Posts Tagged ‘Huan’

#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?

#56: That’s It, I QUIT!

Dec
14

Date: June 12, 466 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: lugubrious

That’s it, I quit. I’m done. No more.

I am not spending another aeon of my precious immortal existence serving that mouth-breathing moron, Melkor.

Fuck him. Fuck him right in the ass.

After that filthy, faithless, sniveling turd of a canine Huan drove me out of Tol Sirion, and that half-breed abomination Lúthien (as I have now learned) razed Tol-in-Gaurhoth to its foundations (which is idiotic, since Minas Tirith was an Elven tower — bet no one will ever use that name again), I ended up strategically retreating to Taur-nu-Fuin in vampire form. No, I was not hiding. I was waiting to regroup with Carcharoth and the others, so we could go back, avenge Draugluin, and retake the Pass of Sirion.

So no, I was not hiding from Melkor because I’d had my ass handed to me by Huan and a girl. Shut up!

Anyway, I waited for months in the forest of Taur-nu-Fuin amongst the foul-smelling pine trees, picking up the occasional Man, Elf or Dwarf as a light snack, until finally I espied a troop of Balrogs making their way south. I accosted them, and they didn’t recognize me at first — I had forgotten I was still in vampire form. So I re-assumed my accustomed, anthropoid form, and let me tell you, those boys were glad to see me.

But the story they told me was absolutely freakin’ unbelievable.

Remember that Man I was holding prisoner, the one who sang to Thingol and Melian’s little genetic monster? Well, he and Lúthien headed straight to Angband, with nothing on their minds but stealing one of those stupid Magic Rocks.

Seriously, what is up with those rocks?

So they arrived at the gates of Angband, and who was guarding the entrance but Carcharoth? Here’s what I’ve figured out — Carcharoth did not go to Angband to get messages from Melkor. Rather, Melkor summoned him back North to take over as some kind of seneschal — indeed, possibly to replace me. And neither one had the courage to say anything about it.

Anyway, Lúthien managed to get herself and her Mannish boy-toy (what is up with all the inter-species pollination?) past Carcharoth using some kind of Spell of Command or Word of Oblivion — the Balrogs weren’t clear on the details. Then the two of them walked tra-la-la-lolly past every Orc, Evil Man, Ulfsark, Werewolf, Troll, Giant, Balrog and Dragon in Angband, straight down to the Uttermost Pits where Melkor was sitting in his Iron Crown, brooding or whatever he calls it.

Now that’s security! Good work, everyone! I leave for ten minutes, and it all goes to hell.

Lúthien walks up to Melkor, aka Morgoth Bauglir, The Black Enemy, Master of Angband, Rightful Lord of the Earth, He Who Arises In Might, on his own throne in his own fortress, and starts singing.

If it was anything like that caterwauling she let loose at the foot of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I’m glad I didn’t have to sit through it.

Now, if you’re asking yourself why Melkor didn’t just squash her with his boot and wipe it off on the nearest Werewolf pelt, well, anyone with half a brain would ask the same question. But the answer the Balrogs gave was really, really disgusting. But I believe them because I won’t put anything past Melkor anymore.

Melkor spared the Lúthien-creature because he wanted to have sex with it.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

So she used her Word of Oblivion again, and Melkor must have rolled some kind of quadruple critical miss on his saving throw, because he dropped unconscious. The Man pried a Magic Rock from Melkor’s crown, and the two of them hightailed it out of there.

Unbelievable.

I mean, yes, I was temporarily kind-of semi-defeated, but by Huan — a fat idiot, but at least a full-fledged Maia. Melkor gets thoroughly humiliated by a MORTAL and a HALF-ELF.

Now you might ask yourself, didn’t anyone in Angband acquit themselves adequately in this whole fiasco? Why yes, one did. Guess who? Could it be my first lieutenant, personally trained by me, one Carcharoth Anfauglir, The Red Maw, Chief of Werewolves? Yes.

Carcharoth overcame the abomination’s sleepy-spell, and bit off the Man’s hand, taking the Magic Rock with it. He ran away, I have no idea where, but at least someone bit something. Jesus.

Whomever “Jesus” is.

I would head up there to kill the half-breed and her Mannish pet myself, but it’s no good — those meddlesome Eagles once again played Manwë ex machina and carried them away. Assholes.

The point is, I cannot continue to work for an Ainu this staggeringly incompetent. That’s it– it’s over. I am setting up my own shop.

Let Melkor play kissy-kiss with all his little hairless apes. I’m going to raise my own army, and fight the real fight — killing Manwë the Dickless Prick, Melian the Back-stabbing Bitch, Huan the Sniveling Toady, and all the rest of the rebel Ainur and Maiar. And when Sauron Gorthaur is King of Aman, I will return to Middle-earth, and declare myself Lord of the Earth.

And maybe, just maybe, if he’s obsequious enough, I shall permit Morgoth Bauglir to serve me!

#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.

#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.

#18: I Am Going To Kill Manwë, I Swear It

Jan
20

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

Well, everything has gone to shit, and there’s no one to blame but that little prick Manwë. That dickless little suckup has ruined everything!

So Melkor and I managed to get the Disc of Arda built, with some help from that moron Aulë, yes, but mostly it was us and the Fire Spirits.

Then it was time to order the rest of creation; the airs and the flora and the fauna and all that. Melkor, the Greatest of the Valar, called everybody together to manage this whole affair, because we can’t have Ainur running around just putting anything anywhere, “poof” there’s a tree, “poof” there’s a cloud.

There has to be order. Purpose. So Melkor stepped in to take charge.

Well, that’s when Manwë gets his thong in a knot. He claims — claims — that he wants all the Valar and Valier to share equally in the shaping of what he insists on calling “the habitation of the Children of Ilúvatar.” As if they’re why we’re doing all this. Please.

But what Manwë really wants is to be some sort of king of the Valar, denying Melkor his rightful title. You just watch and see — I guarantee you mister “we’re all equal” will be ordering everyone around within a week.

He says to Melkor, “This kingdom thou shalt not take for thine own, wrongfully, for many others have laboured here no less than thou.” Hypocrite. And yeah, I’d say many others labored here less than us.

Well, Melkor got pissed, and who can blame him? He declared himself, rightly, Eru’s representative in Arda, and claimed Arda as his kingdom. I immediately recognized his lordship, as did all our usual friends. (Hmn. I noticed that Ungoliant was suspiciously absent. Bitch.)

Well, it was all downhill from there. All the other Valar and Valier immediately sided with Manwë, which convinces me this was some kind of pre-planned coup against Melkor. Even Huan, my so-called “best friend,” sided with the insurgents.

But the very WORST part, the unbearable part, is that Melian sided with them too. Instead of taking my side, the side of the Maia she supposedly loved, she slunk off to be with the Vala Irmo. Oh, she tried to convince me to follow Manwë — some bullshit about peace and love and fraternity. Stupid bitch.

I will never forgive her for betraying me. And if she won’t be with me, she won’t be with anyone — you just watch.

But the architect of my misery is the Dickless Prick. I will get my revenge on Manwë, and it will be slow and painful. I will make him suffer, and then I will destroy him.

Oh, Eru, I can’t believe she left me.

#15: “Valar” and “Maiar?” I Didn’t Sign Up for That!

Sep
22

Date: Before the Sun and Moon
My Mood Is: let down

Well, we’ve gotten started on building and assembling the World of Arda. Melkor is doing most of the heavy lifting, of course, taking charge of the project and overseeing all the lesser spirits.

Most of the work has involved the spontaneous generation of matter and energy. I’m proud to say the Fire Spirits have been most helpful in this matter, and the most eager to bend to the wisdom of Melkor. I’ve been spending a lot of time corralling the useless Earth, Air and Water Spirits. These morons are all over the map, and Creation would be nothing but a muddy pile if someone didn’t whip these imbeciles into shape.

I saw Melian today. She looked great. I wanted to say hello, but I was too nervous.

Anyway. Of course, we got trouble right away from the Manwë/Ulmo contingent. Neither of these guys had any clout back in the Timeless Halls — but come to Arda, and all of a sudden they think they’re gods or something. Melkor was second only to Eru back in the Halls; that means he’s second to NO ONE in Arda.

I suspect this is something Manwë and Ulmo will have to be taught. Eventually.

To shut up some of the noisier Ainur, Melkor came up with a plan, and I really don’t like it. Fifteen of the Ainur, eight male and seven female, are to be anointed “Valar,” or Greater Spirits. The rest will be “Maiar,” or Lesser Spirits.

I’m to be a Maia. SAURON DOES NOT APPROVE.

Melkor spent a long time calming me down, and explaining this to me. He says he needs me to work directly under him; that as Second-in-Command to the Greatest of the Valar, I will be the second most powerful, the Greatest of the Maiar.

Bullshit.

He also says he’s setting up Manwë, Ulmo, Oromë and the others. They’ll accept all this power and responsibility, and fail — then it will be clear that all power should accrue to Melkor. And me.

Now Huan is telling me he’s HAPPY to be a Maia. What a dumbass.

#12: Welcome To The World, Now Can I Go Home?

Aug
31

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

Well, I am writing this from within the World of Arda. I suppose I should be thrilled — instead I am tired and confused.

I would say about a third of the Hosts of the Ainur volunteered to enter Eä, the World That Is. Most wanted to go; but some went out of service or friendship to someone else. Huan made a big deal out of the fact he was coming for my sake. I mean, I’m glad, but I didn’t ask him to come. I don’t need him. Truthfully, he’s really not on my level. I plan to make new friends in Arda.

Lots and lots of Ainur went because Melkor was going. Most of the fire spirits, a whole bunch of darkness spirits, and many spirits of craft like myself. But lots of air, earth, and water spirits too.

Especially water spirits. Ulmo is their leader — I guess he’s a friend of that stupid air spirit, Manwë. But Ossë came too, and he’s pretty cool, in small doses.

Who else went? Melian. I’ve always had a crush on her — she is smoking hot. She’s with the forest spirits, who I think went into Arda just so they could find out what the hell a “forest” is. Oh Eru, and speaking of women — just as we were preparing to enter the World, Ungoliant came slithering up. You should have seen the look on Melkor’s face — he was definitely hoping to ditch her.

And Manwë tried to give a speech before we descended. What a despicable prick. But Melkor just cut him off. There’s no love lost there.

Melkor was the first to descend, of course. He didn’t even look back at Eru. We’re not going to be needing Him anymore.

And guess who was second? Manwë tried to cut in front of me, but I just stomped on his instep and jumped ahead. After Melkor, I, Sauron, was first into the World of Arda.

It was horrible.

As I passed from the immaterial and incorporeal to the material and corporeal, I felt myself stretched beyond breaking, and yet crushed into nothing, as wide as the World and yet small as a speck of dust. I felt myself forced through an impenetrable barrier, my very being fractured and demolished, then reassembled and made whole.

The pain was unbearable.

When I came to my senses, I found myself in a tiny realm of unbearable cold and total darkness. At first I panicked, certain that something had gone wrong. Was it all a trick? Had Eru fashioned a prison for all who denied Him, who desired time and contingency and sensation over an eternity of singing praises?

Then I heard Melkor calling my name, followed soon by the mingled shouts and protestations of the other Ainur.

We had arrived, passing into Eä, the World That Is, and at its center, Arda, the World of the Vision of the Ainulindalë.

So far, it really sucks.

#10: Eä! Let Things Not Suck So Hard From Now On!

Aug
26

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

The day started terribly. I was already depressed; then Aulë announced his schedule for today, which involved two hours of singing Eru’s praises, followed by four hours of choir practice, an hour-long discussion of how great Eru is, then another two hours of singing.

With no lunch.

So we’re busy singing when I hear Huan mention my name. He’s saying, “Sauron? Haven’t seen him. Try over by the Outer Airs.” Well, Huan knew perfectly well I was right there. So I left my position in the choir to see what was going on. I knew Aulë would have my ass over it, but you know what? I don’t care.

Huan was talking to Melkor! Lying to him! That little prick! I was soooo pissed. Huan is really beginning to piss me off.

Melkor didn’t care though, he was just glad he found me. He said Eru had another big announcement, but one we would really like, and I had to come with him at once! Can you believe that, Melkor came to find ME! We’re definitely, totally friends now.

Well, Aulë came over to bust me for leaving the choir. But Melkor said, “Aulë, Lord of the Cthonic Spirits, you and your host must come as well. For Ilúvatar hath summoned us forth.”

Well, Aulë just grumbled, and we all went up to the Empyrean Airs, where well nigh all of the Ainur were assembling.

“I have spoken to Ilúvatar,” Melkor whispered to me, “and He hath harkened, for the Ainur have become restless. Now much we have desired shall come to pass.”

Cool!

Then Eru came upon us, and He said, “I know the desire of your minds that what ye have seen should verily be, not only in your thought, but even as ye yourselves are, and yet other.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be!”

And suddenly the Void was filled with light! It was awesome. “Eä.” I gotta remember that trick.

Then Eru said, “And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be; and those of you that will may go down into it. “

Yes!! We get a world, we get the Flame Imperishable, and best of all, we have a ticket out of this metaphysical hellhole of singing and praising!

I was jumping up and down, I was so excited. I think I hugged Melkor, which is kind of embarrassing.

I am ready. I want to go down into that World. NOW.