Realm of Angband

[Confusticated]

Angband
& Ard-galen Near By​

Some tell that in their dread the near Thangorodrim seemed taller then Taniquetil, though it cannot be. They say the mountains behind the Gates of Angband burn hotter than the smithies of Aule, and deeper than the depths of Ulmo are the rumblings that are heard beneath the pulsing ground. And some say that it too, like the Sea, contains an echo of the Music, but only that of drums. All the drums that beat with Melkor in opposition to Iluvatar before the beginning of time.


Passing over Ard-galen one could reach the ominous North,if he dares, and find the feet of the black towers Thangorodrim standing before him. And the dreadful gates of Angband. Impenetrable it lies beneath the hard ground on the furthest side of the Mountains of Iron. Scouts roam the hills, and creatures slither silently down. Down to the foes of Morgoth, where they gather what tidings they can for their cruel master. Companies pass far east and west in secret if they can, and go round into the south of Beleriand or torment the people of Eriador. Phantoms pass to and from on the wind, fair and treacherous, using what cunning they may to gain news or spread lies. And deep in the fortress sits Morgoth Bauglir, The Constrainer, The Dark Enemy of the World, and he is bent on the annihilation of all who oppose him. So it is that he devises plots, and his countless slaves labour without end, multiplying and building instruments of war.

But his shadow reaches as far as those who whisper of a nameless fear. And the folk of Beleriand need only gaze away north to be reminded of the constant threat. Children, maids, kindly beasts, nothing stands between the daily lives but the armies of Beleriand, and none know how long they can defend against him.​

Winter approached, and save the occasional lone scout found sneaking, there were no stirrings from Angband. Before the gates, nothing but desolation and frost. The Iron Hell was in seeming hibernation.

 

[Alatar]

Iantain looked up towards the Mountains, even from here he could smell the death that lurked under those mountains. He looked back to the long line of horses, and behind that, Hithlum, hidden behind the Moutains.
They were drawn next to Thangorodrim, this was the most dangerous place in all of the north, if Morgoth chose, they knew he had enough engines of war great enough to reach them, even though the were a long ride from the gates.
That was not there errend though, they had to serch the land for scouts. They spread out in a line only one row thick, one thosand riders riding side by side, nearly a mile long. This formation would let them covert the most ground.
They thunderd over the plain, a echo of Orome, Fingon blew his horn and chanting "The Noldor, The vengence of the Noldor" passed over a small hill.
Inside that hill, was a cave, one of Morgoths scouting bases, and in it was a sigle orc, and a single bat.
Gorlog smiled, his fangs shining in the dark, "Go," he said to the bat, " Go tell the bosses that the elves have come."

 

[Gúthwinë]

Castor rode with the other riders. He was looking around " It is way too quiet." he thought, His elven sword was at ready, he saw it glow a baby blue, " Orcs are here and in hiding" he sheathed it and pulled out his bow and waited for movement while trodding across the plain on his black mare.

Across the plain a lone Rohirrim rider without his horse limped to the calvary, if they were orcs they would do him in, when they turned out to be elves he called out" You must leave here there are orcs, thousands..." A black arrow ripped through his throat, he gurgled and died...