Posts Tagged ‘Gothmog’

#67: Meet My New Best Friend, Celebrimbor

Jun
23

Date: July 12th, 701 S.A.
My Mood Is: full of camaraderie

I don’t usually make friends, because it always turns out badly. My first friend ever, back in the Timeless Halls of Eru Ilúvatar, was Huan, that total idiot who betrayed me to the Valar traitors.

Then there was Melkor, whose was like a best friend, big brother, and boss all rolled into one. I have a lot to be grateful to Melkor for — too bad he was also a total idiot, and got his stupid ass exiled to the Outer Dark.

There was Melian, and the less said about Melian, the better.

And finally I had Carcharoth, who was to me what I was to Melkor — friend, brother, aide-de-camp. That idiot got a Silmaril ulcer, and then his ass killed by Huan, thereby proving what I always suspected; you can’t rely on anyone.

So Annatar, Lord of Gifts hasn’t had any friends to-date, unless you count Young Man Willow, which is pretty silly, because he’s a tree. A sentient, malevolent tree, but still.

All that has changed. About six months ago I was on my way back home through Eriador, wondering what I was going to do to get Gil-Galad and Galadriel around to my way of thinking, when I noticed an Elven settlement in Eregion, a woody area in the shadow of the Misty Mountains, just West of the Dwarven city of Hadhodrond. (I was going to say “great Dwarven city of Hadhodrond,” but if you’ve ever seen a Dwarven city, you’ll know the work is highly overrated. Big rooms full of unnecessary columns? Bottomless pits that serve no purpose, right in the middle of a room? Endless stairs leading nowhere? Pointless. But I digress.)

Now, Gil-Galad and Galadriel never mentioned an Elven city in Eregion. I knew it was Elven, rather than Mannish, because it was made of white stone, beautifully designed (for non-Maiar), and didn’t stink of sewage. So I stopped by.

The city is called Ost-in-Edhil, the “Fortress of the Elves,” which is laughably pretentious, considering the Elven predilection for exposed rooms, low railings, and a complete lack of military preparedness. It’s the home of something called the Gwaith-i-Mírdain or Guild of the Smiths, a society of rather clever Elves dedicated to learning the secrets of Aulë, the Retard God of Smithcraft.

Their leader is named Celebrimbor, and he is the only living grandson of Fëanor, the batcrap crazy Elf who created the Silmarils and got stomped to death by Gothmog. Celebrimbor has inherited his grandfather’s talent, intelligence, and most importantly, his willfulness. When Beleriand was destroyed and the Valar offered all the remaining Noldor the chance to return to Valinor, Celebrimbor told them where to stick their offer.

Now one of the reasons I failed to make a positive impression on the other Noldoran exiles was my lack of a decent backstory for Annatar. Galadriel especially was suspicious, although I don’t think she ever suspected my true identity. So I had been thinking about what to say, and what I came up with was perfect for Celebrimbor and his Guild.

What’s more, it’s pretty much true — Celebrimbor is smarter than Gil-Galad and Galadriel put together and multiplied by ten, so he might detect a lie. I said I was a Wizard (well I am pretty wizard) from the Uttermost West (I have in fact visited there), a Maia of Aulë (I worked under him in the Timeless Halls) sent to aid the Elves and Men of Middle-earth (sent by myself, but I didn’t mention that).

And it worked! They totally bought it. At once they offered me gold, mithril and jewels if I would teach them the secrets of Aulë. I didn’t mention that the so-called “secrets of Aulë” are in fact the secrets of Sauron, and that they were learning from the true source. But I can bide my time, until all the truth is revealed.

Celebrimbor is an exceptionally cool guy. He hangs on my every word, and he’s an excellent student. So far I have showed him how to make a proper blast furnace, mithril filigree, tempered steel blades, and a wankel rotary engine.

We have plans to work on a bunch of projects together, most of them metalworking, but also some engineering, architecture, alchemy and even calligraphy. It is great to find someone I can finally have intelligent conversation with. I mean, Carcharoth was loyal, but the repartee at dinner in Tol-in-Gaurhoth was hardly Algonquin Round Table-quality, whatever that is.

This is so great. Soon I’ll have a whole city of brilliant, specially-trained Elves under my control. Then we’ll see what Gil-Galad and Galadriel have to say to that!

#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?

#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.

#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.

#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.

#8: Manwë Is Such a Dick

Aug
23

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

So all anybody can talk about now is The World that Eru showed us. I’ll bet if we had the Flame Imperishable, we could create the World without Eru. Maybe I should go out to the Void and look for it — but if Melkor had no luck, what chance do I have?

Speaking of Melkor, I think he’s avoiding me. I haven’t spoken to him since Eru called him out after the big concert. I think he’s genuinely ashamed, and wants to regain his position as Eru’s favorite. I guess I can’t blame him — he’s been Ilúvatar’s best buddy since forever. But is this the end of our plan to get Eru to adopt our changes?

Everyone who sang with Melkor is laying pretty low right now; and Aulë, that fat fuck, is all over me like ugly on an Orc. Whatever an “Orc” is. He seems to think I embarrassed him during the concert. Now he has me working all the time, to “keep me out of trouble.”

Screw him. Screw him right in the ear.

Oh, and Manwë! Did I mention him before? Some pissant little air spirit who showed up to our meeting? He was one of the loudest singing for Melkor during the concert.

Well, now he’s all over the place, talking about how VERY SORRY he is, and how Melkor led him astray, and he’ll never defy Eru again. Dammit, he pisses me off so much!

First of all, we didn’t defy Eru. We did exactly what Eru asked: we adorned His music with our “own thoughts and devices.”

Second, Melkor did not mislead anyone. We all knew what we were doing. And you don’t see Gothmog or any of the fire spirits going around apologizing.

And now Manwë, this whiny little loser, is trying to pass himself off as so pious and so repentant. Ugh, I could kill him.

Whatever killing is.

#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.