Posts Tagged ‘Draugluin’

#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!!!

#55: Huan Is The Biggest Asshole In The World

Nov
20

Date: October 31, 465 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: confounded

I am really tired of getting my SHIT all FUCKED UP!

I don’t have Tol-in-Gaurhoth anymore. Nope. My beautiful island tower, gone. And guess whose fault it is? Melkor? Good guess, but this time, no. Manwë? In a sense — everything is the Dickless Prick’s fault. But not directly, no.

Once again, I have been betrayed by someone who was supposedly my friend.

I was hanging out in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, going over the billing (you think it’s easy maintaining an army of Orcs and Werewolves? The amount of paperwork is incredible). Carcharoth, my aide-de-camp, was off to Angband, to ask Melkor for more Orcs — we always need more Orcs. We go through them like Kleenex. Whatever a “Kleenex” is. I sent Thuringwethil to Melkor first; she’s a vampire, and an idiot, and she never came back. So Carcharoth had to go.

Anyway, that left me stuck with stupid old Draugluin, who’s a moron. Seriously, when I get my shit back together, I need a better class of servant. Some non-Maia servants, because I gotta tell ya, some real winners followed us to Eä from the Timeless Halls. I should create my own lackeys — maybe I can corrupt some Elves or Men, and magically warp them to my own liking. Sounds like a good long-term project.

But I digress.

I was going over the billing when I heard someone singing. Not proper, deep, guttural singing, like the Orcs — it was that high, reedy whining the Elves call “music.” Then a caterwauling starts up from the garderobe. Apparently, when a Man sings, it sounds like a manatee gargling a bag of cats.

I had forgotten I put those Elves and that Man down the garderobe. I guess the Lesser Wargs had been using them for kibble. I kicked a huge pile of wolf ordure down the hole, which put an end to that noise real fast. But the screeching from outside continued unabated.

I looked down from the tower, and saw an Elf-wench standing at the base, making all the racket. She was wearing some kind of bizarre clothing made of hair, which should tell you something about the standard of living of Elves. But something about her was utterly bizarre, something that only Ainu eyes could detect.

The Divine Light was burning within her. She was an Elf, and yet she was also a Maia. Which meant she could only be one person — Lúthien, the bizarre half-breed spawn of Melian and Thingol.

Well, well, well. What connection she had to the Man in the toilet, I had no idea. But clearly, capturing the abomination produced by the disgusting, inter-species union of Melian and her hairless ape could give me the secret to breaching the wall of sorcery protecting Doriath. Then I could kill Thingol, rape and kill Melian, find Melian’s disembodied fëa and rape and kill it again, and present the spoils of Doriath to Melkor in exchange for a Sauron-snack. Life would be good.

So I sent one of the Werewolves down to fetch her, and waited. But he never came back. So I sent another. And another. And another. After a while I got suspicious. I peered over the railing, and there was Lúthien standing next to a pile of dead Werewolves. See what I mean about needing new lackeys?

So I yelled for Carcharoth. But it was Draugluin who showed up, because Carcharoth was off in Angband. I sent Draugluin downstairs to get the girl and bring her up ASAP.

Ten minutes later, a 500-pound pile of bloody chuck ground comes crawling into my chamber, trailing viscera and effluent. It took me a moment to realize this was Draugluin. He crawled to my feet, cried out “Ghuuaaaaaaaaan is here,” and died.

What the hell was a “Ghuuaaaaaaaaan?”

Nothing ever changes. If I ever want anything done, I have to do it myself.

I raced downstairs and burst out of the entrance to Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Someone jumped out of my way, which I barely noticed — I’m used to people fleeing from the terror of my countenance — and I leapt upon Lúthien, intending to crush her enough to not quite kill her, just to maim her permanently, leaving her a wreck of ruined flesh and twisted limbs incapable of speech and movement, capable only of tapping once for “yes,” two for “no,” and three for “please kill me.”

But then I was hit by the stench from her disgusting hair cloak, and for a moment I swooned. At that second, some cowardly creature leapt upon me, ripping into me with great bloody claws.

So who was this creature, this great giant slobbering DOG trying to gnaw at me with its huge stinky teeth?

Huan.

HUAN.

See, “Ghuuaaaaaaaaan” was supposed to be “Huan.” Thanks for the warning, Draugluin, you asshat. If I come across your disembodied spirit of malice wandering the wilderness, I will kick your ass.

So Huan, my former best friend from the Time Before Time, now literally a lapdog to Manwë Súlimo and his Valar traitors, who I haven’t even thought about since before the Fall of Almaren fifty aeons ago, appears out of nowhere and gets all up in my shit.

And let me assure you, back in the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar, I could have easily trounced Huan with both metaphorical arms tied behind my metaphorical back. But I don’t know what’s in the water over there in Valinor, because before the Black Gate of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, that tubby bitch KICKED MY ASS. I shifted shape a few times, but he kept me pinned down under those big greasy paws of his.

Huan held me down while that see-you-next-Trewsday Lúthien threatened to destroy my hröa and send me back to Melkor.

“There everlastingly thy naked self,” she said, “shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower.”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” I said. But still, I had to give up the tower. There’s no way I’m going back to Melkor, and explaining I was defeated by Huan. Better a strategic retreat.

Huan released me, and I took vampire form so I could fly the hell out of there. Now I’m hiding in the murky woods of Taur-nu-Fuin, waiting for Carcharoth to get back so I can retake the Isle of Werewolves and get my revenge.

And where the hell are my Orcs? If I were in charge, I would NEVER use Orcs!

#25: We’re Baaaaaack!

Sep
27

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

A lot’s going on. First of all, we’re all back safe and warm in Arda, thankfully. (Thanks to the efforts of myself and Melkor — not thanks to Eru, that douche.) I was right — Melkor was waiting for the Tulkas situation to resolve itself, at least temporarily.

Now I don’t want to give anyone the absurd impression that Melkor was afraid of Tulkas. As if. I think to be honest, it’s just that Melkor had never ever been defeated before. The whole idea of not getting one’s way was completely foreign to him. It’s quite a rude awakening to discover that someone can thwart you, especially when you’re the most powerful being in existence. (Remember, Eru “exists” outside of “existence,” beyond the confines of Eä. In a very real sense, Eru Ilúvatar doesn’t “exist” at all!)

So Melkor really just wanted some breathing space from Tulkas, to figure out what to do. I’ve been keeping a very close eye on the Valar, and after all their mucking about with the world, they decided to rest. Tulkas fell asleep — and Melkor and I made our move.

We, that is Melkor and I and the Hosts of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death, quietly slipped over the Walls of Night and back into Arda. We sneaked cautiously into the north (and I had to permanently dent some asses to keep the noisier kids quiet). All of our work from before, building fortifications, was ruined. But Melkor raised up a wall of mountains as a defense, and now we’re delving a new and better fortress. It’s called Utumno, the Great Pit of the Underworld. It’s going to feature unclimbable walls, razor-tipped towers, dungeons that scratch the lowest depths of the earth, and I’m going to have my own room! (It’s mostly underground so we can hide from the light from those accursed lamps. Of course we’re tunneling under Illuin, the northern lamp. I can’t wait for that wretched thing to come tumbling down!)

I drew up the plans for the new Pit, but Melkor put Draugluin and Carcharoth in charge of the actual construction. (Those guys have been doing a lot of great work, and acquitted themselves very well during the First War. Plus they take orders. Draugluin is kind of becoming my right-claw man, the way I am for Melkor.) Melkor wanted me to do something much tricker and more important — spy on the Valar and try to turn as many Maiar as I can to our cause.

This isn’t too hard. Like any of us, I can take whatever form I choose. The idiotic Valar haven’t realized this ability can be used against them. So I just take the shape of one of the Maiar, somebody pretty and popular, and wander around Almaren spying on people and chatting up various idiots.

Didn’t I mention Almaren? It’s an island in the middle of a big lake right smack dab in the center of the Disc of the World. The lake was made by Melkor’s spear as he attacked the Dickless Prick. The traitorous Valar and their Maiar slaves have set up an encampment on the island. They have the whole world to use in any way they see fit, and they sit on an island singing songs and drinking ale? Morons!

(They have discovered something called “alcohol.” More on that later.)

I even spent some time disguised as that twit Olórin, which was very helpful in convincing the weak-minded to listen. That’s Olórin’s thing, apparently, manipulating stupid people. Too bad he’s Manwë’s butt-buddy. Anyway, I have convinced a dozen-or-so Maiar to feed me information and help me overthrow the accursed Valar. I’ve convinced a couple that there can be peace between Melkor and Manwë; another handful are angry at Manwë over the First War; and at least one believes Melkor will make him chief of the Maiar if he betrays the Valar. He believes that because I told him so. As if. Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of Werewolves is Chief of the Maiar and always will be!

Oh, I have to go — Melkor wants another pot of ale. In his gigantic form, those pots have to be pretty big! But I have one more thing I gotta tell you. The Valar and Maiar all picked material forms, as I said — mostly “elves.” But guess what form my loathsome ex-best-friend Huan took? You won’t believe me.

Okay, I swear I’m not making this up. This is absolutely true. Huan took the form of a dog! A real big dog, but a dog nonetheless! I mean sure, I’m a wolf, but wolves are cool! Dogs slobber, sniff assholes and eat their own poop. What the hell was he thinking?

I saw Melian. She’s still hot. Bitch.

Gotta go.

#23: Why We Didn’t Win The War

Sep
20

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

Well, the First War is over. That’s what we’re calling it because it won’t be the last, let me assure you.

We didn’t lose. We just didn’t win. It was pretty much a draw, except they lost more guys than we did. Still, like I said last time — while our side has a greater Host of Maiar than the Rebels do, they have 14 Valar, and we only have one.

I said “14.” You’re probably thinking, wait, aren’t there 13 rebel Valar, who turned against their rightful lord Melkor? Well, not any more. Eru changes the so-called “rules” whenever He damn well feels like it. And once again, our side gets the shaft.

If I never mentioned Tulkas before now, that’s because he was a person of absolutely no consequence. He’s a chthonic spirit, a being of stone and metal and brute force. He’s also really, really dumb, and I think Melkor tried to recruit him early on. It must have gone quite badly, because Melkor doesn’t talk about it.

But he never took sides in the Ainulindalë — I guess he just stood in back and hummed. He denied both Melkor and Manwë, and took no counsel but his own. When we came down into Arda, he stayed behind, to spend all eternity praising Eru and pulling his pud like the others.

We had victory in our grasp. Melkor beat back the combined force of the rebel Valar, and finally broke through to face Manwë alone. (A coward, Manwë hid behind his so-called “followers,” even the women.) Manwë ran as Melkor gave chase, stabbing at Manwë with his mighty spear, and leaving great chasms in the earth whenever he missed.

Meanwhile the Hosts, under my command, routed the Army of the Maiar. We drove them further and further south, hoping to press them against the southern firmament, and there finish them. In the form of a great werewolf, I alone slew 12 of the Maiar; Gothmog, in the guise of a balrog, eight; and Carcharoth, inspired by me to take wolf form, six.

We lost 14 of our guys, wounded until they became mere shadows, unable to take form again while the World lasts. It’s okay, it wasn’t anyone important.

So, as I say, we were winning. I was pinning down the Maiar in the south, while Melkor beat down on Manwë.

Then the Door of Night, the gate in the firmament of Arda through which we entered, and which was sealed behind us by Eru “for as long as the World lasts,” was flung open. Needless to say, we all turned and looked. There was Tulkas, clothed as a burly blond elf and wielding no weapon. He charged forth, and fell upon Melkor like an animal.

I won’t belabor what happened. Melkor lost. He was injured and drained from fighting off 13 Valar — and Tulkas fell on him without honor or mercy. (You think our side has no mercy? I spared Olórin, didn’t I?) As soon as I saw what was happening, I broke off from the southern fighting, and sped north across thousands of leagues to aid Melkor; the best among us, Gothmog and Lungorthin and Draugluin and Carcharoth, followed in my train. But we were too late.

When we arrived, Melkor had already fled. In fact, he didn’t just flee back north — Tulkas chased him out the Door of Night, and into the Outer Dark!

I couldn’t believe it. Melkor had fled Arda!

That was the end of the war. I couldn’t keep the news of Melkor’s flight from the Host — they routed, and in the end we ended up scattered and dispersed. I did my best to round up as many as I can, and soon most of the Fire and Dark spirits had rallied to me.

We no longer had a leader or a hiding place. I did not know what to do, so I led the remnants of the Host into the Outer Dark.

The Outer Dark is VERY dark. And VERY cold. There is no life in the void.

From Arda, one can’t see through the firmamment into the outer dark. But from the Dark, one can see in.

The world was utterly ruined, both our magnificent work and the so-called “improvements” of the rebels. The whole place looked like it had been thrown in a blender and pureed. Whatever a “blender” is.

After a while I found Melkor, brooding in the inky Void.

At first, I was furious with him. But then I saw what had become of Melkor, and man, was he a mess. Melkor is of course the fairest and most beautious of the Valar, being second only to Eru. But now he bears the scars of the First War, and his face is twisted by rage. Righteous rage, I feel it too.

One might be tempted to see this outcome as a complete rout. But after speaking with Melkor, I can see it was a kind impromptu strategic retreat. Right now, the Valar can neither see us nor reach us. But we can watch them, and bide our time.

So, the Valar are not yet destroyed, but only because they cheated by calling in a last-minute ringer.

Next time, they won’t take us by surprise.

#4: Melkor and I Have A Plan….

Aug
16

Date: Before the Beginning of Time
My Mood Is: psyched!

Melkor held his meeting today, of Ainur who are dissatisfied with the current situation. He held it well-nigh to the Outer Dark, as far from Eru Ilúvatar as possible. I thought that was a little strange, but Melkor explained that he wants our little plan to be a surprise.

I dragged Huan along with me. He’s my best friend, but not too bright. He says he doesn’t see what’s wrong with the singing; that we should be happy doing whatever Eru wants. I said it’s not that Eru is wrong, which is impossible – it’s that Eru’s vision could be improved.

Makar and Meássë were also there, and they’re pretty cool. And Ossë, one of the water spirits, came, though I think he was there just to cause trouble. But other than that, it was a total loser’s convention. Draugluin and Carcharoth showed up; they seem to think they’re friends of mine, but they’re not. Glaurung was there, as usual, kissing Melkor’s ass. What a suck-up. I hate that guy.

There was a new guy I hadn’t met before, Manwë. He’s an air spirit; I don’t know any of them. He was really sucking up to Melkor as well. I think he covets Melkor’s position as Eru’s number two. As if.

Gothmog and a bunch of the fire spirits came to the meeting too. And then who do you think popped in, just as we were getting started? Ungoliant. I hate that bitch. She’s just weird, and obnoxious, and really brings down the room. I can’t stand her. Fortunately, Melkor doesn’t seem to like her very much either.

So Melkor talked for a while, about how we could suggest certain changes and improvements to Eru, and how grateful Eru will be when he sees that we’re right. Makar and Meássë wandered out while Melkor was talking, and it was all I could do to keep Huan from storming out. All the sycophants, like Glaurung and Manwë, were just eating it up.

After the meeting disbanded, Melkor and I talked for a long time. Manwë stayed too, for a while, but Melkor was not even giving him the time of day. Whatever “time” and “days” are.

Melkor has a really great plan, about how to present our suggestions to Eru. I am really super-psyched about this. Eru is going to love it! I can’t wait.