I decided to compile the entire narrative so far into one piece of text. I will have headings for each part of the narrative to show which quest the text comes from for reference. I will be doing this a cycle at a time so it may take a few days and will be incomplete for a little while so bear with me!

Also I will NOT be including quotes from the various books that are used as flavour text on quest stages (example stage 1B from passage through mirkwood) as they are not part of the games narrative and rather quotes from the existing narratives this game is based upon.

LORD OF THE RINGS LIVING CARD GAME NARRATIVE SO FAR:

CORE SET + MIRKWOOD

Shadows of Mirkwood

Mirkwood has long been a dangerous place, and recently one of King Thranduil’s patrols has uncovered disconcerting signs of a gathering menace in the vicinity of Dol Guldur. A party of heroes, controlled by the players, has been assembled to carry a message through Mirkwood, down the Anduin, and eventually to Lórien, to warn Lady Galadriel of the imminent danger.

You are traveling through Mirkwood forest, carrying an urgent message from King Thanduil to the Lady Galadriel of Lorien. As you move along the dark trail, the spiders gather around you...

As you move through Mirkwood, hounded by spiders, the forest path forks before you...

Unsure of what lies ahead but spurred by the urgency of your message, you choose a path and proceed...

The trail winds into one of the darkest, most tangled parts of the forest...

You sense that a foul, dark prescence is hunting you, and you move quickly in an attempt to avoid its evil.

You attempt to follow a secret, hidden trail to avoid the enemy.
-OR-

The shadows grow darker, and you realise that a foul presence is aiming to draw you from the path. You must defeat it to pass this way.

Journey along the Anduin

Having survived the dangers of Mirkwood Forest, the heroes continue their journey along the banks of the Anduin river, toward Lórien, with dire news of a gathering threat in Southern Mirkwood.

Emerging from Mirkwood Forest with an urgent message for Lady Galadriel, you must now make your way south along the Anduin River in order to reach the forest of Lorien. As you leave the forest behind, you notice that you are being pursued , and thus quicken your pace....

As you approach the location of a small raft stashed on the riverbank, a fearsome Hill Troll emerges from behind a grouping of rocks, and attacks!

After defeating the Hill Troll, you are able to board the raft and embark upon a river voyage. As you depart, your enemies pursue, harassing the small vessel as you attempt to navigate the river...

As your enemies harass the raft, it is difficult to maintain balance and effectively fight them off.

The ongoing harassment from your enemies has forced your raft to the shore, and you must now confront their ambush head on. If you survive this attack, the path to the Golden Wood should be open before you....

Escape from Dol Guldur

While exploring in the vicinity of Dol Guldur at Lady Galadriel's request, one of the heroes' companions is captured by the Necromancer's forces, and is now awaiting interrogation in a dungeon beneath the hill. Knowing their friend's time is short, the heroes decide to attempt a desperate rescue.

The Lady Galadriel of Lorien has asked you to investigate the area in the vicinity of Dol Guldur. While doing so, one of your allies was ambushed by Orcs, captured, and is now held in a dungeon cell...

Finding a hidden entrance to the dungeons of Dol Guldur at last, you attempt to make your way through the caverns beneath the hill, searching for your imprisoned friend. The denizens of this labyrinth stand in your way, while the jailors protect the prisoner.

Following a thread of sunlight, you discover a cavern opening, leading out through the side of the hill. Stationed outside the cave-mouth, however, is a large group of orcs

The Hunt for Gollum

At the request of Gandalf, the heroes are searching for Gollum in the Anduin Valley between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood forest. Rumours have suggested that Gollum is in this area, and the heroes are looking for clues that might put them on the elusive creature's trail.

Gandalf has requested your assistance in the search for the elusive creature known as Gollum. Your search begins in the Anduin Valley between Mirkwood Forest and the Misty Mountains.

You make your way along the banks of the Anduin River, a likely place for Gollum to find food.

Rumors have led you to the eaves of Mirkwood Forest, where the Woodmen whisper of a new terror in the night...

Conflict at the Carrock

While searching for Gollum along the banks of the Anduin, the heroes hear rumours of a group of Trolls that have come to the Carrock, bringing chaos and strife to the valley. The Beornings, led by Grimbeorn the Old, are known as the peacekeepers in the area, so the heroes set out to find Grimbeorn and assist him in driving the intrusive Trolls back to the mountains from which they came.

While searching for Gollum in the Anduin Valley, you receive word that a group of Trolls have come to the Carrock.

As this area is is under the watch of the Beornings, you seek out their leader, Grimbeorn the Old, and discover he has already set out in a rage. You follow, hoping to find him before he confronts the trolls.

You approach the Carrock, and find that the Trolls have been watching you from the top of the rocky river landmark.

As you approach, the trolls close in and attack!

A Journey to Rhosgobel

KHAZAD-DUM + DWARROWDELF CYCLE

You have discovered the Chamber. Before you lies the resting place of Balin, last Lord of Moria. The final portion of the book tells the grim tale - Balin was slain in the Dimrill Dale, and the Dwarves were then trapped in the mines. It seems as if there are no survivors. You stand silently by his tomb, but cannot tarry. Orc war cries and horns sound close. You leave the cumbersome book as a testament to the Dwarves' valor, and prepare to fight your way out, lest Balin's fate becomes your own...

Flight from Moria

Time carries no weight in the darkness, and the hours creep by with no end in sight. The number of Orcs in the mines increase as you head toward the East-gate, but there appears to be little real organization within their ranks. You press onward!

Foundations of Stone

The walls are weeping water, and the air grows damp. A low rumble sounds from above, accompanied by the sound of rushing water. There are underground waterways in Moria that lead to deep darkness, and who knows what else...

Your journey has led to a decrepit portion of the mines, untouched by Dwarven pick for many a year. The air grows thick with moisture, and the walls almost appear to be weeping.

A low rumble sounds from below. There are a variety of underground waterways in Moria, but they should not be disturbed.

Small rivers cut their way across your path. Some are not much more than a trickle, and recent looking too. Another rumble shakes the walls, this time it seems to be above you.

With a groan the ground crumbles under your feet, the entire section of the tunnel giving way to a deep darkness and the rush of water. There is a feeling of weightlessness, followed by the icy wet clutches of an underground river.

The shaft shoots upwards, the glimmering lines of mithril illuminating your way out of the depths of the mountain. The makeshift ladder is narrow, but you cannot linger in the realm of those things of darkness, who gnaw at the roots of the world.

Shadow and Flame

The heroes have escaped from the darkness below the mines, and find themselves in the Third Deep, near the East-gate. But as Orcs begin to swarm, a foe more terrible towers before them. Durin's Bane has risen from the depths, to stalk the halls of the Dwarves once more...

As you reach the eastern realm of Darrowdelf the craftsmanship of the Dwarves is proudly displayed. But the sound of drums sound in the deep, and it appears that these halls are infested with Orcs.

A crack like lightning sounds before you, and a creature of shadow and flame blocks your way. It is an ancient demon of Morgoth, and its presence explains the massing in Moria.

The fire-demon is Durin's Bane, doom of the Dwarves and the new Lord of Moria. It cannot be destroyed by mere strength of arms. You must find another way to deal with this Balrog as it relentlessly attacks, sword and whip weaving a deadly pattern of flame.

There is a crumbling pile of boulders on the edge of a teetering cliff, and it gives you a sudden idea. There are chasms and pits along the path you are traveling, and perhaps a well-timed rockslide could send the Balrog down into the depths below...

HEIRS OF NUMENOR + AGAINST THE SHADOW CYCLE

Peril in Pelargir

The shadow of Sauron has risen with increasing violence against the kingdom of Gondor. Our heroes have travelled southeast by ship from the Grey Havens at the request of the White Council, ready to aid the descendants of Númenor in their defense against the forces of Mordor. Upon reaching the port of Pelargir, they are greeted by Lord Alcaron, a nobleman from the city of Minas Tirith. Lord Alcaron has urgent information for Faramir, but he is frightened that the Enemy is after him. He asks the heroes to deliver a scroll to Faramir. The heroes agree when a band of ruffians appear, intent on intercepting the message...

The White Council has sent you by ship to Gondor to help fight the threat of Mordor. Upon arrival in the port city of Pelargir, you are greeted by Lord Alcaron who takes you to The Leaping Fish where you can speak privately.

Inside the tavern, Lord Alcaron looks nervously toward the door as he hands you a scroll bearing the seal of Gondor. He asks that you deliver it to Faramir in Ithilen, but the brigands who just entered look intent on taking it from you.

During the fight in the tavern, one of your adversaries managed to grab Alcaron's Scroll and flee outside. You chase the thief into the street where you are surrounded by a gang of his fellow brigands. You must fight your way through the mob and recover the scroll!

You've recovered the scroll but are still outnumbered by your determined foes. Lord Alcaron shouts for you to escape and deliver the scroll before he flees to summon the city guard. If you can get to your ship, you can escape the clutches of these desperate thugs...

Into Ithilien

Having reached the eaves of Ithilien, our heroes enter the green woodlands in search of Faramir, seeking to deliver to him the scroll of Lord Alcaron. There they are met by Celador, a ranger of Gondor, who informs the heroes that Faramir has taken his men to Cair Andros in anticipation of an assault against the island fortress. Celador offers to bring the heroes to Cair Andros by secret paths–after the rangers ambush a company of Southrons marching north on the Ithilien road. Grateful for Celador’s offer and unable to stand by while his men do battle, our heroes volunteer to fight alongside his rangers..

You've arrived in Ithilien with a sealed message for Faramir, only to learn that he has gone north to defend Cair Andros from massing enemy forces.

Faramir has left a company of rangers in Ithilien, tasked on ambushing Southrons as the march toward Cair Andros. Their captain, Celador, offers to lead you to Cair Andros after the approaching enemy is destroyed...

The Southron army was larger and better prepared than the rangers anticipated, and now your dwindling company is painfully overmatched. Your only option is a disciplined withdrawl to Cair Andros, before being overwhelmed by the enemy reinforcements hurrying up the road to join the fight.

-OR-

Having helped his rangers scatter the first wave of Haradrim invaders, Celador leads you north along a hidden trail that runs through Ithilien. But more Southrons are marching up the forest road. Now it is a foot race to reach Cair Andros before the enemy...

The island fortress of Cair Andros rises from the middle of the Anduin. From a distance all is quiet, but as you near the island and night approaches a raucous cry is heard on the wind. The horns of Mordor sound in response. The enemy is moving on Cair Andros, and the assault will soon begin. You must reach it before all hope is lost.

The Siege of Cair Andros

The island fortress of Cair Andros guards Gondor’s northernmost causeways over the Anduin. Our heroes
reach the causeway and enter the fortress as skirmishers appear on the eastern shore. They find Faramir in the Citadel, and deliver to him the scroll of Lord Alcaron. Drums are heard, and horns, and the tramping of many feet. An army of Orcs and Southrons prepare a three-pronged assault, and the heroes gird themselves for battle. For if Cair Andros falls, the doom of Gondor is nigh...

The island fortress of Cair Andros, which guards Gondor's northernmost causeways over the river Anduin, is under siege! Battering rams rumble up the eastern causeway and rafts filled with Orcs float across the river toward the lightly defended northern banks.

The assault is relentless, and the defenders grow weary. The tide is slowly but surely turning against you...

As smoke and rending cries fill the air, rafts of Orcs beach their crafts all along the northern banks. You must reach the shore and drive them back into the river before a solid foothold can be established.

-AVOIDED IF YOU CLEAR THE BANKS-

With a crashing boom the eastern gate shatters. A ram has broken through, and the pressing host of Orcs pour into the courtyard beyond. Engage them in hand-to-hand combat and secure the gate!

-AVOIDED IF YOU CLEAR THE APPROACH-

Orc scramblers have infiltrated the island and climbed over the walls. They fought to the western gate, and the gate fell. Now a new host of enemies that were lying in wait are breaching the Citadel itself!

-AVOIDED IF YOU CLEAR THE CITADEL-

The defenders of Cair Andros have survived brunt upon brunt of the enemy's assault, but the outcome of the battle hangs on the edge of a knife. One last heroic effort is required to save the fortress and win the victory...

The Stewards Fear

The heroes arrive in Minas Tirith with news of victory at Cair Andros and a message for Lord Alcaron from

After saving the villagers near Amon Dîn, the heroes have joined with Lord Alcaron to assist Lord Boromir’s forces in retaking Osgiliath. At the army encampment, you are thrilled to again meet Lord Faramir, and you are introduced to his brother Boromir, eldest son of Denethor and renowned hero of Gondor. Nestled on both sides of the Anduin lies old Osgiliath, a crossroads city bridging the great river. In the long war against Mordor, control of Osgiliath has been a critical piece. One that Boromir means to reclaim. As the sun breaks over the Mountains of Shadow, beating at the still river fog, the great horn of Gondor sounds from Boromir’s lips. As its sound fades into the morning, the men of Gondor cry out as one. They cry for battle and the ruin of foes, their swords lifted to the sky. Come death and come honor, the newest battle for Osgiliath begins...

You have returned to Minas Tirith just in time to join the army of Gondor as it marches to Osgiliath. An army of orcs and southrons have garrisoned the ancient city, but Lord Boromir means to retake it. Eager to strike a blow against Mordor, you will see the city retaken or die in the attempt...

The battle finally comes to an end.

For a while there is silence. There is no clanging of weapons, no thuds of arrows, no screams of pain. Just silence, breathing, and exhausted stares. The bodies of men and orcs litter the streets and waterways of Osgiliath, carrion debris scattered by a hard wind.

You pry your fingers from weapons sticky with blood, shoulders aching from forgotten strokes.

Then the Horn of Gondor breaks the silence in triumph. The banner of the Stewards is unwrapped from the top of the white river bridge. The primal cry of victory that follows begins with Boromir, his sword held high in the air. The cry grows, until you inexorably join it. The sound of it, the exhilaration of it, vibrate the marble pillars around you. It is the sound of victory, older than the city, older than the river that runs through it.

A claw of the enemy has been cut and it has retracted. He was repelled at Cair Andros, and His hold on Osgiliath has been broken. In the eyes of the men around you, you see the light of Númenor awoken. Gondor's first sons, Faramir and Boromir, and Boromir especially, are worshipped by the men like scions of old returned. It is a great day.

That night, Lord Alcaron and Lord Faramir find you in the merry glow of the campfires. Alcaron is exhilarated and enthusiastic, Faramir reserved. "We won't stop here, " Lord Alcaron exclaims and points eastward into the darkness. "Tomorrow we follow them; we hunt them." He smiles and clenches his fist. "We don't stop until their black bones break on the mountains."

Faramir sits down by your fire, looking weary. "Our lord Alcaron has convinced my brother we should pursue the enemy into Ithilien" he says calmly. He reaches for a stray stick and starts to rummage absently in the fire, his eyes distant. "We leave at first light."

"Ithilien will be ours again!" Alcaron doesn't let Faramir's solemn demeanor reduce his spirit. "We'll be at Sauron's doorstep, rather than he on ours." Faramir glances at the excited nobleman, visibly uncomfortable with the Enemy's name spoken so casually. Alcaron doesn't seem to notice. "We'll hold the southern road. We'll bleed him!" He grabs Faramir's shoulder. "And whom better to take and hold that realm than the one who knows it best?" Alcaron smiles at Faramir, hoping to recruit his enthusiasm. Faramir doesn't bite.

"This goes against my advices," Faramir says, "but my brother wills it, so I go." He tosses the stick into the flames and rises, eyes still on the fire. "Gondor owes you a great deal, friends of Gandalf," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "I cannot ask you for more than what you've already given." For the first time this evening, his lips turn to a faint smile. "But I would be honoured of your company once more, should you grant it." Faramir nods as he leaves. "I ride at early dawn." He steps beyond the light of your fire and you soon lose sight of him in the labyrinth of campfires and surround Osgiliath this night.

Lord Alcaron claps his hands once and stands , his smile wide. "I ride with Faramir and his rangers tomorrow!" He pats each of you on the shoulders and follows Faramir, his request unsaid.

It wasn't a difficult decision. You soon find yourselves in the darkness before dawn assembling with Faramir's men at the eastern edge of the city. As the first band of light grows above the Mountains of Shadow, Alcaron notices you. He grins and winks an enthusiastic welcome. Moments later the column of rangers begins to move, Faramir at its head. Once again, you are heading east into darkness and danger...

The Blood of Gondor

In a great victory for Gondor, the city of Osgiliath has been retaken and the river Anduin is once more under the Steward’s control. Alongside the Lords Boromir, Faramir, and Alcaron, the heroes fought bravely to recapture the ancient city. With the defeated forces of orcs and evil men retreating eastward, Lord Alcaron had urged Boromir to pursue the scattered enemy. “Don’t let a single one of them return to foul the Pelennor again!” Alcaron pleaded. “We should hunt them. Pursue them until their black bones break on the mountains.” Flush with the confidence of victory and swayed by the nobleman’s passion, Boromir agreed and asked his brother to take on this endeavor with his rangers. Faramir reluctantly consented. By the request of Faramir, our heroes joined the incursion. The morning after the fall of Osgiliath, the company of rangers began their foray into the autumnal forests of Ithilien. In the days that followed, the rangers managed to track and destroy a number of enemy mobs. Their carcasses were left to the elements: skeletal warnings to those of Mordor who would cross Ithilien again. It was late afternoon on the third day before the company came to the old crossroads near the foothills of the mountains. Faramir walked at the head of the column, our heroes and Lord Alcaron close at heel. As they came to the crossroads, Faramir crossed to the old statue that stood sentinel over the silent junction facing west. Alcaron moved to follow, but Faramir waived him back. The stone figure, which must have been an impressive sight to those traveling the roads long ago, depicted a king of old seated on a throne. The years had softened its features, moss and lichen growing in its crevices and cracks. Rude scrawls and rough carvings had been made by hostile hands, defiling its stonework. The head of the statue had been knocked off, replaced with a crudely hewn stone. A coarse drawing of a grinning face with a single eye had been painted in red on the stone. The crowned head of the old king that lay to the side was curiously unmarked. It seemed the grass was greener where the head had fallen. As Faramir reached the statue, he gently touched the stone as if greeting an old friend. He then knelt by the fallen face and sat for a moment. He rose slowly, carefully eying the road and surrounding terrain. No enemy had been seen since the evening before, a fact that troubled him. Above, grey clouds pressed close, and a light rain had begun to fall. In the late afternoon light, the forest seemed to have lost its color; ashen and sullen it seemed to watch their every movement in the exposed space. Then a look of decision crossed Faramir’s face, and he thoughtfully returned to the company. “We’ve taken this folly far enough,” he said. “There is an unkind change in the forest.” He paused a moment, glancing into the trees. “The lands so near to the Morgul Valley have been under His sway for too long. It’s unsafe to proceed.” Alcaron moved to protest, but Faramir would not abide. “My brother will have to be satisfied with the work done so far. We return to Osgiliath.” As the company turned westward for their return journey, the silence of the forest broke in the blast of a distant horn. The sound rose and fell like some wounded brass bird. A chilling drone that promised nothing good. Suddenly, the woods all around the rangers came alive with the rushing black shapes and cruel blades of the enemy. An imposing robed figure led them, and the charging orcs gave him a wide berth. Though his face was mostly hidden by the cowl of his dark-grey robes, the man emanated terrible intent. This was no ordinary ambush. Lord Alcaron screamed a brave challenge as he drew his sword. Faramir and his hard-eyed rangers simply pulled their blades in a steely whisper and waited for the onslaught to come. The fight joined like a thunderclap..

After the assault on Osgiliath, Lord Alcaron urges Boromir to pursue the retreating enemy. Boromir agrees and gives permission to Faramir and his rangers. Grateful for you valiant efforts in Gondor's defense, Faramir invites you to join the hunt...

You've pursued the enemy all the way to the Crossroads when a wicked horn blares in the distance. Within minutes, a host of orcs swarms out of the trees from all sides, led by a foreboding robed figure...

Faramir and Lord Alcaron have been captured! Through the throng of warriors, you see their bloodied torn forms rushed eastward by a band of Uruks. You must move quickly to prevent the unthinkable! If there is to be any hope of rescuing your friends, you must fight your way out of the ambush.

Even as your bodies shake from exertion, you cannot rest. The victory at Cair Andros. The victory at Osgiliath. Should a son of the Steward be taken by Sauron, then Gondor's joy of such achievements would turn to ash in its mouth.

Night falls over Ithilien as you follow the tracks of the Uruk that took Faramir and Alcaron. You run where possible, and hurry when not. Your eyes constantly move from the ground to the darkness ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of your quarry.

As you near the dread valley of Morgul, the vegetation is increasingly dead or corrupted. The faint smell of decay lies upon the lands, growing stronger with each step eastward. Soon the moon appears above the Mountains of Shadow, bathing the landscape in a soulless light. Though the illumination gives you no comfort, you are thankful for its help as you follow the signs of the Uruk. Of all your dangerous errands, of any defiance to Mordor that you may have shown in the past, this is a task you must not fail!

The dying vegetation vegetation slowly gives way to flinty rock and hardened dirt. The signs of the Uruk captors grow fresher, and you sense they are close. You run alongside the tepid, foul-smelling stream of Morgulduin that comes out of the Morgul Vale itself, its stony banks receding eastward into the deepening shadows. As you proceed, you begin to feel the presence of Mordor before you, like a physical weight that taxes you to stop and flee. Tendrils of despair begin to grip your hearts as you remember the stories of this palce. Yet still you move on, ceaselessly, inexorably. Ahead, you can feel the baleful presence of Minas Morgul, the Tower of Sorcery.

The Morgul Vale

While pursuing the scattered enemy forces into Ithilien, Faramir's company of rangers are ambushed by orcs near the old crossroads. During the ensuring fight, both Lord Faramir and Lord Alcaron are captured. At the thought of Denethor's son in Sauron's torture chambers, the heroes begin a desperate pursuit. Following frantic hours of tracking, they find themselves at the mouth of the dread Morgul Valley. As the Dead City comes into distant view, they have come upon their quarry at last. Seeing their pursuers close behind, the breathless Uruk are visibly frustrated. They growl angrily as they halt to confer. A hooded figure in their midst, undoubtedly their leader, calmly directs the vexed orcs. He reminds our heroes of the Morgul sorcerer who led the ambush back at the crossroads. Even while that malefactor lies dead on the forest floor, they don't relish the thought of facing another of his kind. The truth is worse. Much worse. The robed figure decisively gestures at the distant tower, his demeanor brooking no debate. The tallest of the Uruk submissively throws a man-sized bundle over his shoulders. Grunting for two of its kind to follow, the Uruk starts a brisk pace eastward. The robed figure is clearly not about to risk his trophy on the doorstep of Mordor. As the breakout group moves down the ancient cobblestone road, the remaining Uruk turn to face the approaching heroes. As they enter earshot, the robed figure casually claps his hands and starts to laugh. The sound is hauntingly familiar. “You’re incurable!” he exclaims. “Why won’t you just die!” He raises his arms in mock frustration as the Uruk pull free their weapons in a rusty cacophony. Their eyes glow with bloodlust. “F ortunately, you are entirely too late” the robed figure continues. He casually gestures back at the tall Uruk pacing eastward toward the ghastly city. The bundled shape of a prisoner bobs on its ironclad back. “Sauron shall have His prize.” A cloud washes away from the moon as the robed man pulls back his hood “Nothing can stop that now.” A sickening heartache roils the heroes. Time seems to stand still as the depth of the betrayal hits them. The sickening corpse-light of Minas Morgul seems brighter. The waters of the Morgulduin gurgle in cruel amusement. “It should be natural, that one as old as I should have mastered patience,” says Lord Alcaron, whose real name is Ulchor. “Yet your persistence has tested me. Congratulations!” He continues, lowering his arms dramatically. “My master wanted both the brothers, butit seems I’ll deliver only the younger.” The traitor shrugs, “still, something tells me the younger is the greater prize.” Alcaron takes a moment to study the faces of his former friends. His smile seems to brighten at the horror he sees there. “Of course, I mean to deliver him your heads as

Trouble in Tharbad

Depending which version/s of Stage 3 you end up at:

Despite the size of the creatures hunting you, the swamp itself is your worst enemy. The ground sinks down beneath you and the mud pulls the boots off your feet. Every step forward is a struggle...

-OR-

As if the swamp itself was not bad enough, its foul denizens swarm around you, their serpentine forms slithering through the murky water that rises to your waist...

-OR-

After wandering aimlessly for so long, harried by foul creatues, your resolve begins to waver and your companions collapse from exhaustion. If you cannot find a way across, the swamp will erase all evidence of your passage...

Beyond all hope, you have reached the edge of the swamp! You can see the gentle rise of the hills in the distance, but the huge marsh-dweller that has pursued your company now lies between you and dry land.

The fight amongst the fens is no easy feat: the swamp made for uncertain footing at best, and the creatures attacking you take ruthless advantage of the environment. Your battle cries echo strangely amongst the fens, and even the most practiced swordsman finds his blows robbed of momentum and grace by the muddy silt beneath your feet. However, your courage and skill carry the day, and you emerge triumphantly on the eastern end of the marsh. The strange denizens of the Nîn-in-Eilph withdraw back into the swamp and you shamble away in a pell-mell retreat.

You climb a low hill before stopping to rest. As you bind your wounds, Nalir pulls off his boots to pour the water out. “Just what I deserve for trying to take a shortcut through that cursed swamp,” he mutters angrily. Then, reluctantly he nods to you, “I owe you my gratitude again. I’d have never survived to make it this far without your help.”

Nalir stands up and looks around then points south and smiles. “Well, we only need to follow the River Glanduin there the rest of the way to the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. Once there, I can show you the hidden door that I discovered.”

Once rested, you follow the Dwarf along the shore of the Glanduin. For days you walk through the land of Hollin, a pleasant but unpopulated region. “Long ago, this place was known as Eregion. A mighty realm of Elves, it was,” Nalir explains as he walks. “The city of Ost-in-Edhil was their capital, until the armies of Mordor burned it to the ground and all the Elves either fled or died.”

“But that was an age ago,” sighs Nalir. “We won’t find naught there now but crumbled buildings and...” The Dwarf’s words trail off as you crest a hill to see the the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil spread out below you. Among the toppled stones and cracked roads of the ancient Elven city you can discern the skulking figures of Orcs prowling about and the tall figure of a man giving orders.

Bellach has arrived ahead of you.

Celebrimbors Secret

Orcs were crawling over every stone and into every hole in the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil when the heroes arrived at the edge of the valley. From their vantage point, they could see the man, Bellach, as he ordered the search.
“I should’ve guessed that scum would get here first,” hissed the Dwarf. “He must’ve led the Orcs here while we were lost in that swamp.”
The heroes looked on the scene with dismay. After all their travels, it seemed they had come too late to accomplish their mission. Then Nalir noticed something that made him growl,“He’s got the other half of my map with him! Look, he’s using it to direct the Orcs.” Suddenly the Dwarf started laughing, “That

fool! He’ll never find the hidden chamber with just half. He’s searching in the wrong spot!”

Nalir’s news gave the heroes hope that they may yet discover Celebrimbor’s forge and recover its secrets before Bellach and his Orcs. However, the Dwarf had gone as far as he would, “What you do from here is your business, but with all these Orcs searching about, I daren’t go down there. If we’re seen by those Orcs, even warriors of your mettle may not survive.”

The heroes objected but it was clear that Nalir could not be convinced to lead them any further. “I’ll tell you where I found the hidden chamber,” said the Dwarf, “but I’m not going nowhere near that many Orcs. I doubt if anybody could make their way through that valley without being spotted.”

Nalir did his best to describe where the entrance to the hidden chamber was located before wishing the heroes luck and slipping away. He gave one last dubious look at the heroes before disappearing out of sight.

Turning back to the matter at hand, the heroes look out over the vale of Ost-in-Edhil and try to discern the entrance to the hidden forge at the valley’s end. They would have to move with great stealth if they wished to evade Bellach’s forces and reach the end of their quest.

You have finally reached the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil, but Bellach and his Orcs have arrived before you. They appear to be searching for the hidden chamber. If you want to reach it first, you will have to move quickly and carefully...

You have just recovered a partial ring-mould from Celebrimbor's secret forge when you are struck from behind. You look up to see Bellach holding the mould and gloating, "Fools! My master will be pleased." As he turns to leave, he shouts to his servants, "Kill them!" You must escape the Orcs and recapture the mould!

After leagues and days of travel dogged by dangerous foes, you finally hold the prize for which you have labored: a partial ring-mould retrieved from the secret and ancient forge of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the People of the Jewel-smiths, the same Elven-smiths who forged the Rings of Power in the Second Age of Middle-earth. The servants of Mordor sought to capture it, but by your courage and skill Bellach has finally been defeated and his Orcs scattered.

Your companions fall silent as each of you gazes at this venerable relic of an earlier Age. The interior of the mould is lined with an inscription of flowing Elvish runes, perhaps written by the hand of Celebrimbor himself. If the ring-mould had been brought to Mordor, it would have surely given Sauron more strength. But in Isengard, there is hope that Saruman the White will be able to use the ring-mould to combat the power of the Enemy.

Eager to see this powerful artifact in the hands of the Wise, you begin your return trip to the Wizard’s Vale without delay. Keeping the Misty Mountains to your left, you journey towards the Old South Road that will lead you back to Isengard. A few days travel brings you back to the borders of Dunland. As you climb the highlands of that country a new sight gives you pause: smoke rises over the hills in the distance and carrion birds circle above the reek.

War has come to Dunland.

The Antlered Crown

The signs of war littered the hills of Dunland. Everywhere the heroes looked there was smoke and blood and fire. Across a wide valley, the bodies of Dunlending warriors lay slain in the dirt. Some wore the trappings of the Boar tribe, others were dressed with Raven feathers.

As the heroes searched the battlefield for survivors, they were alerted to an approaching troop by the tromp of marching feet. Looking in the direction of the sound, they descried the banners of the Boar Clan flying above an army of Wild Men. Striding proudly at the front was chieftain Turch wearing the Antlered

Crown. He halted when he saw the heroes.

“Well met,” said the chief with a smile. “I am glad to see you again, but you cannot travel any further; our country is at war.” His face was stern, but his eyes were weary.

He removed the Antlered Crown and wiped his brow, then regarded the thing in his hand and frowned. “The Antlered Crown has not united the Dunlending clans as I had hoped. The leader of the Raven Clan has rejected my leadership and laid claim to the crown for himself, instigating this fight.” The large chieftain spat in the dirt to show his disdain.

“The cowards of the Wolf Clan have reserved their allegiance for the moment, but if they should ally with the Raven, I fear we will be overmatched,” he explained. Then, looking at the heroes he continued, “Yet, if the emissaries of Saruman were to ally themselves with us, the Boar Clan would surely be victorious!

And you would return to Isengard with the friendship of a united Dunland. What say you?”

The heroes were reluctant to fight in the Dunlendings’ war. Yet, even if they refused, it seemed unlikely that they could escape Dunland unscathed. Better to fight alongside the Boar Clan than to flee into danger, they decided, especially if it meant they might earn friendship of the Wild Men for Saruman. Surely the threat of Mordor demanded that all free peoples unite together?

Seeing an opportunity to strengthen the West, the heroes agreed to march with Turch and his clan.

“Excellent!” bellowed the Boar chieftain. “Come, the Raven Clan is still scattered among the hills. We must find their chief before he gathers the rest of his clan to him. If we defeat the chief of Ravens, the rest of his clan will submit.”

Chieftain Turch placed the Antlered Crown back on his head and signaled to his men, “We march!”

On your return journey to Isengard, you find war in Dunland. The Raven Clan has refused the Boar's claim to The Antlered Crown, and chief Turch asks you to join his Clan as they march to battle. Seeing an opportunity to earn Saruman the friendship of a unified Dunland, you agree to join forces and fight...

Chief Turch's goal is to defeat the Raven Clan before they can marshal their full strength, but Dunland is a vast country and there is much ground to cover. The longer it takes to subdue the enemy, the more time they have to gather...

The warriors of the Raven Clan won't stop figting as long as their leader spurs them on. You must find the Raven Chief and defeat him in order to break the spirit of his men and bring and end to this conflict...

Chieftain Turch leads the warriors of his clan in a victory shout, then turns to you with a wide grin. “The three clans of Dunland are united at last. Now that the Raven Clan is defeated, the Wolf Clan will support my rule and the Dunlendings will be one people again.”

The large Dunlending leans closer so that only you can hear what he says. There is real concern on his face. “It pains me to think that I fought against the servants of Saruman at our first encounter. Please tell your master I regret those deeds, and that I desire only friendship with Isengard. The people of Dunland are in his debt.”

You promise to share Turch’s words with Saruman when you return to Isengard. “Good,” says the chieftain, looking relieved. “I believe that the services you have done for the White Wizard shall long be remembered.”

After parting with the Boar Clan, the remainder of your journey to Isengard is uneventful. Upon reaching the great tower of Orthanc, you are greeted by Saruman. The Wizard’s face displays a triumphant smile when he learns that you have been successful in your task.

“Well done!” he congratulates you as you tell him of your journeys. There is a gleam in the Wizard’s eyes as he accepts custody of the ring-mould taken from Celebrimbor’s forge. “I shall examine this mould carefully,” he says. “I am certain a close study of this artifact will give the Wise new strength with which to fight the Enemy.”

When you tell the tale of your encounter with the Wild Men of the Boar Clan, Saruman lifts an eyebrow and strokes his beard. “You have exceeded my expectations by earning the friendship of Dunland. This is an event of great import.”

The Wizard peers out a tall window of Orthanc, deep in thought. “An alliance between Isengard and the Dunlendings could bring an end to their age-long strife with Rohan, and bring order to this region. I will need to send an envoy to their chieftain soon: one who can speak for both Isengard and Rohan. Perhaps King Théoden will consent to send Gríma. He is deep in both our councils.” Turning back to you, Saruman’s pleasure in your accomplishments is evident. “You have done great things, my friends, and you have my gratitude,” he declares.

After a couple weeks of rest, it is time to resume your journey north. Saruman accompanies you from his tower to the gate where the guards bring your horses to you. As you climb into your saddles, the Wizard gives you a parting instruction, “Give my greetings to Master Elrond in Rivendell, but pray, speak nothing of the ring-mould. The eyes and ears of Mordor are everywhere, and even the Wise are not safe. Better that it’s whereabouts remain secret.”

You can see the wisdom in Saruman’s request and you swear to tell no one of your discovery. “Excellent,” he says, lifting his voice. “I wish you good speed in your travels. If you see Mithrandir, give him my greetings as well. Farewell!”

You ride out from Isengard and the gates close shut behind you. You have ended one journey, only to begin another. As you set out for Rivendell, you consider all your accomplishments and celebrate, if only for a moment, the great deeds you have done in Saruman’s service.

THE LOST REALM + ANGMAR AWAKENED CYCLE

Intruders in Chetwood

The House of Elrond was bustling with preparations. Fall was turning the leaves on the tress of Rivendell to flaming colors, and the valley echoed with the singing of merry voices. The Elves were gathering the last of the summer harvest to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox. All were busy except the Master of the House and his guests, a band of weary travelers who had recently arrived from important errands in Gondor and Dunland. The heroes were tired from a journey of many leagues fraught with peril, and Elrond had welcomed them to rest in his home and tell what they could of their adventures.

In the Hall of Fire, Elrond spoke with the heroes at length concerning their service to the White Council. Many great deeds they had done to forestall the growing power of Mordor, and for their acts of valor, Elrond made them honored guests and bid them stay until they were refreshed.

While they spoke with the Elf-lord, a messenger entered the Hall to announce another traveler newly come to Rivendell. Behind him stood a tall man of proud bearing. He wore the weather-stained garb of a Ranger. From the man’s appearance, it was clear that his errand was urgent.

“Mae govannen, Dúnadan,” said Elrond. “The sons of Valandil are welcome in Imladris.”

The Ranger placed his hand over a hawk pendant he wore on a chain around his neck and bowed. “My lord,” he spoke, “my name is Iârion, and I have ridden here in haste to seek my kinsman, Aragorn. There is evil afoot in the untamed lands north of Bree, and we Rangers have need of our Chieftain.”

“The son of Arathorn is not here,” answered Elrond. Gesturing for the Ranger to sit in the empty chair next to him, he continued: “But tell me more of your errand. Long have the Dúnedain kept the villages of Bree safe with secret vigil, yet seldom have they sought for aid in that thankless task. What evil drives you here now?”

The Ranger took the seat that was offered to him before explaining: “Orcs have been discovered west of the Weather Hills in greater number than we have seen them in many years. They are spying out the land, and we believe they plan to attack.”

“Alas, Aragorn is far afield with my sons and the warriors of my house,” replied Elrond. Until they return, I have no one to send to your aid.”

Iârion looked downcast but mastered himself before speaking: “Then I must return at once to my kinsmen and help them prepare as best I may.”

“I will tell your Chieftain of the threat to his people as soon as he returns,” said the Elf-lord.

The Ranger stood up, bowed to Elrond, and turned to leave, but the heroes who were sitting there rose to their feet and stepped forward. “We will come with you,” spoke one, and the rest nodded in agreement.

“I thank you strangers,” replied Iârion. “But as Master Elrond has said, our deeds are secret and thankless; we Dúnedain receive no reward for our sacrifice, and neither do we have any to offer.”

“Hunting Orcs is its own reward,” said the hero evenly. He continued, “We will not sit idle here while you and your folk fight this battle. Not while we have strength left. We will come.”

“Then let us ride swiftly to the aid of my people,” said Iârion with fresh hope in his eyes.

“May the favor of the Valar be upon each of you in this task,” spoke Elrond in farewell.

Together the Ranger and the heroes bade farewell to the Last Homely House. They rode west from the valley of Rivendell toward the villages of Bree-land. They followed the Old Road over the Last Bridge all the way to the southern end of the Weather Hills. There they turned aside to climb Weathertop, the tallest of the hills. Its summit commanded a great view of the surrounding area, and Iârion told his companions there would be Rangers keeping vigil there. From them, the Dúnadan hoped to learn some news before pressing on.

When they reached the top, they found two Dúnedain who greeted them. “Ho, Iârion, I see you have brought others to help us, but I fear it may be too late,” one of them said grimly. “A large number of Orcs descended from the hills last night. A war party it seemed to us, but moving warily and avoiding the road. We watched them creep north and west along the edge of the marsh until they disappeared beyond the fens.”

“It is likely that they mean to come upon the villages of Bree-land from the north,” replied Iârion looking in the direction the Rangers indicated. “Our people in Chetwood must be warned! One of you take my horse and ride with haste to do so. My companions and I will follow the Orcs and do what we can do to delay them.”

Turning to the heroes, Iârion laid his hand on the pommel of his sword as he addressed them: “There are many lonely homesteads north of Bree. We must do what we can to track these Orcs and safeguard those people. Come!”

Rangers have sighted a large group of Orcs making its way towards Bree-land. The Dúnadan, Iârion, has asked you to help him intercept the war party before it can reach the quiet village. The Orcs are a day ahead of you and moving fast, but there is hope you can catch them with the Ranger’s tracking skill…

You must move swiftly to prevent the Orcs from reaching Bree-land!

Iârion leaned on the hilt of his sword and watched the last of the Orcs flee to the east, away from peaceful villages near at hand. The Ranger and his company of heroes had chased their quarry to the very borders of Bree-land, where they forced their enemy to turn and give battle.

The war-party was better armed and better disciplined than the sort of ordinary rabble the Ranger was accustomed to hunting, but in hindsight it seemed clear to Iârion that the Orcs were bent more on pillaging than fighting, for they broken and fled after only a short battle.

“Clearly these Orcs did not expect to be met by such determined resistance,” said one of the heroes triumphantly, looking down at the body of the last Orc he had slain before the rest turned to flee.

Roused from his tired musings, Iârion turned to face the man and replied gravely, “Yes, but the audacity of their attack unnerves me; the Orcs have not dared to venture this far west in years. What is it that leads them here now?”

The heroes could see the concern in the Ranger’s eyes, and the rush of victory faded as they considered the implications of his question.

“I’m afraid our work is not yet finished, my friends,” said Iârion, gazing into the distance. “There is to be a gathering of the Dúnedain at Fornost in a few days to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox. I must go thither with news of this attack, for I fear it is but a prelude of things to come, and the Rangers must be ready for what follows.”

Turning to the heroes with him, Iârion continued, “However, we cannot allow those Orcs that fled to escape, or they may return again in even greater numbers. Since I must go to Fornost, I ask you: will you track them in my stead?”

From the strained look in his eyes, the heroes could see how hard it was for the honorable Ranger to burden them with this dangerous task, so they made him an oath that none of the Orcs who had ventured so close to Bree would live to return again.

“Well said,” replied Iârion. Then, he raised his sword in salute and spoke, “May the spirit of Oromë guide you on your hunt!”

With that, the Ranger sheathed his blade and hurried away. The heroes watched him head north along the Greenway for a minute before turning their eyes to the east and the trail of their enemies.

The Weather Hills

For days, the heroes pursued the remnants of the war-party east from Chetwood across the northern edge of Midgewater Marshes and into the wide plain beyond. Along the way, they came upon several burnt homesteads. Each was plainly the work of Orcish savagery. However, at each home, the heroes were surprised to find no bodies. Instead, they found signs of struggle and the unmistakable tracks of Orcs dragging their captives away.

“Why would retreating Orcs stop to take prisoners?” asked one of the heroes, examining the impressions on the ground.

“Perhaps they think to ransom their lives?” answered another as he emerged from the charred ruin of a collapsed hovel.

“One or two prisoners would have sufficed if that were their intent, but these Orcs have taken a dozen at least,” replied the first. “Look at the markings here.”

The man in the doorway knelt by his companion to examine the earth more closely. After a minute he said, “I think I see the answer to this riddle: The Orcs we chase are not the same that attacked this home, though it is likely that they are in league with each other. Look here! The prints made by this family as they struggled against their captors are at least a full day older than those of the Orcs we have pursued here.”

The rest of the heroes agreed that he was right, but this discovery did little to ease their mood since it suggested the attack near Bree was only part of a larger plot. There was a brief silence as each member of the company contemplated what that might be.

At length, one of them spoke, “If the Orcs are in league together,then it is likely that the ones we hunt will lead us to their meeting place. There we may hope to find those who were captured. Even if we cannot rescue them, we can at least avenge ourselves upon their captors!” The rest agreed that this was their only course of action,and they resumed the chase.

The Orcs’ trail led them north and east towards the Weather Hills. As they marched, the sky above them grew dark with clouds driven by a chill wind out of the north. By the time they reached the first rocky slope of the hills, it was unusually cold.

The heroes drew their cloaks about them, but it did little to keep out the frosty air. As freezing rain began to fall on the heroes in heavy drops, one of them lifted his eyes skyward and said aloud, “This is

an ill omen, my friends. The weather turns against us and washes out our trail. I fear there is some new evil at work here that gives aid to our enemies.”

There was some murmur of agreement among the company before another spoke up, “It matters not whence the rain comes or if the trail ends; our quarry hides somewhere in these hills, and we must find them or forsake their captives and our oath.”

There was a hushed ring of steel as each of the heroes drew his weapon in silent reply. The heroes pulled up their hoods and began to search the hills for sign of the Orcs...

You've pursued the remnants of an Orc war party east from the borders of Bree-land and into the wilderness beyond. Their trail climbs out of the lowlands and into the Weather Hills.

As you pursue the Orcs, the weather itself turns against you. Now you must contend with the elements while you hunt the enemy.

You've hunted the Orcs to their secret gathering place on the northern edge of the Weather Hills: the old Dúnedain border fort of Amon Forn. With nowhere left to run, the Orcs turn and fight with desperate savagery.

Already weary from days of travel through harsh weather, you are hard pressed to match the Orcs' ferocity. You must rally your men or see them fall!

The Orcs had made their camp inside an old Dúnedain border-fort built at the northern edge of the Weather Hills in the Second Age during the war between Arnor and Angmar.

The ancient wooden gates were destroyed with age and the Orcs could not stop their pursuers from entering in. Once inside, the heroes fulfilled their oath to Iârion by slaying every Orc they found hiding among the ruins. After the fighting was finished, the heroes cleaned the blood from their weapons and began searching for the Orcs’ captives. Inside what might once have been the great hall of the fort, they found the mutilated bodies of several villagers. Their desecrated corpses were arranged at the center of an evil pattern on the floor. The victims had clearly been sacrificed as part of some unholy sacrament, but none could guess what it was. Then did the heroes rue their decision to slay all the Orcs without questioning them first. “This is not Orc work,” said one of the heroes who looked with horror at the scene. “This is foul sorcery.” “Aye, but whose?” asked another in reply. “Let us search the rest of the fort in hopes that we may find the answer,” said a third, covering his mouth and turning his face away from the bodies.

At the far end of the hall, they found a darkened stairway leading down. The heroes lit a torch and descended the narrow passage as it twisted its way underneath the fort. At the bottom of the stairs they found a dank cellar sealed by a locked door. From inside they could hear shuffling and whimpering sounds.

The heroes forced the door open and thrust a torch inside. The flickering orange light revealed a small group of survivors huddled together in a corner. They appeared half-starved, and they shivered in the cold dungeon. The heroes removed their cloaks and placed them around the unfortunate prisoners to help warm them. The air was cleaner outside, so the heroes led the survivors back up the stairway and away from the dungeon. But as they passed the bodies in the hall, the rescued captives screamed and wept.

“Who has done this?” asked one of the heroes, but they were too distraught to answer. Outside the wind had died down and the rain had stopped. The heroes lit a fire in the courtyard of the old fort and the survivors gathered around it. At length, an older man named Thaurdir spoke, “We didn’t see what happened. We couldn’t. They kept us locked in that dungeon for days without any light. We could only hear the screams...” His voice trailed off. The man’s hood covered most of his face so the heroes could not see his expression. After a moment he continued, “We could hear the harsh voices of the Orcs too, but there was another voice that commanded them. I don’t know what kind of creature it was, but it was terrifying to hear.” “We found none but Orcs when we arrived here,” spoke one of the heroes. “Then it must have escaped,” answered the old man.

“If that is so, we cannot stay here,” replied the hero. He turned to his companions and said, “We should take these people to Fornost where the Rangers are gathered. Iârion will want to hear what they can tell him of their capture.” Turning to the former prisoners, he said, “You will be safe there.” The rest of the heroes voiced their agreement, but the traumatized survivors merely nodded. After they had given their charges something to eat and water to drink, the heroes began their slow march to Fornost.

Deadmen's Dike

It was a long journey from the Weather Hills to Fornost Erain, made longer by the weary survivors the heroes were escorting. The unfortunate villagers had suffered much hardship during their captivity, and the unusually cold weather did not improvetheir condition. Soon they were all sick from their ordeal. In

the end, the heroes had to send a runner ahead to summon help from the Dúnedain they were seeking.

With help from the Rangers, the heroes were able to bring the survivors safely to Fornost. Once the capital of Arthedain, the ancient city was abandoned after the war with Angmar, almost a thousand years ago. Now the desolate ruin was called Deadmen’s Dike, yet on high days, the Dúnedain still gathered

there, as they did now.

Iârion and a younger Ranger were there to greet them when they entered the city gates. The noble Dúnadan had a look of wonder on his face as he watched the heroes bring the survivors inside the walls. “You have exceeded your oath in saving these people,” he exclaimed. “On behalf of the Dúnedain, I thank you friends. Come, join us at the council fire and tell us your tale. My brother, Amarthiúl, will take care of your charges.”

The younger Ranger, a man of good stature, brought the survivors to see the healers while Iârion led the heroes to the central square of the city. A council of Dúnedain were gathered there around a large fire. In the place of honor was their Chieftain, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He looked at the heroes with keen interest as Iârion introduced them, “Here is the valiant company that helped us defend the villages of

Bree-land and pursued our enemies to their hiding place in the Weather Hills. They have come here with the survivors they rescued from the Orcs, and with evil news.”

The heroes described for the Rangers the details of their adventure: the burnt homesteads, the Orcs’ captives, the old border-fort of Amon Forn, and the grisly sacrifices. After the whole account had been made, there was a long silence before Aragorn finally spoke “Your tale is full of woe,” said the son of Arathorn,“We have not heard of such evils since the fall of ancient Angmar.”

“Indeed,” replied Iârion, “their tale bears the very trappings of Angmar. The king of that cursed land was a powerful sorcerer, and many stories such as theirs were heard in his day.” “Aye,” answered Aragorn, “but the armies of Angmar were defeated, and the Witch-king fled the North. That fell wraith

now commands the fortress of Minas Morgul and threatens Gondor with war. These foul deeds cannot be his doing.”“And yet the crimes we hear of now are the same as were uncovered in this very city when it was recovered from Angmar many years ago,” insisted Iârion. “If they are not the Nazgûl’s work, then perhaps one of his disciples has returned to take his place?”

As the Dúnedain debated this question, the setting sun fell behind the hills of Evendim to the west, and the sky darkened above them. From another part of the city there came a shrill cry, and a moment later Amarthiúl came running towards the council.“Iârion! Iârion!” he shouted between breaths. “We are betrayed!” “What is it man?” asked Iârion. “What has happened?” “Black sorcery!”

said Amarthiúl, seizing Iârion’s arm. “One of the survivors. The old man. The one called Thaurdir. He...”

The younger Ranger took a breath, “He is a wraith!”“A wraith? How did you learn this?” asked Iârion with an astonished voice. “When I brought the survivors to see the healers, I saw the old man slip away. I thought that suspicious, so I followed him in secret,” explained Amarthiúl, speaking quickly. “He walked

straight to the tombs and there cast aside his cloak. His face was drawn and withered like a corpse, but his eyes!” The young Ranger blanched, and then continued, “I made no sound, yet he looked straight at me where I hid among the shadows, and Iknew he could see me with those hollow eyes. Being discovered,

I drew my sword to confront him, but he merely laughed. It was the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard! Then, from the open tomb behind him, I could see the spirits of the dead gathering around him. That is when I ran here.”

Iârion was about to reply when the flames of the great fire suddenly burst into the air and then died, leaving the Rangersin total darkness. All about them, a chill fog gathered. From within the black mist they could hear scraping and rustlingsounds. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they descried the horrid outline of many ghouls in rusted armor surrounding them. The dead faces glared at them with hollow eyes, and

rotted hands raised ancient blades to attack.

“To arms, Dúnedain!” shouted Aragorn, drawing his blade. “The wraiths of Angmar are upon us!”

You've brought the prisoners you rescued from the Weather Hills to Fornost. The Rangers gathered there are sh ocked to hear what you discovered at Amon Forn. Before their Chieftain can decide what to do, an unnatural fog covers the ruins in darkness, and the spectres of dead warriors emerge from the mists to attack you!

The foul sorcery that drives the ghouls against you attacks your mind as well, and you fight to master your fear in the face of an unrelenting enemy. The question of who works the evil spell is answered by the appearance of a dark figure. The old man you had thought to be the Orcs' prisoner has revealed himself to be a powerful wraith. He must be stopped!

The Rangers were unprepared for an attack, and they were nearly overmastered by the sudden onslaught of Thaurdir andhis ghouls. But the heroes who stood with them rallied the Dúnedain to victory with their unyielding courage. Even so, it was a frightful battle. Swords were not the enemy’s only weapon, and the fear of them nearly drove the heroes mad. Yet as the dawn drew closer, the sorcerer’s spells began to fade and the Rangers gained the upper hand. However, just as victory seemed assured, Thaurdir seized Iârion and fled the city. The brave Ranger was holding two enemies at bay whenthe sorcerer struck him over the head with a resounding blow. Then, Thaurdir ordered two of his minions to retreat with the body. From behind a press of ghastly warriors, the heroes saw Amarthiúl give chase but they were unable to aid him becauseof the enemies that barred their way. As the first light of sun broke through the clouds, the heroes

struck down the last of their unnatural foes and ran after Amarthiúl. They found him at Deadmen’s Gate; his eyes glazed in a stupor. He still wielded his sword and struck at the air around him, but there were no ghouls left to fight.“Amarthiúl!” cried one of the heroes, “The dawn has come, and the enemy has fled.”

The Dúnadan lowered his sword and regarded the heroes as one waking from a dream. “I couldn’t reach him,” he muttered as he fell to his knees. “When I saw them take Iârion, I tried to follow. But the fog grew thick around me, and I lost my way.” “It was an evil spell that clouded your eyes,” said one of the heroes, trying to comfort the young Ranger. “The wraith that attacked us was a powerful sorcerer. It was he

that took your friend. Why?” asked Amarthiúl, but none could answer. On the ground, the young Ranger found the hawk pendant of Iârion and regarded it in his hand. “It matters not,” said the Dúnadan clutching the pendant and rising to his feet. “Thaurdir has taken my friend, so I will pursue him.” “We will aid you in this quest,” spoke the heroes with one voice. “We cannot abandon Iârion to the same fate as those village people.” “Then let us depart swiftly,” said Amarthiúl, sheathing his weapon. “We may still rescue him if we move quickly!”

The Wastes of Eriador

The battle at Fornost was fierce and bitter, and left many of the Dúnedain wounded. The sight of the wraiths had verynearly broken their spirit, and had it not been for the valiant efforts of Iârion’s companions, the Rangers would not have withstood the attack. Once dawn had finally arrived, the

Dúnedain recuperated their strength, shoring up the defenses of Deadmen’s Dike and tending to the wounded.

Amarthiúl had other concerns. Iârion had been captured during the battle by the Wraith Thaurdir, and there was still time to come to his aid. The heroes who had helped defend Fornost vowed to rescue Iârion as well, and so their hunt began. It didn’t take long for them to find the enemy’s tracks leading

northeast into the hills.

Thaurdir and the remnants of his forces, including the minions that subdued and captured Iârion, were making great haste across the North Downs. Despite the enemy’s efforts to get away, the heroes were smaller in number and eager to pursue their quarry. Iârion’s captors took little care to cover their tracks, and so the hunters spent many hours chasing afoot without stopping to rest, eat or find their bearings. They traveled far into the night, hoping to overtake Thaurdir under the cover of darkness. But when the sun rose over the green hills, they had still closed little ground on their adversary.

Amarthiúl looked north to the horizon and sighed, worry etched upon his brow. “It’s no use. Thaurdir is a Wraith of the shadow world, and his minions care not for food or rest. They travel unhindered for weeks without feeling weariness, while we struggle to keep pace.” He turned to his companions, forlorn.

“Patience, my friend,” one of the heroes said, clasping Amarthiúl’s shoulder. “Whether it be at sunset tonight or a fortnight from now, we will not stop pursuing them until we have rescued Iârion. They must have some need of him alive, for we have seen no sign that harm has befallen him.” “Indeed, although that thought worries me equally,” another of their company said. “Amarthiúl, what do you know of Iârion?

What reason would Thaurdir have to take him captive? Surely Aragorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, would have been a greater prize.”

The young Ranger took Iârion’s pendant from one of the pouches he wore across his belt and stared at it remorsefully. “I... I am not sure,” he said, shaking his head. “Iârion comes from a noble bloodline, that I do know. This is the symbol of his house,” he explained, showing the heroes the pendant of the hawk-in-flight they’d seen Iârion wearing. “A lesser prize than Aragorn you say, and no doubt that is true. But Aragorn’s true heritage we have long kept hidden from the Enemy. Iârion’s heritage needed no such safekeeping. As long as I’ve known him, he has worn this pendant proudly.” The Ranger’s eyes narrowed and he looked at the heroes with bitter vengeance deep in his thoughts. “Whatever the reason, I know what I saw at Fornost. Thaurdir could have taken many others, but left them dead or wounded instead. When Iârion challenged him, he sent his minions one at a time, sacrificing them to Iârion’s blade in order to wear him down. He meant to capture Iârion alive. Perhaps that was his goal all along.” The rest of the

company nodded in response to Amarthiúl, whose logic seemed sound.

“All the more reason why we must pace ourselves,” one of the heroes said. “We are no help to Iârion falling over with exhaustion. We must be ready to fight when we reach the Wraith. Let us press on!”

They continued to track their quarry for many miles, keeping a more sustainable pace, resting briefly when necessary and pressing onward with haste when the enemy’s tracks led them downhill or through level country. Eventually they reached the edge of the North Downs, where the green hills gave way to the

vast and desolate lands of northern Eriador. The weather grew colder and fouler the further north they traveled. Snow and freezing rain began to pelt their cloaks and hoods, and for the first time since departing Fornost, they felt the need to camp for the night.

That was the first night they heard the howling. It came from all around them, growing louder with each passing minute. One of the heroes took charge and alerted the rest of the company. “We cannot tarry. The wolves here are evil and vicious, and the darkness of night is their hunting ground.” They quickly broke camp, the weight of weariness beginning to take its toll. Throughout the night, the incessant baying of wolves was everat their heels. Amarthiúl gave voice to their common concern: “I fear our hunt has just become theirs...”

Following the surprise attack on Fornost, you have agreed to help the Ranger, Amarthiúl, track the villains who captured his friend, Iârion.

Your enemies' tracks lead you across the North Downs towards Angmar. In the barren lands between you and that dread realm, the nights are black and bitter cold, but it is the howling of Wargs that gives you chills.

Wargs have pursued you into the wastelands! They hound your every step, slowing your progress by day and attacking you when the sun has set.

Each night, another member of your company is caught at the edge of the firelight and dragged away. The sounds of snarling and screaming echo into the darkness.

You cannot go on like this. You must do something to discourage the Wargs from pursuing you further.

If you can defeat the alpha male, that will scatter the pack...

This land is barren and untamed. Food is scarce, and you must take care to avoid the Trolls and other creatures that roam the moors. If you are lucky, you may find a safe place to hide and rest for a short time before your journey continues.

You are getting closer to the edge of the Troll-fells, but exhaustion has taken its toll. One way or another, this journey is nearing its end...

Your wounded companions only slow your progress. With Trolls on your heels and foul weather overhead, you press onward.

The Lost Realm and Angmar Awakened Cycle

EXTRA MATERIAL

Rossiel

Ieneth nîn Ninnith . I call myself Rossiel, but it was not always so. At birth my father gave me the name

Ninnith, a name I carried with me for centuries. My older sister was named after mother’s red hair - rare among the Elves of Lórien - but when my sister’s hair grew in, it was golden like the leaves of the Mallorn.

All names are a prophecy yet to unfold, mother told us. But neither of us ever felt a connection to ours.

As a child, I was adventuresome. My tutelage began early, but I often spent my days exploring the woods of Lórien with my older sister. Father told me not to wander, but my heart was in the treetops. Deep in the dark of night I would climb one of the trees atop Cerin Amroth, the highest point in Lórien. I loved to look out to the northeast, towards the forest once known as Greenwood. Its treetops were barely visible

on the horizon, green and full of life. And without fail, sister would sneak out and follow me through the woods. “Is your head in the clouds again, Ninnith?”

“Climb to me!” I’d reply, and she would, joining me atop the golden-leaved branches. We would sit for hours, watching the sun rising above the forest. When we returned to Caras Galadhon, mother would scold us. She would tell us to find one of the Lady’s handmaidens and do whatever she asked of us.

I long for those days again. The days when the shadow was thin, Greenwood was green, and I could see my sister smiling.

My tutoring progressed more rapidly than hers. Elves spend hundreds of years learning and practicing their crafts, but I would master each subject within mere decades. Some called me a prodigy. I hated that word. It inferred I had some power to change my fate. Lórien was a beautiful prison, but a prison nonetheless. Before long I was under the tutelage of Lady Galadriel herself – a great honor. I rarely had the

opportunity to visit my family. Most of my years were spent living in the great tree in the center of the City of Trees, separated from my sister. Unlike me, she was allowed to leave the Naith on diplomatic errands with an escort of Elves. She often traveled to Amon Lanc, what was once capital of the kingdom of Thranduil. Sometimes she would come to Lady Galadriel bearing messages from Thranduil himself. “My little Ninnith!” she’d call out when she saw me, her joyful smile warming my heart.

Many centuries passed. The shadow in the east grew. Whispers of a dark menace growing in southern Greenwood were met with sorrow and inaction. The last time I slipped out of the city and climbed Cerin Amroth, I looked towards Amon Lanc, and saw a great darkness over Greenwood. A shudder coursed up my spine. I had a terrible feeling, as though I knew what was to come but could not accept it. As I looked out to the horizon, I knew I had to leave.

I ignored the shouts of the sentries as I descended the flets of the great tree with haste, taking a silver spear wreathed withleaves from the craftsman’s halls. I ran as fast as my legs could take me, through the great gates and crossing the white bridge that was the only exit from the city.

I felt a terrible freedom as I ran through the woods of the Naith, weaving through Mallorn trees with steps as silent as the wind. But I could not bring myself to enjoy the journey, for I knew there would be no joy at its end. I did not stop running until I’d reached the Anduin, using one of the white boats that was moored on the western bank to cross the river. Although I’d never left Lórien until that night, my sister often spoke of the route they traveled to reach Amon Lanc. I recalled her words and followed the path they took without straying.

I reached the eaves of Greenwood at the end of the third day. As I stood before its towering trees, I felt the maleficent presence within. It did not stop me from entering, but with every step into the darkness, the shadow thickened. It wasn’t long before I saw the horror which confirmed my worst fears. I dropped my spear and fell to my knees, my eyes watering.

The Elves were slain cruelly, trapped by thick webs and hanging from the treetops, a vile demonstration. Trembling, Iclimbed the branches and cut them free from their webs. Their skin was ghostly pale, gaunt as though it was stretched thinover their bones. Their faces were frozen in pain.

My sister was among them. My sister, Rossiel. Slain by monsters, children of Ungoliant that had infested the forest and driven Thranduil’s people out. The beautiful Greenwood I sang about as a child. Tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision. I gripped my spear tight. Rossiel. My sister.

Her name would not be forgotten. Her name which mother gave her. Mine is meaningless; hers is the name to which prophecy is ascribed. The name I used to murmur in my sleep when I longed to see her. The name that brought a smile to my lips whenever I heard it. Her name would live on.

I reached up and touched a lock of my red hair in disbelief.

All names are a prophecy yet to unfold.

From that moment on, her name would be my own. I vowed that I would one day cleanse the evil that inhabited this place. No longer would I allow myself to do nothing, to be held captive within the Naith. I took charge of my destiny, and strove out into the world, the memory of my sister forever burning in my mind.

I eneth nîn Rossiel. Yes... Rossiel is my name.

Amarthiul

Iarion placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as he often did when he spoke sternly to his pupil. “You are not coming with us on this mission. I have made myself clear on this matter numerous times.” His order was firm, his gaze unwavering. Years ago, when Amarthiul’s father fell in battle, it was Iarion who had taken the body in and become his mentor, teaching him the ways of the Dunedain. The boy was smart, but reckless.

“I am a better fighter than any of the others my age, and the swiftest. I have passed every test the elders have given me. I am ready, I swear to you!” Though Amarthiul was only ten-and-four, he spoke the truth. Among his peers, he had proved himself to be of superior intelligence and skill at arms. The boy was quick to learn and already knew much of their people’s lore, but he was more interested in hunting Orcs and other agents of the Enemy.

“You believe that winning a hundred sparring matches and reading of the wars of our ancestors prepares you for anything, but you have never hunted an enemy such as this. Orcs are tough-skinned, mighty, and truly frightening. Their hate is overwhelming; it drowns their thoughts with rage and makes them more dangerous than you can imagine.

Amarthiul put on a brave face and began to speak, but his mentor shook his head and cut him off. “My word is final. You are to stay here and continue your training.” With that, Iarion and the other Rangers left Fornost with haste. Their mission was urgent. Scouts had reported Orcs venturing along the hills of Evendim. Whether they were agents of a greater plot or searching for victims along the shores of Lake Nenuial, the Rangers would deal with them all the same.

Amarthiul refused to be left behind so easily. He gathered several days’ worth of rations and armed himself with two blades from Fornost’s armoury. He followed the other Rangers west, close enough that he could track their prints, but too far for them to tell they were being shadowed. The young Dunadan took care to make sure he wasn’t spotted; he knew if he revealed himself close to the river Brandywine, the Rangers would have no choice but to let him tag along.

The Rangers’ pace was much faster than Amarthiul had anticipated, crossing many leagues each day. Though he struggled to keep up, he was determined to prove he was capable of the feats of his brethren, and his resolve spurred him onward. He fancied that when he finally revealed himself to the other Rangers, they would be proud of him, impressed that he was able to keep pace.

Unfortunately for Amarthiul, he hadn’t anticipated the Orcs traveling east along the Brandywine. Seeing an easy target, they came upon Amarthiul under the cover of night, when they were strongest and their foe was weary. When the first Orc screamed a battle-cry in its guttural tongue, Amarthiul froze and his heart pounded in his chest. The Orcs charged at him from all directions. Valiantly he drew his blades and tried to defend himself, but he was overcome with terror. His years of training fled from his mind, replaced by panic. Within seconds, he was overmatched.

The Orcs weren’t looking to kill the young one. Instead, they knocked him to the ground and disarmed him. One Orc grappled him, and he was blindfolded and bound tightly with thick rope.

“Har! What have we got here lads?” asked an Orc with a laugh, kicking the bound Dunadan cruelly.

“Looks like fresh meat,” answered another. “Let’s eat it!”

“Don’t be too quick! This one’s a young ‘in. I bet there’s more of his kind nearby. Let’s catch ‘em first. Then we’ll kill the whole lot.”

Amarthiul cursed himself for his foolishness. Because of him, the other Rangers would be waylaid by the band of Orcs they sought to hunt.

“No! I’m the only one—” he began to say, but one of the Orcs gagged him with a sash of heavy wool and his voice came out muffled.

They tied him upside-down from the branch of a high tree and hid, knowing that any other Rangers nearby would come to investigate the sounds of the scuffle. Before long, Amarthiul heard the sounds of leaves rustling around him, and suddenly the sounds of battle erupted like a storm. Blindfolded and unable to see, he could only listen helplessly as he heard swords whistle, bowstrings twang, the clash of steel on steel. And then, it was quiet.

Amarthiul was cut loose and dropped to the ground, his bounds cut one at a time, though he was held from behind firmly by his wrists with a gloved hand. When his blindfold was removed, it was Iarion who stared at him wordlessly. All around the boy, the Orcs lay slain at their feet. Many of the Rangers were wounded, their armor nicked or cut loose, bleeding wounds being tended with herbal paste and bandages.

Iarion said nothing. It was the silence that stung the most. He knew he had failed them, he had put them in danger. “I… I…” he began, his heart leaping into his throat as words failed him. “…I’m sorry,” was all he could say before he began to sob.

“It’s all right, young one,” his mentor said, taking the boy in his arms and resting a hand on his head. “One day, you’ll return the favor.”

Angmar Awakened Cycle Design Notes

“No one lives in this land. Men once dwelt here, ages ago; but none remain now. They became an evil people, as legends tell, for they fell under the shadow of Angmar. But all were destroyed in the war that brought the North Kingdom to its end. But that is now so long ago that the hills have forgotten them, though a shadow still lies on the land.” –Aragorn, The Fellowship of the Ring

The story of “The Lost Realm” and the “Angmar Awakened” cycle explores the rich history of the Dunedian of Arnor and their long war with the Witch-realm of Angmar by introducing a new conflict between those two powers in the time period of The Lord of the Rings: The Card Game. During that time, the Witch-king commands the tower of Minas Morgul and the kingdom of Angmar has been abandoned for centuries, so for the purposes of our story we introduce a powerful sorcerer, Daechanar, who is rebuilding the ancient kingdom by drawing all manner of evil creatures into his service.

Daechanar is just one of five key figures that we created for this cycle, and we hope that fans of The Lord of the Rings will appreciate our efforts to develop characters and a story that feel at home in Middle-earth. Daechanar in particular was an exciting character to explore: a traitorous Dunadan who became a powerful sorcerer under the tutelage of the Witch-king himself. His back story was inspired by the history of Rhudaur as described in the appendices of The Return of the King. From The North-kingdom and the Dunedain we learn that after the kingdom of Arnor was divided, the people of Rhudaur became allied with Angmar. So, for our story, we suggest that some of the Dunedain who lived in Rhudaur at that time became servants of the Witch-king. Daechanar would have been chief among them, and he learned to command the evil spirits of Angmar from his Nazgul master. His Wraith lieutenant, Thaurdir, would have been one of those evil spirits.

As for the Dunedain of Arnor, not many details are provided about their day-to-day life and culture in The Lord of the Rings, so we did our best to draw inspiration from the information that is available. We do know that the Rangers are a wandering people who keep a constant watch over the lands within the bounds of their ancient kingdom. For the purposes of our story, we suggest that the Dunedain may have used the ruins of Fornost as meeting grounds, since we know from The Return of the King that they visited those ruins from time to time.

To help represent the bravery and nobility of the Rangers of the North, we introduce two Dunedain characters: Iarion, and his pupil, Amarthiul. We hope that their story of kinship is one that the players enjoy. For the character of Iarion, we assume that other Dunedain, besides the heir of Valandil, are able to trace their ancestry to noble families from the three kingdoms of Arnor. It is Iarion’s lineage, as a descendant of Iarchon, that ties him to the villain Daechanar. That bond is what drives our story forward. For the character of Amarthiul, we explore the question of how the Dunedain grow to manhood and attain their renowned skills. Since we know that the Rangers are primarily a houseless people, we suggest that young Dunedain live in the wild with a mentor, most likely their father, and learn from following him. The bond that would result from that close friendship would undoubtably be strong, as we see in Amarthiul’s determination to rescue Iarion.

Overall, we hope to have told a compelling tale that conceivably could have rested within Tolkien’s historical framework for Middle-earth. We hope players enjoyed our attempts to stay within Tolkien’s vision, and we hope, above all, that the players had great fun in overcoming the challenges presented in the “Angmar Awakened” cycle.

Stumbled on the same issue as I wanted to included the "Do not read" stories to the Quest Companion.

I can type up and send the Do Not Read stories for Lost Realm and Angmar Awakened (first two packs). However I don't have any of Ringmaker.

Would you like me to?

I have them at home so can do it when I get time but if you feel like you are more than welcome to =)

It would definitely speed the process up a little haha

Time to power ahead and get this finished! The amazing Matt Newman helped me out and sent me all the DO NOT READ sections to make things far easier. What a great guy right?

It's amazing to have designers getting "involved" in the community (interviews, answering rule questions, reading forums to nightmare-stomp-our-asses). I saw a Feonix registered on the Campaign Log, that's neat!

“Consult the bones,” ordered the chief as he rose to his feet and towered over the old man. “Let the Boar spirit decide.”

The old druid reached inside his boarskins and reluctantly brought out a small purse. He opened the pouch to let the small bones inside it spill onto the ground, then he bent to his knees and lowered his face to inspect them closely.

After a tense minute of silence, the old man grunted, and rising slowly to his feet he spoke slowly, “The strangers may undertake the trials.”

“The bones have spoken,” spoke the chief. “It is decided then: You will undertake the trials to recover the Antlered Crown for the Boar Clan. Success will grant you and your master our friendship. Failure will grant you death.”

7:51

Willow!!! Yes!!!

Willow!!! Yes!!!

I still remember your Madmartigan custom card...

Voice of Isengard and the Ring Maker Cycle now finished!

The Lost Realm and what we have so far of the Angmar Awakened cycle will be up soon!

It doesn't look like you have any of the Do Not Read from Against the Shadow.

Updated with all the DO NOT READ sections from Against the Shadow cycle added.

Now completely up to date with Mount Gram added!

Also some thoughts/notes on the narrative so far:

-Our group of heroes have really overcome a lot at this point and have fought off/escaped from Nazgul, Trolls, The Watcher, The Balrog mutliple times, Nameless Ones, Mumakill, giant spiders almost the size of Shelob (Attercop, Attercop is massive..), whole packs of wargs, Cabal Champions, countless orcs and orc chieftains and many traitorous men. We have helped Aragorn track, capture and deliver Gollum to Thranduil's kingdom. We have discovered the fate of Balin's colony and escaped Moria intact after encountering the Balrog and then even managed to push it back into a dark pit and overcome it. We have helped Gondor in its defense against Mordor's various tests of its resolve and defenses in the time leading up to the War of the Ring and even helped defend Cair Andros from a large force during a large siege AND helped take back Osgiliath during a daring assault led by Boromir and his forces. We overcame the traitor Alcaron and safety delivered Faramir back from the very jaws of Minas Morgul. We have even destroyed and disbanded a traitorous ring of conspirators in Minis Tirith itself.

Sure at the same time we may have inadvertently helped Saruman get a perfect specimen in order to start breeding Uruks.... and helped him find Celebrimbor's ring mould so that he can attempt to craft his own ring of power.... and even helped him gain the allegiance and gratitude of a unified and far more powerful Dunland who are later integral to his attack on Rohan.....

but we are badass!! Without our band of heroes behind the scenes in all of this non-canon action things would have been alot more grim throughout Middle Earth come the War of the Ring and events during the actual books. I think overall the designers have done a really good job of trying to make the narrative fit as well as possible as a very intricate addition to the tolkien universe that does not contradict or change anything in the lore as best as possible. Almost everything they do is very fitting and potentially possible within said universe in the period of time it is set. Sure certain things... (mainly in the second cycle) don't fit as well as they could (Balin's colony etc) but overall and ignoring very early narrative choices I think they have made potentially the most thematic and fitting game for this universe we have ever seen that has its own non-lore additions and creations at the same time.

-I know this has been discussed on the forums in the past but I think it is fairly clear that it is perhaps a different set of heroes that go off on the adventures in the Khazad-Dum box and the following Dwarrowdelf cycle. During Khazad-Dum we discover the fate of Balin's colony but then later in the Dwarrowdelf cycle during The Long Dark the group of heroes hopes to perhaps meet up with Balin which does not make sense if we are already aware of his colony's fate. If I remember correctly people speculated that perhaps the group that undertake the adventures in the three quests of the Khazad-Dum box die or meet some other fate whilst attempting to escape from The Balrog during Flight from Moria and an entirely new group escort Arwen to Rivendell and then enter Moria to check it out for Elrond. It also does not make sense that we are sent straight back into Moria after we just escaped it. As well as this after doing so TWICE surely our heroes would have alerted everyone to the Balrog's prescence.

This means that even the Dwarrowdelf cycle ending in Shadow and Flame and ignoring Khazad-Dum is somewhat dodgy as during the events of LOTR no one is aware that it is specifically a Balrog causing issues in Moria so this doesn't gel at all.

Honestly this deluxe box and cycle are the weakest narrative wise as from the third cycle onwards the narrative is simply amazing and the first cycle is simply us helping Aragorn to capture Gollum and doesn't really mess with the storyline of LOTR.

This is ironic as although I love the lore, flavour text and narrative of this game this deluxe box and cycle feature some of my favorite or most played quests. Overall a very unthematic part of the game but very amazing quests, cards and artwork.

-God that betrayal by Lord Alcaron is just devastating... I remember when we first got Morgul Vale and discovered the fact of his betrayal. Man did I have fun letting my heroes bust his face in while playing Morgul Vale the first few times. Ironically I find both Murzag and the Nazgul harder bosses than Alcaron during this quest even though he is the traitor and in a way main antagonist of the quest. It is thematic that his ability represents Faramir being rushed to Minas Morgul however and fits with the narrative they gave us perfectly. There is actually a bit of foreshadowing in my opinion of his character in the DO NOT READ section for Assault on Osgiliath. He is over excited and enthusiastic after a great but devastating battle in which surely many men fell. He speaks Sauron's name as though it is no big deal although it is well known in Middle Earth that names, songs and speech itself can have great power and influence. He is over eager to pursue the Orcs and "break their black bones on the mountains". Even just how desperate he is and the pleading he does to encourage Boromir and Faramir to pursue the orcs is highly suspicious. Did anyone see this betrayal coming or guess it might happen? I do not remember having any idea that it would happen and was shocked and extremely impressed by the designers when I first read it. It fit so well with a LOTR based game and his background story we get in Morgul Vale is possibly my favorite part of the entire narrative so far. Just hearing a mention about his Estate and blood slaves in the shores of the Sea of Nurnen in Mordor is amazing.

-Did anyone else think it was a pretty awesome coincidence that right after the Ring Maker cycle finishes and we have just finished helping Saruman breed Uruks, forge his own ring and gain the alliance of Dunland we get the Treason of Saruman and got to enact revenge on him for tricking us and making us help him with all those unholy tasks? I was pretty pleased to dispatch both him and Grima during the third quest of this saga box after all the nonsense we went through for them during the Ring Maker cycle.

-The new cycle's narrative is awesome so far in my opinion and I am very excited to see where it goes and who exactly this Lord Daechanar is. I do hope we rescue Iarion and he does not meet some grisly fate in Carn Dum before we arrive. Similarly I hope we are able to achieve some sweet sweet revenge on Thaurdir. Imagine if Daechanar is Alcaron/Ulchor!!!! I'm sure he won't be but wouldn't that be a crazy twist, he didn't really die during the Morgul Vale and was sent instead to bring Angmar back into existance. I'm not advocating this and think it would be silly (we killed him!) but just think it would be a funny/crazy twist. It is also interesting and also very fitting thematically that the Witch King is not in fact the big boss at the end of this cycle (he is in Minas Morgul at this time fighting Gondor on and off is he not?) as some assumed he would be and it is fact this Lord Daechanar that is being spoken of as the new ruler or lord of Angmar. Is he a Black Numenorian? Is he something else entirely?

-Lastly I wanted to just list a few a places that are my favorite places this game has taken us to. Places that the massive Tolkien nerd and fanatic in me is so glad we get to see expanded and explored more than Tolkien ever did but based upon things he wrote or alluded to. I love that we get to explore the very depths of Moria and the nameless ones mentioned by Tolkien but never expanded upon. We get to fight these primeval and terrifying beasts (maybe even Maia) and see an imagining of what they might look like. Love the art in both the normal and nightmare quest. I love that we get to go to Pelargir and Cair Andros, both of which are places that not much action happens in during the events of LOTR (that we get in much description at least). The same is true of the Druadan forest. Ost-in-Edhil and Tharbad are perhaps my favorite locations that this game has allowed us to travel to and see a deeper depiction of. Tharbad was such an important place in the second age and early third age but in complete ruin during The War of the Ring. That we get to go there and explore the ruins and small town/population that still exists there and then also get to explore Ost-in-Edhil shortly afterwards which has also fallen to ruin and is arguably a far more epic and important city from the Second Age than even Tharbad was is just so **** cool. Ost-in-Edhil is where Celebrimbor taught Sauron in the ways of ring forging and was later slain by Sauron. How epic that we get to explore these ruins and uncover celebrimbors secret chamber and ring mould!

I encourage and implore you to discuss anything you wish in relation to the narrative for this game on this thread. What are your favorite parts of the narrative or favorite thing our group of heroes has achieved? What are your favorite places we have gotten to visit?

Design Notes for Ring Maker Cycle added.

Nice overview PsychoRocka! I agree that the Dwarrowdelf cycle was the most "off" thematically, whereas everything else has been pretty outstanding in terms of story, especially the recent cycles. I think it all comes down to the designers at the time wanting to find an excuse for players to fight the Balrog, the Watcher, etc., before Saga Expansions were a thing, even if it meant coming up with a nonsensical story. The only thing that makes sense lore-wise (to me) is if both sets of adventurers, the Khazad-dum ones and the Dwarrowdelf ones, died. Or if they had a memory wipe of some kind!

Start of Across the Ettenmoors added. Do not read section will be added later this afternoon when I am home and have access to it!

bump

I thought people completely lost interest and so I got a bit lazy... really should have stuck with this. I will do my best to get it updated today!

Have you already got The Dread Realm? I'd love to read the story of that one.

Ok so the rules documents have stopped after Across the Ettenmoors....

https://www.fantasyflightgames.com/en/products/the-lord-of-the-rings-the-card-game/

Yet another aspect of the game that support seems to be trailing behind for.... (alongside the quest log etc)

I will have to do this at home sometime as I have Treachery and Carn Dum but not Dread Realm just yet. If anyone has the do not read (and beginning as well really!) section for Dread Realm and can be bothered typing it up for me and sending it in a message I would really appreciate it. Otherwise I will do it when I get my hands on the pack. Should hopefully have the rest of ettenmoors, treachery of rhudaur and carn dum up tonight sometime.