The Warg and Warg Rider Appreciation Thread

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Squatter, it is wonderful to welcome yet another subscriber to the Appreciation Thread, especially a Downer held in awe by all such as yourself.

Excellent tale, I must say. The revelation about the poem of the Rohirrim is a real eye-opener for me. I have the traditional poem stuck on my wall and, though it is magnificent, it is only enhanced by the truth of the content.

I must apologise for the delay in my post. I had hoped to regail you all with a tale today, but events took an unexpected twist. I was in my study all set to put my notes together when, out of the blue, a wild Spider Monkey came crashing through my window. It rampaged through the room causing a frightful and most damaging mess of catastrophic proportions. It soon emitted a low subsonic scream in challenge of combat. It was just as well for yours truly that my father was at home at the time and, with his previous experience of fighting monkeys, was fully able to deal with this remarkable problem which had bulldozed its way into my day. It was a gory battle, and my father has now lost his sight in his left eye due to a particularly vicious gouge by the fiendish simian. However, the monkey was finally defeated, after my father employed a lethal karate chop to the beast's neck.

My study is now in a terrible mess and it may be a while before I can finally tell you all what happened in Khand on that weird and wonderful day.

[SamwiseGamgee]

What heinosity! I can hardly believe it. Just as well, indeed, that your father is such an expert monkey fighter. It reminds me of a tale regarding a golf commentator's daughter and a lifelong quest to eradicate all monkeys from the face of this planet. Gruesome.
Moving on, though, I depart in the eventide tomorrow for that fair land of Californai, and so shall I be fiendishly held from posting on this wonderous thread. If I get a chance I may post a field report and let you know how my warg spotting is going. I imagine I'll probably spend about eight days in a tent, just hoping to see a warg. One can but wish.
I'd also just like to welcome the newcomers to this thread (seems strange saying that to the Squatter!) and just comfort them with the fact that here at the Warg and Warg Rider Appreciation Thread we are a bunch of anally retentive warg-geeks (I'm speaking for Eomer and myself here), so if at first we seem slightly inflexible and stuck in our ways bear with us, it is many years of disappointment at the hands of this cruel world and its hatred of wargs that has made us this way!
And now I leave, may wargs speed my journey. Ciao

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Um...well said Samwise.

Have a most totally bodacious time in California. I'm sure the Wargs of the area already know of your coming but what they will do about it, I cannot say. As regards the golf commentator with the vendetta, I believe his name was Clive and he was a most controversial Englishman. Well, thats another story and another topic.

I promise, the next post I make shall be my long-overdue tale of Khand. Due to the delay I suspect that you will all be expecting far more of it than I can deliver. Nevermind, it features Wargs, what can possibly go wrong?

[Diamond18]

Introduction:

As I was walking down a dark and desolate street one night I came across a one armed man; this man had four scars running from his left cheekbone to his right collarbone, and it was a magnificent sight to see. He was dressed in tattered leather breeches and shirt made from a cheetah pelt. His hair was long and unkempt, and in his one hand (which had only four fingers) he clutched a bottle of Jack Daniels. He was, I soon saw, as drunk as a skunk in a runk. He hailed me as I passed by, telling me that if I would but gift him with money enough to buy himself supper (I rather suspected he really wanted to buy another bottle of hooch) he would tell me a tale the likes of which I had never heard.

I am, of course, always willing to interrupt my jaunts down dark, desolate streets to listen to tales told by drunken men in cheetah pelts, so I agreed. What follows is a tale so immense, so harrowing, so cheeky, and so far out, that it could only be about a Warg.

Disclaimer:

My source was completely sauced at the time of the telling, so what follows may challenge the common understanding of what it is to be a Warg, but I wash my hands completely and utterly of any controversial content.

Once again, and without further ado, I give you the borrowed tale of The Treasure Trove of Kum-bat-kûl


Long ago, in the depths of time, (somewhere not long after the Fourth age but long before this Seventh) in what we now know as the Darkest Darky-Dark Heart of Africa, there lived a race of Wargs akin, perhaps, to the Black Winged Wargs sighted by one High King Fingolfin of the BD. These Wargs, however, were not all black, but a whole variety of majestic colors (which yet included black). Pelts of gold, emerald, jade, royal purple, indigo, and blood red, were not uncommon. They had vast wings, and were known as the Amazing Many Colored Flying Wargs, or the Painted Winged Wargs, or Kum-bat-kûl's Flying Circus. Their Chieftan, the Great Immortal Warg Kum-bat-kûl, was an ancient, immense beast who had been born whilst the Elves still walked upon the land. His coat was of many colors, his eyes were shining lights, and his great whip of a tail measured 15 feet in length.

The Wargs of Kum-bat-kûl lived in gargantuan caverns known as the Kaleidoscope Caverns, so bright and colorful were their bejeweled walls. These caverns did not only sprawl beneath the earth, but rose inside of the tallest mountains, and many chambers opened upon the mountains faces, creating balconey halls at dizzying heights. The Wargs, however, being flying Wargs, cherished the heights rather than shunned them, and the Kaleidoscope Caverns were known far and wide.

Kum-bat-kûl so loved colors that he also hung great tapestries from the ceilings and draped priceless rugs dyed in every hue imaginable on the floors. The Wargs of Kum-bat-kûl were known far and wide for their gaudy, yet refined tastes, and dignitaries from other Wargs tribes (whose own renown has been cause for yet more tales too numerous to enumerate here) gifted the Painted Winged Wargs with jewels, paintings, silks, etc. of priceless worth and seriously garish coloring. Thus, the Caverns became the home of a mind-boggingly magnificent treasure trove.

These Wargs, like all Wargs, were fearsome beasts. Do not let their love of pretty things confuse or mislead you -- they could kick hiney with the best of Wargs, and indeed, some of the wilder Wargs of this race were fond of staining their teeth red with the blood of humans. One such faction were the followers of Larre, (also known as "He Who Was Wrong in the Head"). They would sneak out in the depth of moonless nights, when the other Wargs were sleeping, and they would fly over the plains and jungles in search of Mischief. Some of this Mischief was harmless enough, such as Lion Pong, but in their darker hours they were known to snatch babes from the huts of humans and take them flying high, high, high in the air (as some friendly Wargs of the Painted Clan often did to amuse their human friends) and then, without warning, drop these poor beings to their deaths on the ground below.

Larre and his sadistic followers were found out and punished by Kum-bat-kûl and his High Wargs, but still the stain of their perversion was remembered among the people. Yet another instance in a long, long, long, and I mean really long, line of unfortunate miscreants who have blemished the reputation of Wargs.

The glory days of the Wargs of Kum-bat-kûl has long since passed out of time and memory among many. But still, in the heart of Africa, are those who remember the old tales.

My strangely clad drunken friend was once a big game hunter in said Africa, and one day he met an old shaman who told him the tale of the Wargs. This man had been ignored by his people, labeled senile -- a raving madman. The hunter (who would only tell me to call him Hunter) alone listened in full to the shaman's tale. And once he had heard it, he took it in heart and mind to find the Treasure Trove of Kum-bat-kûl and take it for his own.

Long he sought it, experiencing many adventures too numerous to recount. He traveled the length and breadth of Africa searching ever and anon for riches and glory and Wargish history.

And then, one day, in the merry month of May, he came to it. An opening into the earth, like so many other openings he had seen before. Could this cave, he wondered, be the cave? It was. He found the Treasure Trove, and sought to take it from its hallowed grave out into the sunlight, and then sell it on Ebay.

This was his mistake. For the Wargs of Kum-bat-kûl, though long gone in memory, still lived. They were very few in number, but their fearsome leader still lead them, as it were. And Kum-bat-kûl, with the wisdom of a True Warg, could see into the heart of Man and when he peered curiously in the heart of the Hunter, he saw his dreams of personal glory and riches, and Ebay, and he disapproved. The Hunter, drunk on delusions of grandeur, didn't take "No" for an answer, and with his guns and knives and electronic chopsticks he challenged Kum-bat-kûl to a duel for the right to lead the Painted Wargs and do whatsoever he wanted to with the Treasure Trove.

Kum-bat-kûl accepted the challenge, and as you can guess, roundly beat the Hunter. All his gadgets and cunning could not stand against the mighty Paw and Claw and Tooth of the Great Immortal Warg. Yet, Kum-bat-kûl was also merciful, and did not take the life of the Hunter. Instead, he sent him back out into the world to spread his story of warning against greed, foolishness, delusions of grandeur, and the habit of wearing cheetah pelts.

End of story.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

A hearty welcome to yet another distinguished Downer at the Appreciation Thread. That was a most unusual tale Diamond, insofar as it is unusual to hear about the treasuries of Wargs in tales these days. To meet someone who has fought a Warg though, well that just boggles the mind. I hope he realises how lucky he is to be alive and to have such tales and wisdom (for knowledge of the ways of Wargs is wisdom).

It just goes to show that drunken crazy men can be extremely interesting. As if we didn't already know that!

Does this tale end any doubt as to the existence of winged Wargs?

[Arwen Evenstar]

A winged-warg? I don`t see why not! After all, balrogs have wings and I will do fighting on my part for anyone who denies it.

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Thank you all for your most cordial welcome. As a humble student in the lore of Wargs, I can only echo the off-the-record words of Pengolodh the Wise of Gondolin: "Let none, whether Elf or Man or indeterminate squishy thing, be held in awe. For the mighty Warg, noblest of Eru's creatures, hath taught us how unworthy are we of any such honour."

Your story is one to harrow up the doughtiest soul, Diamond, and it is not the only account that exists of the meetings betwixt Warg and human in the chances of the world. Recently I had occasion to visit a shop that deals in rare and antiquarian books, for I was in search of a copy of Professor S. Bickerstaff's watershed treatise, A Paleontological History of the Wargish Species (Ottle University Press, 1873). Since there are only eight known copies in existence, I held scant hope of laying hands on my prize; but in glancing through a disorderly collection of writings on Wargish matters, I was fortunate enough to discover the extremely rare A Conversational Dictionary of the Wargish Tongue by Major C.E.V. Forbes-Clithering, M.C., the noted Victorian adventurer. I'm sure that you will share my joy and excitement that this copy had belonged to none other than the Major himself, and that within the weighty tome I found what appears to be an account of his celebrated discovery of the Greater Sub-continental Hirsuit Warg.

This earth-shattering event, from which the field of Warg studies is still recovering, occurred while Major Forbes-Clithering was serving with the Seventeenth Bengal Lancers, in which he held a commission from 1868 to 1874. He and several other officers had organised a tiger-hunting party, and had established their hide in a clearing that bore the distinct signs of habitation by a large carnivore; but what began as a simple hunting trip was soon to catapult these men into the public eye with breathtaking force. Major Forbes-Clithering takes up the tale.

"Having awaited our quarry for some six hours, we had begun to consider the removal of our hide to another clearing some four and a half miles to the north-east. No sooner had we had reached a consensus, however, than our attention was diverted by the distinctive sounds of a large animal in the brush at the edge of the clearing. Believing this to be the rogue Bengal which was our principal game, Lieutenant Fitzmorris and I aimed our rifles at some undergrowth, in which we had noticed the signs of movement. At that moment it burst forth upon us, snatching up the goat and devouring it in a single snap of its prodigious jaws. This beast was greater by far than any tiger yet recorded; swathed about with thick, sleek hair of astounding length. Its eyes burned with a feral intelligence that caused us all to imagine that at any moment it might speak to us and bid us depart from its domain.

Indeed, the creature had divined our presence. Our treetop hides were no more a mystery to this lord of the jungle than had we been standing directly before it. Lieutenant Fitzmorris, who had marked himself out to me on prior occasions as a man of limited foresight, fired directly at its head at a distance of not more than twenty-five yards, and yet his shot had no visible effect. Instead, rearing upon its majestic hind legs, the creature, which can only have been of the genus Vulpus Nobilis Sapiens, slashed through the bole of that mighty tree with one blow of its great talons, causing the men who were at that time hiding within it to fall to their deaths. Lieutenant Fitzmorris it picked up and flung against my own tree, treading his broken body into the earth where it fell in evident contempt. Then it stared directly into my eyes, and I seemed to hear words as though spoken from far away:

'Do not wander in our domain with such toys as these; for only harm will befall those who seek to pursue the Wargs into their hidden fastnesses. The great cat you seek has displeased us and is dead. We have no use for its body, which you may do with as you will: it lies to the south, at the borders of our country.'

I stood as one palsied, unable to speak. I lowered my rifle in something akin to awe, while majestically the great Warg turned and strode back into the jungle. I have never seen before or since a sight of such awesome grandeur as I was vouchsafed that day in Bengal; nor would I trust my life again to such a tenuous thread of goodwill as then preserved me from destruction. I have heard it said that of all creatures, Man alone has the power of speech; and yet I swear that on that day I encountered a being that surpasses us in wisdom and spirit as completely as it does in strength and speed. Since that day I have hunted for pleasure no more, so deeply was I impressed."

[Diamond18]

A hearty welcome to yet another distinguished Downer at the Appreciation Thread.

*bows* Thank you, kind sir. I am honored to enter the discussion halls of such august and devoted Warg scholars. I am amazed at the travels undertaken and tomes searched for information about the species -- my own discovery was fortuitous, a matter of being in the right alley at the right time.

That was a most unusual tale Diamond, insofar as it is unusual to hear about the treasuries of Wargs in tales these days.

Indeed. I feel it is an aspect of Warg culture largely overlooked, and 'tis a shame. The Wargs, while not greedy by nature, could appreciate the finer things in life as well as bones dripping with fresh marrow. Would it not be fascinating to stroll the halls of a Warg Museum, wherein all the ancient writings and artefacts of Wargdom are preserved in a place of honor? Why, methinks even Kum-bat-kûl himself would not object to a part of his treasure on display, though that is only conjecture, never having met the esteemed fellow myself.

To meet someone who has fought a Warg though, well that just boggles the mind. I hope he realises how lucky he is to be alive and to have such tales and wisdom (for knowledge of the ways of Wargs is wisdom).

Alas, his debauched and disheveled state leads me to suspect the horrors of being taken to town by a Warg has had a more lasting effect on him than the mercy shown afterwards. Yet, he still tells his tale to any who will listen, as was Kum-bat-kûl's wish, so that's something.

But this leads me to a question: I am somewhat suspicious of one aspect of the Hunter's tale. That being, that Kum-bat-kûl himself still lives. Is there a known precedent for immortal Wargs? Surely, they are mystical beasts, but I have not heard of them being a deathless race before. I wonder if the Hunter did not simply encounter a descendant of Kum-bat-kûl? I can only wonder, though, since he was adamant that it was the Great One himself, and I was in no position to question him at the moment. It is intriguing, though, to be sure.

[SamwiseGamgee]

"Though I live to be older than the mountains and wiser than the Valar themselves I will never undestand how men can see wisdom in war."

From The Last King of Wargs

The Ka , please accept my apology, but also try to understand my caution. Here at The Warg and Warg Rider Appreciation Thread we have grown naturally cautious of those who would seek to poison and destroy the good name of wargs. But greetings are exteded to you.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

As is told in The Silmarillion the first Men were awoken in the east of Middle-earth at the rising of the Sun. What is not told is the dramatic near-miss that the unwoken Men, and the Valar, went through.

Melkor was indeed preoccupied in those days. However, the Valar were not so confident in themselves that they could not doubt that the Dark Lord had plans in motion. Long he had sought for the resting place of Men and he found it after much peril and trickery. The Valar possibly did not realise that he had found it, and thus did not intervene in Melkor's ambitions. However, there were others who knew of Melkor's plans.

There was one Eldanar (no-one knows if this was his right name), an Elf of Middle-earth. It was believed that he was of the Nandor, those who chose not to depart their homeland for the Blessed Realm. He was an unhappy being. His life had been much harder than the lives of other Elves, and he was respected and given great sympathy by the Elves he knew. However, he never became close to many others, and for this reason he found it hard to summon allies, thought no-one bore him any ill-will. This Eldanar had stumbled upon Melkor's intention by accident, after speaking with the birds and the beasts all over the land. He sensed an opportunity to do a great deed, and began preparations.

You see, Melkor had designed to greet the awakening Men, and ensnare them into his service right from the start. The Elves of Middle-earth could sense that great things were happening, they had all heard rumours of the 'Followers', and they wished to meet them and help them. Eldanar saw that he needed to act quickly if he were to save Men from the Dark One.

But for the reasons given before, Eldanar could not summon enough allies to even challenge Melkor. So it was that, at the rising of the Sun, the Elf left home to travel into the East with a small host. Eldanar's gloom was apparent, and he saw no hope for Men.

He arrived at the designated point to witness the great host of Melkor congregated in a gigantic lush valley. The skies were dark, despite the Sun, and Eldanar beheld from afar the huge and terrible form of the Dark Lord himself, waiting for the great awakening.

Melkor saw the Elves and laughed out loud. It was indeed a pitiful host compared to his. With him were many Orcs and fell creatures and beasts, and even three Uruloki. If battle were to commence, it was to be swift and decisive in the favour of Melkor. But Eldanar did indeed desire battle, for he desired the end of his unhappy life and he greeted hesitantly the opportunity to go out fighting the great enemy.

But the Men would not awaken. Whether by some design from the Creator or the collective will of his greatest servants the Valar, the Men stayed in their slumber. And this time afforded a chance so unlikely to the Elves, that they barely took part in the upcoming battle, so shocked and frozen were they by the events that unfolded.

From the South came an almighty host of Wargs, and these Wargs were great in size and majesty. Their speed stunned Melkor and he fled in terror. His Orcs were utterly slaughtered by the furious Wargs and those that fled were mostly slain by the Elves. The Uruloki engaged in tumultuous warfare with the Wargs but they could not defeat them, great and terrible though they were, and in the end these huge demons had to flee for their lives as well. None could withstand the fury that the Wargs brought with them.

When asked, Eldanar could not tell how many Wargs had arrived. They were apparently countless. Eldanar himself could barely watch the unfolding carnage of the battle, but several Elves afterwards said that no fury could ever compare to that displayed by the Wargs against Melkor and his minions.

Thus Men could awake, and this story surely details the great irony that followed, of the poor treatment given to the Wargs by Men ever after.

[SamwiseGamgee]

The Last King of Wargs
For countless generations there have dwelled in the great halls of the Grey Mountains wargs. These, however, were no normal wargs- if such a phrase can ever be used regarding such a magnificent beast. They were the greatest of all beasts: wise, noble, caring and patient to all of Eru’s creatures were they.

The greatest of all these wargs at any given time was the High King. Back at the dawn of Middle earth, so warg-lore tells, Ulmo had blessed the first High King: Khur-ul-na. Khur-ul-na the Great ruled for many lives of men and was the wisest and greatest of all warg lords. He ruled in his palace city of Ilanti until great age took him.

The warg High Kings ruled in peace until the time of Khrak-ma-va the Ruthless. Khrak-ma-va was the great great grandson of Khur-ul-na, and he had a great vision: one glorious, united kingdom of wargs, It was Khrak-ma-va who established the Council of Ilanti- a group of representatives from each of the nine tribes of wargs. The tribes were rebellious, though, and strong-willed. It was his breaking of them that earned Khrak-ma-va his title ‘the Ruthless’.

“History will judge me as it sees fit, but I have done what was necessary for my people,” were the last words Khrak-ma-va spoke before he succumbed to the poison which had entered him by the treachery of the Council, having ruled the united kingdom for ninety-nine years.

Upon his death Khrak-ma-va was replaced not by his son, the rightful heir to the throne of Ilanti, but by Rkhla, leader of the assassination. The rightful king, Khlu-ka-ra, was forced into exile, and there followed his most faithful servants, but most wargs tarried in Ilanti, for they were loathe to leave that beautiful city. The line of Khur-ul-na remained strong, though it would be a great time till it returned to Ilanti.

In the absence of the true kings the history of Ilanti is black. Only one year after becoming king, Rkhla, known also as ‘the Pretender’, dissolved the Council of Ilanti and declared himself Great High King of all wargs. All was not as well as Rkhla would have liked, though: he was without son. It was in desperation that Rkhla the Pretender made a dark pact with Melkor. Rkhla allowed his mate to be ravished by Carcaroth, great lord of werewolves, and by the Dark Lord’s magic a child was born, and he was named Kharak. The exploits of this fell beast are well documented, and his evilness and treachery were darker than any warg’s before or since. Kharak ruled many years and his reign was both great and terrible. All feared him, and he ruled with an iron rod.

Kharak, though, was only a mortal, and when he was felled by an elven arrow in a great battle north of Mirkwood many of his sons followed him in death, though one son was left, and so it was that the new self-proclaimed Great High King was Mhrak. He would be the last usurper to sit upon the throne of Ilanti, and his time came in only the second year of his reign, when Khra-na-ti the Restorer came to the gates of Ilanti.

“I am Khra-na-ti, heir of Khur-ul-na the Great and rightful High King of Ilanti. I call to you now, Mhrak, to give up the throne to your king,” he called. There was no answer, but then suddenly and swiftly through the gate came Mhrak, a fury in his eyes. There, on the Steps of Ulmo outside the gates of the city of Ilanti fought the two great wargs. Mhrak was strong and able, but the blood of Khur-ul-na the Great flowed in the veins of the Restorer and so it came to pass that he dealt the death blow to Mhrak and strode into the city, the line of Khur-ul-na the Great restored. The line of Rkhla was not broken, though, and Mhrak’s son, Kharak, became King of Moria.

For many generations the High Kings of Ilanti lived in peace and prosperity. The Council of Ilanti was re-established and remained pure. They had few comings or goings with the outside world, for they had grown weary of the treachery and evil so rife around them. For a thousand generations the High Kings of Ilanti sat on their thrones and turned their faces away from the troubles of Middle Earth. It was in the years before the Battle of Dale that things changed, when news came to the High King Khra-tha-la that a dark alliance had been formed between the wargs of Moria, the usurpers, and the dark tower of Dol Guldur. Khra-tha-la knew not exactly what this meant, but he knew it to be wholly evil, so on that day he left the city of Ilanti for Rivendell.

His journey was long and dangerous, for many he encountered realised not that there were yet some wargs pure of heart left in the northern reaches of Middle Earth. Indeed, when he drew near to Rivendell he may have been slain were it not for the fact that one of the elven sentries recognised this noble beast. Generations before, Khra-tha-la’s forefathers had saved the elves from attack whilst in exile. Kharak the Great had later claimed this act of bravery he had commanded, but this sentry, Manolas was his name, knew differently.

And so it came to pass that Khra-tha-la held council with Elrond and the two discussed the meaning of this dark alliance. Elrond spoke of a wizard, an Istar from Eru, who suspected that the Dark Lord Sauron was afoot, and that Dol Guldur was his stronghold. Khra-tha-la spoke of Kharak the Great’s treachery and his alliance with Melkor, and so the dark inevitability of the situation dawned upon them. Khra-tha-la offered his services to Elrond, but the Lord of Rivendell bid the High King return to Ilanti and make his people strong, for there would surely come a day when that strength would be called upon.

Khra-tha-la tarried but a few days longer in Rivendell and then made his journey back to Ilanti. When he returned he called the Council to himself and so they decided that the work would begin immediately to strengthen Ilanti and prepare an army.

For many years the wargs prepared themselves and made themselves strong, and yet there was no word from Rivendell. Some grew weary with this state of alert over what they thought nothing, and so the Council urged Khra-tha-la to relent and allow the city to return to normal. The High King was loathe to do so, but his Council had told him what his people wished, and he was a gracious king. He allowed the city to return to normal save but a few of the finest warriors who he appointed the Royal Guard and had trained further.

Finally Khra-tha-la’s faith in the elves was repaid when a messenger came to the gates of Ilanti from Lothlorien, bringing the word of Lord Celeborn and bidding the High King to join in the destruction of Dol Guldur. Immediately Khra-tha-la and the Royal guard readied themselves and rode forth from Ilanti, even allowing the elven messenger to ride upon their backs. And so the High King’s host came to the River Anduin and there tarried for the Lord Celeborn. He arrived not, though, and growing impatient Khra-tha-la rode upon Dol Guldur.

“I am Khra-tha-la, High King of wargs and servant of Ulmo. Come forth, fell beasts and usurpers, and taste my wrath!” called the High King from the tower’s gates. Almost immediately a host of wargs plunged forth and there did battle with the Kinghost. Both sides suffered heavy casualties, and soon all that remained were three wargs, all of the host of Khra-tha-la. Believing victory was his, the High King stepped towards the tower, but was stopped immediately by a terrible screech in his ears, and as he looked up he saw a terrible winged beast with a black rider on its back. He had heard Elrond refer to these creatures- this was one of the nazgul.

The rider swooped down and destroyed both of Khra-tha-la’s companions almost immediately, landing in front of the High King and dismounting. He drew his great, black sword and raised it, “Die now, weakling,” he said, raising the blade, and at that moment Khra-tha-la had a vision, and in it the Lord Ulmo showed him the mighty, dark waves of a storm and yet how a small boat can survive in these billows. In that moment Khra-tha-la lunged forward and landed his mighty paws upon the chest of the ringwraith. A great cold seized his body and he knew he must act swiftly while the Lord Ulmo still helped him, and so he sank his fangs deep into the throat of his foe. Many great minds have since supposed what happened next. Even Lord Celeborn was dumbfounded when he found what had happened, but it is clear that Khra-tha-la, the last king of wargs, on that day killed a nazgul by the grace of Eru.

Days passed and Khra-tha-la lay next to the spot where he had felled the ringwraith, mortally wounded. The fell beast upon which the black rider had sat had long fled. The dark magic which flowed in the nazgul had injured the High King Khra-tha-la beyond repair, and when Lord Celeborn found the great warg there was little life left in the noble beast. Celeborn knelt down next to him and began to weep.

“Surely you, most noble and great of warg kings, Khra-tha-la have sacrificed more than many would dare dream of giving up. My people shall forever be indebted to you,” spoke Celeborn.

“I am the last of my forefather’s line. My kinsfolk have all perished here with me today. Surely I have brought ruin upon my people,” spake the High king, his heart heavy.

“No, noble lord, you have done as you were called to,” comforted Celeborn, “such is the nature of war.”

“Though I live to be older than the mountains and wiser than the Valar themselves I will never understand how men can see wisdom in war,” spoke Khra-tha-la, and with those words his spirit left him and so the line of Khur-ul-na the Great failed. The united kingdom of wargs failed and they each returned to their own tribes and cities, leaving the city of Ilanti to ruin. Still, though, there are those who believe that the Lord Ulmo shall bless another and the throne of Ilanti shall be reclaimed by the High King.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

What an intriguing tale Samwise. It fully portrays the complex nature of Wargs. The ease of corruption, yet the ability to perform noble acts the like of which are rarely seen. It also suggests that Wargs were not given a fair reflection in the tales of the battles and politics of the Third Age of Middle-earth. One thinks that, because so many Wargs did fight on the side of evil, it has led the writers of history to ignore those Wargs who contributed so much good to the world.

Perhaps that is why Celeborn was hardly featured in The Lord of the Rings?