Posts Tagged ‘War of the Elves and Sauron’

#78: In Which I Reconsider My Strategy

Apr
4

Date: July 10, 2030 S.A.
My Mood Is: contemplative

Well, here I am in Lugbúrz, looking out over my vast minions and domains, and considering that carbuncle on my ass known as Eriador. It seems I can invade and hold every inch of Middle-earth except the northwest. Every time I conquer the western lands, someone comes sailing over the Sundering Seas and beats me back.

Why do the Valar, and their Eldarin and Númenórean toadies, care so much about Eriador and its inhabitants? Why do they care nothing for the Easterlings and Southrons? Hell, I don’t even bother to post an eastern defense anymore. Nobody’s coming from that direction. It seems that as long as I’m willing to let that ponce Gil-Galad alone, the Valar and the Númenóreans will let me be.

Needless to say, I am not willing to let Gil-Galad alone.

Like I said in  my last post, I’ve been thinking a lot about the good ol’ days in the First Age. You know, when Men were Men, Balrogs were Balrogs, and I was a ravenous giant wolf preying on delicious Noldoran rebels. What went wrong? Why did it have to end?

I’ll tell you. Melkor screwed it all up, and I just made the same mistake.

We always thought our greatest strength, mine and Melkor’s, those of us on the side of RIGHT and JUSTICE and ORDER, was the Armies of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death — our balrogs and trolls and giants and vampires and werewolves and Watchers in the Water. We thought might and force were our greatest tools for victory.

But the War of Wrath proved this wrong. This latest War of the Elves and Me proved it wrong. Might is not our greatest strength — MY greatest strength.

THE RING is my greatest strength. Corruption. Influence. Quiet power. Look at our great successes in the First Age — the fall of the children of Húrin, last Lord of Dor-lómin; the treachery of Maeglin that led to the fall of Gondolin. All of our best work came about because of lies and deceit, not claws and steel.

This needs to be my new tack. Forget armies — for now, anyway. I have 16 greater Magic Rings burning a hole in my front pocket, I might as well get some use out of them. If I can’t pervert the Elves to my service, certainly Men and Dwarves are more… suggestible.

I even have my Eye on a primary target. For the last few centuries, the accursed Númenóreans have been colonizing the western coasts, bringing the lesser men of Middle-earth their corn and wine and architecture and new ways of doing long division. One of these so-called “sea kings” is Er-Murazor, a wealthy Númenórean not overfond of Gil-Galad and that gap-toothed bint Galadriel. My spies tell me he fears death, and seeks a path to eternal life.

Well, El-Murazor, I can give you life everlasting. It’s nothing for Sauron Gorthaur, Lord of the Maiar. Just take this ring, this tiny little ring that the Elves made. Isn’t it pretty? Take it, and live forevermore.

BWA HA HA HA HA HA!

Oh hey, lunch time, gotta go.

#77: %$#@! &%*#!! @#$%!!!

Jan
18

Date: March 25th, 1700 S.A.
My Mood Is: fuck! shit!! damn!!!

Fuck! Shit!! Damn!!! Every time things start to go my way, it all goes to shit! And – of course – on my birthday, too!

I had Middle-earth all tied up — all tied up in a little red ribbon of flame, disease and death — when who shows up? The Númenóreans! Like, hundreds of thousands of the shiny-armored buggers in thousands of shiny ships, pouring over the horizon like shiny lemmings.

And the motherfuckers know how to fight! In just two weeks they’ve pushed my main force out of Lindon and all the way back to mid-Eriador, by the banks of the Baranduin. Now they’re slaughtering my Orcs and Wargs and Trolls and Evil Men, and the river is running red and blue with thick, chunky blood. How can people with such atrocious taste in headgear be such effective warriors?

Assholes! Go back to Westernesse where you belong! Mind your own business!

I’ve tried negotiating with this Ciryatur the Ship-Lord, the admiral sent by the Númenórean emperor to aid his buddy Gil-Galad. And by “negotiating,” I mean “tricking into going home.” But no go. And yet… and yet there’s something to these Númenóreans. Something… corruptible. I wonder if some of these Númenórean princes might like their own domains in Middle-earth, with their own magic rings…

Bwa ha ha. Bwa ha ha ha ha. BWA HA HA HA HA HA!

Oh crap! I just lost two deathyderms and six Fell Beasts. This battle sucks — IT SUCKS!!!

You know what I miss? From the First Age? Werewolves! My boyz like Draugluin, and that other fella, what was his name… Carcharoth! Yeah, whatever happened to those guys? They wouldn’t stand still and let a bunch of stupid Sea Kings rip them to shreds in a meadow.

Oh, man. There go the last of my Watchers in the Water. I’m gonna have to retreat again.

Shit! Fuck!! Damn!!!

#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.

#75: I Have My Boot So Far Up Celebrimbor’s Ass He Can Smell My Toes

Nov
9

Date: June 14th, 1697 S.A.
My Mood Is: victorious

Celebrimbor Silverhand, Lord of Eregion and Maker of the Elven Rings of Power, is sitting in his bathroom, crying.

Seems he had been warned, by Galadriel and Elrond and Gil-Galad, not to trust “Annatar, Lord of Gifts.” Seems they told him not to collaborate with me. Seems they warned him not to make the Rings of Power, nor the Three Elven Rings. (Although they were happy enough to accept them!)

And now, here Celebrimbor sits, his palace in flames; the green fields and woods of Hollin razed and burned; his people slain, raped and scattered; his halls overrun with Orcs and Trolls and Wargs; and outside his bathroom door The Dark Lord, waiting patiently for him to come out and face his death.

Come on out, you silly bastard. And if you’ve got any Elven Rings in there, bring them out too.

I must say that the Mordorian War Machine has surpassed all my expectations. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that I’ve enslaved and bred far more Evil Men, Orcs, Wargs, Trolls and Mûmakil than I could ever expect to use. (A Mûmak is a kind of “Dire Wooly Mammoth,” smelly but deadly. I call them “deathyderms.”) My armies are enormous. No power on Arda, not even the Valar themselves, could defy me now.

BWA HA HA HA!

I have the Orcs searching the palaces, the citadel and the countryside, looking for anything that might be a magic ring. They won’t find anything – Celebrimbor is stupid, but not that stupid. All the minor rings were here, of course, but the three biggies – Narya, Nenya, and Vilya – are hidden. But not for long.

Still, it’s necessary to keep the Orcs busy, or they start to get their own ideas.

Let me see — I’ve got 16 of the lesser rings right here, taken right from off Celebrimbor’s work table. These will be VERY useful indeed, enslaved as they all are to my Master Ring. And although the Three are hidden, those morons in Lindon don’t dare use them without revealing themselves to me.

My next step will be to consolidate my military hold on Eriador, and then take Lindon. Gil-Galad and his Noldor cronies will fall; and the Three Elven Rings will be MINE!

But first, it’s time to break down this silly bathroom door. I tire of Celebrimbor’s blubbering. I’ll crush his skull and be done with it.

Good times.

#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.