Note: The Fangorn Forest RPG was started in Entmoot's RPG forum on December 16th, 2000, by Elbreth of Carhouth. It lasted until February 13th, 2001. Elbreth, Mathron, Lief Erikson, Sauganast, Morkhon, and Xivigg contributed to the tale. It was transferred from the board to an HTML document by Mathron. The line breaks denote a change in player. Enjoy!

The Elven archer sat atop a great stone, Fangorn stretched out behind her. Her feet dangled over the edge of a precipice, below which gurgled a clear river.
"Dania," she heard a deep, rumbling voice behind her. "They are calling the Entmoot now, we should join them."
Dania sighed, "I know Narsh, I'm coming." Sliding herself down from the rock, she straightened the longbow across her back, and followed Narsh to the clearing where some of the Ents had already begun to gather.

Somewhere in the midst of Fangorn, under the murky skies of twilight and under the shadows of the great trees, a figure stepped out of the darkness. It stopped, took a pause, and straightened up, looking about. Had anyone been there to watch, they would have seen a figure, covered in black, with a large widebrimmed hat, a man no more than a silhouette in the dusk. Had anyone been there to listen, they would have heard the whispered words, "Well, that was lucky... no side effects-". Had anyone been there, they would have seen the form stiffen, drop to the ground and convulse for a short while, with muffled curses drifting on the wind. After a while, the figure stopped shuddering, and got back up, muttering something about "delayed reactions", and then, with another glance around, retreating into the muffled shadows of the wood, vanishing from the sight of anyone watching.
But only the trees saw and heard him. Of course, in this place, that was enough...

"You lie!" Unvar grabbed the scruff of the man's shirt and
drew him forwards.

"No! Honestly, my lord, nothing that you've described is in the possession of my master!"

Unvar looked at him for a long moment. "Shall we check?" He asked with a cold smile, "And see if your master is as honest as you claim?"

The guard's eyes flickered briefly between Unvar and the dark hallway as he weighed his options. His master might kill him for having allowed his chamber to be ransacked, but if he resisted, death was far more certain.

"As you wish, my lord," he said, his voice quivering with fear.

Unvar grasped the doorhandle, but the door was locked. Hardly unexpected. This only increased his determination and heightened his expectations. In fifteen seconds, the door was reduced to splinters and he was in. An object as large as the one he was looking for would be difficult to hide. And it would be easy to find if his master was using it as often as Unvar suspected. He started with the largest compartments of the desk, and when this proved fruitless, took the whole desk apart. From there he proceeded to search every part of the room, stopping for neither weapons, battle trophies, nor valuables. In the end he was back to square 1. Nothing.

He cursed, but even as he did his mind started turning over the other possibilities. Obviously Mordin had moved it to another location. That left two possibilities. Either he was moving his headquarters and took it with him, or he intended to give it away.

Unvar's heart filled with doubt with a very definite tinge of fear at that possibility. No. He must not have given it away. Mordin didn't know what it did, but he wouldn't have given something away that was always kept in such value by Unvar's family. Not unless he had run out of options.

But Unvar would take it back. Even if he had to fight Mordin and his men to the death. Only Unvar had real power. Not any of these other petty nobles who had broken the fleet into so many different factions.

Unvar climbed up to the topmost tower and looked out. He could see a dozen different towers from here, the homes that the different nobles held as they struggled to retain their private niches of power. Along the coast were the ships, the Black ships of Umbar. They covered the coast, hundreds of them, dotting the sea. All well equipped forces, ready to pounce on unsuspecting shipping. If only they could find the unity they needed they would do it. And in him they'd find that strength again.

"Here we are."

Morund looked up and carefully scanned the area. "You must be wrong. There isn't anyone in sight."

"No. It's hard enough normally to tell precisely in this open sea, but this is obviously the marked spot. See that coral rising out of the sea there?" The sailor asked, pointing. "Where else in the ocean are you going to find a duplicate of that?"

"Then where are they? Answer me that," said Morund, the edge of scorn in his voice showing just what he thought of the sailor's sea knowledge.

"I can't tell, sir. Perhaps on the other side of the coral," he suggested doubtfully.

Just at that moment, the sea spat out foam, an ever-widening cascade of water moving out from one spot. In the center was a white ship with a pure white sail, contrasting sharply with the black sailed ship, owned by a notorious Corsair of Umbar. As the ship knifed through the water towards him, Morund found his gaze locked on the single person standing at the prow. The man was tall, with a wide brimmed hat and brilliant white clothing. The gentle clunk as the ships touched sides brought Morund to his senses, and he was embarrassed for showing such open-mouthed astonishment. After all, this was the leader of the High Council of wizards in Middle Earth. He could probably pull off a much bigger stunt than he just had with ease.

"I have come a long way to meet you, Morund, my friend. It has taken me a long journey, and yet you promised me it would be worth my while," Saruman said, his voice gently soothing Morund's worries.

"Well, I'm so pleased that you could come. Yes, I promise you it'll be worthwhile. You see, there's this particular object that I think has a great deal of magic in it. I have no knowledge of such things, but you being a wizard, I thought that you could maybe teach me how to use this object. I'll pay you well, of course," He said when he saw the stern look Saruman's eyes. But this second seemed only to make it worse.

His voice lost all pretense of friendship. "I have come on a long journey to meet you, thinking it is something important, and you say that you desire me to test a item that might be magical for you! Don't you think I have better ways to use my time than this?"

"It's more than that," Morund quickly said, trying desperately to appease the wizard, at the same time wondering what different types of torture he might choose to inflict on him as penance. He quickly picked up the item and held it up for Saruman to see.

All wrath disappeared from Saruman's eyes, replaced by a sudden and keen interest. Saruman remained still for several long moments, as Morund waited with bated breath.

"It's a fraud," Saruman announced at last. "Similar to a very powerful magical item that I've once seen, but no, this is a fraud."

Morund didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

"However, I know that it can be dangerous to those who attempt to use it. Give it to me, and I'll test it."

The voice was persuasive, and before Morund knew what he was doing, he'd placed the object in Saruman's hands. The two ships parted, Saruman's ship drawing away from the Corsair vessel as if by magic.

Saruman held the object in his hands, caressing his new treasure. It was the palantir of Orthanc, which had long ago been stolen by a Corsair raid, and presumed lost. Now, it was given back, and it would be used. Oh, yes, this he could definitely put to use.

Dania hurried to her position in the Entmoot. They had conscripted her help, because of her knowledge of what was going on, though she knew little enough of this subject.
One by one each of the Ents took a turn in describing what they had seen or felt, and as the hours crept by, it was obvious there was something amiss. Dark men creeping about where men had feared to tread for centuries, an odd feeling in the general atmosphere, the world seemed to be waiting for something, but nothing good could come of this.
Finally, late into the night, it was Dania's turn to speak. She had been taught some of the language of the Ents, enough to speak haltingly to them, and answer their questions. She told of the seemingly random attacks on Elven patrols, no one was ever really seen, but they were human. It was Dania's theory that they were attempting to make a diversion for something else, and it seemed to her that it was working. None of the other Elves believed her, however, and until now she had gone nowhere with her ideas. The Ents took this news into consideration. Dania was permitted to leave, while the Ents discussed these issues long into the night.

A squirrel sitting a foot away would not have noticed the figure sitting in the dark, watching the ent gathering from the hilltop. Pure chance had let him happen upon them, and even more luck from stumbling into the meeting and being caught. But then, Malagar had always had his share of lucky breaks. Understanding what was being discussed, however, was not one of then. His vast amounts of studies and lore of middle-earth had given him knowledge that ents existed - more than most knew - but little more of their culture.
Upon seeing the elven girl leaving the gathering, he crept along behind her. Few have the skill to avoid being detected by keen elven senses and wariness - but Malagar was one of them. Finally, on one of his many impulsive moves, he decided to introduce himself.
Creeping a bit ahead of the elves, he slips out in front of their path, swirling his garb about, and awaiting them to approach, fiddling a bit with his appearance in the few moments left to him.
When Dania spots him, he will bow deeply, removing a large browed bright yellow hat from his head and flourishing it before him. His cloak - this a bright orange - flutters about him as he straightens and replaces his hat, saying, with a grin, "Greetings, fellow travelers! I am glad to find others about in these dark woods - indeed, I feared I was the only being about save the trees and woodland creatures. If I may make your acquaintance, my name is Malagar D'Orthand - but please simply call me Mal." Mal ends his speech with a charming smile, opening his hands wide in supplication, and also revealing no weapons apparently carried on his form.

Dania looked closely at the new, brightly colored, personage before her. An automatic reaction at being surprised, her hand felt for her dagger. But the moment she realized she had done so, her hand dropped again.
"Greetings, Mal. My name is Dania Elfin," she answered with a slight bow of her own. "This is my travelling companion, Narsh." Narsh remained silent, but also bowed his head in respect.
"Is there anything we can do to help you?"

It was night at the shores of Harad Coast. Unvar walked across the beach, his hands behind his back, a frown of agitation on his brow. Tonight was the night when his bid for power went into play. He looked up, staring intently at the string of towers. He saw nothing unusual. Of course. His men were much to careful to allow someone's gaze to detect them. Only if someone knew precisely where they would be would they notice. Unvar's keen vision finally picked up a movement. The thin line of men carefully climbing along the ivy towards the top finally became visible to his eyes. It was probably time that he returned to his tower. It would soon be too dangerous to be walking the beaches alone. He hurried back to his tower and climbed the wall.

>From the nearest tower he suddenly heard a shout of alarm, quickly picked up and repeated by dozens of other voices. Two towers down on the other side, a similar cry went up. Soon the sounds were picked up at every tower in the entire string. An hours later the sounds ended, and then there was only an ominous silence.

"Lovely lady, perhaps you could help me indeed!" Malagar clutches at his arm as if it pains him, then pulls his sleeve up to his elbow, and gives his bare arm to their sight.
"Do you see!?" he cries, in a bit of anxiety, then calms slightly, and goes on, "Or rather, not see... once my arm was adorned with an armlet, a great piece of jewelry, of great value to me. Yet it was lost, long ago, and now I seek it out... In any case, I have determined it found its way into this land, somewhere about these general parts, though I have still not truly pinpointed it. And, being a stranger to these parts, you may be able to help me find my way around to some extent - or at least direct me to one who could help me." With these words, Mal slides his sleeve back down, and gives another charming smile.

"Perhaps I could help you," a deep voice says from the shadows of the trees.

A man steps out, he is dressed in greens and browns that had blended perfectly into the forest. At his hip was a sword and over his back was slung a bow.

"I am Faradin, a Ranger of the north. I have traveled these parts before and have come back recently at the request of my friends the Ents.

I arrived in time to see the Entmoot ending and to see this man leaving from his watch over it. And shadowing you until he chose to make his presence known. Little did he know that he had his own shadow."

Mal gives a shrug and a sheepish grin at Faradin's words, and says, "Tis true, I watched the meeting of the Ent's, though it scarce benefited me, for their language is unknown to me. Still, I hope my behavior can be excused - I found myself in a strange land, little known to me, and was, of course, cautious. In truth, my movements were on instinct, not intentional - that is simply the way I have grown accustomed to moving, and was scarcely putting any effort into it. And I applaud the good ranger here for his skills." And here Mal gives a brief bow to Faradin.

"Sir, a sail!"

Mordin frowned. Anyone seeing a single Corsair Ship alone might take the opportunity to eliminate it as revenge.

"A Corsair Ship. It's one of yours!"

For a moment Mordin felt relief. But then the next minute the relief slipped away, leaving only consternation. "What would one of my ships be doing here unless we were in trouble? Unvar may have taken my tower in my absence."

"Not one, sir, there are three ships!"

Mordin looked carefully and soon saw the ships, scything through the water towards him, rapidly catching up. Mordin yelled, his voice carrying easily across the water. "Stop and turn back, your lord, Mordin, orders it!"

The ships did nothing to alter course. As a matter of a fact, they may have sped up a little.

"Turn us around."

"But where will we go sir?"

"I don't care, just go!"

Their ship turned and moved away, gradually beginning to pick up speed, but their pursuers were already in range.
A cloud of flaming arrows and catapult boulders loosed from the ships, a third of them hitting their targets.

"To arms! To arms!" Mordin shouted, strapping on his sword and putting on his helmet and breastplate. A dart glanced off of his breastplate. "Bring our archers and return fire!"

"Get your swords ready, we're boarding her!" Unvar roared. A mad smile darted across his face as he looked at his prey. Just then it's mast toppled, wreathed in flame. The two ships touched sides and soldiers surged into Mordin's ship, Unvar at their head. Instantly he fell upon the first two, of Mordin's men, cutting them down in seconds. He left their bodies and whipped forward toward the upper deck where the enemy archers were picking his men off. Just then, a hail of arrows came from his two other ships, taking out a third of the Mordin's archers in the first flight. Unvar smashed into the upper cabin and quickly glanced around. He gradually began searching, room to room, looking for his target.

Mordin slashed down an attacker and then dashed upwards toward the upper section. He collided with someone coming down and fell back.

Unvar fell back and looked up. He had found his quarry. Mordin saw who it was and knew that running would not help him now. Unvar leapt forwards and struck. Mordin deflected the blade into the wall and jumped backwards down the hallway. Mordin gave a sideways sweep and missed, his sword clunking against the wall. With a swift movement, Unvar pinned the sword with his own and jumped in, grabbing Mordin around the neck with an iron grip. Then there was a fierce flash of pain in Mordin's arm and he crumpled against the deck, Unvar's blade pressed against his neck.

"Now, we can talk," said Unvar in a low voice, hissing between clenched teeth.

Mordin gasped for breath. "I'll answer all your questions. Only don't kill me. Spare me and my men."

"Where is the palantir that you stole?"

"I wanted to understand what it did, so I took it to a meeting place. That Coral outcropping yonder." He jerked his eyes to the side. "I wanted to meet a wizard who could tell me what it did."

"You've explained your reasoning. So you've found out what it does. Now where is it?"

Mordin tensed himself. "I met the wizard. It was Saruman the White, ruler of the high council. We have been deceived! He told me it was worthless, and dangerous to the user!"

"WHERE IS IT!"

"I gave it to Saruman."

Unvar's eyes turned into slits of fury, and the hand around his sword tightened. Mordin knew that this was the end. His good hand seized the hilt of his fallen sword and he swung to the side. But it was too late. Unvar slashed down and then stood. He climbed back up the stairs. The battle was over. He climbed back into his ship.

As Findaluin stood staring at the ents and the ents staring at them the orcs came crashing through the trees in fury. Then the ents and men had an understanding; kill the orcs.

At first, the orcs did not even see the ents and brought there full force down upon Fin's army. The men were nearly helpless against such an onslaught, about half the men were killed before the ents took control. The ents were working the orcs over but there were just too many of them, and the orcs continually assaulted the men. Findaluin was engaged in battle with two large orcs when his horse was slain and he was flung from his horse. And then the orc brought his axe down upon his neck....

Findaluin lay there knocked out since his helmet had flown off when he was launched from his horse, he had struck his head on a rock. An ent was looking straight down at him, Fin scuttled backwards and looked around, his gold helmet was lying beside him and his black cloak lying beside him. His gold platemail was dented and his blue cape beside him. Then he saw it, and struck like a knife through his heart. All his men were dead, he was the last one. At that, he looked at the ent and ran off into the forest.

Faradin looked up at a faint sound.

"Fighting, at the Entmoot!! Follow me!!"

He turned and sped down the path towards the meeting place of the Ents.

Mal looks curiously in the direction Faradin runs off, then cocks his head, listens for a moment, shrugs, and runs after him.
His cloak a bright red flash behind him, he is certainly no longer hard to spot in the woods, as he nimbly dodges around trees toward where the noise has grown louder.

"Sorry, sire, but we can travel no further along the river. It gets to narrow at the bridge. We'll have to continue on foot."

Unvar cursed under his breath, but nodded shortly. "Very well. Prepare a large ground force. If Mordin was telling the truth and Saruman does possess the palantir, it could well take all of my skills and a great deal of military might to convince him to part with his newly found treasure."

"Yes, sire," the captain said and immediately began issuing out the orders.

This would be a hard trek. First they would have to find Isengard. Next they would have to remove the palantir, and that could well mean having to destroy its owner. But Unvar was up to these tasks.

"Sire, we're ready to move."

Unvar snapped out of his reverie and looked out at the baggage train which had assembled and the corsairs, standing in their motley array. Unvar leapt off of the ship and into the row boat. The slaves immediately bent their bags to their oars and pulled the boat swiftly to the land. Unvar sloshed through the muddy water until he reached the bank, and climbed up. After a quick inspection, he saw that the force was ready. After giving some quick orders to the ship captain regarding the fleet, he walked to the head of the army.

"Ready? Good. ON!!!"
And thus, the march began.

Without a word, Narsh and Dania sped after the others down the path, and on the Entmoot. When they arrived, it was nearly too late. What battle there was, was short-lived. No men seemed to yet live, which greatly saddened them.

Dania could hardly even recognize the place she'd left just a short while ago. Bodies of the dead and dying were scattered everywhere, both those of men, and of orcs. Twilight shadows were creeping in through the trees, approaching one of the Ents, Narsh asked permission to clear a place and start a small fire, which he did.

Dania walked in and out through the area, searching thickets for any orcish faces who might have been yellow-bellied enough to hide. She sighed. Finding no one, she began helping remove the beastly bodies from the Forest. The Ranger had started a bon-fire, and was already throwing the bodies onto it. A stench had already begun to fill the air, which the wind had mercifully begun to blow away, along with the oily black smudge of smoke.

Unvar and his men reached the gates of Isengard without a fight or the smallest bit of resistance. However, this merely made the men anxious. The lack of opponents unnerved these men, who lived by muscle and brawn. As they had neared the gates, some of them had begun to whisper to each other of the dangers of approaching the leader of the white council in his stronghold. When Unvar caught word of these sentiments he stamped them out vigorously and efficiently.

Now, he looked up at the tall walls and strong gates in awe. The sun beat down on the back of his neck and sweat dripped down from his hairline. He quickly brushed it away with the back of his hand and peered farther forward. Beyond the walls he could see a pure white tower rising upwards, its walls sheer and smooth, without a dent or crevice in them. Impossible to scale, and probably protected by magic that Unvar didn't know of. This was where his palantir was held. A frown of uncertainty crossed Unvar's face. None of the corsair towers came remotely close to this great. And Unvar didn't have the siege knowledge to take it by force. But Saruman didn't know that.

Murmurs began to grow behind him, as the men shuffled uneasily at their leader's apparent uncertainty. Unvar straightened and drew his sword. He smote three resounding blows against the door, leaving three long white scratches on the polished oak.

"Open up!" Unvar bellowed. "Open, and bring forth your leader!"

For a long moment no response came. But then, a strange and slightly rebuking voice floated out from the battlements. "Who is it that hits so harshly against my door? What offense have I done that deserves an armed force to come and make demands?"

The voice took Unvar off guard, and for a moment he was sorely tempted to apologize. But only for a moment. Then his heart hardened. The voice was strangely persuasive, and made him eager to please. But this could only be a ploy of the wizard. When had Unvar ever apologized to anyone? Or asked forgiveness? He had never even been tempted to say such a thing.

"Your offense is great, decrepit fool! You have had dealings with those who stole from the Lord of the Corsairs of Umbar, and have taken that which he stole. Give back the palantir, and we will forgive your part in the affair. Refuse, and you will be thrown from the highest pinnacle of your tower, as the rest of your castle smolders in ruin around you."

Unvar's men shuffled unhappily at this, but a blazing glare from their lord silenced all opposition from his own men.
Then Saruman finally appeared in person on the wall, looking down on Unvar and his host.

"You are mistaken, my Lord Unvar. This palantir of which you speak is not here. Neither me nor any of my men have had any contact with those who stole it. However I have many friends in many different places, in sky, and ocean as well as on ground. And my spies did report seeing a meeting between one Mordin of the Corsairs . . ."

Unvar's attention jerked back to the speaker.

". . . and Findaluin, an Elven Lord."

Saruman's eyes looked keenly down on Unvar, as he quietly pressed his power against Unvar's wavering and undecided mind.

Unvar's eyes closed as his thoughts struggled for relief against the oppression that Saruman was subtly inflicting.
He slowly opened them again, and looked up at the old wizard, staring down at him like a hawk.

This man was hard to get a hold of, Saruman thought grimly, as he struggled to keep on his hold of the other's mind. All I have to do is hold on for a few moments longer . . .
Then he felt the release.

"Where is this Findaluin?"

Saruman breathed a silent breath of relief. "Last I heard he was personally overseeing an Elvis patrol outside Fangorn, a forest a short ways from here. My men will give you instructions."

He quickly glanced down on his side of the wall and nodded to one of his men. The soldiers unbarred the gate and one of Saruman's servants went out. The man held a brief discussion with Unvar, involving detailed instructions and information, which Unvar's keen mind quickly seized a hold of and memorized.

Unvar and his host began to move away, but as they did, Unvar called one of his lieutenants over.

"Yes sir?"

"Get one of our best spies and have them watch Orthanc. I don't entirely trust the old conniving wizard, and there's certainly a possibility that he's lying."

"Then why are we leaving?"

"Because as you know, our army is in no state to conduct a siege on a fortress like Isengard, and even if we did take it, we could never get into that inside tower of Sarumans. Plus, he is the greatest wizard of the high council, and they hold to a strong moral code, and have a great belief in upholding their own personal honor. No, I think it much more likely that these elves are the ones who took it. They like this kind of magic, and remember, orcs were in the beginning made out of elves. They are crafty and cunning, but this Findaluin will not stand up to our force." Unvar's mouth became a thin line and his eyes narrowed. "He shall pay for this."

Faradin looked around at the scene and then starting pacing and thinking aloud. He found it helpful in situations like this.

"Elves and orcs. There are many more dead orcs so their forces had to be the greater. But what would bring them this deep into Fangorn? They consider the deep forest as deadly to them as Lorien is.

"Survivors!" he exclaimed loudly and heads, both elven and entish snapped up around the clearing. "There have to be survivors somewhere."

"I'm not a sage. I'm not a teacher. I am just a storyteller." Robert Jordan

Findaluin raced deeper and deeper into the forest not caring where he ended up. All his men had died including some of his greatest friends. All this time he had been carrying his cloak and helmet, he put them on, and leapt up into the tree. He had a feeling there were people after him.

Unvar looked down, surveying the battlefield. It had been tidied up a bit since happening, but not well enough to avoid showing that some quick and brutal fighting had taken place here.

"What's the report?"

"There were a few elvish survivors, but it was most definitely an orcish victory. The elves were on horseback and fled into the woods, pursued by orcs."

"I see. Then we will pursue them there. Get the men ready to move."

"Yes, sir."

As the force was gathered from its various positions on the battlefield, Unvar walked over to the edge of the forest. "Where have you concealed my prey?" he asked it quietly, shaking his head.

A branch quivered. Unvar felt the unpleasant feeling of someone being watched, but unable to detect the person who's watching. He scanned the trees carefully. No. There was no one there. He must have been mistaken. He turned to go. But just as he did, another movement caught his attention. No, there was no one there. It was just the same old tree that he'd seen earlier, leaned over towards another tree. Then, Unvar froze. A moment ago, the tree had been a couple feet closer. And come to think of it, it hadn't been leaning either. Unvar stared piercingly at the tree. Now, he could see what almost looked like two eyes. Unvar's eyes traveled down the tree, and now he could discern that the tree actually seemed to have a body. An old, gnarled, wooden body, but it resembled a human one in several characteristics. There was the nose, eyes, mouth, a pair of arms . . .

Unvar stepped back. It was a living tree. And now that he looked more closely, he could see three of these trees, among the normal ones. Unvar walked back to his men.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Very well." Then, in a quieter voice, he informed his men of the presence of the living trees. "So be careful. Try not to do anything that will alert their suspicion. I'd hate to have to find out what kind of combat skills those things have.
"All right. Let's go."

"At least one, possibly more of these elves must have survived the attack," Faradin said excitedly.

One of the ents stepped forward. "We have found one helmet among the dead which has no owner."

"One helmet too many," Faradin said. "No one in the thick of battle would take a helmet from the field and bring it with them. That metal cap came off a head. And that person must be still alive in the forest somewhere."

"One more thing," the ent rumbled on. "The helmet was of a fancier, or more ornate type than the others. Possibly from a higher in rank person. None of the dead bodies appear to have been high in rank. It may be that it's their captain who is still alive."

"Quite likely," Narsh nodded.

Suddenly, Faradin stiffened, and leapt sideways into the bushes.

A half second later, Unvar stepped into the clearing. The reaction was immediate, weapons were drawn and eyes quickly glanced around. They were surrounded on all sides by armed corsairs.

Unvar regarded them with interest. Then, when he saw their weapons, a hint of amusement entered his face.

"My greetings to you," Unvar said. "Might I have your names, and reasons for being here? I mean you no harm."

Dania raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Then what is your reason for having us surrounded with armed men?"

Unvar smiled coldly at the impudent elvish girl. "Perhaps I should amend my statement. I mean you no harm, as yet." He glanced around the Entmoot. "An interesting place you have here. Perhaps we should sit down, and all of us can discuss our reasons for being here."

Faradin watched from the woods quietly. This man was a Corsair, perhaps even descended from the Black Numenorians(spelling). He may be telling the truth but Faradin did not trust him.

He slowly drew an arrow from it's quiver and fitted it to his bowstring, if he intended treachery he would be the first one to die.

Mal considered slipping into the shadows when the corsairs approached, but having already met with suspicion for his silent motions, decided against it. With a grand bow and a sweep of his broad brimmed hat, he said to Unvar, "Greetings, good sir. My name is Malagar D'Orthand - though I prefer to be called simply Mal. And as for my reason for being here, why, that is quite simple. I am here, in this forest, because I am new to this region of the world, and found myself a bit lost. I am here, in this section of the world, looking for some lost property of mine."

Obviously a lie. In Fangorn, in the place where a battle had just taken place, and right in the Unvar's path. Unvar looked again at the elves. He had thought that they were more likely to give information than their scarlet clad companion. They were quite possibly even a part of Fingaluin's company. What other reason would there be for elves to be in Fangorn, a forest far away from much and unimportant to many. Unvar glanced back to Malagar, if that really was his name. But he obviously had something to hide as well. This could get interesting.

"Very well." He looked back at the elves. "And you are?"

Sitting in his tree, Findaluin noticed they were rather thick and close together branches. So he decided to climb through the branches back to where the battle was to reclaim a few items he no longer had on him like his shield and helmet. Climbing through the trees branches was a rather slow and tedious job. But as he neared the battle scene he hear people conversing, so he dropped out of the tree to the concealment of the bushes. He crept forward very slowly to the edge of the clearing and eavesdropped on the conversation.

Findaluin was having trouble hearing the conversation. The guard force which encircled the people kept him from getting to close, although his half elven ears still could hear a good deal better than most people. The mention of his own name caught him by surprise. Had they been sent to look for him? But by the looks of the men, he doubted that they could have friendly intentions. He'd never heard of Dul Amroth getting involved with people of this sort.

Findaluin pulled himself a little closer, straining to hear better.

Narsh and Dania exchanged glances of puzzlement. "Who is Findaluin?" Narsh ventured.

Unvar's expression hardened. "Don't trouble with denying it. You two are the survivors of this orc attack. But where is your commander?"

He rose to his feet and began to circle them. "I already know what your mission is. Your patrol across the edge of Fangorn. Quite unfortunate that the orcs happened across your path." He looked at them fiercely. "Although perhaps it is fortunate. It is just, at the very least."

What was the corsair talking about? From the blank expressions on the faces of Dania, Narsh, and Malagar, they had as little idea as he did.

Faradin still held his bow at ready, but now he was beginning feel a little curious as well.

"But tell me something," Unvar continued, "Who is your real master. I know that Findaluin isn't really the one. Who is it who is higher up? The one who really has the strength and ability to use it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about . . ." Narsh began.

"Don't lie to me!" Unvar roared, seizing Narsh by the throat and slamming him against the ground.

Faradin pulled the arrow string taut, arrow aimed for Unvar's heart.

Fingaluin strained his ears to hear what was being said.

Unvar yanked Narsh's face up and hissed into his ear through gritted teeth. "I'm going to release the three of you. Go, and tell your master that he has three days." His voice rose to a roar. "And if it is not returned within that amount of time, I swear that I'll never rest until I have killed him!"

Dania glared at this strange warrior as he threw Narsh roughly to the ground again, the leather gauntlet on her hand taut as she gripped the handle of her dagger. It took only one glance to see that Narsh was ok, though he was rubbing his bruised neck rather ruefully.
"Your quarrel is not with us," Dania spoke above the chuckles of the ring of guards. "Narsh and I are independent, we work for no one lord or master. That we have been caught up in this battle was by accident, we heard the sounds of fighting and came to see if anything could be done. The Ents are peaceful, and enemies of no one, should they have been under attack we would have aided them."
Unvar sneered. "Liar!" he hissed. "You know very well what I am talking about. Had I the time, I would punish you for your insolence. But be sure to do as I said, three days. That is all. Your master knows what I mean."

Unvar took a deep breath. He was still angry, but now it was mainly at himself for his abrupt loss of control. Perhaps he had gone too far with this whole thing. He looked back at the elves again. There were two expressions on their faces, puzzlement and anger. The anger most especially coming from the elvish girl. She certainly had a strong spirit to resist. He supposed that was what had sparked him. He had had this pent up for a long time, waiting to explode on his victim. But he'd let it out at the wrong time. And now that he looked again, perhaps on the wrong people as well. There was still a distinct possibility that they weren't linked to Findaluin at all.

Think again, Unvar. It could still be that this entire thing is just a sham of Saruman's. If so, it was dreadfully out of character with the wizards. And Saruman was the leader of them. Still, there was something else behind all of this. Unvar almost felt . . . used.

He saw the elves were still looking at him.

"You may go," he said as he retreated back towards the main part of his host. "Your messenger will find me either at the original battlefield," he thought for a moment, "Or at Isengard. Come, men," he said, starting to move away. "By the way," he called over his shoulder as the elves turned to go. "You show promise, elf girl. It was through spirit very much like your own that I rose to the position I currently own."

Isengard, thought Findaluin, why would Saruman being looking for me? I have done no wrong, and why has he linked up with a person like this Unvar? It makes no sense, I think Saruman is up to something. Not only that, but he has changed, to send some one as rageful as this is not very wise.

And with that, Fin took off into the trees again but was tackled at the knees by a someone hiding in the trees with a bow. Fin was quick to jump to his feet and unsheathe his gleaming long sword with studded gems of red and green in the black handle.

Faradin put his hand to his sword hilt, but resisted the urge to draw it.

"You are the one that man seeks are you not?"

He saw the muscles in Findaluin's body tense and spoke quickly before he could do anything rash, "I have no intention of turning you over to him. I am a Ranger of the North, you should know we bear no love for the Corsairs. But perhaps you should tell us your story."

Taking a chance he turned his back and walked back to the clearing.

"It's not what your doing, but the idiotic way that you're doing it."

The traveler stood next to the captain of the ship
It was strange for the captain cause it was the first time in millennium that he actually take the sea. And he never could have though that he would see the middle earth again.

The traveler breath deeply the fresh air. It's been too long since the last time she'd been on the sea. When was it 2000, 3000, well she had long time ago stop trying to keep tract of the time. It took her that much time to convince Ingwe and Manwe to let her go. And now that she left Aman she already miss the glory of the valar, but seeing again the middle earth was worth almost anything.

She wasn't on a touristic trip, far from it, she was to investigate few strange happening that weren't report by the Istari. Of course at first no question were ask but as the time pass the need for someone else become urgent.

And their she was a proud elven lady born at the very beginning of the first age, going by the name of Syntia for this trip. It would be nice to feel the middle earth again.

Findaluin followed after Faradin calmly and continued past him to where his helmet sat. He picked it up, put it on, and then bolted back into the forest heading north.

The trio were quick to follow after him but soon lost site lost site of him. They stopped for a while to ponder over where Findaluin could of gone.

High up in a tree Findaluin was perched, daring only to breath, but nothing more. Then, when he was sure that his pursuers had ran past this tree and further he came back down and headed off west.

Night fell like a dark shadow across Fangorn Forest, bringing slumber to the eyes of those who toiled within. Unvar paced his tent, his face an image of both anxiety and impatience. He had laid down all his cards, but now he was simply waiting for his enemy to act next. It had turned out that normally the reason he succeeded wherever he put in effort was because of swift movement and hard cunning. First came the making of the plan, and next he hit his enemy as hard and as swiftly as possible, preferably in a dozen different places at once.

The tent flap opened and two people entered.

"Slythre and Ogravigan, I have a new mission for you both."

The figures remained motionless.

"There are two elves in the forest. But it is not them who I desire you to find."

"You already set your hounds on them?" Slythre asked in her low, quiet voice.

Unvar winced. "Yes, those I sent were both capable and relatively experienced. However I'm afraid that's not going to be enough."

"What is it that you want us to do?" asked Ogravigan.

"Someone was watching our conversation in the forest. I'd like you to find out who it was and bring him back to me."

Unvar turned to Slythre. "And I'd like you to find and bring to me a man named Malagar. Or at least that is what he called himself. He's handsome, athletic, and clad in red, although that might have been altered by now. He lied to me at our meeting. Can you find him?"

She nodded silently. "What has he to do with this business?"

"He lied to me, and also . . ." he hesitated. "I believe he might be in league with Saruman. Possibly sent out to monitor the others. Find out about him."

"Yes, my Lord," she said, bowing her head. She wrapped her cloak around herself and slipped out the tent flap.

"Ogravigan, I believe that this watcher is in league with either Saruman or Findaluin. Finding him will help me either way. I know that with your magically enhanced sight, you can spy on people from great distances, and even see through objects."

"Only if I try really hard. It's difficult."

"But it will give you an advantage in your search. That is why I send you and not any other. Go, and do not fail me."

"My lord," he bowed and exited.

As the halfelf was discovered, and then fled into the forest, Malagar watched in amusement. In the confusion as the others chased after the halfelf - obviously the one called Findaluin, thought Mal - he took advantage of the moment to slip away from the elves and ranger, and think over these developments.

Once he deemed himself far enough from the others, who had probably yet to notice his absence in the chaos, he willed his clothes back to black, and as he settled down upon a log, he raked one hand through his long dark hair.
"Why must the simplest things be so difficult?" he rhetorically asked the air. He had hoped it would be simple, and he would arrive right at some long forgotten treasure trove, and could reclaim some of his lost items, and lost power. But, instead, he found himself in a forest, amidst fighting and wrapped up already in the intrigues of others.

"I am getting too old for this," he groaned, and conjectured on another piece of information - the name Isengard. Where he was he still did not know very well, but he did know the name of Isengard - he had very carefully checked what powerful beings still resided in Middle Earth, and the Istari where among them, so he knew a bit on Saruman, the head of the White Council. If his treasure was held by HIM... that would prove slightly tricky. Still, Mal never doubted he could retrieve it - but he was anxious, and not in the mood for challenges, as he had been in ages past.

Suddenly Mal became aware of an approaching figure. Though earlier he had been distracted - and he was still disgusted with himself for the ranger getting the better of him - he actively sent his senses out now, and felt the form silently moving through the trees a couple yards behind him. He felt like applauding her, for she moved with stealth a cat might envy, and had something about her that even blurred her in the way he looked upon her. Still, he left his physical body in a normal position, acting as though unaware of her - as most any mortal would be - and leaned back, stretching, and then affecting a start of surprise as a dagger appeared under his chin.

Remaining calm, but adding a slight tremor to creep into his voice, he said, "Can I help you?"

"Indeed," came the soft response, "My lord Unvar wishes to enjoy your company for a bit."

"Well, let none say Malagar D'Orthand would ever refuse the hospitality of a generous host," he responded, holding his hands out wide to show he was unarmed.

The dagger drew up, and gestured for him to rise, and he complied, slowly rising off the log, and turning to see a slim figure, with a cloak that the eyes refused to focus upon, and long dark hair bound behind her. "Come with me, her low voice said, and Mal went before her to the camp of Unvar, wondering what had gotten him already tied up in other people's problems so soon...

The tent flap flipped open and two dark figures entered.

"Ah, Slythre, I see that you've brought our guest," Unvar said as he stepped from the shadows. "Please, take a seat," he said, motioning to a long bench. Unvar sat down on a chair facing him. "Now, Malagar, I'd like to know exactly what your business in this whole affair is. And doubtless you are also interested in why I am here." He leaned forward. "Perhaps it would be best if we both satisfied the other's curiosity. What were you doing in Fangorn? I'm more than just curious, I assure you. Are you working for Saruman?"

Ogravigan slunk through the forest. He glanced around briefly, his keen vision noticing twelve ents mixed in with the other trees. This clearing seemed to have many more of them than most other places. Interesting. I'll have to mention it to Lord Unvar. He glanced around, staring through leaves as if they didn't exist. Ah. Here is what he wanted. He had come very close to the edge of the clearing. The tracks were light, but for Ogravigan they were easy to see. He followed them a short way and then stopped in surprise. They joined with another set of tracks, and then the ground was marked with the obvious telltale marks of a struggle. But neither had died. The tracks both went back towards the clearing, and then sharply separated. The differences in the tracks were slight, but soon Ogravigan had discerned which were those of his quarry. The deepness that the toes had gone in showed that he'd been running.

Ogravigan strained his eyes, staring through the trees and leaves, looking hard in the direction the tracks had gone. Then he looked to the side, stared for a moment, and then smiled. There he was now, moving westward. It would take a while for Ogravigan to catch up. And once he did get close, he'd have to decide how to get close enough without being noticed. He'd probably have to make a long loop around to get in front of him. A very long loop. And then he'd have to be careful not to kill him in his ambush. He didn't think Lord Unvar would be interested in him bringing his quarry in dead.

Ah, if only he had Slythre's agility and quietness. She could have taken this one down with ease. But Ogravigan had years of experience on his side. He quickly moved forward, quickly gaining on his prey.

The ship was now on the anduin, a small fog and a touch of magic hiding it from the sight of everyone, even the dark lord wouldn't be able to truly understand who was coming, and before he had time to investigate she would be far and undetectable by anyone on the middle earth.

Only few of the maia still living could possibly know who she was and the other could only guess her true power.

In few hours she would again walk the middle earth and if everything went fine in less than a day she would talk with the ents and hopefully learn what's going on.

Malagar drapes himself onto the bench, and leans back slightly as Unvar questions him.

"Indeed, perhaps we can help each other in more ways than one," responds Mal, and continues, "As for myself, I do not serve Saruman, or even know overly much of him, save he is one of those of power still in these lands. From your tone I take it he is not a friend of yours as well, or if he is an ally, one you obviously look upon with suspicion."

Mal stops, and pauses, gazing more upon Unvar, a slight smile touching upon his lips, and then goes on to say, "I feel I can unburden my reasons here to you, for you seem to be an understanding man. Long have I been gone from these parts, but I lost an object of mine, a relic that has great value to me... I have been searching after it for many years now, and my travels led me here. At first I thought it might be in this forest, Fangorn, but now that I am here, I realize these treefolk, the Ents, would have little use for such a thing, and any unwatched item such as it would easily find its way into the hands of, of course, Saruman himself, as he is so nearby."

Now Mal straightens up, and folds his hands across his lean chest, saying, "So now, good lord Unvar, I shall say to you that if Saruman does indeed have the item I search after, I doubt he will willingly part with it, and thus, I will likely find myself opposed to him, whether he knows it or not. Whether you be his foe or ally, I reveal this to you - use it as you may." With that, Mal nods to Unvar, finishing his short tale.

Unvar's surprise flicked across his face only for a moment, but it didn't escape Malagar. "Your story is remarkably similar to mine," he said, straightening in his chair. "And I do not doubt it's truth. I myself am the commander of the Corsairs of Umbar." He looked at the roof for a moment, and then back down at his companion. "Obviously I wouldn't come this far out of my territory for any trivial reason. I owned a magical item as well. At the time I was not in complete control of Umbar, as my predecessors were. An unscrupulous corsair named Mordin stole the item, as he knew that it had magical properties. As I struggled to reconquer what was my own, this corsair met with an unknown person at a specified place in the ocean, between Harad and Middle Earth. The unknown person took the item from Mordin, and brought it back to Middle Earth. Before I killed him, Mordin told me that he'd given it to Saruman. I discovered Isengard, and was informed that his spies had witnessed the meeting between Mordin and Findaluin. I traced Findaluin here and . . ." Unvar's voice dropped off for a long moment.

"But now that I think about it, I cannot understand why I made that decision."

Malagar leaned forward. "Is it possible that Saruman used his magical power to influence you?"

Unvar's brow was creased in thought. "Perhaps. Yes, I believe that is quite possible." His expression cleared. "Yes, I'm almost sure that is what happened." He stood up. "Slythre, inform my captains that the force should prepare to move. Oh, yes, inform them that the chase for Findaluin has come to a halt, and those elves that they no longer have to fear for their lives."

An icy expression of anger flicked across his face as he looked off towards the north east. But it was gone when he looked back at Malagar.
"It appears that we both have business at Isengard. Perhaps we should go there together?"

Faradin looked around the forest and sighed in disgust and disappointment. "He's gotten away from us, and I'm not sure where he is. This is getting us nowhere!"

"I think I know where we may find some answers. I'm going to Isengard and ask Saruman what he knows of these doings. Surely a wizard and member of the White Council will be willing to aid a descendent of the men of Numenor."

Sauron's blazing eye was a beam of red in the blackness of Mordor. The sky was black, but through it, the eye could easily see the shape of a winged creature swooping downwards towards him. Hundreds of thousands of orcs and other evil creatures were camped around and inside Barad Dur. The creature swooped low over them, and glided upwards, landing before the lidless eye. The steed's owner dismounted, moved forward, and knelt on one knee, bathed in the red light of his master.

"Have you notified our servant outside Fangorn, and given him our palantir?"

"Yes, sire," hissed the Ringwraith, his glinting armor and pale, dead eyes, staring up into his master's fearlessly.

"It is a small price to pay, when in the end it shall cause one of our greatest enemies, Saruman, to fall into darkness. He already has begun to slide on his own accord, but this shall twist his loyalties against the Valar forever, and add the Corsairs of Umbar into our ever increasing army of darkness."

Syntia stop moving. She felt a dark presence, the attention of a powerful evil being, gazing toward Fangorn. The presence stay focus for few moment and slowly withdraw. She couldn't possibly have been detected, not yet, but it was unsettling. Important event were soon to happen and somehow the great forest was linked to it. The need to find the Entfolk become a priority. But soon she'll be walking under the mighty tree and the animals will hopefully help her in her quest.

An hours later she was walking under the tree. The forest was just like in her memory, wild, untamed, as it was when the first born awakened so long ago. Being in this place raise old memory long forgotten but still present in her mind. The few bird were signing undisturbed by her presence. Then the path she would take appear before her eyes. No one could possibly see it, it was present only in her mind, a souvenir from a time long gone. The path hasn’t been tended in age, but she could see the same rock, undisturbed by the passage of time. Everything was different and yet nothing has really changed. She was walking peacefully in perfect symbiosis with her surrounding.

After few hours she reached her destination, the Entmoot. Of course everyone got their own definition of this place but to her it was only the Entmoot were she had passed day's talking with the Entfolk so long time ago. She slowly goes on her knee and open herself to the forest, silently summoning the Entfolk. As her sense stretch to the far limit of the forest she became aware of every life present within it. Squirrels, bird, bear all living in harmony, then she discern the Entfolk and their huorn companion, few of them were answering her call. She smile as she recognizes one of them. It would be good to talk with him again. Then she detect the other intelligent being present in the forest, two elfs and a human, they weren't very far from her, she would have to be careful. Then her attention was draw outside the forest, a weakened yet powerful being was near. She slowly retire her presence in the forest and then to her. She open her eyes and smile again. Thing could become interesting.

She start to meditate, seemingly unarmed and an easy prey yet really aware of her surrounding. She was waiting for the Ents.

As Findaluin walked west, back to his home land, he had the feeling of being watched, and, if it made any sense, followed. So he made for a set of bushes that were a little over his height and hid in them.

His pursuer came walking by with a look of puzzlement on his face. He had been to worried about catching up with his prey and did not watch him carefully enough to see where he had gone. As he passed the bushes Findaluin jumped out and quick as lightening had a knife to his pursuers throat.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" were Findaluin’s only questions.

"I was lost in the woods, and seeing you, decided that perhaps you could help me," Agravigan answered with fear in his voice.

"Do you think I'm fool enough to fall for that kind of ploy?" Findaluin asked. "I've felt your gaze for several minutes now."

Actually, Agravigan didn't expect that ploy to work. But, staring through the bushes a few yards away was Slythre. She apparently had followed after him. Must have accomplished her mission already and been sent here after him. He'd bought her the few seconds of time that she needed.

Slipping up behind Findaluin, she seized him around the neck with one arm, and slashed down on his sword arm with the other. Findaluin recovered from his surprise swiftly, grabbing her right arm with his left and pulling her downwards. Instantly she applied pressure to his throat, squeezing hard.

Findaluin began to see stars. But Findaluin had been trained for combat. A trained soldier, now that it came to this kind of thing, certainly had more practice and knowledge of this than Slythre. He reached for her face with his wounded right hand, and, grabbing her hair, pulled her over him and onto the ground. Her booted foot slammed into his chin, throwing him off. He came up a few seconds later with his sword in his hand. Only then did he really see his attacker.

Her hair had come loose and flowed freely behind her. She was wearing loose green clothing and a silver cloak. She held a dagger in her hand, but was already sheathing it.

Agravigan was on his feet now as well, armed with a short sword.

"No need, Agravigan," she said. "Your mission is changed, that's why I came after you."

Agravigan lowered the sword in disbelief. "Why?"

"It has been discovered that Saruman really was the thief. We're going to Isengard." She brushed her scalp gingerly with her hand, wincing. "You fight like an orc," she said to Findaluin.

Seeing both of his opponents now disarmed, Findaluin lowered his blade, but kept it in hand. "I fought in desperation," he said, as he wrapped a piece of cloth around his wrist for a temporary bandage.

"Come on," Slythre said, motioning Agravigan to follow her. They both disappeared into the woods.

The creature leapt over the wall and landed with a soft thud on the ground. Leaping forward through the night, it cleared the distance across the open territory in seconds. Quickly, it jumped against the wall and began to clamber up the tower of Orthanc, it's feet clutched to the wall, even though it was entirely smooth. Clambering up the tower, it reached the balcony and climbed in. He was in. Creeping along the floor, it entered the chamber.

Saruman wasn't in here. He was distracted on business, talking to his captains about the force from Umbar, and deciding what to do about it.

The creature rose to its feet and looked around. Ah, there it was. The palantir was on the table. It was probably through it that Saruman had discovered about the approaching army. This would mean a fight. Of that, he was certain.

The creature took the palantir from it's resting place, and replaced it with Sauron's. Then, it left the way it had come, climbing down the tower and over the wall. It was just moving away from the foot of the wall when it was spotted.

"Look! There!"

"What is it?"

"I don't know. But it's an intruder. You, stop where you are or we'll shoot!"

As if they could shoot me? the creature sniffed in disgust. It dashed towards the forest, arrows zipping after it. The creature scoffed at the archers inwardly. Fools.

Just then, an arrow dug into it's leg. With a shriek, it fell to the ground, the palantir rolling away in the darkness. Two more arrows connected with the creature, and it lay still.

A silent figure appeared out of the mists and stepped over to the body. It's hand stretched out as it searched the damp soil, searching. No arrows targeted this figure. It continued it's search for a few minutes longer, and then found what it was looking for. It wrapped the palantir in a cloak, and disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Knowing the type of spy network that Saruman is sure to have, they probably became aware of our army a couple days before we arrived."

Malagar nodded. "That sounds like Saruman. Being the leader of the White Council certainly gives him a lot of authority."

"Too much," Unvar said. He looked out again at the strong walls of Isengard, wondering for the thousandth time how they were going to succeed in the upcoming siege.

Malagar voiced his own thoughts. "Does your force have the experience or equipment to succeed in the siege?"

"No," Unvar said in frustration. His eyes flashed with anger as he looked again at the thick and strong walls. "And it is becoming more and more clear to me that the only way to succeed is by starving them out. And I don't know if my men can wait that long."

"It wouldn't work. He'd signal the eagles and have food transported in that way," Malagar said.

I don't know if I can wait that long either, Unvar thought. All right, this is the time to think and plan. We can't take it by strength, and knowing the force he's likely to have in there, we probably won't be able to take it at all. Very well. I don't care about conquering or holding the fortress. My goal is to take the palantir.

Unvar's brow creased with thought as he leaned forward in his chair. His eyes closed and he was silent for several long moments. Suddenly his eyes opened and he stood. He turned to one of his captains. "Get Slythre and Agravigan. Tell them that they have another job to do."

Malagar swung the rope over his head around and around, gaining momentum. Then he flung it into the air. He heard the grappling hook clank on the stone, and skid a small way. He pulled and it latched onto something and held. Unvar walked over and tugged it a couple times himself. He glanced at Agravigan.

"Anything yet?"

"Not a soul. Your diversion must have worked."

"Either that or it's a trap," Slythre said quietly.

"All the better," Unvar growled as he grabbed hold of the cord. "My muscles ache for a fight."

"Well don't start one," Slythre said. "Secrecy is our only hope for success."

"But how can we hope to have complete secrecy, if Saruman has the pa . . ." His voice trailed off as he caught the angry glare from Unvar.

Unvar seized the rope and quickly began to climb, hand over hand upwards.

Malagar hides a brief smile, wondering what Agravigan almost slipped up and mentioned, then tucked it into his memory and focused on the task at hand. He skimmied up the rope after Unvar, and once over the top, dropped over the brief ledge and onto the top of the small tower they were at. Scanning around, and seeing nothing in sight, he still kept quiet as the other two came over the top.

Now that they were within the actual structure of Isengard, he kneeled to the ground, running his hands across the stone beneath him. At first, he felt nothing, but as the others looked on puzzled, and Unvar, impatient, started to say something, Mal's face brightened, and a large grin grew across it.

Inside, Mal was exultant. It had taken a moment, but he could feel it calling to him, could feel what was once part of him desiring to be a part once again.

Standing back up, Mal turned to Unvar and said, in soft quiet tones, "I believe I can lead us to wherever his treasure is kept. However, we must rely on a bit of luck here, for I know not whether all his treasure will be together, or whether the item you seek will be kept with the item I search for. In any case, follow me, and we must take our chances."

With that, Mal turned, and crept around the top of the tower until he found a door, and went down it and into the corridors and pathways within the tower, and between it and the other buildings in Isengard, avoiding any who where still on alert, and realized the path they were taking was drawing closer and closer to Orthanc, Sarumans personal tower and abode.

Finally they reached the base of the tower. Malagar stepped forward and did something to the lock of the door. They moved swiftly in.

"This is too easy," Unvar whispered. He reached to his side and pulled his sword from it's sheath.

Agravigan's eyes stared through the walls on all sides. "No one yet, sire."

"Your men must be doing well to call such attention to the walls," Malagar remarked.

They passed several doors but Agravigan shook his head at all of them.

"Still higher," he said.

Finally, they reached the top. Agravigan stared through the door and saw the palantir on the table. "There it is," he said excitedly, pointing at the door.

Malagar was plainly nearly as agitated and excited as Unvar. He opened that one as well and they rushed in.

Saruman's eyes widened and he whirled around. "This is a diversion! Come with me," he ordered his troops. A couple dozen troops bearing the insignia of the white hand followed him towards the tower.

Unvar saw the palantir and his heart leapt. Forgetting Malagar and everyone else, he rushed up to it and stared into it's depths, seeking the comforting warm familiarity.

For several long seconds nothing happened. Then, mists cleared, and he could truly see again. He saw the corsairs making their attacks against the walls, Saruman and his men rushing towards the tower. Then he pulled away, staring over Fangorn Forest. Out beyond it was another fortress. Apparently only hastily built. A quick dig in, but still capable of strong defense. Then he soared out farther, whipping past cities and towers, forests and mountains.

But something was wrong. Usually he had complete control, being able to choose what and where he could see. But now he was being slowly and subtly drawn somewhere. This was wrong. His many years experience with his palantir has allowed him to know the feel of his palantir. This one felt . . . different. Darker. Now he could see where he was being drawn. There was blackness surrounding him. The sensation of being clutched came on him. He couldn't pull out now. He was being hurtled through choking fumes and over a black and dead land. Then he saw a castle. He was lifted up. He rose over rampart after rampart and wall after wall. Then he was swept up a tower. And then he saw it. A single red eye, staring into his own.

Unvar gave a scream and felt arms clutching him, pulling him away. He fell to the floor with a thud.

Slythre raced up the stairs from her position. "They're onto us!" she cried as she bolted the door.

A mighty blow smashed against the door and it began to creak on it's hinges and cave inwards.

"Here, my lord," the captain said hoarsely as he placed the pouch on the table. "Your spy has delivered it, as promised."

Racking claws shredded the sack, and the palantir within was lifted up. The flames cast a lurid red glow around the master and the captain who knelt before it. A diabolical smile filled the face of the master, his black hide shifting, making it look even worse than before. It's sharp teeth came into view briefly, glinting in the flame. Rows of orcs and black clad men surrounded the pair, all armed to the teeth.

"Shall we go in and get the Book of Secrets?" the captain asked.

"It's not that easy," said the master after staring into the palantir for a long moment. "Those fool ents won't allow us to take it without a fight. But the hardest part of our task is done. We now know the location. The blind forays into the woods are no longer necessary. The ents have been sleepy and may not realize what we are doing until it is too late to stop us. But I'd prefer to have a safer entrance." The master brushed a hand through the coals, stirring up the flames. The flare of fire briefly illuminated it's grotesque features and the captain trembled in fear. "See to it," the master ordered.

"Yes, my lord," the captain said, bowing and retreating from the chamber.

Faradin slipped into position behind the group. Stupid fools he thought, trying to sneak into Isengard like that, I better make sure they don't get into trouble.

He followed them at a fair distance so that he would not be discovered and saw them enter a room. He heard feet racing towards him, and quickly ducked into an alcove just off the passageway. He saw four men in the uniforms of the white hand race down the corridor and begins pounding on the door. Drawing his bow he took careful aim and fired. His arrow took one man in the back of the throat and he fell, he second took another in the chest as he turned. He drew his sword and charged. The first man fell quickly and he found himself face to face with the last man. A captain by the look of his uniform. This man would not fall as easily as his men did.

Mal saw Unvar head for his bauble, but was quickly distracted. The room was filled with treasures, both those that glowed golden to the natural eyes, and many other items that glowed to other senses, deeper ones. But none of these was Mal concerned with. Crossing the floor, he saw it, shining darkness stretching out from beneath one pile of magical relics. Tossing them aside, he slowly lowered his hand, and grasped it - at last, at last! He nearly cried, in joy and happiness. Lifting it from the ground, feeling tendrils of his old strength running back into him, he paid no heed - did not even hear, or notice - as Unvar dropped to the ground in agony, or Slythre's shouts of warning. All he could do was gaze upon its beauty.

An armband, circular, made of pitch black onyx, it had inscribed on it, in dark runes only visible to those who could see through shadows, ancient, forgotten words. Perhaps it was nothing to compare with other such items forged in ages past, such as those created by the dark lord himself, but in the current day and age, it harbored much power to rival even the greatest still on Middle Earth.

"The first step, to regaining my whole..." whispered Malagar, then slowly slipped it on, feeling it rest into place upon his lean and muscled arm. With a sigh, a gasp, as he felt it reconnect with his inmost self - felt what had once been a part of him become part of him once again, he once more became aware of his surroundings. Turning, he saw Slythre and Agravigan desperately fighting the attackers who were streaming in the doors, the two standing over Unvar's comatose body, with cuts appearing upon the forms as they were outnumbered and outmatched. The door they had came in by was still bared, but another entrance had been opened and from there came the soldiers of the white hand.

Mal laughed, and brought his arms up, and unnoticed to the soldiers of Isengard, the shadows around them began to take form and shape, and tendrils of darkness began to rise up behind the soldiers. Suddenly, Agravigan gave a cry, as his blade was knocked from his grasp, and the soldier facing him lifted his own sword to deliver the deathblow. With another laugh, Mal twisted his hand, and the shadows behind the soldiers twined about the necks and limbs, drawing tight, and cutting off their breath, and screams, and snapping their bones and necks, dropping the dozen guards who had come in upon the ground, leaving their lifeless forms and flowing across the ground to cloak Mal in a mantle of shadow.

Walking out, strolling past the astonished Slythre and Agravigan and into the outside hallway, to see more soldiers charging towards him. With but a thought, they found darkness descend upon them, and a deathlike slumber came upon them, dropping them to the ground, unconscious.

Mal called out, "Saruman! Master of the so called White Council! I name you thief and plunderer! Would you hold MY property from me? Would you keep me from what is mine? Face me, craven fool, and learn my might!" Power thrumming through him, Mal felt once more as though he was close to his former self. What fools, these mortals, to face one such as him! To think, that he had lived for so many years as not much greater than them - to think, that his birthright had been denied him for so long!

Out unto the battlements of Orthanc walked Mal, seeking Saruman, or some other form to vent his power upon. But, before he found any, another found him. A thief is silent, but death is even quieter still, and until a sharp, burning pain pierced Mal's arm, he knew nothing of the figure on the towertop beside him.

The pain! Mal could not cry out, for it stole his breath, and set cold and fire blazing together through his form. Dropping to his knees, Mal staggered forward, trying to turn around, trying to concentrate and bring his newly regained power to bear on whatever foe threatened him - and found the power gone again. Looking on the ground near him, Mal saw his armband lying upon there - still in his arm, which was no longer connected to his body. Mal clutched at his side, in disbelief, and struggled to his feet as blood flowed over his fingers and hand. He looked up from where his arm lay, looked up at the figure standing next to it.

Armored in obsidian mail, with a grinning skull for a face, a figure faced him out of nightmare. Long before the Nazgul where brought about by the Dark Lord of Mordor, other beings roamed the world, and the tales of their dark deeds makes the current fireside tales pale in comparison.

"You!" cried out Mal, fear and hatred apparent upon his face.

"You know the decree of the Valar, Mal. If you choose to meddle in the affairs of the mortals of Middle Earth, you must be as one of them."

A dagger appeared in Mal's left hand, sticky from the blood pouring from his other shoulder, and he hurled himself at the other figure, spinning around him despite his wound, and driving the dagger toward an open spot where the helmet of the figure met its armor.

Quicker than light, faster than dark, the forms hand flew up and seized Mal's remaining arm, halting his movement, then, in one quick motion, threw him over the side of the tower. As he fell, Mal opened his mouth to cry out, but the pain overcame him, and as the wind hurtled past him, he fell into unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, Slythre and Agravigan were doing their best to depart the premises as well. Though more troops were heading towards them, the ones closest had already been dealt with by Mal. Finding an exit, they carried their lord, who was still unmoving, out of the building, and despite their skills, as they ran off into the woods and sought the safety of their army, they did not notice as they passed within a few feet of a crumpled form lying near the base of one of the towers.

Throughout all this, Faradin was unaware of what was taking place within the room, and was finding the captain he faced, a grizzled veteran, and strong, was proving harder to best than he had hoped. Suddenly, however, screams and groans came from the barred room, and as the captains attention wavered, Faradin pierced him through the heart. He found his way blocked by a foe he could not best, however - the door. Despite his greatest efforts, and all his strength, it would not budge, and as the sounds died down from within the room, and more footsteps began to race along the corridor towards him, he muttered, "Then let these fools look to themselves!" and took himself out of the hallway, narrowly avoiding a force of two score men coming into the passage. Frustrated at being unable to discover what had happened within, he made his way, silently and hidden, from the tower. Soon, all the 'invaders' of the tower were gone, and Saruman was left puzzled and greatly worried over the slain men of his, and with no explanation left behind...

I feel the flare of dark magic from the top of Orthanc. The fall of Malagar, and the shadow magic. Through my dark red eyes, I see my captains shift in fear. They all fear me. And well they might. I existed since the time of Melkor. Few of my kind still exist in this world. Perhaps this creature is an ally come to join me in my struggle? If so, he shall have none of the benefits. It was I who have gone this far, without any of his help. But no, his intentions are different. He knows nothing of the Book of Secrets. I sigh in silent relief. The captains shift, wondering what is going on. I stir the flames again, letting their heat surround me.

Few Ents were looking at her when she felt it. Some powerful magic have been used near. No mortal could wield such power. She let her mind travel the short distance and see The black spire of Isengard. It could only mean that one of the few Maia remaining has attack Saruman, but why ??
She quickly review the few Maia remaining in the nearby region and then she understand, only one of them could have been as foolish to think he can attack Saruman and get away with it. But then not everyone knew Saruman as she does. Then as quickly as it appear the power get away, broken. a smile grow on her face, overconfidence is one of the most dangerous weakness. Much greater being fell to it and he won't be the last one either. But for now greater concern await her.

The old Ent was looking at her when she opened her eyes. She smile at him, thinking of the last time they've seen each other. they have been both thousand of years younger and it was somehow strange to see him as an old ent while she look just like she did at her 20th birthday. She raise and take her place in the circle and she start the Entmoot. Having much to learn about the change that have take place during the last few thousand years. It would take days maybe even week but she have time and one of her preeminent virtues was patience. Her magic will sustain her for the duration of the Entmoot. She hope that such a trivial use of her power would pass undetected, especially when coming from a magical forest like Fangorn.

Agravigan frowned as he paced back and forth. "But it's useless. How are we going to find any objects in the dead of night? But if we wait for morning, who knows what clues we might find."

Slythre sat down on the same bench that Malagar had previously occupied and looked at Unvar. "It makes sense. We'll spoil any clues that might be there by blundering around after nightfall."

Unvar's hands were steepled and his face was still pale, the lingering effects of his struggle still apparent on his face. "Agravigan has magically enhanced sight. Are there any other tricks to it than long range and ability to see through objects?"

Agravigan stopped pacing and turned towards Unvar. "Perhaps in daylight, but now, I don't think so."

There was a pause. "What you propose makes no sense," Slythre said.

"I know," Unvar said quietly, and with a tinge of defeat in his voice. "I just have a feeling that if we don't go tonight, it won't go well for our cause."

There was a long silence, broken into abruptly by the sound of shredding canvas. The dagger point ripped through the material, tearing a hole, and then a man leapt in.

Agravigan's sword was yanked from it's scabbard and pointed menacingly at the figure. Slythre stood and drew her dagger. Unvar was motionless for a long moment. Than, his fingers parted and he stood up, walking around the chair so that he was facing Faradin directly.

It wasn't hard to see that this man was a ranger, and a Numenorean.

Suddenly, Agravigan's eyes widened in recognition. "Sire, this is the man who cut those soldiers away from the door," He said as he lowered his sword.

"I would like some answers," Faradin said.

Unvar smiled sadly. "Don't we all?"

With a gasp, Mal awoke. "Death's face..." he whispered, staring blankly into the darkness, then his eyes darted about, looking for any who might be watching.

He heard voices, but it was as though they were from a long way away.
"This hurts, dammit!" he muttered, then tried to stand. As pain lanced through his body once more, he crumpled to the ground, only holding back from screaming because it would be too much of an effort.

As he trashed on the ground, however, the nearby voices paused, and came seeking through the brush, hearing the commotion he was causing.

Mal finally managed to control the pain, and twisting into a sitting position, with pain splayed across his face, he looked up into the astonished gazes of Narsh and Dania.

He managed to choke out a short gasp for help, before collapsing to the ground, pain flooding through him once more, and blackness covering his vision.

Swiftly, Dania took over the situation. Kneeling down beside the unconscious Mal, she checked the blood-stained, ragged hole in his tunic where his arm had once been. "Water," she snapped, and the canteen was thrust into her hand. Tearing a few strips from her black cloak, she used one to wash off most of the blood, so the wound could be clearly seen. Soaking the other strips, she held back a wince of her own as she bandaged, very tightly, the raw flesh and bone.
"Should I cut some small trees to make a stretcher?" Came the low, raspy voice of Narsh behind her. The greatest of warriors, he could never stand the sight of so much blood.
Dania nodded, as she rolled up the rest of her cloak and placed it beneath Mal's head, enabling him to breath easier.
Soon the stretcher was built, and between the two of them they lifted Mal onto it.
"We must take him to Fangorn. If anyone, he will know the best way to heal this," spoke Dania, carrying the back of the stretcher. Glancing down at the patient, she noticed he was paler, and he seemed to be in a waking delirium, his eyes open and staring straight up. Without a word, Narsh and Dania quickened their pace.

Unvar's fist smashed into the side of Faradin's head, throwing him to the ground.

"What right do you have to question the Lord of the Corsairs in this way?" He roared. "My affairs are mine alone! What right do you have to break into my own tent and demand answers that are none of your business?"

Faradin rose, his face radiating anger. "Us rangers have made it our business to protect those who are weak, and threatened by evil! Your country has for years sent out ships to slaughter innocent and plunder their possessions!" He regained control of himself with visible effort. "Do you not think that, in view of this, your large army of corsairs would be concern of ours?"

Unvar crossed his arms and took a step back, eyeing the ranger. Perhaps he wasn't such a blustering fool as he'd appeared to be. And now that Unvar thought about it, he remembered the skills of the rangers. This could be a big help to Unvar's plans . . .

"Very well, but if I do give you this information, you must do me a favor in return."

Faradin thought for a moment. "That depends on what it is. I hardly have reason to trust you, you must admit."

Unvar nodded and motioned towards the seats. Then, he began his narrative . . .

. . . When he had finished, Unvar looked at Faradin closely, watching his reactions.

"You want to be rid of me," Unvar said. "And believe me, I would like nothing better than to leave here as well. There are sure to be all sorts of minor uprisings or political turmoil in Umbar over my long disappearance.

"Now, you must fulfill your side of the bargain. Do not worry, I won't ask of you anything against your honor or morals," he added quickly at the look on Faradin's face. "I would simply like your assistance in finding the palantir. I need a ranger's tracking, hunting, and thinking methods on my side."

"Very well, Corsair, you have a deal."

Slythre waited until the moon had sank and it was total and complete blackness outside before making her move. She silently slipped out of bed and dressed, finishing by strapping on her belt, dagger and cloak.

On second thought, I just might need this as well, she thought as she buckled on her sword. She'd not used it in a long time. Never needed to. But this time was different.

Quiet as a ghost, she slipped out of her tent and moved swiftly through the corsair camp. Then, sneaking past the sentries, she disappeared into the gloom. As soon as she was out of sight, she picked up speed, moving across the ground at a rapid pace. She'd have to get there, talk to them, and return before dawn. Luckily Unvar had not begun to suspect her role as double agent yet. If he did, these meetings would be rendered impossible.

Finally she reached it. She banged with her bare fist on the hard, damp wood of the door to the fortress. Not much of a fortress, hastily rigged up, but still in fighting order, and capable of making a strong defense. She banged on the door twice more. Finally it swung open and a dark shape motioned her in.

"I'd like to see Captain Nardran," she said softly.

"This way," the man said, leading her deeper into the complex. They passed through armories, guard rooms and training halls, finally stopping at a room.

"Slythre is here, requesting entrance, sir," he said after knocking.

Nardran opened the door and looked out. "Come on in," he said gruffly, stepping to the side.

She quickly moved past him and entered the room. It was sparsely furnished, lighted by two torches on either side of the wall. She sat down at the table and looked up at him.

He sat down opposite her and smoothed his long brown hair back with a hand. "So what is it that calls you here when I was trying to sleep?"

"All of our previous meetings were held at this hour. It was necessary to maintain my secrecy. But this time is different. I come here not to give information, but to receive it."

He was struck with surprise at the coldness in her voice. "What do you mean?" he asked timidly.

"I know that you're not the commander of this company. And I know that you've been withholding information from me."

Nardran froze. "What information?"

She leaned forward and stared at him with ice in her eyes. "When you sent me out to steal Unvar's palantir from the creature, you never told me how you knew of that the palantir exchange was going to take place. I demand that knowledge now."

"Slythre . . ."

"And another thing. Last time I was here, I overheard two of your men talking about their true commander. I cannot imagine anyone talking with such fear about you. You are not the true commander of this garrison. Bring me to the master!"

Nardran flinched and paled. "You don't know what your saying! Believe me, it would be better for you if these secrets remained secrets. Far better."

"So it's true. These really are purposely with-held pieces of information, not oversight. You tricked me into joining your cause and stealing the palantir for you with promises of using it to gain a priceless treasure to use for the greater good. Now, I discover that you've been using me the entire time. What is your real reason?"

Nardran stood and paced the room, his hands behind his back and a look of terrible fear on his face. "Slythre, I cannot tell you. Please, just leave this castle. Never return again. We can spy on Unvar ourselves now that we have the palantir. You've been a great help to us, but now . . ."

"Circumstances have changed, haven't they?" Slythre said as she stood and raised the point of her dagger to Nardran's throat.

Nardran's face hardened. "All right. You insist on having it your way, don't you. Very well, I'll take you to our master. This way," he said as he led her out the door.

They passed deep into the structure and finally came to a stop at a black door with dark iron hinges.

Nardran knocked on the door with his fist.

It instantly swung open and they passed into a large chamber, lit with the lurid red glow of flame. Fire smoldered on the floor of the center of the room, unchecked, yet not destroying the rest of the black scorched chamber. Slythre squinted forwards into the darkness.

"Captain." The word came from a rasping, deep voice, from somewhere around the fire.

"My master," he said, kneeling down.

"Who have you brought with you?"

"My master, it is Slythre, our spy from Unvar's camp. She forced me to bring her before you, and demands to know all."

"Come forward, human woman," came the voice, full of mocking evil.

She hesitated, feeling a flash of fear.

"You wished to meet the master, did you not?" came the voice.

Slythre hesitated. But she knew that it would be foolhardy to do so. She sensed that she was confronted with an evil far greater than she could face and live.

She turned and dashed towards the door, getting within two feet of it before she was tackled to the ground. Hands seized around her arms, legs, waist, neck, and hair. She was filled with pain as she was yanked to her feet and dragged forward by six large orcs, covered from head to foot in battle armor.

"I'm sorry," Nardran said as they passed him. She was drawn directly up to the flame and held before it.

"Very well, now you shall see the master," came the voice.

Nardran bowed his head, looking at the floor as a massive shape rose from the flame as if rising from the maw of hell.

Slythre stared for an instant and then let out a loud, horrible scream, drowned out by the horrible laughter of her tormenter. The balrog's flaming whip curled around her neck and he dragged her forward.

Arvec looked out from the battlements of the fortress. The sky was bleak and gray, broken by jagged mountains that looked like teeth, ready to cut apart any intruder. The ground was brownish gray, dull and hard, as was everything in this place. The Castle Iron Heart was definitely a place of power. Well chosen for it's purpose. Mining. The black mines went deep into the soil, cutting down into the heart of the mountain. In it's depths slaves worked in toil, sweating and dying in misery. It made Arvec's heart ache, but it was not his decision. It was necessary. How else could the work be done? They had already made remarkable progress, the hidden fortress producing as much raw minerals as half the dwarven mines in existence. The weapon factories produced thousands of spears, swords, breastplates, helmets, shields, and every kind of armor and weaponry available. Enough to equip an army. And that was obviously the plan. Although Arvec wasn't permitted into the high council, his work was definitely noted, and it was recent that he'd been promoted to the rank of head supervisor of weapon construction in the fortress. A high honor indeed. Especially that they'd allow him to have it. He was the only elf in the castle.

Arvec took his hands away from the wall and looked up, seeing a great bat swoop out of the clouds towards him. Arvec bit back a feeling of revulsion. He'd never liked the great, horrible creatures. Many times he'd tried to have them replaced as the messengers, but to no avail.

The creature landed on the wall and dropped the scroll from it's grip. Then it stared at him in through it's beastly red eyes.

"Go on, get out," Arvec said, prodding it with the paper.

The beast spat and flew off.

Then Arvec unrolled the scroll. It read thus:

"To Arvec, with my greetings.

"I am greatly pleased with what I hear of your progress, you have indeed helped to fulfill your duties better than any other I could have assigned. Because of this, I know that you will be up to the task about to be assigned you. I would like you to jointly command the construction of a Blasting Delve with Marondras. I know that he is a little bit strange, and has a slightly uneven mind, but I'm afraid it's necessary. He's the only one who has the ability to complete it's construction.

"Sincerely, Captain Nardran."

Arvec looked up in disbelief. What on earth was a Blasting Delve? And with Marondras? He was the last person Arvec would ever like to jointly command a construction project with. He had more than a slightly uneven mind, Arvec would label him insane. But perhaps he would know what a Blasting Delve was. Anyway, orders were orders.

Arvec rolled up the paper and walked down the stone steps, towards the center of Iron Heart.

When Unvar opened his eyes, he saw a stream of sunlight coming through the rip in his tent wall, flooding over him. He raised his hand to block it's glow and sat up on his pallet. He quickly rubbed his eyes and stood. He always slept dressed, and slept lightly. He'd survived two assassination attempts back at Umbar because of his preparedness. Even though, if it was Slythre who'd been the assassin, he didn't know if even his light sleeping would have saved him. She was a big help. So was Agravigan for that matter, but not quite so much.

Unvar quickly opened the flap of his tent and took a couple steps out. He glanced around his camp briefly and then walked over to the tent that the ranger had been given. Quickly opening the flap, he strode in.

"Looking for me?" came a voice from behind him.

Unvar started and whirled around. "Yes, as a matter of a fact I was. Go get Slythre, I'll get Agravigan. We'll start our search at Orthanc, doing that's our best bet."

"Very well," Faradin said, quickly disappearing in the general bustle of the camp.

Unvar got Agravigan and walked back towards the tent. There he met Faradin.

"Where's Slythre?" Unvar asked.

"She wasn't in her tent."

"Blast. Very well, than time you proved your abilities. Let's track her down."

Faradin scowled, but agreed. They went back to her tent, and after a while, Faradin found her prints. She would have been impossible to track, had it not been for the combined powers of Faradin's experience and Agravigan's eyesight. Soon they'd tracked her to the edge of the camp, and then the prints continued off into the distance, still very faint, but possible to follow.

Unvar was frowning. "What on earth was she doing out here?"

Faradin shrugged. "But at least the tracks are easier to follow. It was nearly impossible in the camp, mixed with everyone else's."

"She'd better have a good explanation when we find her. I cannot have one of my best agents sneaking off into the brush without informing me."

"She would have had to have gone in the night, otherwise she'd have been noticed," Agravigan noted.

But Unvar wasn't listening. He was staring off into the distance blankly.

"My lord?" Agravigan asked.

Unvan snapped out of it. "What? Oh, yes, let's carry on."

"What is it?" Faradin asked sharply.

Unvar shook his head briefly. "Well, when I was gazing into the palantir of Orthanc, I saw all around the camp, the forest, the whole terrain. Well, I just remembered that a few miles in this direction is a castle."

They stared at him.

"A makeshift one, quickly built. That was the only thing out here in this direction."

"So she was probably going to it?"

Unvar's eyes flared in anger. "Yes. Slythre has been operating with both me and another group." A look of cold fury filled his face, and then hardened into a set expression. "Come, let's go back to the camp. We'll have the whole force go with us. I believe that all of our ends will connect at that castle."

His whole being appeared changed, a glint of infuriated obsession filling his features and making him appear as if possessed. His cloak swirled about him as he whirled around and hurried back towards the camp. Agravigan hurried after his lord, but Faradin knew enough. As they walked towards the camp, he fell further behind, and suddenly dropped down in the brush, slipping away from the others, and vanishing in the tall grass.

With a start, Malagar came to.
The pain was gone for a moment, and he fancied he could still feel it, but when he clutched at it with his remaining hand, nothing was there.

With a sigh, he looked up, staring into the face of one of the tree creatures. Standing anxiously by its side was Dania, and by her stood Narsh.

The tree being - the ent - spoke a number of words in its slow, booming tongue, and Dania translated, "He says that you were very lucky to survive the wound, and the fall from the tower. Almost anyone else would have died."

"I've always been lucky," muttered Malagar, but subsumed his anger - these were not to blame, and all things considered, things could have ended much worse, he thought. "My thanks for aiding me, and healing me," and here he nodded to the ent.

Then Mal senses something, from behind him, and though he allowed no indication to show upon his face, he slowly turned about, to stare at the elven lady standing in the woods behind him. No elf of middle-earth, this, but apparently one from the isle of the Valar - and a memory drifted through Mal's mind, for it seemed he may have seen this elf during one of his hidden visitations to the Valar's home.

He shrugged that thought away, and wondered instead why this being was here.

"Greetings, my lady, my name is Malagar D'Orthand. I would rise to greet you, but fear I am still not overly well," and with a chuckle, gestured at his empty sleeve.

Faradin made his way through the forest carefully but quickly. He had decided to head towards the Entmoot and help that someone would be there, maybe those two elves, Dania and Narsh.

As he made his way across a clearing he stopped cold. There was a trip-wire right across the clearing, and he saw that he was standing in the middle of a net.

He stepped back quickly, and just in time for the net snapped up and his right foot was caught just enough to take him off his feet. He rose to his knees to see a sword blade held to his throat. Following the blade he saw that an orc held it. Before the orc could react he spun and kicked out, the orc stumbled back, but did not lose it's grip on it's blade. Sweeping his own Rivendell-forged blade from it's sheath he swung at the orc and felled it. At a sudden sound from his left he whirled and saw three orcs rushing at him. He quickly sidestepped the lead one and kicked at it's back; it flew past him and he swung at one of the other's head, nearly decapitating it. Whirling back to his left he thrust with his sword and took the last orc neatly in the heart. Then he felt a pain in his side and cursed as he stumbled backward. The orc that he had knocked past him had recovered and held it's own blade ready. Faradin, strong with his fury, both at himself for forgetting the last orc and at the orc itself, knocked the orc's blade from his hand and killed it.

He stooped and examined the blade closely. "At least it wasn't poisoned, and the wound is not deep, I will care for it when I arrive at the Entmoot." He kept the blade and grabbed a helm from another of the orcs and continued on his way.

He stumbled into the Entmoot just in time to hear Mal make his statement. "Then get well soon," tossing his tokens on the ground he growled, "there are orcs in Fangorn forest." He stopped and stared for an instant as he saw a vision of Elven loveliness. He dropped to his knees and bowed, "Forgive me my lady, for I knew not that you were here. You are surely one of those that had bathed in the light of the two trees, before their darkening by Morgoth. Will you aid me, for with your aid we will surely be victorious."

Slythre's arms were full of a dull, throbbing ache. Her wrists were clasped in chains against the wall, over her head. A fiery pain filled her whole body whenever she moved, bringing back horrible memories of the balrog. But at last her torture had ceased, and she'd been dragged away from the it's lair. Then she'd been searched and thrown back here, in a cell, out of the way, no longer important and to be forgotten. She was still amazed at her luck in surviving the terrible encounter. Or perhaps it wasn't so lucky. They'd burned her elven cloak, of course, and all her weapons were gone. No one would find her here. Ever.

She frowned. No, she would not give up! That was one of the first rules Unvar had drilled into her when helping in grooming her as his personal agent, with Agravigan. But this thought just sent another wave of shame and fresh pain through her. She'd betrayed her commander. She'd thought she was working for the greater good, doing something worthwhile for once in her life, but no. She'd ended up working for a balrog, and betraying her commander, earning a well deserved hatred.

Slythre lowered her head, a sob bursting from her throat.

The jailer laughed mockingly.

The balrog's red eyes narrowed in rage. "What have you done, you fool! I did not want our presence known of, yet you send orcs into the forest!"

"My master," Nardran said, quivering with fear. "We sent no orcs out. I know not who those were, but I can promise you that . . ."

The whip slashed down, tearing into his back and knocking him to the ground, screaming in agony. The tip of the whip flicked up, slashing across his face as the balrog pulled the whip back.

"Do not lie to me!"

Nardran's body remained crumpled on the ground where it had fallen.

"My master?" came a timid voice from one of his captains.

The balrog's fierce gaze turned on the barracks master, who quivered with fright under the gaze and took a couple steps backward.

"What?" he roared.

"The troops are all accounted for, my master!" the man squeaked. "The orcs still in their positions!"

"Then who the devil are they?" he asked himself quietly, looking into the palantir and staring at the orcs. It was then that he noticed the inhabitants of the Entmoot. He stared balefully at them for a moment, and then his eyes widened. It was Syntia! And also the bloody corpse lying there, swathed in bandages was also recognizable. What were two Maia doing here? Had they gotten wind of his plan? Or were they after the Book of Secrets themselves? Either way, they would have to be looked to. The balrog snarled angrily as the elven lady sensed his gaze and glanced around nervously. He tore his eyes away from the group. That would have to wait. Even now, Unvar and his army were marching at a rapid pace towards his castle. He cursed his bad luck. Why did all his enemies have to be converging on him now?

"Position all of our troops at combat positions," he ordered his generals. "Get every man and orc into a position of the best advantage." His eyes filled with a mad light as he stared off into the palantir, seeing Unvar and his force marching forward. "I want them to feel our wrath."

For a long time Syntia said nothing, a sad look on her face as she'd remember the glories of the elder day, tosing everyone now standing in the Entmoot, a she elven ranger, an elven warrior, the broken maia and now a Numenorean ranger. Something odd was happening here. For a moment she felt as if someone was watching her, then it was gone.

- Old friend, those orcs must be taken care of. Would you do it for me please ??

Those were the first word the two elves and the human hear from her, her soft musical voice was entrancing. Even while she had only whisper, everyone have hear her as if she had been talking directly to them, directly to their heart. In this short moment more has been said than what could be heard. Only at that moment did they begin to guess what power she could wield.

For Mal, the sound of her voice bring back memory from a past long forgotten, to a day when his power could conceal someone from even the great Valar. To a day when he was saved from his cell in Angband by a younger Syntia, but it wasn't her name at the time. Together they done what was though impossible. It was more a circumstantial alliance than something else but at that moment he had felt as if together they could do anything. He realized that she was looking at him.

-Your involvement here puzzle and afraid me Malagar. Are you here for yourself or are you working for someone greater than you are ??

Then she turn her attention to the human ranger. She look at him for a long time and said

-Your knowledge of what happen before the human walk the earth is admirable. *At that point she smile softly* I've learn a long time ago not to involve myself in matter not of my concern. But maybe I can help you, tell what concern you and how you've all end up together, I’ve got the feeling you're presence here isn't just a coincidence.

Dania nodded at Syntia's words, she could feel it too.
"All this seems more than just coincidence, when have such people ever met together before? Hasn't it always been during a time when Middle Earth needs help? Has been in dire trouble?"
Dania could see she'd surprised some of those around her, but Narsh beside her nodded silently.
"We may not trust each other, and probably some of that mistrust has a very good reason. None of us knows exactly why the other is here, or who they work for. I think we all agree though that there is something going very wrong with Middle Earth, and something must be done about it. Could we start there? What are your thoughts?" Dania looked cautiously from one face to the other, some masking their emotions, others as readable as a book. She knew she'd taken a huge chance, and it might turn out to hurt everyone by doing so. She hoped it wouldn't though, because this was her last hope.

The first flight of corsair archers flew into the air, cutting a half dozen defenders off the wall.

"Back! Be more careful you worm eaten slime!" roared their orc captains. "The master will have your heads for your carelessness, even if the enemy don't!"

The second flight only wounded two, and their were no deaths. The soldiers ducked behind their shields as the next flight deflected away without harming anyone. However, the cover was keeping them down, and giving the corsair foot soldiers time to move a battering ram forward. Cut from Fangorn, it was one of the trees that wasn't alive, but even so, it had been very difficult to take it and come back alive. The ents were not pleased.

Unvar smiled as the battering ram smashed against the gates, weakening it's quickly constructed hinges.

Another orc was picked off the wall, and two others wounded. The hastily constructed trench of the corsairs was working for them, and their numbers and experience were getting the better of the inept defenders.

Torches were used to help melt and weaken the hinges of the doors, and in a few more blows, the door was torn off it's hinges and thrown down. The corsairs gave a cry of triumph and moved forward . . . right into the wave of fire that swept down the hillside, sweeping away the attackers.

"Pull back!" Unvar yelled to his screaming force as they fled the wave of fire.

The men scrambled out of the trench just as the fire swept in, making it a river of fire. But it stopped there, and out of the doorway charged the balrog, leading his best warriors. He had used the same strategy in miniature that Melkor had in the great siege of Angband, and it had worked just as effectively. He leapt the trench and lashed the legs of two soldiers with his whip. Then, heaving his flaming sword in both hands, he smashed into the enemy ranks, filling them with terror. His four orc captains came shortly behind him, finishing off the wounded that he left in his wake.

"Reassemble, and target the balrog!" Unvar roared, but, getting no response, he took the initiative himself, getting in the beast's path with his guards. He flung himself at the beast, his sword cutting a chunk out of it's leg, and then ripping a jagged line across it's side. It whirled in fury, catching him around the head with it's whip and crushing the helmet into smoldering shreds. He pealed it off quickly and deflected a blow from an orcish blade, ducking backwards as he did. The balrog's great blade cut a path for it as it pursued Unvar. He didn't make it wait long. Seizing his black shield and roaring in wrath, he lunged at his opponent, slashing and ducking, swerving and dodging. The beast roared in anger, fire gushing from it's main and even flaring from the edges of it's nostrils and mouth. Lunging forward it leapt upon Unvar. His sword pierced into it's chest up to the hilt, and it smashed down upon him, crushing him to the ground.

All he could see was blood, fire and the horrible hide of the beast. Then it disappeared as the beast reared up in agony, clawing at the sword which it had impaled itself on. It ripped the blade from it's body and stumbled backwards. The orcish captains paused and stepped back, fear put into them by the retreat of their leader.

The army of the balrog fell back in dismay. The beast hissed through it's jaws to it's captains, "Retreat back to the fortress."

"Retreat!" the word echoed through the orcish force and they fled.

Quickly seeing their sudden advantage, the captains of Unvar decided to act as they knew their leader would, and soon what had appeared to be a defeat was turned into a great victory as the enemy were cut down as they ran, or picked off by the swarms of arrows that fell upon their force. But soon the enemy had gotten in, and heavily armored pikemen held off the corsairs at the gate. Then, as boulders began to be dropped down from the top, these corsairs were also pulled back, and the army moved out of range.




Unvar opened his eyes and winced in pain. Glancing around, he saw that the battle had ended. The enemy wounded had been slaughtered and those of the corsairs were being dragged away to be healed. If he could judge by the massive losses of the enemy leading back up the charred soil to their own gate, it had a great victory. They had been routed.

Unvar smiled briefly; his captains had done well. Horrible aches filled his body from the crushing weight of the balrog and he groaned. If he'd been underneath for long, he'd have been crushed to death. He staggered back to his camp and stopped at the flap of his tent, where he heard voices coming from.

"I don't know what Lord Unvar was trying to get so hard anyway. None of us really do, we only have our own theories. He's surely dead, and with him, I say his quest dies too."

"How do you know he's dead?" came another voice. "We shouldn't leave our ruler unless we're certain. Only then, will we take the appropriate action."

"But I saw him lashed around the head with the whip!"

"I'm very much alive," Unvar said, entering the tent. He fixed his eyes on the speaker who's face paled. "Scorched and broken, but I've come out alive. I always have, no matter what the odds. That's why you have gathered around me. I am pleased with how you finished the battle, but I will stand for no treasonous talks like the one I've just heard."

"My lord," the corsair fell to his knees, "You see no treason here, sire!"

"You will have a chance to prove it, Ingard. For you shall help me lead our next offensive."

"It will be an honor, my lord!"

"Get up. We have won a great victory today, and I do not intend to have it wasted. Now let's plan our next attack."

As he remembered the short time he had spent with this one, and the service she had rendered him, Mal sighed softly.
It had been there, in the grasp of the Dark One, where he had began to lose his power. It was there he had started on the path that led him hear.

"I am here for me, Syntia, I am simply here for me."
His words were quiet, soft, but what the others did not see or here was the rest of the unspoken connection he sent to Syntia - and gazing upon him, she felt his immense sense of loss and weakness, and the urgent, driving force to regain his lost strength that had become the most powerful purpose in his life.

He turned his head away, closing his soul off once more, uncomfortable he had shown so much - he, once hailed as the Master of Secrets...

When Dania went on to talk, Mal's interest was drawn back to the conversation. What she said... and the presence of the Other atop Saruman's tower... things did, indeed, start to fit together.
As well, there had been rumors, many tales being told while he had been searching for his own lost items... of another who was seeking something lost long ago... and rebuilding his strength.

"The question is," Mal spoke up, still in soft tones, "where are we supposed to be? And what purpose have we been gathered together for?" Mal trailed off, and then a thought hit him, of Unvar and the ranger, and looking up, with a burning gaze, staring into Dania's face, he said, "And we are not the only ones that have been driven by circumstances into this forest of late - where are the others?"

A troubled look crossed Dania's features, but was gone almost before it could be noticed. "I'm not sure, I haven't seen hide nor hair of them for a while. Which worries me. I don't think they are still in the forest, or I would have heard or seen something at least. But they are close, I don't know that Faradin would leave completely without at least giving us an idea of why he was going. He was as concerned as I was about the strange things going on."
Narsh stepped forward, though he hardly ever spoke, there was a good reason when he did, and everyone listened carefully. "It would seem we have a choice," his voice rasped, an effect of the scar across his throat, "we could wait here to see what has become of them, go on without them, or go and find them. We must keep in mind, they may have fallen into the hands of our unknown enemy. Whoever he is, he could know more about us than we know." His piece said, Narsh stepped back into the shadows to await a reaction.

Marondras smiled. "A Blasting Delve, eh? Perfect, indeed perfect. About time . . ." He smoothed his hands over the constructions plans, gently.

"So what is it?"

"There is only one in Middle Earth at this time. And it'll take a long time to make another. But with the massive production capacity of this mountain, it will probably be quicker. This'll take a lot of power. An enormous amount. But it can be done."

"But what is it?" Arvec asked impatiently.

"You can build things using them. Great things, powerful things. I've already prepared for this moment, and have altered the foundations of the mountain."

"This mountain?" Arvec asked in horror.

"No, no, don't be an idiot. I wouldn't destroy the master's castle, that would be stupid."

"I, didn't mean, uh . . ."

"Anyway, I'll get started immediately. Just get me two tons of the blasting powder that you had bought from Isengard, and . . ."

"Two tons!"

"Amazing that an elf with ears like that could be deaf."

"But two tons is almost all that we have!"

"Oh, you have more? Than get the rest of it as well. I'll get started at once. I'll need two hundred of your workers, and . . ."

"What!" Arvec s