth, there wasn't really much else for him to think about. He knew of the words that the king spoke of; agreeing with them, he understood perfectly and acknowledged what they meant. Should the morbid wizard strike this practically defeated servant down in front of all of the eyes of good to see, he would become an enemy against them. Yet with the King of Harad on his side, no arms would be needlessly drawn up against him; no need for petty battles which would only be fought to weaken everyone's number. Turning his head aside to face his beloved, he saw in her eyes her same agreement. Her willing expression. For she did not want to attack the king in the first place. The Lord of Angmar now looked back at the lord of the sand.

"When the Dark Lord has fallen, indeed, I plan on taking the throne. ...Let it be known that all who draw up arms against him, WITH me, shall not become targets in this black war of Middle-earth. Give me the ring of Narya, and I give you my word that you shall not become a target in my presence. I would rather the company of all forces with me to defeat the Dark Lord. If and when I manage to seat the throne of Mordor, you've my further word that I shall supply you with troops. Empire? Indeed, I plan on forming one. And with an empire comes expanding land. Yours can be a part of it, on one level or the other. That can be your quarter of Mordor."

The servant of Iluvatar had something to offer Zeminoth in return, like a trade, hence his giving him of supplies in the near future. The king had something to give him of great and considerable value in this war, and the Maiar planned on putting it to great use.

"Now, I've given you my word. I am a man of evil, a figure of immorality. Yet I am also a man of good sense and logic... The truth is that I wish no force present here to draw up arms against me, nor I to them. To defeat the Dark Lord and his devastating ring, we must work together. This I realize. And with Narya, it is senseless for me to attack you. Hand it over, my Lord, and we shall defeat the Ambassador of Sauron together."

He broke off from his speech, glancing once more to Celica, then back to the king. The speech was picked up, determination to win this war found in the emerald eyes of His Malignance.

"For this day of glory is not to be taken by me. It is not mine alone. This glorious day shall be taken by ALL who fight it! ALL to fight the Dark Lord of Mordor!"

With a fierce narrowing of his eyelids, the Lord of Angmar stared into the two globes of the king before him, awaiting the Ring of Narya.

Servant of Iluvatar

The Knight then nodded in agreement. Though he did not trust Zeminoth he knew this was his best chance to destroy Mordor.

Lord Zeminoth

The servant of Iluvatar had considered the Lord of Angmar's words, doubtlessly feeling a sensation of mistrust and lack of polite cooperation. No, he would cooperate, but he would not like to join with the army of such a tyrant. Nevertheless, under clouds of doom and heavy bags of decision, he indeed gave the Lord a nod of the head that must have stabbed him sharply in one place or the other, and slowly extended his hand, the Ring of Narya in its palm.

Zeminoth smiled with glee, yet not the glee of greed nor of meaningless evil. It was simply that of the knowledge that he was one step closer to shutting down the infernal dominion of the Sauron-infested Dark Lord of late. With the extension of the ring, he took it in his left hand, his staff still in his right, focusing his emerald gaze only on this item of both jewelry and destruction. He held up it to his eyes, slowly turning it around to study its features. Gold, and enchanted by Elvish power and menacing magic. Without further ado, the Wizard of Calamity slipped the ring onto his left index finger, curled his fingers into to a form a fist matched with diabolism, and set his gaze upon Krios...

He stood only feet away from the Sorcerer of Malevolence, who simply took his moment to stare and plight a thousand evils. With his hand to his face, right hand grasping the wood of his staff, Narya glinted under the golden polish which it gave off, now having the new master of this dark wizard from the West, who held a grinning gaze upon Krios.

"You've been quite a rodent, you have..."

The servant of Iluvatar shifted back to the line of the Leaders, stationing himself in current safety. His remaining troops soon made a move to join the ranks of the armies of the Alliance, whilst the servant stared obliviously upon the doomed face of Krios.

"Marching over here to the death deliverers like an idiot marching up the Black Gate itself for a request of a bouquet..."

The eyes of the Lord of Angmar shifted down to his ring. It was time to test out the dominating, fiery features of Narya. The Lord looked back upon his new enemy.

"Eradication comes to those who request it."

After his last spoken word, in one fluent motion, the pallid left hand of Zeminoth thrust forward with his arm, sending forth a blanket of streaming fire towards Krios. The blanket of sorts was large enough to cover his whole body, and due to the immense strength of Narya, it would scorch his petty body to charcoal within a matter of instants. This was furthered by the attack's speed made able from Narya's menacing power. And if the attack was successful, Krios the Moron would be no more than an airborne corpse of smoking black as the blanket of fire's impact with his measly body would send him flying...

Yet if not, escape was futile. Arrows of Angmar would fly; for either way, Krios was doomed to die...

Krios

Krios became engulfed by the menacing sheet of fire, its bright glow of orangey red causing him to pointlessly shield his eyes for the same purpose as to try such a miserable and clearly failed attempt at shielding himself from the wrath of the testing flames. Engulfed, fired, Krios was blasted back through the air from the impact of Narya’s boiling hammer, his scorched and charcoal carcass soaring through the air to land with a brutal thud upon the hard ground of the merciless Dagorlad…

Lord Zeminoth

A silence seemed to cover the whole land of Middle-earth, like a deep pause before a major turning of events. This was the time of nothing, the time of only thinking and contemplating, of boiling blood and harrowing hearts. Of the time of the greatest decision of all: to march to the Black Land of the Lord of the Dark Tower and beckon his foul forces forward. Zeminoth sat upon his black stallion, whose front was guarded with a steel emblem plate to keep spears from thrusting into it, with its body garbed in chain mail. And upon its helmed head, on both sides of its jaw, was a sharpened blade each, like the two upon the helmet of the Witch-king's fell beast.

The Wizard of Angmar remained mounted upon his steed, parting himself from the rest of the world, taking a moment to bring himself into a realm of his own, secluded existence. He sat with his head bowed, staff in his right hand as he looked down upon the ring on his left, staring down into the soul of fire. Thoughts poured throughout his mind, blemishing it with immoral ones, yet also ones of complete and utter destruction in its most plain of forms. The destruction of the Dark Lord. If it would come, it would come this day, and no other. For if not, the figures of failure would not be alive to start another battle.

The Army of Angmar stood in wait behind the Sorcerer of Malevolence hailing from the scorching yet freezing land of Angmar to the North-West. The 1,000 orc archers that made up the first line had went behind two lines; behind the orc pikemen and men warriors. 1,000 men warriors now made up the front line again, armed with scuta and pila. Behind them were the orc pikemen, wielding the specially long spears of crude formation for any cavalry to come out of Mordor. And behind them, behind the archers, were the 3,000 orc warriors, bearing many weapons of melee. In the midst of the warriors were 230 armored Olog-hai wielding hammers and war clubs. Also with these Angmar Orcs were 300 Dark Dwarves, also bearing thick armor like most others and wielding axes.

These made up the majority of the ground troops. On the left flank of the Army of Angmar was its cavalry; 700 orcs riding wargs and armed with scimitars, bows and other projectiles, and 300 spiked-wheeled chariots bearing Angmar men who wielded similar weapons. The right flank of the poisonous, diabolic army consisted of 50 Barrow-wights.

Under the reddened skies of warring dark clouds and crackling lightning, they were not under the threat of any sun to weaken their looming, miserable and tormented spirits. It was so, that through their dark spiritual connection, the Witch-king himself could see what they saw, and even command them. Of which, this former Lord of the Tower of Sorcery made up the rear of His Malignance's menacing force. 9 land-borne Fell Beasts stood in wedge formation; triangular, with mounted warriors upon these putrid and large creatures. The Witch-king of Angmar was at the tip of the formation, his unkempt helmet enriching his terrible features of fear. With him was mounted the dark wizard Major Talondir.

Lord Zeminoth finally looked up from Narya and returned his left hand to the black reins of his purple-eyed horse of ghastly entity. Forming a line at the front of all allied forces of the Alliance were their leaders. The Aurellisc family, led by Celica De`Solav and Zeminoth Aurellisc. And the Dark Maiar's Lieutenant and General rode upon wargs near him. The King of Harad had been given a brown horse to ride upon, and whilst he was no part of the Leaders, he was still an asset. His 300 men warriors were in the midst of Angmar's force.

30 catapults and 20 ballistae were also with them. They were spread out specifically throughout the Army of Angmar, accompanied by 10 siege ladders and 3 battering rams. 62 engineers operated this machinery of war, with two operating the two gatling ballistae in front of the scuta-bearing Men of Angmar, yet behind the Leaders of the Alliance.

Zeminoth tightened the reins of his horse and looked to his side at Celica. In front of them lie the Black Gate, awaiting the arrival of the Leaders. And they would come, bringing all of Hell with them.

"It's time."

And so the black stallion of Angmar's lord trotted forth with the pace of a marching army of the dark lands, with the many thousands of thick armor and metal-booted feet producing heavy sounds as drums of their own to rule the atmosphere. Grunts and snarls came with these, particularly from the two terrible wolves that came out from seemingly nowhere of the army to crawl on either side of Zeminoth's steed. Not wargs were these, but actual wolves; the main breed of dog. Thus Zeminoth marched towards Morannon, the Black Gate of Mordor, with the hounds of Hell.

Talondir

A loud bang could be heard from the on marching war drums of the advancing army of Lord Zeminoth; the lightening was ripping through the dark misty clouds before battle begins. The air was thick and made it hard to breathe clearly, as Talondir took a deep breath while sitting upon the wretched monster his eyes gazed deeply at the horrid black gate of Mordor. The Fell Beast dug his claws into the dirt on the flaw rippling it up as the beast becomes anxious; the wings were sprung out in an upside-down V shape. While the wings were held up, a few wholes could be seen through them, the beast neck was half extended with the mouth wide open. As the mouth opened the disorientated teeth could bee seen, the very teeth which has severed heads from past battles.

On the back of the seemingly half devoured beast sat a dark wizard, completely corrupted by his malevolence for man. As he sat upon the Fell Beast he clenched his staff in his right hand tightly, as he clenched it tightly his left hand held his reins ready for war. While Talondir looked over at the armies a malicious face could be seen by everyone if they dared to turn around and look at him. The Fell Beast lets out another roar causing the disgusting breath to be smelt by anyone who was close, sitting in the presence of the malignant Witch King a smirk could be seen through the malicious face. As the Witch King of Angmar sat upon his noble steed you could see the corruption of the shadows in his mind, as the shadows dwell in his mind he sits there with perfect posture till the time is right. Talondir looks over to the Immortal Slayer awaiting to hear the abhorrent voice of the Wraith Lord.

Tonop Sernum

On the other side of the gate stood an army of almost 10,000((The number is like 9,722)) It was compiled of part of the Protectors' Guild, and mostly elves. The two leaders of the group were at the head. But their ents had done their work skilfully and quickly. They had dug a trench of about 5 feet deep and 5 feet wide around the group of attackers. Two "bridges" with room enough for two horses were in the trench which had nothing in it.

"Now let us see how our allies be doing." Said Tonop upon Vemlon his brown horse. With a motion of his hand an eagle came down and spoke to them

"The army of Angmar and other forces gather beyond the gate, they prepare a full scale attack upon the gate. I believe they can succeed in taking it for they have a Maia among their ranks."

"It is good for us that eagles see so keenly. Now we know it is Zeminoth who assails the dark Lord from the front. But we must remember to watch our back in case he forces of Mordor come from behind as well from Barad-dur. Bear me now my good eagle, for I wish a more commanding view."

He dismounted and placed all of his weapons except for his bow, arrows, whip, sword, and The Rod of Felexi onto Vemlon in various sheaths and places. The Rod of Felexi crackled a bit and Tonop knew that a Silmaril was near. Then mounting upon the eagle he took flight. He saw much more now that he was above the battle. He saw the Black gate and the Tower of Teeth. He knew them to be of stone and enchanted. Maybe he could help break that enchantment?

He commanded rock and fire with ease,; but would something as big as the black gate be able to be broken by his magic? Most likely not, and he would not attempt such a feat, unless it be already weakened by another force. For in the act of doing such a spell he might kill himself from the energy it would take to actually bring the gate down.

For now he would let the orcs taste fire. With an arrow loaded he shot into the masses of orcs, while in mid flight the head of the arrow was enveloped in fire, magic fire stared by it shooter. Meanwhile Tonop continually circled above the camp behind the gate, making sure no fell beasts could possibly swoop down to devour the troops.

Celica De`Solav

Celica did something unexpected. She made her horse gallop ahead. The elf went ahead of the army and ahead of Zeminoth. Of course, she had Vilya ready in case any volleys were made. The gates looked slightly damaged, but mostly intact. Celica looked up in wonder. The sight was truly spectacular. The eye of Sauron looked so high, almost piercing the clouds. The orange ray that emitted from it was focused a long distance behind the troops gathered at Mordor. What was it searching for?

Celica came to an abrupt stop in front of the gates. This was probably where the King of Harad stood some time ago, his army getting butchered. The putrid stench that rose from the charred remains of his soldiers encompassed the air. Celica waved her hand, dispersing the smell and clearing the air. The elf looked up and took a deep breath before announcing.

“Show yourself, so-called dark lord! You have hid yourself long enough!”

Celica then smiled.

“I trust you remember the white daisies I’ve sent back to you?”

Knowing the question would anger him, the elf dismounted. She motioned her mare to run back. The horse hesitated, but eventually trotted back.

Ambassador of Sauron

The Black Gate loomed ominously above Celica; its mantle glaring out upon the troops that had dared approach and tried to pry the gate from its hinges. But, no longer would it be an impediment to the enemy of the Dark Land.

A deep resounding rumble echoed through the surrounding valleys as the Black Gate was slowly opened. A tiny slit was seen in the centre that was invisible to the eye before. The two halves of the mighty gate rolled back upon their upon their pivots and revealed the entire army of Mordor behind.

Standing at the head of this malicious army was the Lord of all Evil, the Dark Lord of Mordor grinning out upon the wretched elf that had come forth.

"So, worm, you come to challenge the might and power of the Dark Lord and of my ring? You have no hope here and you shall die today, elf."

Celica De`Solav

Celica’s eyes widened slightly when the gates began opening. However, the elf remained unfazed. Whether it was bravery or foolishness on her part had yet to be determined. She planted the bottom of her staff into the ground, narrowing her eyes at the very embodiment of malice. Celica had thought she had seen evil when she saw Zeminoth, but this was completely different. She could tell the creature that stood before her was a horribly tainted soul, broken beyond repair. However, power emanated from his demeanor. For most, this would strike fear into their hearts. Celica continued speaking in a calm manner.

“Ah, I see you remember the daisies. After all the oliphaunts, the talk of daisies got you to open the gate. Rather amusing.”

The elf knew she was playing a dangerous game. Immense power dwelled within the tiny ring around his finger. However, Celica had made her choice. Today was the day it would be decided whether she lived or died. And if this being was to be her slayer, why not have a decent conversation before death?

Ambassador of Sauron

The Dark Lord looked at the miserable soul that come to his domain and dared to challenge his supremacy and wreck his unstoppable dominion. He felt her fear as he looked into her eyes, into her soul. So innocent and kind it was.

"I hope all elves are as facetious and ignorant as you. It will make killing them all the more fun.

"You know nothing of my powers. You think Vilya will serve you well? I warned you many years ago about the folly of fighting me and you did not choose the only option that would ensure your life remains intact."

The Dark Lord grinned, this elf that opposed him knew nothing of his power. She had walked into a death trap.

"What is your name witch? I know you only as the rat from Ettenmoors and mother of those children fathered by the usurper of Angmar."

Celica De`Solav

Celica simply smiled.

“Well you can’t expect me to be ignorant and know what powers you possess, can you? And what option have you given me? To have all lands plunged into darkness and have my sons threatened?”

The red ruby that was under the golden half moon that arched over it glowed. The gem glittered of its own accord, as if surging with Celica’s power while she spoke. Any fear that was in her had now been washed out. The elf’s thumb ran over Vilya. Whether it served her well or not was not the question. However, Celica knew it would serve her just enough. The elf looked up again.

“Ah, glad we’re finally getting to know each other. I am Celica De`Solav. And you seem to know of my family. I’m flattered. Now, what of your name? I’m sure it isn’t just dark lord.”

The elf grinned.

Ambassador of Sauron

The expression on the Dark Lord's visage turned sour as the elf uttered her first sentence.

"You dare mock me? Ha! I guess I was too optimistic in your intelligence.

"I gave you a choice. I threatened your sons so you would realise that if you did not side with me they would end up dying. Once you are dead I will have them as my own servants and they will endure a torment that not even your spouse could comprehend."

The Dark Lord watched as the elf touched her ring; it amused him to see her so confident in its miniscule powers.

"I have no name. I am the Dark Lord, the Ambassador of Sauron. That is all I am known as. My true name has long since between forgotten and it bothers me not.

"Tell me, what makes you so confident in your powers? What makes you think you can stop me and remove my ring from me?"

Lord Zeminoth

Zeminoth and his army of hell stopped in front of the Black Gate of Mordor, with the mounted wizard slowing his black stallion down in the middle of the line of Leaders with his beloved. When she made a move to call out the Dark Lord, he wasn't surprised, and rather unmoved. He simply stared up at the gate, studying it in a manner of curiosity to what was happening beyond the mass of black stone. He sat hold the smooth and twisted wood of his staff, with the black orb embedded at its top being his own all-seeing eye. Dark and menacing, full of calamity to greatly live up to the Lord of Angmar's name.

The gate opened.

Glee filled the countenance of Zeminoth, who hadn't been too sure that the Dark Lord of late would come out of Mordor. The Captains of the West had managed to draw him out in the far past, yes; but was the Ambassador of Sauron in belief that these figures of destruction may just, indeed, manage to overthrow him? With a deserved grin of complete delight, Zeminoth studied the appearing face of the Dark Lord. It was a sight to see, yet did not feel him with fear. For this was the embodiment of the totality of evil that he had been waiting for. A cocoon of countless wicked deeds in a literal sense, coming out of his Dark Land alas! This was the King of Darkness, and the Malignant Oppressor had been O waiting so long for this.

Finally, he would see who would be the victor out of the bloody and decisive battle to come.

Robbed of fear, the Lord of Angmar remained mounted upon his armed and armored horse of war, allowing Celica and the Ambassador to take up their form of conversation, whilst he sat and listened intently. As expected, and as tedious and typical as it was, the Dark Lord was full of himself; but he had reason to be. He honed the One Ring to rule them all, yet despite this, he was too ignorant and arrogant. A blind lord, needing to be dethroned. When he asked his two most recent questions, Zeminoth decided he would finally take part in this moving conversation, and give his own answer. He spoke only a single word. Yet a single word that was filled with many meanings and relations.

"Necessity."

The wolf on either side sat back on their behinds and hind legs, with one scratching its ear. Their faces, seeming to be set in permanent masks of hungry fury, emitting snarls forth at the Lord of the Dark Tower, able to feel his very, intoxicating presence. One the sides of the mounted Zeminoth were also mounted his general and lieutenant upon their fierce wargs. General Kralkan was on his right, running an index finger slowly over the sharp side of his curved and infamous dagger. Lieutenant Gaglak, slightly shorter than the fellow Great Orc nearby, simply sat back motionless on his warg, his agape mouth revealing sharp and yellow teeth. At his back, the blood-stained and metal head of his large mallet awaited his filth service.

With both gazes on the Dark Lord, they were more interested in and curious of his power than they were scared of him. But unlike a waiting and evil Maiar, they still felt the fear. This was, after all, the greatest servant of Sauron in all of Middle-earth. This was the Dark Lord. And blemishing his finger was the One Ring. Yet their fears would have to be removed, for THEY were in the service of the Lord from Angmar.

The Witch-king of Angmar

As the Army of Angmar and the allied forces marched forth towards the Black Gate, Major Talondir and the leading Witch-king of ghoulish poison did not. They remained upon their nine fell beasts, whose claws remained stabbed into the dry ground of Dagorlad. The Captain of Despair stayed at the tip of the triangle, with his piercing gaze of sightless eyes aimed at Morannon and the gathered armies. But then...something new came into the scene...

The Ambassador of Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor.

This was a servant of the notorious Sauron of old. This was His Malice. But it didn't have a single effect on the Witch-king. His lack of emotion, is lack of a functional brain, left him uncaring that he was about wage full-on war with his former homeland. No, he didn't care. There was no need for care. The Witch-king of Angmar lacked the state completely, having been since long robbed of it when Sauron had poisoned his mind and tricked him beyond all measures. When Zeminoth Aurellisc had awakened him from his black lair of torment and felt misery from his nefarious Cauldron of the Black Mist in Angmar.

He was now in the ultimate service of His Malignance...against the war with His Malice...

"We leeeaaave the vicinity... Prepare to take flight. Towards the east mountains left of the Black Gate we riiide to perch our fell beasts... Station the troops in wait, and at the signal of the Lord, we fly to battle..."

The words had been delivered to Major Talondir. Having first assumed that the gate would not open, and that archers would fire down upon the Alliance, the Witch-king had of course newly been informed that the Black Gate would open after all. So his plans had changed, with the aid of His Malignance. Kicking up scraped dirt of the battle plain, the Witch-king took off towards the air, leading the fell beasts that soon joined him with the major. His steed of putridity let out a roar as it took to the air, and the Black Captain soon reached the mountains of Mordor, stationing himself meters away from Morannon to perch his fell beasts in the mountains and out of sight.

Ambassador of Sauron

The response from the Lord of Angmar rang out in the silence that had briefly been created between the two parties. For the first time, the Dark Lord noticed the Lord of Angmar. This...scum...had stolen his master's Lord of the Nine, one of the most evil of servants of Mordor. And here he was, coming before the Dark Lord and trying to take him down.

Feeling that something wasn't quite right between the three of them, he manifested his magical barriers to protect himself. Vilya was stirring and it gave him reason to shield himself from whatever could be unexpectedly unleashed. Ebony folds of magic condensed around the Dark Lord, encompassing him in his energy sphere that he normally procured about his being.

"Scum. You steal my master's Lord of Nazgûl, *my* future servant and you come here trying to usurp me? Necessity you say? You aren't any more of a do-gooder than I am. I can feel your hatred flowing through you. Don't act like you are actually fighting for a noble cause. You just want my position, my power.

"My magics are far superior to yours, Maia rat of the North and you will come to learn this in time.

"You have no future in this realm, you would do well to return to your land and suffer my dominion, but the chances of the easy option isn't going to be something you'd do is it? You insist on coming here, troops at the ready and...with elven rings? Do you think, deep down, that your rings are anything in comparison to mine? You wouldn't even be able to break my gate down.

The Dark Lord was fixated upon the Lord of Angmar. His mind full of hate and disgust for this so called "Lord". Death would come swiftly and painfully.

Lord Zeminoth

Zeminoth simply rolled his eyes in boredom and the tedious talk of the Dark Lord, and his useless words.

"Idiot. Is it your reputation to point out the obvious, you sickly Sauron-slave buffoon? Of COURSE I see myself as no do-gooder. And if the whole public hasn't yet realized it..."

Trailing off, the Lord of Angmar leaned forward on his horse towards the Dark Lord in an act of menacing mockery of sarcasm. To openly insult the Lord of Mordor could be no gift-rewarding thing.

"...Then maybe it's time they opened up their eyes to the reason I'm campaigning against you... To take your throne for myself, fool."

He leaned back, returning his tainted countenance to a casual display once more.

"It's more than obvious to everyone. I would have thought such an...esteemed...servant of Sauron like YOU would have realized that. Would have realized that I most certainly am not acting like I am fighting for a noble cause. Where is your mind as of late? Clearly lost, for it has failed to see the majority of Middle-earth knows that I wage war with Mordor to be the new Dark Lord..."

Sighing with intended mockery, the Malignant Oppressor brought his left index finger up to his face, aimlessly staring down at Narya.

"But of course, idiocy engulfs you, my Lord; thus the reprobate being that is yourself is simply too dumb to realize the obvious..."

Still to openly attack the Dark Lord with words, Zeminoth looked up once more, proceeding to amuse himself with this Lord of Darkness. This figure of violence and malice that was meant to instil fear to all and be so important to Middle-earth. But by taking power out of the picture, he was nothing but a systematic drone to the cause of an idiot...

"We have something that you don't, Ambassador. And that is teamwork. For you stand alone, save with your petty allies and uncaring orcs. You have zero companionship. And no lone figure in any world will be able to achieve the ultimate... Even totalitarianism comes with union... But lo, alas! Enough of this foolish talk. Let's start this war, shall we?"

Without caring to hear any more of the Ambassador's words, Zeminoth turned to face General Kralkan, giving him a nod. He kept his head turned to the left, now moving his eyes upwards to allow them to fall upon the Witch-king, who Zeminoth indeed had snatched from Sauron's grasp. Holding his hand up, the silent Nazgûl would return with a reply of acknowledgement of but one of his dark stares. Yet both general and captain made no further move. Finally, the Wizard of Calamity turned back to the Dark Lord, now being through with petty talk and wanting to get straight down to business.

"But since you seem so confident with your lone self and the power of the Ring, why not let the maggots fight each other whilst the parents of Middle-earth deal with one another on...separate ground? For then, you will most certainly SEE how Celica and I plan to destroy you. So let's let our armies deal with each other whilst we leaders talk..."

Trailing off, Zeminoth kept his cold gaze with the Ambassador but pointed over to his right at a large, empty plain west of the Black Gate.

"...Over there..."

Ambassador of Sauron

"Oh, Lord of Angmar, I’m so hurt by your cruel, cruel words. Let me take a moment to compose myself...

"Your opinion means nothing to me. I have more power and am far smarter than you will ever be. Whether you think you can see that is your ignorance, not mine.

"You think you can join in and wield powers as great as mine? We shall see if you can match your big words.

The Dark Lord followed the finger of the Usurper and watched as he pointed to empty plains west of Mordor.

"If that is where you desire this fight to happen then so be it. Lead the way, rat of Angmar."

Lord Zeminoth

Zeminoth dismounted his black stallion, sending a sharp slap to its backside to send it galloping off towards the west, a long distance away from the chosen arena where the magical leaders would be fighting. Afterwards, Zeminoth spoke no word, but turned to face the Dark Lord. To counter his insults and moved behavior from his own, the Dark Maiar simply smiled with a tilt of his head, bowed, and departed for the arena. His two officers and the King of Harad were left in the ranks of the Army of Angmar. The desert king himself would help lead, yet only control his own forces. General Kralkan would hold full responsibility of the ground troops, leaving the Witch-king of Angmar and his airborne death deliverers to command from the skies and take action with the swift piercing wind of the foul air of Mordor.

Zeminoth reached the chosen plains west of the Black Gate, slowing himself to a stop in a walking pace. When stopping, he turned to face his nemesis, his staff in right hand and Narya in left. The wizard's countenance had lost its smile, displaying more hate and vulgarity for the skies of purity. When the three figures of destructive magic would be ready, then two of the Elven rings and the one to rule them all would clash...

Ambassador of Sauron

The Dark Lord followed Zeminoth as he marched and led them out to battle plains where the fate of the land would be decided. He felt confident that he could win. How could it go any other way? He has the most powerful instrument in Middle earth and with it he would flatten anything that dared oppose him.

He heard the arrows soar overhead as his troops were attacked.

===

The orcs raised their shields to guard from the volley of arrows. Of course, orcs having low intelligence couldn't quite get this right and 400 of the troops were killed there and then.

They returned the favour by unleashing all their siege weapons at the attacking armies. Catapults and Trebuchets discharged their ammo and hurled them through the air at the pitiful troops that dared to attack.

===

"So, here we shall decide the fate of Middle earth?

"So be it."

The Dark Lord watched his opponents and raised hands in front of him to prepare to release bounds of magical energy.

Lord Zeminoth

General Kralkan sheathed his dagger and pulled his scythe off from the side of his warg, holding it at bay and using it as a pointing instrument for his awaiting forces of hell. And with Zeminoth Aurellisc gone to fight off what would be a most memorable fight with Celica De`Solav against the Dark Lord of Mordor, the Ambassador of Sauron, this black-attired orc from Angmar would be leading the forces from the ground whilst the Witch-king would do so from the air. Soon time before Celica's elves let fly the immense volley of arrows, Kralkan held his scythe up to the warring skies, though more so for his archers.

"Nock arrows!"

Just like before towards the Army of Harad, the 1,000 orc archers of Angmar nocked their arrows with their crude arrows and raised them to the air, again looking at the fatal arrowheads.

"Ignite!"

Orc engineers ran about the front line of the Army of Angmar where the archers temporarily stood, igniting their oil-coated arrows with flame. Just as this happened, Celica's volley was let loose. Kralkan and Gaglak watched as arrows tore into the Army of Mordor, who were swift to counter-attack. Thus, Kralkan had to act fast as their projectiles were coming.

"FIREEEE!!"

One thousand arrows of the cruel orc bow, seven hundred from Uruk bolts belonging to Enryon, and three hundred arrows from the King of Harad's Haradrim were launched from their strings, soaring through the air with invisible demons behind them; one for each arrow, one to claim each soul of the body that the arrow would strike and deliver to. Gaglak shouted out to Angmar's siege weaponry just as the arrows were plucked from their strings.

"CATAPULTS! BALLISTAE! FIREEEE!!"

Olog-hai had previously loaded catapults with fiery boulders and great bolts upon the ballistae. At the command of the lieutenant, thirty flaming boulders and twenty massive bolts were released from the artillery and followed behind the archers' arrows as all headed for Mordor's army. Yet as the exchange of ranged warfare continued, Mordor's first ranged assault was countered by all orcs able to brace themselves with their shields.

Being Great Orcs, they had more intelligence than the basic breed, and most out of any that were hit only received penalties