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Autor Thema: The White Council  (Gelesen 8197 mal)

Walküre

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Re: The White Council
« Antwort #90 am: 21. Feb 2018, 18:00 »
DIGRESSION

The White Wizard reflects on his obscure longings...

Locked in his tower of old, secluded in his conceited pride, the White Wizard is meandering through the space of his century-old thoughts, fathoming what he has to do to achieve his true and final goals. That is the longing which had been tormenting his mind for quite a time; desire he cannot get rid of, it seems. And the more he thinks about it, the more this night-mare of his comes to pay him a totally unwanted visit. The struggle for power is consuming both his spirit and excellent judgement, fearing that the scheme might be made overt, to public chastising and contempt. What would the fellow members of the Wise think of him, should his secret be unearthed? How would they deem him? Yet, some were already suspecting, he thought, for one may not simply deceive others of the Istari; let alone the presumptive Elven Queen, whom he doubts and also dreads, for the exact magnitude of her might is not to be known. Her mind is ever-vigilant, detecting the Evil that moves and hurries on the other shore of the river. She must have discovered it. Not all, but the piece in her knowledge was perhaps enough. Enough to draw a fair conclusion; enough for a millennia-old being. But, what leaves him distraught is the grasp of forgotten lore which he cannot seem to have, because it is really memory and ancient science, lost in time and in the fell fire of war: science pertaining to a one-time divine deity, now fallen and cursed, seeking revenge against all those who cast him in the void of defeat, without a decent body to shelter such impressive prowess. An empty shell...

An empty shell? How could a disgraceful outcast forge the item of doom? How could an angel in ruin be able to set in motion the crafting of such fate-determining artefacts of power? The Rings of Power! Why were they a far illusion for the fool wishing to make usage of their magic once again? How unfair and wrong! The highest Istar could not manage to revive the old art, come into being thanks to the snares of a demon disguised as a noble wiseman. One who tricked and played, trying to chain everyone into the trap of his will; some resisted, while others failed. And each of the fabled Ring had in truth been imbued and fashioned by the Elves craving their blissful past, made then into nostalgia and a dream beyond wit. Yet, it was from that eerie mentor that all began, being him the ultimate keeper of the secret behind such magical craft. And all to whom he passed the mystery lie dead, victims of the clash. Three Rings escaped capture and are kept safe by immortal hands to the present date. None know how to retrieve what we have forsaken or are willing to make other attempts, for this age has grown too grey and numb to marvel. To power worthy of praise and honour!
« Letzte Änderung: 21. Feb 2018, 18:52 von Walküre »

Walküre

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Re: The White Council
« Antwort #91 am: 22. Apr 2018, 19:10 »
It's midnight. Anything within and near the ring of Isengard stands solitary under the pale moon of Middle-earth. The master of the ancient stronghold is no idle wizard; busy with his own pondering and elaborate schemes, he's consulting one of the oldest text that is kept in the fortress. No one knows how and when the chief of the Istari managed to gather such impressive a collection of forbidden books. Treasures, the wise would say, for many are the secrets there stored and told in the manners of the past. Unreadable riddles, the common folk would deem that arcane knowledge, and much hazardous for any pious soul interested in delving into the darker hours of our story. Contemplating any possible hint or information that he might have missed in erstwhile reads, Saruman was again longing to perfect his understanding of the lost Rings of Power. His thirst had not been placated by all that he had been collecting until that moment, with the most haunting avarice that a supposedly noble character could be affected by. Centuries, spent in the hopeless wish to unveil the key of the issue, had not been enough. How many winters and summers? How many nights had he passed in the eerie company of his obsessions? No, that was not enough and could never have been so nonetheless, for the veil he was seeking to pierce resembled more a thick mist, neither physical to be concretely touched nor able to be dispersed through the craft known in later times. Frustration grew ever-deep and was consuming the last traces of sanity which remained still in the wizard's heart. He's now a sole dangerous fire, ready to be augmented via profound grudge and resentment, ill-combined with the evil ambition that too often succeeds in dragging even the pure to the dirt. The White Wizard's robes were slowly changing, as that stainless white was more and more turning into an uncanny variety of different shades; different and wavering as his voluble longings.

But time was about to unfold in the way that fate had commanded, bringing to a fair end a long period of watchful silence. Inertia and concealed intentions. Now, events will offer the proper case and reason for a turn of the tide. Firstly, it was signalled by the hasty breaking in of the sentinels of Orthanc, his most trusted messengers, disturbing the vain studies of the wizard and bearing a message of the utmost contingency for our tale.


GUARD: "My lord, I bear tidings of the most compelling necessity for your cause."
SARUMAN: "Speak, and be brief. I have no time to waste with other reports of the kind you've been messaging me so far. A wizard must not indulge in the empty bickering of common folks; not in the silly and frivolous world of whom cares about the finger and ignores the Moon which is pointed at. Tell me, what befalls in our neighbouring counties of our shires? Other quarrels among witless squires? Other monarchs who seek my help in the management of their own affairs? Other knights in search of news from the ends of the earth, demanding assistance whilst abandoning themselves to the raw pleasures of their own country?"
GUARD: "No, my liege. I bear news from lands lying north of your venerable domain. The Gladden Fields I speak of."
SARUMAN: "Well, what is it that I do not know yet of such place? My spies are ever endeavouring to patrol those forsaken borders and report everything that happens within those woods and shores. Verily, though, you ought to know that it's not just men-at-arms that I speak of, minion of mine. Do you really believe that my own mind could ever be played or miss details of the most crucial note for my enterprise? I do know what we're looking for along those silvan territories. Forsaken, as I said, by law and power, because a foolish queen did not dare extend her hand out of the fable in which she and her secretive people dwell. Are you really of the opinion that something might go unnoticed without me knowing? We have been long conducting inspections there, about the river and its related streams. Nothing has been found that could aid my goal or provide answers that I don't dispose of. If you're keen on returning to me the same tedious errands, spare me the trouble and leave me to my occupations."
GUARD: "My lord, I dare insist. Newer reports from your employed agents indicate that..."
SARUMAN: "Stay your tongue, fool. I need no message from such miserable a lot! I well told you how not just mere men are in my thrall. Whom do you think you're talking to? A sham mage, of the sort of those who fancy village feasts and the company of inferior gentry? My eye is keener than the sight of the finest Elf. My ear may hear the inaudible. My thought goes through stone and whatever peak and obstacle might separate me from the reason of my quest. My attention is ever stuck to those forests; know this, ungrateful serf! Other spies of mine have recently brought to my ears that naught seems to be in motion around there. The incessant labour of my servants may go forward with ease. None menaces our doing or even dare watch us from a distance. We are the only actor in this play. If there were clouds and wrathful storms approaching, I would immediately realise the pending danger. The sane and wise need not lose confidence or be wary of his own propositions, if no ill is to bode or mar his deeds."
GUARD: "Your skilled spies have failed the mission, my liege, if the thicket of the wood proved too intricate even for the keenest gaze. The new reports inform us of a real threat from the other side of the river. The envoy was immediately sent here and rushed to tell how packs of Orcs from Dol Guldur have taken station on the opposite shore. There, clouded by the shadows of the night, are too inspecting those fields, yearning to retrieve what was once lost in the waters of the broad river. They must know, my lord. Their master must know indeed."
SARUMAN: "Tell you the truth? Never has a tiding been as foreboding and ominous as the words you just uttered. We do truly face a great peril. The senses of my crows were no match for the tricks of the Enemy, it seems. My power may enhance and grant an already fine eye a finer vision, though the rules governing nature cannot just be defied so lightly. The unworthy warrior shall always remain so, in the end, whether he wield stick or blade. Fate has made it so that events will take a new course. The wise notices the changing tide in advance and, according to its waves, shall mould his actions on the new fashion before his very eyes. I will do so as well. Soon will every pawn of the chessboard realign itself; I foresaw it. We must stay true to the plan, whatever it takes and happens in the meantime. Anything hindering our path will be met with the appropriate means. No reckless foe shall dare to jeopardise my long-conceived endeavour. I will not permit it. My speech has served me well for the keeping at bay of the ardent, as well as odious, spirit of justice which still animates some of my fellows in the council. Some suspect, it's true, yet no opposing voice has hitherto pushed itself to a direct questioning of my authority. This is a totally different impediment, however. The Dark Lord knows. He knows what was the grievous doom he had ordered for the cursed Isildur. He knows that his precious artefact has sunk into the river and there he's still waiting for the coming of his rightful master..."
GUARD: "What shall we do, my liege? We do not have the proper force to secure us the control of the entire land. Moreover, legions of Orcs are everyday seen swarm and assemble in the whereabouts of the ghoulish fortress. It is presumable to infer that their numbers have by now grown enough to form an army."
SARUMAN: "Hunters, beasts, Orc-commanders and fiends...
Don't you understand, little wit? Seldom does the Dark Lord act in vain. I do not for a moment regard the assembling of an army as an intention to seize the passage to the Gladden Fields. He wouldn't require the assistance of a host. He has other schemes in mind. He's moving his pawns to different objectives at once. Only the foolish might think that Sauron rests lonely inside the dungeons of his lair, still and motionless. He's gathering his strength again, summoning his one-time loyal allies from the ends of Middle-earth. Nay, you can't view the whole portrait, sentinel. Such black ranks were conjured for the purpose of conquest, breaking the long peace which has clouded our minds and lessened our effort. The true dilemma therefore arises and does it plainly: where will the hammer hit? Which realm shall be the woeful target of Men's Bane? He's not apt yet to wage war against the kingdom of Men; a kingdom struggling amidst internal strife and woken enemies of the past, although the decaying marble has not crumbled yet. Nay, he must aim at another barrier of the Good to tear apart...

And, coincidentally, fell winds begin to blow and rage, as a company of Dwarves was reported to have embarked on suspicious journeys across the wilderness of Eriador, led by a disinherited lord. The same lord whom my eyes and ears spotted not so long ago, conversing gleefully with the Grey Pilgrim."
GUARD: "I cannot follow you, master. What shall we do, then?"
SARUMAN: "You need not understand all, lesser man. Your only duty is to serve me. Go, now, spread my words: our expedition to the Gladden Fields must be momentarily withdrawn; furthermore, every movement of the aforementioned dwarf-fellowship will be hereafter monitored and controlled. I will not ask you to chase the moves of my fellow wizard, for that would be beyond your very capabilities. I want and will have daily reports of our Dwarves' doing. Every single day. When the right time comes, I shall summon the White Council anew. Be gone, now! Should your mouth betray my cause, I shall know."



Saruman to himself.

SARUMAN: "So be it, great rival of mine. In the depth of your wicked shelter shall we find the just contest. May the greatest and most audacious rule and prevail, advancing a new age of might to command."

Walküre

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Re: The White Council
« Antwort #92 am: 30. Nov 2018, 18:27 »
THE WHITE COUNCIL: THE THIRD MEETING


Zitat
Premises

Thus, the White Council was summoned again. Saruman had by then grown too much wary of his rival's moves to not take the proper counter-measures. Time was apt for action; the secret dark sorcerer, hidden in the deepest dungeons of his eerie fortress, was getting every day closer to finding what had been of his precious, lost item. The One Ring had disappeared in the waters of the Great River, about the sadly-remembered shores of the Gladden Fields. There, Isildur had fallen prey of an ambush of the Orcs, and his dear heirloom had so abandoned its former master, vanishing in the mud-tainted ponds that lay in the nearby areas.

The seeking and retrieving of the forgotten Ruling Ring had been haunting the White Wizard's thoughts for very long time. Turning quickly into a real obsession from which the wise mage did not seem to be capable of detaching. From menace, to wish. From dooming weapon of the Evil, to an immensely useful resource, when finally worn by the keeper of Isengard. A concealed longing, for sure, that the leader of the council had to veil and wreathe in deceit. Nevertheless, leaving allies and friends in the obscure would not have served anyone's interests anymore. The power of Dol Guldur had become incredibly potent and fierce; festering here and there as a restless plague, gathering all sorts of ghouls and demons as though the cursed fort resembled a beacon of devilry. Indeed, devils were the inhabitants of so monstrous a dwelling. Home to night-mares and despair. Who, if not the venerable members of the noble assembly, could have held his ground before such imminent threat? The fates of the world would soon be at the crossroad of destiny, since olden past phantoms were everywhere manifesting and crawling again under the lights of the present. The Necromancer, the beating heart of the whole sinister lair, began to sense that the moment had come; the hour of the reclaiming of his due domination over all life on earth. And, albeit suffering and depleted in strength, his spirit had taken back enough vigour to present himself as a wandering shadow of hatred and scheming malice. Whether the Ring was to be found or not, his force now permits him to throw fearsome legions of Orcs in the heat of the battle. An army he had assembled! And that he had done in the misjudgement and failure of the Wise. Or, better, of their seemingly caring lord.

Obviously, needless to remind the reader of it, none of the aforesaid movements had really gone unnoticed. Both Saruman and the ever-watchful sentinels of Lothlórien had remained on the alert until that breaking point. But, it was by decision of the greatest Istar that the course of events took the course it was bound to take: once his spies brought to his ears that Orcs were patrolling and searching the shores of the Fields, he knew that Sauron was finally aware of the exact location in which the Ring had last been seen. Furthermore, another grave danger was materialising in the meantime, as a company of Dwarves was journeying across the Wild Lands, firm and adamant to reclaim the ancient realm of Erebor. The Kingdom under the Lonely Mountain. The brightest jewel of the entire dwarf-kind; brighter than all gems beneath the caverns of the world. Brighter than the best craft ever forged by Durin's Folk. The very kingdom had in fact been destroyed and raided by a dreadful winged dragon of the North, drawn to treasure and gold above all else. Aided in the deed, also, by the morbid thirst for riches which had completely clouded the Dwarven monarch's mind, condemning the proud throne to face the inexorable woes wrought by greed and ruthless yearning. The curse of the Seven Rings, as some of the wisest inferred. Therefore, a group of resolute exiles, led by the late dwarf-king's grandson, embarked on a quest to re-enter their rightful domain and slay the fire-breathing serpent which still lurked inside the ruined remnants of the mountain-realm. And the Grey Wizard deemed this new developments an appropriate chance to liberate one of the strongest bastions of the Good and then reinstate order where there had not been, alongside vanquishing another terribly ferocious foe.

The Dark Lord was too planning his own return, however. Short of auxiliaries and halved in might, he craved the allegiance of a very terrifying of a creature, which the vicious dragon exactly was. If paired and united against the forces of hope, very few would fairly imagine and understand what this tremendously wicked duo could have brought to Middle-earth. Hell and a thick encroaching darkness, to cover all lands with a new demon-ridden night. So, time grew scarce and peril advanced at a pace that the fastest steeds might really envy; as impetuous as the storms which had become too frequent of late, spreading ill winds and anguish all over innocent peoples and their worried shires. The two odious fiends had to be dealt with for good, preventing both to assist each other in any circumstance requiring reinforcements. A precise strike, then, to end the dreaded reign of the treacherous sorcerer, who had thitherto plunged Mirkwood in a sorry state of illness and hopeless desolation. A tainted land, made dangerous and deadly for any unwary one who thought he could dare hazard and jeopardise his own being. At the same time, a horror from bygone ages, resting and guarding the golden spoils of the Dwarves, would have been driven away once and for all, restoring the ailing legacy of a valiant race, too often victim of merciless misfortune and cruel disgrace.

Walküre

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Re: The White Council
« Antwort #93 am: 10. Dez 2018, 17:45 »
Zitat
Night fell swiftly on the Elven lord's valley. It was as though the weather itself had prepared for the solemn meeting that would soon be held in Rivendell. No malignant breeze had ever found place inside the sanctuary, but, that particular evening, all seemed to have fallen prey of some mysterious spell that had embalmed the old ways of the Noldor in a pleasant state of solace. Yet, sheer quietness it was not, for solace hid tension and preoccupations quite well, but not entirely. Nay, the Wise very much knew what was and would be at stake in so fateful an assembly. Rumours had spread that the authoritative White Wizard was a mind full of doubts and worried thoughts. A mind of schemes and complex plots, so akin to the many devices of industry which he was very fond of. The hour had eventually come, this the noble members of the council sensed it clearly. Undoubtedly, something of grave necessity had swayed the White Council's leader towards another path. And, of even more crucial note for the happenings, the unexpected summoning of that splendid kind of lot had necessarily to mean an equally pivotal development of the events. The wind was slowly changing its course, as were the tides and waters of the world.

How will our known heroes adapt to such wavering course?

Elrond and Gandalf are awaiting the start of the meeting with great apprehension. The other fellows of theirs have not turned up to the scene yet.

ELROND: "Gandalf, do you really deem it wise to allow a scattered Dwarven company to roam freely across the Wild Lands? Within this blissful valley of mine, every weak and disgraced shall ever find refuge and consolation. It was also important that I had the chance to listen to what the dethroned king wanted to say. And, permit me to say, his reasons are as sound as those of every unlucky monarch would be. Nevertheless, I assume your witty mind has never forgotten the unfortunate fate which his ancestors had brought to themselves.

The Lonely Mountain? Gandalf, you know that a vicious curse burdens the gold stored in those halls. His grandfather ended up losing his own self in the midst of such opulence. A drive for riches and power that finds no sufficiently similar equivalent in other tales. You ought to be very cautious about that, my wandering friend. I fear this quest might not only wake a slumbering devil under jewels and gems, but also another sort of relentless demons that perhaps linger still in the depths of his soul."

GANDALF: "My lord, if I hadn't thought it would be a necessary task, I would not have entangled the lives of such brave ones in this imperative mission. The dragon has slept for too long inside the mount. The usurper needs to be driven out of their rightful realm. Oakenshield has the only right to reclaim what belongs to his family. His legacy cannot simply be forgotten; it shan't remain as an indelible stain on Dwarven lore. We must act, and do it quickly."

ELROND: "The long hand of shadow has stretched thus far. Though this hidden place may enjoy the defence of my kind and craft, dread advances and clouds any soul concerned with what is to befall us. Now, we have a far worse enemy to care about, sage wizard. Our adversary had been creeping into that fortress even prior to the undoing of the North. A veritable phantom, feeding off revenge and hateful propositions. It's time we ended his threat, once and for all. If our wish is to be made true, the broad eastern woods shall be liberated from the oppressing nightmare of the Necromancer. If we succeed, right will be restored in wilderness and wasteland. The plague shall be cured for good.

Still, should the effort be doubled or frustrated by excessive strain, the deed might be in serious peril, and failure is seldom the seed of luck to come. If the dwarf-company manages to rescue their kingdom from misery, couldn't they risk to stir other troubles and reap the foul consequences of having taken back control of the lone mountain? Evil is always rapid and silent to swarm, infiltrating even the most uncommon individuals. Who guarantees that all is not to bode ill?"

GANDALF: "Magnanimous herald, your worries are ever sign of strength, and not of weakness. What you say is what might probably be, but also not be. If the Dwarven royal passes these ravines and crosses the Misty Mountains, then the fate of many will surely change. Darkness has fallen also on those northern lands; and, while the road appears clear from brigands and fiends, danger has slowly been replaced by chill and sinister silence. The absence of law. The absence of order. The absence of a ruler.

Don't you think that our bastion will be reinforced by a renewed power that shall kindle the fires of Erebor again? Most importantly, I dare add, a winged dragon is certainly one of the foulest gruesome creatures that have ever walked this earth. You know this, my lord. You beheld and wailed the destiny that the past Hither-Lands were bound to suffer. That is a flame of pure evilness which mere water cannot extinguish. Hence, imagine what a weapon of such magnitude Smaug could turn into, were Sauron to seize the opportunity. That would likely coincide with our utter doom, for stone, wood and green would face the enormous wrath of hell. The blazing of the West of this world shall spell an inglorious end of this late disenchanted age.
Yes, Elf-sire, the truth is manifest to see: packs of Orc-hunters have been tracking our movements since the very beginning of our foray. Not packs of lesser raiders, but rather an expedition of bloody murderers. They were aiming to prevent Thorin from reaching his lost realm. In the meantime, legions of other Orcs are being assembled every day, round the surroundings of the bewitched fort. It's hard to tell whether an army is already positioned there or not, despite my instinct suggesting me that it actually is. Therefore, it's not madness to presume that a strike is near; not against your holy domain, however, neither are they willing to assail the woods of fair Lórien. Their gaze is fixed on that mountain. He knows. He presaged that the old king's grandson would show up and contend that ruined shire with him. Thus, if we want to win the war, I strongly believe that safeguarding those borders does import our goal. All the horrors that were confined in those boreal ends we shall once again rout."

ELROND: "What about the Hobbit, Gandalf? Can you vow to preserve him from harm and sorrow? He's truly one pious spirit. It would be grave to watch him get marred."

GANDALF: "I trust Bilbo more than I do in regards to some potent lords or venerable commanders. You would surely find it extraordinary to know how much a genuinely kind one may; not interested in glory or mundane vice. I tell you, it's actually from the humble and least that the unexpected might happen. Simple acts of love and dearly care; common folks, apt mainly for sweet and quiet. I confess they always give me courage and much wisdom to live by.

I think that this little friend of ours has yet more to offer and demonstrate, as the journey gets darker and sun paler."