Archive for the ‘17 Silmarillion: Akallabêth’ Category

#78: In Which I Reconsider My Strategy

Apr
4

Date: July 10, 2030 S.A.
My Mood Is: contemplative

Well, here I am in Lugbúrz, looking out over my vast minions and domains, and considering that carbuncle on my ass known as Eriador. It seems I can invade and hold every inch of Middle-earth except the northwest. Every time I conquer the western lands, someone comes sailing over the Sundering Seas and beats me back.

Why do the Valar, and their Eldarin and Númenórean toadies, care so much about Eriador and its inhabitants? Why do they care nothing for the Easterlings and Southrons? Hell, I don’t even bother to post an eastern defense anymore. Nobody’s coming from that direction. It seems that as long as I’m willing to let that ponce Gil-Galad alone, the Valar and the Númenóreans will let me be.

Needless to say, I am not willing to let Gil-Galad alone.

Like I said in  my last post, I’ve been thinking a lot about the good ol’ days in the First Age. You know, when Men were Men, Balrogs were Balrogs, and I was a ravenous giant wolf preying on delicious Noldoran rebels. What went wrong? Why did it have to end?

I’ll tell you. Melkor screwed it all up, and I just made the same mistake.

We always thought our greatest strength, mine and Melkor’s, those of us on the side of RIGHT and JUSTICE and ORDER, was the Armies of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death — our balrogs and trolls and giants and vampires and werewolves and Watchers in the Water. We thought might and force were our greatest tools for victory.

But the War of Wrath proved this wrong. This latest War of the Elves and Me proved it wrong. Might is not our greatest strength — MY greatest strength.

THE RING is my greatest strength. Corruption. Influence. Quiet power. Look at our great successes in the First Age — the fall of the children of Húrin, last Lord of Dor-lómin; the treachery of Maeglin that led to the fall of Gondolin. All of our best work came about because of lies and deceit, not claws and steel.

This needs to be my new tack. Forget armies — for now, anyway. I have 16 greater Magic Rings burning a hole in my front pocket, I might as well get some use out of them. If I can’t pervert the Elves to my service, certainly Men and Dwarves are more… suggestible.

I even have my Eye on a primary target. For the last few centuries, the accursed Númenóreans have been colonizing the western coasts, bringing the lesser men of Middle-earth their corn and wine and architecture and new ways of doing long division. One of these so-called “sea kings” is Er-Murazor, a wealthy Númenórean not overfond of Gil-Galad and that gap-toothed bint Galadriel. My spies tell me he fears death, and seeks a path to eternal life.

Well, El-Murazor, I can give you life everlasting. It’s nothing for Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of the Maiar. Just take this ring, this tiny little ring that the Elves made. Isn’t it pretty? Take it, and live forevermore.

BWA HA HA HA HA HA!

Oh hey, lunch time, gotta go.

#77: %$#@! &%*#!! @#$%!!!

Jan
18

Date: March 25th, 1700 S.A.
My Mood Is: fuck! shit!! damn!!!

Fuck! Shit!! Damn!!! Every time things start to go my way, it all goes to shit! And – of course – on my birthday, too!

I had Middle-earth all tied up — all tied up in a little red ribbon of flame, disease and death — when who shows up? The Númenóreans! Like, hundreds of thousands of the shiny-armored buggers in thousands of shiny ships, pouring over the horizon like shiny lemmings.

And the motherfuckers know how to fight! In just two weeks they’ve pushed my main force out of Lindon and all the way back to mid-Eriador, by the banks of the Baranduin. Now they’re slaughtering my Orcs and Wargs and Trolls and Evil Men, and the river is running red and blue with thick, chunky blood. How can people with such atrocious taste in headgear be such effective warriors?

Assholes! Go back to Westernesse where you belong! Mind your own business!

I’ve tried negotiating with this Ciryatur the Ship-Lord, the admiral sent by the Númenórean emperor to aid his buddy Gil-Galad. And by “negotiating,” I mean “tricking into going home.” But no go. And yet… and yet there’s something to these Númenóreans. Something… corruptible. I wonder if some of these Númenórean princes might like their own domains in Middle-earth, with their own magic rings…

Bwa ha ha. Bwa ha ha ha ha. BWA HA HA HA HA HA!

Oh crap! I just lost two deathyderms and six Fell Beasts. This battle sucks — IT SUCKS!!!

You know what I miss? From the First Age? Werewolves! My boyz like Draugluin, and that other fella, what was his name… Carcharoth! Yeah, whatever happened to those guys? They wouldn’t stand still and let a bunch of stupid Sea Kings rip them to shreds in a meadow.

Oh, man. There go the last of my Watchers in the Water. I’m gonna have to retreat again.

Shit! Fuck!! Damn!!!

#76: I Am THIS CLOSE to Total Victory!!!

Dec
20

Date: March 12th, 1700 S.A.
My Mood Is: really quite good, actually

Things must really suck for poor ol’ Melkor. There he is, chained to the outside of the sky by the stinking treasonous Valar, freezing in the uttermost cold of The Void, and all he can do is look into Arda and watch as I, his one-time lieutenant, accomplish what he never could.

Yes, I am THIS CLOSE to complete and total victory in Middle-earth. HUZZAH!

I, Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of Werewolves, the Dark Lord, Maker of the One Ring, am now the emperor of a vast demesne, from Hildórien in the Uttermost East on the shores of the East Sea, all the way through the Hither Lands west to the Ered Luin and the remnants of Beleriand; from the grinding ice of the Iron Mountains, all the way south to the balmy reaches of the furthest lands of the Southrons. All the Men of these realms worship me, and despair!

So I’ve got that going for me.

There are only two significant holes in the map, that I have yet to redden under my iron claw. There is Lindon, the so-called kingdom of Ereinion Gil-Galad, who presents himself as High King of the Noldor. And there is a new player, something called Imladris, which I take to be a kind of sylvan fort or something hidden in the western glens of the Misty Mountains. “Imladris” is elfy-talk for “hole in the ground,” so I assume it’s some kind of armed ditch. Elrond Halfelven commands it, so I’m not particularly worried. “Elrond Half-a-brain,” that’s what I call him.

My spies also tell me of an elf-lord called Amdír, who is stirring up trouble against me amongst the Elves of Lórinand east of the Mountains. He will have to be dealt with, when Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Elrond are all in their graves.

The weather is clearing up, and once all the Orcs who survived the winter get thoroughly defrosted, it will be the end of both Lindon and Imladris. Then Middle-earth shall be mine! All mine!

And dare I then think of the next step? To sail against Aman and destroy the accursed Valar? Too soon, Sauron, too soon. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Hmn. One of my Mannish heralds is here – it seems I have a visitor. Someone from the west named Ciryatur seeks to parley. Undoubtedly some idiot Elf sent by Gil-Galad to sue for “peace.” Bwa ha ha. Let’s see what he has to say.

#70: I Have a Foolproof Plan Involving Magic Rings…

Jul
20

Date: December 25, 1502 S.A.
My Mood Is: conspiratorial

So much to do, and so few centuries to do it.

I’m ready to start building my Black Spiky Tower of Unimaginable Evil. All the pieces are in place, and I’ve pretty much cornered the Endorian market in obsidian. In the process, Mordor has shaped up nicely into a real nation. I’m especially proud that the Orcs, for so long subjugated under Melkor’s careless rule and hunted by Elves and Men, finally have an ethnic homeland of their own, where they can stand tall and proud, enslaved under my despotic theocracy.

Also, I’ve been dealing with these damned Númenóreans, by sending waves of Orcs and loyal Men to harry their coastal settlements. My people always gets slaughtered, because the Númenóreans have far better technology than they rightfully should — it seems the accursed Valar give tech to the Teleri, who pass it along to the Númenóreans. Their ships have carvel hulls with lateen rigging; they use naphtha and gunpowder; they refine steel in crucibles. This crap is all Tech Level 4, and the rest of Middle-earth is clearly Tech Level 2. It’s totally unfair.

Still, the harrying has its intended effect, and the Númenóreans have failed to expand much beyond Umbar. I hear they have explored the far reaches of the East of Middle Earth, and even seen the Gates of Morning — but who cares? I’ve seen the Gates of Morning, it’s shit.

Then there’s Celebrimbor and the Master Plan.

Remember when I said that Celebrimbor hated Galadriel? Well, turns out it’s all an act. We got drunk late one night (and by “we” I mean “he”), and he admitted that he has always been in love with her. He says she’s the most beautiful woman who ever dwelt in Arda, Lúthien Tinúviel notwithstanding. Me, I don’t see it.

Anyway, he fantasizes about replacing Celeborn as her husband, and together they rule as High King & Queen of the Noldor. “Why not of all the Elves?” I asked. Of course, this would fit in with my plans perfectly. Unfortunately, Celebrimbor views his dream all as an impossible delusion.

We’ll see about that.

I finally launched Phase One of my Master Plan. I pitched to Celebrimbor a new project: MAGIC RINGS. Lots of Elves have magical powers; Galadriel and Elrond can read minds, for instance. Why not make these powers available to all The Wise? We enchant these various Rings with specific spells — levitation, spirit sight, magic missile, psionics, invisibility, etc. Then we distribute them to those Elves worthy of using them.

Celebrimbor LOVES it. Of course he does — I designed the scheme with him in mind. We’ve already begin work.

This puts Celebrimbor in the position to decide who gets what Ring, and I’m sure this has occurred to him. He will be able to wield a great deal of political power, and not just magical power, with these Rings. Power, possibly, for Celebrimbor to grow Eregion into a real Elven nation, and to set things the way he would like them to be, in regards to Galadriel and Gil-Galad.

But this is only Phase One. Celebrimbor has no clue about PHASE TWO. The part of the plan where Annatar, Lord of Gifts is revealed as Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of the Earth. The part where Sauron becomes Master of all the Children of Ilúvatar.

Bwa ha ha. BWA HA HA. BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!

#69: These Númenóreans Is Getting All Up in My Biznatch

Jul
8

Date: June 6th, 1222 S.A.
My Mood Is: determined

Things are moving along very well on Project Humongous Tower. A great deal of the project to-date has had to do with infrastructure — recruiting and kidnapping Orcs and Men as laborers; building towns and cities to house them; creating farms and granaries to feed them, and aqueducts to provide water; laying roads to move goods and men; and digging quarries, hundreds and hundreds of quarries.

Now you’re probably asking, Annatar, why don’t wave your hand and will the tower in into existence? You’re Lord of the Earth, Rightful Chief of the Maiar, and Master of the Flame Imperishable. Just do your magical hoodoo and forget all this mundane crap.

Well, yes. Yes, I could do that. Easily. But there are issues.

First, if I cast a spell of that magnitude (I figure it’s a 50th Level Bigby’s Godlike Fortress), it’s like writing “Sauron Is Here” in mile-high letters above Mordor for anyone with the magical chops to read it — Galadriel, Gil-Galad, and the Valar waaaay over in Aman. And I am not ready for any of those characters to know my true identity or what I am up to.

Second, the Valar might interpret it as a hostile act, or otherwise get their panties knotted up. I’m not ready for that either.

And third, I will have to tie up a great deal of my personal power in the tower before it’s done. You can’t build a quarter-mile-high Black Spiky Tower of Unimaginable Evil and expect it to keep standing on pure engineering principles. It takes mana, and lots of it. This is going to be one hell of an enchantment; and without any other Maiar to back me up, I’ll have to provide all the mojo myself.

Now here’s the thing — and proof, by the way, that Sauron Gorthaur is smarter than Aulë, Manwë TDP, Melkor and even Eru, all put together. I need to pour a bunch of my personal power into the tower. Yet I want to keep that power, and use it for other things. Impossible, right? Having your lembas and eating it too?

Wrong. I have an idea. Let’s say I instill a good part of my fëa into some kind of magical talisman, and use that talisman to build the foundations of the tower. Then I keep the talisman with me, with my hröa, at all times. I can use the magical power wherever I go, despite the fact that it’s also holding up the tower. The power is not in the tower, nor even in me, but in the talisman. Get it?

You don’t. Well, I am the smartest entity remaining in Arda. I am doomed to never be fully understood. It is my curse.

The question is, what kind of talisman should it be? I’ll consult with Celebrimbor. He’s certainly the brightest of these confounded Elves. What a bunch of dim bulbs, sitting around eating and singing and enjoying themselves, when they could be taking over the world. The waste of potential is heartbreaking.

By the way, I discovered something alarming about a century ago. Remember when I mentioned a group of rebel Men who served the Valar, the so-called Edain? Pale, sickly-looking specimens with yellow hair who followed the Noldor around like whipped dogs? They were granted the tremendous “gift” of living on a remote island in the Belegaer, cut off from the rest of humanity and from their Elven buddies.

Well, they’re back. A bunch of these “Númenóreans” have landed and set up outposts on the shores of Middle-earth, mostly around Umbar, bringing Valinorean corn and wine with which to ply the simple Men of the coasts. They’ve even infected my beloved Haradwaith with tales of the “Noble Valar” and the “evil Sauron.”

I’ll be putting a stop to this right quick.

Sigh. I have so many things to deal with at once — the Elves, the Númenóreans, the Easterlings, the Southrons, Mordor, Celebrimbor, my magical studies. It’s SO HARD being the good guy.