Dark Servant Times, Volume 59, Issue 1
Our top story this edition - hippie plainsmen give peace a chance, only to find daggers speak louder than words!
Four weeks ago, a band of plainsmen led by Thuidimer marched up the mountains to Carvarad, while the standing army led by the great Bolvag stood by, ready to give their lives in defense of the town. For two weeks these enemies of Sauran stood outside the town’s gates, waiting for the right time to “strike”. Finally, without warning, all townsfolk gasped in surprise when Thuidimer and his band of very merry men put aside their weapons and started singing a horrific tune of kumbayah while holding hands around a campfire. What was going on? Suspecting a trap of some sort, Bolvag and his hardened warriors constantly kept a watch over Thuidimer and his strange behavior, while sending out a messenger to request help of the more discrete nature. After a full two weeks of listening to the nonstop chanting, morale was severely declining at Carvarad… would this foul method of attack successfully convince the residents to leave the town and hand it over to Thuidimer?? Fortunately, on the eve of a public vote to decide whether to abandon Carvarad, all of a sudden the singing voices stopped. As the populace (thankfully) wondered what had happened, Bolvag marched forth to where Thuidimer and his men were standing not hours earlier. As he looked through their abandoned campsite, finally he understood what had happened. Outside his own tent, Thuidimer sat in an awkward pose, his new permanent ear-to-ear smile and red-stained clothing telling all that needed to be told. Thrust into his chest with a dagger was a note with a short and simple sentence: You’re welcome, signed Ji Indur.
News from the North:
Bad (well, more evil than bad) news comes from Penmorva this week. As the mighty armies of Rhudaur gathered at the base of Mt Gram, preparing to march forth, in the distance a very faint but distinct sound could be heard. Byrhtnoth, an elderly commander of one of Rhudaur’s forces, ordered his troops to be quite so he could hear the voices more clearly… an order that would be his last. As he turned his ear toward the voices, the sheer vulgarity of the foul curse words he heard caused poor Byrhtnoth to go into cardiac arrest, and he was pronounced dead at the scene shortly thereafter. Apparently, word didn’t spread quickly enough to the other Rhudaur army commanders in Penmorva, as later that night all except one gave orders to their troops to join Byrhtnoth’s forces in his march up Mt Gram, as Marendil was having a no-limit poker night and no one (except poor Paddro, who just lost his bankroll the previous week to Briam) wanted to miss out. Byrhtnoth simply wasn’t invited, as there was a rumor circling that any foul language could cause a hereditary medical condition to act up, any no one can hold back from dropping a few f-bombs when someone catches a miracle card on the river! By the time news of Byrhtnoth’s demise had reached the rest of Rhudaur’s army commanders (by way of confused soldiers that had been sent to join Byrhtnoth), it was already too late… Paddro had already set off on his own, and a dark storm had appeared overnight, preventing the rest of Rhudaur’s forces (now delayed) from catching up at Mt Gram. Their march would have to wait until the storm had subsided…
News from the South:
A thief that had recently terrorized the populace of Lag-vrásfotak has been caught and summarily executed. Word of the theft passed quickly throughout Mordor and a composite sketch had been distributed by email to all populace. By his own account, Luglûrak resident Gastmorgath, who had just left on a spiritual sabbatical to the desert not hours after seeing the email, spotted the face of the thief (kudos to the Fire King sketch artist, excellent work on the shading), and immediately ordered her to halt and hand over all stolen property. The thief, known as Zalpan, shrieked something hideous and darted towards Gastmorgath with cat-like quickness, a flash of steel in her hand. Unimpressed, Gastmorgath lifted a finger and muttered a few words… Zalpan went down immediately, the breath knocked clear out of her. As Gastmorgath started searching through Zalpan’s possessions to reclaim any of Sauron’s property, he came upon a trinket far more valuable than anything else in the pile. Zalpan, seeing Gastmorgath take the ring, managed to wheeze out “that’s… mine… family… heirloom…” before Gastmorgath snapped his fingers and snapped her neck. As Gastmorgath turned to leave the scene and return the ring (he assumed it belonged to a member of the Ice King or Cloud Lord), not more than 20 paces away a flash of metal came from a small rock outcrop… as he searched it, Gastmorgath pulled out yet another ring… “family heirloom, my @ss… typical thief” he muttered to himself, as the first of many vultures decended upon the corpse on the ground…