All these things, the being who had once been the Mouth of Sauron, Lieutenant of Barad-dur percieved. He took it as an example of the cost of failure. Utter ruin. He found a cleft running into the shadowed peaks that surrounded the land; the Morgai. A small stream was there and he mde his camp near it, yet not too near so as to avoid all chance of discovery. Quickly he set a circle of warding about his camp, and put a few warning spells in place. He ate of his provisions, and drank of the water he had taken from the stream. It was bitter, but as he knew wasn't poisonous. Silently he willed the night to pass quickly, for he was eager, very eager to find that for which he sought. This would be the first of many battles in his scheme, though this would only be a battle of words. The thing for which he searched, or rather Him for whom he searched might be unwilling to follow him.
The nature of the power involved required that this creature should choose to willingly accept his domination. After this it would be his to command. He made it a habit never to come to a battle he didn't feel sure of winning. This was one lesson he had learned well from his former Master. He had also learned from his Lord's mistakes. He did not become convinced of his own invincibility, nor assume that everyone thought as he did. Always he kept in mind the Lords of the West, and their longtime goal of seeing the destruction of all evils descendant from Morgoth; knowing that they would stop at nothing to see him, a new Dark Lord destroyed.
With this in mind, he had come to ancient Mordor to win a powerful ally, and servant in this War. He was certain he would win this prize. Not for nothing had he been the Mouth of Sauron. He was an eloquent speaker. More importantly, he had the greatest lure with which to trap his quarry. A thing the creature would not be able to refuse.
With this in mind, he had come to ancient Mordor to win a powerful ally, and servant in this War. He was certain he would win this prize. Not for nothing had he been the Mouth of Sauron. He was an eloquent speaker. More importantly, he had the greatest lure with which to trap his quarry. A thing the creature would not be able to refuse.
Suddenly he felt cold eyes upon him. The owner of these eyes was just outside the range of his warning spells, and would come no closer. The thing was invisible, and could obviously sense or see the lines of power. This was a good sign. It was certainely what the one once known as the Antoeva Saurona was looking for. It was enough for him that the Dark One was aware of him His days as the Lieutenant and Emissary of Sauron ended on the day that Saurons age lon life ended, one hundred and twenty-one years ago. It was 3141 now.
He had flown from Mordor upon one of the winged mounts of the Nazgul, which had been in the Tower. He had been deeper in Sauron's council than any had guessed, including the Istron who had been the architect of the Fall. When he had sensed his Master's final great distress, and seeing the Nazgul arrowing for Orudruin, he had gone to a secret vault known only to himself, Sauron, and the late Gothmog, chief of the Nazgul, and from it he removed two things. One was an amulet, the other a ring. The amulet was presently around his neck; the ring hidden away on his person. Taking those things he had flown on the wings of the Nazgul to the South and East. The wanderer went to a place he had lived many long years before. There he studied Power. There he had performed transformations which made him powerful enough to be a new Dark Lord. His form, and his very nature had changed. Of old he was of Numenorean descent. A mortal man, long lived no doubt, but mortal none the less. No longer. Through the teaching of his Master, and through the knowledge he acquired for himself he became a higher form of life, more powerful than the Dragons and Baelrogs of old. Already thrice the span of the Numnoreans he had lived, and would live indefinitely many more. Ancient was his malice, and his powers of mind, body, and magic had become great.
By his true name he was called now. Angaran, the Iron King. At present he was disguised in his old form, that of a man of great stature. Clothed all in black, he was adorned only by the Amulet, which was fashioned thusly: of sable and crimson it was fromed in the shape of a wheel of fire with a great warhammer and mace crossed over it. Of ancient descent it was. It had been made in the last days of Morgoth's reign , and had been given to Sauron himself, who had then fled. It was an image of malevolence, and of dominance. Marked in the runes of the Black Tongue, it read thus: "Command." This amulet, among other properties gave him the ability to command all creatures ever devised by the first Dark Lord. Over orcs, trolls, and Evil Men he was given dominion. Upon creatures of the spirit world, it had no immediate affect. This was why he had made himself greater than any Baelrog or Dragon. They did not dare refuse him for he would simply destroy them if they did. Wraiths were a special case for this rule. They were indeed spirit creatures of great power, but they had not been so from the Beginning, and thus, if it were to swear fealty to him, acknowledging him as his Dark Master, it fell under his sway. It was necessary for him to obtain the shade's cooperation. Because his domination of his other powerful servants was achieved by his vast superiority of power to them they were not bound to obey him. He wanted a servant whose loyalty and obedience were absolutely wihtout question. A body guard, a commanding Lord of Night: a weapon that would always accomplish exactly what it was intended to, when it was supposed to.
At long last the dawn such as it was in the ashes poked it's bleary head over the Morgai, the low inner hills of the great Ephel Duath. With this first light, he borke his camp, and ate what meager fare he had to sustain himself. Perhaps an hour passed as he performed these tasks, perhaps for the last time himself. Afterwards he turned towards the Mountains, continuing North towards the great yawing chasm and Sauron's road of old that would carry him to his goal. As he got closer and closer to the wreck of the old realm of evil a faint worry grew in the back of his mind. There was no way that the Dark Terror had survived the destruction of the Ring. And yet he had survived the Akallabeth, the downfall of an entire continent into the sea. Could it be perhaps that some fragment of the Master's will remained? He stopped dead in his tracks, filled with a certain apprehension. He faced the destruction before him. and stretched out his perception towards the Abyss, even beyond, to encompass all Mordor itself.
Yet to his relief he found..nothing. Sauron, the Lord of Wolves, the last remnant of Morgoth's dark realms, was truly vanished into nothingness, his power all but banished from the face of Ea. Only the invisible one remained of the power that had planted the foundations of the mighty Barad-dur. Unclothed it was, invisible but for the shadow of doubt he cast on all living things. A fear this thing was, and a hunger; great was Angaran's pleasure at finding this creation of Sauron.
Angaran continued forward towards the road. As he moved through the waste, he could sense the invisible one's impatience, yet he cared little. The shade could wait for him to find a suitable place for the conversation that they would have, and he would have it on his own terms. At last, he reached the edge of the destruction, turning West at the crossroads. He followed the Road upwards toward the pass of Cirith Ungol, there to see the ruins of the Tower there. The path was in many places broken, and he was forced to make lengthy leaps to clear parts of the upward path that had broken away. The land was visible through a haze. The days were never clear in ancient Mordor; the sun did not so much illuminate things so much as simply making the light areas blindingly bright, and cast the dark areas into deeper shadow. Angaran used more than mortal eyesight to guide him on his journey. He reached the top of the path, and the entrance into the vale in which the Tower had once stood. He stopped here, weaving a web of deception and bewilderment about him. There were none that he knew of with the power to threaten him, but this would not hold for his quarry, and if the Men of Gondor, who were known to patrol this pass at times, were to discover him, they would redouble their vigilance. It was simpler to remain undetected.
He had at last reached the place he had come so far to stand. The Tower of the silent watchers. The Tower of Cirith Ungol. He stopped and looked about him for awhile. The Tower itself had been all but levelled. The Watchers however stood still. When destroying the Tower, Men had found that no chisel would scratch them nor would any hammer dent them. And thus they had remained. He could still see the malevolent spirits that dwelt within them. Their presence glittered underneath the stone's surface, releasing a hollow light that was visible only to a master of power. The stones of the ancient tower lay about the vale like bones of a vast creature. It was utterly barren and desolate. Seldom did living creatures come here, perhaps companies of the Gondorian men, come to see that the vale was as yet uninhabited. But none came near the Guardians. Angaran decided that this indeed was a fitting place for his first victory in his war. Turning to where he knew the Fear hovered in the darkened vale, he spoke, saying,
"Behold ye! Servant of the former Lord of Mordor. I have returned to this place seeking none other than you! I know who you are, and more importantly to me, what you are, and what you could become. I know thy true name: Khamul, once named "The Shadow of the East". Know you, shade, who I am?"
The former Nazgul, known as Khamul has been unsure of this person when first he saw him. It was very unusual for any traveller to come as far into Mordor as he was, for none now inhabited it's wastes. By his nature, Khamul mistrusted anything that walked upon the face of Middle Earth, for so the Dead hold the living, as more fortunate souls to be envied. Yet he was drawn to this man, who Khamul felt was so much more than a man. He sensed concealment in the man's very being, and came to know that this thing was not showing its true form. The form of the man was an assumed one. For in his sight, the man shape concealed something entirell different. Like a living, breathing sourcerous flame of scarlet, the man shape moved about it's business. He knew that it was aware of him, and yet it had done nothing towards him, proceeding unerringly and implacably towards its goal, whatever that might have been. Khamul was drawn by the scent of Power in this thing, like a wolf is drawn to the scent of blood. There was colosasl poawer in this being, and Khamul feared him, much as he had feared Sauron.
(Indeed I know you, or knew you, Lieutenant of Barad-dur, if that is who you really are and not simply the form you wear) said Khamul.
By his true name he was called now. Angaran, the Iron King. At present he was disguised in his old form, that of a man of great stature. Clothed all in black, he was adorned only by the Amulet, which was fashioned thusly: of sable and crimson it was fromed in the shape of a wheel of fire with a great warhammer and mace crossed over it. Of ancient descent it was. It had been made in the last days of Morgoth's reign , and had been given to Sauron himself, who had then fled. It was an image of malevolence, and of dominance. Marked in the runes of the Black Tongue, it read thus: "Command." This amulet, among other properties gave him the ability to command all creatures ever devised by the first Dark Lord. Over orcs, trolls, and Evil Men he was given dominion. Upon creatures of the spirit world, it had no immediate affect. This was why he had made himself greater than any Baelrog or Dragon. They did not dare refuse him for he would simply destroy them if they did. Wraiths were a special case for this rule. They were indeed spirit creatures of great power, but they had not been so from the Beginning, and thus, if it were to swear fealty to him, acknowledging him as his Dark Master, it fell under his sway. It was necessary for him to obtain the shade's cooperation. Because his domination of his other powerful servants was achieved by his vast superiority of power to them they were not bound to obey him. He wanted a servant whose loyalty and obedience were absolutely wihtout question. A body guard, a commanding Lord of Night: a weapon that would always accomplish exactly what it was intended to, when it was supposed to.
At long last the dawn such as it was in the ashes poked it's bleary head over the Morgai, the low inner hills of the great Ephel Duath. With this first light, he borke his camp, and ate what meager fare he had to sustain himself. Perhaps an hour passed as he performed these tasks, perhaps for the last time himself. Afterwards he turned towards the Mountains, continuing North towards the great yawing chasm and Sauron's road of old that would carry him to his goal. As he got closer and closer to the wreck of the old realm of evil a faint worry grew in the back of his mind. There was no way that the Dark Terror had survived the destruction of the Ring. And yet he had survived the Akallabeth, the downfall of an entire continent into the sea. Could it be perhaps that some fragment of the Master's will remained? He stopped dead in his tracks, filled with a certain apprehension. He faced the destruction before him. and stretched out his perception towards the Abyss, even beyond, to encompass all Mordor itself.
Yet to his relief he found..nothing. Sauron, the Lord of Wolves, the last remnant of Morgoth's dark realms, was truly vanished into nothingness, his power all but banished from the face of Ea. Only the invisible one remained of the power that had planted the foundations of the mighty Barad-dur. Unclothed it was, invisible but for the shadow of doubt he cast on all living things. A fear this thing was, and a hunger; great was Angaran's pleasure at finding this creation of Sauron.
Angaran continued forward towards the road. As he moved through the waste, he could sense the invisible one's impatience, yet he cared little. The shade could wait for him to find a suitable place for the conversation that they would have, and he would have it on his own terms. At last, he reached the edge of the destruction, turning West at the crossroads. He followed the Road upwards toward the pass of Cirith Ungol, there to see the ruins of the Tower there. The path was in many places broken, and he was forced to make lengthy leaps to clear parts of the upward path that had broken away. The land was visible through a haze. The days were never clear in ancient Mordor; the sun did not so much illuminate things so much as simply making the light areas blindingly bright, and cast the dark areas into deeper shadow. Angaran used more than mortal eyesight to guide him on his journey. He reached the top of the path, and the entrance into the vale in which the Tower had once stood. He stopped here, weaving a web of deception and bewilderment about him. There were none that he knew of with the power to threaten him, but this would not hold for his quarry, and if the Men of Gondor, who were known to patrol this pass at times, were to discover him, they would redouble their vigilance. It was simpler to remain undetected.
He had at last reached the place he had come so far to stand. The Tower of the silent watchers. The Tower of Cirith Ungol. He stopped and looked about him for awhile. The Tower itself had been all but levelled. The Watchers however stood still. When destroying the Tower, Men had found that no chisel would scratch them nor would any hammer dent them. And thus they had remained. He could still see the malevolent spirits that dwelt within them. Their presence glittered underneath the stone's surface, releasing a hollow light that was visible only to a master of power. The stones of the ancient tower lay about the vale like bones of a vast creature. It was utterly barren and desolate. Seldom did living creatures come here, perhaps companies of the Gondorian men, come to see that the vale was as yet uninhabited. But none came near the Guardians. Angaran decided that this indeed was a fitting place for his first victory in his war. Turning to where he knew the Fear hovered in the darkened vale, he spoke, saying,
"Behold ye! Servant of the former Lord of Mordor. I have returned to this place seeking none other than you! I know who you are, and more importantly to me, what you are, and what you could become. I know thy true name: Khamul, once named "The Shadow of the East". Know you, shade, who I am?"
The former Nazgul, known as Khamul has been unsure of this person when first he saw him. It was very unusual for any traveller to come as far into Mordor as he was, for none now inhabited it's wastes. By his nature, Khamul mistrusted anything that walked upon the face of Middle Earth, for so the Dead hold the living, as more fortunate souls to be envied. Yet he was drawn to this man, who Khamul felt was so much more than a man. He sensed concealment in the man's very being, and came to know that this thing was not showing its true form. The form of the man was an assumed one. For in his sight, the man shape concealed something entirell different. Like a living, breathing sourcerous flame of scarlet, the man shape moved about it's business. He knew that it was aware of him, and yet it had done nothing towards him, proceeding unerringly and implacably towards its goal, whatever that might have been. Khamul was drawn by the scent of Power in this thing, like a wolf is drawn to the scent of blood. There was colosasl poawer in this being, and Khamul feared him, much as he had feared Sauron.
(Indeed I know you, or knew you, Lieutenant of Barad-dur, if that is who you really are and not simply the form you wear) said Khamul.
The wraith did not truly use a voice to be heard by the listening ear. Rather his voice was heard in the listener's mind. A cold cruel and mocking voice it was. It excelled at making lesser minds feel helpless and powerless. Angaran was no lesser mind however.
(Yonder lies your command of old) referring to the distant Abyss. (You failed then! The Master was destroyed! Why do you yet live! But you are much greater than you were then. That you have found me in this dead land is testament to your power. Why do you seek me? Perhaps you have lost your wits, to be searching for a fragment of the past, useless, and a danger to none. Yet mayhap you can tell me why I survive, powerless and doomed to wander this land of the past when all my brethren have passed from Ea forever.)
"Well might you ask this question of me. It stand so: your brethren have passed away forever. You survive because Sauron, in accordance with a plan set in motion many long years ago, in his great distress put forth all that remained of his power that you might survive his downfall. The power granted by your Ring was removed as was all done by the One, yet his last power sustained you'r life force. Two artifacts, as part of this scheme wre in his keeping. One he mad himself. The other comes from a time most ancient, before the man that was to become you was even born. Mayhap Morgoth himself was involved in its making. That is what I wear about my neck, the Amuler of Command. It allows me to command all of his servants. You are a special case however. In order for you to fall under its power, you must swear fealty to its bearer.
Think not that this carries little benefit! For now we come to the second artifact which is a ring made by Sauron, specifically for this puerpose: to restore The surviving Nazgul, in the event of his Downfall, to its former power. I sense your willingness to believe this. Indeed I now possess the skill to make you more powerful than before! Greater than any Dragon or Baelrog would you be!
To you then, I offer this choice. The power can be your as well as a the position of my chief Captain and champion, at the price of swearing fealty and being bound thus by th amulet. The alternatice is to remain forever as you are now. Free, granted, but powerless, vulnerable and forgotten, just as the rest of this land. You have leave to deliberate your choice, but not overlong. Answer me when your decision has been made."
And so saying, he made camp amid the wrack of his Master's designs. It was late evening whne he made camp, and soon night stretched its relentless hand across the rocky land. Kahmul moved not, staring at the Watcher and their latent power. He was sensed as a shadow upon the mind; a passing doubt and discontent, nothing more. His thoughts were of the War, and his power then.
He had been a Terror to men, had seen them crawling in the dirt as his approach. He has slaughtered tehm like animals. He and his brethren had been inventive in this particular pastime. In their city, Minas Morgul, the had long performed the cruelest of tortures. So many had died by his hand in so many different ways he couldn't begin to remember their number. It had been too long since ha had heard the shrieks of agony and the moans of abysmal despair that he gave him his sole pleasure in his unlife. To his mind the choice he was given was exceedingly simple. He wanted the power, and Angaran knew it, which is why he had come at all. He needed to be a Terror again, to fly on the wings of night as a shadow upon the Sun. Certainely he would have to serve the sorceror, but his freedom was something he had willingly sacrificed ages agone, and he held little esteem for it. He had spent so much of his time in service of one more powerful than himself, and yet had possessed more power than any free man or beast. All this and more could be his once again, but only for the same he had lost long ago. Freedom as a pathetic shade was simply no comparison to what he could become. This offer was like a gem attached to a chain. The gem was worth infinitely more than the chain attached. His decision made, he settled in to wait for his Master to demand an answer.
A chill wind stirred the dusty pass, carressing the scarred and broken land. It healed nothing, nor could it, for the land of Mordor was beyond healing grace. It was a dried up husk, the shell of a dead land. As ever, the power of Evil marred the creation of Illuvatar's will, the chords of disharmony in the Song of the Valar still echoed across the ages. The power of one had forever torn asunder the fabric of the creation of many. Dawn was beginning to creep over the bones of the land, the mountains of Deepest Despair as Angaran rose and began the work of selecting the ground upon which the awakening he felt sure to be in the immediate future would be performed. He chose a place with the Watchers markers in an imagined circle. Using his craft he flattened the circle out and removed the debris of the Tower from it. When his labor was finished, the Sun's disc had dissapeard from the sky, and light was rapidly failing. Having complete his preparations he turned towards Khamul to recieve his awaited decision.
"Night has come and gone, and come again Shadow. What is thy decision. Will you take the path of power? You have had time enough, and I feel the time has come to move forth."
(The decision was made with ease, Master, for such shall you become. I have been bound before, and this is no loss to me. I will submit to the binding)
"Indeed as I surmised, the decision was already made. The preparations have been completed, and the rituals can be properly observed. Repeat what I say, and the binding will be complete, then you can be empowered and we will depart"
Then, in the dark chant of evil power he recited the Oath of Binding which ran:
"The Eye has fallen, The Sun risen. Our great master, to his downfall smitten. His will must continue, and one shall command in His place. He that commands, I will follow."
"Am I not thy Master?"
(You are and will be until the end of all things)
"Thou wilt do as I command? I will know if you lie..."
(Truly I shall)
"Thus a new era of your existence is begun. Now for the Rite of Restoration"
So saying he walked over to a small box, which through magic, contained much more than observation would suggest it would. He brought it with him as he walked to the circle he had flattened earlier. Khamul followed in his wake, and was directed to stand in the center of the circle. Angaran began muttering and gestilating with his hand. One be one stones from the wrack of the Tower were lifted into the air and placed around the edge of the circle.Further stones were placed forming a pentagon, and channels were dug into the rock as if by and invisible spade, forming connecting vertices in the flow of powere, holding them to their current dimension. He continued his mutterings, and drew shapes and runes in the air. Where his fingers passed a trail of scarlet fire was left behind forming the drawings, and when each figure was complete it flashed and faded leaving smoke behind.
"We are now hidden from observation, and grounded with the earth. The limits have been set, and we are ready to begin"
He reached into his robes and remobed a black leather pouch which was marked with the Eye. From it he removed a ring. It was a plain black band, inscribed in red with only one rune, the rune "N". They both now stood in the center of the lines of power. "Kneel before me, and hold out thy hand to me" Khamul did as he was instructed. Anagaran held the ring up before him and in the Black Toungue he recited the incantation:
"Dust to Dust to Dust, From the shadows, Fear returns to the Earth. From Power you were born, and through Power you are reborn. Wield the Terror as a mace, to destroy the foes of Darkness. Come Terror, Com Night, Come Power and Might, Come Fear, Come Fire, and express Evil's Ire, To awaken from Death one who does not truly live"
He placed the ring upon Khamul's hand. Instantly a ring of fire ran around the circle of stones, vaporising them. In the center of the maelstrom, Angaran made a raising motion with his hand, and the witchlight ran through intricate channels and pooled in front of Angaran, between himself and Khamul. Here it paused, and Angaran raised both arms on high and dropped them to point at Khamul. The light streamed down a central channel, reached the end and jumped up to engulf the ring, spreading from there to engulf Khamul's body. Khamul's head was lowered to his chest as the mage fire ran about his body, and so reamained for several long moments. The fire suddenely coalesced and rushed into his ghostly crown and dissapeared. When he lifted his head, two points of crimson light blazed forth from his invisible eyesockets. He threw back his head, and released all the endless years of hatred with the soul shivering shriek that the Nazgul had made their own. It was wailed on and on, and slowly rose into levels which no human ears could detect. More terrible than any individual cry was this, for the power of all the Nine, and Angarans' supplement flowed through him. Thus the Shadow of the East was reborn.
"Well might you ask this question of me. It stand so: your brethren have passed away forever. You survive because Sauron, in accordance with a plan set in motion many long years ago, in his great distress put forth all that remained of his power that you might survive his downfall. The power granted by your Ring was removed as was all done by the One, yet his last power sustained you'r life force. Two artifacts, as part of this scheme wre in his keeping. One he mad himself. The other comes from a time most ancient, before the man that was to become you was even born. Mayhap Morgoth himself was involved in its making. That is what I wear about my neck, the Amuler of Command. It allows me to command all of his servants. You are a special case however. In order for you to fall under its power, you must swear fealty to its bearer.
Think not that this carries little benefit! For now we come to the second artifact which is a ring made by Sauron, specifically for this puerpose: to restore The surviving Nazgul, in the event of his Downfall, to its former power. I sense your willingness to believe this. Indeed I now possess the skill to make you more powerful than before! Greater than any Dragon or Baelrog would you be!
To you then, I offer this choice. The power can be your as well as a the position of my chief Captain and champion, at the price of swearing fealty and being bound thus by th amulet. The alternatice is to remain forever as you are now. Free, granted, but powerless, vulnerable and forgotten, just as the rest of this land. You have leave to deliberate your choice, but not overlong. Answer me when your decision has been made."
And so saying, he made camp amid the wrack of his Master's designs. It was late evening whne he made camp, and soon night stretched its relentless hand across the rocky land. Kahmul moved not, staring at the Watcher and their latent power. He was sensed as a shadow upon the mind; a passing doubt and discontent, nothing more. His thoughts were of the War, and his power then.
He had been a Terror to men, had seen them crawling in the dirt as his approach. He has slaughtered tehm like animals. He and his brethren had been inventive in this particular pastime. In their city, Minas Morgul, the had long performed the cruelest of tortures. So many had died by his hand in so many different ways he couldn't begin to remember their number. It had been too long since ha had heard the shrieks of agony and the moans of abysmal despair that he gave him his sole pleasure in his unlife. To his mind the choice he was given was exceedingly simple. He wanted the power, and Angaran knew it, which is why he had come at all. He needed to be a Terror again, to fly on the wings of night as a shadow upon the Sun. Certainely he would have to serve the sorceror, but his freedom was something he had willingly sacrificed ages agone, and he held little esteem for it. He had spent so much of his time in service of one more powerful than himself, and yet had possessed more power than any free man or beast. All this and more could be his once again, but only for the same he had lost long ago. Freedom as a pathetic shade was simply no comparison to what he could become. This offer was like a gem attached to a chain. The gem was worth infinitely more than the chain attached. His decision made, he settled in to wait for his Master to demand an answer.
A chill wind stirred the dusty pass, carressing the scarred and broken land. It healed nothing, nor could it, for the land of Mordor was beyond healing grace. It was a dried up husk, the shell of a dead land. As ever, the power of Evil marred the creation of Illuvatar's will, the chords of disharmony in the Song of the Valar still echoed across the ages. The power of one had forever torn asunder the fabric of the creation of many. Dawn was beginning to creep over the bones of the land, the mountains of Deepest Despair as Angaran rose and began the work of selecting the ground upon which the awakening he felt sure to be in the immediate future would be performed. He chose a place with the Watchers markers in an imagined circle. Using his craft he flattened the circle out and removed the debris of the Tower from it. When his labor was finished, the Sun's disc had dissapeard from the sky, and light was rapidly failing. Having complete his preparations he turned towards Khamul to recieve his awaited decision.
"Night has come and gone, and come again Shadow. What is thy decision. Will you take the path of power? You have had time enough, and I feel the time has come to move forth."
(The decision was made with ease, Master, for such shall you become. I have been bound before, and this is no loss to me. I will submit to the binding)
"Indeed as I surmised, the decision was already made. The preparations have been completed, and the rituals can be properly observed. Repeat what I say, and the binding will be complete, then you can be empowered and we will depart"
Then, in the dark chant of evil power he recited the Oath of Binding which ran:
"The Eye has fallen, The Sun risen. Our great master, to his downfall smitten. His will must continue, and one shall command in His place. He that commands, I will follow."
"Am I not thy Master?"
(You are and will be until the end of all things)
"Thou wilt do as I command? I will know if you lie..."
(Truly I shall)
"Thus a new era of your existence is begun. Now for the Rite of Restoration"
So saying he walked over to a small box, which through magic, contained much more than observation would suggest it would. He brought it with him as he walked to the circle he had flattened earlier. Khamul followed in his wake, and was directed to stand in the center of the circle. Angaran began muttering and gestilating with his hand. One be one stones from the wrack of the Tower were lifted into the air and placed around the edge of the circle.Further stones were placed forming a pentagon, and channels were dug into the rock as if by and invisible spade, forming connecting vertices in the flow of powere, holding them to their current dimension. He continued his mutterings, and drew shapes and runes in the air. Where his fingers passed a trail of scarlet fire was left behind forming the drawings, and when each figure was complete it flashed and faded leaving smoke behind.
"We are now hidden from observation, and grounded with the earth. The limits have been set, and we are ready to begin"
He reached into his robes and remobed a black leather pouch which was marked with the Eye. From it he removed a ring. It was a plain black band, inscribed in red with only one rune, the rune "N". They both now stood in the center of the lines of power. "Kneel before me, and hold out thy hand to me" Khamul did as he was instructed. Anagaran held the ring up before him and in the Black Toungue he recited the incantation:
"Dust to Dust to Dust, From the shadows, Fear returns to the Earth. From Power you were born, and through Power you are reborn. Wield the Terror as a mace, to destroy the foes of Darkness. Come Terror, Com Night, Come Power and Might, Come Fear, Come Fire, and express Evil's Ire, To awaken from Death one who does not truly live"
He placed the ring upon Khamul's hand. Instantly a ring of fire ran around the circle of stones, vaporising them. In the center of the maelstrom, Angaran made a raising motion with his hand, and the witchlight ran through intricate channels and pooled in front of Angaran, between himself and Khamul. Here it paused, and Angaran raised both arms on high and dropped them to point at Khamul. The light streamed down a central channel, reached the end and jumped up to engulf the ring, spreading from there to engulf Khamul's body. Khamul's head was lowered to his chest as the mage fire ran about his body, and so reamained for several long moments. The fire suddenely coalesced and rushed into his ghostly crown and dissapeared. When he lifted his head, two points of crimson light blazed forth from his invisible eyesockets. He threw back his head, and released all the endless years of hatred with the soul shivering shriek that the Nazgul had made their own. It was wailed on and on, and slowly rose into levels which no human ears could detect. More terrible than any individual cry was this, for the power of all the Nine, and Angarans' supplement flowed through him. Thus the Shadow of the East was reborn.
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