Once the Elves claimed this land, the Greenwood, but our Master came here after the disaster at Dagorlad, after the Siege of Barad-Dur where He lost the One Ring, and his physical form gave over to the spirit that became the ‘Necromancer’ to the fools of the White Council. We are strong, yes, yet as if one of us, the Nine could ever match His presence. Long they overestimated their so-called wisdom, and long our Lord deceived them. It was called the Amon Lanc, the ‘Bald Hill’ – why call something a fool’s name? Had they run out of imagination? It is something they seem to lack, something our Master has oft exploited. So trusting, the Elven-Smiths. How He worked upon them, bending them to his Design, as He had in Numenor, as He did here, in Dol Guldur, the Hill of Sorcery – a fine name for a fitting design. A bastion of pits and high walls, seen even from far Lorien. A reminder of what they most fear.
The fools did not see, they did not believe he had survived, let alone that he was regaining his physical form here, under the strongest of sorceries, that only He has at his command. We Nazgul aided his deception, and we oft moved Him to Mordor as it was, shattered after this Last Alliance, broken. But it is broken no longer, and power remains in Dol Guldur as well – for it never left here. Their small victory has led to complacency, something to exploit, as we already do!
Rather than face our strength, the Elf-children of Oropher, who died so nicely upon our blades, fell back to Eryn Galen, in the north of our glorious Taur-nu-Fuin. Echoes of the past ages in that name, a tribute to our god Melkor, of the Shadow’s vice in old Beleriand. That and of our Lord in his Tower of Werewolves, where the original ‘Forest of Fear’ came to be known. There is something savagely joyous in the Elves naming of our realms and strongholds...so much delicious fear therein. We revel in it, for fear is our greatest asset. That and a sly tongue.
Few know that He came here with a darker purpose, one more practical than simple terror. We knew where the One Ring was lost, for it was us that sent the forces to the Gladden Fields, there that we drew the little ones from their Mountains and slew the one that maimed our Lord, this Isildur, who succumbed to the One’s desires. Mark me in this, they all do in the end! Men are so weak.; less so, the Dwarves or Elves – we had to take the Seven from the Naugrim, the last being the singularly satisfying torture of the fool King Thror. Sadly, his demise seemed to be what revealed our design to this ‘White Council’ as the Istari discovered our secret. It took them longer than we anticipated, and they were remarkably slow in acting, but they took our stronghold. They failed to take we of the Nine, nor our Master’s life; he tricked them once again, and he returned as the Great Eye, the one who is Fear, is Terror, is inspiration to us all - our driving force!
We will show how pointless their petty wars are, for we have reoccupied Dol Guldur, led by Khamul, our Second, and will launch a glorious war from here, for the Great Eye has re-built the fortress of Barad-Dur, that the orcs call Lugburz, in our language of dominance, the Black Speech of Mordor. Even the Elves and the Istari fear to utter words in the tongue of dominion. From Dol Guldur, we search once again for the One Ring, and we can assault the Elves with precipitate ease – Lorien will burn, as will the north-woods of Mirkwood; this fool ‘Haven’ of the Son of Oropher, Thranduil – we slew his father, and so we will him. The Nine will launch war upon Middle Earth, and our striking hammer will come from many places, but not least of all the Tower of Sorcery: to shatter the Elves, perhaps to aid the assault or subjugation of the new Kingdom at the Lonely Mountain – a sly tongue is a quicker end ; perhaps to sack Dale and aid our subjects from the East, or turn to ravage other lands, slaughter and give no mercy - as is our way. We will launch fear and a lightning war that will sweep the flotsam of the West away, even as the White Council stands powerless and betrayed.
The fools did not see, they did not believe he had survived, let alone that he was regaining his physical form here, under the strongest of sorceries, that only He has at his command. We Nazgul aided his deception, and we oft moved Him to Mordor as it was, shattered after this Last Alliance, broken. But it is broken no longer, and power remains in Dol Guldur as well – for it never left here. Their small victory has led to complacency, something to exploit, as we already do!
Rather than face our strength, the Elf-children of Oropher, who died so nicely upon our blades, fell back to Eryn Galen, in the north of our glorious Taur-nu-Fuin. Echoes of the past ages in that name, a tribute to our god Melkor, of the Shadow’s vice in old Beleriand. That and of our Lord in his Tower of Werewolves, where the original ‘Forest of Fear’ came to be known. There is something savagely joyous in the Elves naming of our realms and strongholds...so much delicious fear therein. We revel in it, for fear is our greatest asset. That and a sly tongue.
Few know that He came here with a darker purpose, one more practical than simple terror. We knew where the One Ring was lost, for it was us that sent the forces to the Gladden Fields, there that we drew the little ones from their Mountains and slew the one that maimed our Lord, this Isildur, who succumbed to the One’s desires. Mark me in this, they all do in the end! Men are so weak.; less so, the Dwarves or Elves – we had to take the Seven from the Naugrim, the last being the singularly satisfying torture of the fool King Thror. Sadly, his demise seemed to be what revealed our design to this ‘White Council’ as the Istari discovered our secret. It took them longer than we anticipated, and they were remarkably slow in acting, but they took our stronghold. They failed to take we of the Nine, nor our Master’s life; he tricked them once again, and he returned as the Great Eye, the one who is Fear, is Terror, is inspiration to us all - our driving force!
We will show how pointless their petty wars are, for we have reoccupied Dol Guldur, led by Khamul, our Second, and will launch a glorious war from here, for the Great Eye has re-built the fortress of Barad-Dur, that the orcs call Lugburz, in our language of dominance, the Black Speech of Mordor. Even the Elves and the Istari fear to utter words in the tongue of dominion. From Dol Guldur, we search once again for the One Ring, and we can assault the Elves with precipitate ease – Lorien will burn, as will the north-woods of Mirkwood; this fool ‘Haven’ of the Son of Oropher, Thranduil – we slew his father, and so we will him. The Nine will launch war upon Middle Earth, and our striking hammer will come from many places, but not least of all the Tower of Sorcery: to shatter the Elves, perhaps to aid the assault or subjugation of the new Kingdom at the Lonely Mountain – a sly tongue is a quicker end ; perhaps to sack Dale and aid our subjects from the East, or turn to ravage other lands, slaughter and give no mercy - as is our way. We will launch fear and a lightning war that will sweep the flotsam of the West away, even as the White Council stands powerless and betrayed.