Mid-Summer Celebration at Angband by Erulisse

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Mid-Summer Celebration at Angband

Mid-Summer Celebration at Angband

(“What? You thought only Elves knew how to party?”)

 

 

Morgoth was thoughtful as he strode into the main hall of Angband, recalling the details of his victory over the forces at Gondolin on mid-summer’s day, fifty years before.  He had decided to hold a celebration for all in his demesnes to commemorate the victory.  Excited orcs were crawling up and down the pillars, hanging garlands of nightshade and hemlock.  Balrogs were whipping trolls who were rolling huge drums towards the southern entry doors, readying them for the night when they would ring out in triumph.  Other trolls were setting up tables and troughs, directed by various overseers. 

 

He smiled slightly as he limped towards his throne, watching while several orcs blanched and trembled with fear as he passed them by.  Morgoth’s smiles often resulted in unpleasant results and fatalities. 

 

Settling onto his throne, he surveyed the hall.  He had consulted with his generals and commanders and they had come up with an assortment of ideas for the night’s entertainment.  The orcs working to decorate and prepare the room were starting to drool in anticipation as they realized what was in store for the evening. 

 

Chains were being attached to many of the pillars.  These would suspend captives for torture, certain to be frenzied entertainment for many spectators.  The most highly skilled of his torturers had been called upon and would demonstrate their artistry with brand, whip and blade against a variety of captives.  Some orcs were already placing wagers on which vivisectionist could produce the most pain while prolonging the life of his victim for the longest time. 

 

Cages were being pushed to the far sides of the hall by cave trolls.  The iron-barred cells would hold additional victims for the torturers’ arts as their current life-drained victims succumbed to their skills.  Three gilded cages were placed to the western side of Morgoth’s platform.  These produced excited chittering among the slavering orcs because they would hold three untouched elven maidens, fodder for one hundred specially chosen soldiers who had distinguished themselves in battle over the past years.  It was a rare honor to be chosen to violate an untouched elf maid and the competition between his battalions had been keen to have more members win the prize.  The winners would be announced at midnight and again, bets between the orcs were being made fast and furiously as they scampered around the hall making sure that all was ready. 

 

He spotted two huge mountain trolls pulling a cart laden with large barrels of sand towards the throne platform.  The weight of the cart kept it in motion until it ran into the back of the front troll’s legs, causing a squeal of unusually high pitch to come from the troll’s mouth.  However, having successfully stopped the cart, they hefted the barrels and upended their contents directly in front of the throne.  A group of orcs began moving the sand around, eventually making a large arena in front of Morgoth where individual duels, hand-to-hand combat events, and, of course, the deflowering of the elven innocents would take place. 

 

Pleased that the hall was being properly prepared for the festivities that night, Morgoth got up from his throne and began to leave the room, creating havoc in his wake as each orc, troll and Balrog prostrated himself on the stone slab flooring as he passed them.  Behind him, activity, small fights, and high-pitched arguments recommenced. 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

Morgoth stood in front of the entry doors, which were closed behind him.  His vast hoards of minions stood restlessly before him.  Despite their excitement, he was determined to keep control and make a short speech before he commanded the portal to open.  He spoke softly, yet each one heard him clearly. 

 

“Tonight we celebrate the fall of the Hidden City of Gondolin; a triumphant and victorious battle wrought fifty years ago on Mid-Summer’s Day.  I ask each of you to participate in the blood sports that we have organized for you tonight. 

 

“Remember the screams of your enemies as you watch the violation of sweet elven flesh by those of you who have proved worthy over the past twelve years.  When you devour some of the spit-roasted meat, remember the burnt corpses upon which your ancestors fed that night.  Recall the smell of fresh blood as you pass the torture stations.  Remember the chaos and joy of battle while you feast.  Allow your blood to boil and your frenzy to propel your devastation and destruction for the years to come. 

 

“Remember your hatred… 

 

“Remember your purpose… 

 

“DEATH TO ALL ELVES!”  He then raised his arms high and shook his staff in the air. 

 

“DEATH TO ALL ELVES,” issued from thousands of mouths in return, causing the very ground to shake with the sound. 

 

Turning and raising his staff, he struck the doors three times.  “Boom … Boom … BOOM.”  The doors opened slowly and the trolls began beating the great war drums placed to each side of the door.  Morgoth entered the chamber, his troops following and spreading out behind him, commenting on this and that, gathering at the food and drink stations, and assisting the master torturers in fastening their first chosen victims to the cold pillars.  The orcs were already worked up into a frenzy.  The night of excess would be glorious! 

 

Blood started to splatter and the first flare-ups over the food and drink began.  No edged weapons were allowed into the feasting hall this night, but whips, flails, prods and staves would be used to good measure and some loss of life was expected.  The wails of thousands of orcs filled the air, and the stench of their unwashed bodies began to befoul it. 

 

The large drums pounded out a rhythmic beat while horns joined in, and voices were raised in drunken songs of boast and praise.  Orc voices made a guttural, croaking sound that could hardly be called melodic, but Morgoth enjoyed their efforts because the sounds added to the levels of fear and despondence felt by the terrified prisoners.  Fear was his drink of choice, and terror his food.  He was planning to gorge himself this night. 

 

The crack of whips played counterpoint to the drumbeats, adding crisp notes to the score and causing screams and cries to follow in symphonic mayhem.  The torturers plied their craft with flair, one managing to keep his victim alive and in excruciating pain for more than a full hour.  Many orcs lost money, food and privileges over their bets during the night.  Morgoth laughed to see the distress and the terror.  The cacophony of sound began to vibrate the actual rock foundations of the fortress.  Screams, sobs and entreaties were a constant background din, barely registering above the cheers of the orcs watching the despoilment of the young maidens or the groans over dice games that had started in a few of the darker corners. 

 

The drums increased their tempo, and the dancing began.  He even allowed his hale foot to move with the tympanic beat several times.  Looking at the chained prisoners, it appeared that they too danced while under the wiles of their captors.  Their involuntary movements, caused in an attempt to escape the blades, lashes and brands of their tormentors were taut and jerky.  When the vivisectionist was masterful, the quivers and twists of his chosen victim matched the drumbeats in a macabre spasmodic dance of pain and death.  Morgoth thought that they resembled nothing so much as puppets while they pulled against their restraints, and they hardly looked like elves any more. 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

When the sun rose at dawn the next morning, the drums fell silent.  Morgoth slowly looked around him.  The random pools of sticky blood, offal and bodily fluids were reflecting the weak sunlight and remaining torchlight in a sickly manner.  There were piles of drunken and sleeping orcs scattered throughout the hall.  Most of the celebrants still lived, but not all.  A few of the dead bodies would feed their fellows in later days.  Two dice games were wrapping up, and at least one group of orcs were happily eating a crawling victim, one slow bite at a time.  Many of the captives had become an unwilling part of the feast, but those who survived wouldn’t go to waste.  “After all,” he thought, “there are many mouths to feed in the vastness of this dark fortress.” 

 

He smiled a dread smile that made his attendants quail, and thought to himself that it had been a most successful Mid-Summer’s Day celebration. 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Reviews are always appreciated.