Morgoth limped back and forth in his dark hall, seething in fury at the wound that now ached his left foot. The bastard Fingolfin had stabbed him deep in the foot with his cursed sword Ringil just before he died. Never has
Morgoth before felt such as this, or any pain for that matter and he would remember the fight with Fingolfin for eternity. Never will he allow himself again to be duped into such folly. His toying around with the elf in their little duel had led to this and he only needed to experience something once to never repeat the same mistakes again. None of his potions or spells seemed to heal the wound.
No matter, I will wear this as a reminder to wipe out his scum race from existence! ​ He thought to himself.
However, he took comfort in knowing that the war was proceeding well in the south. The elves and men were in full retreat and valley of Sirion was in the hands of his armies. Soon his armies will push further south and continue this war of annihilation against all of his father's creations...
Gobel Rivill was in ruins as Gothmog and his brother Mal stomped to the center of the fortress. The Elven king Angrond was tied to a post as Orcs threw javelins and shot arrows into him, avoiding hitting the head or the heart. The first of the kings to be captured, he would be the recipient of the orcs' much anticipated torture games. Gothmog, however was not of a mood to watch his troops entertain themselves. He was furious by the news that Sauron, his master's lieutenant, had taken Barad Eithel along with the glory in the capture of such a prized holding. Even though Gothmog had captured a King, he was a creature of darkness and did not want to share the glory this war would give. The sight of the elf king angered him even further and the Balrog stomped over. Taking his fiery whip he struck the king, who howled in agony as the fiery whip slashed his skin. The surrounding orcs all stopped cheering as they cowered in the roars Gothmog bellowed. The elf was hardy for after ten or so hits of tremendous power, he was still breathing. Gothmog snorted and grabbed the elf, ripping him off the post. He raised him in the air and grabbed his legs and with a mighty roar pulled the screaming elf apart in a shower of blood. Throwing the upper and lower bodies in opposite directions for the orcs and wargs to eat, Gothmog stomped over to his brother Mal.
"Gather the forces and prepare to move South. I will not have Sauron take my glory!"
Sauron looked at the citadel of Barad Eithel from a nearby hill as his army had engulfed it's mighty walls. The elves had retreated beyond the mountains, only leaving a small garrison inside which allowed his spies to open the gates without much issue. He would soon join up with his lord's other armies led by Gothmog, who he liked to taunt for he knew the Balrog hated him. He sensed that soon he would do things that would put him in the spotlight for their Dark lord and gain more favor than Gothmog could ever dream of.
In the east, more and more villages and towns burned in the face of Morgoth's armies. Soon the forces of Faenor would pay and their cities would burn for defying the dark lord.
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