Posts Tagged ‘Elu Thingol’

#57: Three Idiots, One Day

Jan
9

Date: October 19, 510 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: pondering

Had three very strange encounters today.

I’ve been living in out in Eriador in the East. I said “living,” not “hiding.” It would only be “hiding” if I cared if Melkor knew where I am, which I don’t.

Anyway, Eriador is almost entirely forested. There are a few Elves living out here, the so-called Avari, who were too smart to follow the summons to Valinor; some Dwarves; and a good number of Men. So, there’s plenty of food. I’m still in the form of a great werewolf, most days, so it’s easy to hunt.

The nice thing about Eriador is, all of Melkor’s crap is over in Beleriand by the sea, where Ulmo can interfere. Eriador is far, far from the sea, and always will be.

I like living in the forest. The trees shelter me during the day from the heat and light of the accursed Sun; and at night I don’t have to look at the useless Moon or at Varda’s filthy stars, which mar the perfection of the Celestial Firmament that Melkor and I built with our own hands. You know, back when Melkor wasn’t an incompetent boob more concerned with shiny gems and the affairs of mortals than with achieving our revenge against Manwë the Dickless Prick and his Valar Traitors.

Anyway.

So I’ve been living out here, taking it easy, bossing around the local wolves and trolls, and snacking on a wide buffet of  mortal creatures — even Dwarves, when I’m hungry for something stringy and gristly that tastes like ass. It’s worth it to hear them scream.

This morning I was sleeping under a huge willow tree down by the river — a nasty, mean-spirited tree with a heart of pure blackness, so we get along fine — when I was awakened by singing. Why is it that every bad thing in my life starts with singing?

At least it wasn’t the thin, reedy, fingernails-on-a-chalkboard-whatever-a-chalkboard-is singing of an Elf, nor the gruff atonal caterwauling of a Man, nor the deep, flatulent intonations of a Dwarf. No, this was proper singing. Ainu singing.

I immediately threw on a pleasing anthropomorphic form, the kind of thing I used to wear when sneaking around Taniquetil or the borders of Doriath. I hid in the bushes, and saw a woman approaching — clearly a Maia, but one who had taken on the form of a Mannish princess, for some unfathomable reason. She was fair-skinned and blonde-haired, like the accursed Edain of north-eastern Endor; and she wore a green dress shot with silver, and a gold belt.

I needed to know why she was there — was she a spy for Manwë, or worse yet, for Tulkas? Was she somehow related to Melian? I stepped out into the open and greeted her.

Here’s what I learned. Her name was Golodhbereth, and she was one of the lesser of the minor nature spirits, a Naiad; and a servant of Yavanna, the slut wife of my former boss Aulë. She had wandered out of Aman and into Middle-earth because she was “collecting flowers.”

And you know what? This chick was so mind-bendingly stupid, I could believe it. Seriously. I’ve had more enlightening conversations with piles of Orc dung.

So, I had options. I could have seduced her, or better yet raped her; but I’m not really interested in that sort of thing, and I’m saving up all my raping and killing energy for when I encounter Melian again. I could have destroyed her, damning her spirit to wander formless and cold across the face of Arda until the Final Battle — but someone might miss her (unlikely, but a possibility), so I decided to spare her. In the end, I just sent her on her way, down to the river, to collect “water lilies,” whatever the hell those are. I wasn’t terribly worried about her reporting my position to her friends in Valinor, because (a) she didn’t know who I was and (b) she probably forgot me five minutes after leaving me.

I changed back into Dire Wolf form and laid back down, and was just settling into a wonderful dream about ripping apart and consuming Manwë’s twisted hröa, when I heard more goddam singing. Yes, Ainu singing, although the worst I had ever heard.

In fact, I recognized it — don’t you?

“Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dadar!
Iar Wain, jolly wain, Iarwain Ben-adar!”

It was him.

Since Melkor and I had arrived on this shitty little disk of rock so many geological eras ago, we had not seen hide nor hair of Iarwain Ben-adar, the mysterious and unidentified spirit who alone had preceded us into this universe. We had decided it was some poor joke by the typically hilarious Eru Ilúvatar, and forgotten all about it.

But here he was, tra-la-la-ing along the forest path like some ruddy Mannish homosexual, mincing and prancing like he owned the forest. MY forest.

So I attacked, leaping into the air with slavering fangs three feet long, claws of blood-stained Adamant, eyes like twin wheels of fire. I fell upon him like a mountain of black, overpowering death.

Something went wrong, and the world twisted, and a moment later I was on my back, dazed, while Iarwain Ben-fucking-adar continued on his flouncing way like nothing had happened.

I leapt to my feet, summoned a storm of lighting and smothering darkness in the sky overhead; covered the forest floor for miles in all directions with a greenish miasma that sucked the life from all things; howled a terrible howl that chilled the Sun, froze the blood, and was remembered in the whispered mid-winter tales of every mortal tribe living within a thousand miles for centuries to come; and leapt again, ready to rend the limbs from the poncy little poltroon, consume his soul and crap it back out down his throat.

Twist, blank, and I’m on my ass again — and he’s hopping down the bunny trail. WTF?

Fine. Whatever. Who cares? Big deal. Let him go down to the river. I hope he finds that Golodhbereth chick, they deserve each other.

Unhappily, I found my spot under Young Man Willow and laid back down. I was just settling into a wonderful dream where Melian was begging me to take her back, but I didn’t care and was ripping her intestines out through her nostril anyway, when I smelt something burning.

At least no one was singing.

I looked up and saw that the forest was on fire. Well, that was cool, burning was what trees were best at. I decided to head over, because I was still pretty bummed out by my run-in with that asshole in the feathered cap, and living things dying agonizingly in flames always cheers me up.

So imagine my surprise when I saw that the flames were being left in the wake of the passing of a Balrog. I recognized him — a fellow named Lungorthin, one of Gothmog’s crew.

Now see, if I were hiding in Eriador, I would certainly have avoided letting Lungorthin see me. Also, I did not reveal myself to Lungorthin because I was desperate for the company of one of my own kind after years in exile. That would be pathetic.

No, I approached Lungorthin to be polite.

He was surprised to see me. Apparently, the belief around the Angband water cooler (whatever a water cooler is) was that I had been destroyed along with my tower at Tol-in-Gaurhoth — as if! Sauron Gorthaur the Deceiver, Lord of Werewolves, Chief of the Maiar, destroyed by that half-breed whelp Lúthien Tinúviel? Puh-lease. She’s lucky I let her live.

Strangely, I guess those Balrogs I ran into in Taur-nu-Fuin never reported to Melkor that they had seen me. Let me tell you , it’s all phone calls and telegrams with those people in Angband — rumors spread like wildfire, but genuine information is hoarded like Silmarils. (Whatever a phone — oh, you get the picture.)

Lungorthin filled me in on what’s been going on in the four decades or so since Melkor let Melian’s little brat steal one of his shiny rocks from right off his noggin. The big news, as far as Lungorthin was concerned, was that Gothmog was destroyed, slain while killing an Elf-lord of Gondolin. Yes, Melkor finally found Gondolin, and Nargothrond, and destroyed them both. Carcharoth, that traitorous little dumbass, was dead too, killed by Huan, of all people.

But the big news was this — that little bitch Elu Thingol was killed by a bunch of Dwarves (fighting over that damned Silmaril), and Melian bailed on all the Elves and went back to Aman!

What!?

At this point, I stopped Lungorthin. For one thing, it was a lot to absorb. For another, it was beginning to look like the tide had turned for Melkor, and through sheer luck the old moron was actually achieving his goal of ridding Beleriand of the accursed Noldor and Edain.

Which made me look like a complete and total dumbass for quitting and going to Eriador. And what was I going to tell Melkor? That I got lost? I didn’t keep track of the time? I had something important to pick up in the Hithaeglir, and I forgot to mention I would be gone so long?

I realized the only thing I could do, while I mulled all this new information and formulated a plan, was kill Lungorthin. I couldn’t have him heading back to Angband and concocting some lie about me hiding out under a willow tree in Eriador getting fat on Elf-flesh.

So I leapt to my feet, summoned a storm of lighting and smothering darkness in the sky overhead — you know, the works. Now let me assure you, I could easily have killed Lungorthin. He’s quite subordinate to me, and doesn’t carry any weapon but a big flaming whip. Unfortunately, he’s fast. Balrogs may not have wings, but they can run like they’re flying. I chased Lungorthin for hundreds of miles, until he wormed his way down a hole under the Misty Mountains and I couldn’t find him again. Asshole.

Well, he’s not getting out of there. I’m going to keep an eye on Eregion, and if Lungorthin so much as sticks his ugly flammable nose out for some fresh air I’ll have his head.

So. Melkor is consolidating his hold over Beleriand. Melian fled back to her Valar friends in Aman, taking all her power with her. Things are beginning to look up.

How the hell am I going to get back into Melkor’s good graces?

#51: Rooting Out Elves Is Like Digging for Chiggers

Sep
29

Date: October 12, 458 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: exasperated

I am getting really tired of Melkor and his fascination with these Elves.

It’s not a fascination — it’s an obsession. It’s like he cares what these little animals think of him. Personally, my sole interest, apart from killing Thingol, is in the traitors, the Valar and their filthy Maiar slaves, hiding behind the mountains in Aman. These are the enemy, not a slew of hairless monkeys.

Sure, I want to destroy Doriath, and murder Thingol in the most humiliating and painful way possible. And I can think of a lot of possibilities. But I only want to kill the Elf Thingol because he’s boning a Maia, Melian. My Melian. So you see, it’s an Ainur thing. Divine business. You screw over Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of Werewolves, Master of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Chief of the Maiar, Lieutenant of Melkor the Lord of the Earth — and you will get screwed back.

And we know exactly where Doriath is located. It’s no mystery. We could destroy Doriath in a day, and still be free for dinner, except that Melian has encircled the land in a wall of enchantment and confusion. Believe me, she EXCELS at enchanting then confusing.

But we can get through that “girdle.” It will just take time and effort — time and effort the Boss would rather spend finding another two Elven kingdoms. Elven kingdoms we can’t locate, and which probably don’t exist.

By the way, that reminds me — guess who gave these idiotic Elves the idea to build hidden cities? No, guess! Ulmo! Remember that asshole? He’s the Valar responsible for water. Wow, that’s great, Ulmo — you’re in charge of one entire molecule! Me, I designed the metaphysical template of the cosmos, and was responsible for designing all the transition elements and all the metals and metalloids. And antimatter. And dark matter. But you’ve got dihydrogen oxide. Good work, dude!

It was the Dickless Prick, Manwë Súlimo, who decided all the traitors would hide in the Uttermost West while Melkor and I actually ran the damn planet. But Ulmo decided to defy Manwë, which would be promising, except he didn’t do it for any good reason. He’s defying Manwë so he can help all the widdle hewpwess Elves and Dwarves and Men.

So he sends messages to the mortals through rivers, streams, the rain, and… I don’t know… pissing, probably. And he told two of these so-called Elven “Kings” to build hidden kingdoms. One is a hole in the ground (does anyone EVER do anything that I didn’t think of first???), and the other — well, we have no idea. Seriously, it probably doesn’t exist.

But the other day Carcharoth discovered that a couple of Men actually found their way to this other hidden kingdom. No one knows where it is, but supposedly it exists and it’s somewhere near my new place on the River Sirion. So now it’s my job to search everywhere until I find this hidden city for Melkor.

Great. Like I didn’t have anything else to do.

#42: We Kicked Thingol’s Ass!

Apr
16

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

Sorry I haven’t posted in so long, but we’ve been really busy, Melkor and I. Plus, with the world plunged back into darkness, there’s really no way to keep track of time. (I need to invent a way to do that — maybe something I could put on my wrist, and watch it whenever I want to know what time it is. Hmn. I’ll talk to one of the better Craft Spirits about it — his name’s K’lak.)

Anyway, after Melkor came back to Angband, he spent a lot of time telling me about his stunningly dull adventures in Valinor. When I could finally get a word in, I told him everything we had been up to in his absence.

And I told him about the whole Thingol-Melian thing.

Believe it or not, I think he was even angrier than I was. The idea of a Maia and an Elf doing the humpty dance is — well, it’s offensive on every level possible. It goes against the natural order. It’s just sick.

So Melkor declared we would go kick Thingol’s ass, which is exactly what I wanted. Almost everyone we lost from the debacle at Utumno had wandered back to join me at Angband. Plus, we finally finished creating the Orcs. They’re waaaay better than Elves — the upgrades Melkor and I designed have really worked out great. Sure, they’re not aesthetically pleasing, but after we drive the Valar traitors into the Everlasting Dark, we’ll destroy them all (and the filthy Elves and the stinking Dwarves) and begin again, designing our own mortal races that will live to worship us.

Anyway. We put together an army of Orcs and sicced them on Thingol, sending them south into Neldoreth and Region. Let me tell you, none of the Elves were ready for us. They had never seen Orcs before.

And I’ll let you in on an important difference between us and the Elves. Elves make their armor all light and pretty, with artistic patterns and jewels and flowing capes and feathery helmets. Their swords are thin and graceful, and sing as they are wielded.

Yeah. We dress our Orcs in thick, heavy, unadorned iron armor with helmets and greaves and gauntlets and braces and solerets. They have thick iron and wood shields as large as their bodies. They wield massive iron blades with razor-sharp edges.

Guess who does better in battle?

Now you’re probably going to find out that practically all our Orcs were killed. We sent out about 10,000, and about three dozen came back. In fact, the Elves are already spinning this as their “victory.”

Know why none of our Orcs came back? We wouldn’t let them. After the Orcs ripped through Beleriand, killing every Elven warrior, raping every Elf-maiden, using the children for shooting practice and eating the babies for dinner, we sent them West and East, burning every green leaf as they went.

Eventually, Thingol and his buddies did indeed kill almost all our Orcs. But you know what? Who cares! We can crank out another 10,000 Orcs in about a year! They’d have to kill a hundred Orcs before it would hurt us as badly as when they lose one Elf. And we killed thousands of Elves.

Best of all, we apparently killed this guy Denethor, King of Lindon, some kind of butt buddy of Thingol’s. Unfortunately, we did not get Thingol himself, or his whore wife Melian. Next time.

Now Melian has constructed some kind of lame magical barrier around Doriath, to keep herself and her sex ape safe from our wrath. Nice try, bitch!

Listen, as long as the skies are dark of the light of the Trees and the Valar cower in Valinor, we shall be invincible!

#39: OMFG, I Found the Freakin’ Men… Except Not

Jul
22

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

Okay, I’m still just totally — what? Disgusted? Sickened? Perplexed? Infuriated? over this whole Melian situation. I mean, I get that we could never be together again — she sided with the Dickless Prick. It’s not like I’m still in love with her or anything.

But marrying an ELF???? Listen, I’m into some pretty sick shit, what with the burning and torturing and killing and all. In order to breed the Orcs, I’ve had to do some pretty nasty things to them. Lots of incest, for one thing. So it’s not like I’m one to judge.

Except I’m not going around shtupping any freaking Elves.  I can’t even imagine being attracted to one of them. I’m a freaking Maia of the freaking Ainur of the freaking Timeless Halls, for chrissakes.

Anyway, this is not what I was going to blog about today. There are other things to worry about than Melian getting her metaphorical pooter diddled by a pointy-eared ape.

Specifically, a few years ago Carcharoth was out roaming the darkened forests when he came upon yet another race of bipedal mortals. These were significantly different from the Elves, which are tall, fair and quite tasty, with really tender white meat.  The new mortals are short, squat and stringy — all nasty, foul-tasting dark meat.  Perfectly good for feeding Orcs, but no good for the rest of us.

Well, obviously I just assumed these were Men. After all, Eru Ilúvatar would never lie, right? And He said there would be two races, right? Elves and Men. And since these weren’t Elves, they had to be Men. Simple deductive reasoning.

I quickly determined these “Men” would be of no value to us, and ordered the various werewolves, vampires, trolls and giants I’ve got roaming Middle Earth to kill them on sight.

Well, I was over near Eglador, wearing a pleasing Elvish shape, just spying things out. I happened to be near Menegroth, that hole in the ground that Melian and Thingol hide in, but that was just a coincidence. I was mapping out terrain in preparation for invasion, not spying on Melian and her fucktoy.

Anyway.  I ran into a bunch of these so-called “Men,” who were on their way to see Thingol. I could have destroyed them with a wave of my hand, but I didn’t want to reveal myself to Melian, so I played nice and pretended to be a friendly Elf prince.  And that’s when I learned — these aren’t Men!

The elves call them Naugrim, and they call themselves Khazâd. But they’re just Dwarves. Stupid, stunted Dwarves. And not Men at all!

Turns out Aulë made them, long ago. I’m not surprised — they look like Aulë’s work, shoddy and ill-designed. And did Eru punish Aulë for his presumption? Of course not. Because that would have been FAIR.

So Eru LIED about there only being two mortal races. And He punished Melkor and myself for original thinking, but not Aulë. Infallible my ass!

Now I’ve got the boys on double patrols, looking for Men. And any of Aulë’s stinking Dwarves they find are to be euthanized on sight.

#38: What!?!

Jul
16

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

She… I mean… WHAAAT????

#37: I Will KILL Elu Thingol!

Apr
10

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

You will not believe what I just found out. I don’t even know where to begin. I — I can’t believe it.

Some background: when Oromë (he’s a stupid Earth spirit who imagines himself a great huntsman) “found” the Elves, many years AFTER I found them, he lured three of them back to Valinor so they could get all impressed by the stupid trees and return to con the rest of the Elves into going to Valinor to worship the Valar traitors. Which they did.

So these three Elves led the rest across Eriador AND Beleriand. They weren’t marching in ordered groups, either. They just kind of wandered. It took DECADES.

So the first two groups get to the coast of the Belegaer, the Great Sea, and of course they don’t have boats because boats haven’t been invented yet. Whatever a “boat” is. For once, the Valar do something with style, and rip off a big chunk of land for the Elves to ride on. This portable island takes off across the sea, and Huzzah! my Elf infestation problem is solved.

EXCEPT — the last group doesn’t go. They can’t find their leader, Elwë — he just up and vanished one day, and no, it wasn’t because of me. Remember, I wanted them to go, as quickly as possible.

Eventually, they took off without Elwë, and I forgot about the whole thing. Until today, when one of my spies informed me that Elwë was still alive, and founding his own kingdom among the Sindar, aka the “Grey Elves.” He’s even calling himself Elu Thingol, “King Greymantle.”

Which is bad enough. But — and here’s where words fail me, so I’ll just get it out.

HE MARRIED MELIAN.

MY MELIAN.

What?? How??? I mean — WHAT?????? First of all, why was she even in Middle Earth at all? Why would she fall in love with a MORTAL??? And a stupid Elf at that? Is this even allowed, Maiar shtupping Mortals? I mean, it’s disgusting! It’s like you having sex with your dog!

Is she CRAZY? Why? I just want to know why she did this.

Oh, and I’m going to KILL Elu Thingol. Count on it.