- "There it stood: a monstrous creature, as tall as a tree. Its limbs were like gnarled branches of birk, white and knotted and twined together like bone and wirey sinew. Its bony shoulders were covered in a black fur through which sprouted bulbous mushrooms that seemed to bear within them a strange, deathly glow. It had a deer skull for a head, but much larger. A pale flame seemed to live within, casting a flickering light upon the edges of its deep, dark eye sockets. From the skull grew two enormous antlers, malformed and bloodied. All over the creature grew and swayed a fell moss - loëwmorn - that was known to spread rot and disease to everything it touched."
- —The Age of the Ring Lore Compendium
The Gwanthaur is a terrifying creature of ancient, unknown origin. It appeared in southern Mirkwood not long after the Necromancer. It feeds upon the lost souls of Elves and Men, growing large and monstrous over long, dark years. It terrorised the corrupted forest and became legend to the Woodsmen and Silvan Elves that lived nearby.
In Age of the Ring, the Gwanthaur is a summonable hero for Dol Guldur as one of the faction's final tier spell book powers.
Age of the Ring Lore[]
Striding Fiend by Valkyrie
Along the forest sickening,
Are lamentations mourning sin:
The dirge of woodsmen in despair
Before too horrible a scare.
O merry Sprites, who stars revere!
The Fairy sent away his deer,
To make for northern cavern-halls.
Alike have Gnomes constructed walls.
Whose aid? Whose mercy might us free?
Who may forestall the Foe’s decree?
He’s foulest Wizard wreaking dread
Through fang and spook that malice bred.
On rapid winds a fable ran,
Beyond the edge of human ken:
“Insidious bough shall Death enshrine!
A Monster came! The great Malign!”
What art or diablerie has wrought
The Skull in shape and given thought
To lethal soul-devourer?
The bane, the flailing wanderer!
It hunts, it seeks the spectral shade;
No tethered spirit thence can fade,
Should ghost be caught by vicious claw
And meet oblivion into maw.
Its roarings sunder barks throughout,
However sentinel be stout,
For verdant hope has almost thinned:
“Approaches now the Striding Fiend.”
Yet hearken, wretch! A woodland Saint
Is told to show when all is faint;
The Holy Elk shall vanquish fright.
The Stag is clad in very white.
The moonlight was cold and clear, illuminating silver grass and casting long-stretched, reaching shadows upon the glade. My heart pounded fast and loudly within my throat, pushing new blood through the wound in my leg with every beat. It had taken me a considerable effort to climb this tree. I now sat legs wide upon a thick branch, resting my back against the trunk, near to where it split into its last limbs and made its last effort to reach the starry night above, ever a wondrous sight to Elven eyes. But mine were trained upon the clearing below.
Time passed slow. I drifted away upon the invisible path of the cold wind, moving in and out of an indecipherable dream. But then I heard the cracking of twigs and branches. I sat up and investigated the edges of the clearing, searching for movement. A trunk shivered, a branch fell. A shadow leapt across the forest floor and crept slowly out beneath the pale light of the moon. There it stood: a monstrous creature, as tall as a tree. Its limbs were like gnarled branches of birk, white and knotted and twined together like bone and wirey sinew. Its bony shoulders were covered in a black fur through which sprouted bulbous mushrooms that seemed to bear within them a strange, deathly glow. It had a deer skull for a head, but much larger. A pale flame seemed to live within, casting a flickering light upon the edges of its deep, dark eye sockets. From the skull grew two enormous antlers, malformed and bloodied. All over the creature grew and swayed a fell moss - loëwmorn - that was known to spread rot and disease to everything it touched. I recognized it by its pungent smell; I had it smelt it before, long ago, before our people moved north to get away from the evil that had taken root in the southern regions of the forest.
I had never seen this creature before tonight, but I knew its name: it was the gwanthaur, the death of the forest. The subject of many ghost stories as told by the latest generation of superstituous woodsmen. I didn't believe them, of course. Men are quick to resort to make-believe in order to explain things. A byproduct of their lifespans, I suppose: a short life does not permit a full understanding of the world, nor does it diminish their thirst for knowledge, which they may only glean ere they expire. I had drawn my conclusions: a vicious orc, at most, wearing antlers on his cursed head, in mockery of our King. And so it was that Thranduil had sent me to investigate.
It appeared that I had severely underestimated my quarry. Quietly, I drew an arrow from my quiver and laid it against the string of my bow. It had not seen me, but I knew that soon it would catch my scent. I ignored the throbbing pain in my leg and watched the creature, but it did not move. It stood utterly still, frozen, like a statue come forth from Elven nightmare. I found it difficult to keep my eyes open. Its shape blended into the moon-bathed clearing as I began to drift in and out of consciousness. I felt the blood trickling down my calves and pooling into my boot. Everything went black. In the darkness of my mind, I saw scores of thin, luminescent shapes. Elven spirits, bent and broken, with long, agonized expressions on their faces. They began to speak, then to clamor, in a chorus of lamentation that turned into anguished rage. Above them I saw a great, fiery eye, trapping them beneath the canopy of the Forest of Fear, rendering them unable to journey to the Halls of the Dead.
I tried to open my eyes, but realized they had never been closed. The gwanthaur stepped forward, and the spirits vanished beneath its overgrown hooves. I remembered the arrow resting between my fingers and sat up, pulling back the string as I rose to my feet. Balancing upon the delicate branch, I took my chance and loosened the arrow. My shot found its mark: I saw the red fletching quivering in the spot where I believed its heart might be. The Gwanthaur roared - a terrible sound akin to a hollowed out tree crashing down the hillside. Its antlered head swayed left and right as it stooped down to its knees. For a moment I thought myself victorious, or at least having struck a devastating first blow. I leaned back against the trunk of my tree and nocked a second arrow. The creature groaned, then slammed its gargantuan fists into the soil, causing a tremor that caused me to lose my footing. I tumbled down, grasping vainly at brittle branches before I found myself laying dazed and confused amongst the mossy roots. Before me stood the gwanthaur. It straightened its bent back and tore my arrow from its chest. For a moment it remained still, training its burning gaze upon me as I tried to scramble to my feet. Then it took a heavy step forward, and another. Its smell was overwhelming. It unfurled one of its clawed, brutish hands, and made a grasping gesture. A terrible cold took hold of me. I cast my eyes upwards, hoping to catch a final glimpse of the stars shining through the canopy, but I saw nothing but the thick, oily darkness that enveloped my shivering body. Silence descended. Time slowed to an agonizing pace as I wallowed in my final moments.
Then the silence ended. Branches rustled. A light appeared in the corner of my eyes. The creature's hold lessened, then broke. My lungs greedily sucked in all the air they could as the darkness left my burning eyes. I turned my head towards the light. From the star-lit brush a white stag had appeared, its head held high, meeting the gwanthaur's towering presence in noble defiance. Its fëa radiated outwards, casting long shadows all around it as it advanced upon its foe. The gwanthaur shook its mossy antlers, then took a slow step back, seemingly unwilling to contest this bright apparition over its ground. This was my chance. I dug deep within myself and found a kernel of strength, then lifted myself to my feet, turned around, and limped towards the looming trees. When I looked over my shoulder, both creatures had vanished into the night. I made my way north, as quietly as I could, taking little rest ere I found myself once more amongst the safeguarded glades of the Elvenking.
Abilities[]
Soul Trap (W) - Enemy units within the radius take damage. If a unit dies, the Gwanthaur receives +5% armor and damage for a limited time. Left click icon then left click on target area.
Sacrifice (R) - The Gwanthaur can target a friendly unit to devour them and regain some health. Left click icon then left click on target,
Dark Reclamation (T) - Targeted structure is destroyed. Twisted trees appear in its place. Doesn't affect Fortresses. Left click icon then left click on target structure.
Expulsion (C) - Summons a wave of Shades to clear out the enemy. Left click icon then left click on target area.
Strategy[]
The Gwanthaur is an incredibly deadly foe that can lay low not only the enemy's base but also their army, if used correctly. It deals a large amount of damage per hit, which can be increased using Soul Trap, particularly when cast on vulnerable enemy units already at low health. It can then destroy a critical unit recruitment structure of the enemy using Dark Reclamation which can have severe consequences for the enemy if their base is under attack from the rest of Dol Guldur's army at the same time. The Gwanthaur can dispose of large numbers of enemies not only with its basic attack, but also with Expulsion, which can clear a path for Dol Guldur's army to advance. If the Gwanthaur reaches low health, it can use Sacrifice to regain some health at the cost of a friendly unit - making it a very difficult target to dispatch.