An Overlord of Mordor

Elrond Half-elven took his silver circlet off his weary head and placed a hand over his tired gray eyes. The passing of the ages instilled a deep melancholy and only his unsurpassed strength of character prevented the harshness of his experiences to color his daily interactions.

Yet a growing sense of unease assailed him originating in the east. It came in the spring like a thief in the night, unseen and silent. Now as the leaves yellow and red heralded the fall it weighed heavier on all those who saw more than their eyes perceived.

Many of his kind desired to leave Middle Earth, feeling no joy in these lands and fearing further confrontation with Sauron, the greatest of the evils to remain after the War of Wrath after the execution of Morgoth. This passing of the Elves from Middle Earth across the Sundering Seas to the Straight Road stopped this year when massive storms raged over the Belegear generating towering waves capable of smashing even the best made ships to splinters.

A painful past, a dreary present, and a cut off future. The dark days of the Third Age.

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I didn't know at the time that I was harshing Elrond's mellow, cause I was stretching out a bed slave doing my damndest to one day get to balls deep in the big girl. It'd been a bitch and half getting the trio of exhausted women keeping me company to fuckable status. I am after all a man of discriminating taste.

Underfed, unwashed, injured, and ill. The state most orcs keep their slaves in is just not at all conducive to proper boner fuel. Fortunately I have a sixth sense for a good lay, and the knowledge, means, and patience to achieve great things.

So during my travels across Nurn establishing the new world order I collected three tall and strong women under thirty years of age - all teeth present even - and underwent the arduous task of rehabilitation. Medical treatment, diet planning, exercise schedules, brain washing. It takes a lot to secure a good slam piece in Middle Earth. Bad bitches ain't around every corner up in here. Hell, a decent subsection of the girls are bearded and or under four feet tall.

Never have I worked so hard to get good pussy.

Through the hardship and adversity I persevered, and the reward was all the sweeter for my efforts. Amelia, Britney, and Charlotte were a fabulous first crop and I will take what I have learned and use it when I find Delilah, Elise, and Fiona in the future.

As I finished in Charlotte I got up to begin my day combing through reports compiled for me by the Captains overseeing my work throughout Nurn and the Worms - clever and cowardly Uruks good at keeping an ear to the ground - in their ranks providing me a second set of eyes on the scene.

If the reports are both good then I don't need to do anything beyond adjusting my maps and schedules. If the reports are both bad then I need to assume direct control and rectify the situation. Possibly jostle the hierarchy depending on why things went poorly.

If the reports conflict then someone is going to die. I can tolerate failure, but not lies.

Unfortunately I had two very different reports out of Barad Nurn. The Captain's report stated that the repairs of the fort and the expansion of its port went well. The Worm's spoke of delays due to excessive hunting, feasting, and drinking.

The expansion of Barad Nurn was vital for for my play for Thaurband, the city of slaves. I needed multiple strongholds built up in key locations around Nurn before I could make a move as bold as taking Thaurband for myself. The prison city held the tributary were the Poros River met the Sea of Nurnen, meaning the vast majority of the trade between Umbar and Mordor occurs in its local. Trade I need to be in charge of if I want to go from being a governor with an edgy title to a real Overlord.

Thank God I have Atbug and Ishbug for that shit, cause the next scroll reported the surrender of Sharkhburz. Ratbag and Ranger played a solid game, but mutiny became inevitable with them hemorrhaging warriors to desertion all summer as we held them under a soft siege.

That transfer of power required my immediate attention.

In final news, the Worms I sent ahead into Seregost reported the conclusion of the Storming of Khargukor. Talion's forces took the walls with ladders, fought all the way to the keep, then fell apart after he went in alone and died at the hands of the Overlord, Orthog the Gravewalker.

Poor guy still hasn't figured out how to be the Shadow of War. Should have stuck to the ninja act as the Shadow of Mordor.

The rest painted a very rosy picture of my domination of Nurn and the Sea of Nurnen, leaving me to enjoy a breakfast of fish, potatoes, and rice. Not normal fish, cause this is Mordor. The fish we pull out of the sea of Nurn are sixteen feet long with bird beaks and howl when pulled out of the water.

Even brekky is Metal in Mordor.

Getting ready to depart for Sharkhburz required a bit more thought than it did when I first showed up in these lands. For one, I am now eight and a half feet tall and possess shoulders that seem even more unnaturally wide. My whole body is broad and deep with muscle, and my skin is thick and heavy - now performing like actual bronze rather than just looking like it.

Within my titanic bosom beat two hearts, signifying the development of secondary and perhaps even tertiary vitals, and when cut I bleed orange neuroconductive fluid. I hadn't grown a second pair of testicles, but a guy can hope.

All of this Krogan awesomeness is totally rad, but also means that I weigh as much as my dire caragor naked. That makes it a bit of a problem for me to mount up and ride the beasts, especially since I like wearing armor, especially after I layered a kick ass gold alloy over my new set of brutal steel plate armor with designs of skulls and roses over an elaborate paisley base. Add in the coat of chain, the long black gambeson, and my pimping red hellhawk feather cape plus my dope ass weapons and we are getting to a load a troll would complain about carrying.

I'd have to start breeding programs just to raise up mounts capable of delivering me to battle, or maybe figure out some gravity magic… that sounds promising if not for Tolkien being so wishy washy on magic. Pretty sure the Nazghul can fly around under their own power in this version of Middle Earth. Perhaps it's time I capture one of those ghost freaks and gently go about learning all their tricks.

No reason not to pursue all three. Till then I'd be strapping four dire caragors to my golden war chariot and travel with a pair of attendants like a big dick Pharaoh. I set out from Fort Thrag with my skulls and sunburst crest fixed to my helmet with a platoon of force recon outriders in front of me and a full company of heavy caragor riders behind.

We rolled through the bone strewn gates of Sharkhburz as a brilliant tidal wave of triumph above the wretched losers making up the remnants of the Feral Tribe. We rode to the keep adorned with the skull of a Great Beast and the tusks of many animals, and I entered the throne room with my Captains.

As if we would forget the theme, the skulls, ribs, tusks, and hides of many beasts decorated the chamber and were fashioned into furniture such as the throne itself and the fire bearing braziers. But prominent before the throne waited a new edition. The beheaded and flayed bodies of Ratbag and Ranger crucified, arms nailed wide as if to beg a hug. Their heads in bowls like a treat left by the previous tenant for the new.

Only seven Captains remained of those who once held the fortress. Two had been outed as agents of Talion and slain, and the remaining difference deserted and found themselves captured by my forces and entered into the re-education process that would turn them into right-thinking standard bearers of the the Enlightened Tribe.

The seven waited awkwardly as I silently ascended to the throne and sat. I made them wait a time after too.

"Shame on the Uruks of Sharkhburz for such barbarity. Shame." I declared in an even tone.

"But… they were your enemies?" one of the Captains questioned in confusion.

"THEY WERE AN OVERLORD OF MORDOR!" I shouted and stood up as my powerful voice filled the room causing the Sharkhburz Captains to reach for their weapons.

"An Overlord of Mordor." I stated once more in an even tone, "To die in this sordid way, butchered like lowly animals. Shame!"

I sat back down.

"Take these craven things outside and do to them in turn what they did to their masters."

Better equipped, better trained, more renowned, my Captains made quick work of subduing the traitorous Uruks and dragged them outside kicking and screaming. I chose to remain, and gaze upon my slain rivals.

"An Overlord of Mordor." I stated one final time.