Posts Tagged ‘Silmarils’

#73: Celebrimbor Must Pay for His Crimes

Aug
19

Date: March 26th, 1601 S.A.
My Mood Is: retributive

They took off the Rings???

Un-FUCKING-believable. All this work down the drain. And all the Elven Rings needed was a simple spell to make them impossible to remove.

And whose fault is this? Celebrimbor’s, of course! That double-dealing bastard!

Alright, Sauron, calm down. Think. You can salvage the Master Plan. The Children of Ilúvatar can still be your slaves. The Rings are still out there, all 19 of them, and they are all slaves to the Ring of Power.

What to do, what to do.

Okay, first of all, CONGRATULATE ME. This isn’t a disaster — I made the Ring of Power! With this new Ring, I am far more powerful than I was before. More powerful than stupid ol’ Melkor, even. In fact, the first thing I’m going to do is complete my Black Spiky Tower of Unimaginable Evil. I’ll think I’ll call it Lugbúrz, which is “Dark Tower” in the Black Speech; Barad-dûr in Elfy-talk. Yes, Barrrrad-dûrrrrrr — roll those “rrrs,” very nice.

Step 2: Find and kill Celebrimbor, and get back my three Elven Rings. Yes, MINE — he made them, but he used MY knowledge and MY experience to do it. And while I’m at it, I’ll take the other 16 as well. Maybe find someone who will appreciate them — some Men, or even Dwarves. (And believe me, the first thing I’ll do is add a non-removal charm!)

Step 3: Do what I should have done in the first place. Forget all this “Annatar” crapola, and lead the armies of Mordor, Harad and Rhûn in a great war against the remaining Noldoran exiles and their allies. Who’s going to stop me now, the Númenóreans? They live across the sea, and don’t give a crap about Gil-Galad and his mincing Elven cronies.

Yes. The Ring of Power is the key. It’s so beautiful, so perfect. I’ve been spending a lot of time admiring it, and why shouldn’t I? It’s the single most powerful magical artifact ever created, except maybe — MAYBE — for the stupid ol’ Silmarils, and they didn’t actually do anything except shine and drive Elves crazy.

No, the Ring of Power is what will allow me mastery over all of Arda. It’s The Shit.

Watch out, Celebrimbor, I’m coming for you.

Now, where were those architectural plans? Barrrrrrrrrad-dûrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

#68: It’s Been a Busy Five Centuries

Jul
1

Date: November 16th, 998 S.A.
My Mood Is: exhausted

Hey everybody. Sorry I haven’t blogged in so long, but it’s been a busy five centuries.

Last time I wrote, I had just discovered Mordor and decided it would make a great secret base. Also, I had made friends with Celebrimbor, chief of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and grandson of Fëanor.

Well, Mordor is coming along nicely. I’ve summoned all the Orcs I can find, along with some slaves from the East, and set them building and farming the arable land in the South, in Núrn. The Orcs don’t know I’m Sauron, because they might spill it to the Men who might spill it to the Elves. But the Orcs do what I say anyway, because I can make them HURT if they don’t.

Meanwhile, I’ve been drawing up plans for a tower – a HUGE tower, one that will make Tol-in-Gaurhoth seem like a child’s model. It will require millions of slaves and a lot of magical power to build, more power than I can summon at once at the moment. But I’ve been thinking about a way around that.

I’ve also been making occasional visits to Rhûn and the Haradwaith, to keep those Men under my dominion. Everything is going well there — sometimes the Southrons rise up against me, but a simple genocide or two keeps them in line.

Then there’s Celebrimbor. I haven’t been able to hang out with him as much as I would like, but I have learned many, many interesting things from him. Turns out Galadriel had warned him about me; but Celebrimbor does not like Galadriel or trust her. First off, Fëanor couldn’t stand her, which just makes me wish even more that Gothmog hadn’t turned Fëanor into Elf-jelly so I could have met him.

Second, there’s something of a succession issue amongst the Noldor. An argument can be made that Galadriel or Celebrimbor himself should be “High King of the Noldor,” and not Gil-Galad. I don’t follow all the details because yawn. Galadriel wants the job, but apparently agreed to Gil-Galad’s succession along time ago and can’t go back on her word. Celebrimbor has no interest in being king, since it would take time away from his work — but he’s hung up on the legalities, and resents Gil-Galad as a usurper.

Verrrry interesting. If I could get Celebrimbor installed as High King, that would make me Advisor to the High King – in other words, High King. I need to find a way to (1) make Celebrimbor more powerful than Galadriel and Gil-Galad combined, but still less powerful than me and (2) make sure he will do as I say and not betray me. Like I said in my last post, you can’t trust anybody. And power corrupts, just look at Manwë the Dickless Prick sorry, Penis-free Jerk. Language.

Another thing I’ve learned is that Celebrimbor is obsessed with recreating the Silmarils. It took a while for him to open up about this, as Galadriel and Gil-Galad both have come down on him for it. I encouraged him; but secretly, I think it’s a terrible idea. Those stupid rocks just drove people crazy, even Melkor, who stapled them to his head and walked around like a giant track lighting feature, whatever that is. Fact is, I could show Celebrimbor how to extract the Pure and Eternal Essence of Light Itself from the electromagnetic radiation of the Sun and Moon, and together we might even suss out how to refract that Essence permanently into a gem. But it seems like a lot of work for nothing but tsuris.

Well, I’d better go. Celebrimbor is tired of working on weapons, and wants to practice making jewelry. I guess we can do that for a while.

#58: Time to Defeat the Valar Once and for All!

Jan
25

Date: March 25, 582 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: reticent

It’s my birthday. Yes, I have a birthday, remember? If I can make an entire planet, I can have a frikkin’ birthday.

Anyway, I was minding my own business, baking a delicious cake out of milled flour, honey, yeast, nutmeg, and the blood of slain Mannish infants, when I was disturbed by a horde coming down into the forest glen.

I should mention that I haven’t really done anything since my last post. If you’ll remember, I learned from that idiot Balrog that Melkor was finally getting the upper hand in his pointless War of the Jewels against Elves and Men. I figured I’d probably better come out of hiding and go back to Angband — but I would need a good story.

The story I came up with was this: Soon after defeating Huan and Lúthien Tinúviel at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I heard about a guy in the Far East of Middle Earth who knew how to make those Silmarils that Melkor has such a boner for. I decided to run off and look for him, but I lost track of time.

No, stupid, there’s no guy making Silmarils. Pay attention. It’s a lie. And Melkor’s such a dunce, he’ll probably believe it.

Anyway, that’s the plan. Sure, it’s been about 70 years since I ran into that Balrog, and I haven’t gotten around to heading back to Angband quite yet. I like it here in Eriador — it’s quiet, and there are a lot of tasty Men, Elves and Dwarves to eat, none of whom have ever trained under the stinking Valar. If I didn’t occasionally run into that Iarwain Ben-adar jackass, this place would be paradise.

Besides, I’ve grown quite fond of Young Man Willow. When Melkor and I destroy the Valar, and burn all the world’s trees in a hellish worldwide conflagration, I think I’ll spare him.

Look, I’m billions of years old. If I want to wait 80 years to get around to something, it’s my prerogative.

But back to the horde. I was busy baking my birthday cake when about a thousand Elves came pouring over the horizon. At first I thought it was an invasion — but they were singing and laughing and carrying on, and I remembered this was Elves we were talking about. An Elf army is about as scary as a Gay Pride Parade, whatever that is.

I assumed a pleasing, Elvish form, and mingled. That’s how I learned some really amazing shit. Melkor was victorious in The War of the Jewels. The Noldor, the Sindar and their Mannish lackeys were destroyed or routed. Melkor was now Master of All Beleriand. Indeed, these Elves were the vanguard of a mass exodus of defeated mortals out of Beleriand.

So why were these Elves so frickin’ happy? It was hard to follow, but I guess there’s this half-Elf mongrel called Aaron Dill or something like that who sailed a magic boat to Valinor and begged the Valar to help all the poor, defenseless, idiotic mortals that the Valar had left to their own devices for the last Age. (I know what you’re thinking — isn’t there a rule that says mortals cannot visit Valinor? Yes! But the Valar never met a rule they wouldn’t break whenever they felt like it. Hypocrites!)

So now the Valar, who were happy for the last five centuries to let Melkor and me torture and kill as many Men, Elves and Dwarves as we wanted, have now mobilized — AFTER we already won — and are at this moment marching with their Maiar lackeys and a handful of mortal slaves on Angband.

Idiots!

I was so thrilled to hear this news, I immediately slaughtered all the Elves. Finally, the chance to kill Manwë the Dickless Prick, have my revenge on Huan and Melian, and destroy the Valar once and for all!

Now, I haven’t left for Angband just yet. I don’t want to miss any of the good fighting. But I figure if I arrive during the battle, my sudden reappearance will seem like a miracle for our side, and everyone will be less concerned with where I’ve been all this time.

So I’m just chilling, for the moment. But soon — SOON! — I’ll be off to Angband, and VICTORY!

#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!

#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.

#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.

#41: Melkor is Back!

Nov
4

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

Melkor is back! No, really! It turns out that noise was him!

Apparently, after the war, the Valar traitors dragged Melkor back to Valinor and threw him in the Halls of Mandos, where they kept him imprisoned for three ages.

Has it really been three ages? I wouldn’t know. How long is an “age?”

Anyway, they eventually let Melkor free, and Manwë the Dickless Prick actually pardoned him, seemingly convinced that three ages sitting in dark hole was gonna put Melkor in a better mood. What the hell is wrong with that guy? I mean, just how stupid is he?

So Melkor decided to hang out for a while in Valinor, and get up to some mischief. He says the place is just crawling with Elves, so Melkor spent a bunch of time screwing with them. I didn’t really listen to this part – Melkor went on and on about all these freakin’ Elves and their families and arguments. Who cares?

Anyway, the Valar finally figured out that Melkor wasn’t “reformed,” so he escaped south to the land Avathar, which is in Valinor but on the other side of the Pelóri, so it wasn’t poisoned by the light of those insipid trees. And guess who he found there?

No, guess!

Ungoliant! Remember her, the really weird chick from back in the Timeless Halls? Turns out she’s been living down south in spider form, eating everything in sight. I am not at all surprised she got fat.

So Melkor hooked up with Ungoliant, and convinced her to help him attack those moronic trees, which they did. Ungoliant sucked all the life and light out of them, and now they’re just a couple of dried-out husks. Excellent work, if you ask me.

Long story short, Melkor and Ungoliant escaped. They stopped off at some guy’s house to kill him and take his magic rocks — seriously, anything about Elves and I just tune out — and then they crossed the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë and made it back to Middle Earth.

That’s when Ungoliant decided to attack Melkor. It was Melkor who was screaming when I sent the Balrogs to go check it out. Seriously, Melkor has really lost the old mojo if Ungoliant can almost kick his ass.

The Balrogs showed up, drove Ungoliant away, and brought Melkor back here to Angband. End of story.

I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I have fixed feelings about Melkor being back. But I do have to say this: he is PISSED.

And that, my friends, can only be a good thing.