Chapter L: Let the Bodies Hit the Floor
"Glorfindel, my pet! I brought thee some friends!" Mornië's voice rang out joyously through the torture chambers.
"Ooh! Did they bring cards?" a weak voice wafted from one of the dungeon cells.
The Drow gestured to the burly elites carrying the three captives, and as one, they slammed their prisoners onto separate tables, strapping them down harshly.
Aragorn opened his eyes partially; they were nearly swollen shut from the beating he had received on the way into the interrogation chamber. He blearily took in the surrounding stone walls, Drow soldiers, and orc guards all around the three. From a cell far to the right, a gaunt, dirty being was hoisted roughly out and smashed into a table beside the Ranger.
"Hello," the corpse-like creature greeted Aragorn cheerily as a grotesque orc slammed him onto the table to the Ranger's right.
"Glorfindel?"
"Yeah. How are you doing?"
Aragorn rolled his eyes, amazed that Glorfindel could be in such a joyous mood in his current condition.
"Man," the elf continued, "You don't look so good."
"You don't exactly look like a Vala yourself," Aragorn retorted.
"Ah, really? I got all cleaned up so I could see you," the Silvan quipped. "Oh, yes, by the way. The next time you want a message delivered somewhere, do it your damn self."
Aragorn let out a snort of laughter, then fell silent as Mornië strode between the two.
"Lord Aragorn," the Drow mocked derisively. "A pleasure to meet thee."
Aragorn stared straight up, as if contemplating the bleak ceiling.
"I see that thou are not as talkative as thy subordinate," the Drow observed, bending over the Ranger so that Aragorn had no choice but to glare into his eyes.
Mornië nodded once, and the Drow elite standing beside the deposed king jerked hard on one of the gears attached to the table, bending Aragorn's joints against their natural direction, causing the man to bite his lip as the pain began to set in.
"You have severe problems, you know that?" Glorfindel spat from behind Mornië.
The Drow commander turned slowly to face his sarcastic captive.
"Thou still defieth me?"
"Is there anything better for me to do?"
An explosion of pain waves struck the Silvan, causing him to convulse, but not cry out.
As Maneva strode haughtily toward Athfaë and Gandalf, Aragorn shot a concerned look at Glorfindel, who shrugged.
"I'm used to it."
The Ranger sighed. "I apologize with all my heart."
The elf rolled his eyes. "Save it, buddy. It's fine."
The two lapsed into silence as the Dark Lord moved to the other Grand Wizard, who lay atop a table to Aragorn's left, straining irately at his manacles.
"Justice is sweet. Am I not right, Mithrandir?" the Drow inquired viciously, using the elven name Gandalf had been called in the Second Age.
"You cannot hold me, Dark One."
"That may be true, my friend," Mornië quipped, "but those restraints seem to be doing an excellent job."
Flame swirled in Gandalf's normally shining eyes, but other than that, no sign of his rage appeared.
"Istarion-arof1 Mithrandir" the Dark Lord explained. "The Wizard's-Bane. A plant native to my homelands in the south, used by the Halda'ohtar as a poison for their arrow tips. The plant, interestingly enough, releases a neurotoxin that neutralizes brain waves. If humans or orcs ingest it in any way, it causes nearly immediate brain death; with elves or vampires, it results in temporary paralysis after a few hours. The Halda'ohtar would shoot captives or those who they wished to take captive, then wait for the victim to fall to the poison."
The Drow began to pace in slow circles around the wizard, who followed him with hollow eyes. Everyone else in the room had ceased their activity as well so as to listen to the biology lecture.
'The effect on wizards such as ourselves, however, is what gives it the name 'Wizard's-bane'. For some unknown reason, the toxin cancels out the higher-level brain waves that allow us to perform our..."
Mornië raised one hand toward the dark ceiling, grinning maliciously. Torrents of black flame whirled around the Drow in a blazing cyclone, then hurled themselves around Gandalf's table, dancing morbidly in the dim light they cast.
The anguished screams of the wizard rang through the chamber as the fire ate slowly away at him, controlled by the twisted mind of Maneva Mornië.
"Feats," the Drow concluded, clenching his fist. The flames vanished, and the crack of Gandalf's arms snapping echoed through the room, which then fell deathly silent, all eyes on the enraged Dark Lord.
"Let this be a lesson to you, Mithrandir," the dark elf snarled, resuming his pacing. "Justice comes to those who deserve it, and even the light cannot stop it."
With that, Mornië stalked from the room, letting the image of the hellish inferno and the sound of Gandalf's tormented moans remain in the minds of all who doubted his power.
Just before reaching the top of the staircase leading from the interrogation chamber, the Dark Lord paused, turning slowly.
He gestured to the Drow elites, led by Dilotè and Turdú. "Begin."
The dark elves saluted and moved to the various tables, preparing to begin their reprehensible duties.
The early dawn sky above Ramgost was darkened by the approaching horde of bats from the southeast. The respect and awe that the cloud of vampires commanded was evident by the tight formations they flew in. Had one been able to view the armament of advanced weapons that they carried, the admiration would have been greater still. At the head of the swarm flew Lynza and Draylen, below which raced Mordae and Celebdraug, and as they traveled, the four went over the battle plans that they would implement.
I for one would love to have the two of you lead the attack, Lynza commented. I have heard so much of your battle prowess, that I believe I would learn great lessons from you.
Lazy bum, Mordae retorted.
Hardly, the vampire insisted. It's called delegating.
Perianquende.
Why not, Mordae? Celebdraug countered. If there's a job to be done, it may as well be done correctly.
In that case, Draylen interrupted, I'll lead it.
No, no, Draylen, Lynza soothed, as if speaking to a small child. We want to win the battle.
Oh! Is that what
I've been doing wrong recently? the other vampire inquired
sarcastically.
As a matter of fact, Celebdraug responded,
That may be it. You see, Draylen, the object is to not
get shot.
Darn. I was good at that.
Indeed you were, the elf agreed.
Can I ask a random question? Lynza inquired, changing the subject rapidly.
You just did, Mordae observed. Moving on...
Shut it, Lynza teased. Why did we allow Niphredil to come along?
Mordae shot a glance over his shoulder at the Silvan who ran several hundred yards behind him. While running still faster than a human, and an impressive pace for having six hours ago just completed a literal cross-country run, the elf was obviously tiring and having problems keeping up.
I have no idea, the giant answered. We're pushovers, I suppose.
Well, Celebdraug countered, We can't very well leave her here, right?
True, Draylen agreed.
She's just going to get herself killed, though, Lynza argued forcefully.
I will stay behind with her, Zalok who flew behind the other two vampires, suddenly announced.
What have I told you about doing that? the vampire commander chided.
You should talk, Celebdraug pointed out.
I will stay with her, the Lieutenant repeated.
We need you at the front lines, Lynza countered.
I will come in and meet you as soon as we arrive. We will not be more than an hour behind.
Wait a minute, wait a minute! Mordae's voice was urgent. Won't you poof or something?
I told you that was a myth, Lynza began.
I know, the elf interrupted dismissively. But it still won't be comfortable.
I will fly low in the trees, Zalok explained. I should escape with only minimal discomfort.
What if this whole thing was a trap? Celebdraug suddenly admonished. Vrayon could be luring us here so that you will all become weak and get hurt so that he can take you all down later!
Excellent point, but I already considered it, Lynza argued. First of all, if that was the case, we could just do as Zalok suggested and hide in the forest. It would be painful, but not unbearable. Second, I don't think that it's possible that Vrayon wants to do that. He needs the ring just as badly – or worse, perhaps – as you do. I don't think he would pass up this opportunity.
Celebdraug did not answer this, her way of acknowledging that, though she did not fully trust the vampire's logic, it would do for now.
In any event, Mordae interjected, breaking the silence, I suppose we will lead, if you insist.
Be my guest, Lynza surrendered. And Zalok, you may stay with the elf.
Keep in mind, if you do anything, Mordae counseled, Her boyfriend could mess you and all the other Lieutenants up at the same time.
Understood, sir.
The bat dropped altitude and winged back toward the other elf without another word.
So, will you be leading our forces? Lynza pressed once more, after a moment.
If you insist, Mordae surrendered. Illúvatar's breath, you're pushy.
The bat dropped altitude suddenly, whirled in a loop, then smacked the elf across the face with one of its wings. Mordae swatted playfully at the creature, which spiraled back into formation.
Right then, Celebdraug began, speaking only to Mordae. What shall we do?
Rising from the forest floor in the lands of ancient Agmar and Rhudar loomed the massive gray peaks of the Misty Mountains. It was here that the chain began, ranging from the northernmost inhabited area of Middle Earth to the borders of Isen Meares. The country had once been the home of the Witch-king, the most powerful of the nine Nazgul, but it had long faded into waste. It was in this realm, at the head of the Third Age, unknown to all beings save themselves, the dwarves constructed their greatest and final stronghold, its title given in the native tongue for 'dwarf'; Khazad.
But now, in the Fourth Age, a sea of black-cloaked warriors surrounded the once undiscovered gates of Khazad that sat on the side of the mountain, and the skies above filled with a swirling maelstrom of bats.
Before the fading outline of the gate, which appeared only in the moonlight, five dark figures stood, two in front, and three behind the smaller of the two.
"Vere isss Vrayon?" Lynza hissed to the Captain that stood before her, a man she did not recognize.
"He had...urgent busssinesss," the vampire replied. "I am Ravnor, hisss Captain."
"I sssee he replasssesss hisss officersss quite quickly."
"Indeed," Ravnor smiled, revealing his long fangs. "You vill find me much more difficult to kill, I presssume."
"I would not count on it." Lynza beamed innocently, but her eyes betrayed barely contained hatred for the being before her. Any representative of Vrayon was her enemy, and this man was no different.
The Captain shrugged off the threat and gestured to the other vampire. "You have ze keysss?"
Lynza nodded curtly, holding her hand back toward one of the warriors behind her. The soldier, Draylen, slid a gloved hand from under his cloak, in which sat two shimmering crystals.
Ravnor exhaled, then extended one hand. "Zey mussst be inssserted at ze sssame time. An old dwarven trick."
"You know your factsss, Captain," Lynza commended.
"Zank you..."
"General."
"General?" Ravnor's eyes widened. "I did not know I vould be vorking vith a General."
"Pleasssure doing busssinesss vith you," Lynza acknowledged with a slight courtesy.
The Remnant Captain respectfully drew the key from Lynza's hand, and he stood before the door, preparing to insert the crystal.
"Vone final sssuprissse," Lynza admonished.
Ravnor glanced up slowly.
"My men go firssst."
"I cannot allow zat," the Captain began to argue.
Lynza silenced him with a wave of her hand. "You vill. Trussst me. Zey know vat zey are doing."
The two vampires stared coldly into one another's eyes for a long moment before the Remnant soldier finally nodded and turned to his men.
"Follow ze mersssenariesss! Zey are to enter firssst!"
Despite the mumbled complaints that washed through the assembled Remnant troops, they appeared to be set on following whatever orders they were given.
Lynza saluted Ravnor, stepped forward, and aimed the key for the fading outline of a circle in the center of the rock wall gate. The General nodded, and as one, the crystals plunged inward. Draylen and the other two figures standing behind the Tvhestan commander strode forward, along with several dozen other militants, longbows and vrylna at the ready.
The ring is on the king, the largest of the soldiers, Mordae, advised Draylen and his cousin, who had positioned themselves on either side of the giant.
May the best girl reach him first, Celebdraug challenged, her grin concealed by her facemask.
I guess that leaves you and Draylen, Mordae sighed.
The vampire's protest was drowned out by the rumble of the great door as it began to slide open, dropping dust and gravel as it groaned outward, concealing the three from any eyes on the inside.
The two elves detected a minimal shuffling sound behind the flying grit, and with a snap, they sent two of their long darts into the cloud. Draylen fired an instant later, and the chorus of clattering armor that resulted confirmed that there had been guards, though they were most likely expecting a friendly visit from their kin.
What the survivors received, however, was the far-from-pleasant experience of having elven daggers thrust through their necks as the Udunaedos launched themselves through the entryway, rearming their bows even before they landed.
Before the elves lay a long, hundred meter wide hallway filled with various dwarves milling about, performing their day-to-day duties. The few extra soldiers that happened to be in range fell in rapid succession to the wooden bolts of the two intruders. The destruction was increased as Draylen and Lynza lunged through the entryway, firing their lizcan at random, felling civilians and soldiers alike, adding to the general chaos.
"Naust!" Celebdraug screamed, pushing Draylen to the right side of the hall as Mordae dove to the left, ushering Lynza along with him.
There was a shrill whistle as hundreds of disks whipped through the diminishing dust cover, deflecting off one another and into the scattering dwarves. The Tvhestan soldiers burst through a moment later, some running, others flying above, until they had formed a line stretching the length of the hall.
At the elves' command, they began to advance, crouching low, firing their lizcan, while the remainder of the militants poured in above them, wings fluttering as they came.
A dwarf a few dozen meters down the hall fell heavily, a forearm plate-armor piece crushing his chest. A moment later, another was hurled back, a breastplate cleaving him nearly in half.
Lynza shot a glance to her right, where Mordae stood, missing several pieces of his armor and holding a shoulder plate in his right hand.
The elf met her gaze, shrugged, and hurled the plate into another fleeing creature.
"What in the name of the Moon are you doing?" the General cried above the din of the battle.
"You said you wouldn't mind if the first thing I did was throw my armor at random dwarves!" Mordae answered, beaming at the vampire.
Lynza rolled her eyes as she smiled. "You're insane."
"Thank you."
"MORNIË!"
The sound of the battle was nearly drowned out by the roar from the outside as several thousand Remnant vampires screamed their battle cry, and with the sound of a hurricane, began whirling into the dwarven fortress.
The Battle of Khazad had begun.
1 Wizard's Bane
