The Origin Story

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"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." -- Thorin Oakenshield It was three generations ago when the line of Cardolan Kings was restored in blood if not with a crown. When the last prince of Cardolan fled the reach of Angmar his name fell to history, but his blood lived strong. And through dozens of generations, not unlike Arthedain, the royal branch was founded again. Cardolan and Arnor would not be forgotten or forsaken, even after long years of despair and longing. There was one man that took the helm to right ancient wrongs and restore what was once the greatest kingdom in the North; he was called Arafel, and in his blood ran that of the Cardolan kings before him. Long before his line had mingled with that of the Arthedain kings and relatives; those of Cardolan stock had joined those calling them the Rangers of the North, poor outcasts and embers of Dúnedain glory of old. In his youth, Arafel was a mournful young man, full of doubt since the day his father told him he was to be the heir of a kingdom long lost. What was the king of ruins? For many years thoughts of the royal bloodline and dreams of glory were pushed far back into parts of the soul lost to daily life. Such a thing was easy when eating and staying next to a fire were a man's main priorities. The others? Fending off bandits and orc. A ranger's life was one far from the glory Arafel had been told about as a child.

Memories of his father's stories would not stay hidden for long. Arafel's own fate would bring those stories of his father back to life, and then some. Arafel found himself in Tharbad. It was an ancient city of Cardolan, that was true, but his reasons there were much more mundane. Bandits had used the city for refuge for some time, and it was Arafel's duty to give chase and purge them from the region. Purge he did, but in the process the ranger found an ancient, dilapidated tower half rubble and half flooded. Something drew him inside. Fate, Arafel had said, that day was meant to be. Found inside was an ancient tome. It spoke of the destruction of Cardolan at the hands of Angmar, the Great Plague of TA 1636, and the eventual failing of his ancestors. The line of Kings had stayed within Tharbad for hundreds of years, hiding from the Witch-King and refusing to capitulate to Arthedain rule.

The last entry read, "I shall go into the wilds with my cousins. No longer is Tharbad safe. The Greyflood rises from the rains and the ruin floods. I shall submit as a normal man, not as a King. Let the old die and the new grow."

Why the book never left that tower is a mystery. But that was not the only thing Arafel found in Tharbad. In the depths of those ruins Arafel's fortune was won. He found a King's ransom, which was his, as he was the true King of Cardolan after all. It mattered not that much of the treasure was printed long after the fall of Arnor, or were Gondorian coins. Among what he found was a golden crown with a single sapphire. It was his crown. The crown of Cardolan. It was then when Arafel first forsook his duty. In secret, he went to great lengths to ensure no bandit or even ranger would find the treasury left for hundreds of years. He took only the tome and the crown and set off for Rivendell. Arafel's memories of his father's tales were now foremost in his thoughts and far from the repressed dreams of a starving vagabond.

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Rivendell was not a familiar place to Arafel. The ranger had few friends, and fewer still among the elves. He knew not Lord Elrond, who surely could authenticate the crown and the tome. It was an arduous journey. It took Arafel six months to make the journey from Tharbad to Rivendell, and another two to find the outpost, and only then by the grace of an elvish patrol he happened upon. When Arafel's audience finally was granted the man was sour with fatigue and pomp. He was the rightful King of Cardolan, but he was treated as a mere ranger.

The crown and tome were laid at Lord Elrond's feet, but the elvish lord spoke more of things lost to Arafel's understanding at the time. Who else could talk of whimsy and thinks to come other than elves; their lives eternal and without haste. Arafel knew urgency. His days would come to an end in a blink of an eye. Much to his chagrin, it took weeks for Lord Elrond and his advisers to render their decision. Telurin Tinarthel, one of Elrond's smiths, confirmed the crown was forged in Rivendell thousands of years hence. It was a gift, bestowed to Arahuel, the second son of Eärendur of Arnor, and first king of Cardolan. It took even longer for the elves to complete their study of the book. It was over eight hundred pages in length, and much of it was damaged or the paper in such poor condition as to be destroyed easily. It was transcribed and researched by an elf named Aerondil. And it too, in the end, was proven true.

It would not be the last time Telurin, Aerondil and Arafel's paths would cross.

With his spirits lifted by rest and a new future, Arafel left Rivendell. One his way through the north Arafel told his tell freely and to anyone that would listen. Within the next year Arafel was betrothed to an affluent lady descending from Arthedain nobility. Arafel began to gather others that could trace their lineage back to Cardolan particularly, and others that shared his goal of a rebuilt Arnor. Arafel had influence and coin. Five years after his discovery Arafel planned his first venture to the Ettenmoors. It was said that rangers had long known of an ancient fortress that once served as an eastern outpost of the Cardolan kingdom that was largely intact. Due to the dangers there, and the relative lack of importance, the rangers never explored it fully. With nearly twenty men Arafel led an expedition to change that. Arafel's reclaimed the fortress in two hours from hillmen that had been squatting there. There, Halleth, Son of Hallec had proved his mettle, and became a trusted confidant of King Arafel every day following. Ancient artifacts of Cardolan were recovered. Most of a library, in fact, which was only soiled by some of the books being destroyed as refuse paper. Arafel intended to settle the fort and began to plan such a feat.

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Even as ambitious as Arafel was, the man was no fool. The Ettenmoors were dangerous. Holding the fort was possible, but not without men. There were goblins that would eventually attempt to seize the fort, the wilds were a completely different problem. Traveling to and from the fort was a perilous task even if Arafel's initial trek had proved far easier. Arafel left Halleth in charge of the garrison, and with a small group of men traveled to Bree and then Dunland to recruit mercenaries and men-at-arms. Arafel returned to the Ettenmoors with his men, destroying a small goblin holding as he did so, and setting up a proper garrison. Arafel would never spend much time at the fortress, which he named the Eastfort. And never did his wife, or his three sons ever spend a day within the Ettenmoors. Never could he bolster his numbers enough to trust against a full blown attack.

Arafel's family had settled in Rivendell, by the grace of Lord Elrond, which was fitting Arafel's royal bloodline and the nobility of his wife's family. Arafel had largely ignored most of his ranger duties, but helped support their numbers by providing something nearly none of them possessed. Gold. But a secret truth became clear. Arafel's coin was beginning to grow low. He supported over two-hundred men in the Ettenmoors, plus paid to skirt his duty among his kin. His fortress did not need many repairs, but it had very little populace to support it. Food was nearly a bought and shipped. Merchants charged high prices when the Ettenmoors were concerned, and delivery of purchased goods were never guaranteed.

In the end, it was no great tragedy that ended the dream of Eastfort. The orcs never put up much of a threat to the tall stone walls and battlements. Eventually, Arafel could no longer fund it. He refused to sell anything of note that they had found. The furniture only brought in so much. Giving two-hundred men-at-arms leave, Arafel and his loyal men finally abandoned the fort. Arafel had dreams of returning and bringing a great host with him.

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Growing desperate, Arafel considered his next move. Over the next year he and a few of his men searched throughout Eriador for a way to raise funds to hire his army again and transplant farmers to cultivate the lands around the fort as best they could. The next year was tiring. Arafel traveled the north far and wide. He found small ruins here and there, but most had already been robbed by thieves and peasants. Arafel felt the weight of the situation slowly collapsing in on him. There was one place where riches still rested, he was sure of it, Carn Dum.

It was an extremely dangerous goal. He planned carefully. They would sneak in, attempt to steal out as much riches as they could, and sneak out. They were rangers, all fleet of foot and wise in the ways of the wilds. He contacts rangers that knew the path and enlisted what aid he could. Within Arafel's followers, all were ready and willing, but rumors throughout the north of Arafel's plan was met with extreme displeasure. Arafel would not relent. He had bested the Ettenmoors and so would he with Carn Dum.

Everything was in place. Arafel returned to Tharbad to collect the rest of his treasure and begin what would hopefully be a month long adventure of what consisted of burglary. What happened next was completely unexpected. Arafel found his guards killed and bandits looting his hidden treasury. Arafel had few men with him, as most were preparing for the expedition. Fighting gallantly, Arafel was badly outnumbered, and fell in battle among the gold that had stirred the flame in his soul to reunite his once great and proud kingdom.

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Following Arafel's death his men largely were blown by the wind. Without Arafel's gold to support them they returned to their duties and jobs that paid a wage. Halleth departed in anger and sorrow. His friend and liege had died, and with him, perhaps any chance of reclaiming lost glory.

Arafel's family remained in Rivendell for a time, but eventually left to reside with his wife's family's farmstead in Archet. Arafel's three sons, Arphan, Arelan, and Aravule were all young. But their father's crown and the tome of their forefather's deeds were never far away. The Book of Cardolan, as Arafel had named it, was several hundred pages longer now. Arafel had quadrupled and previous writer's entries. His plans, his dreams, and his fears were all written inside. Years passed and Arafel's deeds become myth more than truth, half-truths filled with tall-tales. But his sons knew the truth. They had his written word.

The three brothers, none far apart in age, each made a pact. They would see their father's ambition realized or die trying. When they grew older and into manhood they found themselves struggling not unlike their father in his youth. They had no gold and they had little of Arafel's expertise. Arphan began to hire his sword to Dunlending chieftains for whatever coin they had, which in the end was little. He ruthlessly hunted bandits and in turn took what was theirs. Soon, the second brother Arelan did the same. Both were involved in questionable means of raising money, they even traveled so far as Gondor and serve in mercenary fleets in Pelargir against the corsairs of Haradrim.

Even still, coin was in short supply, and when the two brothers returned home it appeared their royal ambitions were for not.

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In a chance meeting between the brothers and a dwarven merchant their prospects changed instantly. Vara Thunderfist is how the dwarf styled himself. Over a few tankards of ale in the Prancing Pony, the brothers explained their father's last plan for Carn Dum. The dwarf was instantly eager to fund the brothers' plot to enter Carn Dum and remove every last bit of treasure. Vara and his dwarven comrades had the coin to fund the expedition, and for a price of half the findings, the desperate Arphan and Arelan agreed. Vara began recruiting the necessary people to enter into Carn Dûm in force.

It was incredibly different than Arafel's plan. He wanted to simply sneak in and sneak out. The dwarf's plan was bold. If they were successful Eastfort could be manned and populated without delay. Their influence could spread across the north and would likely be able to rebuild various other strongholds destroyed. All this while robbing the Witch-King of Angmar of his wealth as retribution for what he had done.

The dwarf's recruiting was no secret. Halleth eventually made for the sons of Arafel and pledged himself to their cause. Within the year, most of the plan was hatched and taking shape, but one last hurdle remained. If they could get the support of Lord Elrond directly, they would surely not fail.

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Meanwhile, the youngest brother Aravule was conflicted. His brothers had done so much. He had done little. It was not on his own account, of course, but both his older siblings wanted him to remain in the north in case anything happened to them.

"A heir of the Cadrolan kings must always continue the line." Aravule had stayed behind and worked with the rangers as his father had. He was well known in Rivendell by the time his brothers returned from the south and quickly hatched their newest and most brazen plan. Aravule only wished his brothers would allow him to contribute for once. He was a man full-grown, skilled with the blade and the wilds.

When their fellowship met in Rivendell for the last time Aravule pleaded his case. Arphan was married and his wife was with child. He would be the heir to Cardolan, plus, every man would be of benefit. It was finally decided, not without some hesitation, that Aravule be allowed to accompany their party. When it came to plead their case before Lord Elrond it did not help their cause. Lord Elrond was vehemently opposed to the dwarf's plan. He had been against Arafel's original plan, but this brazen act was "flawed by many more fields and valleys".

In the end, Arphan left without any help from Lord Elrond directly. Lord Elrond did allow any elves in his service to escort the royal family as they like. It was an odd statement, surely, but only after two elves had requested that honor.

Halleth knew both from his days as a wanderer after Arafel's death. They were, amazingly, both quite involved with Arafel's initial discovery. Aerondil and Telurin had confirmed Arafel's suspicion of the legitimacy of the Crown of Cardolan Kings and the Book of Cardolan. It had come full circle as the three brothers, their father's longtime trusted adviser and two elves responsible for Arafel's burning desire left for a place of ancient evil.

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Four huge wagons were led into Carn Dûm that fateful day. A caravan of ponies, horses, dwarfs, elves and men. It was a strange thing such different peoples could come together to risk their lives on such a dangerous path. Getting to Carn Dûm was no easy feat. Two of the Dunlending men hired by King Arphan were killed between two separate orc raids. Between the might of elves, dwarfs and men their attacks were fended off. It was early morning when the ruins of Carn Dûm appeared under the sunrise. Many rejoiced as their victory was at hand.

The dwarfs had secured various maps of old Carn Dûm and were certain where they could secure the most treasure and heirlooms of Arnor. Vara was pleased when the first two vaults they opened filled the first huge wagon full. There was little to no resistance. Orcs were not in abundance and fled at the sight of the some two dozen men, dwarfs and elves.

The third location was a huge mausoleum which Vara and Arphan believed hosted something special. Unannounced to most, Vara and Arphan had seen evidence to support the Palanti­ri formerly at Amon Sûl had been brought to Carn Dûm long ago. It was the prize of this trip. It would be something without price. Such a gift would bring legitimacy back to Cardolan and Arnor. It would begin the healing. Only Vara knew that the tomb was likely that of the Witch-King of Angmar himself.

"I shall give you three the pleasure," the dwarf told them. "For Cardolan," he said as the three entered that place. Time passed. Eventually, a feeling of dread began to creep over the men that waited outside. It did not take long for the Dunlendings to flee, causing the setting of chaos across the caravan.

Aravule, ghostly pale, staggered from the ancient place of dread. Slipping from his grasp was his brother's crown just as the evil sound of the dead drifted out behind the youngest heir of the Cardolan kings of old. Suddenly, as if a damn hard burst, the ethereal images of the dead exposed themselves to the living.

Any and all hired mercenaries ran for their lives, never to be seen again. The rangers brought their blades to bare, but most shared the same fate as the men of less stock. The dwarfs wasted no time, trying to move the massive amount of gold from the terror. Some failed, being stabbed by icy blades, but Vara, with help from his terrified ponies, burst from the carnage.

The most steadfast in the face of such evil were the elves. Aerondil and Telurin found against the undead spirits. So too did Halleth keeping a wight at bay by nothing more than determination to Aravule and Arafel now long dead. Halleth barely remembers throwing Aravule over his shoulder and running, running until he found a horse, and riding until Carn Dûm was a distant and terrible nightmare.

Aravule did not wake on their return to Rivendell. His brothers, Arphan and Arelan were lost, as were most of their allies. The dwarfs and their gold were last seen fleeing west, but the elves nor ranger saw them again. When Aravule was brought to Lord Elrond the Black Breath was already heavy upon him. Only through the wisdom of Elrond did the line of kings of Cardolan not die out that day.

Aravule has awoken. It was two months and six days since the horror of Carn Dûm was unleashed. July 28th, 2954