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Deranan

"By the blood of Angmar, I serve"

0 · 188 views · located in Middle-Earth

a character in “Blood of the Third Age”, as played by claw

Description

Name: Deranan Thederas

Age: 35

Race: Man

Sub-branch of your race: Black Numenorean (Corrupt Numenoreans, purer blooded than their Dunedain cousins)

Starting Nation as determined by race: Eriador/Arnor

Physical Description: Standing tall at dead on 6 foot, this broad shoulder man was generally agreed to be of a grim and determined form, his face never breaking into a smile. His hair was short cut and his face clean shaven. His body, though toned was marred by a number of scars that cut across his body. He wears black plate metal not too dissimilar from Gondorian armour, though without a helm he instead wears a traditional bronze mask that fits perfectly over his face. At his back flys a cape with the symbol of Angmar on the back, the three red peaks. His weapon of choice is a heavy spear.

Personality: A cheerless soul, never joking or saying anything less than serious. Having grown up in the harsh and frozen north he has a short temper and little patience for failure, quickly turning to threats and anger when things are no longer going to the letter. His first course of action is always violence and almost relishes the chance to test his own strength and that of his enemy's.

Reason for fighting: Duty by blood for The Dark Lord Sauron.

Brief backstory: Serving at the age of 18 as a foot soldier he quickly raised through the ranks, often by besting the man above him. Before long the rulers of Carn Dum decided to give him his own title and command. By the age of 22 he was an appointed captain, a rank he insists on being called even today. He was integrated into a small task force which was constantly fighting light skirmishes with the Dunedain around Fornost. It was here he thrived, the Black Numenors were able to recapture the city for months at a time and for his diligence that he was appointed the Commander of the Watch of Fornost. A post he had been able to keep the next 10 years, until he was called back unexpectedly to Carn Dum. Rumours had reached them that Sauron was returned, and they wanted one of their own to discover the fate of The Dark Lord, and more importantly their true master, The Witch King.

So begins...

Deranan's Story

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#, as written by claw
Far, far in the north, further than even the Misty Mountains a single lone figure trudged through the heavy snow, not for the first time regretting the decision of the Elders to send him north, their logic being that as Mount Gundabad was under their thrall it was a good place for him to end the first leg of his journey. He had argued that it would be safer heading through the Mine of Moria, no Goblin would dare to harm the chosen race of Sauron, but the Elders had disagreed, saying it brought him too close to the hall of Rivendell and the foul stench of Elves. So now here he was freezing half to death in a land that was far too close to that of Trolls and Dragons for his liking, but then again you never argue with the Elders when they make a decision.

He continued his slow journey as he had now for a number of weeks, his provisions here getting lower than he liked despite his tight rationing. It was pursuing this line of thought that he heard something that he was sure wasn't the wind. He stopped... There was the noise again, it was almost like... The realisation struck him as he dived to the side as a massive Warg barrelled past him, a green-grey Gundabad Orc perched atop it.

The Warg turned quickly even as he rose, he kept low as he readied his spear and with an practised movement, sidestepped and plunged the heavy spear deep into the beasts chest, piercing its heart and sending its rider flying into the snow. He quickly advanced on the dazed Orc, kicking its sword out its hand as he brought as knee down its chest, the sun glinted off of his brass mask. "You made a bad decision attacking a Black Numenor, Orc." He spat these words into the grovelling creatures face as it realised its terrible mistake, before it could utter a plea for mercy he stood and turning plucked his spear from the dead Warg, using his spin and the weight of the spear he took most of the Orcs head off.

He didn't take any time to search either of the dead creatures, there was no need. Despite the creatures stupidity it had told him one thing, Mount Gundabad was less than a day away. At last there he could finally use his authority brought by his noble blood. And of course punish whoever sent that damned scout.

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#, as written by claw
Mount Gundabad, the dark mountain at the top of the world. This fould pit of Orcs and Goblins was rarely visited by the more noble races of Middle-Earth, mostly because of its reputation of 'A fozen Mordor.' Whilst the dark land of ash to the south fell into disarray with The Last Alliance of Men and Elves's attack, Gundabad flourished like never before. The only real blip on its history was the failed Battle of Five Armies, where the dark forces were crushed.

It was through these dark and croweded halls Deranan strode. His brass mask was tied to his hip so that all could see his grim face. In front of him a small contingent of Orc guards were pushing him a path. Black Numenors always held a higher place over the mud-born Orcs. The few Numenors present in Gundabad were usually those in charge of controlling its multiple legions of Orcs and Goblins, after their wild attack on Erabor they were no longer trusted to lead their own armies.

Eventually he came to a chamber in the heart of the mountain, these were the council chambers. Pushing open the dark iron doors he calmly strode into the now silenced hall. The Orcs, Goblins and Numenorians sat around a large table in the center all turned to see their unannouned, though not unexpected, guest. He took three steps into the hall then paused, his eyes scanning the room. He turned and stepped up to an Orcish captain, the captain of the scouts and drawing a dagger plunged it into its eye just enough to blind it. The Orc guards quickly jumped up and made to attack Deranan when the head of the council shouted at them to stand down, which they reluctantly did.

Deranan then took the further steps to reach the council table and stood over it, making most of the Elders of Gundabad nervous, he had a bit of a reputation as the scout captain discovered. "Captain Deranan." The head Elder began. "We had expected you day ago, what is the reason for your delay?" He turned his grim gaze to the aging man. "I would have overshot the mountain completely, had one of your scouts not attacked me. I hope my recent message was enough to tell them to be more careful from now on?" Meaning the blinding of the captain. "I trust you are aware of why I am here?" The Numenorian Elders nodded whilst the Orcish Elders seemed slightly confused, the head Elder explained for them. "You were sent by Carn Dum to discover the truth of the rumours of Saurons return." Here the Orcs became excited, which needed a call for silence to calm them. "Of course this is only one part of your mission, the other is to return our lord the Witch King to us, so that he may once more lead us into the golden days of old." Though this was hundreds of years ago some of the Elders nodded as if they fondly remembered the days when Angmar ruled the north. Here Deranan nodded his own confirmation. "Indeed, though these lands are strange to me, I am unsure where to procced next, unless I am to head straight through Lothlorian?" The head Elder shook his head and gestured so a map of the world east of the Misty Mountains was brought over, he pointed at Gundabad. "The mountain is bordered from the south by Lothlorian and to the east Mirkwood, both of these woods are home to Elves, to head south is to risk the attention of Galadriel. That would mean death. No, though the Necromancer has long since vanished from Dol Guldur we have recieved word from captured woodsmen that dark forces loyal to Sauron now dwell there. You should venture through Mirkwood, avoiding the Carrock at all costs and following the spiders, whether they are feral is unknown to us. Though to send you into the deep woods alone would be foolish. A contingent of Orcs must be sent with you." It was here that one Orc captain by the name of Grishnahk stood up, Grishnahk was by birth a Mordor Orc. "Me and my Orcs shall venture with you My Lord." He gave a small bow that would have pleased any if they were not Deranan. "Very well." Answered the Elder for him. "You leave in a week, provisions will be made for you. And on behalf of the council of Gundabad I urge you to move with haste, the Witch King must return to us."

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#, as written by claw
The dark gates of Gundabad had long since shut on Deranan and his war-band, in fact they had already been travelling for a few days ahead of schedule, mostly due to Deranans growing impatience. It was this head start that allowed them to reach to northern borders of Mirkwood a day early, the group had paused at the edge of the trees, Grishnack had pushed his way up the group of a dozen or so Orcs. The Numenor had marched in silence through the days and most of the nights at the head of the column, this silence and forced march under a baleful sun was enough to annoy a number of the Orcs in the band, though they could do nothing to stop him in truth. The smaller figure of the Orc looked up at Deranan slightly uneasily. "We're goin'.... In there?" Deranan turned his head ever so slightly, his facial expression did not change at all. "Yes. If you cannot go in, I have no need of you." With that and more than one worried groan from the Orcs he stepped into the forest without a second thought.

A further day into the march the light was all but gone, taken from them by the thick covering of trees, the Orcs had began muttering that they swore that something was following them, a fact Deranan had also noticed which was reflected by his tightened grip on his spear. It wasn't until the next day that their pursuers made themselves known.

The party had stopped for a short break, in truth it was the Orcs who had stopped and Deranan was reluctant to move into the forest on his own, more because with the Orcs at his back there was one less place to be attacked, as it was he stood on the road, looking out. The Orcs were talking loudly and mostly complaining about the journey when their moans were replaced by squeals of shock. Spinning on the spot Deranan was almost surprised to see the group rushing to fend off giant spiders. Evil, black and completely feral spiders. He swung into action quickly, using his spear as both a club and a blade he personally killed a number of the beasts, whilst the Orcs mostly slashed wildly at the dark, hardly doing much real damage.

After a few frantic minutes of fighting the wounded spiders retreated out of fear of the deadly spear and the group was given a moments to breath. In total only a single Orc had fallen prey to spiders venom, luckily for them those spiders were smaller than those who served the dark forces. Deranan slowly rotated and froze, there was movement in the tree above him, plucking the dead Orcs scimitar he spun and tossed it up into the dark, severing a spiders rope and causing the giant beast to fall to the ground. He was about to slay it when it quickly spoke up. "No no! Aranack not foe. Aranack wish to serve. Aranack not feral spider." Deranan lowered his spear. "You wish to serve me? How?" The spider rose up a little. "Aranack strong, Aranack show way to ruin-castle. Aranack carry master to ruin-castle and beyond." This caused Deranan to pause, then moved around the giant spider and quickly placed himself on the spiders back. "If you take me to Dul-Guldur, then you will serve me well beyond there." With that the group set off, the speed of his new mount giving him a great boost across the uneven ground.

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Character Portrait: Farineld Character Portrait: Deranan
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Farineld sat in the same tree from where he shot the messenger dwarf, and he marveled over where fate happened to put him. Thank the Vallar for that, however his kin had left him to find a way to punish the Dwarves himself. With all that in mind, Farineld set out to pave his own path to vengeance his own way, and fate would also give him the chance for that again. After he calmed down from storming out, Farineld happened to come by a group of orcs moving south and thought to pick them off to blow off steam; he felt a weird sensation as he picked off one by one yet continued to send arrows into their defiled bodies. After counting seven eye shots, he thought it was safe to loot, but then several dozen more orcs tore through the dense brush. Startled, Farineld hid in the tree, his face against the coarse bark; the smell of the orcs that littered the eerie forest was beyond foul. Yet no smell could match that of the Black Numenoruean riding one of the giant spiders that infest Murkwood, and a sensation like a heavy blanket numbed Farineld's senses as he approached.
Silently but surely, Farineld pulled his bow and aimed it at the fell sentient's skull when genius struck my mind, and even this foul meeting had light to it. In the black speech of Mordor Farineld cried out, "Listen or die old fiend!" Farineld saw his face grow paler than it already was as his eyes moved upward to meet the elf's, and with that the orcs drew their bows. But fate would have that the Numenoruean signaled his monsters to hold fire, so Farineld rushed the words, "I have information that could lead to the destruction to the Ered-luin dwarves."

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Character Portrait: Farineld Character Portrait: Deranan
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#, as written by claw
The journey south and slightly to the east had gone far quicker now that at least one of the party was mounted, though the Orcs would have complained if there were not running as if the very Wargs of Gundabad were behind them. On Deranans part he was in a small way enjoying the trip now that he would not have to listen to Orcish banter, and for a few days all had been going well. Though they had come across the tracks of another group of Orcs and were now following them instead.

It was the strangled screams of one of these Orcs that gave the group pause, hearing it at a distance away they had more than enough time to slow down and try to figure out a plan. The one Deranan came up with was simple and effective, half the Orcs were to go charging through the undergrowth ahead of the Numenor so if there was danger they would die first, with that out of the way the party picked up the pace and came across the dead bodies of Orcs a short way along the path.

With his eyes searching the tree line he ordered his Orcs to spread out and see if there were any survivors. Aranack moved a little further into the clearing and stepped this way and that in trepidation. A noise from high up in the tree caused them all to turn. He heard in the Black Tongue. "listen or die old fiend!" It took him a moment to catch sight of the speaker, a single Elf, though one that talked before killing was rare enough for him to bother listening too, he heard around him the creaking of Orcish bows and raised his spare hand in a motion to tell them to not loose, but to also not put their weapons down. It took him a moment to understand the rushed words spoken by the Elf, and to remember where were, though he didn't let that show on his impassive face, he replied in the refined version of one who spoke the Black Tongue frequently. "I had thought the animosity between Dwarf and Elf had ended, though I care little for your wars. Come down from your perch and tell me what you know." Aranack rose a little bit taller, even though he didn't understand the language he wanted to look as large as possible.

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Character Portrait: Farineld Character Portrait: Deranan
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"I like my perch thank you," Farineld quipped. He lowered his bow just enough to get the scroll out of his pocket, "I shall never forgive what the Dwarves, and I trust you do care for our wars seeing as you are an orcish commander. You must want the chance to put the head of your ancient enemies to the blade, for I know of a group of paticular malelovance that is weak. The Ered-Luin Dwarves have no more mines and their mountains ran dry, so they move east in their broken state for Erebor. You could hit them in their travels."

Farineld threw down the scroll which in fact was a pathetic excuse for a call-to-arms and ran, hopping so quicly from tree to tree that he knew no orc, or spider, could folow.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Akash Character Portrait: Leif and Twig Character Portrait: Marick Character Portrait: Celebrian Character Portrait: Farineld Character Portrait: Gorthak the Piercer Character Portrait: Deranan Character Portrait: Kyouki Mari Character Portrait: Ian karkov
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(Let's get this shit revived, people :3 I tagged all of you so you would know my intention. We must get this ball rolling again!)
It is a beautiful, clear-skied day. The sun shines bright on a field of pure blue, illuminating the flowing green and gold fields of Eastemnet, much to the chagrin of Gorthak the Piercer, one of the leaders of Saruman's Fighting Uruk-hai. He looks over his shoulder at his legion, shielding his eyes from the annoyance that is the sun and growling at the competence of his troops. He prides himself on having one of the best-trained troops in Isengard's force, though the accuracy of that is disputed by some. Today, though, he simply needs to kill something. He hasn't seen battle in a long while, and executing incompetent Orc Snagas had gone from fun to grating. If he didn't get to feast on some man-flesh prior to getting to Helm's Deep, he just might go mad(er).

As luck would have it, heading in their direction was a large detachment of Rohirrim Forces, lead by an equally ill-tempered Rohan Captain named Mordren whose weary men had just had a run in with White Hand warg riders. They had defeated the riders with few casualties, but the experience of chasing down and killing riderless wargs was one that could make any man or horse tired and annoyed, and his men had the same general feeling. Currently he just wanted to run into some small band of Uruk-hai or Orc scouts to make short work with an raise the morale of his men.

Neither were close enough to spot each other just yet, but their meeting is inevitable, and wherever the Horse Lords and the White Hand meet, there's sure to be blood, black or red...

(Also...ignore the "Ian" character I tagged. He'd been rejected already. Not sure how he got on there.)