Minas Morgul

[Er-Murazor]

[shadow=black,left,300][glow=green,2,300]

Minas Morgul

A long-tilted valley, a deep gulf of shadow, ran back far into the mountains.
Upon the further side, some way within the valley's arms,
high on a rocky seat upon the black knees of the Ephel Dúath,
stood the walls and tower of Minas Morgul.
All was dark about it, earth and sky, but it was lit with light.
Not the imprisoned moonlight
welling through the marble walls of Minas Ithil long ago,
Tower of the Moon, fair and radiant in the hollow of the hills.

Wide flats lay on either bank, shadowy meads filled with pale white flowers.
Luminous these were too, beautiful and yet horrible of shape,
like the demented forms in an uneasy dream;
and they gave forth a faint sickening charnel-smell;
an odour of rottenness filled the air.

From mead to mead the bridge sprang.
Figures stood there at its head, carven with cunning
in forms human and bestial, but all corrupt and loathsome.

[/glow][/size][/shadow]

[Armoul ul Legruh (Marcus)]

Armoul walked up to the dark gates of Minas Morgul as an emissary. On his back he carried a flag bearing the crest of the Lord of Harad's emblem. He stepped forward towards the door and loudly spoke in his own native tongue, "I am Armoul ul Legruh! I have come on the behalf of the lord of Harad! I have a message for the Witch King of Agmar!" The men that were with Armoul were quivering. They had heard many stories about the Witch King, but Armoul wasn't afraid. He knew of their magic and how frightening they were, but he knew that they were only as frightening as you made them out to be.

[Er-Murazor]

The cavernous mouth of Minas Morgul creaked open, Gates that had long stood idle screaming in protest. As they opened the corpse-light of the city spilled out, illuminating nothing but encompassing all. Among the light was Er-Murazor, Sitting silently on his horse, Slowly riding out as the gates opened wide enough. Once He'd neared this mortal who dared call him out in His own city, His voice hissed out, quiet yet reaching all of them. [glow=green,2,300]"Who dares call for the Witch-King? Speak carefully mortal, For you've left the lands of the living behind."[/glow] His gaze, hidden behind his hood and helmet, glared out towards this Armoul.

[Armoul ul Legruh (Marcus)]

Armoul felt the darkness creep into his mind, but he held fast, not faltering. His men cowered behind him. Armoul tested his will, "Witch King of Agmar, my master, the Lord of Harad, wishes to pledge his allegaince to Mordor! I have come bearing the message and the terms. If you find this acceptable then we can both be on our way. If not, I have been given the right of speaking for my nation, so any demands that you would like to lay down, I have the right to decline them or not, leader of the Nazgul." He looked at him with a cold regardance in his eyes. He held no love for the Nazgul. The Black Númenórean had done his people wrong, why they would want to join him were far beyond him.

Armoul was sweating, but then again, he was under the sight of one of the most fearful creatures the world has ever produced. He shivered with everyone of the Witch King's breaths, but he didn't show it. His will was strong. He had never been one to fall prey to such black magic, but now he felt the effects creeping into his mind. This is what a monster is like, he thought. He looked at his men, now shivering uncontrollably and even one passed out. This was definitely someone to not want as an enemy. Armoul now understood why Harad wanted to ally itself with Mordor. The masters of Mordor are fearsome.

[Er-Murazor]

Er-Murazor's head cocked to the sied as He listened to this mortal. Apparently the Men of Harad had found a spine since the time He'd slept, waiting for the Ring to be found once more and purpose to be served. It was time to break them of such notions. They would serve, or they would die. Those who refused the terms of Sauron refused existance. His hand ghosted over to the hilt of his morgul blade, knowing He could draw it and kill the fool before the others would even manage to comprehend the death. Quietly, gathering his magic for when the fool gave him their "terms", He extended his hand, gesturing for him to speak the terms.

As soon as He'd made the gesture, His eyes left this Armoul and traversed to the men following him. Half of them could barely stand, and the rest were cowering, one of them even having passed out from his mere presence. Tilting his head back, He let loose a scream laced with Fear Magic, knowing that it would only further cement the difference between him and the mortals. He was pleased with the results, after even a few seconds of the scream.

[Armoul ul Legruh (Marcus)]

Fear gripped his heart as the Witch King screamed. Armoul's legs almost buckled but he didn't falter. All of his men fell to the ground clutching their ears in pain and agony, a pounding in Armoul's head left him feeling the blood rushing throughout the body. His blood was ice cold and he was clammy. He took a deep breath and stuck his hand in his bag, holding on to his Stone of the Stone Moon, letting a cooling sensation start from his hands and work it's way around his body.

He stood up straight once more, still scared, and began, "The Land of Harad has two simple requests. We the alliance succeeds, we keep Harad, and we get to have Denethor's head." Armoul seemed to be the only one left standing, and he truly didn't like that. He was scared. He was frightened, his mind was going numb as he felt the darkness creep into his mind. He focused upon the stone and the necklace he gotten in inheritance and took a deep breath. "That is the only requests that we have Witch King." He shivered and took another deep breath. He didn't know how long he would last. The only thing keeping him going was his will and the stones. He hoped the Nazgul would accept these small terms so he could leave.

[Er-Murazor]

The screams of mortals was music to his ears, and seeing even this Armoul nearly fall was all the sweeter. The men of Harad would know their place now, and their "terms" were simple enough in comparison to what He'd offered Umbar. He spoke for the last time at this...meeting...[glow=green,2,300]"Your terms are accepted, Harad shall remain and Denethor shall be given to you. Now return to your master and let him know to prepare for war, Gondor shall fall and Middle-Earth will belong to The Dark Lord. Begone from my domain mortal, For if you don't, You shall join the legions of the dead."[/glow]

With that, He turned his horse and retreated back into Minas Morgul to co-ordinate his armies as He prepared for war against Gondor. The Age of Men darkened with each passing day.