Partially Sane Denethor: A MOS Gondor AAR
Gondor, as many of you know, is not the easiest nation to play in Third Age, so don't expect this to end well. This is also my first AAR, so don't expect it to be any good. It is merely an "alternate history" semi-narrative AAR in which Denethor keeps at least some of his metaphorical marbles.
INTRODUCING:
DENETHOR, Steward of Gondor;
BOROMIR, his elder son, and most senior General of Gondor;
FARAMIR, his younger son, and second most senior General of Gondor;
IMRAHIL, brother of Denethor, Lord of Dol Amroth and famously fine specimen of manhood;
SILIWEN, his wife, an equally fine specimen of womanhood;
ANBORN, spy, scout and general rogue;
TREASURER, treasurer of Gondor and advisor to Denethor;
CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD, leader of the Fountain Guards and also advisor to Denethor;
and many others whom I cannot be bothered to list here.
I am using the following mods:
Tol Acharns
Earlier Invasions
Garrison Script
Resurrect Allied Factions
Mysterious Documents
Allied Aid Script
Beacons of Gondor (of course, we are Gondor after all!)
Mordor's Call
Chapter 1
The Citadel, Minas Tirith
Welcome to Gondor, realm of the White Tree.
In the east of our realm is our capital, Minas Tirith, a glorious city of 4752 clean, happy and well-fed residents, led by me, the magnificent Steward Denethor. On the Anduin lies the old capital, Osgiliath, now a ruin of its former glory with the eastern half overrun by horrible orcs. A little southwest of the Pellenor Fields is Lossarnach, home to my dear friend Forlong and many fearsome axemen. If you did not notice him, my son Faramir is lurking near Emyn Arnen. He has a passion for asymmetrical warfare which I have never managed to discourage.
In the south are the Mouths of Anduin, once favoured as a holiday destination by Middle-Earth's upper classes (including myself) and our principal port, Pelargir. Sadly, recent fears of being tortured and slain by marauding orcs and Haradrim has driven tourists elsewhere, despite our tourism board's insistence otherwise.
The west of Gondor, with the exception of the great castle of Dol Amroth, estate of my brother Imrahil, is largely under-developed and poor. The plight of the peasants there is quite tragic, but the war effort has prevented us from alleviating their suffering too much. To the far west are rebel settlements which rightfully (according to the maps we drew last week) belong to our realm. We shall incorporate them as soon as we can muster the forces to do so.
This is marvellous, magnificent me, Steward Denethor. I am a strong, respected commander with unchallenged authority in the realm. My only flaw is my lack of charm with the ladies. Unlike my dear brother Imrahil, who has a gorgeous wife and a host of female admirers, I am left staring at my dead wife's sarcophagus every evening. Oh, Finduilas...excuse me while I cry...
*sob*...this is my family: my 2 sons, Boromir and Faramir, my brother Imrahil, his wife Siliwen, his children Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos and Lothiriel...his wife looks just like mine...WHY DID SHE HAVE TO DIE? WHY? WHY? WHY?
(Denethor only keeps some of his marbles, remember.)
The treasurer enters.
"My liege?" he asks.
"WHAT IS IT, TREASURER? CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I'M GRIEVING?"
"I've prepared the annual report, my liege."
"F UCK YOUR ANNUAL REPORT! MY WIFE IS DEAD! DEAD!"
"I know, my liege, and it's awfully sad, but...put the sword down, we don't want any blood spilt today..."
(Maybe most is an overstatement.)
"...I'll come back later. Captain, watch him."
*I drop the sword, fall into a fetal position and howl in utter despair.*
Later
"My liege, are you ready to read the report?"
"I am. Come in."
"You didn't try to stab anyone this time. Your anger management has improved. Remember the days when the Fountain Guards had to wrestle you to stop you from leaping from the battlements?"
"I certainly do," says the Captain, who has been silently watching me until now. His main job is to protect me and the rest of Minas Tirith from me when I am overcome by grief or any other strong emotion, which is to say, often.
"This is the financial overview," says the Treasurer. "You can see that Gondor is currently in profit. We have drawn up a plan for this year-"
"What about the national ranking report?"
"Sadly, it is not finished. We have not gathered sufficient information. We shall prepare it as soon as we can."
"I understand...what plans do you have for Gondor?"
"I, the Captain, Boromir and several others have identified the top priorities for Gondor."
"1. To improve the road network, which is currently substandard in many places. This will have both military and economic benefits."
"I agree! One of my best horses went lame when he stepped in a pot hole. I fell off, too, and ripped my finest hose. How much will it cost?"
"Most of our treasury, but we can afford it. A first-class power needs first-class roads. We shall also build watchtowers to supervise these roads."
"An excellent idea! I would have proposed the same."
"We also plan military expansion," says the Captain, "in 2 operations. The first is Operation Western Force. This involves raising a small army in the west and capturing the nearby rebel settlements."
"I'm not so sure about that! Surely we need all our forces in the east, to face the great hosts of Mordor!"
"These settlements will provide us men and money, my liege. And we also have plans for the east, namely Operation Osgiliath. This involves retaking East Osgiliath."
"I guessed that. Who shall lead the assault?"
"Boromir, and a small host of loyal men. Faramir will cut off the supply and reinforcement chain. East Osgiliath is poorly defended, I doubt it will be much of a challenge for such fine commanders."
"I hope it isn't. I hate my sons risking their lives..."
"So would I, my liege, especially since my sons are only 4 and 2. We also have plans to take Cair Andros, but those are conditional on the Osgiliath assault succeeding. We have already dispatched a spy to infiltrate the castle."
"Every son of Gondor slain is a waste, Captain. They call me mad, but war is the real madness."
"It is indeed, but orcs are unwilling to engage in diplomacy."
"What started this anyway? O, yes, it was a dispute over Ithilien. Of course, now too much is at stake for us to reach an agreement. The Witch-king says that he won't stop until the flag of Mordor flies from Minas Tirith. What a c unt."
"A c unt indeed, my liege. Now, let's go to the hall; we have Araw beef today."
"Araw beef? Spectacular! I doubt we'll have that much longer, with those awful Easterlings around. Or Dorwinion wine..."
"Don't be so pessimistic," says the Treasurer. "Live in the moment; a fine dinner awaits us."
"You're right, I suppose."
We go to the hall. The dinner is fantastic. We choose our cooks well here. For a while, I forget all my woes, my dead wife, the enemy armies on the other side of the Anduin. Moments like these are what makes life worth living. Why can they not be more common...
Boromir's headquarters, Osgiliath
...because we're at war, that's why. War is a horror show worse than I can describe - a big f ucking b rothel of s hit, as our men like to say. My name is Boromir, eldest son of Denethor and heir to Gondor's throne.
Here I am, on the Pelennor Fields, waiting for orders to retake East Osgiliath. Removing Mordor's forces from our borders is a top priority, especially when they occupy our former capital.
The plan of Operation Osgiliath is simple. With a small force of about 300 Gondor militia, I shall lay siege to Eastern Osgiliath and demand the orcs' surrender. My brother Faramir will cut off retreat, reinforcement and resupply with his Ithilien irregulars. I hope we won't have to fight hard, but if we have to, we'll butcher the orcs like swine for slaughter. Our militia are sturdy troops, more than a match for their rabble. We have already dispatched a herald to negotiate with the orcs.
This is our adversary: Nagzag of Emyn Arnen, an insignificant Ithilien orc, and his 500 or so rabble.
The herald returns, very out of breath and having spectacularly soiled his trousers.
"Blistering b ollocks! You need to change your clothes. Those orcs tend to have such an effect on novice soldiers. How did they respond to the request for surrender?"
"They...tried to kill me and eat me..." he pants. "They shot arrows, but they missed..."
"Typical. They're c rappy shots. We'll maintain the siege."
"They have enough food for 9 months, sir."
"9 months? I shan't wait that long! We'll give them 1 month, then we'll assault and kill them to the last orc if we have to."
"An assault?"
"Yes! Now go and change your trousers before I faint from the stink."
So, the orcs want to play hard. Then we'll show them what playing hard means...
Cair Andros
I am Anborn, one of Gondor's finest rogues. Irresistible to ladies and gentlemen, furtive as a fox in a forest...that's me. The Steward sent me to Cair Andros. What a f ucking dump. There isn't even a good w hore house here, they all have VDs. At least I'm being paid well for it. I have 2 main jobs: keep watch for orcs, and open the gates when Gondor's forces arrive. I say hurry up, I yearn to get out of here. O, to see Pelargir again...
The Road Goes Ever On And On...
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