Yfelwood

The Yfelwood of Rhudaur, Summer, 1405

Deep in the Trollshaws of Rhudaur, Ethacali's expedition made its way slowly down the road toward the site indicated in the tome. The woods were thick and dark, with tall oaks and beeches tangled together. In haste, one of the trackers, clad in light leather armor of brown and green, came up to the mage.

"Lord, there are trolls about. We should take defensive measures."

Unconcerned, Ethacali shrugged. "Trolls do not worry me. Continue your forward progress. Besides, I have a troll of my own," he said proudly, motioning to a stocky, white-skinned beast given to him by the Witch-King as a bodyguard. The mage had named it Oologg, and it carried a monstrous two-handed sword in defense of its master. Two other trolls accompanied the expedition, Orig and Cadnuir, and they lumbered along behind the orcs, keeping them moving into the forbidding forest. Ethacali took a sniff of the air and curled his broad nose. It definitely felt wrong. It was like nothing he ever encountered. It felt ancient and malevolent.

The trackers continued down the path into a ravine, which lead past a marsh. Ethacali scanned the area carefully. "We are close," he commented out loud. Oologg grunted approval. The mage pointed to a hill covered with loose gravel and some trees. "Send the orcs up there to take a look. Tell them to look for an area of depression."

One of the trackers ordered the orcs to move to the hill. They scrambled up the loose gravel, sending up dust. Once at the top, they began to scan around. Suddenly, one of the orcs howled and a commotion sprung up as scimitars were drawn.

"What is happening? Go find out!" Ethacali barked. The trackers raced up the hill as orcs retreated back down. From his vantage point, Ethacali could see the trackers firing arrows at the trees.

"Damn, Huorns! I will level them with fire," the mage said with gritted teeth. He began walking up the hill.

I shall burn them with one ball of flame… No, too obvious. I will have to be subtler.

Ethacali held forth his staff and jets of fire sprang from the eyes of the skull. He reached the crest of the hill and confronted one of the living trees as it swung its branches menacingly over two dead orcs. The dark mage plunged his staff into the trunk of the tree, and it sizzled and shook violently.

"I will burn you all, one by one." The bark of the Huorn smoldered and turned red while its branches withered, and leaves fell in droves. With the Huorn dead, Ethacali withdrew the point of his staff and leaned on it again. There were hundreds of Huorns ahead, all angry. This would not be an easy or quick task. Yet another delay. The deadline that he promised the Witch-King would be approaching rapidly.

The Yfelwood of Rhudaur, Fall, 1405

It took two weeks for Ethacali to reduce the Huorns to ash, but now the area south of the hill was cleared. Excavation had begun near the hill, but nothing had been found yet. The orcs had built a dam in the big marsh to keep the excavation site from being flooded. A nasty surprise was sprung on the diggers as a horde of flesh-eating bats, known as Serganka, slew three orcs before Ethacali could deal with them.

After exterminating the bats, the mage sat on a camp chair beneath an umbrella held by an orc. He gazed down at the cameo of his wife and felt a deep longing. It had been too long since he had been home and heard the laughter of children. He looked up to see the excavation continuing. "It's the cost of doing business," he said calmly to Oologg as the orc bodies were pitched into the smaller marsh near the path. Oologg grunted as he attempted to read a book. The mage had taken an unusual interest in the troll's welfare and education and had taught the beast to read a handful of words.

He opened the tome that the Witch-King had given him. He again read a passage that didn't make sense to him. What was he looking for?

… I am, who cast
a shadow o'er the face aghast
of the sallow moon in the doomed land
of shivering Beleriand

Who was 'I'? The words before had faded and part of the page was torn there. This tome was truly ancient and had been written in the time of Beleriand. Who wrote this? The mage's best guess was that it was Sauron, known as Gorthaur. He looked back up at the excavation site and a chill came over him. Did he really want to find what was down there? He glanced back at his cameo and a sudden and deep loneliness fell over him.

The Yfelwood of Rhudaur, Spring, 1406

As the winter gave way to spring and the ground thawed, Ethacali moved the excavation north to try a different site. This was taking far too long and the missives from the Lord of Angmar were beginning to sound impatient. The Witch-King had sent him three orc shamans to help motivate the others. He put them to work, driving the miners to harder labor. In the long months, several deep trenches were dug into the red, claylike dirt.

Ethacali was sitting in his spartan tent atop the hill, reading further into the tome. "Oologg, have you completed your studies for the day?" he asked the white troll, who was seated in the dirt. The mage was glad that Oologg had learned a basic level of hygiene for him to share a tent with.

The troll nodded slowly. "Master is wise," it said in a deep, halting voice.

Ethacali was pleased: the beast had come a long way in a year. The mage turned back to his reading as something caught his attention.

"These spirits may fly as eagles, falcons, wild swans, or ravens. Death caught them amidst their shape change, condemning them to a shadow existence within Arda. They circle above the tumult of storms, cyclones, and squalls to descend upon the unwary and drain their life."

"She is imprisoned in a vault of kregora, an ore known to defeat the powers of all magic. The entrance to the vault is embossed with many runes. Despite her dreamless slumber, she taints the lands with her dark power and with her monsters, the Serganka."

So, this spirit brought about the bats? Who is she? If we find her, what then? "I am running out of time," he whispered to himself. "If I don't produce results…I don't want to think about it."

The Yfelwood of Rhudaur, Fall, 1406

Spring gave way to Summer and Summer to Fall. Although the work was progressing well, Ethacali was growing impatient as the miners dug deeper into the earth. He sat in his tent as the autumn rain pattered on the shielding canvas.

There was an urgent knock at the tent door.

"Lord, we have found something. Come quickly," one of the trackers said.

Ethacali bolted up and seized his staff. With Oologg in tow, he rushed down the hill to the deep pit. A ladder led down to a large hole in the ground, flanked by a fractured boulder. The mage took a deep breath and held forth his staff, creating a flame from the gilded skull.

The tracker unleashed two of his wolf-dogs into the hole. The vicious beasts cowered and whimpered in the granite chamber. Ethacali sighed. "Send in the orcs."

Oologg motioned for the miners to enter, and fear was palpable on their twisted faces. The orcs drew their scimitars and began to file slowly down the chamber. Other orcs carried tools to continue the excavation. Oologg followed behind them, pressing them on with his massive body. Ethacali came next, holding forth his flaming staff.

The group moved into a series of small caverns where Ethacali's fire revealed the walls, covered in reddish-brown crystals. Suddenly, shrieks filled the air as orcs screamed and flailed about.

"Serganka! Damn, I should have anticipated this. Kadard!" the mage yelled, speaking the password he had learned in the tome. The shrieking died away as the flutter of wings fell silent. He pushed his way forward to see two orcs, their flesh torn from their dying bodies. He shrugged briefly and pointed further down the cavern. The orcs nodded slowly and moved forward. Creeping cautiously, they passed through another cavern of flawed crystals and scattered rocks.

This would be a good defensive position. I shall note it, thought the mage.

Ever onward they went, through another series of caverns, covered in crystals. Passing through one cavern, Ethacali noted some wondrous blood-red crystals. Ever the pragmatist, the mage ignored them and pressed on while the trackers marveled at their beauty and possible value.

"Pay the crystals no mind. We have work to do," said Ethacali blandly.

They pressed on toward cracks in the cavern wall, where tiny streams of sunlight gleamed through. The mage pushed the orcs forward. "There, break down that wall." Grunting, the orcs struck the rocks with picks and shovels, eroding the wall with determined effort. Soon, the rocks crumbled, giving way to diffuse sunlight in another chamber.

"There, in the dirt… that door," said the mage with growing excitement. The orcs showed nothing but dread. Oologg, sensing his master's desire, reached down and lifted the metal door from the ground by a handle. Fetid air rose up from the gaping hole in the earth, which revealed a wooden stairway underground.

Ethacali tested the creaky stairway with his staff. "It'll hold. Let's go."

Taking a deep breath, the orcs began making their way down the creaky stairs. After a long descent, they stepped out onto a floor of black marble covered with dust. The walls of the foyer were also of black marble and seemed to absorb the light of Ethacali's fire. A pair of blood-colored doors blocked the exit on the right side of the foyer. The mage gulped hard. This is what he both wanted and dreaded.

The mage moved past the orcs and examined the doors. He snapped his fingers and Oologg handed him the tome. Ethacali sat on the floor, flipping through the pages of the book.

"Here… I have the password," he muttered and then approached the doors. He whispered something arcane and silver lines magically appeared on the portal. Then, he easily pushed them open with a dry creaking noise.

"The Necromancer is benevolent," Ethacali said, half in prayer.

Together, they entered a chamber with a floor of latticed bloodstone and black marble. Ancient, crumbled furnishings littered the area. Following his master, Oologg had to crouch to enter the area, which was only eight feet high.

Cautiously, Ethacali looked around. On the left side of the chamber was a gold-colored door. Corridors ran straight ahead and to the right. The mage strode purposely over to the door and glanced at it. He turned the knob slowly and the door opened. With growing anticipation, he walked through into a narrow corridor, which branched into a "T". There, on either side, he discovered the Preparation Chamber and the Chamber of Evil Channeling, where evil rituals were held for the Dark Lord. Not Sauron, but Morgoth.

"These rooms were used to worship Morgoth almost five thousand years ago! We are the first to enter them since that time," Ethacali said with some excitement, "We will make our quarters here and press forward in the morning. I shall begin our ritual here to commemorate our good fortune."

As the orcs entered and stood in awe, Ethacali and the orc shamans laid out their evil paraphernalia and began chanting. Strange, tortured shapes appeared along the walls of the Chamber of Evil Channeling. They writhed and shrieked as the mage called upon the power of the Necromancer. When he was done, he felt renewed and invigorated.

"We shall succeed, and all of the North shall bow to us," he said with confidence and the approving snarls of the orcs.

The following day, the expedition awoke and began to make their way down the right-hand corridor. As they entered into a long-forgotten and dusty guardroom, Ethacali noticed a stairway down, deeper into the earth. The mage motioned to the stairs, but at first, the orcs hesitated.

"Go, or I will flay your maggot-infested hides," he ordered. Although subtle and a man of great reasoning, Ethacali knew how to motivate orcs by fear.

Reluctantly, they began down the steps into the darkness. This led to a landing and then a waiting room with closed doors of blood red. Before Ethacali could say anything, an orc touched the door.

From the door itself, flames erupted, searing several orcs. Screams and the smell of burnt flesh filled the room and a few orcs tried to flee back up the stairs before being blocked by Oologg, crossing his thick arms and shaking his head.

"Idiots! Move aside!" shouted Ethacali, mildly singed. He stepped over the smoldering bodies of the burned orcs and viewed the doors.

"Another symbol…" he said, searching the tome for an answer, "Yes, I have it here."

He held forth his staff and uttered a word. The doors creaked open, and a cold air rushed out. Even the unflappable Ethacali could not help but be chilled by the feeling of dread and horror that came out of those doors. His skin crawled and there seemed to be an itch that wouldn't go away. The flames from his staff dimmed and crackled. Their breath streamed out in the cold.

Beyond the doors, Ethacali could see two unmoving humanoid shapes, shrouded in darkness that no light seemed to pierce. He stepped forward, holding two runes from the tome.

This is the first test.

He ordered the orcs forward. Snarling and in fear, they inched toward the shapes, which seemed to float and shimmer in the gloom. One of the braver orcs crept up to a shape, which appeared female, but it was difficult to see in the shadows. It gingerly put its finger up to her face and touched her. When nothing happened, he sighed with relief.

Then, the orc shrieked. It pulled back its hand, but something was wrong. Its arm shriveled and it began to turn white. It rolled in agony on the floor, its entire body shriveling and blanching. The other orcs watched in horror as their cohort died. The other shape suddenly moved, reaching out and seizing an orc by the throat. That orc howled and hacked at the shape with its scimitar, then it, too, began to shrivel. Shrieks echoed down the halls. A fine mist floated from the dying orcs into the female form, and she began to breathe.

Despite his growing panic, Ethacali rushed into the corridor and confronted the two shapes. He produced one of the runes.

"Naranatur, by the power of the Necromancer I bind thee! Thy powers are now mine to wield!" he shouted at the male shape. The rune flashed and then vanished.

The female opened her eyes and looked at another orc. Before it could move, she reached out and seized it by the head, drawing its neck to her mouth. Her jaw extended beyond what was humanly possible and she plunged fangs into its throat. While this slaughter happened, the male froze, assuming a docile stance. Ethacali struggled to hold up the other rune, his hands shaking. The light of his staff flickered and dimmed.

Finally able to hold up the rune, he called, "Skrykalian, by the power of the Necromancer I bind thee! Thy powers are now mine to wield!"

Ethacali exhaled in relief as the female became still. In the corridor, the orcs cowered and snarled at the ghostly, translucent shapes. These things were horrors beyond even their evil imaginings. The mage cautiously crept forward and looked at Skrykalian. She was tall and noble in appearance, much resembling a beautiful Noldorin woman with the exception of white-feathered wings at her back. Her nearly translucent face was serene and expressionless and her body entirely bare. Naranatur stood taller still with black wings and a black sword. He too was unclothed.

Ethacali walked around them, admiring their evil beauty. He remembered the earlier passage that he read. It began to make sense. These were the spawn of Thuringwethil, a vampire. These were her Blood-Wights.

Thuringwethil I am, who cast
a shadow o'er the face aghast
of the sallow moon in the doomed land
of shivering Beleriand

"These are the Blood-Wights, my friends, long-forgotten horrors once in the service of Morgoth, eons ago. Now, they serve me," he said proudly.

Ethacali scoured the tome for more information. "There will be one more Blood-Wight; the greatest of the three. She is called Blogath and I have one rune left for which to bind her. Then, we can complete the conquest of Rhudaur."