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