For six days the Rangers of Amon Sûl marched up the river Mitheithel, with the Wardens of Annúminas by their side. The morale was high, both the Rangers and the Wardens were eager to rid themselves of the threat of Mount Gundabad, and now the time had come to do so. On the fourth day, the Wardens had split off from the Rangers to organise themselves and decide on a plan, feeling guilty for helping the Rangers and not the Dwarves.

On the sixth day, the land in front of them became hills and then mountains. Nimtolien knew that what they were all looking at was the lands of the enemy that, to their eyes, looked merely like snow-peaked mountains. In the darkness of the previous night, Amandil had found the Rangers encamped and resting along the banks of the river. He told Nimtolien of a hillock just before the base of the mountains that seemed a good spot to make their stand. He also informed him of a shallow area in the river that, though very narrow, could be used to traverse the river should it be necessary. Amandil was then told to send a messenger to the Dwarves to inform them that there plan was under way.

As the sun was still high in the sky, the Rangers had fortified the small hillock and were prepared for the oncoming battle. Nimtolien, mounted on horseback, rode closer to the mountains with Amandil, his son Anárion and Valandil, Warden of Amon Tirith. When they reached the foot of the mountains within sight of a large dark opening in the mountains that Amandil had discovered, a sense that they were being watched made them uneasy, and at that moment Nimtolien halted.

"Foul creatures of Morgoth" he started in a terrible voice full of pride and spite, for Nimtolien hated Orc-kind. "I am Nimtolien, Captain of the Rangers of Amon Sûl, we have come to put an end to all that is evil in these mountains so that our lands may have peace and prosper for long ages to come! Leave your damp dark caves and face the descendants of those who helped overthrow your tyrannical creator, those who would see you and your kind destroyed from Middle-Earth and all of Arda!"

With a quick glance from Nimtolien, Valandil produced a large warhorn of silver coloured wood brought from Númenor. The sound that emerged was a long and deep sound that echoed off the mountains and bounced back towards them. As Nimtolien and his company turned back, the hill the Rangers had fortified transformed into a giant booming chorus of horns. Once Nimtolien returned to the hill all was dead silent. And they waited.

OOC: To give you an idea of where they are encamped. Try not to envy my paint skills too much.

I'm not quite sure if I've done this correctly, I hope so!

Paging the Orcs /u/TanithArmoured and my allies /u/dont_be_stupid , /u/ErnestScaredStupid and /u/rogersterling16.