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    Empress of DaC
    Empress of DaC

    Gender : Female Posts : 2179
    Join date : 2009-12-29


    Post  Squeaky on Fri Jul 02, 2010 3:54 pm

    We are Gondor! Our lands stretch from Mordor to the Western Sea, our fiefs remain unstricken by any machinations of the Dark Lord and vivid is the light of Minas Tirith, the Tower of Guard that shines brightly in us all. The flame of Numenor still burns in our hearts when we see the White City, and pride still blooms in those that march to the defence of the West. Our blood keeps other lands safe from the depredations of Mordor, and, with it’s full weight fixed upon us, we hold our lines and know our wars are not for nothing, yet ,ever still, we bleed.

    In our lands we more than hold on to the greatly disputed areas east of the old city of Osgiliath, perhaps more ruin than city itself now, but a matter of pride in our hearts. North of Osgiliath lies the garrison at Cair Andros, the fine island that divides the great Anduin River before it flows with such silvery strength down past Pelargir to the sea and leads us from thence to Linhir, which coastline strikes through the Southern Fiefs; Lebennin, Lamedon, the Principality of Dol Amroth in Belfalas, from whence come our levies in time of need.

    Much is lost of our Kingdom, much that once was, and we weep for it. No blossom upon the White Tree, where the Fountain Court keeps it’s watch, and the Stewards have fought without relent to retain what was once the flower of the Kings of Numenor. The blood runs thin amongst our people – only in few lives the legacy of Numenor, and middle-man is weaker than ever. I am sorry, Lord, for my fears ever grow, yet I hold on to your grace for what will be. The line of Kings may have failed, but we have Stewards of great wisdom and of iron will.
    Secret despair feeds our dreams, yet we do not count it during the waking hours – for the light keeps the cowardice of the Orc from our walls and the White City shines still, even as it slowly crumbles. It’s defences are undermanned, but indeed we still have such faith in the strength of man and stone. Unbreachable walls and brazen gates are our defence, even if our forces fail, and surely the Red Arrow and the beacons – both or either will bring the old alliance with the Horse Lords of Rohan to a tumult, and they will ride to our aid. With the forces of the Southern Fiefs, the mainstay of our army and Rohan’s bright riders, how can we truly let go of our hope, for it is what sustains us in these bleak times.

    I whisper as if all were lost already, my Lord, but it is not so. With our Captains lie the fate of many, and such Captains of Men we have! The eyes of the White Tower – the Tower of Ecthelion – are never blind to what Sauron is planning. In contested Ithilien our Rangers, fired with the blood of old, with the skill nigh of the Dunedain themselves, defend our borders and keep the thrice-damned Southrons at bay, whilst our victories shiver the very gates of Mordor itself.

    The Poisons of that land, the foulness in the Dark, all are kept contained by our Lords. Yet still we wait for the old times, for the Tree to flower and the trumpets to announce that the King has returned! Turn to the Swan Princes for hope, for they still run true, and in Dol Amroth we see echoes of the past. Fair blood in their lines, even whispered to be mixed within by the beauty of the elves. A single glance will show the truth of their nobility, and marriage preserves the old lines in both the Swan Princes and the great Stewards that sit and await a King once more. Hope remains amongst the common people, and there is much of import that can still be done.

    Do we simply defend what is ours? Do we simply dig in and hold? Or would the Steward that you could be take Gondor forwards again? Do you hear the clash of arms, dream of shivered shield and cloven helm, to see the blood of orcs staining Mordor’s blackened heart and the sun shining red upon the field of valour? The Port of Umbar fell to us before now, and it may be that Harad can be not only be pushed back, but broken, sundered, that the Black Ships could joyfully burn, or be smashed at sea by a fleet such as we could raise in the great ports of Pelargir, Linhir and Dol Amroth.

    All is not lost, and we are mightier than many think or even many know yet. My heart swells to see your strident grace Lord, and the men drink with cheer at the sight of the Steward of Gondor! Could we break the lines of Mordor, crush the advances of the Southrons and burn Umbar? We could do more than that with hope, the steel of our hearts and the leadership of a great man. In old walked Dunedain; giants among men, but that does not mean our backs are less straight, that our hearts are less courageous, and that we are doomed by the failing of simple blood. Take us to our destiny, Steward of Gondor – lead us to WAR!!

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