“The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! he had a kingly crown; and yet upon no head visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter. “Old fool!” he said. “Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!” And with that he lifted high his sword and flames ran down the blade.” - Witch-king of Angmar
Campaign Features
Witch King
Conquer Eriador and herald the return of the Witch-king to his rightful domain in Angmar
Sauron’s Will (V3)
Capture historical Numenorean settlements such as Fornost and Annuminas to recieve custom Black Numenorean generals and reinforcements from Mordor
In an age long past, the Witch-king ruled the lands to the far frozen north and he waged a ravishing and destructive war on the land of Arnor. He was eventually defeated by the might and majesty of the Elves and Gondorians but his legacy of hate lives on, undying through the years. In that frozen land today forces muster once more set on bringing ruin to the lands of Eriador in the Witch-king's name! Taken from the ranks of the finest warriors or the Witch-realm and equipped with dark iron armour and shields, they will hold the gates of Carn Dûm against any foe and their devotion to the Witch-king and his legacy would see them die rather than flee.
In ages past, the Legions of the Iron Crown organised a strategic withdrawal into the far North upon seeing their Lord, the Witch-King of Angmar fall to Glorfindel and Eärnur. Not all those who called themselves Angmarim were given the chance to flee with them however, for those who fled were the professional army and the nobles, while commoners and levies were left behind. Left with no choice, they had to beg mercy from Gondor, and were allowed to settle in Angmar provided they pay tribute to Gondor. The treaty fell apart in the chaos surrounding Eärnur’s disappearance after he accepted the challenge of the Witch-King, and with the return of the Legions, the common Angmarim once again march against those who bear the blood of Arnor in vengeance for their defeat long ago.
Angmarim Archers are one of the two forces that levies can find themselves placed in. These archers act as Angmar’s solid and dependable ranged force in most engagements, and although they are easily defeated in melee, their numbers can make them a force to take note of. Even the strongest of heart among those of the south may cower if these archers are allowed to blot out the sun with their arrows.
In ages past, the Legions of the Iron Crown organised a strategic withdrawal into the far North upon seeing their Lord, the Witch-King of Angmar fall to Glorfindel and Eärnur. Not all those who called themselves Angmarim were given the chance to flee with them however, for those who fled were the professional army and the nobles, while commoners and levies were left behind. Left with no choice, they had to beg mercy from Gondor, and were allowed to settle in Angmar provided they pay tribute to Gondor. The treaty fell apart in the chaos surrounding Eärnur’s disappearance after he accepted the challenge of the Witch-King, and with the return of the Legions, the common Angmarim once again march against those who bear the blood of Arnor in vengeance for their defeat long ago.
Angmarim Infantry are one of the two forces that levies can find themselves placed in. These common swordsmen armed with simple shields have pledged their services to the Iron Crown and serve as a dependable force to help hold the line against Angmar’s many foes. Their greatest strength lies in their numbers as they give other forces time to crush Angmar’s hated enemies.
As Angmar extends its influence in the south, and its Legions march against its foes, more regions fall under the dominion of the Men of Carn Dûm. From these lands, they draw forth conscripts to use as walls of human fodder to shield the Angmarim from the damage that may have had come to them otherwise. These conscripts are drawn from the farmers and fishers that dwell among captured regions of the Iron Crown.
Thralls are nothing to be feared. Being men who were forced into battle against their will, they have little desire to fight and so will turn and flee if given the chance. Armed only with simple shields and spears, they serve as human shields and pose little threat. The only danger comes in the vast numbers of these poor souls who have been pressed into service.
In the lands of Eriador dwell those descended from Arnor: the Northern Dúnedain. These warriors carry bows of almost unmatched quality among mortals and the whistle of their arrows strikes fear into the hearts of the men of the Iron Crown. Their ancestors also stood against the realm of Angmar and they have been bitter foes since the dawn of the Third Age. However, in the wars of ages past, the Morgul King devised a strategy to counter and silence the great bows of the Dúnedain; he founded the Darkblades. Years later, the Darkblades still serve as Angmar’s shield against the arrows of the north. Wielding bows of near unmatched power themselves, their first action is to silently return fire on the Dúnedain. Their ice cold arrows strike with high accuracy and throw the Dúnedain off guard. Once their enemy is floundering, the Darkblades draw their duel namesake swords and charge. If their enemies thought they were a threat from afar then they will see them as death incarnate in melee. The Darkblades learnt long ago that the haughty and proud Dúnedain are slow to draw swords and quick to underestimate and it is in the chaos of melee that they shine. They quickly silence all but the most elite of enemies and pass over the battlefield as a great shadow of death. The Darkblades were the Witch-king's pride and now, over a thousand years later, they still slay in his name.
Long ago, when Angmar was ruled by the Witch-King, an elite guard of hand-picked warriors, chosen from the most brutal and merciless warriors of the Witch-realm, would accompany him into battle. Now that the Witch-King has returned to Angmar, he has brought with him steeds used by the Nazgûl to reforge this bodyguard. Personally picking the most capable men of Rhudaur, the Witch-King has outfit them with the steeds of the Nazgûl, black plate armour forged in the fires of Carn Dûm, and maces alike to his own. This force now stands as Angmar’s most deadly weapon for it allows them to engage with the cavalry of the Elven Nations and the Northern Dúnedain on equal ground, and thus overcome one of Angmar’s key weaknesses as the maces they wield can easily slay elven and human riders. Any enemy of Angmar would do well to fear these riders for they represent the Witch-Kings might anew, and are heralds of a new era of superiority for Angmar.
The lands to the North of Rivendell are considered to be desolate and empty, inhabited only by Orcs, Trolls and other vile creatures. Yet this is not entirely true. From the days of the Second Age, a grim folk dwelled in the mountain vales of the Misty Mountains. Descended from the wild tribes of the White Mountains or some say even from Ulfang the Black himself, Hill-men fell under the reign of the Witch-king of Angmar, and usurped power in Rhudaur. Scattered and broken after the defeat of their master, they fled northward. Their numbers diminished, but not their hatred towards the people of Bree, their distant kin, and the accursed Dúnedain. Armed mostly with simple hand axes, and small wooden shields, Hill-men can often be seen among the first ranks of Orc hordes, rampaging in the lands of Northern Eriador.
Long ago, the Kingdom of Angmar ruled over the harsh north. From their stronghold of Carn Dûm, the Angmarim, the Men of the Iron Crown, dictated the fates of men, elves, dwarves and orcs. Their empire collapsed however, when Gondor and the elves drove their foul leader, the Witch-King, from the North. The land was scoured of foul creatures but not of men, for the forces of the Iron Crown fled into the cold north, and when Gondor returned south, they returned to the ruins of Carn Dûm. Long have they plotted and waited for the ripe moment to reclaim their lost kingdom, and now, with the advent of the Shadow, they move south in a legion of ice and sorcery, bearing the mark of Angmar, the Iron Crown.
One of the divisions of the Legion of the Iron Crown are its halberdiers. These sturdy men strike fear into the foes of the Iron Crown for they clutch their spiked halberds with determination and will stand resolute against the tide of their enemy. Cavalry especially will fail upon this sturdy wall as if it was waves crashing against a shore.
Long ago, the Kingdom of Angmar ruled over the harsh north. From their stronghold of Carn Dûm, the Angmarim, the Men of the Iron Crown, dictated the fates of men, elves, dwarves and orcs. Their empire collapsed however, when Gondor and the elves drove their foul leader, the Witch-King, from the North. The land was scoured of foul creatures but not of men, for the forces of the Iron Crown fled into the cold north, and when Gondor returned south, they returned to the ruins of Carn Dûm. Long have they plotted and waited for the ripe moment to reclaim their lost kingdom, and now, with the advent of the Shadow, they move south in a legion of ice and sorcery, bearing the mark of Angmar, the Iron Crown.
One of the divisions of the Legion of the Iron Crown are its longbowmen. For hundreds of years, the men of Carn Dûm have trained in the use of this weapon they once used against Arnor, and this time has led to the forces of Angmar acquiring a deadly proficiency that is equal to that of most mortals. Forces who march against this foe should beware the fatal sting of their arrows, but it is wise for both Angmar and its enemies to remember that the Legion is not as a numerous as it once was, and the loss of these men may not be able to be replaced.
Long ago, the Kingdom of Angmar ruled over the harsh north. From their stronghold of Carn Dûm, the Angmarim, the Men of the Iron Crown, dictated the fates of men, elves, dwarves and orcs. Their empire collapsed however, when Gondor and the elves drove their foul leader, the Witch-King, from the North. The land was scoured of foul creatures but not of men, for the forces of the Iron Crown fled into the cold north, and when Gondor returned south, they returned to the ruins of Carn Dûm. Long have they plotted and waited for the ripe moment to reclaim their lost kingdom, and now, with the advent of the Shadow, they move south in a legion of ice and sorcery, bearing the mark of Angmar, the Iron Crown.
One of the divisions of the Legion of the Iron Crown are its warriors. Those who are bold and brave among the Men of the Iron Crown are chosen to serve in their ranks and are given deadly two-handed swords to smite the foes of the Iron Crown. Those who serve in this division however seldom live to old age for the lack of a shield makes them easy prey to arrows.
Life in the far north is unrelenting, and only those who call it home understand its merciless grip. What a Dalian might shiver at, or even an Angmarim might curse, the Lossoth dismiss with disdain. They wander the vast, featureless expanse of the Forodwaith, where snow stretches endlessly toward a dim horizon beneath oppressive, cloud-laden skies. What prey they stalk in that frozen expanse, none from the south can say, but their homes, fashioned from the bones of creatures large enough to dwarf a noble’s hall, whisper of the monstrous quarry hidden in the white nothingness.
The Lossoth are the true rulers of the north, after a fashion, and their blood is as cold as the lands that sustain them. They lived here long before the Númenóreans carved their fleeting kingdoms into the stone and woods, and when the last ruler of Arthedain drowned in the Bay of Forochel, their fragile realm collapsing into ruin, the Lossoth paid it no heed. They continued their hunt across the tundra, undisturbed.
To endure in such desolation is to embody it. These men are not merely hunters—they are killers forged by hardship and brutal necessity. Their hooked arrows are tipped with poisons that bring down man and beast alike, from lumbering walruses to the stranger creatures of the north. Their layered armor, stitched from fur and sinew, seems strange and cumbersome to the untrained eye, but while others freeze to death beneath the bitter winds, the Lossoth endure.
To wage war in snow and ice is to fight on their terms, and any commander with wisdom will seek their spears and arrows. But those who deal with the Lossoth would do well to remember—they are not men of hearth and warmth. They are born of the cold, their hearts as stark and unyielding as the frozen plains they call home.
These men are the most experienced and battle-ready of the Icewalkers. They have endured many a freezing night by the side of their chief and protected their tribe from beast and man alike. While the population of the Lossoth people is scattered, hard times call for desperate measures and often times taking the food of your fellow tribe is easier than finding prey in the vast wilderness of Forodwaith.
Life in the far north is unrelenting, and only those who call it home understand its merciless grip. What a Dalian might shiver at, or even an Angmarim might curse, the Lossoth dismiss with disdain. They wander the vast, featureless expanse of the Forodwaith, where snow stretches endlessly toward a dim horizon beneath oppressive, cloud-laden skies. What prey they stalk in that frozen expanse, none from the south can say, but their homes, fashioned from the bones of creatures large enough to dwarf a noble’s hall, whisper of the monstrous quarry hidden in the white nothingness.
The Lossoth are the true rulers of the north, after a fashion, and their blood is as cold as the lands that sustain them. They lived here long before the Númenóreans carved their fleeting kingdoms into the stone and woods, and when the last ruler of Arthedain drowned in the Bay of Forochel, their fragile realm collapsing into ruin, the Lossoth paid it no heed. They continued their hunt across the tundra, undisturbed.
To endure in such desolation is to embody it. These men are not merely hunters—they are killers forged by hardship and brutal necessity. Their hooked arrows are tipped with poisons that bring down man and beast alike, from lumbering walruses to the stranger creatures of the north. Their layered armor, stitched from fur and sinew, seems strange and cumbersome to the untrained eye, but while others freeze to death beneath the bitter winds, the Lossoth endure.
To wage war in snow and ice is to fight on their terms, and any commander with wisdom will seek their spears and arrows. But those who deal with the Lossoth would do well to remember—they are not men of hearth and warmth. They are born of the cold, their hearts as stark and unyielding as the frozen plains they call home.
Long ago, Mount Gram was known as a peak of terror. From its gates would issue hordes of orcs, who at the command of the Witch-king would bring terror to Arnor. Those days ended when Gondor invaded the north and crushed Angmar, for they purged the halls of the Mount and left it a smouldering ruin. The few orcs that escaped fled into the empty plains north of Gundabad, and forged pacts with the wargs that hunted there, before returning to the empty halls of their home many years later in the chaos that emerged as Gondor’s power waned when their king vanished. Stripped of their might, the Orcs of Mount Gram became an elite raiding force mounted on wargs.
Forging a pact with the Men of Carn Dûm, they act as their ranged and mounted support in exchange for supplies and trinkets. These Marauders are the orcs who have chosen to master the art of melee. Bearing long spears, they are a force to be reckoned with for they can bring fear and death to infantry, archers and cavalry alike. Only pikes, their bane, can halt them. With their might, they shall remind men once again that Mount Gram is a symbol to be feared.
Long ago, Mount Gram was known as a peak of terror. From its gates would issue hordes of orcs, who at the command of the Witch-king would bring terror to Arnor. Those days ended when Gondor invaded the north and crushed Angmar, for they purged the halls of the Mount and left it a smouldering ruin. The few orcs that escaped fled into the empty plains north of Gundabad, and forged pacts with the wargs that hunted there, before returning to the empty halls of their home many years later in the chaos that emerged as Gondor’s power waned when their king vanished. Stripped of their might, the Orcs of Mount Gram became an elite raiding force mounted on wargs.
Forging a pact with the Men of Carn Dûm, they act as their ranged and mounted support in exchange for supplies and trinkets. These Raiders are the orcs who have chosen to master the art of the bow. Bearing their cruel bows, their arrows’ sting brings only death and fear to those who oppose Angmar. Their speed even allows them to flee from those who would crush them. With their might, they shall remind men once again that Mount Gram is a symbol to be feared.
In an age long past, the Witch-king ruled the lands to the far frozen north and he waged a ravaging and destructive war on the land of Arnor. He was eventually defeated by the might and majesty of the Elves and Gondorians but his legacy of hate lives on, undying through the years. In that frozen land today, forces muster once more, set on bringing ruin to the lands of Eriador in the Witch-king's name. Those loyalist few march to war in fierce battalions. Each is armoured with heavy black armour forged in the style of Angmar of old and they will see his glorious task be done! The Northguard prefer to go to war with large black iron shield and brutal maces, capable of crushing even the thick armour of the sons of Arthedain, they can create havoc and mayhem where they choose and are the strongest warriors in Angmar's arsenal.
After the time of the Great Plague, evil spirits out of Angmar and Rhudaur entered into the deserted mounds of old Arnor and dwelt there. A shadow came out of dark places far away, and the bones were stirred in the mounds. Barrow-wights walked in the hollow places with a clink of rings on cold fingers, and gold chains in the wind. Risen to trouble the lands of men, these fiends strike fear into the hearts of their opponents.
The ancient realm of Rhudaur was situated in the North-east of old Arnor and lay between the Ettenmoors, the Weather Hills, and the Misty Mountains. After the eighth king of the Northern Kingdom, Eärendur, Arnor was separated and the line of the Dúnedain quickly fell into decline in Rhudaur. The people became embittered, foul things crept out from the North and after series of conflicts with their former brethren of Arthedain and Cardolan, the kingdom was annexed and terminated by Angmar. Today Rhudaur is just a name on the map. There are several scattered villages and farms of former inhabitants of the kingdom, who mingled with wild men and men of the hills. They brood the grudge against the Dúnedain and their Elven allies, who drove them to the mountains, to die on the cold rocks.
Most men of the Hills are not the most skilled fighters using their heavy weaponry. However, constant practice with these weapons and heavy mail provided by the forges of Carn-Dûm have made these men a very capable fighting force and one not to be underestimated by the armies of Eriador.
The ancient realm of Rhudaur was situated in the North-east of old Arnor and lay between the Ettenmoors, the Weather Hills, and the Misty Mountains. After the eighth king of the Northern Kingdom, Eärendur, Arnor was separated and the line of the Dúnedain quickly fell into decline in Rhudaur. The people became embittered, foul things crept out from the North and after series of conflicts with their former brethren of Arthedain and Cardolan, the kingdom was annexed and terminated by Angmar. Today Rhudaur is just a name on the map. There are several scattered villages and farms of former inhabitants of the kingdom, who mingled with wild men and men of the hills. They brood the grudge against the Dúnedain and their Elven allies, who drove them to the mountains, to die on the cold rocks.
Centuries of fighting the mounted Dúnedain have led the hillmen to arm rabbles with sturdy pikes; these men are the result. Capable at holding a formidable pike wall, they will not quake under the hooves of any enemy but they are susceptible to flanking attacks.
The ancient realm of Rhudaur was situated in the North-east of old Arnor and lay between the Ettenmoors, the Weather Hills, and the Misty Mountains. After the eighth king of the Northern Kingdom, Eärendur, Arnor was separated and the line of the Dúnedain quickly fell into decline in Rhudaur. The people became embittered, foul things crept out from the North and after series of conflicts with their former brethren of Arthedain and Cardolan, the kingdom was annexed and terminated by Angmar. Today Rhudaur is just a name on the map. There are several scattered villages and farms of former inhabitants of the kingdom, who mingled with wild men and men of the hills. They brood the grudge against the Dúnedain and their Elven allies, who drove them to the mountains, to die on the cold rocks.
The men of Rhudaur use their hatred of the west to stir a battle fury within them, none more so than the men named 'Rhudaur Savages'. These men will blindly charge into any enemy, caught in a bloodlust and swinging their vicious clubs, they are a force to be feared.
The ancient realm of Rhudaur was situated in the North-east of old Arnor and lay between the Ettenmoors, the Weather Hills, and the Misty Mountains. After the eighth king of the Northern Kingdom, Eärendur, Arnor was separated and the line of the Dúnedain quickly fell into decline in Rhudaur. The people became embittered, foul things crept out from the North and after a series of conflicts with their former brethren of Arthedain and Cardolan, the kingdom was annexed and terminated by Angmar. Today Rhudaur is just a name on the map. There are several scattered villages and farms of former inhabitants of the kingdom, who mingled with wild men and men of the hills. They brood the grudge against the Dúnedain and their Elven allies, who drove them to the mountains, to die on the cold rocks. Armed with axes, which they use before charge, clad in sturdy leather and chain mail, Rhudaur Landsmenn are ready to offer their services to any orc chieftain, who would help them regain the lands of their fathers.
In the lands that lie in the cold north of Middle-earth dwell tribes of savage wargs. Clad in white fur, these beasts move across the snow unseen. The orcs that scavenge a living in these lands have forged fell pacts with these tribes, and now, they ride upon these cruel beasts. Together, orc and warg are truly greater than the sum of their parts as they raid to stave off the pangs of hunger.
Warg Skirmishers are a quick force that can ride across the moors that carpet Middle Earth’s north. Armed with javelins, they are a competent ranged battalion that is well suited for hit and run tactics against those the orcs dub as their foe. They are also wary for pikes are an fatal counter for their mount, and are quick to flee the battle if they sense it is turning against them.
In the lands that lie in the cold north of Middle-earth dwell tribes of savage wargs. Clad in white fur, these beasts move across the snow unseen. The orcs that scavenge a living in these lands have forged fell pacts with these tribes, and now, they ride upon these cruel beasts. Together, orc and warg are truly greater than the sum of their parts as they raid to stave off the pangs of hunger.
Warg Raiders are a quick force that can ride across the moors that carpet Middle-earth’s north. Unusually for orcs, they wield bows, and are skilled in their use. Trained as long ranged raiders, these battalions are known from their lethal efficiency, for there has been many a time when they have killed many a man with their arrows, only to flee on their wargs at the sight of reinforcements, confident that mounted warriors will not give chase due to their steeds’ fear of the orc’s own mounts.
