Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Welcome!

December 2012 - Greetings, Friend!

Welcome to the Closed Beta of Shadows of Isildur - Angrenost.

From Frigga, Head Admin:

Please see the latest announcements about the progress of our Beta:

http://www.middle-earth.us/forum/viewtopic.php?f=14&t=49114

http://www.middle-earth.us/forum/viewtopic.php?f=14&t=49114#p548191

 

Introduction to Angrenost

Back in the dark days of the world, when Middle-earth seemed to bow to Morgoth and the Firstborn struggled to survive against his malice, a great war was fought. The Valar set foot upon the world and contested with the evil that permeated the very land; for Morgoth had sunk his very life force into the ground itself and sought to corrupt it against the Song that created it in perfection, so far was his Fall from the heavens. It was in these days that the oceans were rift from the Undying Lands, that the Western lands were sunk. As the Valar contested Morgoth's will, the lands buckled and broke, and in the midst of one such battle the Misty Mountains were pushed up into existence. Yet the battles did not end when Morgoth was deposed from his throne - for thousands of years the forces of good and evil struggled together under the stone and earth. Fire and rock, water and sulphur, powers of each side did great damage to each other away from the eyes of all except the dwarrowfolk and the keen-eyed wizards and the Greater of the world. So it was that gradually the drakes and balrogs and vampires and shapeshifters and dark creatures of Morgoth dwindled, while the shining creatures of Light were consumed with them.

So it was that the mundane and unremarkable world above passed its days and forgot of the terrible agonies below. So it was that the mortals known as Men came to dominate the world while those who kept them safe were feared and driven to the edges of the shadows, which they fought without thanks. And now, in the Third Age, when rumours of the Necromancer spreads from Dol Guldur and the Witch-king has unleashed the armies of Mordor upon Osgiliath, there comes a time for those who would stand against the darkness to rise and draw a line in the snow upon the shoulders of the Misty Mountains. None will pass the Garrison of Angrenost. Evil may crash upon the tower of Sornion Tir as the soldiers of Gondor stand firm, shoulder to shoulder, but it will not better them. The Plateau above Orthanc may be teeming with the goblins that once more repopulate the mountains south of the Mines of Moria, but they will never take the Watch Tower from the Companies of the Garrison. The mountains may spew forth black-souled creatures of filth and nightmares but the bright hearts and shining steel of Gondor will turn the shields of burnished silver into their charge and shrug off their assaults.

At least, that is the word from the Commander of the Garrison of Angrenost as he stands before the Families on Kings Day, as their sons and daughters step forward to enter the world of a soldier of Gondor, serving for their lifetime within the Companies. That this was a safe and quiet place, not so long ago, does not now escape those who stand before him. That evil has once more stirred in the depths is clear to all - but how many know that even now, within the Ring of Angrenost evil stirs and traitors and spies begin to weave webs that draw in the unwary? And above, in the Plateau, where the soldiers stand firm, what of the orc drums? What of the chieftains who drive their tribes southwards? What of the rumours of war? What of the smoke that rises from the abandoned mines of another Age? If the soldiers fail, Angrenost fall, but will there be Gondorians left to protect if the evil within the heart of Angrenost chokes the life out of all that is good and worth defending?

Who will rise from this place to stand against the rising tide of evil? Who will travel here from far afield to offer their services against the darkness? What part will you play in the stemming of the tide, or the washing away of hope? Let us find out together, friend.

--

Online and serving the community since early 2002, Shadows of Isildur is a roleplay-intensive, completely free and non-commercial Tolkien-based MUD. Our world has been lovingly crafted, and our playerbase is active and of extremely high calibre. Come join us today!

The game is closed to new players as we move to Angrenost (later known as Isengard) - however if you register on the website using the link at the top of the page you will still receive our newsletter that will keep you up to date!

Don't forget to visit our forums and chat there.

http://www.middle-earth.us/forum/

Connect to our Guest Lounge!

Come and say hello while we work on the reopening. Our Guest lounge is open

game.middle-earth.us - port 4500

See you there! You can connect using our Flash interface from the link at the top of the page if you wish.

Latest Information on the website

We have begun putting up a whole load of completely new documentation for SOI3: The Rise of Angrenost. You can read it by looking for the Angrenost link above.

Angrenost. The mighty fortress, built with as much hope and ambition for the eternal might of Numenor as her sisters Minas Ithil, Osgiliath and Minas Anor. Angrenost. Raised from the mountains with such power and craft as to defy explanations to those who now live within her Ring. They see now out of the great windows and arches towards the impenetrable and abandoned Tower of Orthanc, a wonder of Middle-earth locked and left to be decked in webs and dust. Across that half-mile, gazing from Nosse Hurin, the broken tribute to a broken city, a valley of wonder and beauty stretches still. There, in the orchards of plump apples, pears and blossoms, the sad tales of Numenor's fall, Arnor's corruption and decay, Ithilien's abandonment, are nothing more than the mutterings of ancient lords mumbling of decay and ruin as they sip from goblets filled with wine; here though, swooping over the great gardens of Angrenost, the swallow carries with it the hope and growth of Spring. Lilies and Larkspur wave from below in the Butterfly Gardens of Vana, while at night fireflies glitter over the ponds of Elbereth. Great weeping willows stand watch over the many streams that feed into the gardens from the mountains and fill the lake that surrounds Orthanc and flanks the avenues that sweep across to meet each of the Nosse of Angrenost - sections of the city mostly left empty, except for close to the Gates such as the military bastion of Nosse Barahir. 

As the days pass, great shadows are cast from Orthanc's summit, touching carefully placed statues that denote the passing of time: scholars note the presence of legendary Hurin in the southeast of the Gardens, the great warrior facing the enemy, armoured and helmed but without a weapon. Many more stand forgotten or covered now with ivy. It is said too that the constellations above can be mapped to the patterns below within the Ring of Angrenost. The swallow swoops not for such knowledge, pausing only to consider the movement of an eagle far to the east.
 
So too does a veteran soldier of eighty years pause, to stand tall and stare away recollecting times when he would stride atop the plateau to his northwest and do battle with the deep-caved orcs of the Misty Mountains, keeping them at bay so that their rumour was no more than that to his family and the Families of all who live here. Then, in his youth, there was a life to be had from soldiering, a surety of training and leadership second to none, the finest in Gondor he always heard. Now though he is tired and his days with a sword and shield are tales for his children. Now he holds a trowel and stares about at the vegetables he tends under the black glare of Orthanc, Spring raising seed heads to chase the Sun. It has been a fine Spring and the populous streams have fed the orchards kindly. He can almost feel the urge of the land to burst into life and he catches a drifting call of a horn blown from many decades ago. This is why he pauses and stares above, though it sends him musing into his past.
 
As the eagle passes over the Quay that squats upon the youthful river of Angren, smoke rises from the shipyards as fires heat forges and repairwork continues on an old barge, still kept afloat despite its age. Not many vessels are seen now being pulled by the horses and oxen trudging up the hoofpath to the east of the river, or those set free with cargo to drift southwards towards the Fords of Angren where they are hooked and secured, cargo emptied into wagons. Then the journey east through the mostly abandoned southern tracts of Calenardhon begins until they join with others headed for Minas Tirith. Some still turn westwards to make for the trade routes of the dwarves of Ered Luin, passing old Tharbad and even as far as Bree. The rarest travellers turn southwards to the barely-held fortress of Aglarond, once considered to be the second half of the vice keeping guard over the Fords with Angrenost, but now more a dwindling outpost from which some of the soldiers under Lord Berennos sortie into the White Mountains to make half-hearted efforts at clearing the wildmen and occasional orc tribes that survived passage across the plains several decades ago.
 
Back to the Quay though and its mills and raised fort upon a hillock. The bridge from the Quay remains well guarded and held by the Garrison of the Commander of Angrenost. Knotts Wood stands out across the river, a small button of trees from this height, flanked by the larger Skaigh Forest and long-abandoned hamlet of Old Skaigh nestled in its northwest bight. Swiftly the end of the Misty Mountains on this east side blocks any way further eastwards for many miles to the south. Black Knowe and White Pike summits sit atop the cliffs overlooking cairns and old farmlands. Lives has passed away, generations have lived and dreamed here, sturdy and stubborn people have refused to leave. Yet the Great Plague saw to them and their hopes and to the hopes of those who still saw a new dawn for Gondor and Arnor and perhaps the Men of Numenor. Like the collapsed walls of the Old Boat House nestled on the river's edge of Dingle Bank Woods, three of the four kingdoms are no more and one tries to hold the rest together.
 

The horn sounds though from the west, so back towards the Gates of the Ring of Angrenost, with its beacon ready to be lit and its ancient roadways still passing proudly southwards to the Market and farmlands stretching southwards for some miles, before being held back by the dyke. West though of the Gates and above the Quarry the sound echoes. Down it comes, passing the high ravine trail that stretches upwards to reach the Salt Mines and final gatehouses. Beyond it travels, not to the south where the seasonal livestock are set to graze amongst old farmhouses and deserted folds and pens. No, northwards, to the great plateau, as large as Angrenost, within which a struggle that must have involved the Valar themselves broke the land and created pocked fissures and cracks across its surface. Amidst this wreckage rises the tower of Sornion Tir - The Eagle's Eyrie. It is here that the Companies of the Garrison of the Commander of Angrenost hold their lands against the encroaching Enemy.  It is here that the horn blows. It is from here, at its very top, that the midday horn sounds, letting those below know all is well. 
 
Meanwhile, northwards, the Misty Mountains belch forth more filth from the orc warrens. Like termites they teem forth in greater numbers than ever. Since the Great Storm, since the rumblings under the eaves of Mirkwood, since the blackness of evil that seemed to emanate from Dol Guldur, nothing has been the same. That same veteran of eighty years will, in a year's time, lay dead, a black arrow in his throat.
 
Morgulites of Mordor lead the Iron Cages to victory over smaller tribes and begin to build up allies. They seem to have a purpose and a hatred set against Angrenost. The Spiked Gate and Blood Axe orkin have been more trouble of late on the plateau. Raider tribes such as the Broken Chains, Goat Skulls and Pierced Hand continue to press against those who patrol from the tower. Other lesser tribes seem to be spreading. Smoke rises from holes in the mountains which the Garrison of yesteryear had extinguished. Heroes of the past who lay down their lives to crush orc and goblin hordes are remembered now, as new tribes walk over the bones of their long-dead brothers.
 
All is well. All is well for the blackbloods and those who are pressed to serve against Gondor. Here, in isolated Angrenost at the tip of the Misty Mountains, where no Gondorians reinforcements can be easily mustered, or losses easily replaced, a new Hatred bends its will.
 

 

We need your assistance!

We are looking for talented and eager players and ex-staff who wish to assist us with building much of the new gameworld, under direction of Kite and other staff, using sophisticated web-forms developed by Traithe. If you are willing to put in the time and energy to help out please send a PM to Kite or Frigga. As long as you love writing, Middle-earth and have an active imagination we'll be needing your help.

Current Active Staff

In no particular order the active and contributing staff are Frigga, Kite, Nauriel, Meneldor, Osse. Those attempting to be active but dogged by Real Life are Arucard. Mostly absent but always welcome: Phoenix, Daerodon, Draxx, Zorba, Vaire, Deacon, Saladin, Sighentist, Traithe.

The Opening of SOI3

A broad shouldered, grim-featured man is stood beside a stout and scarred red-haired man and a striking, pale-skinned male elf, a tall banner bearing the insignia of a white heron gripping a red snake on a field of green held aloft with one arm.
 
A sturdily-built, midnight-haired man asks in Westron, striding out from the gate, a brow quirking at the collection, and particularly the banner held by a broad shouldered, grim-featured man,
"Are you here to conquer us?"
 
(The Battalions Garrison greeting the first Caolafon/Marshwarden delegation, which came bearing its colors)

 

Login



Search

Connect

FacebookTwitter

Who's Online

We have 41 guests and no members online

Login

Log in using your Shadows of Isildur game account.