Posts Tagged ‘Iron Crown of Morgoth’

#45: Why Does Everyone Care So Much About These Idiotic Rocks?

May
15

Date: April 2nd, 1 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: annoyed

Well, Melkor and I have managed to spew enough smoke, vapors, filth and obtenebration out over the northern lands that we can move about freely during the day without worrying about that bitch Arien seeing what we’re doing, or burning us with her terrible light. We do not like the Yellow Face, as the Orcs call it.

Anyway, after learning what I did from that Elf chained to that rock, I immediately sought out Melkor. It wasn’t hard — all he does is sit in the Uttermost Pits of Angband, sulking.

I made him show me these “Silmarils,” and tell me the whole story over again. He’s got them set into a great iron crown, which apparently he was taking off and hiding from me whenever I came around. What is he, 12 years old?

It seems that if Melkor hadn’t gotten his panties in a bunch about these idiotic rocks, Beleriand would not be overrun with so-called “Noldor” even as we speak. Regular Elves are pretty easy to kill (unless that bitch Melian is watching their backs), but these Noldor suckled at the Valar teat for thousands of years (or what would have been years, if there had been a Sun), and are pretty powerful. Certainly, not powerful enough to defeat us, by any stretch — but powerful enough to be very annoying.

Now we’re gonna have to dig them out of their hidey holes and regain political control of Middle Earth. As if I didn’t have enough to do. It might take centuries!

But the thing I don’t get is these Silmarils. What’s the big deal?

This Fëanor guy, who sounds like he might have been pretty cool if he’d been on our side, created these three glowing crystals out of the Light of the Idiotic Trees. Indeed, it seems that the Stinking Valar Traitors might have been able to use the Silmarils to heal the trees, if Fëanor hadn’t refused to give them up. Good for him.

But why Melkor chose to steal the Shiny Rocks of Stupidity is beyond me. In fact, if he had just left them for the Valar, they could have resuscitated the trees, and we wouldn’t have to hide from a Sun or a Moon. Good work, Melkor!

But it’s not just Melkor who is obsessed with these rocks. Apparently Fëanor’s sons are hot to get the stones back; and all the various Balrogs and Trolls and Orcs and all love to go down to the Throne Room and stare at the Iron Crown. Why? (Actually, it’s not so much of a Throne Room as a Throne Pit. Well, just a Pit.)

I’ve examined them closely, and it seems the Silmarils have some strange property that causes almost everyone, Vala, Maia or Mortal, to obsessively desire to possess them. It’s weird, because the stones aren’t evil — there’s no Evil in them whatsoever.

I’m immune, but I’m not sure why. It could be important, I’ll have to figure it out.

Wait — Carcharoth says there’s some kind of awful Elven caterwauling coming from Thangorodrim. I’d better check it out.

#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.