gorgoroth

The tall, looming steel of the walls stood, strong and unbreaking. They could not, would not, ever break. Imposing, choking, the massive walls towered up to the heavens. Yet, even the heavens were barred. Putrid, heavy clouds of rolling ash choked out any feeling of light from above. She was left, on the ground, cold and enslaved.

He awoke with a jerk.

The news still shook him. The sorrow still hugged him. The pain was still real. It had been a while, yet he still felt the loss as if it yesterday.

Walking down the dilapidated, ransacked streets of Millshaw, a couple held hands as they conversed in the night. Both hooded and cloaked, Nimraph and Eira walked through the small town. Passing some sprawled out scrap wood from the orc raids, Eira tried to distract herself from the destruction by asking, "How did a cookbook wind up in your library?"

She spoke in a light, amused tone. Deep down, however, she did not like the idea of going to that library.

Continued...

She looked up at the architecture of the walls she was guided in. It had been... a long time since she was brought here. The woman looked through the fabric of her grubby hood, at the purple stain glass windows and the shadows and silhouettes of guards shifting through the many halls. She knew every pathway here, even if the last time she set foot in this place was two decades ago. Two long decades...

The doors flung open in a wild display. Marching through the door, a small armored warrior strode in with regal confidence. These halls had no lowly orcs. They were filled with black uruk guards in dutiful watch, far more disciplined than the standard orc kind. The halls were fluttering with slaves, Stout-Axe, Nurnhoth, and others. Near the end of the throne room, under a massive stain glass window, was a flight of stairs guarded by Black Numenorean elites. Atop the stairs was a throne.