Date: June 12th, 456 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: triumphant
The so-called Dagor Bragollach, or Battle of Sudden Flame, is over. I like to call it the “Battle of Thousands of Elves and Men Screaming I’m on Fire Oh It Hurts So Much.”
And for once, it was a complete victory for our team.
First off, we finally — finally — launched a finished, fully-functioning Flying Fire-Breathing Monster version 1.0. On the official paperwork these things are called Úruloki; I wanted to call them the Great Worms, although they don’t look very much like worms. But when the first one attacked the Elves, they all ran away yelling “dragon! Dragon!” Which I think means “I’m crapping my pants in fear!” in elfy-talk.
By the way, where did Elf-language come from anyway? Did someone sit around for decades inventing it? What kind of a freak would do that?
Anyway. Remember Glaurung? The fire-spirit who was always sucking up to Melkor in the Timeless Halls? Well, he gets to be the first dragon. This is pretty cool for him, since he’s now pretty much our main weapon, the Panzer Division of Fire and Ice and Darkness and Death. Whatever a “Panzer” is.
I guess sucking up pays off. I wouldn’t know.
The other dragons, including Ancalagon, Scatha and Smaug, should be ready soon. I’m still kind of worried about the lack of ventral armor — we’ll have to fix that for Dragon 2.0.
But about the battle. We’ve pretty much cleared the north of Beleriand of everything we don’t like — Elves, Men, Dwarves, trees, streams, rabbits, baby fawns… Now it’s all charred landscape, dead twisted forests, poisoned wells — the way the world should be.
We failed to take the fortress of Minas Tirith, in the Pass of Sirion. I’ll have to go deal with that situation personally.
So now all the remaining Elves are cowering down in Doriath, suckling at Melian’s teat. She will have to be taken down next. Taken down hard. And I intend to murder Thingol with my own claws.
But there’s more. With Melkor, there’s always some embarrassing bit, isn’t there?
It seems this guy Finglofo or Funglifo or Fingolfolo — I can’t tell these guys apart — was “High King of the Noldor,” which is like being the finest turd in the toilet bowl. I mean really, “High King?” How many “kings” do they have?
Well, this “High King” was the only one of his retarded species to realize that the Elf “Kingdoms” of Middle-earth are over. Done. Kaput. Melkor reigns supreme.
So he hopped on a horse, showed up at Angband, and challenged Melkor to a duel. Which is some pretty ballsy shit. I mean if you’re going to die, do it with style, right?
So I’d like to tell you that Melkor walked over to the little guy and squashed him like a bug. I’d like to tell you that, but it wouldn’t be true. The little guy actually put up a fight — indeed, he got in seven shots on Morgoth. Seven wounds!
Holy crap, I just called him “Morgoth.” I’m starting to talk like an Elf.
The little guy actually wounded Morgoth Melkor seven times before the Boss finally crushed him to death. That is pathetic. I don’t know what they did to Melkor over there in Valinor for all those aeons, but he is NOT the same man he was before.
Plus, just as Melkor was declaring victory, an freakin’ Eagle got past all our exterior defenses, past freakin’ Glaurung, and grabbed up the dead Elf king’s body and bore it away to who knows where. I assume the Eagle is going to eat the body — after all, if it had been trying to help the Elf, it would have grabbed him up before he died, right? That’s just logic, right?
Now Melkor’s down in the Uttermost Pit, whining about how much his foot hurts. Man, it’s all up to me now, isn’t it?