Prologue: The Founding of the Noble Order of the Foresworn

Braziers flared in the darkness, shedding small circles of flickering light, creating a pattern of red firelight and black shadows across the floor of the anteroom. Something stirred in the darkness, impatient for the meeting to come. Footsteps echoed loudly in the stone corridor outside, and the door opened quietly. A shadow slipped into the room, quickly closing the door behind it and dropping the bar across it. Then, the new arrival stepped forward into the light of the braziers. "I am here, my lord," said the crimson-clad Sorceress and Beast-Mistress. The person hidden in the shadows looked her over before replying. "You are the Herdir Lavan-Istui recalled from Breeland?" he said, in a deep, menacing voice. "I am, my lord." The sorceress stood at attention, her staff in her left hand, watching the shadows. "I have heard much of your... unique talents," the unknown stated. "I would have you apply those elsewhere now." "As you wish, my lord," she replied. A gauntleted hand came out of the shadows and placed a scroll upon a small table. "Skorgrim Dourhand has requested aid," the unknown continued. "After the fall of Thorin's Halls to the Longbeards, he sent a new general to retake them. That general, Hradic Dourbeard, arrived to find the Dourhands in disarray, and the Longbeards in almost full possession of the Dourhands' lands. In short, he has requested aid of Angmar for the reconquest of Ered Luin." "And I am to retake these halls alone, my lord?" Something faintly resembling a chuckle came from the shadows. "Not alone, not at all. Take the scroll on the table. It is the written order that you found the Malkog-Zaduk, the Noble Order of the Foresworn. You will hand pick a force of Dagorvagol, Duathir, Lavan-Istui, and Nethechil to join you in this task." "Yes, my lord." "You will present yourself tomorrow in my audience hall. You will be the first of the Foresworn. A new name will be given you, as shall be given to all who follow you, and you shall become Hallechil, responsible to me alone. Now, go, and may Sauron's Eye watch over you." The sorceress bowed, and, turning, removed the bar from the door. Just before she left, however, the menacing voice returned. "And you, Echil, shall leave your Blood-Rooks behind when you come tomorrow." She paused on the threshold, biting back a retort, and responded with a simple "Yes, my lord," before stepping out into the hallway. Mordirith sat back in his chair, pondering his interview with the future Hallechil. She should do well, he thought. She knows her place, and has skills that will keep her underlings in line. Then, with a whisper of dark cloth, the Steward of Angmar was gone. One more, the braziers lit empty darkness, and the pattern of firelight and shadow lay upon the floor of the silent, empty room in the heart of Carn Dum. Once more, the air lay heavy, stifling, devoid of life. And once more, a soon-to-be Hallechil strode away from its door, the Order of Mordirith burning in her hand.