Investigation of Gondor (Open)

[Khamûl the Easterling]

Deep within the halls of Minas Morgul, Khamul the Easterling knelt before the throne of the Witch King. Two other Nazgul, known to men as the Tainted and the Dark Marshal, stood on either side of the throne, silent. Before Khamul, the Witch King of Agmar sat unmoving. In a voice more than a whisper, Khamul addressed his superior.
"M'lord... You summoned me?"

The Witch King did not respond at first. After a few moments of awkward silence, the Witch Kind replied:
"Indeed, Khamul. I have summoned you here, as our Lord Sauron has a task for us. Our time of victory is near, but first, we must work to undermine the enemies of our Lord. The Dark Lord has requested that you go to Gondor... Alone. There are things here at stake that only the Dark Lord can see, it seems. You must go to Gondor, and survey everything. Do it how you see fit."

Khamul nodded, and stood. He bowed to The Witch Kind, and, turning his back to the throne, began to walk out. However, before he made it to the throne room stairs, the Witch King spoke once more.

"Khamul... There is one other thing. Our Lord has informed me there is a dissenter amongst the ranks of Gondor's military. A cavalier, to be specific. He has informed me that should you meet this man, then to attempt to push further the seed of treachery."

Khamul bowed once more, and turned, and walked down the stairs into the fortress-city proper...
--------

That was four weeks ago. Khamul had rode from the fortress-city within an hour of receiving his orders. With all haste, he had made his way across the lands, until he came to Gondor. For a few days now, Khamul had been investigating the lands along the Gondor bordor. His search had taken him to Firien Wood, where he was today. So far, his search had been rather uneventful. Other than the occasional patrol of Gondor or Rohan soldiers (Of which he'd slaughtered ten, fifteen men?), nothing obstructed his goal.

What was his goal, exactly? In truth, he didn't know. The Witch King had only told him Sauron wished for him to investigate Gondor. No specifics, at all. The Dark Marshal had flown from Minas Morgul on a fell beast to inform Khamul more orders would be sent as they came up. Khamul wished that these orders would hurry. He grew weary of staying within Gondor this long. Sure, he could easily deal with the men of Gondor and Rohan, however, were it to become known that a Nazgul was in the borders of the kingdom, then Khamul risked being overwhelmed with sheer numbers. He was thankful none had come with torches.... yet. Fire was one of the few things that induced fear in the wraith. Fire, Water, and on occasion, Elves....

But what mattered was that they had yet to come with such items, so Khamul was pretty well safe against the forces of Gondor and their allies.

One thing annoyed Khamul. So far, he had been unable to identify any Gondor soldier who harbored thoughts of treachery against Gondor. The last thing the Witch King mentioned, the last thing Khamul could find. It was quite ridiculous, actually. If it kept going like this, he'd loose what little sanity he retained these days.

Oh well...

From his spot at the edge of the tree-line, Khamul could see the surrounding lands quite well. His above average nightvision was primary responsible, though. If it had been day, it would have been a different story. But with the light fading quickly... it was all to easy to survey his current target.

[Calon]

He had been working hard the past week or so; the stables had recently taken in ten more horses that needed express training, and Calon, as a stablehand, was there to help gift it. The horses would make fine mounts for the calvary, there was no doubt. Still, a few were proving to be rather stubborn. Both he, the other stable lads and the stable master himself had grown quite taut on nerves as a result. Not to mention the ample issues they were having with a few of the horses.

It was a bafflement, really. A few select mounts were beginning to grow restless, jumpy and aggravated; none knowing the true cause of such shows of nerves. He, of course, had a theory. However, to keep his position in the stables intact, the blue-eyed man had spoken nothing of it, even if he felt Faeldor would have agreed. Mainly, the whole problem was stemming from one member of the calvary: Durion, son of Daeron.

He could no sooner take care of his own horse than do a true days work. However he spoiled his own mount seemed to be seeping to the other horses as well. It was beginning to wear all of their nerves thin. It was also precisely why Calon had leapt at the chance to escape it when it came to his day off. He needed some time out of the stone city, he was certain. Perhaps a good two days of camping and hunting were in order.

So, the man had told his grandparents he would not be home that evening; packed up his hunting gear, a blanket and grabbed a bit of food before heading down to the stables on the lower tier to fetch his mount Talagor for the ride over to the woods. It was not going to be very eventful that evening--by the time Calon and Talagor would arrive at the forest, it would be just about nightfall. It was of no concern to the young man, though, as he had begun to lead the massive stallion out of his stall. They would simply arrive there and camp; the hunting would come the next day. However, Calon was not about to waste time with tack, and simply opted for riding bareback; which, in his humble opinion, was certainly more fun anyway.

Talagor had galloped the entire way, once more reminding his rider as to why he was named so. The creature was fast, undoubtedly one of the swiftest horses his master had ever come across; and at times it seemed to his rider he had a sort of arrogance for it.

They had finally arrived at the forest edge, and Calon smiled, stroking the stallion's neck a moment while muttering, "Good ride, Talagor. Good ride." He dismounted, then and grabbed a hold of the reins to lead the horse into the tree line. In the waning light, Calon was not about to let his trusted steed misstep. There would be no way for he to return to the city in a timely manner, and there would be nought he could do for his hoofed friend.

It seemed quiet, and for a moment Calon wondered if the forest had gone to sleep early. He had not noticed how empty the plains and field had been of patrolling guard, or otherwise. The thought finally came upon him and he turned to look at his horse. "Hm. Well, that is strange."

Talagor sidestepped, and tossed his head, and Calon immediately tensed. "Woah, boy, woah." He cooed softly, flashing his ocean eyes about the trees. Something was there, for his well-behaved mount to misbehave in such a way. Still, he could see nothing. He brought a hand up and stroked the horses neck, still intently surveying the area and listening. "What do you see, boy?" He muttered.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

What was that? The crunch of a leaf... vibrations... Blood? Yesssss.....

Khamul turned his head, in the direction of the scent. As he did so, he hard another crunch of leaves, and then...

A horse. And by the sound of things, this horse was panicking. Fair enough. Most creatures of Gondor feared the presence of a Nazgul. But, horses were not left unattended in Gondor, which meant that a handler would be extremely close by. And, knowing Gondor, that handler would be armed to the teeth, and a cavalier. No civilians would ride into the dark of a forest in the middle of night! Khamul figured it must be a scout, someone to investigate the disappearances of the few troops that went this way.

If Khamul could have smiled, he would have. There was the chance this was the soldier The Witch King had spoken of. Sure, the odds were stacked against it, but with Lord Sauron's blessing, anything was possible.

Khamul turned his back on the source of the sound, and his own horse came in view. Intimidating, fierce, and dark as night. The horse was Khamul's ideal mount. And, best of all, it was not one of the disgusting mounts of the East. It was a horse stolen from the horse lords of Rohan themselves. Every one of the Nazgul had one, a horse of Rohan bent by the will of his Lord to obey only their riders.

It walked up to him, and Khamul nabbed the reigns. Using them as leverage, he hoiseted himself up, and swung his leg over the horse's back. Now in his saddle, Khamul snapped the reigns, and his horse trotted towards the treeline. Khamul could now see his target, a young looking man, on a horse of Gondor. The appearance of the man confused Khamul though. He was not armed to the teeth, nor did he resemble anything remotely militant. Khamul's hunch was wrong. It was merely a civilian, barely worth his time. In fact, had he been anywhere else, he would have either killed him, and dumped the body, or simply left. However, it intrigued Khamul that a normal man would be riding alone, bareback at that.

His horse snorted. Without a second thought, Khamul jerked the reigns once more, and emerged from the trees, a shadow stepping from its place.

[Calon]

"Talagor. Talagor, easy boy. Easy, easy..." Calon mumbled slowly as he stroked the side of his horse's neck. His eyes kept surveying the area, all the while his strong hands gripping the bay stallion's reins in one hand and continuing comforting ministrations with the other. Still, what was his problem? Surely nothing was here. Very few denizens of Gondor would ride so far in the evening; Calon, though, was not unarmed, and was quite sound with a bow.

He was quite confident in his abilities. He had traveled these woods many times over, alone or not, to find and hunt stags and boar. Calon was quite a force to be reckoned with with a bow. Certainly anything out here would be no match for him; certainly the man would want to speak before they began to brawl.

For all of his self-talk in the past moment, Calon felt a growing uneasiness in his chest. What was out there. He barely heard anything, yet Talagor was clearly not calming any. Then, he heard a small sound. A soft trollop against the forest floor. A horse. That was nothing for his own stallion to get uneasy over.

He thought he caught a movement to his right, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see against the rolling black blanket of the forest, but he barely had time to register that there was nothing there when Talagor reared, whinnying in a frenzied manner. "Woah, woah, boy!" Calon cried turning quickly to try and calm the mount. There seemed to be nothing for it; the whites of his eyes were showing, and his ears were alternating between being straight and alert and pressed back against his skull.

It was then the shadow stepped forward. Calon had to double-take, it was barely visible in the blackness. Still, the minute he registered what it was that had moved he felt his skin go ice cold, and the color drain from his cheeks. No wonder there was no comfort to be found for his horse.

A Nazgul.

Nothing in the entire forest could have equalled one in fierceness, in sheer deadliness. The quiet in the area was most definitely a result of this being before him. A king of old; which one he was not sure. And his mount! The beast was tall, unspeakably strong and armored.

There was no bigger mount in all of the Steward's stable! Talagor continued rearing, whinnying in now a superfluous show of fear. Calon dropped the reins long enough to grasp his bow and an arrow from his back. It probably was not a good idea to initiate such shows of hostility; not when the Nazgul were so fierce and deadly. Still, if this was his last night, he was not about to go down without a fight.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

Khamul gazed directly at the man, in an attempt to up the intimidation factor. Amazingly enough, the man unslung a bow from his back, as well as an arrow. Khamul was surprised the man managed to pull that off with his horse acting the way it was. The man was obviously a skilled rider, especially for a civilian that wasn't from Rohan.

Interesting. A civilian that knows what he's doing. Perhaps this man is not as unworthy as I thought...

His horse began to walk close to the man. Its eyes were flaming with anticipation, something Khamul noted with glee. Even his horse was itching for action. The orcs had done well when they nabbed the beasts from their masters. Ah, but thats what happens when you are blessed with the favor of the Lord Sauron. You get the best, and your servants are actually useful.

As his horse advanced, Khamul addressed the man, attempting to speak as as normally human as possible. Not an easy task for a wraith like himself. He was hoping the man did not know of the Nazgul.. otherwise, this plan would fail. And he'd have to kill the him.

"Man of Gondor... Your hostility is unsettling. Would you attack a casual traveller such as myself without so much as a declaration of intent?"


------
((OOC://Sorry for the shortness of the post... I couldn't think of anything more relevant to the event...))

[Calon]

While Calon could not see the creature's eyes--truly was it even a creature?--the man could surely feel them bearing into him. It seemed all at once the man's mouth and tongue seemed completely parched, and his heart was surely working hard to fight down the nerves he was beginning to feel. Calon was a tough one, no mistake; still, a Nazgul was not something even he could handle. Perhaps that was the part of the problem.

No living man could.

He seemed to knee the night-black horse forward and Talagor shifted some more. "Calm, boy. Easy." Calon whispered to his mount, not shifting his hold on his weapon. Surely nothing could make him relinquish such things here and now. It would be certain death if he did; Calon was certain. Still, if the wraith wished his death---would he not have already taken his life?

He mulled the thoughts over in his mind for a few brief moments until it spoke. "Man of Gondor... Your hostility is unsettling. Would you attack a casual traveller such as myself without so much as a declaration of intent?" It sounded at least somewhat human. But there was an air, a quality that hinted otherwise. Calon was no fool. The curly-haired man did not drop his bow in the least, but did manage to let a reply slip out.

"With such dark days, traveller, one should always be ready. That is all the declaration I am in need of." It sounded much more brazen and sure than the young man felt. Still, if this was truly to be his end, it should at least be a death worthy of retelling.

He narrowed his blue eyes against the cloak of night. The wraith was clad in all black; his mount a monstrous mass of ebon muscles as well. Could he think him blind enough to not see such things? Truly, no human of Gondor would allow himself to travel in such garb. Not when he could so easily be mistaken for one of the greatest powers their enemy had to offer!

[Khamûl the Easterling]

Blasted Mortal... The Witch-King said most people did not remember the Nazgul! It is obvious this man does, or at least senses something about me... The sarcasm in his use of traveller indicates he knows more than he should.

Stopping his horse about eight feet away from the man, Khamul continued to glare directly at his target. He could feel the fear beginning to roll from the mortal. He could taste it. But even with Khamul's normally terror-causing gaze, the Gondorian still stood his ground. Either this man was the most foolish and stubborn human in the history of Middle-Earth, or he was brave. Whatever it was, it both irritated and pleased Khamul that he had finally found a man willing to stand up against a superior foe.

After a couple thousand years of self styled heroes who later became dead self styled heroes, Khamul was itching to find someone worthy of... well, anything. And it appeared that the subject of that wish was sitting on a horse before him. Of course, Khamul would have to kill the man now he knew a Nazgul was on the prowl, but in the meantime, the human would provide much joy.

"Fair enough, Man of Gondor, fair enough."

Khamul took a slight pause. Yes, the Gondor man was extremely suspicious. Or, he knew what stood before him. So...

"However, it makes me wonder... you speak of dark days? What is it that you would need protecting from, hmm?"

His last word had a extremely hiss to it. Khamul cursed himself inwardly. Even if the Gondor man knew of his nature, at the very least he could keep his voice steady!

[Calon]

The Nazgul had finally stilled in his approach; but Calon's muscles seemed to be as stone the way he sat so still. Certainly, he was missing something. Why had the creature stopped? If they were as terrible as the stories did say, why was the blood-thirsty monster not furthering a death count? It would be easy for him, surely, to take Calon down. A sick feeling welled up in his stomach as he thought back on the quietness of the land.

All of those patrolling soldiers must have been his victims earlier. If a trained soldier was no match for the cloaked figure, there was no way a hunter was going to be. The certainty of death aside, the man was not about to disgrace his father's name by turning and trying to flee. He was a citizen of Gondor.

All men were to protect their families, and their country. Or die trying, he added briefly in his mind. The creature began to speak once more, though the facade of his "traveller" guise was hardly holding now. The last question gave way to his demon-like person. It sent a chill down the young man's spine, and it took him a while to recover himself.

"Well, traveller," he began finally, continuing to slight and harp at the Nazgul's ploy. "The same you, too, should need if you are indeed an ally of Gondor." It was quite truthful, though quite telling. There was nothing here in Gondor that the Nazgul should fear except their drive to keep surviving; the way his people continued to live despite the fact that he and all of the other blasted creatures from Mordor kept trying to break them.

Perhaps, though, if he kept talking it would bide him more time. "What business brings you to Gondor alone?" He demanded, perhaps a bit too brazenly. Half of this question, though, was meant to give Calon an idea if he should accept reinforcements in the form of orcs, goblins, trolls...perhaps even another Nazgul. And, on the off chance that the creature answered, and he escaped---but how that possibility was small!---he could speak to the Steward on the matter. Or to someone who would relay the information correctly.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

"Indeed? But I don't believe that is the answer... Or perhaps it is."

Khamul's left hand shifted, and he rested it on the pommel of his sheathed sword. His horse began to pad its hooves on the ground before it, as if it could barely hold itself back from the Gondorian. Its desire to harm the 'free' man pleased him. Soon, the horse might have its chance. However, Khamul would deal the death blow when it came time.

Thats when the man asked the question. "What business brings you to Gondor alone?" This question was not one Khamul had a cover answer for. Although, at this point, his entire charade was falling through his grasp, and the cover was just about useless. The only thing it was doing was providing this Gondor man with more time to live. And, having not answered Khamul's question, the man now had no purpose. Well, one last purpose. Death.

The gig is up. Goodbye, mortal.

"My business, you ask? It is quite simple really. I have come to Gondor to kill insolent fools such as yourself who refuse to acknowledge the supreme power of my Lord."

With this final declaration of hostility and intent, Khamul let go of his sword with his left hand and replace it with his right. He grasped the handle, and drew it from his scabbard.

Don't worry, mortal. You won't be missed in these 'dark times.'

[Calon]

The Nazgul's hand moved, and from the general location Calon could see against the sea of blackness--the creature could very well have been reaching for a weapon of sorts. So this was how it was to end? It seemed that the hostility of both the horse and rider were growing. If the Nazgul would desire to keep his identity hidden; the realization that he could no longer do such a thing was immanent. And with such a revelation was going to be upon hand soon, and with that would come death.

Calon had expected that the black rider would not have come to the realization so quickly, but indeed he had. "My business, you ask? It is quite simple really. I have come to Gondor to kill insolent fools such as yourself who refuse to acknowledge the supreme power of my Lord." Calon's blood ran cold, though the young man was fighting to keep his head level. Surely there was no escape if he panicked.

Oh, how entirely foolish to leave the city walls alone!

The wraith reached for and drew a blade, Calon instinctively letting fly the arrow he had been holding in the ready. If the stories were right, it would have no affect on him at all---still it might possibly buy him enough time to escape if it at least surprised him. Quickly he picked up the reins once more and heeled Talagor into motion. It seemed his steed was quite ready to be rid of the Nazgul himself, and eagerly backtracked and began to ride out of the trees.

The mount the wraith had had looked sturdy, and not nearly as lean and lithe as his own. Still, Calon had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that such a force would not sit astride a mount that was not equally as swift as Talagor. He tossed a blue glance over his shoulder and squinted in the dark for any sign of a shadowed figure.

It was quite dangerous to go galloping in the night like this; and under normal circumstances, Calon would not have allowed himself such foolish actions. If Talagor faltered, his mount would be injured, and Calon would find death. But if they did not make haste like they were, surely death would find them anyway.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

The arrow let loose from the Gondorian zipped through the air. At point blank range, it was impossible for it to miss its target. The man was a good shot, as the arrow flew straight into Khamul's hood. It turned to dust on contact, dissolved by the wraith's non-corporeal body. If Khamul was any normal man, then he would have been quite dead. But alas, he was not only immortal, but invincible to all but the most powerful of foes.

Raising his sword in a menacing manner, Khamul kicked the flanks of his horse. It whinnied, then it was off, galloping at quite a high speed. He directed his horse after the Gondorian, riding as hard as he could. However, the man's horse was extremely fast, even Khamul's steed was having a hard time catching up with the man.

With his quarry escaping, Khamul's head filled with ideas on how to stop the man. Perhaps a black dart? He could use the Black Breath. Black sorcery was an option. Or perhaps, something less wasteful of his energy. Sure, it would likely attract unwanted attention, but the Gondorian man's horse would utterly freak, and chances were, the man himself would be struck with unimaginable terror. Yes. Using that would at least form an opening for Khamul.

So, Khamul simply laughed to himself, and let loose the horrific scream of the Nazgul.

This man might be already be in extreme terror. And the scream might not do its worst. But few men could withstand the scream of the Nazgul. Very, very few indeed. And besides, if it failed, the other options were always open.

[Calon]

It certainly did not take long for the cloaked figure to rocket from the depths of the forest in pursuit. There was still a bit of distance between both the huffing black stallion and his own, it was not enough space to give Calon any comfort at all. Surely the Nazgul was merely toying with him. He had overpowered trained soldiers, why is it the young man would prove to be any different?

Still, something inside him prevented his resolution of resigning himself to die without fighting for his life. Such a death, he told himself fleetingly, would be honorable. He chanced lesser deaths daily in the stables. This would at least let his father know he had raised a son who would stand up for Gondor, the blessed White City.

His thoughts were interrupted immediately by the screeching cry of the wraith behind him, and instantly it seemed that the man's rampant heart increased in its rate, and also did it startle his mount. Talagor came to a screeching halt, reared and sidestepped. The whites of his eyes were showing as if a beacon to his terror. Calon heeled the stallion once more, fervently chancing to look on the distance between he and his pursuer. Blessed Valar, he thought. Aide me in escape.

Talagor took off once more; he held an increased pace, sensing his own folly in faltering where he had. It had certainly closed the gap between the two, and it would take every effort on the young man and mount to make it out of this scrape well. Though, in the blanket of the night, it would seem a blessing to hold a swift death.

The Field was racing by under his horse's flying hooves, the golden grasses whispering by them at their speed. It would be, under any other circumstances, a lovely night. One that any man in the city was surely enjoying. But the beauty and peace of the even sky was doing nothing to calm Calon's nerves, nor was it of any importance to the Nazgul behind him, he was certain.

Ahead he could see the far-off lights of the seven-tiered city, the little candles that burned in windows, and fires that were burning for the guard on patrol seeming to taunt him with thoughts of warmth and safety. At least, if he were to die here, Calon could safely say that he had left this world on a lovely, clear night. That the last thing he would see would be the dancing stars in their blanket of blue and black.

Setting his jaw harder, the man prayed it would not come to that.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

Oh, man. If Khamul had a physical face, he would be grinning a mile wide. For all the bad things Khamul was forced through as a Nazgul, at least he had power over others. Since he could not grin, Khamul conveyed his emotions in a haunting laugh. A unnatural, hiss of malevolence. Another thing in his favor, at least in situations such as these.

The distance between Khamul and the Gondorian had closed. Now, Khamul had the advantage of emitting his aura of terror at point blank range. Plus, it gave him a unmissable chance to toy with the man. So, he drew in a breath, and let it loose, aiming directly at the man. Accompanying the breath was another scream. A scream of terror, plus the Black Breath? Brilliance.

Following this, Khamul took a swipe with his sword at the man. The blade whizzed towards the man's head, but missed him by a hair's width. Lucky Gondorian scum. If that Morgul Blade had kicked him, he would have been screwed. Unless, of course, there were any blasted elven healers around, like that infernal Elrond. Which, given the current situation with Gondor, Khamul found highly unlikely.

If this chase went on much longer, it was sure to attract attention from the garrison of Gondor. Sure, he could fight them, but to many foes could kill him with sheer numbers.

[Calon]

Calon was used to being a hunter. He was not, however, familiar with the feeling of being hunted. And yet there, as he urged Talagor faster, that was all he could feel. Terror, adrenaline. The creature behind him was hissing. Was that the show of the creature’s content?

The young man did not know of the close swipe of the Morgul blade. Subconsciously, his body tensed in the moments it had passed so close to him, but his eyes had been elsewhere. And the whistling of the metal had blended in with the roaring air that rushed by his ears.

The Nazgul did not seem quite keen on keeping itself secret. The way it screamed was sure to draw attention from the guards of the city. Would their forces be enough to still the Black Rider’s pursuit?

A sickening feeling began to was over him. It was not, though, merely his nerves. Oh, what poor timing; to begin to feel your body weaken and feel such illness! But then, it might not have been poor timing at all.

Much to Calon’s despair, beyond the dark magic that he knew Nazgul to have, he was not really aware of anything else they could do. Certainly they would not have so little to offer, if Sauron were to continue to use them as he did.

Stories of the Nazgul had been quiet for some time, though. Details amongst some of the Gondorians had been lost, or had faded. Or, perhaps just omitted as time had gone by. Surely the effects of any other attack they possessed were gruesome and torturous. Perhaps this ill feeling was a calculated effort to still his escape. To kill him.

Calon took some deep breaths as he continued to fly through the darkness, trying to counteract the noxious breath of the foe behind him. Oh, but what terrible feelings! He had never known a greater despair and sadness, nor felt such fear before. And his body had never taken sick so quickly. The young man grunted through clenched teeth and tight reins, heeling Talagor once more.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

He resists! What is this madness? It seems this man simply takes his weakness and uses it to fuel his urge to flee. Never before has a man done so, most simply curl up and wait to die. I will have to inform the Witch-King of this...

Khamul's patience was running out. However, a grudging respect for the man that fled before him grew within his heart. Any other man would have fallen by now. This man could ride a horse like no other Khamul had seen before. Even he, who had been a expert horseman amongst his people years ago, was having trouble catching this man.

He flees to fast! How shall I stop him? My lord Sauron, help me in my plight!

An answer to this prayer was given. The image of a black dart flashed through Khamul's mind, and he knew what to do. He sheathed his sword as his horse galloped, but reached into his cloak, before pulling out a dart of the blackest night. Taking it in his sword hand, Khamul threw it directly at the man's steed. It flew through the air, and....

It missed. The Black Dart had missed its target. Instead of hitting the horse, or the man, the dart flew past them, before falling to the ground. It impacted into the ground with a soft thud. Khamul swore in the Black Speech. His luck seemed to have ran out.

He drew his sword once more, and jabbed his horse's flanks with his boots, forcing it faster. This man needed to die, now! Oh, if only his sorcery included lethal spells! But Khamul was not a sorcerer of the same skill as the Witch-King. The lethality of his spells decreased as the distance between Mordor and himself increased. Khamul would most definitely have a word with the Witch-King upon his return to Minas Morgul. How could he accomplish his missions with out the Tower of Sorcery at full power? They needed to activate all the stones! And soon!