Nazgul and Human Agent

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Middle-earth time is: Midday on Monday, Day 11 of November. Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 19:56:04 MST on Wed Mar 10 1999.

Your location is in a timewarp! (See HELP +TIMEWARP). In your location it is always NIGHTTIME.


The Crossroads
Here two dark roads meet, one north-south and the other east-west, amidst a great circle of trees. The area is lit by an eerie glow which diffuses from the east, which gives the area a haunted feel. A torn and worn statue commands the crossroads, though its broken head lays fallen from its once proud perch. There is no hope here, save to flee to the west, where as all other directions, have an unwholesome feel of oppression and oncoming death.
Contents:
Indur
Fell Beast
Statue of the King
Obvious exits:
North, South, West, and East

The silent, ominous darkness that is the forest of Ithilien seems to encroach even further upon this gap in its murky shroud at night: the crossroads of the fallen kingdom. Slowly thudding footsteps are heard approaching from the southern road, a four-legged animal by the sound of its gait, though the moon is new and no figure is revealed against the inky horizon. As the animal nears the clearing, its pace slows to a stop and a figure dismounts.

The darkness of night calls upon the wilderness, and the deadly garden is alive with noise. Crows battle with throaty caws, and owls scream aloud between the trunks. The world comes alive after the sun sets; the winter chill in the air deters only some few of these.

But something comes upon them which causes a sudden hush. It approaches with the strangest warning, rolling towards you in a way that makes the ears twitch: somewhere, off and ahead, all the beasts are silent. And that somewhere closes, and it closes quickly.

Laying a hand on the neck of his mount, the shadowy figure of man leads the animal off the road, noticing his steed's nervousness. From under the inky black cover of the overhanging foliage, the crouching silhouette slowly approaches the clearing, drawing near to the Statue of the King from the southwestern side. He slips his hood back, looking up and about in the sky. Few stars are out, shedding little light on the landscape.

The queer sense approaches, and one might turn head from side to side to see if it is really there. It is, though: and the globe of silence rolls closer and closer, until it rolls right over, and all the birds come silent in the trees for a heart's gentle breath.

The sky above darkens, stars swallowed by something blacker than the sky. It swings wide across the swath of heaven that is borne to view, and vanishes again amidst the trees.

The shadowy figure remains beneath the lee of the black canopy that is the stark forest. Turning back at a noise that is piercing in the stillness of the night, the man looks over at his steed, who strains against its tether, skitting about in a carpet of fallen leaves. The dark form of a man eases out from the overhanging trees, approaching the Statue, its head disfigured, lying on the ground.

The flapping of heavy wings is heard again, and once more the sound of life is swallowed. The shadow on the stars appears in the west, swinging low over the trail. For just an instant, all that can be heard is the beating of those wings: and then that too goes silent, and the great shade begins to stoop.

The black-cloaked man, ignoring the skittish behaviour of his steed, slips out from the shelter of the wood. Climbing the great ancient road's bank, he begins to slowly walk to the centre of the intersection. His neck strains as the man's keen eyes probe the inky blackness of the sky.

The great beast falls to earth with brutal grace, coming to rest upon the fecund soil of Ithilien. It is a massive creature, cruel to the eye, and fear and foul things rest in its gaze. Upon its great jaw is a harness, and behind that harness, a shade that is the very name of darkness.

The shadow-cloaked man slips back several steps, cringing before the arrival of the dread beast of the air. The man draws his hood back up, if only to shade his eyes against this abomination of nature. Nearby, his steed lets loose a fearful shriek, jostling against the brush. Perhaps uncontrolably, his gaze is drawn to the black form perched on the back of the foul animal, as one of his knees buckles.

A cold chill eminates from the creature, and a fey hum enters the icy air. The forest, silent as ever, resounds with the odd vibration, just below what a man can hear. Out of the vibrations come words... "You have returned?"

Falling to one knee, the man gathers his cloak about himself, wrapping his form with the heavy cloth to guard against chill air. His head bowed, he slips his hood back around his neck, smoothing his mussed hair. After a moment's stuttering he coughs, calling out in a voice that seems strangely small and weak in the fearsome presence of the great beast and its dreadful rider, "Ye..yes, lord. My errand to the south is finished for now."

Something in the air changes, though a man's senses are not so clear as to be sure of it; perhaps it was a change in pitch, or temperature; perhaps something else. The vibration gathers about the man's ears, singing to him in the way of heavy rain: "How did you find it... the South?"

The crouched, huddled body of the man is wracked by another cough as he attempts to clear his throat, "..Much passes there that would be to your liking, lord. Indeed," he falters, his throat constricting suddenly, "...Indeed, the air of the City is one of loyalty to the Eye, but for one blemish."

The great beast tosses its head, and lets forth a snort of steam: cold blooded seems this creature, but the air chills more at that moment as if by the hand of sorcery. "A blemish upon my land?" queries the voice.

The stooped man cries out as if he were struck a physical blow, slipping down lower into the overgrown surface of the road. "I am afraid so, lord," the man responds as clearly as he can, quivering, his skin prickling up tight, every hair standing on end. "The Lord of the Flame Tower is unfaithful, and indignant of the might of the Black Land. So he told me to my own face."

The news elicits a strange buzzing, electric in the air, like laughter. "Is that so?" replies the voice, but it is clear that the question does not ask for an answer. "Come here."

Struggling under obvious duress, the man manages to raise himself to his feet, gathering his cloak up out of the dirt. With movements that seem slow he approaches the rider's gruesome mount: a stride that would resemble a man wading through water. He lifts his head up, his eyes wincing sharply.

The great beast throws its wings wide as the man approaches, and thrusts itself airborne in a furious stroke. The claws of the beast slink out and grasp the cloaked man by the shoulders, and the wings drive against the air again, twice more, three times: and with the third stroke the forest peels away from sight, and all the world is lain bare.

Indur has left.
Indur climbs atop the Fell Beast.

You mount Fell Beast.
Fell Beast
Controls:
To talk or pose, just do as you normally would.
To look at something, type view
To look at a room, type view
To move, type wa
Contents:
Indur
Taken.

-> Off the beast, Taken.
-> Off the beast, You launch skywards.
-> Off the beast, From The Crossroads, Fell Beast has left.
-> Off the beast, Sky: Above Central Ithilien(#18041Rnto)

-> Off the beast, Feeling as if your in the middle of something drastic, you find that you are. You fly now over the Crossroads which divide the lands of Mordor and Gondor. To your east the air and sky begin to Darken, as only high towers and streaks of light can be found. The the west the sky lightens up for the good, as the towers and buildings stand high and proud opposing to the dark ruins in the east.
-> Off the beast, Obvious exits:
-> Off the beast, Down leads to The Crossroads.
-> Off the beast, West leads to Sky above Minas Tirith.
-> Off the beast, South leads to Sky: Above the South Ithilien.
-> Off the beast, North leads to Sky: Above The North Ithilien.
-> Off the beast, East leads to Sky: Above Minas Ithil.
-> Off the beast, You head East, towards Sky: Above Minas Ithil.

-> Off the beast, You head Down, towards Balcony. -> Off the beast, Balcony(#18047Rano)
-> Off the beast, High upon the mighty tower of Barad-dur this rather large balcony, constructed of the same polished black surface as the rest of the tower, looks out over the city of Barad-dur which lays sprawled below. To the south the arena lies, to the east the Ered Lithui stand. Denziens of the city mill about far below in the outer rings of the city, yet the inner rings stand ominously silent.
-> Off the beast, Contents:
-> Off the beast, Fell Beast(#22869np)
-> Off the beast, Obvious exits:
-> Off the beast, Door
Dropped.

Balcony
High upon the mighty tower of Barad-dur this rather large balcony, constructed of the same polished black surface as the rest of the tower, looks out over the city of Barad-dur which lays sprawled below. To the south the arena lies, to the east the Ered Lithui stand. Denziens of the city mill about far below in the outer rings of the city, yet the inner rings stand ominously silent.
Contents:
Fell Beast
Fell Beast
Obvious exits:
Door

The flight is long and cold, and swings high above the canopy for many a mile. In the end, it comes to the mountains of shadow: and it passes over them, and the black gate which lies far below. All too soon, the black towers of the Barad-dur stand exposed in terrible fascination to the sight: and approaching them, the mighty beast discards the man upon a balcony, high above the lands below.

Snatched up so quickly that the man barely had time to cry out before they were air-born, he spent the entire nightmarish journey breathless, deaf and blind. The chill air rushing over him louder than any waterfall, the velocity of the flight pinning his eyes closed as they watered from the strain.

Lying in a crumpled heap just inside the gaping window, the man attempts to lift his head from the floor. Swooning, he slumps back down on to the cold stone.

The great beast swings wide over the balcony, even as it drops its cargo down onto the cold stone. Quickly the beast speeds off again, swooping low to pick up speed... but even as it goes, the voice comes again out of a strange hum, as though its owner were standing right beside... "Seek Naiara in the Hall of Servitors," it says. "Tell her what you told me... and that you did."

Fell Beast flies Up towards Sky: Above Barad-Dur.
Fell Beast has left.

Antechamber of the Crown
A long corridor, terminating in a raised multi-tiered dais. The tiers are so organized as to form a set of "stairs" leading up to the topmost platform, so that whatever's up there can look down upon all here. The corridor itself is manned by regularly spaced statues, so dark as you almost didn't notice their presence...wait, one of them moved a wing. BALROGS!!! Sauron's elite guard, they block the passage to his throne with their might. There's no WAY you'll make it past them unless Sauron wills it... Turning back over the stairway, you notice that perhaps plummeting to your death would be preferred over facing their whips of fire...
Obvious exits:
Balcony, Corridor, and Down

Hall of the Servitors
Soaring archies of glittering obsidian rise upward from massive rectangular pillars that line the walls, forming the distant ceiling of the hall that houses Mordor's most sinister operations. Mounted on each pillar are burning torches, kept lit day and night. Cleverly concealed vents allow the smoke generated to escape without permitting the intrusion of natural light. The Hall of Servitors is otherwise constructed of unembellished granite, interrupted only by the occasional metal doors that lead to the conference chambers and personal quarters of the Servitors of Barad-dur. The hall's occupants move about silently, or converse with one another in low, solemn tones. Feminine and masculine figures are indistinguishable; though there is no required uniform, all those present wear nondescript black attire. A fell sense of purpose hangs in the air; the loyalty as well as the ruthless intensity of the Dark Lord's servants is evident on their faces as they perform their collective task of overseeing the expansion of the Eye's influence.
Contents:
Naiara
Obvious exits:
West leads to Halls of Conference.
Corridor leads to Tower of Barad-dur: Middle Levels.

Seated in a corner of the vast hall, the High Priestess of Umbar closes her eyes and presses a handkerchief to her mouth, turning her head from the food in front of her. She pushes it away and sighs, but pulls the cup of tea towards her and contemplates its dark depths with a bland expression.

The door at the eastern end of the Hall bursts open on its noiseless hinges. In a display that is most uncharacteristic of the solemn, purposeful atmosphere of this locale, a Servitor stumbles through the doorway, looking most distraught and unkempt. He drags his feet, as if they were made of lead, across the floor, obviously unsteady on his legs.

Naiara looks up, almost knocking her teacup over at the sudden entrance. She peers closely at the Servitor for a moment, then nods to him as she recognizes him.

Many other occupants of the chamber regard Reave with cold glares, but he seems to ignore them, or to at least be apathetic to their disdain. His hands are gripping his head, covering his ears; as if to protect them against the onslaught of some deafening noise. Looking up, he seems to recognize the Priestess at least, as he lopes towards her with stiff, forced movements.

Naiara slowly rises from her chair upon seeing the approach of Reave, wincing both in pain and at the tell-tale clinking of her iron bonds. She shuffles a step sideways, away from the chair, and places a hand on the table to hold herself steady. "I wish I could say you look well, Servitor," she remarks quietly, "But I am afraid I must say I have seen you on better days."

Breathing heavily, Reave practically throws himself at the table, groping for support. The Servitor has a most bedraggled look, with a odd glaze over his eyes. "Priestess," he grunts loudly, "I was told that I'd find you here," he flops noisily down into a chair, apparently ignoring Naiara's shackles, as well as her comment, if indeed he heard it.

Naiara's eyebrow rises slowly, and she sinks back into her chair. "Oh? Should I ask by whom?"

"The Fourth," he intones with a hollow voice that seems far away. His response is simple and obvious. Head slumping from side to side, as if the muscles in his neck had suddenly gone limp, he clutches at the arms of his chair to keep himself from slipping all the way to the floor.

Naiara herself cannot suppress a shudder that passes through her. "And what did he say? You clearly have a purpose..." Her voice is harsh and raspy, as though she speaks from between clenched teeth.

The crumpled heap of a man draws himself up a little higher in the chair. "He.. he questioned me," he finally gasps out after a few moments of laboured breathing. "...concerning Umbar. He wished for me to repeat to you, what I had reported," he drones on, gazing ahead with a blank stare.

Naiara nods slowly, her eyes not leaving the man's face. She swallows once, twice. "Yes? And...?"

"...And?" Reave's wobbling head swivels to stare at Naiara with unseeing eyes. "Ah, of course.. my report," his dry lips smack loudly. "The Wraith was told of your husband, Priestess, and his scorn for the Eye."

Naiara's teeth do clench together tightly, and she smacks her fist down upon the table as she rises. "Would that you were still in Umbar! Would that I were still there so that I could kill you for this! What else did you tell him?!" She steps towards the man, her cheeks flaring scarlet, the scars standing out in glaring contrast. She lowers her voice to a hiss, "What else did he say? Have you ruined me, and my plans Servitor? Tell me!"

Much of Reave's weariness seems to have fallen away by now, as he sits up in his chair, raising his hands though his face is expressionless. "Naught else, Lady. But how can I tell you more when I nothing of your schemes?" he seems flustered, even meek.

Naiara does not return to her seat, her anger not yet dissipated. "-I- control my husband. I keep him distracted, he is happy with his family and he is happy in his Tower, thinking he has the power in the city. -I- have that power. -I- attend the sessions of the Council of Lords. I know the agendas of each Lord beforehand. They come to me, for counsel.. and thus I steer them. Aye, I steer him as well. He accepts that the goals of the Eye, and the goals of his Heroes are the same... And he would not lift a finger against you, Servitor, unless I gave him leave to do so. And now he will be even more distracted, for when I return to Umbar I will give him a second child. The Eye has already blessed me with it. And now... you have told the Fourth that my husband does not respect the Eye! But he does, the Second knows this!"

Finally, she collapses into her chair, breathless from her tirade.

Reave's brow creases slightly, but his face belies little emotion, if any. "I knew that you would surely influence his rule, Lady, but this seems unbelievable... you have seen the Second?" he inquires, leaning forward. "As for the issue of Torus' respect, he told me himself that he could care less if I brought ill word of him back to 'the Black Land', as he called it. But when did you take counsel with the Shadow of the East?"

Naiara smiles coldly, and laughs. "Before the battle at Osgiliath. He came to Umbar, to tell us to ready ourselves. I met with him, as did m'lord husband... He had nothing but praise for us." She sits back in her chair, a smug smile coming easily to her lips. "And I have seen him here..."

The control of his body returning, Reave stands to pace behind the Priestess. "I had no idea of this at the outset of our errand... did Uakarik, I wonder?" he asks himself, his back to Naiara. "You look rather ill-disposed as a result of your stay here, Lady," his expressionless mask is cracked as he smirks down. "I must say that your new adornments are not at all befitting," he comments, glancing at the shackles.

Naiara pulls the hem of her robes lower to cover the irons at her ankles, silently grateful that he does not see the other set of hobbles at her knees. Her expression slips to one lacking emotion, and she lifts her shoulder in a slight shrug, "I do not recall if I had that conversation with him or not... Perhaps I did. We discussed many things."

Reave continues to pace, "Mmm," he nods, "Of course," he pulls his mask back into place, the mocking smile disappears. "Well, Lady, I am afraid that I shall have to take my leave and seek to refresh myself. Good day to you."

Na