NationStates Jolt Archive

It was cold, and harsh atop the peak of Methedras.
There stood a tall, old and shivering man clothed in white robes looking around; north, south, east and west.
It was different than he remembered it. So much had changed.
He could see flying contraptions in the far distance, there were fewer trees than the last time.
To the north, it remained much the same, mountains behind mountains.
To the east, he saw the river Anduin and the forest of Fangorn, still standing ancient and proud.
To the west he saw the grasslands and fields of Arnor.
To the south, he saw home, the ugly and yet beautiful spire of Orthanc, abandoned and strangled by wild trees and brambles. That was not a good sight to him.
He was hungry, thirsty, weak in feeling yet his strong will beckoned to him to proceed southward bound.
In his hand, he held a new staff, black iron in appearance, smooth and sleek. Why he held it he did not know, it was in his possession when he woke an hour earlier atop the mountain. But simply holding it gave him strength.
He began the slow and arduous trek south towards the tower of Orthanc.....

(Feel free to join in, Tolkien enthusiasts. From what it looks like we have tons of elves, Melkor and a few others. Just please, try not to destroy my character when I reinhabit Orthanc, I would like to have a fair long time roleplaying.)

The iron doors of the tower stood before him.
He pulled at the handle but the door would not budge, it was locked.
A cool wind blew in from the mountains and the leaves of the trees rustled with chill.
He pictured in his mind, the shape of the key. No mortal would remember every indent, every protrusion of the key of Orthanc, but he was no mortal. He was of the Istari; a wizard maia with superior reasoning and powers of the mind and body. He remembered everything.
Saruman rose up his staff into the air and whispered a few sentences under his breath.
Slowly but surely, the end of the staff began to morph and shift. It finally assumed the shape of the key which he then used to open the door. He walked inside, cautiously in case of hidden threat.
It was dark inside, all the lights had been extinguished and a rank smell of dead Orc flesh clung to the walls.
Saruman whispered a few more incantations and the staff end turned spherical, a flame appeared within.
The room was a mess, a single Uruk corpse lay dead sitting at a table, skeletal limbs and bones discarded around him.
From the look of it, this Uruk had killed the others as meat and then starved once his 'food' ran out.
He continued....

Three uneventful days had passed.
An unusual contraption, unusual to Saruman at least, had passed over the vale of Isengard, on the second day. Saruman had been curious as to whether or not the craft has seen him underneath all those vines.

By logic, I can safely assume that they did not see me ergo they did not see my actions. The aircraft was too high in altitude and while Orthanc is quite a site, it is unlikely they could see someone of my 'size' from so high above the clouds.

The past three days had been pretty much a 'spring-clean'. Removing the corpses and bones, rekindling the lamps inside, hunting and filling his meagre stores. All hard work.
It felt beneath him.
On the fourth day, he was sitting comfortably in his chambers within the tower, thinking.

I should rekindle the fires of Isengard! I should become a mighty lord, make my enemies tremble as they made me tremble before my death in that pit of a shire! I hope those hobbits have rotted in their ignorance!

He consumed another mouthful of mutton, their was little else in terms of food. The food was irrelevent, he was already filling his gut with his hate.

Gandalf Grayhame did not anticipate that his leaving for Valinor would allow me to reform my power. Of course, my reformation took thousands upon thousands of years. Damn that Mandos and his rejection of my perfect soul! Leaving me to rot in the void!
I think I will go down to the lowest room of the tower, I kept many of my works there. Samples, texts, I may be able to rid myself of this demeaning work by breeding my own slaves.

He put the mutton bones onto his plate. With his staff, he descended into the forbidding depths of Orthanc, ready to work....

Chop, chop, chop.
The vale of Isengard was booming with activity...

It had taken him a week to pour over the texts, the genetic samples, all his works. It had taken him another week to awaken some Half-Orc "Uruk Hai" specimens he had kept in a form of primitive hibernation in a geletanous membrane. During the 'War of the Ring', he decided to hoard away his best Uruk specimens in case a disaster had come. He was lucky he had.
He had been particularly surprised that they had survived undamaged for the thousands of years he had been absent. Unfortunately, he could with his current resources create no more of these Half-Orcs.

Another week passed, his Uruks did the dirty work.
Primarily, they were constructing a rather unique structure in the ground. A massive pit with crudely dug slots in the walls.
With these, he bred conventional Orcs, inferiors to carrying on the work.

In his tower, he continued to meditate and think up new strategies.
Considering that thousands of years have passed since my death, more modern weaponry, expertise and technology will be required if we are too stand a chance of survival. I will send out one Warg rider, one of my few Uruks, to search for allies and friends.
Luckily, no more flying machines have flown above. This luck may not hold, soon they will see us and we may be threatened. Unless they prove diplomatic....

The following day, a single Uruk set off atop a Warg in search of civilisation. He was armed only with a sword and two banners, a white one of diplomacy and a black one with the White hand....

Jonas Kalk, prime explorer of Dimmimar was walking down a small hill, holding onto the crudely shaped banister, the hallmark of a fallen civilization. It was of course Elven, Noldorian by the looks of things. As he reached the bottom of the hill, he put out his hand and stumbled onto the ground, tripping over a small piece of rock. He cursed, picking himself back up again and nursing his wounded hand, applying antiseptic to it and washing it in a nearby stream. Once the blood had stopped flowing and his hand no longer throbbed, he continued over the stream, fording it. He looked onto the horizon and saw a figure approaching on some sort of wolf. He immediately flung himself behind a large cluster of rocks and pulled out his gun, a XIM revolver.

What on Earth...

He readied himself, aiming for the figure on the wolf.....

Sharkey, Sharkey is back...

Benjamin Took snapped awake as the voice hissed through his dream.
Scrubbing his face the young hobbit swung his feet out of his bed, a nest of warm blankets into which he burrowed against the cold, and onto the thick blue carpet that ran throughout his snug hole on the far edge of Took country.
He scrubbed at his face and tried to recall the dream which had brought him gasping awake.
"An old man, brilliant and gleaming like a broken mirror? A tower?"
He shook himself, thick brown hair fluffy and bobbing from sleep, speaking aloud "Sounds like something from the Red Book, the old days of the Rings."
He padded out to his kitchen for a restorative snack, looking out the small circular window onto the snowy Shire and resolved to take the matter up with the Elves as soon as the sun was properly up.
After all, at worst it could be an Adventure, and it'd been far too long since a Took had one of those.

"I could be just like the Tall. Hmm."

O.O.C
really sorry for brevity, kind of early here, but squee! hobbit enemy number one on the forums :O

The Warg Rider, an intelligent Uruk named Stakul felt a chill in his bones. His muscles taught with readiness for the slightest attack.
Holding his flags in one hand and the reins in the other, the warg jumped over a small stream.
Stakul did not feel comfortable.
He shouted into the surroundings.

"I am an emissary of his most powerful Lord Saruman, master of the Plains of Isengard, Rohan and Southern Arnor! I carry diplomatic neutrality and may not be assailed! Show yourself, so that we treat with one another!"

(OOC: Don't kill him, I have plans for this character)

OOC: Hmm. I thought that Melkor of the Five Kingdoms and Arda was currently controlling most of former Middle Earth...anyways...Big TAG, unless you want to take it further.

Somewhere over former Middle Earth, or at least the part of it containing Orthanc

Snapspanspanspan Would have been the stream of sound coming from the football-sized contraption shooting around the planet at a few thousand kilometers per hour, as its thaumagraphic camera took 'pictures' of the territory directly below it, capturing whatever puissant energies came from that planet's surface. Since the object was not in an atmosphere -- the heat from friction would have cooked it in a few seconds in any case -- the sound did not exist, but a very good thaumaturg could have spotted the unmistakeble signature produced by the satellite's firien cells.

Rod logic assemblies clicked, decided they were full. A quantum-encrypted stream flashed to the nearest geostat, containing the last few hours' worth of observation, before the satellite erased its data banks.

The Tower, Wye City, Weyr

Processing assemblies in the bowels of the massive colmles of spires that was The Tower took a few moments to scan the new data. Something clicked, signifying a sharp spike in activity. Another computing assembly retrieved data for that area from the past year, though in reality there was a distance of a week or more between each snapshot. The group of information was given a tag, and sent to the on-duty magus.

In theory, The Tower sent all of its data to the Weyrean Government. In reality, as a de facto private organization, it randomly selected bits of information and sent them to the Diplomatic service once every few weeks, so as to not appear to be completely independent from the High Council and the High King. There were benefits to being one of the largest thaumaturgic associations in the known multiverse.

The on-duty magus was snoring away in his comfortable chair, black and green console lights illuminating his face. An indicator light flashed. Scanners detected that the magus was in his chair, but that he was not moving to touch the console. After a few minutes of waiting, the console sent a 100-decibel gong through the room.

The decision, which came the next day, was simple. The Tower would watch, and do nothing. No doubt some do-gooder state, most probably an elvish one, would destroy the place in a few months. The data cluster of files and thaumaturgic and mundate snapshots was filed away, and life went on in The Tower.

"Leave your weapons at the base of the tree over there." He said apprehensively, pointing at the oak beside the stream. "See, I do the same!"

Jonas put his weapons at the base of the tree.

"What are you? You look orc-like and that creature must be a warg."

Stakul was amused. He smirked and put his sword in a pack on the Warg.
"What I am is what you see. What I am riding is what you say." Stakul joked...
Stakul walked over laughing at his own humour, dragging the Warg with him using the reins. The beast snarled.
"My name is Stakul, the Emissary of Saruman of Many Colours. Now it is my turn to 'interrogate' thee...."
He stepped closer...
"What is your name? Where are you from? Why are you within the dominions of my liege lord? What gives you the right to trespass within the realms that span Nan Curunir, Rohan, Dunland and all south of the Greyflood?"

Jonas raised an eyebrow. "Is that a joke? And I think that some of the people that inhabite this area might have something to say about that."

Stakul was surprised by the boldness of this stranger.
"Unfortunately, for your sake, no. My master's claim on this land is legal, valid and has stood the test of thousands upon thousands of years. Now answer my questions!"

OOC: Uruk-hai...with rifles....I love it. Must help some how....*annoyed at diffuculty of entering RP in a reasonable sense*

"I am Jonas Kalk, prime explorer of the Psychotically-Induced State of Dimmimar, and as for your information, several nations inhabite this immediate area." Jonas barked back. "Now you answer mine."

Stakul was puzzled at this random passer's request. Had he not just answered this guy's questions?
"Um... I think you will find that I did answer your questions. I am what thou saw, an Uruk. What I am riding is what thou said, a warg. Must you bother me by this roadside? I have work to do."

OOC: I think I came up with something…

IC: The sound of thunder rolled over the hills, no, not thunder, the products of industry, engines. The lead LRV jumped as it went over the hill, almost spinning out of control when it landed. The driver was backhanded by the gunner, “You moron, no-no tricks when were on patrol, you know this-this vehicle is worth more than us.” The gunner was the in command of this recon, he was a stormvermin, his armor gleaming a silver color, the driver and passenger were lowly clanrats. “Blah blah blah, that’s all-all you say sir, why don’t we just drive off, head out into the plains or mountains, away from all the war?”

“I’m going to ignore that comment, because look up ahead, we got company!”

“Where, where?!”

“Just over this hill, all right, lock and load, but do not shoot, repeat, this is first contact, do not shoot.”

All the skaven groaned or muttered over this order, others kept quiet, a boring day, might soon get a whole lot more interesting.

EDIT: The three LRVs parked, nose end pointing towards the two figures, Iskitt, the stormvermin spoke in a calm manner, “look, one of the has a white flag, maybe an emissary or a diplomat, the other, I don’t know, this could be big, maybe an armistice, just keep your weapons ready, I’m going in.”

The clanrats quickly lost the bickering attitude, the weapons weren’t aimed, but they were at ready. A clanking sound was heard as Iskitt jumped off the turret, while a clanrats slid in to take his place. He approached, palms up, to show he had no weapons, “Greetings follower of the white hand, we are curious as to whether the lord of that banner is still here, or you looted it?”

The skaven were around in the war of the ring, no military undertakings occurred except for slave raids or attacks on men, dwarven, or elvin caravans, but they recognized the white hand, and who it represented…
END EDIT

OOC: Sorry for crappy post, I'll delete it if you want me too.

BUMP for attention

Turning his attention away from the Dimmimar explorer, he turned to the Skaven in the vehicles.
"I represent the recently resurrected Saruman of Many Colours, he dwells northward at Orthanc within the ring of Isengard, hence the banner of the White Hand. May I ask you business here within the domains of my master?"

IC: So, Saruman is still around, the council will be pleased with this.
"My patrol here is on a ghosting assignment, to investigate a rise in activity here, nothing more." The ordinary skaven would have to look up to an Uruk, but stormvermin are better, much like uruks compared to normal orcs. Iskitt spoke again, "My name is Iskitt, and if you say Saruman has returned, has he taken up his old projects?"

His breeding programs were the base for moulders rise to power, if it wasn't for him, moulder would have been some nameless clan that would have been absorbed into a more powerful group...

"I am not at liberty to discuss my master's doings with the likes of thee. But know this, Saruman of Many Colours has indeed returned."
The Uruk contained his disdain for these creatures...

IC: Well, this couldn't have gone better, soon we shall be feasting upon their entrails. His outward appereance didn't change, except for a dark twinkling in his eyes, "Well, I hope saruman finds his new reign long and prosperous, goodbye." Without waiting for a response, he quickley mounted back into the LRV, as they were speeding away, a chortling could be heard...

Jonas Kalk started to laugh. "Skaven!? Skaven and Uruk-Hai! This is indeed a feast for my eyes."

He turned back to the Uruk. "I have been given direct authority by my government to act as a delegate to any new-found lands that I discover, if you permit it, I would like to meet Saruman. Perhaps we could work out a treaty, if that is possible."

"Ride with me."
Stakul smiled and mounted his warg, inviting the scout to follow him back along the track.

The ride to Orthanc was short taking the best part of an afternoon. By the time they arrived it was nightfall.
A foul stench of Orcs and smoke filled the entire valley. Stakul sniffed it in and smiled as if accustomed to the smell, even comfortable with it.
From what Stakul could see, much progress had been made in his departure. There was a crude array of fifty one storey 'boxes', crude barracks holding around one hundred Orcs each.
They continued to ride along the pavement, the snarls of passing Orcs looking with disgust at the stranger, but saying no more. As the spire of Orthanc grew ever closer, rain began to fall, cold and heavy.
Dismounting from the warg, Stakul and the stranger proceed up the black steps, entering the tower through the small main door.
Saruman was there to greet them in the hallway, as if he had expected them. He calmly greeted his guest, with a warm, melodious and deep voice that comforted the soul.
"Welcome, friend, to Isengard."