[CaptainofDespair]

The heavy thudding of footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous hall. At the far end stood a menacing door, with images of craven beasts and other wicked things carved into its massive frame. A figure shrouded in darkness, wrapped in the wreath of wickedness, approached the gateway slowly, pausing here and there to seemingly admire the arches and carvings notched out of the walls and ceiling. The footfalls continued to ring throughout the hall, as the figure neared the door, billowing dark brown robes swirling about their legs, trailing after them.

Two Orc guards, who were supposed to be standing watch at the doorway but had dozed off, were awakened by the deep voice of the figure. “The Dark Lord needed better servants than you foul Orcs.” Quickly snapping into action, they grunted, and slapped their pikes in front of the newcomer, and demanded he tell them why he had come to the sanctuary of Sauron. “Stand aside, or your heads will be on those pikes you carry,” came the response from the hooded warrior. Looking at each other with a slight glint of fear, the guards stepped aside, allowing the figure to make his entrance into the chamber.

The chamber was dark, lit only by an eerie light surrounding the rim of a circular platform in the center, and few torches at the edges of the great hall. From the darkness came a voice, terrible and menacing, that made the guards beyond the now sealed door shudder in utter terror. “So, you have come at last, to serve the Dark Lord. As I knew you would.” The figure waited in stillness, lit by the platform he now stood upon. “You know nothing, Sauron. You deceive yourself in thinking that. Your mantle of Dark Lord is stolen; it does not belong to you.” Silence now enveloped the room. Sauron’s anger flooded every niche of the hall, dripping from the ceiling, gurgling forth from the walls and floor, but only for a moment. Regaining his composure, he replied to the brave, or foolish, figure. “I did not summon you here to reignite our war. I have a mission for you, one you might be interested in.” A cloaked arm shot out from underneath the heavy brown robes, and made a cut through the stale atmosphere of the crypt-like room. “I am not one of your pathetic servants!” From the Dark Lord, a dire response was issued. “You will serve me, as you did my master, or you will find nothing but sorrow.”

Many silent moments passed, as the figure brooded and debated his new situation. He shook his head, as he thought to himself, obviously pondering something that was not wholly satisfactory. Folding his arms beneath his cloak, he uttered his own response to Sauron’s command. “You are not my master. I am only a servant to the true Dark Lord. But, I will serve you, for now.” A deep laugh, terrible and wicked, came from the throne of Sauron. “Excellent.” Gorthaur paused, and then continued, giving the cloaked figure his orders. “I am tasking you with bringing the Elven land of Eregion to its knees. An army will be prepared for you, and you will set out with it at once.” The figure nodded, and turned to depart the presence of the Dark Lord. As he was dismissing himself, the Lord of Barad-dur mentioned something else to him. “The descendant of an Oath-taker resides in Eregion. He should be the target of your malice.” A slight rippling of the deep, brown hood signaled a compliant nod.

The robed man turned once more, and strode out of the cavern, the taste of decay lingering on his lips. As he passed the guards at the gate to the chamber, he smirked. “I had better not receive such pathetic whelps for my army.” Once again, the heavy thudding of footsteps echoed through the arched hallway, slowly dissipating into the distant muffle of Mordor’s heavy, clouded atmosphere.