In the uncertain torchlight of Gath Forthnir, the aging dwarf read the letter for at least the twentieth time. Somewhere far in the distance, something massive shrieked loudly enough to be heard through the walls of living stone. Hrorr sighed, it seemed that those Angmar bastard were certainly preparing something, gathering in every sell-sword, shadow lackey and fell beast they could find.
Squinting, he lit another candle and peered at the letter again, written in the flowing script and abysmal spelling of Xandilif the Banshee, Revenant of Dor Gul (See HERE). He read it slowly aloud to himself again.
Hrorr,
Hope you are not dead. I would come in person but business keeps me elsewhere, but I need favors.
Twenty years past, there was a slave revolt up near you. It ended like all revolts in Angmar end, but the leader might have been a female. She might be called The Slave Who Did Not Forget Her Name by those who call her anything…only trouble, everyone ELSE has forgotten her name. See what ya can find. She may have had a daughter. She might have been important. I want ta know why.
Also, looking for a Hillfolk Witch, born to the Trev Gallorg, maybe called Moyna. Would have been working as a stalking horse for the Guild of the Unsealed well before that, not sure when, or where exactly. She might have ended up in Eriador, the Unsealed might have lost track of her. She would have been a good hand with wards, and perception glamours. She’d have a lot of blood on her hands. I need all ya can get about her.
Also give me what ya can see on the Unsealed or the other Guilds, especially the Unexpected, looking down towards Bree with hungry little eyes. The back o' my neck is itching and I want ta know what to look out for.
I need all this soon. It is important. Can't say why. In return, I will owe ya whatever you or the Council want. Might be traveling your way soon, depends how things pan out. If not, ya know where ta reach me.
Banshee
The dwarf sighed and pushed aside most of the volumes and scrolls he had been using to research the elf’s strange questions. Still, after tromping for years through the stony landscape of Angmar with Xandilif and her sister Xanderian, little either of them would do or ask would surprise him. He checked a few more dates and names in his notes and licked the tip of his quill. Making sure his tankard was full beside him, he set to work.
Xandilif,
Well, I gotta say that you always come up with something surprising. If it weren’t that I owed ya, likely I would have ignored all this nonsense you asked as being about ancient history. However, we both know too well the way ancient history can come and bite ya on the dingus, so I dug through the old records in the catacombs for ya.
As for this slave revolt you asked after (What is it with you and slavers, ya addlepated first born), I found a good deal of tittle tattle about it, but mainly about how spectacularly it failed. Angmar made sure to silence most everything else with fire and steel and black arts. This revolt did however seem to be led by a woman, but that woman ended badly, badly indeed. No record of the specifics can be found but it is said that you can still hear her screaming in some dark corners of Carn Dum, and that her bones and skull can be found laying about the Seat of the Witch King for him to gloat over. Only bit of anything I can find is a scrap of her birth name, which looks to have begun with an A, followed by what may be a v, or may be a w. I also came across another name connected to the matter, and a name that carries a lot of sheer dread…Aganalu. What a long dead sorceress of the Iron Crown, High Priestess of the Unsealed and Matron of the Tribute Infernal would have to do with all this, I would prefer not to know and will not research further. Why ask for trouble? I suggest you drop the matter too.
Regarding your other question, most of the history of the Witches of Angmar wasn’t written down, and what was written, the Iron Crown gathered up and burned any they could find (ya seein' a pattern here?). Some even say they were all fairy stories. You might be better off seeing what records still exist in the lands of the Horse Lords, as the Witches were pretty well known in those regions. The Witches kept their secrets to themselves which is a point in their favor, known as traveling wise women and healers, reading bones and birthing babies. For an age they were trusted by the ragged hillfolk and the Westfold villagers alike, wandering from Forochel down to Dunland and Rohan…but Angmar was their home and most of em had Trev blood. Folk looked to them for leadership…it is little wonder the Witchking felt they had to go. Over a few generations, as you well know, they were slain and seduced and corrupted, undermined and violated and tainted until they were no more, or just as good as.
Word from those who should know say that your sister the Monk and a blonde Shieldmaiden had dealings with about the last of the proper Witches, Tara of Agarnaith, known as the Silken Witch (see Balances for the full story). According to them that know she had been corrupted and all but enslaved by Donark of the Vaults, Paymaster of Nan Gurth, curse him for all time. When she finally met her end on the Scales, that was likely the end of the last of the Witches of Angmar.
As for this Moyna you named, she was well known enough to have left traces on the stone. She was one of those that was said to have turned to the service of the Witchking and did a good part of the work to discredit the Witches in Angmar in the eyes of the common folk. She turned sides for reasons unknown, but there are them that say it was her part of a bargain on the Brazen Scales, and that the Scales took their price not from Moyna but from another…but that is all idle crone chatter. However, it sounds plausible. One day she simply disappeared, at least from sight and memory. Whether she left for new shores or her bones are hidden away in some roughhewn cave, no one knows, but there are many who would like to know.
Little trace of the Witches remain, and as I said, it may have been this Tara the Monk dealt with was the last of them. The Trev Gallorg were quiet on the subject, and as you know it does no good to question them when they don’t want to talk. However, two or three Angmar folk seemed to know or suspect a bit more then they were saying. After I reasoned with one of em, just before he died, he gave me a name…what this has to do with anything I don’t know, but at least it is something. He said to learn what became of the witches, I would do worse than find a no-account last born lass named Catalinna, maybe in the Downs, maybe in Breeland. Take that for what it may be worth.
I hope all of this will serva ya well, Banshee, and I will keep an eye open for should you wander this way. However, I will say that I have found that secrets this foul, buried this deep, are usually best left alone if you are sensible…but then you have NEVER been sensible. I sure hope ya know what you are doing.
At your service,
Hrorr, Gath Forthnir
The Dwarf leaned back and signed, then drained his tankard. Writing was thirsty work. Sealing the letter up, he wrote Tol Lochul, Belfalas across the back.
He lit a pipe and looked into the fire, pretty certain that this was not the end of the matter concerning the demise of the Witches, or the unholy terror that had been Aganalu, Sister of Decadence.
“Oh well….” Hrorr son of Haruth whispered to himself. “Not like I wanted ta live forever anyway.”
