Posts Tagged ‘Lindon’

#76: I Am THIS CLOSE to Total Victory!!!

Dec
20

Date: March 12th, 1700 S.A.
My Mood Is: really quite good, actually

Things must really suck for poor ol’ Melkor. There he is, chained to the outside of the sky by the stinking treasonous Valar, freezing in the uttermost cold of The Void, and all he can do is look into Arda and watch as I, his one-time lieutenant, accomplish what he never could.

Yes, I am THIS CLOSE to complete and total victory in Middle-earth. HUZZAH!

I, Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of Werewolves, the Dark Lord, Maker of the One Ring, am now the emperor of a vast demesne, from Hildórien in the Uttermost East on the shores of the East Sea, all the way through the Hither Lands west to the Ered Luin and the remnants of Beleriand; from the grinding ice of the Iron Mountains, all the way south to the balmy reaches of the furthest lands of the Southrons. All the Men of these realms worship me, and despair!

So I’ve got that going for me.

There are only two significant holes in the map, that I have yet to redden under my iron claw. There is Lindon, the so-called kingdom of Ereinion Gil-Galad, who presents himself as High King of the Noldor. And there is a new player, something called Imladris, which I take to be a kind of sylvan fort or something hidden in the western glens of the Misty Mountains. “Imladris” is elfy-talk for “hole in the ground,” so I assume it’s some kind of armed ditch. Elrond Halfelven commands it, so I’m not particularly worried. “Elrond Half-a-brain,” that’s what I call him.

My spies also tell me of an elf-lord called Amdír, who is stirring up trouble against me amongst the Elves of Lórinand east of the Mountains. He will have to be dealt with, when Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Elrond are all in their graves.

The weather is clearing up, and once all the Orcs who survived the winter get thoroughly defrosted, it will be the end of both Lindon and Imladris. Then Middle-earth shall be mine! All mine!

And dare I then think of the next step? To sail against Aman and destroy the accursed Valar? Too soon, Sauron, too soon. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Hmn. One of my Mannish heralds is here – it seems I have a visitor. Someone from the west named Ciryatur seeks to parley. Undoubtedly some idiot Elf sent by Gil-Galad to sue for “peace.” Bwa ha ha. Let’s see what he has to say.

#74: No, I Am Not Compensating for Anything

Oct
3

Date: March 27th, 1601 S.A.
My Mood Is: jubilant

I AM A GOD.

We all knew that, of course, but isn’t it nice to see it in person?

Ladies and Gentlemen, Slaves and Thralls, I give you — Barad-dûr, the Dark Tower! Five thousand feet tall, 1,400 rooms, 223 staircases, 118 separate prisons and torture chambers; 450 storeys from the deepest forgotten lockhole in the lowest dungeon, to the very pinnacle where my inner sanctum, the Window of the Eye, looks out over all of Mordor!

And it took a day to build! Yes, a DAY!

Of course, I spent about half a millennium gathering together the millions of tons of iron and obsidian; planning and preparing; and building the veritable city of  outbuildings that support the main structure. And there was the problem of building foundations that would support a mile-high tower. But with the ONE RING, my friends, all things are possible. I just willed the darn thing into existence, and a few hours later, there it was! It was just like the good ol’ days, before the Revolt of the Treasonous Valar, when we Ainur just made anything we wanted, whenever we wanted, from the Flame Imperishable!

I LOVE THIS RING!

Now I’m exhausted, but who cares? Once I get the Dark Tower truly up and running, I can set out in war against the insipid Elves of Eregion and their Lindonian allies. Soon all of Eriador will run red with THE BLOOD OF THE NOLDOR! AND THE ELVEN RINGS SHALL BE MINE!

Cough cough! Crap, I’m too tired for all this yelling.

The designs for the Dark Tower went through several iterations, actually. At one point it was like a 10-mile-high needle, meant to penetrate the clouds and keep watch on all Middle-earth. Then I thought of having to climb up and down one 60,000-step staircase all day long, and ditched that idea. Then I got all caught up with an article I read in an in-flight magazine, whatever that is, and decided to go ranch-style — one storey tall and 20 miles wide. That was sure stupid.

I even had a version — the plans were laid out and everything — with giant obsidian horns on the top of the tower, and I would manifest between the horns all day long as a giant flaming eye! I would look like a humongous lighthouse! Isn’t that the dumbest thing you ever heard???

No, the version I built is the best version. I have replaced my lame Annatar robes with some appropriately spiky black armor, and I shall sit at my new Window of the Eye and keep watch over my minions. And soon, when all is ready, I SHALL MARCH ON ERIADOR AND CLEANSE IT OF THE ACCURSED ELDAR!

Cough! Cough! I gotta lie down.

#64: Gil-Galad Was an Elven-king / Who Didn’t Know a Freakin’ Thing

May
19

Date: June 25, 501 S.A.
My Mood Is: aggravated

Un-be-LIEV-able!

After dealing with Galadriel and her brain-donor husband, I knew I had to get to Lindon quick before they could send word to this Artanáro, High King of the Noldor. So I forgot about walking, and just transfigured myself into a vampire and flew the roughly 300 miles to Artanáro’s capital.

Traveling over Western Eriador as a giant anthropomorphic bat-creature, dripping venom, proved to be disturbing to the few Elves and mortals living below. I really must learn how to transform into a flying creature that is less alarming. Anything but an Eagle — I HATE those guys.

Anyway. Lindon is just on the other side of the Ered Luin, a line of mountains that used to be the border between Beleriand and Eriador. Technically these Elves still live in Beleriand, the part not sunk into the sea by those oh-so-good and oh-so-merciful, continent-sinking mass-murdering Valar. Just like an Elf to cling to the past.

As I came down upon Lindon, I searched for the Noldoran capital. It took me a while to find — a group of white stone buildings with peaked roofs — because it was located on the ocean. Why on Arda would anyone want to live near a sea of brine-filled, stinking fish-piss? I can’t imagine.

I saw a regiment of Elves waiting for me. Fortunately, they didn’t see me in vampire form — I shapeshifted, and appeared from the trees as if from nowhere. Very impressive.

Well, the Elves of Lindon had been “warned” about my approach. I was flabbergasted — after all, I flew here! But then I remembered — Galadriel was psychic, and so it followed that her brother Artanáro was as well.

They didn’t call him that here — he proclaimed himself as Ereinion Gil-galad, which means “Heir of Kings Star of Radiance” in Elfy-talk, which demonstrates how lousy these Elves are at poetry. Just another thing to educate them in.

This Gil-Galad informed me that he didn’t know who I was, or whom I served, but that I was banned from Lindon, and must return to Eriador the way I came.

I may be the New & Improved Annatar, Lord of Gifts, Counselor to the Children of Ilúvatar, kind and just and wise and forgiving — but no one talks to me that way. He had about 20 Elven warriors with him, none of whom could have bent a hair on my head. Gil-Galad himself had a nasty-looking spear chock-full of amateur enchantments, but I was about as afraid of it as you would be of a toothpick.

Still, slaying the High King, even if he deserved it, would not make me any friends amongst Elves or Men. It might impress some Dwarves — but who needs Dwarves?

So I smiled, expressed regret that I would not be staying, and headed back East, gritting my teeth and grumbling in High Ainurian about how best to torture to death the meddlesome Galadriel.

Tackling the Elves is not going to be as easy as I thought. I’m going to try Men next, they’re much dumber and more pliable. Unfortunately, they’re like flies — short-lived and odorous. Once I have Men under my domin– tutelage, maybe the Elves will come around.

#42: We Kicked Thingol’s Ass!

Apr
16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess who does better in battle?

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

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

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

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

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

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