Deagon is from the Trev Gallorg clan, the only free hillman clan in Angmar. He has always been a freedom fighter, against the tyranny of the Iron Crown. But many of the rebellions in Angmar, were slain or captured as slaves.

 Deagon didn’t have the luck to be killed, when his squad was ambushed by orcs and he was captured and sent to the iron mines of northeast Angmar. He did not recover in full and was thrown to work. The daily beating, hard working and lack of food didn’t help, but Deagon got in shape again and not long after came up with a dangerous plan to escape the mine.  

The little rebellion didn’t last long but some managed to escape, Deagon including. But now the rough land of sharp rocks and dry cold awaits. The wounded ones were first to die. The remaining few, were hunt down by patrolling orcs with their warg pets. All who tried to resist the fierce beasts were quickly ripped in pieces. The only choice, the prison-breakers had, was to jump from a cliff. And that’s what Deagon and two others did. The first to jump after Deagon hit his head and died on place and the third was jumped by warg in the last moment and they both fell to their death. Deagon managed to survive but hit his arm badly. Having little time to get on his feet, he kept running with a heavy limp. Badly wounded, he managed to escape for now. The orcs have surrounded the area and wargs were sniffing around. It was a matter of time to find him and he was in no condition to fight. Getting pass them would lead him to the marshes and then the free people’s camp was not far but that seemed like an impossible task. Deagon looked around. Surrounded by rocks, he could only go up. Deagon started climbing the flat black rocks, where the only edges he could reach to grab were sharp as blades. Weakened and with bleeding hands, he managed to reach higher ground. The rocks became somehow softer and not as sharp. The air was still cold but not as dry. Snow started to surround him. Deagon was not in Angmar anymore.

With ripped rags on his back, he needed to keep himself warm. He stopped climbing, looking for passages in the mountains. He tried to remember the last time he have seen the map of Middle Earth. He was in the Misty Mountains. If he goes further up he will not survive the cold and rough mountain. It seemed like the sun is up only couple of hours and he lost orientation of how many days he has been wandering. It was a matter of time before Deagon surrender before the might of the mountain and collapse powerless. He didn’t feel pain anymore and the cold took all over his body. Deagon felt like his blood was freezing from inside. The only thing he could hear was the wind and soon that was gone as well. He never wanted such death. Forgotten, buried under the snow. He should have fallen in battle with the rest of his man. That was his final thoughts and after that there was only darkness.

There was only darkness. Not even a sound. But then he felt something. It was like a single drop of his blood was warm again. He felt his heart beating again. Opening his eyes, he got blinded by the light. The room was warm and he could hear two dwarves talking somewhere near. Deagon opened his mouth to say something but didn’t have the straight. He fell asleep again.

It turned out that the dwarves found him and took him, taking care of his wounds. They were calling him lucky, before he could speak again. After about a week recovering, a caravan of two more dwarves came over. Merchants, that come all the way up to the mountain, to trade supplies, each mount. Deagon joined them on their way back. He promised to repay the kindness of the dwarves one day.

After couple of days, Deagon and the caravan reached Bree. He stayed there and the dwarves continued their way to Ered Luin. He has been in this town before but it looked changed. More people and shops then before. A new beginning in his story was about to begin.