From the Mouth of Sauron
Date: 10-15-95
Issue: E-38
Note: all authors retain exclusive rights to their material.
Reprinting is allowed for non-commercial game use only.
The Mouth is edited by Brian Mason and Tom Walton. All correspondence
can be sent to them at:
Brian Mason - mason@chara.gsu.edu
Tom Walton - kazandar@ix.netcom.com,
kazandar@rio.com
Back issues of "From the Mouth of Sauron" and the general info files
are available at chara.gsu.edu via anonymous ftp.
First Word
==========
I'm going to devote this First Word to a discussion about agents. Not
griping about them (although I still think they play too large a factor
in the game), but the agent heavy nature of 2950 and the problem with
randomness.
At present, I'm playing in only one game of the 2950 scenario, game 3,
and this has turned out to be a very agent heavy game. In considering
this, I've begun to wonder whether the way the positions start in 2950
(generally weaker than 1650) leads these games to be more agent heavy.
A 60 agent costs the same per turn as 200 heavy cavalry. With nations
starting with much smaller armies, with smaller economies to support
large armies, and with fewer good recruiting sites, many nations (at
least in game 3) favored an agent-heavy startup. Now, it is possible to
plan army actions and predict army losses and success or failure of an
attack quite accurately, and this is despite the fact that we do not
have troop vs. troop modifiers provided. However, both before and after
the gsi agent modifications of about a year ago, I am unaware of any
easily established rules for success or failure of agent orders and how
*exactly* stealth factors into the calculations.
It seems to me that if agent activities are going to be SO important to
the 2950 scenario that they should be more predictable, or at least
more repeatable. The random factor thrown into the success/failure
determination makes it more a throw of the dice. This certainly comes
into play when you have two high quality agents both trying to
assassinate each other. Whoever is lucky enough to get the first strike
wins. Let's keep luck out of it, if we can.
Brian
Encounters
==========
>From Holger Eichmann
--------------------
Daelomin: state ALLEGIANCE from Dark Servant (Quiet Avenger):
survive with 1 health
Encounters
==========
>From Alex Maetzing
------------------
I don't know, if my "new" encounters (or their corrections) are
mentioned in your database, because I didn't follow the last six issues
of MoS. But I hope they are and you found them worth to write them into
the Mouth:
1, dragon Lamthanc
In Allsorts #51 Lamthanc left my army without eating the commander. It
was the second time that this happened in our game, so I think such an
outcome isn't right anymore.
(Tom's note: hmm, I thought we'd dispelled this some time ago. There
aren't any dragons who eat army commanders if they don't engage in
battle.)
2. Radagast / man in the brown robe.
In your database it is said that Radagast and the man in the brown robe
(feeding birds) possibly are the same people/encounter. I can now
confirm that this isn't true. I have (again in Allsorts #51) the
message that Radagast was seen at Esgaroth (3109), but at the same time
one of my characters had an encounter with the brown man at Ceber
Fanuin (2715). Any idea who the brown man could be?
>From Jon Steer
--------------
Playing the Sinda Elves in Allsorts game 65, I noticed a castle without
a population centre at 2321 and decide to move an emmissary there with
the intention of creating a camp.
On arrival my emmissary had the following encounter:
As she stopped for camp one night, she spotted the ruined
fortifications of Dunharrow in the midst of a secret glen. She decided
to enter to see if anything valuable could be found. It was only after
she had entered that she realized that she was not alone. The Spirits
had crept upon her and now challenged her right to be there. With an
unholy wail, they set upon her with a vengeance. But before she could
ready her weapons, she realized that they were not attacking her but
rather celebrating her arrival. With loud encouragement, they showed
her through th ruins and into a secret room in one of the buildings..
Here she found a small case of precious jewels and gems which she was
pressed to keep. It was with a profound sense of gratitude that she
watched as the Spirits faded to their final rest. Later the jewels and
gems were appraised at 16000 gold pieces.
A nice way of earning some money! I intend to build a camp here next turn.
On Dragons
==========
Excerpted from Brian Lowery
Dragons, boy have discussed this one before Brian M? What do I think?
I think until you have played the Dragon Lord or Witch King you may not
realize how bad you need them. Calm down, Calm down I'm not finished.
I think good DS team can take advantage. Game 204, Brian & Tom how
many have your team seen? How many do we have that you have not seen?
- a good example of this.
In game 204 Dragons continue to appear (randomly) we continue to hope
we run into a "recruitable" Dragon as we watch those "large" well
financed free people armies approach. Despite our knowledge of Dragon
recruitment the Land of the Rhudar is trashed, Angmar is in trouble and
the Dragon Lord has been evicted from Mirkwood. How many have we
recruited 10? More? Only turn 12.
I agree Dragons are tough, If you run into them with an army you will
generally loose your army (I have lost battles with a dragons help, not
many).
The first big MEPBM issue as I recall was agents. They were "to
tough" the agent orders were "made more difficult", now the issue
seems to be Dragons, although agents are still tough (maybe to tough),
we have learned over time how to better fight against them. Move your
capitol, use emissarys to double them, don't stay in one place for two
long, have backup commanders, transfer command so they cannot follow
you... I think we should be asking similar questions of Dragons. How
do we combat them, not if they are two tough or not. What I know about
Dragons:
They tend to go to the character in command of an army with the largest
total skill ranks (including artifacts, I beleive) I am still not 100%
on this but it looks pretty good.
If they attack a pop center that is defended by an army, they only
attack once, against the army.
They show up very well on pop centers, with divine char/forces and even
locate character.
If they are seen in a place other than Mordor, Misty Mtns,
Mts/Hill&Rough hex on DL Map ore Mtn in North they are with an army.
They stay with an army for a limited (random) time.
I have tended not to play the FP positions because I feel it is to easy
to win. This has made me not consider at length how to deal with
dragons. Lets talk about this one! I do feel that given the "Dragon
Lists" floating about they have become a larger problem for the FP.
I'm sure its possible. How do we combat them? Did GSI give us any
options here, I think so; but perhaps I give them to much credit.
Hope we get some discussion on this one.
(Tom's note: there's a correction that needs to be made. Brian L.
states that dragons only appear in Mordor, mountain hexes, or
hills/rough hexes. This isn't entirely true. Two dragons that I know
of will appear in the Wastes north and west of the Grey Mountains (in
general, hexrows 01-03), in the Wastes north of the Iron Hills, and
along the road that runs from Gundabad east past Mirkwood. They're
rarely seen because hardly anyone sends people to these areas. At
least one of these dragons is recruitable.)
On Customer Service
===================
By Brian Lowery
Hey was reading mouth 37 and read something regarding turn transfers
that hit very close to home. Thought I would share this and let others
know they are not alone in their frustration. I too feel GSI's service
stinks and over time have chosen not to phone them as I never receive
anything but frustration.
Following is a request for a temporary position transfer to teammates in
some "grudge" games. Being polite has never made up for BAD policy.
The transfers will still happen, These players will simply have to
drive to my home and pick up the turns, Thanks again if you're reading
GSI.
Forwarded message:
> From GmSystmInc@aol.com Tue Oct 31 09:18 PST 1995
> From: GmSystmInc@aol.com
> Date: Tue, 31 Oct 1995 12:12:20 -0500
> Message-ID: (951031121220_8761444@emout05.mail.aol.com)
> To: Brian.Lowrey@majiq.com
> Subject: Re: Turn Transfer Please
> Content-Type: text
> Content-Length: 1538
>
> Brian,
>
> With regard to your request to allow your position to be played by
>players currently in the game for the next four turns, this is an
>area which is very tricky. GSI must guard against players playing
>more than one position in a game. As such, we do not send turns to
>temporary addresses for more than two turns. Because of this, we
>cannot comply to your request to send the turns to the temporary
>players for the next four turns.
>
> If a player is to be out of touch for more than a month, the thing
>we recommend doing is to transfer the position to someone else for
>the period the player will be out of touch. This prevents any
>possible abuses which may occur. Please note that the player
>cannot be a current player in the game you wish to transfer, as
>this violates the one position per player guide we have set up. If
>you have a player you can transfer the positions to, we will be
>happy to accomodate [sic] you in this matter.
>
> Another point of note: GSI cannot transfer positions to a
>temporary email address, even on a temporary basis. The potential
>for abuse with regard to email turns in even greater than with
>regular mailing addresses, as there is no one who monitors who is
>getting the mail (like the postman does with regular turns). Thus,
>we recommend that any player you ask to take the positions is not
>on email, as we will be unable to send turns to another player's
>email address. If you have any further questions regarding this or
>any other matter, please feel free to contact our office.
>
> Good Gaming,
> Stuart Taft
> GSI
>
On the Bribing and Recruiting of Characters, II
===============================================
by Brian Mason
There has been some more input since this was last presented a while
back, and while there is still not enough data to make any hard and
fast statements there are a few observations which can be made.
1. For enough gold, you can recruit just about anybody.
2. If your emissary rank is high enough you can recruit just about
anybody.
3. There is a large random factor.
To cut down on undersampling of the data more input is needed. If you
can pass any along, please do so.
Also, does anyone know if it is possible to recruit npcs?
So be daring! Attempt a bribe! (but send your results to me for further
tabulation. :-)
Thanks to Holger Eichmann, Jeff Holzhauer,Thomas Meier, Chelsea Wood
and Greg Reid for their contributions.
Emissary Rank Bribed Character Rank Gold Offer Successful?
------------- --------------------- ---------- -----------
55 100 6000 yes
80 110 2500 yes
40 70 25000 yes
78 70 12000 yes
90 70 2000 yes
69 68 10000 no
73 68 20000 yes
120 69 10000 yes
78 60 2000 no
55 60 2000 no
85 50 6000 yes
10 50 35000 yes
55 43 2000 no
55 43 5000 yes
85 40 6000 yes
The Star Maiden
===============
By James Vigil
In the year 2951, Third Age, south of Minas Arthor in the realm of
Northern Gondor...
The sun beat down on the broad hillsides. Fields of corn and wheat
stretched out lazily as far as the eye could see, interspersed with
small black dots. As the viewer drew nearer, the dots became larger.
Until they became recognizable - the broad backs of Northern Gondor men
and women, rising and falling as they toiled steadily.
The year was drawing to its end and the harvesters worked all the
harder for that. Near a clump of trees, two stout peasants paused at
their work. The elder of the two men drew a cloth from his belt, wiped
the sweat from his brow, and spoke:
"Soon the frost will come. We must hurry."
"And what of it Belthron?" said the younger man wearily. "If He comes
first, the cold will be the least of our cares."
"Peace Ulcarin!" hushed Belthron. "It is treason to talk so. The
harvest feeds our people. We are at war."
The young man shrugged. "Have you been to town lately old one? I
have. The townsfolk give less and less heed to such high policy. All
tend to their own these days. It is all a man may do to keep a warm
hearth and bread on his table. The armies must feed, say you? They
feed all the same, say I, whether the Tree or the Eye are their
tokens."
The old man's eyes blazed at this. "How can you speak thus? You who
have lost kin to the Enemy? You must keep hope that we will triumph."
Belthron peered closely at the young man. Ulcarin had recently lost a
brother at Osgiliath. The second failed attempt to hold the town. The
Steward had promised the town would remain Gondor's. But it had fallen
again. Before Ulcarin had been known for his laughter. But he never
smiled now.
"The last one who spoke of hope was Lord Baranor," responded Ulcarin.
"And he is now lost. I do not speak treason, but where is hope these
dark days? The east bank is gone. Our allies are far away. At the
Mid-Summer's Eve, we stood at the river and watched the army pass,
three hundred times ten strongly armed. Few returned. What of hope,
old one?"
The older man straightened and gave Ulcarin a grim look. "Then let us
speak no more of hope, but rather of vengeance."
Just then the sound of shouting voices distracted them. From down near
the road. Dropping their hoes, the two peasants ran down with the
others to see.
A long line of waggons was passing, piled high with belongings and
terrified people. They called to the farmers "Minas Arthor is fallen!
Flee all who can!"
"What!" shouted Belthron. "That cannot be. What of the walls? What
of the militia?"
The refugees shouted back "There was no battle Grandfather. The town
elders took counsel. They have yielded the town to the Dark One in
hopes of being spared the fate of Osgiliath."
Belthron's shoulders slumped in shock. Ulcarin looked wearily around,
then started walking back to where they had left their tools.
"Where are you going?" said Belthron.
"Can your eyes no longer see old one?" said Ulcarin. "Those who would
not be slaves must join the flight. Come Belthron, my family will
make room for you on our waggon."
Just then came another shout. Both men started and looked back. The
waggon procession had come to a halt and hundreds of people were
craning their necks and looking nervously towards the direction of
Minas Arthor, where the far-sighted could descry tiny towers gleaming
on the horizon. A lone rider came galloping towards them. His helm
and surcoat were that of a Northern Gondor soldier.
"Hold, hold" he shouted. "Great tidings!"
People began getting off their horses and waggons and crowding the
roadside. Something in the rider's voice made them all take heed and
forget the terror and fatigue that had possessed them moments before.
Now they saw another party of horsemen approaching. Not at a gallop,
but at a steady walk. A hooded and cloaked figure rode at their head
on a grey palfrey. The solemn Gondor soldiers who accompanied the
figure kept a reverent distance.
The riders came closer and then could no longer proceed. Thousands of
men, women and children, refugees, farmers, and soldiers thronged
about, blocking the road and surrounding the riders. A silence fell.
The figure threw back its hood and lo! It was a beautiful young
woman. The sun gleamed in her golden hair. She wore blue and silver
and her cloak was pinned at her shoulder with a golden star.
"Miriel," gasped Ulcarin. "I saw her often in town. Always holding
meetings and urging on the folk. How comes she here?"
At that moment, the maiden spoke:
"People of Gondor await. Flee no longer."
And the people answered in many voices. "They are coming, they are
coming! We cannot stay! We can withstand the Enemy no longer. Gondor
has fallen!"
"Gondor has not fallen," replied the maiden. "Gondor is not a wall or
a tower. It is a people and a fire within the people. The Enemy is
strong. But he is not all strength."
With that Miriel cast aside her cloak. In one hand was the head of an
orc and the other brandished a glowing staff.
"Behold Tormog!" she shouted.
A roar went up from the crowd, swelling to an cheer that echoed over
the fields.
"Behold," said Miriel, "Minas Arthor has indeed fallen. My sister
Lalaith was taken and I, a mere maiden, was challenged in the square of
the city by this dreaded foe. Might and anger knit his limbs, power
sat on his brow and he wielded the Staff of Taurin. I had only my
simple sword. The wise said the chances were five on his side to my
one. And yet I, a maiden unskilled at arms, prevailed. Who can doubt
now that the Valar are with us?"
Miriel handed the head of Tormog to one of the soldiers, who put it in
a bag. She again raised the glowing staff. "Fear not the darkness,
People of Gondor. For the night passes! "
Miriel lowered her arms and slumped in her saddle. Voices of concern
were raised and the people saw for the first time that she was
wounded. But she waved away the soldier who came to her and she
straightened again. Pale-faced, urging her palfrey on, she passed down
the road, between the thousands of faces.
All was quiet now. Peasants pressed gently forward to touch her horse
and the hem of her cloak as she passed. Mothers held their babes on
high so that they could see her. And people whispered a new name.
"Miriel Star Maiden."
Miriel passed down the road and disappeared into the twilight with her
guard. As she left their sight, the people shook themselves as if from
a dream.
A new hope coursed their limbs. The waggons stopped and people began
to make camps and light fires for the evening meal. The few peasants
with weapons took turns with the soldiers standing guard around the
large encampment. Finally, night fell, but to all who looked
heavenward the stars had never shone brighter.
The Shadow
==========
by Gary Drebit
Gaurhir squatted within the brush, not more than 100 yards from the
main gate to Pelargir. He pulled the hood of his cloak down lower
over his ruby eyes and wolflike features. "The moon is full and
soon the harvest will begin." He snickered to himself looking up
into the night sky. He leaned forward to get a better look at the
Fire Kings Army. Many years as an agent for the Ice King had taught
him many tricks. He counted the fires on the hill again and added
the numbers up one more time. Each large fire counts for
approximately 20 soldiers, small fires are for Calvary; about six
soldiers each. More than enough to take the newly formed capital
city of the Northern Gondors.
Minas Anor had fallen six weeks ago under the combined force of the
Ice King, Fire King, Cloud Lord and Dark Lieutenants; but not before
the court of King Tarondor had fled from his old capital city.
Gaurhir had followed him to Pelargir. He knew he would come here.
"Like a whipped dog with his tail between his legs," he thought as he
settled back in the thicket. "The last major town of the 'Great'
Northern Gondors." The 14 warships in the harbour however, was a
concern. This could only mean that Elatars Navy had returned. "No
matter!" He whispered. He knew the Ice King had 3 armies combining
at Minas Arthor, a captured town, that will smash Elatars Navy when
it joins the Fire Kings force in the morning.
Gaurhir started to doze, 3 weeks of limited food and sleep were
starting to take its toll. His eyes closed for only a moment and
within his far away dreams he heard the high pitched wail of a battle
horn. "Hoarmurath must be here." He sleepily rubbed his eyes and
lean forward. The Fire Kings army was moving into position. The
ranks of Trolls and Goblins filled the horizon but the Ice Kings army
was not to be seen. The howling and mass bedlam of the forming
skirmish line was deafening. The walls of Pelargir responded.
Everywhere, torches were lit and vats of bubbling death were pushed
into position. Gaurhir moved like a wolf in the night; trying to
place himself near the farthest corner of the city wall, to view the
left flank.
"A direct charge or flanking maneuver?" He pondered.
He clutched to an old gnarled oak tree and strained his hearing in
the direction of the left flank. The general noise of the Fire Kings
army prevented him from hearing anything specific and he cursed the
tactic. He looked to the walls as the Northern Gondors took a
standard defensive position, prepared for an attack from any
direction. Slowly he started to crawl though the under brush,
looking for signs of the flanking army. He was sure that they were
there! He crawled until he reached the farthest end of the city and
still found nothing. Sweat matted his black hair around his eyes,
nose and mouth from the effort. Abruptly, he stopped crawling and
looked once more at the men guarding the city walls. A smile crossed
his features as he crossed his legs into a sitting position. "Your
just as foolish as I am." He whispered, looking up at the city
guards. "There is no flanking attack and soon you'll be running to
the main gate, but it will be all too late." He said sarcastically.
A few minutes later, the majority of the guards disappeared and
Gaurhir started to move towards the city.
On his belly, he wormed his way to the great wall. When he reached
the wall, he stood and flattened himself against it. From his pack
he uncoiled a length of rope with a three prong hook at the end and
effortlessly tossed it up the 20 meters. He pressed himself flat
against the wall again and started to counted to fifty. If the hook
was seen, it would be coming back down within this time. At the end
of the count he tugged on the rope to ensure it was secure and
started to scrabble up. Cautiously he peered over the top and viewed
the city. There were either less guards here then he had assumed or
the fight at the main entrance was overwhelming and required more
help. In either case, his entrance into the city was undetected.
Smoke was billowing out from a dozen or so structures. Another
handful of buildings were burning out of control. Mass panic was
everywhere as the Fire Kings army started to move deeper into the
city. Setting alight anything that would burn. The Northern Gondor
army was withdrawing deeper and deeper into the heart of the city.
Gaurhir watched from a vacant archers post, built high on the corner
wall. The small turret was built with several arrow slits to defend
the corner from inside and outside attackers. Gaurhir wondered why
it was empty, protecting the high ground was a common strategy. His
thought was disrupted by a young archer who ran straight into the
middle of the room.
Jason was only 12 years old and was already one of the finest archers
within his defense group. He had left his post for only a minute to
check on his family before returning to the tower. His sergeant had
given him permission and he ran both ways. Now within the tower,
doubled up and breathing heavy; his nerves on end, he was startled by
his mimicking shadow. He laughed nervously as he looked at the floor
and spat, trying to control his breathing. He looked once more at
his shadow; but in disbelief, as it straighten and leap towards
him. Knocking Jason to the floor it bite and clawed the bowman
without mercy. With Gaurhir in control, it didn't take long. He
pulled his slender short-sword from the small of his back with his
left hand. With his right, he jammed his fingers into the
eye-sockets of the helmet, pushing hard into the soft tissue.
Gaurhir had killed many times before and was almost business-like as
he twisted the helmet to block the bowman's vision. He rammed the
short-sword again and again into the kidneys of the boy. Jasons
screams went unnoticed, combining with the noise of the panicked
city. A moment later, the shadow moved back into his corner. Jason's
crimson covered body lied in a pool of congealed blood. His bowels
had released themselves during the attack and the turret carried the
aroma of death.
"Ahhh, that smells better!" Gaurhir said sniffing the air as he
watched the city burn.
Pointless Silliness In The Face Of Abject Despair
=================================================
By Dan DeYoung
How does your team handle it when, despite your best efforts, the
enemy is just kicking your butt? During one game where things took a
terrible turn for the worse for our side, attempts to plan some kind
of recovery degenerated into pointless silliness which I feel
obligated to share for some equally pointless, silly reason.
This exchange occurred as I responded to a note from my Woodman
Teammate explaining that he failed for a second time to upgrade my
Sylvan Elves whos armies need to be fed at his pop centers to
marching to certain death at Dol Guldor. After this failure, he
boldly requested any combat artifacts I might be inclined to spare.
Game 19, c2950
>From the Woodmen
To the Silvan Elves
Once again, the apathetic population of the Woodmen failed to go along
with a declaration of new relations. They don't want to hate orcs, and
they don't want to be friends with elves. So there you are, sitting on
my cap if 1 food ration in your baggage, and my folks don't want to
give up any of their honeycakes. Since I only have one commander at my
cap, it's a choice between trying to get the wishy-washy Woodmen off
the fence (UpStNat SY) or recruiting those w-w, honey-cake-eating
Woodmen into my home army (HvInfan 400).
I know I invited you to my cap to partake in my plentiful harvest, but
you should have told your troops to cover up their pointy ears.
Also, are you sure you need all those weapons I see your guys toting
around my capital? My comm's salivating every time she sees one of
your handsome young bucks carrying one of those things, but it's the
weapons, and not the elven studs that she's salivating over.
If you don't mind handing a couple over to Bjork, she can take care of
distributing them to my needy comms.
My response (I should never respond to E-mail after midnight)-
Review and comment on the Woodman expalanations and request:
Knowing full well the tight-fisted nature of the honey-bread hoarding
Woodmen folk, my elves craftily looted 701 lembas cakes from the
larders at 2709 before leaving on their death-march. Your wanton
commander Bjork, may her parts never sag, may use her taudry skills
to lure more innocent young Woodmen pre-teens to their deaths in the
people's army without concern for implementing a community love
project on our behalf.
Further, knowing her love for things long and ridged, it amuses
Thrandualpersonalities, leprous king of the Sadist-Elves, to present
her with two non-kitchen utensils with which she might hurt herself.
Since it is known that Bjork's primary military interest lies less in
strategy and tactics than in making sweaty, pubescent boys march
around in studded-leather tights, make sure she reads the instruction
manuals carefully - especially the parts about not holding the pointy
end.
Unless we can watch.
Woodman commander Wulfa, an honored family name meaning 'The noise
one makes when one shoves both arms into a cow's uterus during a
birthing', knowing full well he's likely to die from DS
curse-wizards, happily led an army to the Sinda capital anyway.
Apparently, he'd just found out that his wife could turn into a
bear, and can't abide a hairy woman. After consulting his mothers
entrails for guidance, he's decided to issue the standard attack
orders of Woodmen military doctrine - Don't Shoot Until They Can
Smell The Goat-Cheese On Your Breath - and hope Gandalf finds Urzahil
this turn.
Wulfa's two subcommanders, (and teammates in a Friday night
taber-toss league) the brother-father Beneoracer and son-brother
Beoraborn, seem bent on challenging DS mages to Wrastlin' matches
despite the fact that the huge, irascible Nazgul named Finda-Bar
is known to be hanging around. Drunk on ol' grandad beside the
campfire last night, the two were seen propped against each other
sobbing over the government's denial of their legal Name-Change
request, swearing that they just can't live with the shame any more.
Given these circumstances, Bork BornofEore, a skinny, hairless boy
abandoned by stall-mucking parents who thought they were too good for
him, is likely to be responsible for leading the woodman army into
battle at the burned-to-the-ground and otherwise much improved
ex-Sinda capitol. He's been up all night practicing strategies with
his bug collection, but snacking on the ranks when he thought nobody
was watching has left large gaps in his plans.
Will any of these half-breeds, misfits and ne're-do-wells survive to
see their picture on another post office wall? Only time, and a
Magic 8 Ball will tell...
- -Dan 'perhaps I can offer something more substantive tomorrow'
DeYoung
Of course I couldn't, and our Mirkwood theater became a tromping
ground for the DS in 2950 G19. After a few more turns and some good
nights' sleep, and two key missed turns by the Dk. Lts, things
started to turn around though!
The Burning of Angmar
=====================
By Tom Walton
The table in the center of the room was overlaid by an intricately
colored map mounted upon a wooden board, a map which was now impaled by
two dozen different pins bearing tiny flags. The flags were of the
different nations of Eriador: the mysterious elves of the western
coasts; the clans of the Duns, now united; the barbarian Hill-men of
Rhudaur, puppets of the Witch-King; the loathsome orcs of Angmar; and
the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor, formerly the warring princedoms of
Arthedain and Cardolan. Fortunately for the two grizzled men studying
the map, most of the pins, which represented armies, sported the flag
of Arnor.
Hallas, Prince of Cardolan and now vassal to King Argeleb, the man
standing next to him, pointed down at the area representing the Plateau
of Angmar.
"The runners say that Duke Lanaigh met the enemy at Cargash - " he
tapped the spot that marked the town " - almost two fortnights ago. A
mighty battle followed, but the enemy was defeated."
"A fine victory against the enemy, Prince Hallas," Argeleb said.
"Fitting retaliation for what the enemy raiding parties have done to my
northern towns."
"Nothing less than Murazor's head will satisfy me on that account,"
Hallas scowled. "But to continue."
"Lanaigh then turned command over to Duke Imlach, who was joined by the
Earl Pelendur. It was the Duke's plan to come south to apprise us of
the enemy's strength in person. While he was riding to Metriath,
Imlach and Pelendur sacked Cargash and burned it to the ground.
Pelendur turned over his command to Imlach and also rode south back to
his lands, there to raise more men for the war."
"But while the men of Cardolan were in Angmar, the barbarians of
Rhudaur gathered and moved to the plains east of the Weather Hills,"
Argeleb interjected. "A complication to our plans."
"To say the least," Hallas commented wryly. "My nobles were in a
panic. With the bulk of our armies in Angmar, it was thought that the
barbarians would storm our towns and burn half the princedom to the
ground. Lanaigh turned west to his duchy and put out a new call to
arms, forgeting his prince altogether."
Argeleb grinned. "An excitable lot, your nobility."
"Aye, tis true, tis true," Hallas smiled. "But the effect that the
threat had was not unwelcome. In the space of two fortnights almost
four thousand new footmen answered the call to war."
"Nothing like the enemy threatening one's farm to bring out the
patriotism in a man." Argeleb's face was grave, but his voice sparkled
with laughter.
"Such sentiments are best kept to this room, my king," Hallas cleared
his throat. "But I'd say that you've hit the nail on the head there."
Hallas tapped the map again, this time pointing out a town named
Eldanar.
"Even with a new enemy on our doorstep, Duke Imlach continued his
campaign in Angmar, as we had planned. Once more he met the enemy and
gave battle, though this time the result was less favorable.
Apparently our foe was sufficiently panicked at the loss of Cargash to
throw every orc and troll he could muster into the fray, and our army
was lost."
"But at great cost to the enemy," Argeleb said.
"And to us as well," Hallas responded. "Imlach died fighting in the
retreat. And his son is only eight years old."
"To lose one's father at such an age...", Argeleb's voice trailed off.
"I have the boy here at court with my own grandsons. Mayhap being with
others his own age will dull the pain. But he is just one among many
in these last months."
Both men were silent for a short time, each pretending to study the
map, though their eyes were far away. Finally Argeleb spoke.
"While the men of Cardolan were drawing the enemy off, the levies of
Arthedain were also busy. Here at Fornost Erain," he pointed to the
map, "I gathered over four thousand men to my banner and sent them to
the capitol of the enemy, Carn Dum."
"And I," Hallas said, "decided to ignore the Hill-men in my north
country and sent my second army to your aid. Near five thousand of my
levies marched just south of Eldanar, while more troops were being
fitted for arms at Metriath, Tharbad, Argond, and Minas Malloth."
Argeleb laughed. "So frightened were the Hill-men at the size of your
army that they retreated from your lands and marched south, to here -"
Argeleb pointed "- a swamp."
"Yes," Hallas grinned. "The Hill-men have never been known for their
bravery. At least not unless they outnumbered the enemy many times
over."
"No doubt the clans of the Duns won't be terribly pleased over the news
of invaders either."
"No doubt," Hallas continued. "Which leaves us with our current
situation.
"We have met the enemy in war as we planned, drawing off his armies and
inflicting irreparable harm upon his nation. Now we have more than
nine thousand well-armed troops in Angmar, and it is ours for the
taking. Tis too late even for the Hill-men hordes to change that."
"Yes," Argeleb replied. "The Reunited Kingdom of Arnor has brought doom
to Angmar. Every orc-hold and haunt of evil men shall be wiped from
the memory of Eriador. This we have done even without the levies of
the elves or the dwarves."
"And that is not all," Hallas said. "For though we have fielded a
mighty host Arnor is now geared for war. Together our lands produce
nearly three thousand new warriors every fortnight, and our arms and
armor are far better than what the enemy can muster."
"I also hear," Argeleb said, "that the elves of the west under Cirdan
and Elrond have built a great army of the First-Born, and that they too
come east to shed the blood of the enemy."
"Assuming that we leave them anything to do," Hallas smiled. "By the
time they march the breadth of Eriador there'll be no stone standing in
Angmar, I should warrant."
"Yes, I think they'll be too late as well." Argeleb glanced at the
map. "If all goes as planned, there'll be nothing of Angmar in the
space of three fortnights."
"Which brings me to my point, my king," Hallas stressed the word king',
bringing a sharp look from Argeleb. "The defeat of our enemy is
foretold upon this map," he waved one hand at the table, "and though
many thousands on both sides shall perish, in the end Arnor will be
stronger than ever. And bolstered by the army of elves."
Argeleb said nothing.
"With Angmar in flames nothing stands in our way of truly reuniting
Arnor as it once was - from the lands of the elves in the west to the
Misty Mountains in the east, all the way to the borders of Gondor."
"You mean -", Argeleb began.
"Yes," Hallas interrupted, before the other man could raise an
objection. "Tis my estimate that we shall have in strength ten
thousand men under arms here in Arnor once Angmar falls, and perhaps
another two or three thousand left from the campaigns. That totals
twelve or thirteen thousand soldiers, plus another three thousand
elves. A far greater host than the Hill-Men or the clans of the Duns
could ever raise together, much less separately."
Argeleb's eyes were troubled. "You mean to carry the war against the
Rhudaur and Dunland, to conquer them."
"Yes!" Hallas nearly hissed the word. "And before you go talking of
honor and peace, think of this: many times have our lost kin in Rhudaur
joined the dark hosts of Angmar to slaughter our folk. Many times have
the clans of Dunland done the same. If we destroy Angmar but leave
them be, then Arnor shall forever be in peril; for evil will surely
rise again amongst the Hill-men or the Duns, just as it has before.
The only way to secure Arnor, to bring peace to our people, is to
restore your kingdom in it's fullness."
"But what you suggest-"
"What I suggest is our only course, and you know it." Hallas looked
away from Argeleb, and sighed. "I know it's a hard thing to stomache,
these wars of conquest. Many good men will die - on both sides - and
the peoples of Rhudaur and Dunland will hate us for generations.
Especially you, because of the crown you wear."
Hallas paused.
"And I know that you wished to be remembered as the first King of
Reunited Arnor, a man of peace who purged Angmar of evil. Not a bloody
conquerer who put thousands to the sword because they would not bow to
your name."
Argeleb walked over to a windowed embrasure, looking out upon the
overcast day. Hallas watched him for a short while, then continued.
"But all that means nothing if Arnor falls again, for the second time
shall surely be the last. Peace, perhaps, in our generation, but what
of our children? What of our children's children? Once before we were
lax in our guardianship, and Arnor was sundered because of it. It
cannot happen again."
Argeleb sighed, still looking out the window. "I know. You remind me
of things I should've considered for myself long ago. And you're right
about wanting to be remembered for peace rather than war.
"But I knew this day would come, when the dream would give way to what
must be. Even had you not pointed out the realities of our situation,
in your characteristically blunt fashion -" Hallas snorted "- there's
something else that would require us to wage war as you have described
it.
"This morning I received an agent of Arnor who had gone to Gondor to
report the joyous tidings of our reunification to King Tarondor. He
was traveling with the diplomatic party I had sent, and had received no
word of."
"Aye, I've been concerned as well," Hallas said.
"My own cousin led that party," Argeleb continued. "It seems they were
ambushed by orcs six days ride west of Minas Anor."
"Orcs!" Hallas breathed. "In Gondor?"
"Yes," Argeleb replied. "It appears that some two months ago the King
and his family were either taken or slain by unknown agents. Gondor
fell into disarray, though Prince Celdrahil managed to rally the
southern domains under his banner. But not before orc-hordes came
forth from Mordor and fell upon the lands of the Ithilien and the
Rhovanion. They are completely lost, as are their peoples."
"But the Watch on Mordor-" Hallas began.
"Has apparently failed." Argeleb finished. "And that is not the worst
of the news. Celdrahil's armies were overwhelmed at Osgiliath and
destroyed. Before he could order the bridges burned, the orcs crossed
the Anduin and stormed Minas Anor.
"The capitol of Gondor has fallen."
All of the color had drained from Hallas's face. Argeleb turned to
face him.
"So you see, my friend, the war doesn't end with Angmar as we thought.
We must march against Mordor itself, to win back the Stone-Land from
those who wish to destroy it. Else one day those orc-hordes will be
storming Tharbad. And after Tharbad they'll be here, at Metriath, then
at the walls of Fornost Erain."
"By the Valar," Hallas whispered.
"And while the brave men of Arnor are at war far to the east, we cannot
be concerned with what the Hill-men or the Duns may or may not do
here. So we must conquer them, bring them into Arnor by blood and
fire, because we do not have the luxury of time to do otherwise."
Hallas looked long at Argeleb, his eyes haunted. "There was only one
evil great enough to unite the warring orc-factions of Mordor."
"Only one," Argeleb agreed. "Only one. My very dreams have been
troubled by that thought. Yet I cannot get around it.
"The Dark Lord reigns once again at Barad-dur."
The men studied each other, both seeing the doom of Reunited Arnor in
each other's faces. Both thinking that their newly-forged peace was
but one bright moment in a future shrouded by darkness. Both
despairing over the thought of how little hope there was of victory if
Sauron truly did rule in Mordor once again.
Finally, Hallas turned away. "This changes things. I must see to
ordering the princedom to greater efforts." He started to walk to the
massive oak door which shut the room off from the rest of the tower.
"Hallas."
He stopped. "Yes, my king?"
"I wish to ask something of you."
Hallas turned back to Argeleb.
"Six months ago you came to Fornost Erain unannounced, and there in my
court you gave up all claims to the throne of Arnor, swearing fealty to
me and mine for all time. It was not proper of me to ask why you did
this thing, when you claimed publicly that it was for the good of our
peoples. At least not in front of our vassals."
Hallas did not speak.
"And yet I have wondered since that day. For eight hundred years our
families and our peoples have been at war over that very claim, neither
giving any ground. You and I have sent troops against each other in
years past. So why now, why this change?"
Hallas drew a deep breath. "I am getting old," he said, "and though
you object, you know as well as I that my bloodline is as muddy as the
Baranduin. I'll be lucky to see the end of a century.
"Well nigh a year ago, I brought my youngest grandson to this room, to
see this map, showing him what he might someday have to rule. And on
that day I was full of plans to conquer Arthedain and establish my line
as the Kings of Arnor. As, I suppose, my forefathers were." He
paused.
"These things I tried to explain to my grandson, who had just seen his
fifth summer. He wanted to know about all of the lands, and their
peoples, and when he told me to tell him of Angmar I did. I spoke of
the deathless Witch-King, and of orcs, and trolls, and evil spirits,
and nearly frightened him out of his skin, I think." Hallas chuckled.
"When I was through with the telling of that tale, my grandson looked
at me and asked why it was that I fought with my family in Arthedain
when the evil sorcerer and his monsters in the north wanted to destroy
us both. And though I tried to give him answers that would make sense,
he simply didn't understand."
Hallas glanced at Argeleb. "I realized, then, how foolish I sounded,
trying to explain why it was that Cardolan and Arthedain fought when
there were monsters about. Real monsters, who cared little for
bloodlines and just rule. Or perhaps I was just feeling my age that
day; who knows, really. But I suddenly discovered that I cared far
less for the throne than I thought I did; and what good a crown soaked
in blood, if the war to win it so weakened our peoples that the
sorcerer sat upon it before my grandson could?"
Hallas looked towards the window. "Frankly, Argeleb, when it comes
down to it I'd rather have a living grandson who had nothing more than
a farm to his name than a crown upon my head."
He grinned at Argeleb. "I guess my joy in battle and rule isn't what
it used to be. Nowadays, I'd rather be fishing."
Hallas walked to the door, then bowed. "Now if you'll excuse me, my
liege, I must ready the princedom for greater efforts." Hallas left,
closing the door behind him.
Argeleb sat by himself for a long while, the circlet of Reunited Arnor
weighing heavy upon his brow. "Somehow, my friend," he said to the
empty air where Hallas had stood, "somehow I think you got the better
end of the deal."
"I, too, would rather be fishing."
Last Word
=========
>From Tom
No doubt the now-unusual timeliness of the Mouth will stun some of you
senseless. Given that we haven't been on a biweekly schedule in many
months, the simple fact that this is in your mailbox a mere 14 days
after the last issue might seem well-nigh like a miracle.
Suffice to say that this roller-coaster ride I've been on in my
personal life has become more manageable, meaning that I now have time
to fritter away on things like games and gaming email mags. To my
unending relief. The Chinese were right; "may you lead an interesting
life" is, indeed, something of a curse.
There's something to be said for boredom, considering some of the
alternatives.
In other news I finally got around to getting the mail problem on my
second account fixed. This means that you can now send mail to me both
at Netcom and at Northwest Internet, the addresses of which are in the
header. I'll check both every day, or every second day as time
permits. The Mouth will also go out to my portion of the mailing list
through NWI, as the Spry Mail utility is ever so much better than the
native Netcom version. If you have any problems receiving mail coming
from NWI, drop me a line and I'll see what's up.
Finally, we've received some rather fascinating fiction over the last
few issues from some rather talented writers. Now, having written a
piece or two myself - and actually sold something on occasion - I'd
like to encourage you all to think seriously about trying to make a
buck off your efforts. Some of the stuff we've gotten is rather
excellent, and far better than much of the trash you see on store
bookshelves these days. At the very least, you could send your gems to
in-house mags like "Whispers" to get some game turns.
One last thing, speaking of Whispers: my subscription is up and I'm
dropping it, having had no use for the magazine in quite some time. If
any of you continues to subscribe, I'd appreciate it if you'd drop me a
line should anything important to the players come up. Y'know, changes
in policy or game code, that sort of thing.
Until next time,
Tom