However, I was a little upset when I saw that not a single link from my Stories By Author post work anymore. Just goes to show, internet links need TLC
anyway, rather than scouring the internet to recover stuff I wrote when I was a teen hopped up on Mt. Dew, I'll just pick up where I left off at the end of the Intersite Campaign Langmann hosted a few years ago and write some new stuff.
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The Lumbria campaign had been good for Naggaroth. When the Midnight Spire floated into the harbor of Naggarond, it was as if the denizens of the Witch King’s city were visited by a venerable specter of their past. The ancient Black Ark was recovered from beneath the waves off the shores of Lumbria where it sank eons ago, and it still bore not only the wounds from it’s final terrible battle, but also the encrusted evidence of it’s recent underwater environment. Faster than removing the tarnish from their recovered weapon, the Druchii involved in the campaign heaped their looted riches aboard the Midnight Spire, knowing it would return to Naggaroth before the fighting in Lumbria is concluded, so their early prizes would be safe. From every ledge hung nets containing those captured by the Druchii during the campaign: dwarfs, elves, humans, and other less savory things were all left to hang outside over the waves lest their excrement further sully the dark elf prizes. Gargantuan weapons of foreign make took up any space they could occupy. These were weapons of war built specifically for mass destruction via fire and vile spirits by the Dawi Zahrr. The screams and fumes emitted from these constructs mingled with the heaps of treasure and magical artifacts casually strewn all across the Black Ark and made it’s already ominous aura even more awe inspiring to the dark minds of the elves in Naggarond. As the Midnight Spire came closer into view, the Druchii cheered ever louder. This bloated and gaudy display of success was exactly what they needed.
Some Druchii however, were not entirely convinced of victory. Fingol Darkwater meditated alone in his room aboard the ship which would take him to Naggaroth. The fighting was long over and the cursed island abandoned, for now. The gains from the campaign had been divided prior to departure as to eliminate all possibility of dispute upon return, so only a few loose ends needed to be tied up for Fingol. For one thing: Dizuan Casdane disappeared without a trace after the siege of the Citadel of Light ended. As someone who had been so intent on continuously meddling in every affair, the shadow sorceresses’ absence was disturbing. Furthermore, Fingol had yet to make any contact at all with the Witch King. He assumed Furion was handling all of the arrangements, as the sorcerer had generally relieved Fingol of duty and command. Indeed, while Fingol worked tirelessly during the campaign to organize the fighting force of the Hands of Darkness, it was only so Furion could be free to work the magic necessary to raise the Midnight Spire. Now, Furion gave the orders. Every Druchii involved earned the distinguished honor of serving one of the ancient Dru Perim along their already considerable pay. He sent them home with the highest accolades, but Fingol he kept close.
It was through secret channels they brought him to the Witch King’s palace. Not a soul in Naggarond other than the Black Guard, Furion, and Malekith knew Fingol had returned and he made an inconspicuous guest: just another noble ushered along by a retinue of the Black Guard. They passed silently and swiftly for there was no need to speak, and Fingol had words only for his liege lord this day.
Eventually, the Black Guard lead him to a tiny dark room with no window and a single large chair. It was only when the door slammed shut behind him that Fingol realized that he was about to be alone with the Witch King for the first time. The calm he exuded before vanished in an instant; for he was really and truly terrified.
“You are right to be frightened. Lumbria was a failure.” The icy voice struck Fingol like a rod as a tall dark figure casually stepped out from the shadows of Fingol’s periphery. Rather than turning to face the source of the voice, Fingol immediately dropped to his knees and bowed his head. Muffled footsteps made him wince as he sensed his dark master come closer then proceed on to the chair. “The Tomes of Elu Giraith remain lost, the Twilight Artifacts are scattered, and the barbarian peoples cling to their Citadel of Light. Help will come to them eventually you know.” The Witch King turned, and sat on the chair facing his kneeled servant. With one hand, he propped his head up and leaned back as if he were already bored with this interaction. “So tell me, what do you have to show for the waste of my resources?”
“My Lord, in your name I sewed much dissent and misery amongst the lesser races in Lumbria. It is a cursed place now, and only through considerable effort can it be cleansed. We however, exerted almost nothing of ourselves. Giants, ogres, goblins, and worse fought for us, my Lord. Even the wilder cousins of our traitor-kin fought for us.” Fingol didn’t look up.
“Indeed, Furion told me of that little curiosity. He told me a great many things.” At this, Fingol reflexively looked up and met the gaze of the Witch King. Two glowing orbs shined beneath an obscured visor, penetrating Fingol. There was no telling what the Witch King knew of the campaign in Lumbria. “He told me of your growing sensitivity to magic and…” the glowing orbs seemed to narrow “he told me of the wound you sustained when Blightwood was cursed. He also told me of the friction between you and Dizuan Casdane.” Silence settled between the two. “Explain.”
