Category:Ered Mithrin and Withered Heath Audio Journals

Jump to navigation Jump to search

The Iron Hills

Iron Cold
'The wealth of Khazad-dûm is known
'Fair gems and mithril deck its throne
'And yet that gold-rich kingdom lacks
'The heart of hauberk, sword, and axe

'And so we went forth seeking Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'Farin, Blackmattock, fared afar
'By shining sun and sheen of star
'And found what once was merely myth
'That red-veined peak, the Rusted Lith

'And stayed among the Hills of Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'His delvings found a wealth of ore
'Its worth a hundred hoards and more
'A carven keep he wrought to last
'Hewn from hillside: stout Járnfast

'Blackmattock became Lord of Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'For years in Járnfast all was well
'But ages end, and times grow fell Black
'Thangorodrim fell in thunder
'And split the world's stone spine asunder

'Shattered was the Hold of Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'Still through long years of dauntless toil
'Lord Grár the Grave dug stone and soil
'The Fast was mended, whole once more
'And grander even than before

'And so returned our wealth of Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'Alas, the peril had not passed
'Morgoth's moaning host amassed
'In cracks and cleavings under hill
'Nameless beasts, with yearnings ill

'Fell things moved ’neath seams of Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'The cleft collapsed; Grár was no more
'His mattock fell upon the floor
'Morgoth's monsters shrieked and spit
'Imprisoned in the Howling Pit

'The horde remains entombed in Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'Lord Frár took up his liege's maul
'He called his council, wise dwarves all
'To bid them bar his father's grave
'So no fiend could escape the cave

'The crack was bound with bonds of Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

'Above the Pit, three gates of steel
'Upon the last, a mithril seal
'Graven rune-spells guard that curtain
'Break them not, or doom is certain

'Thus is writ the Rede of Iron
'Iron hard and iron cold

Ered Mithrin

Beryl, bloodstone, sapphire, sard,
'Darkest onyx, diamond hard
'Gold and garnet filled their hoards
'And shone upon their shimm'ring swords

Yet tales they tell of greater treasure
'Matchless wealth past mind and measure
'Mighty mithril, blazing bright
'That drenched the darkened depths with light

'The harps grow still, the embers dim
'Our ballads glad grow black and grim
'For in the north and far away
'Our days drew short ‘neath Mountains Grey

'Now heed and hearken as I speak
'Of times that turned from blithe to bleak
'Fast and fearful came the fall
'Of fair, forlorn Thafar-gathol


The Pretender
Lord Sauron, what a legacy you have left behind! Your servants quarrel and seek in vain for dominion of Mordor, and the would-be Free Peoples pour through the Morannon to pick at your bones. If not for me, your grip on this realm would have slipped long ago. It was not your loss of the Ring that unmade you, nor the armies of Men, but your pride and pettiness. Ah, but I sensed that weakness long ago... when you hid in frailty beneath Dol Guldur, desperate to wield the dragons that lingered in this realm.
You spoke of a survivor of the Elder Days, a great Cold-dragon: Hrímil Frost-heart. Terrible in size and might, Hrímil had slain the Longbeards of the Steel Keep and now slumbered atop their hoards. It was she you desired above all. In the halls of the Steel Keep, I learned that Hrímil had remained faithful to your master of old: the Dark Lord, Morgoth. Though you had claimed his title, she thought you a pretender... a failed servant who had imagined for himself some greater purpose. You were still weakened, Lord Sauron, and when your feigned kindness did not avail you, you thought instead to bend Hrímil to your will. How fortunate you were then that Durin would soon slay her brother, Thorog the Mighty, at Helegrod....
Once again I returned to the halls of the Steel Keep, and once again Hrímil denied you. The loss of Thorog wounded her greatly, but her will remained unbroken. It was then Hrímil swore that she would never serve you, Lord Sauron. And it was then you learned that Hrímil had devoured the Ring of Power, Tínya, along with the King of the Zhélruka who bore it. Diminished as you were, my lord, I have still not forgotten your fury.
In the depths of Dol Guldur, you essayed to wield your craft-skill anew. You forged a massive chain and etched it with runes of fell magic. For such brazenness, Hrímil would not be your servant... she was to be your prisoner. Heedless of all peril, Hrímil had fallen into a deep slumber atop the hoards of the Steel Keep. Bound by your chains, Hrímil rose in sudden agony, shrieking as if she were consumed by unseen flame. Though she had devoured the Ring, Tínya still answered to its true master: Hrímil was yours at last.
It would be many years before you shed the guise of the Necromancer, and so I imprisoned Hrímil beneath the razed remains of Barad-dûr to await your return. There, she endured countless tortures, but never did she surrender the Ring. Upon your return to Mordor, Barad-dûr rose anew and the Gaunt-lords crept out of the shadows of the Elder Days. One among them, Drugoth the Black, wielded the powers of necromancy, and it was then you devised your final vengeance against Hrímil Ring-eater.
At your bidding, the Gaunt-lords laboured to draw a powerful fell-spirit into this realm. It was to be drawn to Helegrod where rested the remains of Hrímil's brother, Thorog the Mighty. Where Hrímil had resisted, Thorog would now serve in death. And so Thorog served, if but for a moment, and now the Gaunt-lords are banished and Thorog returned to death. You are defeated, Lord Sauron, and the hated Hrímil flies free... but not for long. You see, my lord, I will succeed where you have failed. I will turn the children of Hrímil against her, and she will serve me alone! Hrímil once said that you were a pretender, Lord Sauron. I think now she was right.


Smaug's Lament
'The war is lost, Thangorodrim broken, the glorious hosts fled. Sister Etterfang and I are the last of our proud line. But it is not over. Oh, no, for we will bring such terrible vengeance upon them... upon them all! We will bide our time high up in these mountains. This is a home for dragons. We will feast and gather treasure and grow strong. We will learn to cover where we are soft. But for now, sleep, and dreams of our revenge.'
'Awakened! Disturbed by little pests, scraping in the walls of my mountain. I can smell them, but I do not know the smell. It is not Men, no, nor Elves, nor Orcs... Dwarves! How busily the noisy little insects carve up my peak, stealing my rightful wealth! They will see how Smaug the Golden welcomes intruders. Aha, but how industrious these dwarvers were while I slumbered! Carven halls of stone, gold and gemstone shaped and shined. It is worthy of my spledor, this new lair.'
'Awake, again! What is this? I hear you, Etterfang! My sister is in battle, in pain! Rragh! I cannot reach her, my lair is sealed by fallen stone. Rend with all my fury, I still cannot carve an exit fast enough. Oh sister, sister, burn them all! Sister Etterfang is not in her lair. There was a struggle. I see the sheared stone from her thrashing claws, the ground scorched by her breath. The smell of a dwarf! She is still alive, I feel it. I will find you, sister.'
'The Orcs whisper of a great dragon in the Misty Mountains. Perhaps it is Etterfang. I am loath to leave my hoard unguarded, but I must find her. It is good to stretch my wings and soar.'
'There is no sign of Sister Etterfang. Men here worship a dragon they name Draigoch. How amusing. Perhaps I will find my own clan of followers, though I so prefer to toy with them and then eat them.'
'What disturbs my slumber now? Rumbling. Am I trapped again? Grragh! What is this? The heads of five dragon-whelps, left before my cave... dwarf-axes sunk into them? Now, now at last, they have truly wakened Smaug's wrath! Sister missing, dragon-whelps slain... I have known only sorrow in these grey peaks. Let sorrow take wing. I am fury, I am vengeance, I am Smaug the Golden, mighty and merciless. I will roam until I find dwarves - and then let them cower before my wrath!'