NationStates Jolt Archive

A long column worms its way across the broken landscape above Angband, from the massive Webway Gate inside Ali'Staan. Perhaps a hundred Dark Eldar warriors herd thousands of slaves along, all barefoot and bedraggled. The slow creep of the column is thus due to the pace set by the nearly broken slaves which pull the huge floating dais bearing the throne of the Archon.

Rath sits in his throne, crafted from wraithbone and built atop a pile of hundreds of skulls. The skulls are laid out in such a way as to form layers, steps up to the thone, with a platform of metal around the base, upon which Rath's bodyguards stand. Of course, the dais is capable of propelling itself, but what would be the fun in that? Instead, it is drawn along by dozens of elven slaves, the remnant of the survivors of the Silmesse prisoners. A pair of haemonculi stand at the edge of the dais, plucking stragglers from the ground to torture. Screams projected by horrific devices known as torture amps herald the passing of the leader of the Dark Eldar.

Behind the dais, a pair of hulking Talos bear a massive cloth-draped box between them.

Thus, slowly, does the Archon of Death's Fist Kabal approach the black gates of Thangorodrim, so as not to hostile or threatening. They stop beyond the black gate, but within sight of its guards and wardens.

A servant ascends the dais to raise an arcane device to Rath's lips, to translate his words from the tongue of the Dark Eldar.

"I have come to request a personal audience with the Lord Morgoth, He Who Arises In Might. I bring gifts of Eldar craftsmanship for the Lord of Angband and his servants, that he might sow terror among those who defy him. Also, I bring a gift of six-score slaves, elves from Silmesse, for his personal pleasure, and ten thousand Men as well. A thousand souls, too, await his pleasure. Go, and tell the Master of Arda that his servant wishes to speak with him."

[Tag]

((Bump for Melkor))

Silence lingers for a time, as guards peer from the massive towers wrought into the sides of the massive peaks of Thangorodrim, fires burning behind them.

Suddenly, the massive iron gate begins to creak and the doom, doom of the Trolls' drums echo off the rocks. Eventually, the huge gate [which slides with no small amount of effort to one side, as opposed to being swung outward like the Morannon] is opened fully, and a grim column of men, and orcs, stride out to meet their Dark Eldar allies. Marching at the fore of this party is Warlord Adûnakôr, the imposing ex-Field Marshal most noted for his actions on the Red Planet; killing millions. Two swords loom tall over his head, crossed over his back as a part of the elaborate armor he wore. It appeared to be wrought of extremely heavy metals, and only the largest of men could lift it, let alone wear it.

Adûnakôr was probably one of the tallest and most imposing men Rath and his entourage had ever seen, and he dwarfed his closest contender by a good 16 inches, at least. Him and his men negotiate their way through the Dark Eldar party, forsaking the orcs, who lingered some distance away. Several of his men decide that the Dark Eldar wouldn't mind too much if they spat on the Elven slaves as they passed them.

The Warlord bows deeply before the dias, and his guards take up their positions on either side of him, looking dreadfully small by comparison. "I am honored the be in your presence, Lord Rath. Certainly Lord Melkor will not be turning down an audience so grand as this," he elaborates, spreading his large hands. "Come, let us show you into the depths of Angband. It will take us several days, but i promise you we will at last come to the chambers of the Dark Lord Himself, if that is your wish," he finished with a wicked grin.

The eldar laugh amongst themselves as the elven slaves are spat upon. One bashes the back of a slave's knee, forcing him to the ground, shouting for the wretch to kiss the dirt in the wake of the Warlord's aide and thank him for the spittle soaking into his dusty slaves' clothing. The prostration of the slave prompts further laughter from the eldar warriors.

At the dais, Rath bows to the Warlord from his seat upon the skull-mounted throne. "It would honor me if you would join me here, that I may speak with you about the will of our master," Rath says as he gestures to his side, closer and higher upon the dais than even his most trusted warriors. He seems to pay no mind to the fact that he sits where the Warlord must stand. The man would tower over the archon, and any slight from remaining seated would surely be offset by the man's looming presence over the relatively small eldar.

The procession lingers a moment longer as cruelly barbed whips are made ready to drive the slaves forward once more. Finally it lumbers back into motion, the first ranks followed by the next as if in a wave.

Rath regards the Warlord's swords for a moment. "Those are fine blades. Much too heavy for the taste of my kind, but then Lord Morgoth favors brutal strength, does he not? It is said that he wields a great hammer, and that his exiled and fallen champion favored a mace. Terrible weapons which no thick armor could stop."