The Warg and Warg Rider Appreciation Thread

[Amariden Ravenhill]

Yes....it is indeed a most intriguing trait, Eomer.....I wouldn't have thought such had you never mentioned it.....Oh, and apologies for not answering Samwise's question earlier. I live in Number 44 Bagshot Row

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

On a time there lived a couple of Wargs called Hirbak and Goldak. They lived a quiet life in the Tower Hills and didn't know too much about Men. To amuse themselves (amongst other activities) they conjured up storms, not violent storms, just strong enough to make the trees sway and make a 'pretty picture', so to speak.

Now, we at the Appreciation thread may know that Wargs can control the weather in certain ways, but few Men of Middle-earth knew this. So imagine their surprise when a tribe of Men of the Tower Hills stumbled upon these Wargs. Hirbak and Goldak were wary of Men, so when they were discovered they conjured up a quite frightful storm to scare the Men. The Men retreated in terror.

Hirbak and Goldak were amused by this, so every time the Men returned they conjured up more weather-related monstrosities to scupper their plans. Snow, lightning, even a tornado (which actually killed several of the Men and isn't too funny to be honest with you) and the Men couldn't get near the Wargs. Eventually they gave up and the home of Hirbak and Goldak was known only as a place of magic and sorcery among Men forevermore.



Of course, it wasn't magic or sorcery or witchcraft or anything like that. It was just a trivial example of Warg art.

[SamwiseGamgee]

Yet another fine example, Eomer. I have just completed the reading of 'Beren and Luthien' in The Silmarillion. I wonder, are the wargs of the third age of ME related to the werewolves in that lay? Was Carcharoth a warg, just not referred to as such by the good professor?

Swiftly the wolf grew, until he could creep into no den, but lay huge and hungry before the feet of Morgoth. There the fire and anguish of hell entered him, and he became filled with a devouring spirit, tormented, terrible, and strong. Caracharoth, the Red Maw, he is named in the tales of those days, and Anfauglir, the Jaws of thirst. And Morgoth set him to lie unsleeping before the doors of Angband, lest Huan come.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

I think it is highly likely that Carcharoth was a Warg. I mean, he was Wolf shaped and of awesome power.

[High King Fingolfin]

Hail Warg-Lovers! I have been looking at this topic recently, but I did not think of posting on it until something happened last night. I saw a Warg. But not just any Warg - a black Warg. Great was my surprise when I saw it. Its fur was like a starless and moonless night, and it was ten feet long at least. Greater was my surprise when it unfurled a massive pair of wings, with feathers as black as its fur. I saw it lift off the ground and soar in front of the moon before it was lost to sight. I shall look for more of these, but I do not hope to find one.

[SamwiseGamgee]

A warg with wings? Indeed this is strange. I have never heard of such a thing.
Eomer, do you know of such a creature or are you as amazed and perplexed as I?

[Amariden Ravenhill]

Aye, I have, Samwise. There is many a tale told in the Green Dragon by old gaffers and gammers who swear that such creatures were numerous in their youth.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Indeed, it is a fiercely debated topic among Tolkienites - Did Wargs have wings?

I am also amazed by Fingolfin's tale. That is something to tell your grandchildren about! How wonderful that we Warg appreciators can still be shocked by all-new tales of Wargs. Does there remain any doubt about the magnificence of Wargs? I think not!

[SamwiseGamgee]

On further research I have realised that there is in fact a fierce debate roaring as we speak in warg appreciation circles. I had apparently completely overlooked this raging argument during my studies of wargdom, but now that I do happen upon it I realise just why so many people are inclined to attempt to answer the riddle.
After all, what could be greater than proving an indisputable fact about a warg? Nothing, I suggest! Ah yes, the wide world of warginess is so ruch, so full and bountiful that few can claim to have even scratched its surface, much less explored it fully. Fingolfin's amazing sighting has underlined my own naivety in the world of wargs. At times like these I feel I have failed not only you fellow appreciators, but also that most beloved creature- the warg. I must go and take a long, hard look at myself.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

I know the feeling Samwise. I once took part in a quiz with a fellow Warg enthusiast (for fun, like). To my eternal horror, I got a question glaringly wrong. The question was as follows;

"Which is the only continent that the Silver Warg calls home?"

Well, I was near enough stumped. But I took a guess after considering many factors and plumped for North America. Wrong! Wrong I was! The answer (as you probably all know) is, of course, Asia. Not to go mad with shame just yet, I calmly asked for the evidence. Within 2 days, my fellow Warg enthusiast had provided plenty of information, enough to convince me that the answer was indeed legitimate, and that I had got it wrong.

To punish myself, I starved myself for 5 weeks and at the end of this period I climbed the highest tree in the north-east of Scotland (some 180 feet high) and stayed there for 3 nights. Hell, it was, but I felt justified in doing this to myself.

For the love of Wargs, eh?

Of course, Samwise I'm not suggesting that you do anything stupid to yourself. On a side note, what's going on with the tale you're compiling? My heart yearns for the telling of the deeds of the Warg Rider.

[Maeggaladiel]

Don't feel so bad, Eomer. Perhaps you were thinking of the legendary Sasqwarg, not the Silver Warg. The Sasqwarg, also known as Bigpaw, has been rumored to live deep in the forests of North America. In fact, there have been tales of Bigpaw living in my home state of Oregon! Imagine my excitement when I discovered that I was dwelling in Bigpaw territory!

True, there has been little hard evidence of this mysterious creature's existance; a fuzzy photo here, a wide-eyed camper's tale there. But stories of Bigpaw are numerous. Some say that Sasqwargs are the malicious spirits of wargs who were wrongfully slain by fearful pioneers crossing the country to Oregon Territory. Others claim that they are a Lazarus species; that is, they are living examples of the ancient mammoth wargs found in the fossil record of the late Cretaceous period. Under this theory, the Sasqwargs are the missing link between modern wolves and wargs. Still others say that they are fairylike spirits of the forest, protecting the trees and all creatures that dwell among them.

Many dismiss the claims of Sasqwarg existance as mere legend. After all, no scientist or hunter has ever captured a Sasqwarg. Stories and photographs are waved away as pure fabrication of the creature's existance.

I, however, believe otherwise. After reading up on the mysterious Sasqwarg, I have been led to believe that a pack or "tribe" of these strange beings have been inhabiting the woods around my house. I live in a relatively isolated area, between two mountains and a great forest. Sometimes, I feel as though someone is watching me. I turn around, but there is nothing but forest. Or is there? Many times at night I have heard strange sounds, like great creatures were performing a a dance outside my window. On full moons, I sometimes think I can see great dark shapes floating across the silvery landscape. Are they the Sasqwargs? If so, then I must disagree with any theory that these magestic creatures are evil spirits. I cannot explain why I feel this way, though I believe that if you happened to see the things I have seen, you would share my thoughts. Perhaps the Sasqwarg are indeed guardians of the forest, or ancient ancestors of the modern warg. I hope to continue my studies and deduce the true nature of these beings.

So please come out of the tree and starve yourself no longer, Lord Eomer. I do not know if beasts similar to the Sasqwarg roam Scotland, but I do not think a warg enthusiast such as yourself would miss the chance of finding that out. If they are indeed Lazarus species, perhaps some Sasqwargs crossed to present-day Scotland before Pangea could fully separate. Maybe some still survive. It would be a fascinating study, don't you think?

[High King Fingolfin]

I have thought recently that since the people on Rivendell have societies to prevent Hobbit abuse, we should have a foundation to prevent Warg abuse. I'm thinking of calling it W.A.P.F. (the Warg Abuse Prevention Foundation)

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Maeg , that would indeed be a fascinating way to spend your life (it could probably consume many lifetimes actually). When thinking about these mysterious happenings outside your house, always remember that Wargs love to dance.

Fingolfin , Maeg herself once proposed something quite similar to what you have just proposed. However, we must always remember that Wargs, unlike Hobbits, are far, far more powerful than Men (or Elves in your case ) I am unconvinced as to what we could achieve for the cause of Wargs if we put our minds to it and started a society.

I don't think Men can save Wargs. If anything, I believe it is Wargs who can save Men.

[SamwiseGamgee]

"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."

From 'The Warg Rider'

Apologies for the delay in my post, I have punished myself much as Eomer suggested by sitting several exams since last I posted. An awful way to spend a few days.
As you can see from the above, 'The Warg Rider' is coming along well, and I hope to have it posted in the not too distant future.
Just as a little aside, in two weeks I shall visit California and hope to head to Yosemite. Does any fellow warg enthusiast know of the best spot in that great park to spot one of the majestic beasts?

[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.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Lots and lots of respect your way Samwise! That story was awesome!

It makes me think that other Orcs since then have taken up the title of 'The Warg Rider', though they are not the original. Perhaps a sign of respect to their hero. I say this because there are definitely records of Third Age characters such as Theoden of Rohan being tormented by The Warg Rider. A very interesting revelation.

[SamwiseGamgee]

Thank you for your kind words, Eomer. The story, of course, isn't mine, though. I have merely shared history with you and so no glory can be mine.
I think you are probably right as regards your supposition on others taking the name of the Warg Rider. After all, that was a title given to him much as Cam Beleg or Black Scourge, so it is possible that others were given that title.
However, none would be quite as great as the 'original and best'.
Eomer, as far as a warg protection society goes- it may not be possible to protect the warg- for he needs it not- but we could always line our own pockets with the donations. What think thee? Choose swiftly!

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

It would be most dishonest to steal from other Warg enthusiasts (regardless of how much leffe we could buy with the earnings!).

The name Cam Beleg, Samwise, I have heard it before. Wither have we seen it in modern times? Do you know?

[SamwiseGamgee]

Cam Beleg, literally translated, means Mighty Hand or Fist.
In recent times there has appeared a superstar in the crazy business of sports entertainment who goes by this name. He is showcased on WWE SmackDown! and is a fearsome creature, though not the scelerious wretch that the original was!
I hope that answers your query, Eomer. And by the way- surely a lifetime of warg burgers and Leffe could justify anything?

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

I am sorry to disagree with you Samwise but there are certain things I would NOT do for any amount of leffe. You can probably guess a couple, no need to list them!

Imagine my delight when I found out today that in 3rd year philosophy at my university I get to study the little known branch of Warg philosophy. I cannot wait!

[SamwiseGamgee]

What a fine institute that must be! Not one of these 'new' universities. To be teaching warg philosophy takes an ancient and established university. I know of only four in the world which teach it. You should feel honoured!
Eomer, I am surprised at you: surely the end justifies the means? Perhaps I have rather too much Boris in me!

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Oh Boris! Is that the darkest tale of Wargs yet listed on this thread?

As for the University, it is in fact a very old place. The University of Aberdeen was founded in 1495 and it has been teaching Warg philosophy since the very start. It is a little known fact that both David Hume and Benedictus Spinoza studied there and the ancient legacy of Wargs greatly shaped their work, which is, of course, still fascinating today.

[SamwiseGamgee]

I know of this David Hume, but of your Benedictus Spinoza I have no knowlege. Who is this chap and what are his links with wargs?

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Spinoza was a famous Dutch philosopher with some pretty far-out ideas. At a young age he was cast out of his family home for having heretic opinions about religion. Not many people know this but he was actually taken in by a group of Wargs and was taught the ways of the universe.

Spinoza is most well-known for his belief that there is only one substance, that being God. Hardly anyone remembers this now, but Spinoza actually thought that that one substance, that God, was a Warg.

This thought appears strange, even to me. However, its a fascinating topic. Although, as a general thought, we tend to imagine our Gods in the shape of Men. I think this is most strange and egocentric of us. Why shouldn't God be a Warg?

[SamwiseGamgee]

Indeed, I once remember your signature to have been: if an ox could draw a god he would draw an ox. Well: if I could draw a god I would draw a warg!

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Me too. There is a thread on 'heavy rotation' at the moment in the Books section which mentions Wargs, although some Downers have been showing a bit of disrespect to our saviours. 'Wargs weren't powerful' and other such nonsense.

When will people learn eh? Probably never. The Ice Age will take us all and the Wargs will shake their heads and forget about us.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

I was thinking about writing a tale in which appears characters from The Tumilovich Conundrum (ever read that book? Its wonderful). However, its not really got anything to do with Middle-earth so I probably should not bother.

I have other stories though, including one featuring a glorious day in Khand, as well as one which sheds some light on the mystery of the Rhun hills.

[SamwiseGamgee]

I have heard of that book. A mixture of Dante's 'Divine Comedy' and Roald Dahl's 'Esio Trot', apparently.
Tell us, please, of the stories of Khand. Is there perhaps a link between the wargs and the infamous 'Party in Khand'?

[Nimrothiel]

Greetings, Warg enthusiasts. I am newly come to post in this thread, though not a tale as of yet. A question plagues my mind, one that I would fain have answered before Eomer of the Rohirrim elects to share with us his doubtless fascinating tale. My question is this: Did only Cam Beleg hold the title of "The Warg Rider," or did more than one such entity exist? If so, were the Warg Riders only evil, or did some fight on the side of good? If so, I will do all within my power to find a tale concerning this aspect of Warg history.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Greetings Nimrothiel, so good to have another Warg enthusiast join us at the Appreciation Thread.

In answer to your questions about the Warg Rider, we here believe to have discovered new things about him only recently. (You can trawl through previous posts to see how we got there). So, here goes my attempt at a general summery.

Cam Beleg was the original and greatest Warg Rider, and the tale of his greatest exploits can be read in Samwise's excellent post a little bit before this one. In after years, more and more beings (I believe they were all Orcs) were sometimes attributed the title of 'The Warg Rider' and, though they were all far less powerful than Cam Beleg himself, they yet kept alive the fear that Cam Beleg could instill in Middle-earth.

The Two Towers movie has given rise to a popular misunderstanding of so-called Warg Riders. I'm sure you all remember Saruman's line in that film "Send out your Warg Riders!" directed to what appeared to be a normal Orc. In the following battle which featured these 'Warg Riders' and the Rohirrim, it is easy for the audience to assume certain things about 'Warg Riders'.

This is a misconception. There are no such things as Warg Riders. Sure, there are riders who ride on Wargs, but that is altogether different. At any one time there is only one Warg Rider.

And in answer to your other query, the Warg Rider is always, but always evil.

[Nimrothiel]

Ah, thank you for that clarification. Excuse me, but I feel the pull of some other thread that is less static and more flexible. Sorry to have wasted screen space for a post by a fellow enthusiast. Note: I did not say "fellow Warg enthusiasts" for this very reason; I fear that I have wasted time and effort in my now vain pursuit of the "good" Warg Rider.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

'The Good Warg Rider' is an oxymoron, Nimrothiel. But surely there are enough delights to keep you tuned to the thread? The tale of how Wargs were linked to the legendary 'Party in Khand' will be arriving shortly.

[High King Fingolfin]

I apologize for the idea Eomer, it was frivolous and I should never have brought it up.(It was my sister's idea actually.) As to my earlier tale of the black Warg with wings, I personally think this Warg was an isolated case, it is probably a rare phenomenon among black Wargs.
Samwise, your tale of the Warg Rider was wonderful! I never suspected that Kharak was the son of Carcharoth.
More Warg tales later.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

But Fingolfin, after your revelation about the Winged Warg, more whispers have been unearthed regarding such beasts. It appears that the Winged Warg has been a long-kept secret, but perhaps the mystery shall be unravelled soon. I myself intend to find one this weekend by delving deep into the dark forests. What a sight it would be!

Please do keep the tales coming Fingolfin. I think we also need Samwise back to tell one as I guess that he has a plethora of Warg stories to unleash. The next time I post it shall be the tale of the Party in Khand. It is a tale both joyous and melancholy, and once more underlines the fact that Wargs have more power than the forces of evil.

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Though there is but one Warg Rider, mighty in legend and song, yet not alone is he among those who have dared in their temerity set bridle to the noble Warg. Indeed, his legend hath but proven the spur that hath kindled in Elf, Man, Dwarf, Orc and yea even Hobbit, to assay this self-same feat.

Of these brave yet misguided souls, the most have perished; their souls unhoused by the blazing wrath of the Wargs, who brook no attempt to master them. Yet others, the proud and noble few, have found favour with the wise Wargs, and have become their allies; being borne without saddle or bridle, for none the Warg chooses to bear of his own accord is suffered to fall from his broad back. And of these mighty Warg-friends, the greatest that is told of in the tales of the Elves is Morsil, the Dark Sheen.

It is told that in the days of Orodreth there lived by the Narog a solitary Elven warrior, skilled in war and song; and the goodwill of bird and beast was his, for he had vowed that never should any creature fall needlessly to his blade. Such a one was Morsil, a lone wanderer of hill and glen. And he was mighty among the Elves of Nargothrond, and failed never to answer the summons of his lord, nor the call of a friend in need.

So it came to pass that on a time his wanderings brought him into lands where dwelt of old a noble tribe of Wargs. Their chief and guardian was the mighty Warg-lord, Balcarkh, who is known also as the Jaws of Fate. Balcarkh knew well of any who passed within his realm, for the beasts, the trees, even the very wind were his allies, and news came to him from all quarters of happenings both great and small. Resolved to punish the insolence of one who would enter his kingdom without due obeisance to his majesty, the great Warg strode forth to meet the intruder, and so it was that he came alone to the edge of his realm and into the hunting grounds of the Petty Wargs. These creatures are more often found in the service of the Orcs and Goblins, for they lack the dignity and freedom of spirit that are the mark of the True Warg. Envious they are of their cousins, and yet contemptuous, for lacking honour in themselves they see it not in any other. And they came upon the dread Warg-lord and fell upon him in great numbers, for it was their way so to bring a strong foe to his knees. Nonetheless it went ill with them that day, for fully half their number were slain before first claw or fang were laid to the Warg-lord's flesh; yet their claws were smeared with poison, and they came upon him with such fury that the day would have gone ill with him had not Morsil come by in his hour of need.

The mighty sword of Morsil sprang unto his hand, shimmering with an inner flame as do the weapons of the High Elves; and he fought by the side of the great Warg until the foe were routed and lay piled about them. And his skills of healing were applied to the treacherous wounds of the Petty Wargs, and so was formed the alliance of Morsil and Balcarkh, whose deeds are writ large in the legends of the Elder Days. Indeed, many an age after their story ended, a bard of Rohan wrote of them a lament, a fragment of which yet remains, though oft misremembered as a chant for the Rohirrim.

Where now the Warg and his rider? Where are the lungs that were blowing?
Where are the sword and the hauberk, and the bright pelt flowing?
Where is the claw on the harpstring, and the red tongue glowing?
Where are the mate and the lair, and the young Wargs growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.

[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?