Deep within the heart of Mount Doom, where the heat of the flame saturates the air, thick like the very magma it erupts from, lies the Dark Lord's forge: Sammath Naur. Here, within the Cracks of Doom, Sauron wove his dark magic to craft a weapon from the very fires of the earth itself—a weapon meant to dominate all of Middle-earth.
In the sanctum of Orthanc, Saruman's pride swelled like a storm-tossed sea, and it was there that the seeds of his treachery and covetousness took root, casting an ominous shadow upon the land.
In the heart of the ancient city of Minas Tirith stood a small unit of guards, resolute and vigilant, like a steadfast pillar of Gondorian valour. Clad in gleaming armour, they stood beside the long thought dead White Tree of Gondor, a symbol of a thriving bygone era, and an emblem of lingering hope, awaiting the return of their king.
The oldest of the Ents, Fangorn, or Treebeard™ as he was called in the common tongue, dwelt in the ancient forest that shared his name.
Within the derelict mines of Moria, the desperate passage of a fledgling fellowship, along with the incessant cries from a hoard of blood-thirsty orcs, rouse an ancient beast from its age long slumber. Stalking within the shadows of the long-abandoned halls, the foul creature seeks to annihilate this band of trespassers. With flames and fury, none shall escape its wrath.
