The Warg and Warg Rider Appreciation Thread

[Kransha]

As a follow up to "The Warg of Wantley," I dug up this old work or rustic Germanic folklore. Its a primitive, one-rhyme-scheme verse about the daughter of the last warg king and how a band of motley elk hunters from Hamburg slew her most ignobly (told from the point of view of one Eglebert Saxonhead, one of the hunters). If only I could locate something good about wargs, rather than all this morbid stuff about killing the noble beasts. What a pity...

Das Letzte Warg - Daughter Der Warg König
(The Last Warg - The Warg King's Daughter)

The last great warg king left a daughter
Who bounded her way here over water.
For sport, so we thought, we bought guns and we sought her.
We hunted and hounded and cornered and caught her.

A lumbering, cumbersome, grumpy old snorter,
She turned out far tougher than we had first thought her.

We gave her no quarter, but faced her and fought her,
Lost count of the means we were forced to resort ta
Yet, to cut a quite cruel account shorter,
We blew her to bits with a shell from a mortar.

Of course, they brought in a sort of reporter,
A devious, merciless story distorter,
Who wrote of a glorious slaughter.

Brings a dreadful tear to your eye, don't it? What a waste, what a waste. This just shows the lower class under-appreciation of the flawless wargs and their kin.

[SamwiseGamgee]

Kransha, once again your research to bring us new tales of warg butchery are, whilst enjoyable, grave and harrowing! How can one be expected to take this kind of abuse of wargdom in all its fair forms lying down! It's horrible!
Perhaps an account of the Numenorean legend of Tar-Aldarion and his famous encounter with a warg will lighten the heart. Tar-Aldarion, or Anardil, was of course a King of Numenor who sailed oft abroad to Middle Earth. There he would seek counsel with Gil-Galad and wander amongst the glades and forests, seeking new life and to learn of the quaint ways of the people there.
It was on one of these days that Tar-Aldarion met his first warg, though he named it Ancalime, after his daughter, for it was the fairest thing ere his eye had seen save his eldest daughter, to whom he would later surrender the sceptre.
It was on a fair summer morn, early so that the haze of dawn was still heavy, when Tar-Aldarion happened upon a clearing in a small forest, occupied by a great warg. Its fur was golden, and the light danced upon its tips in the morning sun. His face was noble, a chisseled visage with two great eyes of deep brown. In those eyes, Tar-Aldarion later swore, a man could have become lost and never again appear. The great creature was the first to speak, and indeed Tar-Aldarion was glad, for he had become speechless and would not have known how to address such an ancient creature of obvious nobility. It spake of how Tar-Aldarion must be careful of his kingdom. It told how while he sailed abroad his wife grew restless and longed for her husband's love. Tar-Aldarion vowed that in those deep, dark eyes he saw his wife, Erendis, on the coast of Numenor, longing for him. The creature urged him not to tarry too long in Middle Earth, ere he lose his grip with his left hand by stretching too far with his right.
Tar-Aldarion asked for the name of the creature, but it would not share. Long the pair tarried and spake of this thing and the next, and Tar-Aldarion did find the counsel as meaningful if not, indeed, more so than that of Gil-Galad.
When the sun was high and the warg's fur did glow golden so that Tar-Aldarion could not bring his eyes to look directly upon it the creature took his leave. For a long time after did Tar-Aldarion tarry at that spot, and to this day it remains a holy place, where few would dare to tred. The elven folk told Tar-Aldarion they had often seen the creature roaming through the woods near their homes, though they thought it a foe. Tar-Aldarion was outraged and beseeched Gil-Galad that he would ensure no harm would befall this Ancalime in his absence. Gil-Galad did not understand, but realised the importance of this and obeyed Tar-Aldarion, so that the penalty of death would hang over any man or elf who harmed this fair beast.
It was after this meeting that the warg became a creature of mythical power and greatness in Numenor, and folly would it be for a sailor to disembark from his ship without a prayer of thanks to Ancalime the Protector. Many songs were written in this golden period of Numenorean history regarding wargs, though they were never referred to as such, and it was not for many generations the warg became anything but a creature to respect and love.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

elocution - art of speaking clearly in public


Another great poem Kransha, and more wonderful legends Samwise. I salute both of you.


I have a story regarding one Vadim, who was a leader of a small group of Wargs who wandered in the Brown Lands some years ago. Now, these Wargs were not Great Wargs. In fact, they were rather small compared to other Wargs, and were not too renowned. These Wargs had wandered for years never roaming into legend or story. They had become quite shy to tell the truth.

Anyway, they were pressurized into cooperating with a very large group of Orcs who had a stronghold in Mirkwood. The Orc leader Gangamel was preparing a War with the Elves of Eregion, and needed all the force he could muster. The Wargs showed weakness (alas! tis true) and were forced into joining Gangamel's army. Gangamel was a particularly maniacal and evil Orc.

And so it came to what would have been Gangamel's first great stroke against Eregion. But oh joy! things did not turn out as Gangamel had planned. The Elves were strong, but the Orcs were vast in number and would probably have gained the upper-hand before long. It was not to be.

Vadim was very uneasy. He did not want to be in this battle. He felt terrible for the Elves who would probably be slaughtered. It was then, just as Gangamel had let loose his cry of War, that Vadim heard a great voice out of the sky, and all the other Wargs heard it too.

"Warg! You have no faith in Gangamel!"

No-one knew who's voice it was (though the Wargs themselves supposed it was the voice of the Creator himself) but at the hearing of it the Wargs leapt into a frenzy and started to unleash all Hell on Gangamel's Orcs! The Elves were delighted and joined in the slaughter. This was the vengeance of the Wargs on the Orcs for all the terrible things which Gangamel had coerced them into doing. Never again would an Orc fully trust a Warg.

Gangamel escaped to cause mischief in the future, but Vadim and his Wargs lived long and happy lives.

[SamwiseGamgee]

What a delightful little tale! It is true that a warg is rarely trusted by an orc, I had never realised that the story of Gangamel and Vadim was the reason for that. It's perhaps like that famous line of a song which goes:

This warg is outta control! Gonna burn this warg! Burn this warg!

Maybe you've heard it. It was a marching song of the Easterlings, part of a larger song about Lisiloth (pr. Li-sci-lo-gh) who was a warg running rampant throughout the lands of the East. He would often ravish sheep and feast upon young goats, that sort of devilry, you know. The Easterlings decided enough was enough and in an act of brutal vengeance they did ignite the pelt of Lisiloth and watch with massachistic delight as the warg burned and howled in pain. Lisiloth dived into a nearby lake, but by then it was too late, and his body was burned beyond saving. Perhaps I shall later include the full song.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

That sounds like a nasty little tale Samwise, though compelling certainly.

It is interesting that we touch on the subject of songs, for songs about Wargs were the norm in Middle-earth (or so I am led to believe). Easterling marching songs would probably have sounded terrifying to a lone Warg, especially if the content concerned Warg murder.

There was once a time when Elrond and his Elves were hunting troublesome Wargs near Imladris. They had surrounded the last remnant of Wargs and before long, the fight was under way. Most Wargs were slaughtered, but around 40 of them managed to escape. For the next few days Elrond and his following hunted the last remaining Wargs and would sing

"Oh! Forty Wargs remain!"

over and over, until they found and destroyed them. A sad story I think, but the origins of a famous chant.

[Maeggaladiel]

Dear Esteemed Eomer of the Rohirrim and Company:

It has come to the attention of the Society of Nearsighted Elves (otherwise referred to in this letter as "Society", and "We"), for which I am founding member and spokesperson, that a number of wild wargs roaming the plains of Rohan are in danger of extinction due to ignorant civilians who believe them to be evil. The Society believes this to be a problem worth consideration. Although normally the Society champions efforts to aid visually impaired fey folk with our Foundation for Nearsighted Elves, we have agreed to start a campaign to raise citizen awareness to protect the elusive and often misunderstood Wild Warg. We intend to collect enough signatures and donations to write a formal letter to King Aragorn of Gondor and the current rulers of your kingdom, Rohan, to create an international Warg Protection Law.

Under this new law, the following proposals would be addressed:
*An area of land to be set aside as a wildlife reserve to allow the wargs to run freely.
*A national quota for the amount of wargs hunted each year.
*Scientific investigation into the natural habits of the warg.
*Warg breeding programs to help raise the failing warg population.

We of the Society would like to ask your esteemed group if you would support us in this crusade to save the wild warg. Have you any concerns that you wish to be adressed?

Save the Wargs
Maeggaladiel,
Public Relations/ President/ Founding Member/ Poster Child,
The Society for Nearsighted Elves

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

I am sure you all mean well at the society, but I'm not sure you really understand the Warg, wild though these Wargs may be. Wargs are many times more powerful than Men and Elves and I am not sure that we could wipe out Wargs, whether by accident or even if we really put our minds to it.

However, it is nice to meet another Downer who is concerned about Wargs as we at the Appreciation Thread are.

I'm going to Madrid. There are several legends and myths concerning Wargs in the Spanish capital. I'll share some of them when I come back.

[SamwiseGamgee]

In Middle Earth there live many strange and mysterious creatures. Those known as shepherds of the forest, great mountains which walk at night and demons of fire inhabit the same lands as halflings, giant spiders and men. There are legends and stories surrounding all these beings- man, elf, dwarf or otherwise. None, however, is surrounded by quite as much lore as the story of the Warg Rider.
In elder day if ever a young child were rude to his parents or would not sleep at night he would be warned: 'Hush, or the Warg Rider will get you!' And trust, that always hushed them, for they knew well of the Warg Rider. Black Scourge he was known as, or Cam Beleg, that is Mighty Hand. Some said that to stare into his eyes was to stare into one's own nightmare, and few who looked upon that terrible gaze slept another night soundly until they travelled West, for his eyes were not that of any creature from Middle Earth.
The Warg Rider was no mere mortal. The warg bows to no man. His ways are mysterious and for any to try to control him would be folly. The warg does as he pleases, and whether time or history judges him great or fell he concerns himself not with, for he is a warg and as such he thinks on greater things than any mere mortal such as you or I could ever contemplate. The Warg Rider was of the lesser Maiar. His will was furious and as steel. Long had he learned at the feet of Melkor, and when his deceitful Master rebelled so too did his student. For many years the Warg Rider served his Master, until greed and ambition overcame him. He was the master of Caracharoth, and long had he fed that fell beast at the feet of Melkor, and it was there that he hatched his foul plan.
As he sat with his Dark Lord he looked upon those most beautiful of things ere shaped by the hands of any: the Silmarils. And as he looked upon them so his heart grew envious, and day by day his jealousy grew and grew so that he could restrain himself no longer. He spake to his beloved friend Caracharoth, saying: "Surely we could have those for ourselves. Then we could rid ourselves of all opponents and become Lords of the Earth!"
Caracharoth was not so sure, though. He was weary of the Warg Rider's inane babble and so, in a faceless act of self-promotion, he went to the Black Throne and told Melkor of the Warg Rider's fell plan.
Melkor's fury was as the stampeding hooves of the Rohirrim, and the sky was filled with thunder as the Dark Lord poured out his fury upon the Warg Rider.
"So you would have us all bow to you, mighty Cam Beleg? You would take the jewels of Feanor from my crown and have them for yourself? Your treachery runs blacker than I had imagined, and your heart is of deceit and nought else.
"You could have been my mightiest Lieutenant had you not had delusions of grandeur. Instead, you will become my most accursed foe!"
And with that the Dark Lord struck down on the Warg Rider and restrained him to a body of an orc, hunched and ignoble with all the glory he once held dear but a distant memory. His black skin was a mass of open sores and pox and a great stench followed him everywhere.
"Go, now, treacherous spawn of the maw. May your days be many and each as unpleasant as the one before!" And so did Caracharoth chase the Warg Rider from the fortress of Angband and into the wilderness, where he roamed for many a year. In that time he committed many a foul deed and found himself many foes and allies alike by his deceitful tongue and eyes. Among those allies were the wargs, and from there begins the true story of the Warg Rider.
For some unknown reason the Warg Rider had a natural affinity with wargs. After all, was that not why the Dark Lord had chosen him as the keeper of Caracharoth? And so, by means foul or fair the Warg Rider grew a great number of wargs unto himself. Never did he make an attempt to take land or establish his own fell kingdom. He simply roamed from land to land with his armies making war with all he encountered.
It should be noted that the Warg Rider had also drawn a great number of men, orcs and other fell beasts unto himself. His army was not simply of wargs, though it was strong. Strong enough, in fact, that the Warg Rider judged his arm was long enough to avenge his humiliation: he would seek out Melkor and show him just how strong he had become.
In preparation for this most audacious of attacks the Warg Rider called all strength unto himself. All his allies were made to repay their favours and so his army was vast. As the sand upon the shore the men numbered, and twice as many orcs marched. And there, at the head of the army were the wargs. Few have ever dared estimate just how many wargs the Black Scourge managed to recruit. Some say one thousand; some say one thousand times that number. None truly know, though, and it would be useless to suppose. Suffice to say that when Melkor heard of the great host that marched upon his fortress he did sit up on his Black Throne and take notice.
At the very head of the army the Warg Rider rode upon the mightiest of wargs known to him. Some called his the Red Fury, and yet other Devourer of Souls while the Easterlings had named him the Dream Eater. Truth be told, all but that warg himself had forgotten his name: Kharak the Great, great grandfather of Kharak the Cruel, King of Moria, named the One Eyed. He was the greatest warg who ere walked upon Middle Earth. Blacker than the night was his fur, and his eyes were blue and brown and green and red all at once. His frame was as that a score of massive bulls and his strength beyond double that. He was the greatest of the great and all who were in his presence were at odds with themselves as to whether they should fall to the ground in awe or flee in terror. Kharak cared not what others thought or said of him, he lived only for his destiny: to slay a child of Arda and bring a time of peace in Middle Earth. Such had the Lord Ulmo told him and such would come to pass, of this Kharak was sure.
And so after a great trek came the army of the Warg Rider to that great Black Gate of Angband, with the Thangorodrim casting a dark shadow across his path, and thus he spake: “Here returns Cam Beleg, the Black Scourge, called the Warg Rider. He that was accursed and cast out by that most jealous of Masters has returned and wishes an audience with the Dark Lord!”
There was a gasp in the fortress. Few had dared to even look upon its walls, much less challenge its Lord. Nonetheless, from his Black Throne did Melkor stir, and answered him thus: “Your nerve has changed not, little creature. Do you not realise you are as a speck to me. I could crush you like rotten fruit if I pleased.
“My mercy has been great in allowing you to live, now get thee hence before that mercy runs out!”
In his very soul the Warg Rider was set alight with fury, and with a wrath which took even Melkor by surprise he screamed: ‘I shall not be gone! Open your Black Gates, or have them opened for you!”
At his word his army was inspired and he let out a mighty shout, but Melkor’s wrath was now ignited and so the Black Gate of Angband was opened, and its terrible retribution poured out on the Warg Rider’s army. From Angband came orcs, men, balrogs and dragons, and their anger was awful.
Of the many battles fought that day surely one of the greatest was between Ughruk, Prince of Moria and son to Kharak and Morthlak, Lieutenant of the Balrogs, second only to Gothmog. These two creatures did clash at the gates of Angband, and their battle was consuming to the last. Though Ughruk’s fur was on fire he fought on, determined to slay his opponent and go on to help the Warg Rider in his quest for justice- for as such did the warg Rider legitimise his attack upon Angband. His determination would prove for little, though. The two locked in mortal combat, and though his silver fur was ablaze and it filled his mouth with the pain of one thousand burning brands Ughruk drove his fangs deep into the throat of Morthlak. The fell demon of fire was wounded beyond repair and knew so as he fell to one knee, his great wings casting a shadow across the battlefield as though the sun had been pierced through her heart. His treachery was not satisfied, though, for as he fell he drove his sword of flame deep into the heart of his foe and the scream that Ughruk let out is still referred to today when a mischievous child asks what that noise was his mother tells him it was Ughruk’s death cry, and to hush now. And so these two foes fell side by side at the Black Gate of Angband.
Meanwhile, Kharak the Great and the Warg Rider dove through the throng of Melkor’s armies and ever closer to the Black Throne. As they went they slew man and orc indiscriminately. The fury of the Warg Rider is still talked of this day, and it is said his eyes glowed redder than the blood of a lamb as he and Kharak burst into the Great Hall of Angband and there he set eyes upon the Dark Lord, Melkor. From the back of Kharak he slipped as he stood and addressed Melkor.
“Cower now in your throne! I have earned my audience with you now, Dark Lord, so hold silence while I speak!” And so did he speak: “You cast me out when you should have taken me closer. What is it that is oft said in the drinking halls of men: keep your friends close but thine enemies nearer!
“Well, Dark Lord in your Dark Castle sitting on your Dark Throne, what say thee now? I am Fausiel that is named the Mighty Hand, and the Black Scourge and the Warg Rider. I am a child of Arda and I have come to claim what I deserve: the jewels of Feanor you wear upon your crown!”
At that Melkor stood, and the very earth trembled and battle halted as his voice filled the air, and it was like thunder and lightning. Deeper than the depths of Ulmo’s oceans and yet shriller than the cry of the lark, and it froze the blood of all who heard it.
“You have grown strong indeed if you think you can challenge me. I too am a child of Arda, do you forget? I am the mightiest of that family and as such you should fall to your face and worship me. But no, you challenge me. So be it.”
And at that moment from behind the Warg Rider pounced Kharak the Great, and he sunk his great claws deep into the chest and his huge fangs deep into the throat of the Warg Rider!
“What is it they say: keep your friends close, but thine enemies closer?” said Melkor, his laughter filling the sky and trembling the roots of the mountains, “That doesn’t seem to work, now, does it.
“This is Kharak, son of Caracharoth!”
And so all at once the Warg Rider realised that the power and deceit of Melkor ran deeper and blacker than he could ever have hoped to fathom. As he died he stared deep into the eyes of Kharak, and there he saw all the pain and suffering of the wargs at his own deceitful and brutal hands, realising he had grown overconfident in his own accomplishments. And so died the Warg Rider.

Hearing all these wonderous tales, I have been inspired to tell you my tale, it is not a very long tale nor does it have a story to tell. Infact i just wanted to tell you all that during my extensive travels, i happened upon an outcast warg, shunned for not taking part in the slaughter of women and children. We came to an agreement to become partners, him allowing me to ride on his back while i protected his flank with my mighty recurve bow, and together we roam the lands killing whomever we please, good or evil. But we have drawn the line at killing women and children. Together we search, looking for our next prey. For those who frown upon us, take into consideration that we kill the bad guys too and if you still don't like us, stay out of the way. Simple as that. We are currently searching for other wargs and riders who share our feelings, so as to make a pack.

Just wanted to inform you all of that fact, so i shall take my leave now