Posts Tagged ‘Angband’

#66: It’s a Fixer-Upper, But I Think I’ll Take It

Jun
11

Date: January 1, 701 S.A.
My Mood Is: ecstatic

Happy New Year and New Century!

The Men of Middle Earth count the current “Second Age” calendar from the Sinking of Beleriand by the faithless and lunatic Valar. Most Men never saw nor heard of Beleriand of course, but they did notice the massive earthquakes and weather disruptions when their entire continent shifted 300 feet to the left. And by Second Age, they mean the era after the glorious First Age, when Melkor was rightful Lord of the Earth.

Some idiot Men wanted to celebrate the end of the century in 699, but I set them straight. It’s called math, people!

Anyway. I’m no longer in Harad, but let me tell you about it before I get to the big news. After I spent some time lording it over the Easterlings, I left them with my hand-picked priesthood in charge, and very specific instructions to keep building armies and preparing fortifications. This is for their own protection – you never know when some crazy Elven exiles from Valinor will show up demanding shiny rocks and killing everyone whose skin doesn’t have an albedo over 70%.

I traveled south to the Haradwaith, a dusty desert land ruled by the hearty Haradrim. Let me tell you, these people can build a freakin’ pyramid. They were harder to bring around to my way of thinking than the Easterlings, being prideful and devoted to the worship of Námo in various mythological guises. Killing the Haradrim indiscriminately didn’t do anything to gain their loyalty, as they all thought they were going to a blissful eternity in the Halls of Mandos. Yeah, right – as if the Valar would condescend to let the Younger Children of Ilúvatar set foot in Aman, much less hang out in the “blissful” little slice of Hell that is the Elven afterlife.

In the end it was money that brought them around. I taught them how to mine for gold, which they had never seen before; and then how to trade with the Easterlings for jewels, which were also a novelty. Now the Haradrim adorn their graves with the riches of the East and dedicate them to me, which is nice.

But I had been gone from Eriador for a long time; and I missed the forest, believe it or not, and Young Man Willow. Plus, I did not want to leave the Elves out of my plans for too long — I still needed a plan to deal with them. So, leaving my proxies behind as sheiks, I set out to return to Eriador.

My Haradrim friends warned me to avoid something they called the “Fenced Land,” a vast plain surrounded by mountains that sat smack in the middle of my way home. Intrigued, I decided to check it out.

Holy Crapping Eru. Friends, I am HOME.

I mean, forget Tol Sirion, that was a freaking marsh. Angband? Nice, and pretty impressive for its era, but in the end it failed, didn’t it? Utumno? Yeah, that was just a big hole in the ground.

This place, this “Fenced Land” — well first of all it’s not a “plain,” it’s a whole country. It’s roughly square, about 300 miles by 200 miles; and there are high, tall mountains on three sides, North, South and West — all the directions the Valar might attack from.

Much of the plain itself is covered with various kinds of unpleasantness — forests, glades, glens, brooks, reflecting pools, meadows, blah blah blah, all stuff I can get rid of. But there’s water, which I now understand is important if you need servants (remind me to tell you about that little disaster back when we first set up in Angband — hundreds of Orcs dead of dehydration, and we had no idea what was going on). In fact there’s a big inland sea in the South.

But best of all, and here’s the kicker — in the northwest of the land, there’s a volcano. A big ‘ol beautiful active subduction stratovolcano, just like Pappy Sauron used to make, right where the Belegaer Plate slams into the Endorian Plate, forming the Ephel Dúath. It’s magnificent.

I have no recollection of the making of any of this. It may have been formed by the collapse of the Two Lamps at the end of the Second War. Who knows? But if I had sat down and designed my own country to rule over, a country that could also serve as a fortress, I could not have done a better job.

This is exactly the stroke of good fortune I’ve been waiting for. I’m going to call it Mordor, the “Black Land,” because of all the lovely volcanic obsidian.

I forgot to mention there are some Orcs already living here, refugees from Beleriand who fled before the War of Wrath, an act of faithlessness for which they will have to pay with sincere apologies, community service, and prolonged beatings. Also there are some Men here, the descendants of Edain who refused to fight with the Noldor. That’s good because it means I don’t have to feed the Orcs.

My plan is beginning to come together. First it’s time to return West, see what the Elves have been up to in my absence, and check if they’re more receptive to the overtures of Annatar, Lord of Gifts. Then we’ll see.

Mordor is SO COOL!

#59: This Is the Worst Day of My Entire Life

Mar
16

Date: June 16, 590 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: devastated

Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap. Holy crap.

There have been some bad times since I joined up with Melkor, but nothing to prepare me for this. This is without a doubt the worst day of my entire life. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.

Beleriand is gone, just gone. Almost the whole continent — which coincidentally I did most of the design for, before the stinking Valar ruined the coastlines in the Second War — is now under the ocean. I could just say “good riddance” — except Angband is gone, too.

And everyone in it. Even Melkor.

There’s just a huge, swirling whirlpool of seawater above where Angband used to be, as millions of gallons of Ulmo’s stinking brine flow into its endless beautiful chasms, quenching the subterranean rivers of magma, flooding the breeding pits and torture dens, and forever drowning countless Chthonic creatures, their twisted and unnatural forms the stuff of mortal nightmares.

Those traitorous Valar bastards!

Everyone is gone. The Armies of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death are destroyed or scattered. The Balrogs have all been slain, their fëar reduced to naught but Spirits of Malice in the Wild; well, all but that one idiot hiding in the Misty Mountains. Most of the dragons are dead, their bloated corpses bobbing on the tempestuous sea; although I hear a handful escaped. No doubt there are some Orcs left — they’re like cockroaches, and anyway they probably fled when the real fighting started. Maybe some trolls survived, but they’re useless. A couple of vampires might have made it.

Ah, the werewolves. My beloved werewolves. They would have refused to run, fighting until the end. No doubt they all perished.

BASTARDS!

And Melkor? Wonderful, terrible, magnificent and awful, the Rightful Lord of the Earth, Melkor? That idiot, imbecile, asshole, fuckwit? I’ll tell you what happened to Melkor. He hid in the lowest bowels of Angband, cowering and suing for peace. That brain donor had spent so much of his mana on armies, and monsters, and defenses, and spiky black armor, and curses designed to afflict individual warriors with bad luck, kinslaying and incest, that he had nothing left when the Valar and their Maiar and Mortal slaves swept down from the Uttermost West in a cowardly surprise attack.

Then Eönwë — Eönwë, Manwë’s toadyish little flag-waver, and not some halfway-majestic Ainu like Tulkas or Aulë –overthrew Melkor from his throne and bound him in chains. The Valar thrust Melkor out the Doors of Night into the Outer Dark, to suffer in the cold, dead vacuum as long as Arda lasts.

So that’s it. Through mismanagement, and idiocy, and caring what primitive little mortals thought of him, and lusting after magic rocks and hot Elven chicks, Melkor has destroyed everything we planned for and dreamed of, ever since those early Days Before Days in the Timeless Halls of Eru Ilúvatar when we improved the Ainulindalë.

MOTHER FUCK. Billions of years of careful planning and hard work. FOR NOTHING!

And here’s Sauron, a mere echo of his primordial angelic self, trapped within this tiny spacetime continuum for Eru knows how long — friendless, luckless, and alone.

How am I supposed to spend the rest of eternity? Sitting on my ass?

Or maybe I should slink across the the Sundering Seas to Aman, and present myself for judgment before the “throne” of  Manwë the Dickless Prick, begging forgiveness for my so-called sins, and sit out a couple of eons in the Halls of Mandos until I am deemed sufficiently “rehabilitated” to go back to work for Aulë. Christ on a cracker (whatever that is), I’d rather kill myself.

What the hell am I going to do now? What am I going to do?

#56: That’s It, I QUIT!

Dec
14

Date: June 12, 466 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: lugubrious

That’s it, I quit. I’m done. No more.

I am not spending another aeon of my precious immortal existence serving that mouth-breathing moron, Melkor.

Fuck him. Fuck him right in the ass.

After that filthy, faithless, sniveling turd of a canine Huan drove me out of Tol Sirion, and that half-breed abomination Lúthien (as I have now learned) razed Tol-in-Gaurhoth to its foundations (which is idiotic, since Minas Tirith was an Elven tower — bet no one will ever use that name again), I ended up strategically retreating to Taur-nu-Fuin in vampire form. No, I was not hiding. I was waiting to regroup with Carcharoth and the others, so we could go back, avenge Draugluin, and retake the Pass of Sirion.

So no, I was not hiding from Melkor because I’d had my ass handed to me by Huan and a girl. Shut up!

Anyway, I waited for months in the forest of Taur-nu-Fuin amongst the foul-smelling pine trees, picking up the occasional Man, Elf or Dwarf as a light snack, until finally I espied a troop of Balrogs making their way south. I accosted them, and they didn’t recognize me at first — I had forgotten I was still in vampire form. So I re-assumed my accustomed, anthropoid form, and let me tell you, those boys were glad to see me.

But the story they told me was absolutely freakin’ unbelievable.

Remember that Man I was holding prisoner, the one who sang to Thingol and Melian’s little genetic monster? Well, he and Lúthien headed straight to Angband, with nothing on their minds but stealing one of those stupid Magic Rocks.

Seriously, what is up with those rocks?

So they arrived at the gates of Angband, and who was guarding the entrance but Carcharoth? Here’s what I’ve figured out — Carcharoth did not go to Angband to get messages from Melkor. Rather, Melkor summoned him back North to take over as some kind of seneschal — indeed, possibly to replace me. And neither one had the courage to say anything about it.

Anyway, Lúthien managed to get herself and her Mannish boy-toy (what is up with all the inter-species pollination?) past Carcharoth using some kind of Spell of Command or Word of Oblivion — the Balrogs weren’t clear on the details. Then the two of them walked tra-la-la-lolly past every Orc, Evil Man, Ulfsark, Werewolf, Troll, Giant, Balrog and Dragon in Angband, straight down to the Uttermost Pits where Melkor was sitting in his Iron Crown, brooding or whatever he calls it.

Now that’s security! Good work, everyone! I leave for ten minutes, and it all goes to hell.

Lúthien walks up to Melkor, aka Morgoth Bauglir, The Black Enemy, Master of Angband, Rightful Lord of the Earth, He Who Arises In Might, on his own throne in his own fortress, and starts singing.

If it was anything like that caterwauling she let loose at the foot of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I’m glad I didn’t have to sit through it.

Now, if you’re asking yourself why Melkor didn’t just squash her with his boot and wipe it off on the nearest Werewolf pelt, well, anyone with half a brain would ask the same question. But the answer the Balrogs gave was really, really disgusting. But I believe them because I won’t put anything past Melkor anymore.

Melkor spared the Lúthien-creature because he wanted to have sex with it.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

So she used her Word of Oblivion again, and Melkor must have rolled some kind of quadruple critical miss on his saving throw, because he dropped unconscious. The Man pried a Magic Rock from Melkor’s crown, and the two of them hightailed it out of there.

Unbelievable.

I mean, yes, I was temporarily kind-of semi-defeated, but by Huan — a fat idiot, but at least a full-fledged Maia. Melkor gets thoroughly humiliated by a MORTAL and a HALF-ELF.

Now you might ask yourself, didn’t anyone in Angband acquit themselves adequately in this whole fiasco? Why yes, one did. Guess who? Could it be my first lieutenant, personally trained by me, one Carcharoth Anfauglir, The Red Maw, Chief of Werewolves? Yes.

Carcharoth overcame the abomination’s sleepy-spell, and bit off the Man’s hand, taking the Magic Rock with it. He ran away, I have no idea where, but at least someone bit something. Jesus.

Whomever “Jesus” is.

I would head up there to kill the half-breed and her Mannish pet myself, but it’s no good — those meddlesome Eagles once again played Manwë ex machina and carried them away. Assholes.

The point is, I cannot continue to work for an Ainu this staggeringly incompetent. That’s it– it’s over. I am setting up my own shop.

Let Melkor play kissy-kiss with all his little hairless apes. I’m going to raise my own army, and fight the real fight — killing Manwë the Dickless Prick, Melian the Back-stabbing Bitch, Huan the Sniveling Toady, and all the rest of the rebel Ainur and Maiar. And when Sauron Gorthaur is King of Aman, I will return to Middle-earth, and declare myself Lord of the Earth.

And maybe, just maybe, if he’s obsequious enough, I shall permit Morgoth Bauglir to serve me!

#50: I Have My Own Place Again

Sep
23

Date: April 23, 457 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: content

Hooray! I have my own place again!

You’ll remember that after I designed and constructed Utumno, I built my own (smaller, but better) fortress at Angband. After Melkor got his lame ass kidnapped by the Valar, the filthy traitors destroyed Utumno. That’s okay — it was the first building ever built, and really wasn’t much more than a giant pit surrounded by mountains. A really well-designed giant pit surrounded by mountains, but still.

Angband is far superior — an actual fortress, with walls and parapets and bastions and machicolations. But when Melkor came back from Valinor, he moved right in, leaving his laundry everywhere and eating food from my shelf in the fridge, whatever a “fridge” is. Asshole.

After the Battle of Sudden Elven Incontinence Flame, I noticed that we hadn’t captured one of the elven strongholds, a place called Minas Tirith in the Pass of Sirion. Even though it was built by stinking elves, this tower is actually really well designed and constructed. Here’s what I figure — back in Valinor, these elves were instructed by maiar of Aulë, who were instructed by me back in the day.

So not only is it my talent that got the place built, but really if you think about it, it belongs to me already. I mean, they didn’t have my permission to use my knowledge to build that tower.

Anyway, I figured I could capture the place rather than tear it down.  So listen to this. I assembled a strike team of a couple of Balrogs, a few platoons of Orcs and Trolls and Wargs, and some of the lesser fire and darkness spirits who have never settled into a permanent form (smart move on their part).

I worked out an entire attack plan, which Carcharoth explained to the boys. Then after marching in parade formation past Melkor (who sat on his throne, head bowed under that ridiculous crown that looks like the front bumper of a Ford Galaxy with three klieg lamps on it, complaining about migraines), we headed off to Tol Sirion.

(Okay, seriously, what the eff is a “Ford Galaxy?” Or a “klieg lamp?” What the hell am I talking about?)

As we approached, Carcharoth led the troops into formation. I started casting and stacking spells, setting up the ranged attacks first, filling up all my slots. As soon as that bitch Arien pulled the Sun down behind the horizon (the Orcs hate to fight during the day — they get squinty), I launched the first attack — a potent Fear Enchantment that cast a pall of terror over the whole of the Isle of Sirion.

And they fled. The elves. All of them.

They didn’t hold their ground. They didn’t raise their defenses. They just dropped their swords and ran. Even this guy Orodreth, the so-called “King of Nargothrond.” King of my scabby ass.

Now I get it, I’m freakin’ terrifying in my giant werewolf form. When I attack as a 50-foot-tall crinos with fiery eyes and slavering jaws, people lose their shit. (I really like the fiery eyes. I should work on that effect, play it up.)

And I was being tailed by a host of scary freakin’ creatures, the Balrogs not the least bowel-loosening. Plus, that Fear Enchantment is pretty badass.

But any other time we used these tactics, the elves were at least able to hold their ground for a bit. Just turning tail and bolting? What a bunch of pussies.

So the others took off to chase the elven cowards to their deaths, while I took possession of Minas Tirith. I have decided to rename it Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves. You know, because I’m in werewolf form. Yeah, it’s not very clever, but it rolls off the tongue. Tolllll-in-Gaurrrrrrhoth. Listen to those liquid consonants.

This is going to be a great place to get away from Melkor, and plot the next big move — the total annihilation of Doriath and the rending into tiny bits of one Elwë “Thingol” Singollo.

#44: Melkor is Keeping Secrets from Me!

Apr
24

Date: March 25th, 1 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: betrayed

Today is my birthday. And it’s ruined!

Yeah yeah yeah, okay, how can I, Sauron Gorthaur, Chief of the Maiar, Master of Angband and Lord of Werewolves, who was made at the hand of Eru Ilúvatar in the Timeless Halls in the Days Before Days, have a birthday?

I’d like to say I determined it through some fancy calculation based on esoteric knowledge known only to the Ainur. But in fact, I picked it myself when I was hiding in the East during the Imprisonment of Melkor. It cheered me up to celebrate my birthday, and gift myself with a meal of raw Elf-flesh.

Anyway. Today was my birthday, but I was working, checking the outer defenses of Angband. It seems the Valar, perturbed by Melkor’s escape, have doubled the fortifications around Valinor, making their mountains extra tall with slippery slides you can’t climb. This is utterly ridiculous, since (1) they left an ungated entrance right smack dab in the middle of the wall, so their Elvish pets can get in and out, and (2) WE CAN SHIFT SHAPE AND FLY. Morons.

But I was double-checking the walls, climbing along the peaks of Thangorodrim when I came upon something astonishing — there was an Elf chained to one of the peaks!

WTF???

So I talked to him. His name is Maedhros, and intimidated by the Terror of My Eyes, he started blabbing his whole story, which was pretty much based on being sorely mistreated by this fellow called “Morgoth.”

It took me a while to figure out that “Morgoth” is Melkor. Yes, this was one of those idiot Elves who went across the sea to go be willing slaves and captives of the Valar. Apparently, they’re back — at least, some of them.

One of them was called Fëanor, who had these jewels that Melkor really, really wanted. (Can you imagine? A being of our divine stature, obsessed with a piece of jewelry? How stupid is that? What is wrong with Melkor nowadays???) So I guess Melkor killed some king, stole the jewels, and fled to Angband.

This Fëanor and his friends followed, and want to get the jewels back. Apparently they did a lot of evil shit along the way — Fëanor sounds like he might have been kind of a cool guy, for an Elf.

Anyway, Fëanor arrives in Beleriand, and is immediately attacked by an army of Orcs. He prevails, and raising an army of his own, and begins to march on Angband (ha!). He’s attacked again, and this time, Gothmog kills him.

Then Melkor actually sent ambassadors to negotiate with Fëanor’s sons. Remember the last time we negotiated? With mortals? Neither do I!

There’s another battle, and the Elves are slain or forced to flee. But this guy, Maedhros, eldest son of Fëanor, was captured, and Melkor chained him to the mountain.

Now, the problem with all this is I KNEW NOTHING ABOUT IT. Why on Middle-Earth would Melkor send out an army without me to lead them? We only ever lose battles when Melkor is in charge! I never lose!

I’ll tell you why. Because when Melkor first got back from Valinor and tried to tell me about all the shenanigans he got into with Elves out there, I made fun of the idea that Anthropomorphic Manifestations of Eternal Verities, like us, would ever give a flying crap about anything one of the “Children of Ilúvatar” did or said. It’s like you, dear reader, worrying about what a hill of ants thinks of you.

I think Melkor was embarrassed after telling me about it. And now he didn’t want to tell me that these idiotic Elves had followed him home.

I’m going to go talk to Melkor about this. You know, things were really a lot better before he came back. No Valinorian super-Elves with bright eyes, no freakin’ Sun or Moon. All because he killed those idiotic trees and stole some jewels.

Hmn. I want to see these jewels. I can’t imagine they’re worth all this trouble.

#40: What the Heck Was That Noise?

Oct
2

Date: Before the Sun and Moon, but after the Count of Time began
My Mood Is: bewildered

We just heard a terrible noise coming out of the far northwest of Middle-Earth. It was the same sound the Orcs make when I torture them, but a million times worse.

It was clearly of supernatural origin, as we could hear it in Angband hundreds of miles away.  Yes, I’ve returned to Angband — it’s my house, and I won’t be driven into hiding because Melkor was too much of a pussy to defeat Manwë and his butt buddies.

Anyway, I’ve sent some of the balrogs to see what it’s all about.

#34: A Strategic Withdrawal

Jan
4

Date: Before the Sun and Moon, but after the Count of Time began
My Mood Is: disgusted

Everything has turned to shit, and it’s Melkor’s fault.

There, I said it. Out loud. This is Melkor’s fault. He led us down here, into this tiny World, and all at once he lost control of it. Now Melkor is a prisoner of the Valar traitors, and I’m fucked.

The Valar stormed the gates of Utumno. Hundreds of loyal spirits, even a few of the balrogs, were destroyed, their fëar doomed to wander the world’s dark places as immaterial shadows until the end of time. Which is really distressing.

Most of us, the Hosts of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death, fled or were scattered. Some sued for mercy and joined with the Valar and Maiar — and I will not be forgetting their names. Melkor himself was wrestled to the ground by Tulkas, and led to Valinor in chains.

I wasn’t there to see it. Because I fled.

You wanna call me a coward? Do it to my face. I will consume you. If I had stayed in Utumno, then I’d be in chains before the “throne” of Manwë the Dickless Prick right now.

Angband has fallen, but its foundations still stand. I dare not return there yet. I am hiding in the far East, keeping a low profile. But I will return.

Let Melkor rot in Valinor. If he can’t stand against the Valar, then he deserved what he gets. I am still free. I will rebuild Angband, and when my wrath is unleashed against the Valar, I will destroy them finally and utterly.

Crap. I can’t believe I’m all alone out here.

#31: Seeing Stars

Dec
19

Date: Before the Sun and Moon, but after the Count of Time began
My Mood Is: vindicated

Sorry, it’s been ages (literally) since I last wrote. I’ve been really busy. And I have great news — I got my own fortress!

It’s called Angband — it means “The Hells of Iron.” Isn’t that cool? It’s an outlying fortress and armory for Melkor’s great fortress of Utumno. And it’s all mine!

As you can see, my efforts in assisting Melkor in his defeat of the Valar rebels are really paying off, career-wise.

Of course, it’s not all good news. Ever since we destroyed the great lamps, all of Middle-Earth has been bathed in soothing darkness, as it should be. Only the light from the rivers of lava that spews forth from mighty volcanoes illuminated the world. Until that whore Varda interfered.

She crafted these things she calls “stars,” and that I call “annoying specks of light.” And she scattered them all over the firmament. Now you’d think if she was going to go to all the trouble, these stars would be bright enough to illuminate the Earth. But they’re not. They just kind of sit up there in the sky, being worthless. In fact, we didn’t even notice them at first – after all, who looks up? By the time we figured out what was going on, Varda had thousands of the things up there. Melkor chased her away, but it was too late to spare the firmament of Varda’s vandalism.

As for the rest of the Valar — my spies tell me that Tulkas presses for war against us, but Manwë is too much of a pussy. He’s been listening to his friend Mandos, a dour and morose idiot I could never stand to hang out with back in the Timeless Halls. They plan to just sit behind the Pelóri and do nothing. Cowards.

But it works out great for us. We’ve had the time to fortify the main stronghold at Utumno, and build my fortress. Soon, very soon, we shall strike, and the Valar will be no more!