Code: Select all
Weetanukar smiled as the door to the throne room closed.
"I think she'll do just fine," he remarked. "She comes from a wealthy family.
Many childbearing years to come."
"Wealthy? Pssh," Weetanukar's mother hissed. "Perhaps if her great-grandfather
hadn't squandered half of it on timber futures. No, my dear, we must find you a
proper bride."
Weetanukar let loose a long, dejected sigh. "I'm going to my room," he mumbled,
his crown tipping awkwardly as he stood up.
Traditionally, kings of Gondor donned a modest, unadorned crown of a low
profile, meant to underscore the dual role of king and soldier. Weetanukar
broke slightly with tradition when he demanded a crown which, while unadorned,
stood a full sixteen inches in height.
Weetanukar paced restlessly in his chamber. At 147 years of age, he ought to be
married now with generations off his own offspring and a few mistresses on the
side. But no woman, high or low born, was good enough for his mother. Dozens of
girls darkened his doorstep over the years, each one rebuffed by his mother for
various reasons. Even advantageous political marriages failed to satisfy her
increasingly irrational demands.
Weetanukar collapsed in a heap at his desk. Opening his desk drawer, Weetanukar
retrieved a small, ornate wooden box. Inside the box sat a small, gold ring.
Weetanukar slide the ring onto his left hand.
"Guards!" Weetanukar shrieked, "Bring an escort. I'm going hunting."
Nighttime in Ithilien always frightened Weetanukar, but it was his only chance
to sneak away from his escort. Quietly gathering his belongings, he slipped out
of his tent. He whistled for his small, bay pony which dutifully trotted next
to him. Weetanukar slid onto the back of the beast and, ring glistening in the
moonlight, rode toward Minas Morgul.
The gates of the city opened silently as Weetanukar approached. His pony danced
and snorted wildly with Weetanukar trying desperately to steady it. With a
sharp buck, his mount sent him flying into the dirt and raced off into the
night. Weetanukar stood up and brushed himself off. He'd never been inside
Minas Morgul before, but he somehow knew exactly where to go.
Glowing red eyes glared at him as he made his way through the streets. Drawn
toward some unknown yet certain destination, he soon found himself before a
tall, dark tower.
"Enter," a voice echoed in his head as the huge iron gates swung open.
Mechanically, Weetanukar staggered forward into the icy blackness ahead.
"Welcome, ring-wearer," Gorboth hissed as he outstretched a welcoming arm.
The Tower neither emitted nor permitted light, yet somehow Weetanukar saw his
surroundings clearly. Gazing at the cloaked figure before him, he perceived a
distorted human face with the low crown of Gondor set upon his brow.
"Follow me," the Nazgul intoned.
Weetanukar obeyed as the ringwraith ascended a long, winding staircase to the
second floor. He felt a low, vibrational energy pulsing from the ring on his
left hand. Without awaiting instruction, he walked into an alcove at the north
end of the hall where a broad, black stone set.
Gorboth followed silently behind him.
"Do you know why you are here," Gorboth asked, his eyes smoldering.
Weetanukar silently held up his ring finger.
Gorboth nodded with approval.
"Master," Gorboth shouted, "the ring-wearer returns!"
Suddenly, a blazing lidless eye tore through the fabric of space behind the
black stone, hellish flames casting no light.
"Welcome, ring-wearer," a voice exploded through the room, "What do you seek?"
Weetanukar shuddered. He glanced over at Gorboth, terror-stricken. What seemed
like a good idea in his chambers, suddenly felt very, very wrong.
"There's no way you'll get out alive," Weetanukar's thoughts raced. "Is this
how you want to die?" He argued with himself, "A short, spineless virgin who
couldn't stand up to his mother?
Weetanukar's eyes narrowed. "No," he said aloud, squashing the fear within him.
"I want it all!" he shouted, a madness overcoming him. "Wealth. Women. Power!"
"And what will you give in return," the voice echoed.
"Everything!" Weetanukar screamed. "I'll give everything!"
Gorboth drew a small flint dagger from his belt and gestured toward the stone.
Centuries passed since that night, and, although the Dark Lord faithfully
delivered wealth and power, women eluded him. Weetanukar made several attempts
over the years, each ending in embarrassing, crushing defeat. The most recent
being a seedy corsair bar in the Docks District of Umbar. Despite his past,
Weetanukar developed quite the wit and charm over the decades, and after a few
drinks, his female companion invited him up to her room. As one can imagine,
the robe must eventually come off in such situations, and when it did, the poor
girl left screaming and probably scarred for life.
Nevertheless, with an eternity on his hands, Weetanukar hatched new a plan
involving a young stable girl named Lezi. He convinced her to join ranks as his
Tuvale, and in time, a small romance budded; however, when the two attempted to
consummate the relationship, try as they might, their incorporeal forms just
kept floating through each other.
To add insult to injury, Weetanukar couldn't even touch his own body. His hand
passed through like vapor.
"Fucking slide show," Weetanukar sneered as he closed the door to his office
behind him. "Every. Fucking. Time. Just give us our marching orders and let us
go about our day."
Weetanukar sat down at his desk, knocked twice on the side, and a secret
compartment opened. Weetanukar carefully removed a small, cloth covered object
from inside. Staring contemplatively for a moment, Weetanukar peeled back the
cloth.
Palantirs have a way of ensaring the user, a fact Weetanukar discovered when he
received his Palantir from the previous King of the Nine. Although the Palantir
technically belonged to the Lord of the Nazgul, Weetanukar figured what Fly
doesn't know, won't hurt him.
Centuries of frustration weighed on Weetanukar. He longed for the touch and
tenderness of a warm body. Any warm body. And, despite his disparaging remarks,
Weetanukar had grown attracted to Pils during the war-planning sessions of
recent months. In fact, he found Pils' smooth, deskinned figure very appealing.
Sexy, even.
"Let's see what you're up to, Pils," Weetanukar mused, placing his hand firmly
on the Palantir.
Weetanukar felt his mind racing in space before stopping outside a small, unlit
window outside the Dark Tower. He saw Gatheus, fully nude, Pils kissing his
chest. He saw Fly walk in, drop his belongings, and leave. He watched Gatheus
throw his robes on in a panic. Pils paced back and forth rapidly, hands on his
face.
Weetanukar removed his hand from the Palantir and his mind rushed back to his
office.
"You son of a bitch, Gatheus," he snarled.
Assius turned left, then right, then straight ahead as he surveyed himself in
the ornate, full body mirror. Assius frowned, pinching his belly. He walked
over to the scale, set it to zero, and stepped on. The lead weights tipped to
the right.
"205," Assius pondered. "I've been 205 for months. Why do I feel fat?"
Assius itched himself as he walked back to the mirror. During the past several
weeks, short, curly black hairs sprouted and grew all over his body, and
despite the Red recruits' best efforts, polearms were simply not designed for
shaving. Assius sighed.
The Red Dragonarmy once commanded a fearsome reputation. However, after the
Neidar Clan defeated the mediocre General Rugrug, every soldier worth his salt
jumped ship to the Blue Wing, leaving the Red Wing floundering. Morale tanked,
equipment rusted, and recruitment suffered.
Assius missed the excitement of the Sunny Mountains. He loved the patrols, the
smashing, the looting, the boozing. And he loved Pils. At least, the old Pils.
Assius sighed again. "What am I doing here," he thought.
"Greetings, General," a voice hissed from behind him.
"What do you want, Ahkzar," Assius replied, expecting his draconian
stablemaster.
"It is not Ahkzar," the voice replied.
Assius turned and smiled.
"Greetings, Weetanukar!," Assius said cheerfully, "I trust all is well?"
"Yes and no," Weetanukar hissed. "Preparations continue for the invasion, as
you well know. But Im not here to talk about war. Im here about Pils."
"What about Pils," Assius frowned, furrowing his brow.
"He misses you, Assius," Weetanukar hissed softly. "We all miss you. You were a
great Lieutenant."
Assius' frown deepened. "He said that?"
"From his lips to my ears, friend. Go to him," Weetanukar counselled gently.
Assius looked around the officer's quarters. Empty jugs of mead, rusted
halberds, soiled blankets. "What a shithole," Assius thought.
"Alright, Weetanukar, I'll give it a shot. Come with me, I'll show you my
dragon," Assius smiled as he jogged down the stairs to the courtyard.
An ancient red dragon, Arinosticarus loved the thrill of combat. Wheeling,
diving, burning. His legendary aerial acrobatics remain impressive to this day,
despite his age. However, since the army fell apart, hed grown rather fond
of lounging around sunning himself. Ahkzar the stablemaster provided three
meals a day, and the climate in Balifor agreed with him. As far as he's
concerned, Arinosticarus was retired.
Assius strode into the courtyard, training whip in hand, Weetanukar following
closely behind. Arinosticarus rolled his eyes.
"Good day, old one," Assius chimed, rubbing the dragon's scaly tail.
Arinosticarus raised a horned eyebrow. "Why is this one so chipper," he
thought.
"I need passage to Minas Morgul immediately," Assius barked cheerfully.
Arinosticarus yawned, rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes.
"I say, MINAS MORGUL!" Assius demanded, cracking the whip in the air. The
dragon lifted its great wing and scratched itself vigorously with its horned
rear-claw, then relaxed again.
"NOW," Assius growled, bringing the whip crashing down on the dragon's side.
Arinosticarius lifted his head off the ground and blew a small puff of smoke at
Assius, then settled in for a long nap.
Assius threw the training whip to the ground and stormed past Weetankar in a
rage.
"Where are you going, General," Weetanukar hissed.
"To the docks, I'll take ship passage to Morgul." Assius replied.
"But that will take a week," Weetanukar responded. "Pils will be on the front
lines of battle when you arrive. You may never see him again."
Assius stopped in his tracks. "What do you suggest, Nazgul?" Assius asked
angrily, turning to face the wraith.
"I suggest we take my beast," Weetanukar replied, gesturing to the roof where
his winged beast perched.
"Great idea, let's go!" Assius said, enthusiastically.
"In due time, in due time," Weetanukar hissed, a cynical grin cracking across
his face. "But before we do..." Weetanukar gestured toward the officer's
quarters.
Assius swallowed uncomfortably as the wraith took him by the hand and led him
up the stairs.
Ahkzar wiped the sweat from his scaly face as he hauled his gruesome load
through the courtyard. Stabling dragons is damned hard work, especially ancient
dragons. The cart squished and slopped while Ahkzar plodded toward the old
beast. It takes a lot to feed an army. Three times a day, Ahkzar loads his cart
at the full of the nasty bits from the Dragonarmies slaughterhouse and delivers
them to the General's dragon. Ahkzar stopped his cart in front of the ancient
beast.
"Bon Appetit," Ahkzar hissed, dumping the grisly load onto the ground.
"WHO'S THE MANLET NOW," a voice shouted from the officer's quarters.
Ahkzar shook his head. "General Assius really needs to talk to someone," he
said to himself. "Body dysmorphia disorder is a serious condition."
Fly tapped his ringed finger on the arm of his throne.
"Turn to page 879," he said curtly.
Gatheus and Pils looked down at the huge, ringed tome in each of their hands.
MORGUL ARMY POLICIES AND PROCEDURES, 357th Revision. Taking a quick sideways
glance at one another, they began thumbing through the massive volume before
finally arriving at the page.
"Read aloud, Gatheus," Fly commanded flatly.
"Ahem," Gatheus cleared his throat, "Policy number 8840.2, 'Sexual Relations
among chain of command: it is herein forbidden for a superior in a direct chain
of command to engage in sexual contact with his inferior on said chain of
command.'"
"Precisely," Fly stated. "Now, why do we have such a policy?" Fly asked
rhetorically.
"Because," he continued, "sexual relationships cloud judgment on the
battlefield. Period. This ends today."
"No!" Pils shrieked, "I wont let you. I love him!"
Gatheus sighed, broad shoulders slumping. He loved Pils, too, but in his heart,
he knew Fly was right.
"Pils," Fly replied sternly, "It's not just a risk on the battlefield. We open
ourselves up to legal issues if we don't follow our written policies. In fact,
we dealt with a similar issue just a century ago with Weetanukar and that
Tuvale. What was her name?"
"Lezi, sir," Gatheus answered.
"Right. So, what happens if Lezi hears we looked the other way from your
relationship, yet we insisted she and Weetanukar break it off? She could sue
us!" Fly warned.
"I dont care!" Pils insisted, tears welling up, "We're together, and there's
nothing you can do about it!"
Weetanukar ran his hands along Assius' hair back. "I think I like you better
with hair," he giggled, pinching the goblin's grizzled cheek.
Assius inched away and sighed. "Can we go now," He asked quietly.
"What," Weetanukar grinned, "You dont want to go for round two?" Weetanukar
reached over and tickled Assius playfully.
Assius rolled his eyes. "Come on Weetanukar, you promised."
"Fine," Weetanukar relented, "But only because you're beautiful. Get dressed,
gorgeous. I'll wait for you in the courtyard."
Minutes later, Assius walked into the courtyard, bright red uniform shining in
the afternoon sun. Weetanukar sat atop his winged beast, a childish grin
plastered across his face. Assius hopped up behind him, and the two were off to
Minas Morgul.
Fly's eyes blazed as he stood up from his Throne.
"Let me explain something to you, Pils." Fly growled, "Whatever I can't manage,
goes up the chain. Who do you think is up the chain from me?"
Pils grimaced as thoughts of Barad-Dur's prison raced through his head.
Suddenly, the door to the Throne room swung open, and Assius strode in,
Weetanukar slipping in quietly behind him.
"Pils," Assius shouted, his mighty voice echoing in the hall, "I miss you. I
want you back. I love you."
"Assius," Pils stammered, "You cant be here!"
"I came back for you. Look at you, you got deskinned! You're even sexier than
ever," Assius stood back and admired Pils' smooth, pink rind.
"What the hell happened to you? Did you stop shaving?" Pils asked, a shocked
and disgusted look spreading across his face.
Assius sighed. "Those damn Red dragonarmy soldiers dont know how to handle a
polearm."
Pils gave a long, shocked look at Assius. Indeed, Pils never saw nor imagined
Assius with hair, and the longer he looked at him, the more repulsed he became.
Pils wrinkled his nose. "You look so..." Pils trailed off.
"Hey, it's no big deal," Assius offered cheerfully, "I can hire someone to
shave me every day. I'll never be hairy again!"
"No, Assius, I'm afraid it is a big deal, Pils frowned. "You were a fantasy.
A big, bald, muscular fantasy. Now look at you."
"I'm still the same!" Assius insisted, "I weighed myself today. I'm still 205!"
"It's over, Assius," Pils announced. "I'm with Gatheus now." Pils put his arm
around the wraith and pulled him close.
Assius growled softly, eyes narrowing as he glared at Pils and Gatheus.
"Fine, have it your way. If you don't love me," Assius snarled, pointing a
hairy finger at Pils, "Then I'll take what you love most." Assius turned and
strode toward the door.
"Not the Shaws!" Pils shouted, voice cracking.
"Oh yes, the Shaws," Assius replied, a cruel smile cracking his lips. "I'm
going to kill every last fucking troll and punt their heads down that shitty
tunnel you call headquarters."
"No!" Pils shrieked, hefting his bloody skull club and charging at Assius.
As Pils swung wildly, Assius ducked and rolled to the side, springing to his
feet next to Weetanukar. With catlike dexterity, Assius snatched the flaming
black broadsword from Weetanukar's scabbard and quickly closed the distance
with Pils.
Enraged, Pils rushed Assius a second time, swinging his club with brutal
intention. Predicting his move, Assius deftly sidestepped the paunchy goblin
and brought his broadsword down with a powerful swing, cleaving Pils in two,
black flames searing the flesh as they cut.
"No!" screamed Gatheus, rage burning in his red eyes.
Gatheus drew power from the Realm of Shadows. Gatheus gestured quickly in
Assius' direction. Three sharp bolts of wind flew from his fingers and tore
through the mighty goblin. Assius fell to the ground, gurgling as he died.
Weetanukar shuffled nervously to the door.
"YOU!" Fly raged, pointing his ringed finger at Weetanukar. "YOU CAUSED THIS!"
Weetanukar turned to face Fly, his hands desperately working the door handle
behind his back.
Without hesitation, Fly inhaled deeply and then spouted forth fierce white-hot
flames from his mouth. The flames withered Weetanukar. As the flames poured out
of the Nazgul's mouth, gold began to drip from Weetanukar's ring. Soon only a
narrow band remained which quickly broke, sending the ring falling to the
floor, and a cry went up into the shuddering air, and faded to a shrill
wailing, a voice bodiless and thin that died, and was swallowed up, and was
never heard again in that age of this world.
"What the hell am I going to tell Sauron." Fly muttered.
FIVE YEARS LATER
"I'm strong. I'm smart. I'm a difference maker."
"I care for myself. I care for others. I'm there for people."
Despite centuries of repeating the same daily affirmations, Fly sometimes
doubted the truth of them, never more than during the past five years. After
Sauron fired him as Lord of the Nazgul, Fly spent a few years traveling before
returning home to Minas Morgul, which he found entirely transformed in the
short time since he left.
With his Captain dead, one Nazgul dead, and another too despondent to fight,
Sauron summarily fired Fly and lead the Battle of Pelennor fields himself,
which turned into an unmitigated disaster. Shortly after the Dark Lord's
defeat, the Free People of Middle Earth began trickling into Minas Morgul. A
trickle which soon became a stream, then a river. Within a few years, the city
became a lively metropolis on par with Minas Tirith.
With centuries of management experience, Fly quickly found a job at a local
coffee shop on the first floor of Morgul Tower. His tireless work ethic soon
found him promoted to manager of Misty Mountains Roasters. The boutique coffee
shop held high aspirations of becoming a chain, with plans in the work for a
Minas Tirith location. Fly hoped his hard work would land him the general
manager job once the company took off The owners appeared to be a private
equity firm located in the Shire, but Fly suspected they existed as a shell
corporation for off-shore investors.
The truth is, Fly felt happier than he had for centuries, with one exception.
At first, gentrification creeped slowly into Minas Morgul, but during the past
year, it exploded. The city council recently revalued all existing properties,
and Fly's property tax bill went through the roof. The result wreaked havoc on
his retirement planning, already a dubious prospect for any immortal being.
After talking with his realtor, Fly determined it was a good time to list the
sprawling Morgul Tower penthouse he's owned for centuries. A fierce bidding war
followed, and Fly walked away with a small fortune and stepped into a sensible
condo in the trendy MoTo neighborhood. Hoping to speed up his retirement date,
Fly decided to rent out his spare room to a recent arrival in Minas Morgul.
Better yet, his roommate had supervisor experience, so Fly hired him as a shift
supervisor at the coffee shop. This came with the added benefit of splitting
the fare on the morning commute with Air, a flight sharing service started by
Radagast the Brown and the Great Eagles. Better still, since Fly leased his
winged beast to Air during his work day (he also flew for Air on weekends), Fly
received a fifty percent discount, which he never told his roommate, resulting
in a free commute to work for Fly.
Fly heard a loud screech. Glancing out his window, he saw a huge eagle descend
in front of his condo.
"Garyn!" Fly yelled, "Air is here. Lets go!"