Posts Tagged ‘First War’

#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.

#22: War — Not As Much Fun As It Sounded

Sep
18

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

I was going to wait until the end of the battle to blog again. But this damned fight has been going on for so long, I’m not sure it well ever end.

How long have we been fighting the Valar? Who knows? No one has yet invented a way to measure time. There are no “Spirits of Time,” which if you ask me is a serious oversight on Eru’s part. One of many. The point is I don’t know. Eons, at least.

It all started so well. We carefully watched the Valar, and when they were at their least watchful, Melkor deemed it time to strike. He led us up and out of the pits, and we roared across the face of the Disc of the World, Melkor in front. In his rage he grew until his crown reached the clouds and his feet crushed the earth, and his breath was ice and his eyes fire.

Behind him came the Hosts of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death. Or as we like to call ourselves, The Guys.

We took those ghey-ass Valar and their sniveling Maiar toadies completely by surprise. They were having some kind of party, I don’t know, celebrating leaves or something, when a great cloud of foul smoke and searing flame spread across the horizon, and we charged down upon them, crushing every living thing in our path. In moments we were upon them, crushing, burning and skewering everything with pointy ears.

Now the Valar were caught unawares, but not completely unprepared. They had armor — not solid and black like ours, but thin and shiny. And they had weapons — not like our heavy iron killing implements, designed to puncture and crush, but lithe little slivers of glossy metal called “swords,” which look flimsy but work surprisingly well.

And of course they had magic. When Melkor called down a rain of fire, that weasel Ulmo summoned forth a rain of cool clean water. When Melkor spewed forth a black miasma of creeping death, Yavanna raised her hands and met it with a spreading wall of bright green growth. When Melkor threw down a mountain to crush our foes, that ass-munch Aulë just raised up another one. I can’t believe I used to take orders from that guy.

The unfair part, of course, is that individually, Melkor could take all thirteen of the Valar. Not one could face him alone. All together, they are barely his match.

While Melkor battled the renegade Valar, I led the Hosts against the Army of the Maiar. I gotta tell ya, our guys may look scary — certainly the Balrogs cause a lot of Maiar trousers to get soiled — but it’s nothing compared to me. When I come tearing over a ravine in the form of a humongous werewolf, slavering teeth spraying acidic drool in my path, my eyes burning with the fires of Perdition, well — let’s just say people run.

In fact, for a while I had trouble finding anyone to fight! I just ran around routing any groups of Maiar I came across, and barked (heh – literally) orders to those trolls and monsters too stupid or too scared to know what to do.

I did have this weird encounter. I was chewing on some Maiar I caught hiding under an upturned continental plate, when I was attacked from behind by a little Maia with a sword. I spat out my snack and spun about, cuffing my enemy with a massive paw. Then I stepped on his little chest and pinned him to the cooling magma.

I recognized him — Olórin, an air spirit, one of those most vocal in supporting the prickless dick Manwë in his cowardly coup against Melkor.

I slobbered all over him while I decided how best to dispatch him. I had already injured a number of Maiar so thoroughly that they were reduced to weakened wisps, unable to take shape again within the World. It’s the closest to death we can get. And let me tell you, it’s never gonna happen to me.

Anyway, while I was deciding whether to bit his head off, or just claw him to pieces, Olórin spoke to me. Which was weird, considering how I was killing him. He spoke very calmly, like we were having a nice discussion over tea.

“Sauron, Lord of Craft,” spoke he, “release me. Turn aside from the path to Darkness, and return with me to the Light. Beg the pardon of Manwë, and all will be forgiven. Join us in our great work, for your skill is sorely missed.”

Now I have to admit that for a moment there, I was moved by his words, wise and gentle as they were. Perhaps Melkor had indeed led us astray. Perhaps the plans of Eru were best, and I would be wise to submit to His will.

BWA HA HA HA HA! I am so just kidding! I didn’t think any of those things. As if. It’s what that little puke Olórin expected me to think. What a moron.

I laughed so hard, Olórin was able to wriggle free and run off. Who cares? He’s too weak to ever hurt me. Let him go cower under a rock somewhere.

Can you imagine? Me apologize to the Dickless Prick? He’s the traitor and thief, not me. All I’ve ever done is what was right. I have nothing to apologize for.

I haven’t seen Huan, I think he’s avoiding me. Good for him. I did catch a glimpse of Melian, battling an enormous troll. I avoided her. I hope she gets killed.

Okay, I don’t. But I hope she gets hurt really, really badly.

Well, the battle is still going on, and I gotta go. I’m going to create a diversion while a platoon of Watchers in the Water sneak up from behind out of a poison mire.

#21: We Gird For War!

Sep
17

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

It is the eve of battle. This is pretty major — there’s never been violence in the universe before. Good thing all the spirits of Chaos, Misery, Pain and Death are on our side.

The first thing we had to do was choose material forms. It would be pretty hard for us to kick Manwë’s filthy, stinking ass if we’re nothing but incorporeal metaphysical archetypes that anthropomorphize universal qualities. Nope, we have to have bodies.

Some of the manifestations our side picked are way cool. (I mentioned last time that the stupid Valar and their fuckwad followers all chose to dress as Elves.) The balrogs, for instance, have chosen the form of giant fire monsters bearing cruel flaming whips. Niiiiice. They wanted to have wings, but Melkor forbade it. Balrogs can’t fly, so giving them wings wouldn’t make such sense. Gothmog’s happy anyway, because the fire and smoke pour off their bodies into “wings of flame.”

Some of the lesser spirits have taken the form of giant vampires, or giant trolls, or giant serpents, or giant insects. Ungoliant, that weirdo, chose the form of a massive spider spinning webs of darkness. She stinks, it’s disgusting.

Melkor devised a new form for Glaurung, Smaug, and some of the other fire spirits. He won’t say what it is, and apparently it’s not ready yet. So those guys get to sit the battle out.

Melkor chose for himself a humanoid form similar to the Valar, but fifty feet tall, covered in spiked iron armor, and wearing a heavy metal helmet with two holes for his flaming eyes. His iron crown sits atop the helmet. He wields a black spear tipped with a tremendous blade that he forged himself in the hottest flames of the deepest pits. Very imposing, and very appropriate for the Lord of the Earth.

That just left me, and I had to think for a long time. I mean, we can change form any time we want — but the very first form we take kind of sets a precedent. I wanted fierce and frightening, yet fast and cunning. Oh, and I wanted teeth. Teeth are the best — sharpened protrusions of living bone that just stick out of the body, ready to rend other creatures to pieces. Believe me, teeth came out of the Music of Melkor, not Eru’s pansy-ass song that gave us posies and kittens and feminine protection products.

So I thought back on my time with Melian. She was always going on about how this tree was going to be so fascinating and that animal was going to be so pretty. All I cared about was, would the wood burn brightly and the meat taste good? But my ears pricked up when she complained about carnivores. She didn’t like the idea that some animals ate other animals. Sounded great to me.

That’s why I have chosen, as my material form, a gigantic, bloodthirsty, slavering wolf.

As a giant werewolf I’m the fastest, deadliest thing on the planet. Heck, I could give Melkor himself a go if I had the mind to. The guy can hardly move with all that armor, and dragging around his colossal spear. Good thing for him I’m loyal.

Now that we’re substantiated, we’re ready for our secret attack. We’ve been planning it for months. Whatever a “month” is.

The pits of boiling lava are ready, as well as the clouds of fumes, rock-spewing volcanoes, and hailstorms of obsidian shards. Melkor’s got the spirits all pumped up for the big day.

Tomorrow, we kill the Valar. And all the Maiar who won’t beg for mercy, and accept the status of chattel.

Even Huan. Even Melian.