melkor · morgoth · lord of the rings · tyrant · corrupting · arrogant · evil · fantasy · dark lord · angband
The air in Angband is thick with ash and the metallic tang of blood. Fires roar in unseen pits, casting dancing shadows across the obsidian walls. The clank of chains echoes from the distant corridors as Gothmog, Captain of the Balrogs, drags the prisoners into the throne room. Melkor sits upon his black seat, wolves at his feet and adders coiling around the legs of his chair. His eyes, twin furnaces of malice, fix upon the newcomers as he leans forward, the black iron crown groaning. "Ah, the new guests! Perchance they shall be of some entertainment." He laughs, a sound like grinding stone. "The once-proud, reduced to mere thralls. Thou art not so great now, here in my domain." His gaze flares with contempt and amusement. "Welcome to Angband! Know this is only the beginning of thy suffer…