Posts Tagged ‘Children of Ilúvatar’

#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!

#63: Hey Galadriel — See You Next Tuesday!

May
5

Date: June 23, 501 S.A.
My Mood Is: resilient

Well, my new adventures as Annatar, Lord of Gifts haven’t gotten off to the promising start I was hoping for when I invented the “new me.” But I can’t give up — the road goes ever on and on. Hey, that might make a good song.

I took on my new, more pleasing form; and fashioning myself a hefty walking staff from a limb donated by Young Man Willow, I took off for Lindon. I was hoping to not have to walk the whole way — indeed, I considered assuming my true form and flying — but I figured if I’m going to relate to these Children of Ilúvatar, I had better learn to live like them.

So it was walk, walk, walk. I kept an eye out for horses, those gangling beasts that Men rode into battle against Melkor — a preposterous mode of transportation, but better than all this walking. No luck. Apparently, horses are not sylvan creatures.

Every once in a while I came across a settlement of Men — usually mud huts, or tiny villages on stilts out on bogs. These Men wear their hair in dreadlocks, sport leather skirts and paint their faces blue. They must be the dumbest beings I have ever encountered. Seriously, I have traded wittier banter with cave trolls.

The largest Mannish settlement I visited was called Brehyll, a village of about 20 huts located along an old east-west Dwarf road. Its occupants survive by grinding acorns into pancakes and selling watery beer to passing Dwarves. They didn’t know what to make of me — they called me a “wizard” and asked me to make it rain. This was trivial, so I did — and they went ballistic, declaring I must be an agent of their beloved god, Manwë Súlimo.

You would have been proud of me — I didn’t overreact too much, and I hardly killed anybody. It seems these Men used to worship Melkor, but had recently come into contact with some Elves living to the north, who had taught them to worship the Dickless– I mean Manwë.

So I apologized profusely, and asked how to find these Elves. They sounded like they might be the kind of people who could use my advice. And maybe, eventually, after seeing how much I was doing for them and how little the Valar were willing to contribute, these Elves might turn their worship to Melkor, or better yet to me.

They lived in a place called Lake Evendim, in the north of Eriador. It was cooler there, and there were fewer trees, which was all the better to me. It turned out to be a mixed settlement of a few hundred Noldor, Sindar, and Green-elves. For some reason they had splintered off from Lindon, under the leadership of a Sinda called Celeborn and a blonde-haired Noldo named Galadriel.

Galadriel. She is going to be a problem.

I mean, this guy Celeborn, he’s friendly, charismatic, fun to hang out with, and dumb as a bag of Orcs. If the other Sindarin Elves are as gullible — I mean trusting, I won’t have many problems. But his wife…

First, the positive. She’s hot. Really smoking hot. Hey, I’m not going to go there — I still think it’s basically bestiality, a Maia and an Elf — but I can appreciate that she is very attractive. Were Melkor to return from the Outer Dark and I to go back to my former ways, I could totally see raping her to death.

What? That’s totally a compliment.

But the negatives far outweigh the golden hair lit by the sun, the skin like a gossamer cloud, and the great rack. She’s the niece of Fëanor, the guy who made Melkor’s shiny rocks; which means she’s pretty much the most powerful Noldo left in Middle-earth (although she is not High Queen of the Noldor — note to self: look into this.) She is much smarter than her dimwitted husband, and appears to possess strong psychic abilities.

The moment I was presented to her as “Annatar, Lord of Gifts, a Wise Wizard of the South,” she attempted to penetrate my mind. I cut her off, quite easily — but this aroused her suspicions. While I chatted with her inane husband, she probed me with telepathic questions.

“Who are you? Do you come from the Uttermost West?”

“Open your mind to me. Why do you conceal your fëa?”

“I sense evil in your staff. It comes from a tree with a black heart.”

What? An evil tree? How can a tree be evil? It’s a freakin’ tree!

They let me stay for about a week. There were feasts, and a lot of singing. A lot of singing. Singing is okay, but too much singing is the reason I left the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar in the first place. Most of them were songs from something called the Quenta Silmarillion, which is supposed to be the story of the Valar and the Maiar and the First Wars, and the Lamps and the Trees and the War of the Jewels. But boy oh boy, are they getting their facts wrong. Once I am advising these people, I will be rewriting quite a lot of this Silmarillion. Good thing I’ve been keeping this blog as a reference!

The whole time I’m at Lake Evendim, this Galadriel is undermining me. Whispering against me behind my back. Shooting me icy stares. Following me around, trying to catch me in some kind of misdeed. My mind was closed to her, but hers was like a smashed open coconut to me. All suspicion and doubt.

Oh, and the snarky comments! “Perhaps the great Lord Annatar could enlighten us on his views on the Gift of Men.” Or “Will the Lord of Gifts see fit to share with us his thoughts on the fate of those Eledhrim whose fëar refuse the summons of Mandos?” Jeez, can you please shut up?

Wait, some Elven spirits refuse to go to the Halls of Mandos? Note to self: look into this too.

Figures this chick was trained by Melian back in Doriath. I am hardly surprised.

The upshot is, Celeborn politely and regretfully kicked me out after a week, caving to his shrew of a wife. It’s okay — once I get in good with Artanáro, the High King at Lindon, this Galadriel is going to have to listen to me. Or else.

I mean — or else we’ll have a long, constructive conversation, leading to a shared consensus. The new me doesn’t make threats!

#61: It’s a New Age — the Age of Sauron!

Apr
1

Date: January 2, 38 S.A.
My Mood Is: optimistic

Well, I’m definitely feeling better after the complete and abject disaster that was the War of Wrath. The truth is, losing Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Angband, most of my friends and servants, and especially Melkor may have been the best thing that ever happened to me.

Of course I didn’t take up Eönwë on his ridiculous offer to accept my surrender. But I’m not sorry I let him live, and Olórin and that other guy, the sniveling one. And even Melian. It’s the new Sauron — wise, merciful, and forgiving.

But anyone who thinks I’m going across the sea to Aman to kiss the speckled white ass of Manwë Súlimo can suck my werewolf schlong.

Sorry. That wasn’t the new Sauron.

Anyway. I have settled permanently in Eriador, in the western end of a massive forest, near Young Man Willow and the River Baranduin. No tower or fortress or anything, at least not yet; I’m enjoying just living amongst the trees. New Sauron and all that.

I’m done with wearing a werewolf form, actually. I have to be careful about choosing a hröa — I noticed that every time Melkor suffered a defeat, he lost part of his ability to shape-shift. Must be some piddling little rule of Eru’s that He forgot to mention — again. But as a result, I’m sticking to pleasing, Elvenoid shapes; usually a tall, handsome, dark-haired Elf of seemingly Vanyarin lineage. I’m avoiding Melkor’s whole spiky-armor giant-spaulder pointy-boot glowing-red-eyes fashion-disaster thing, and going with simple blue robes that say “I’m a really wise guy and I’m here to help you.”

See, here’s what I figure. On the one hand, the Valar have made it perfectly clear they have no interest in the proper administration and development of Middle-earth. The only time they interfere is when Melkor or I get too successful; then, wracked with jealousy, Manwë and his buddies submerge a continent. So it’s in my best interest to not attract the attention of the Valar.

On the other hand, most of Melkor’s enemies are gone. The Valar have gone home, obviously. Just about all the Noldoran Elves, and a good number of the rest of the Eldar, have left Middle-earth to go live in Aman. And all the Men who defied Melkor and aided the Valar have been relocated to an island far off across the Belegaer, where they can’t harm anyone. That just leaves a literal handful of Eldar; the Avaran Elves; a few million Men who have never heard of the Valar; and some Dwarves.

And me. The new Sauron.

So I’m going to let a few centuries pass, and let the Valar (and the remaining Eldar) forget about Sauron Gorthaur. Then I’ll reappear under a new name, and set about creating a New World Order, with Men and Elves living and working together in peace and prosperity. All under the benevolent eye of the only Maia with the steadfastness to hang around and do the right thing.

The new Sauron, Lord of the Earth. Benevolent Lord of the Earth.

Then when all the Children of Ilúvatar are on my side, we can see about getting rid of some of these trees and installing a volcano around here.

#53: Melkor Has Completely Lost His Mind

Nov
6

Date: March 12, 464 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: rankled

Melkor has completely lost his mind.

Look, I get it. He was trapped over in Aman, chained in the Halls of Mandos (real name Námo — did I ever tell you about Námo? Don’t get me started on Námo) for three ages, and was then forced to live amongst the idiotic Elves of Valinor. Just to amuse himself, he got involved in their petty political crap, and was able to get a good chunk of them to rebel against the Valar. Which would be a great accomplishment, if those same Elven rebels hadn’t come back East across the seas to get all up in my shit.

So even though I would never involve myself in petty Elven nonsense, and I would never concoct elaborate schemes to gain control over a bunch of quasi-immortal hairless monkeys or get my hands paws on their stupid jewelry, I can understand why Melkor did so. In Valinor. But now he’s back in Middle-earth. So why is he still so obsessed with the so-called Children of Ilúvatar?

How obsessed? I’ll tell you.

Melkor commanded that I set out from Tol-in-Gaurhoth with an army of werewolves, to invade Dorthonion. (The “werewolves” aren’t actually werewolves — that is, they can’t change form like I can. They’re just a bunch of the more useless lesser spirits of Entropy, Darkness and Death that I corralled and inserted into the bodies of giant wolves. I wanted to add shoulder tentacles, but Melkor shot that down. Anyway, they’re basically mega-Wargs.)

So why is Melkor sending an entire army, headed by his Chief Lieutenant, Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of Werewolves, Master of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Duke of Angband, Designer of Eä, High Commander of the Forces of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death, into Dorthonion? To destroy the Noldor? To invade Doriath? To do anything useful at all?

No. He’s sending an entire army into Dorthonion to kill one guy.

One. Guy.

And a Man no less, a tissue-paper version of an Elf. Some idiot named Beren, the son of that Barry the Hero guy whose limbs I ate four years ago. (He’s still on Tol-in-Gaurhoth — I use him to wipe my feet whenever I get home.)

An entire army. And me. To kill one Man. That is what I call a proper strategic deployment of personnel and matériel.

NOT.

So, Melkor has lost his mind. The question is, what can I do about it? He’s up there in Angband, sitting in the Nethermost Pit, with that iron toilet seat covered in elfy gems perched on top of his head. I moved out here to the Pass of Sirion so I wouldn’t have to deal with the Lord of the Mopers Earth.

Now, Sauron’s going to have to save the day again. I just have no idea how.

By the way, we didn’t find Beren. Got to the edge of Doriath, had to turn back. Close enough to smell Melian’s yoni. Soon, vengeance will be mine.

#47: The Race of Men is a HUGE Disappointment

Jun
27

Date: December 12th, 273 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: disappointed

Well, I found Men. What a letdown. Seriously, I think Eru Ilúvatar has just given up trying, which is as good a reason as any to replace Him as High Lord and Master of All Creation, I think.

Carcharoth located the Men out East in Eriador, although they are apparently largely migrating West. What is the deal with the so-called Children of Ilúvatar and going West? If Eru wanted all His monkey-people to live in the West, why didn’t He create them there?

Listen, when Melkor and I created this crap planet (yes, it was us — the other Ainur just sat around and let us do all the work), everything was in perfect order. Geometrically perfect and symmetrical continents, perfectly conical mountains — everything in its logical place. Now look at what a mess Arda is. I wouldn’t trust these so-called Valar to run a Ford dealership, much less a physical universe.

Whatever a “Ford dealership” is.

And speaking of creating… look. So Eru decided to create a mortal race, the Elves, that looks like hairless albino apes. Fine, He likes primates. Then that talent-free dumbass Aulë made the Dwarves, which are just fat stunted Elves. Well sure, Aulë is as creative as the average colon, and produces the same product. No wonder his race is just a bad copy of Eru’s.

But now we see Men, and guess what? If an Elf and a Dwarf had a kid (yuck), you’d have a Man. They’re just a stockier, shorter Elf, or a taller, thinner Dwarf. Great creativity there, Eru. Good work. Whadd’ya do, design Men between kippers at breakfast?

Plus, they have these bizarre, rounded ears. And they smell like poo all the time.

I’m sorry, but there are so many other, better body designs than upright bipedal, bilaterally symmetrical, four-limbed, endoskeletal, pentadactyl, binocular and binaural chordates. For instance, imagine if we made a mortal race out of Hallucigenia — that would kick ass. I don’t think we kept any of those guys — there are probably some fossils, somewhere, though.

Sure, primates have tool-using hands, two of them, which is very important when you need a slave race to dig holes and carve statues of you.  But octopodes have eight tool-using limbs, so why not make an octo-race? I don’t want to go anywhere near the water, but I’m sure I could slap together some kind of talking land-octopus. That would be way cooler than “Men.”

Speaking of tentacles, I actually designed my own race. Didn’t I tell you? I mean, it’s just some of the lesser evil Maiar incarnated into physical bodies, but still. They’re called “Wargs,” which is a very cool name I came up with after Carcharoth suggested it. Originally, I designed them as 400′ long giant black wolves with vicious red tentacles coming from their shoulders. They were kewl.

Melkor hated the design. He went on about resource allocations and production quotas — all the shit I tell him when I point out that Project Flying Fire-Breathing Monster is 12 millennia behind schedule and 800% over budget. Then he showed me his Warg redesign — they looked like some kind of big, mangy pig-dog. What the hell?

Finally, I got Melkor to agree that Wargs would be large, talking wolves, and that the Orcs would be able to use them as mounts. I’m proud of them — but the giant, tentacled Wargs were much cooler. (Tentacles are just really useful. I should grow some.)

Anyway, I’m sending some of my spies out to the Men, to tell them the truth about the Valar and to keep them properly terrified of us. You know, the usual. Maybe we can get some slaves out of it, eliminate the rest, make coats from their skins. It’s Winter, you know.

#32: OMFG! I Found the Freakin’ Elves!

Dec
20

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

I found the Elves!

Carcharoth was out in Middle Earth, trying to sniff out Valar spies, when he came across a group of strange creatures hanging out by a lake. He’d eaten several dozen of them before he realized he should probably report this news back to base.

Carcharoth came back to Angband with a few captives and presented them to me. They were weird, sickly little things, hairless apes with pointy ears and translucent skin. I’m the one who figured out they had to be the so-called “Children of Ilúvatar.”

I immediately reported to Utumno with the captives, and told Melkor that I had located the so-called “Elves.” He was thrilled. I gotta tell ya, I earned a lot of points that day.

After killing a few with the terror of his gaze, Melkor commanded me to start thinking about how we can exploit these “mortal” creatures. We can’t just have some race living in our Middle Earth without serving us. The first thing I want to do is redesign them — they have the stink of the Valar all over them. I want to hunch them over (for underground work), give them tusks (for fighting), and maybe toughen up their skin (it’s all soft and dewey right now). Also, I want to make up a language for them to speak. Right now they tend to sing in something that sounds like Finnish (whatever that is). They need a new name, too. I’ll think about it.

One of the female elves reminded me of Melian in her hominid form. I killed it.

#20: The Valar Are A Bunch Of Meat Monkeys

Jun
12

Date: Before the Sun and Moon
My Mood Is: amused

To summarize: Melkor and I got in trouble for making better music than Eru, the so-called “One.” (I have “one” asshole, that doesn’t make it special.) So Eru created a world out of our song, and let us go down to live in it. But He also sent along a bunch of useless Ainur, the so-called “Valar,” who’ve done nothing but get in our way. Now their leader Manwë , a.k.a. The Dickless Prick, has driven Melkor and me into the far north of Arda, and set about ruining everything we’ve accomplished.

The time is coming soon when Melkor will gather all the loyal fire and darkness spirits, and we will attack, driving the filthy Valar from this world. Let them sit in the Outer Dark, cold and alone. Especially Melian, that whore.

Melkor has tasked me with keeping an eye on the accursed Valar. He gives me all the important jobs because honestly, who else is he going to rely on? Ungoliant? She ran off soon after we redeployed to the north, and hasn’t been seen since. Glaurung? He’s not too bright, and anyway, Melkor has some special project for him. Gothmog? He sits in the lava pits, playing with his whips. Cripes, why did we bring any of these losers along with us?

So anyway, I’ve been snooping around invisibly, watching the Valar and Maiar as they foul up everything in Arda — “oceans” and “clouds” and “forests” and all that crap.

But here’s the most astonishing thing. And I’m not kidding — I couldn’t have made this up. The Valar and Maiar have clothed themselves in flesh, and taken the form of… primates. That’s right, Eru-damned monkeys! They’re walking around like two-legged meat sausages, eating and drinking an excreting and sweating.

It’s ridiculous! We’re frikkin’ gods, fer crissakes! Apparently, the accursed “Children of Ilúvatar” are going to be primates. Seriously! So Manwë and his brown-nosers have decided to dress up like “Elves,” and prance around in silly skin costumes. I gotta tell ya, I reported this to Melkor, and he was so surprised his iron crown fell off! We had a good, really long laugh about it.

It wasn’t so funny, though, ’cause when I was sneaking around, I saw Melian. Her Elven form is particularly… shapely, I must say. I mean, looking at her, I could see what all the fuss is about.

Stupid bitch.

Anyway, the rest of us are going to have to consider adopting fleshly forms, just to deny the Valar any advantage. One more thing to worry about.

But if anyone thinks I’m gonna start using a toilet, they have another thing coming.

#11: I Don’t Care About Your Stupid Rules

Aug
30

Date: Before the Beginning of Time
My Mood Is: impatient

Well, after my blog post yesterday, you’re probably wondering what why I’m still here in the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar, and not down in Eä, the “World That Is” that Eru created with the help of Melkor and the rest of us Ainur.

I was ready to go at once, as was Melkor. But you know Eru; He loves to talk. Almost as much as He loves to hear His praises sung.

Turns out there are a few “Terms and Conditions” for entering the World.

First of all, anyone can go. This is bad news. It means total losers like Manwë will get to go — and just looking at that stupid fuck, I can tell he’s planning to.

Second, if you go into Eä, you become a permanent part of it — bound the the fate of the world, whatever that means. Anyway, once we go in, we can’t come out — not until the End of the World. I’m okay with that. I mean, I’m immortal, right? Even if we’re in there ten thousand centuries, that’s nothing to an immortal person.

Third, the Song of the Ainur, the music that Melkor and Eru made together along with the rest of us (and which has been the cause of so much tsuris) shall be as fate to those of us who dwell in the World. That’s okay — Melkor and I devised and sang most of the music.

And fourth, Eru is pulling rank AGAIN, and inserting something into the World that we didn’t sing — the “Children of Ilúvatar.” Apparently this is a pair of strange races he wants us to incorporate into the World.

Now, excuse me if I’m wrong, but I thought WE, the Ainur, were the Children of Ilúvatar. We’re not going to need these weird little “Elves” and “Men” running around, screwing things up. Well, whatever. As long as these “Children” know who’s in charge.