1. |
Exiled Son of Númenor
06:53
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When first he met five fallen kings, sword and
torch his only tools. Mindless pursuit of the
Master's ring. Flaming wraiths at Amon Sûl.
Beneath the mountain as the drums shook the walls
of Balin's tomb, he braved the long dark, void of
sun, goblin's den at Khazad-dûm. War cries as the
men draw their swords. Thirsty for the black blood
of the orcs. Led by a ranger from the north. The
exiled son of Númenor. Visions of the white tree
frozen in time, ruined by the beast men who would
taint it with fire. So too do the embers in our hearts
burn alight. For King Elessar, we would lay down
our lives. War cries as the men draw their swords.
Thirsty for the black blood of the orcs. Led by a
ranger from the north. The exiled one. Wrought
with centuries of blame, the broken blade reforged
anew. Shards that cut Isildur's Bane held aloft
before Udûn. War cries as the men draw their
swords. Thirsty for the black blood of the orcs. Led
by a ranger from the north. The exiled son of
Númenor. Andúril, flame of the west, strengthen our
spirit in the enemy's camp. In the name of the King,
if this be our end, we fight for the honor, victorious
in death. Til the battle is won, raise a sword! For
the exiled son, raise a sword!
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2. |
Hail To The Riddermark
05:03
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Hail to the Riddermark, the land of my birth.
Rolling fields, a sea of grass that shall forever
churn. Riding with the wind, the horse lords, like a
rising storm. The thunder of our hooves are felt
upon the Entwash shores. Hail to the Riddermark,
the land I defend. To fight the power in the east,
need peace amongst the men. Holding fast our allies,
Halifirien aflame. Muster the Rohirrim, Gondor
calls for aid! We ride, ere the sun will rise!
Thousands of riders, we brandish our spears.
Charging at full speed, we fill them with fear. The
orc hordes are rattled, for many will die. The horse
lords in battle are brimming with pride. We ride!
Hail to the Riddermark, the land of my death. I fell
in battle, honor bound to Edoras' defense. Tonight I
dine with my ancestors in their mighty halls, or on
the morrow be reborn a horse to ride once more!
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3. |
The Dragon's Hoard
05:25
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Descendants of Thrór, of great Erebor, masters of
mining with riches untold, lay claim to the mountain,
declaring a war upon the red dragon who made it his
hoard. Held unto moonlight the parchment revealed an
entrance in secret hitherto concealed. Gambling on
stealth, instead they were met with long plumes of
black smoke and red dragon's breath. Wings spread,
the wyrm shrieks, enraged. Took to flight, trails of
fire in his wake. Set his gaze on Esgaroth upon the
lake. Lake-town was swallowed in flames. The
roaring, which silenced the screams. Despite his
surroundings ablaze, one single archer took aim. A
bare spot was open between his scales and so he
released an arrow and fell the beast! At long last
home were Durin's folk, but those who lent support
in war sought shares of gold. Unbeknownst to all,
enemies had come. All five armies' horns start to
blow! The all seeing eye lies in wait. Free peoples
divided by hate are prone to becoming enslaved.
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