Conman

I swept my sweat wet hair out of my face after finishing a jam session on drums of Painkiller with my boys, Crogash the Curseblade on lead guitar, Kuga the Flame of War on bass, Norsko the Deathless on rhythm guitar, and Shaka the Beast Lord providing lead vocals.

Nobody screams like that guy.

Some might think that spending five years figuring out how to make a guitar wail like a demon in the night is a waste of time, but those people aren't Metal. They also know fuck all about Lord of the Rings, a badass setting made and governed by music.

By creating the rebellion and discord of Metal, we usurp the role of Morgoth in the cosmos and clear the way for our ascension to higher being.

It's also fucking awesome.

"Am I not the best drummer in the world?" I shouted after killing that drum heavy ending.

"Dad," Kuga sighed, "Yer not even the best drummer in the band."

I glared at my son, then laughed, "Holy shit kid, that was such a sick burn I almost considered pulling out next time I fuck. Then I remembered that safe sex is for cowards who think they are going to live forever and are too scared to take a fucking chance and live on the edge. Be proud of that, kid."

"Dad!" my creamy first natty son, Gorgum, ran into our theater, "The emissaries we diverted from Barad Dur are almost here."

Puberty hit my six year old son like a sack of hammers, and the boy stood six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders and lanky limbs attached to massive hands and feet. Truly Gorgum looked goofy, and I would hold this against him for the rest of his likely millennia long life.

"Oh, right. That was today." I nodded in remembrance, "Alright boys, help me get my Sauron costume on. We have hummies to scam."

My sons put down their instruments and went down to the family armory where I donned a golden Sauron themed armor, donned a white cloak made of a two headed giant mutant Warg I put down during my experiments to create the Bully Wargs, and I took up a long mace with barbed and bladed flanges.

I ascended to my throne and all settled down before the emissaries arrived. The first a dark skinned asian man with a fabulous beard down to his chest and long hair pulled back like Geralt of Rivia. The oldest of the three representing the Easterlings of Rhun, he came in a simple maroon robe and long gray coat, the kind one wouldn't mind marching through Gorgoroth in.

His black skinned counterpart dressed in loose bright scarlet and gilded round scale armor. Young, vibrant, with a curved blade hanging from his side and gold woven into the braids of his hair, the man came out of Far Harad the tallest of the trio, standing a full head over the man from Khand and head and shoulders over the Easterling.

The man from Khand came in a golden helmet with a fanged mask, and arrowpoint scale armor from his neck to his knees in a long gilded coat of scales. He belted samite pantaloons into fine leather boots and similar fine leather gloves covered his hands.

I allowed silence to persist for a time, stretching into the uncomfortable even, for a man is at his sexiest when he can embrace that uncomfortable silence, live in it, and make it his. Fortunately I knew these men. Birds for spies and necromancy interrogations for the win. Thank God I can pull human souls from wherever Iluvatar allows them to pass.

The guy acts like dying and passing on from Middle Earth is some blessing he gave to Men that he withheld from the Elves, but the souls of the dead are quick with the answers when you threaten them with a quick return from whence they came. Obviously the afterlife ain't what it is cracked up to be. Apparently at some point they will become the New Ainur and their music with Iluvatar will make a new world, but chances are it will be significantly shittier than Middle Earth.

Most people just aren't creative, or intelligent, or kind. A world made by the collective of mankind promises to be more of a 40K warp scenario honestly. Just a whole bunch of fucked.

After letting my mind wonder about the cosmos a bit I did the only sensible thing and called this meeting to order.

"Speak." I commanded in my best Sauron impersonation.

"Where is the Dark Lord and why has our procession been diverted to this fortress?" the old Easterling stated.

"The eyes in your head are serving no purpose." I told him, "I shall have replacements carved for you from precious stones so that even in your blindness, you will still look interesting. As for the rest of you, have your eyes failed as well? Can you not see for yourself the obvious changes going on in Mordor?"

"We have seen much on our journey, and seen many changes to both the land and its people." the Haradrim swordsman answered.

Damn straight. For years I made my minions bust ass to pull off the fantasy Aztec look. These foreboding jungle temples, palaces, and cities don't happen overnight.

"Then speak to your master." I commanded.

"Our kings have not been visited by the master in times of ill news coming from the lands of the West. Our spies speak of Dol Guldur and Moria besieged in the wake of the Dark Lord's defeat in Mordor. What word should we carry to our liege lords?"

"Exactly what you have seen for yourselves." I responded, "That the Dark Lord now resides in a palace of splendor, strong in form. That the Uruks rise in Mordor, stronger than ever."

"And what of the battles in the West?" The Variag from Khand questioned.

"That our foes blunt their blades against targets no longer significant to the new strategy." I answered.

"What is the new strategy?" the Haradrim asked.

"Do you know how to recognize insanity?" I asked the trio who remained silent, the Variag and Haradrim because they are smart enough to recognize a rhetorical question and Easterling because he knows better than to speak and leave with more than his eyes put out, "It is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the outcome to change."

I took up my mace and spun it in hand, "We've gone the fire and brimstone and domination route before. How did it work out for Morgoth in the First age and me in the Second Age? Failure. Had we taken Erebor, we would have been in a strong position to try again in this Third Age, but we failed, again. So it is time to change strategy."

I stood up and led the court out to my large balcony built after Thrag Keep became the Royal Palace. It oversaw my lands nicely, built atop a high hill, with the ever expanding city below.

"For so long the favored of Iluvatar have hated us for the things we do to them, but here in the Third Age that will change. I have turned my mind inward, slowly building Mordor into a paradise, a Golden Age. They can destroy Dol Guldur and Moria because they no longer matter. In this Golden Age they will no longer hate us for our villainous deeds, but they will hate us cause they ain't us."

"Hate us cause they ain't us?" The Variag inquired.

"My experiments in Mordor bear sweet fruit." I stated, "And I have many climates to set my mind to shaping to greatest advantage. Soon enough, the full effects of my actions will be known, and the benefits will extend out to all of my allies. The coming generations will each grow stronger than the last, and our armies in sixty years time will sweep over all before us in an unending tide."

I led my court back into my throne room where a table with many fine things to eat and drink awaited. The Corsairs of Umbar had brought me many crops and livestock since my takeover of Mordor, and it had been beyond easy to generate fine liquors, pressed oils, and spiced meats.

After a brief feast we fit the Easterling with his new amethyst eyeballs, and the emissaries retired for the evening. They would stay with us for a time, but would be managed mostly by my sons. I am after all Sauron and he is a busy Dark Lord.

The Easterling became far more pliant to my rouse as Sauron after we replaced his eyes with gemstones, the man having felt it a fitting punishment for his impertinence, and this would continue paying dividends upon his return to Rhun, the lands where my most hardcore human allies live.

The Haradrim felt quite strongly that word of possible advances in agriculture and infrastructure would be well received by the kings of Far Harad, but the more tribal peoples of Near Harad would as always simply do as they do.

The Variag didn't matter much no matter how the quiet man took the situation. Khand is small and its people often spent in internal brutality. He would rattle his sword if Harad and Rhun rattled theirs and he would suck the teat if they chose to suckle.

We'd see soon enough where the dice land.