The year is 2475 of the Third Age, and the end of the Watchful Peace has come. Osgiliath has fallen to the Witch King of Angmar and his new breed of Orc which appeared unabated by the light of day. Even the isle keep centred around the Dome of Stars could not withstand the onslaught. The ancient city, steadfast in her years in the face of plague and strife, fell beneath the weight of the blackblood war machine, its strength renewed by the return of the Necromancer to Dol’Guldur some years before.

Boromir, son of the Steward Denethor I, arrived at the eleventh hour to drive back the Witch King and his forces with his host of Gondorian heavy cavalry and Eorlingas. Fearing they would be driven all the way back to Minas Morgul, the routing forces destroyed the great bridge between the Dome of Stars and the Eastern bank, halting Gondor’s advance. The lands east of the river Anduin remained in the hands of Mordor, for now.

The encounter was marked as a pyrrhic victory for the Witch King, as he had not only claimed half of Osgiliath and the lands of Ithilien before it, but had struck Boromir, one of his greatest and most feared enemies, with a morgul-wound from which he would never recover. Even in his days ruling as Steward, the dark wound plagued Boromir and drew his lifespan unnaturally short for a Man of Numenor.

Much like her liberator, the City of Stars would never fully recover from the siege. What once was the jewel of Gondor and a thriving trade hub nestled between distant lands would remain a shell of its former glory. Great statues of the Kings of Old remained toppled, white stone was scorched black, towers fell and aquaducts collapsed, yet still, people would attempt to return to normality and reclaim their livelihoods.

Many abandoned their plans to return home, however. Rumours began to swirl of a darkness awakening in the bowels of the ancient city, drawn to the power of the Witch King. Townsfolk began reporting unsettling encounters and strange occurrences. Some claimed that the city of Osgiliath had been cursed by old magic in the wake of the siege. For many, however, the fallen city presented a unique opportunity. Whether driven by patriotism, desperation, greed or dishonesty, a wide spectrum of inhabitants began to appear after the siege, ranging middle-class merchants to vagrants, from veteran soldiers to bandits, all seeking a place to prosper amid the fallen stone behemoth.

Steward Denethor I, desperate to reclaim Gondor's foothold in Ithilien to keep Mordor at bay, deployed his remaining battalions to conquer the remainder of the Witch King's forces. In order to assure his victory, the Steward empowered a number of aristocratic nobles through the Great Gondorian Council, imploring them to ride forth and claim their ancestral land of Ithilien. Wealth and influence determined the host of each house, with some being powerful enough to lead their own armies of cavalry and men-at-arms, while others relied on levies and sellswords to bolster their foothold. Together they spill forth to claim land for their houses, with the most prized titles promised to the house that liberates it from Mordorian forces.

Ultimately the Steward retained control of his battalions, though they were stretched thin to breaking point. Further south, the Corsair Wars rage on with Pelargir besieged. Gondor's forces, reduced and weary, have withdrawn well into Harandor, and the Navy has begun licking its wounds, allowing the odd Corsair raider north to menace the villages along the Anduin. The Haradrim have burst the lines in the far east and have begun to make camp in foothills of the Mountains of Shadow. A distant storm encroaches on the northern horizon with the Easterling tribes rumoured to be marching south from the Sea of Rhûn.

Yet despite the danger looming both far and near, commonfolk and noblemen alike returned to Osgiliath, allured by potential prosperity within the old crown jewel of Gondor, and driven by a Steward desperate to keep Mordor at bay. This is where players enter, ready to make their mark on Middle-Earth.

Rain fell relentlessly as the Gondorian soldier mused to himself while peering over the tower wall. Far to the west he watched procession of tired bodies, horses and wagons materializing from the fog to shuffle toward the gates of Osgiliath. The townsfolk were ready to reclaim the home they had lost during the siege, though most shivered as they marched.

Sprawling over the landscape far below the tower was the fallen stone behemoth that was once the crown jewel of Gondor, now ruined after years of strife, siege and plague. The Anduin river, which cut the former capital down the middle, now formed a natural border between Gondor and Mordor, as the eastern bank had been abandoned in the face of the renewed assault from the Witch King. Despite the onslaught, and the new breed of Orc that the East had unleashed, the Men of Gondor had prevailed.

The soldier drew his gaze away from the gates to focus on the banner of the White Tree that had been erected upon his tower, to proclaim to all below that the Steward was victorious. As the great black ensign fluttered in the breeze, he could only ruminate over the price paid to raise it. A sigh escaped him as his attention drifted now onto the stone structure above that loomed over all, the Dome of Stars.

Once the centrepiece of the great city founded by the Faithful of Númenor, the colossal structure silhouetted the horizon for gazes cast from as far away as the twin cities. A building of sheer engineering and architectural marvel, it was centred on the island that split the middle of the Anduin asunder. Beneath the Dome was the famed Great Hall, where the thrones of Isildur and Anarion sat beside one another. Several other structures laid at the foundations of the Dome, including the tower where the Stone of Osgiliath was held, the greatest of the seven palantíri of Middle-earth. High walls, hefty gates and great stone bridges turned the isle into a formidable keep, but even this had not kept the rebels at bay. The fire ships and siege engines of Castamir had laid waste to the city during the Kin-Strife rebellion, breaking the crown of the Dome and toppling the tower containing the palantíri, sending the stone to the depths of the Anduin.

The soldier felt a shiver as he turned his eyes toward the east. Whispered voices tell tales of a fell curse left upon the land by the Witch King, that his sorcery had stained the land, and from the ancient ruins rose terrible creatures drawn to that dark magic. Even the dark of night heralded the light of fires and bloodcurdling cries from the eastern bank.

Despite it all, the people returned. The Steward would not give up this foothold so easily, nor would the folk who called it home. The soldier spared one last look out toward the western gate before his long descent of spiral stairs toward the isle below, back amongst the townsfolk to endure the trials and tribulations to come.