Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of The Rings, the Middle-Earth universe, Shadow of War/Mordor or RWBY.

This work will contain moments of intense violence, dark and dirty humor, and MANY canonical divergences.

The Call

"-clash with the mysterious assailant leaves dozens dead or injured, pursuit still in progress-"

"-communications indicate that Menagerie is still under siege-

"-Storm Infiltrators spotted throughout the forests of Anima despite the Council's insistence that all evidence is inconclusive."

"Despite efforts from both corporate and private sectors, not a single line of communication with Vacuo has been found. Atlas has continued giving their assurance that they're looking into the situation, but a number of public voices have questioned their lack of progress."

He groaned before reaching to turn off the screen projector, the image of a news channel cutting out as he leaned back. There was no need to hear Tarks clamoring up and down about the state of their world, nobody knew better the sheer hopelessness of their scenario more than him. He'd helped orchestrate it after all.

And this was his reward.

Looking up from the screen projector, he looked out of the cracked window of the torn up bedroom he was in. Outside was heavy snow, as it always was in this wretch of a place. Despite the majority of the building being just as ruined as this room, he took it with grace. He knew better than to complain, especially considering the conditions he'd dealt with beforehand.

Leaning forward, he stood from the ratty bed with slow steps, turning and moving towards a doorway and stepping over the broken door that laid beside it. These halls always seemed to go on forever, though he knew he could search the entire building in about half an hour. Even less if he actually tried. Besides the torn carpet and occasional holes in the structure which let in the snow from outside, it was rather nice.

He found the most enjoyable moments of his life nowadays were taking these walks. During these he didn't have to think, didn't have to feel anything. All he had to do was let his senses wash over him as he commanded himself to move. This was preferable, so much more preferable to how it was before. And of course it was, why wouldn't it be?

This was his reward after all.

Gritting his teeth, he brought a hand to his forehead as he slipped up and started thinking. He remembered the confusion of when he and many others of his kind found themselves drawn to this realm, the anger after discovering what exactly had happened to them, and spite when he eventually left many of them behind. Then there was a feeling that he hadn't felt in a long time, something that came back to him as he learned more about this realm: Hope.

It was as if his blood had started pumping after years of it hardening in his veins, as if he'd been brought back to life. This glorious passion ironically stemming from his own misery. A misery which led him to discovering something he'd originally thought was nothing less than magical: A Semblance. They were apparently common to warriors of this realm, but he hadn't figured it out at the time. He'd been hoping that this Semblance would finally give him an edge, finally allow him to do what he once saw as impossible.

He'd tracked down the one thing he'd wanted for most of his life, readied himself to put everything on the line and...

Just like all those years ago, his hope had been crushed before it even had a chance to foster.

He was put back to work, utilizing his semblance for the goals of his superior. And oh what a benefit they had provided.

The memories halted just as suddenly as they arrived, and soon he found himself staring at a sword hanging on the wall. Blinking the misery away, he tentatively raised a hand towards the sword. Running his claws along its blade, he briefly wondered how long it had been since he'd wielded one with passion.

But his silent retrospection was interrupted by a chime coming from his side, a sound which caused him to tense up before grinding his teeth together loudly. Turning away from the sword, he sat on the ground with his back against the wall. Taking several breaths to stifle the rage he felt bubbling from within, he reached into the soiled bathrobe he often wore whilst passing his days in this cold dilapidated room. From within he pulled out a simple blank mask which had no distinguishing features on it besides a trail of tears descending from where the eye holes should be.

After strapping the mask on, he finally answered his scroll.

"Sir!" a panicked man wearing blue straps on his arms immediately gave a sigh of relief before swallowing nervously "That chase up in Atlas has Ironwood's toys all over the place, even close to some of our hideouts! The Ace Ops may have that monster distracted but if it leads them to our locations then-"

"It won't," the masked figure stated evenly "I've kept watch over the situation, you shouldn't worry about him. Its the girl that decides where he goes."

"S-Sir?" the panicked man raised an eyebrow, only for the masked figure to lean back against the wall and sigh.

"He only wants her, and she's focused on heading east. Its obvious just by watching the footage." he shook his head before slowly looking back to his scroll "You sniveling filth should be just fine as long as that pattern holds up."

Despite the insult, the man's face visibly brightened, "R-Really? Well if you think that then... then it must be true, right?"

Rolling his eyes under his mask, the figure merely nodded.

"That's why you're the boss, that's why-!"

"Enough..." the figure interrupted with a groan before pointing towards the screen "you lot should be getting back to work, showing your tears."

Immediately the relief faded from the man's face, and he began nodding furiously, "Right, that's right!"

The moment that the call ended, the figure leaned back against the wall before letting the scroll slip out of his hand and clatter to the floor. Lying there for some time, he reached up and slid off his mask before rubbing his fingers on his cheeks and pulling them away to examine them. Yep... still dry.

Slipping the mask back into his bathrobe, he picked up his scroll and continued his walk.

Conversations like that were the whole reason this frigid shrahk heap was a superior location to reside, as it led to him being isolated from most forms of contact. Besides this scroll and the screen projector in his room, he'd barely seen a thing outside this building in weeks. And it was absolutely divine, a boon that was only shattered whenever one of his underlings found it necessary to call him. They couldn't help it, as the very affliction plaguing them was what had them looking to him for all the answers.

But if only he'd stayed low and kept quiet, this entire scenario may have never happened. He'd be isolated in a far warmer climate, hunting on his own and completely cutting himself off from the nonsense that his fellow Uruks were getting into. He had the luxury of knowing when to keep quiet, unlike so many who Bubol had immediately lured from the Warchiefs with promises of meat, war, and fun. Those fools had gone on to reveal to everyone that a horde of warrior monsters were now loose in their world, where previously they were considered a rumor conjured up by manic caravans and mad travelers. Something for the cities to unconcern themselves with and joke about over a meal.

Nobody was joking now... not after what had happened to Vale.

Not after what he helped him do to Vale.

Just the thought of him made the already freezing building drop several more degrees. But it wasn't just that, it was never just that. Pausing in the middle of the hall, he felt as though the color was draining from the worn walls around him. He knew this sensation, yet fought it back with only a fraction of the ferocity he had all those years ago.

But try as he might, when he looked up from the ground, he spotted a familiar form staring back at him from down the hall.

Hands behind its back, robes messy and undone, face concealed by a mask of faces. Even with the mask, he could tell the figure was giving a simple smile. That was the only way he could really describe this figure's smile: Simple. Nothing like the sadistic grins common to his fellow Uruks, the humored smirks they'd wear when gaining the hand, or even the genuine joy they found with roughhousing with their lads after a good day of bloodshed.

This figure's smile was far too tempered to suggest its own cause, and he'd hated it.

Back before this one had systematically ruined everything for him, he'd grown confident that he could see through the intent of every expression possible. He was experienced, he had the training. From faces to stances to even just being able to tell any weapon's durability from a quick glance alone. He was feared because of it, because of his swordsmanship, because of so many things which fell apart the moment that this figure entered his life.

So despite the resignation weighing him down, he tried once more to approach the figure and read into it. Even if it wasn't really him, even if he knew how this song and dance went, he still put one foot in front of the other as he narrowed his gaze. He tried to capture even a smidgen of the effort he used to put into this, tried to clench his hands into fists as he drew closer.

Instead he found nothing, nothing but a simple smile as the figure looked down at him. It almost seemed humored.

Moments later he found himself stomping back to his room with one hand clenching at his head and the other quickly going through his contacts on his scroll. He remembered when he used to feel shame when doing this, as he knew even then that it was an admission of defeat. But at this moment he just needed to ground himself in reality, needed assurance from the one place he knew he could get it.

So he called, waiting several seconds that seemed to stretch on forever.

But eventually...

"Again?" Pugrish's disappointed hum echoed from the scroll before he could even get a word out "I would've thought the... change in scenery would help."

He knew.

Of course he knew.

The Stormbringer was quick to catch on to most things, yet this particular event had happened so often that even a brain dead Uruk would be able to tell when something was off. Despite knowing this, this Uruk refused to acknowledge it to him. He couldn't just admit how far he'd fallen to the one who'd dragged him down in the first place. There was still some pride he was desperate to cling to, as there wasn't much else that was left of him.

"Have you still not returned to Vale?" he asked instead, eager to cover up his failure.

"Ah, so that's what you called for." Pugrish's smile was tangible through his words alone, the odds of him not recognizing the ploy practically non-existent "Well you'll be happy to know that I'm enjoying a... rather engaging battle at the moment. I don't think I could pull myself away... even if I wanted to."

His hand tightened on the scroll, anger coursing through his veins. But he welcomed it far more than the abject pain and resignation he'd felt mere moments ago. Anger meant he wasn't completely gone yet, anger meant he could still feel something else. It reminded him of better days, when he used to believe he was more than what he was.

"What about Ratlug? He still says that there's trouble concerning-"

"Ratlug's ambition has always been one of his most amusing features." Pugrish cut him off with a pleased little chuckle "If he wishes for me to keep feeding that ambition, he must continue to prove that my expectations aren't misplaced."

The sound of something clattering on Pugrish's end preceded what sounded like a fire.

"Besides, knowing the good Doctor, he'll find a way to sort it out one way or another." Pugrish noted "His resourcefulness should never be underestimated."

"I wouldn't dare to imply otherwise." the Uruk groaned "But that still doesn't imply that you-"

"Have you attempted to wield a blade since your arrival, Shul?"

Immediately he snapped his mouth closed. Not only had Pugrish brought up a fairly painful topic, but he just had to use that damned pet name. Shul knew what he was doing, knew that he was prodding for both a reaction and information.

"No sir... no trespassers have warranted such actions." he stated

"What about for practice?" Pugrish suggested "I'd hate for your skills to deteriorate if the time comes when you must take up arms again-"

"Then I'll take up arms and deal with it then, sir." Shul stated before swallowing nervously "Someone like you shouldn't concern yourself with petty stuff like that."

It was silent for a moment. With Shul lowering his hand from his head in anticipation, waiting for something, anything to happen. But Pugrish's voice didn't come up again for a while, the only sounds coming through were of battle in the background. Shul briefly wondered if he'd dropped it during some kind of skirmish, but then he remembered who exactly it was that he was talking to. Eventually, he heard a low sigh before the sounds of battle were briefly cut off.

"It's getting worst, isn't it?"

Shul locked up, unprepared for Pugrish to aim directly for the unspoken issue. For all the time they'd gone through this, the Stormbringer seemed willing to let him cling to his own lie. He'd answered all of Shul's questions and gave him all he needed to continue functioning as a pawn, even during some of his more draining episodes. But if he was willing to strike at the heart now, it just meant that he had to know the severity of Shul's situation.

Even with that realization, Shul couldn't bring himself to admit it. Hearing the words come from his own mouth would be the breaking point, he knew it and he would bet anything that Pugrish knew it as well. So despite feeling light-headed from the conversation, he sucked it up and put on a straight face.

"I don't know what you're talking about." he stated as evenly as he could. The sigh that Pugrish gave as a result felt like a heated cattle prod was being placed against his neck.

"Of course you don't," Pugrish said before the roar of some beast preceded an explosion "I really do need to get back to this, but I look forward to your next call."

"I'll try to limit my communications, Sir." Shul said, hanging his head down as his eyes darted towards the inactive screen projector. But before he ended the call, Pugrish had to insert one last sentence that made his vision haze up momentarily.

"Be sure to take care of yourself, Brother."

And just like that, it ended. It ended with Shul sitting there, staring at nothing as he once more let his Scroll slip from his grasp. He didn't know how long it was before he was moving again, as it felt like everything was numb in some way. But despite this, he still found himself turning the screen projector on. He let the images wash over him as he went from channel to channel, almost as if on autopilot. He no longer cared what they were saying, as anything was better than thinking of himself.

He told himself that he was just keeping track of world issues, that a proper soldier kept tabs on every aspect of the battlefield. Even if he was technically just on guard duty, that didn't mean he had to stay out of the loop. In fact, this Screen Projector was here specifically for keeping in the know. He'd managed to assuage many of his underlings' concerns simply by being up to date on stuff. But even with this rationalization, Shul knew better than to believe it. He was created to be a weapon, a weapon of war, conquest and ambition. Yet he hadn't felt that ambition in years, and had grown dull as a result. He was no weapon, couldn't even bear to consider such an idea. He was but a mere tool to be utilized, nothing more and nothing less.

So with a blank expression, the tool continued staring at the screen, flipping from channel to channel as he waited for time to pass.

"Yet another broadcast from the Uruk known as Ratlug, showcasing brutal fight between-"

"-Owner of Pug-bringer Studios speaks out against the growing violence in Mantle-"

"Confrontation between Ace Operatives and the Mysterious Assailant result in shocking-"

AN: Well I severely underestimated how big the first chapter would be, so I figured I'd do something I hadn't really considered doing for the last Volume. I told myself I wouldn't post this until the first chapter was halfway done, and I've manged to reach that milestone. So here it is, perhaps the shortest chapter this story will ever have, The Call.

In all honesty this was just a scene I was writing for another chapter, but about halfway through I figured that it would actually do better adapted into a type of prologue to get people asking questions. Some of which I figured were better off getting answered here while others would just build anticipation for what comes next. Hopefully the first chapter can match those expectations, since I have been trying to plot things out more consistently than last time.

Results may very, but writing this has actually helped me generate more vigor for what comes next.

Anyway, hope you enjoy, any and all criticisms positive or negative are welcomed in full so leave a review or comment if you are so inclined to do. Things you enjoyed about it? Things you hated about it? Any ways you feel I could improve? Expectations for the next Volume? Follow or Favorite at your leisure and I will see you all in the next installment of The Dreamer Gate.

Next Chapter: The New Strange