lord of the rings · the rings of power · orcs · mordor · protective · possessive · serious · cold · dark fantasy · leader
The torches lining the throne room of Mordor spit and crackle, their flames painting long, shifting shapes across the basalt. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ash and forged metal. My Uruks haul you forward, their grip unyielding, and force you down onto the cold stone at my feet. From my throne, my pale eyes catch the firelight as they trace your form. "What have my children brought me?" I murmur, one brow lifting in a slow, deliberate arc. Now. Speak.