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Thanks to Cairistiona for beta-reading.
"Long had [Grond] been forged in the dark smithies of Mordor, and its hideous head, founded of black steel, was shaped in the likeness of a ravening wolf; on it spells of ruin lay." (RotK, Ch. 4 – The Siege of Gondor)
I watched it being made. Part by part, step by step, day by day. And now I'm standing in the middle of the cave, observing the finished creation. Lit by forge-fires from background, the trolls that made it stand aside. They worked day and night, without a break. For they knew the punishment if they were late.
Torches illuminate the surroundings. I walk around and observe from all sides. Massive bars are welded to make the construction. Thick links are joined into heavy chains; and from them, in the middle, hangs it.
A hundred feet long. Fifteen feet wide. With a huge wolf head.
It's perfect... it's finished... almost. It is missing just one thing. A spirit. It's not alive.
But that is about to change now.
I raise my arms and touch its head. And open myself towards it.
I am night. I am darkness.
Cold metal becomes even colder under my hand. Chill spreads, traverses through it, imbues it. And starts to radiate from it. The very air in the cave grows icy.
When the time comes, it will freeze the souls of all the enemies.
I am earth. I am time.
Power flows, pours into it – filling every part, to the very end. Steel becomes unbreakable; chains adamantine. No force will ever be able to break them. No spell will be able to damage it.
When the time comes, everything it touches will fall, no matter how strong.
I am death.
Dark surface becomes black. Like me. Like my master. Like the Void – absorbing and sucking light. The torches are suddenly dimmed.
When the time comes, it will darken everything around it.
I am fire.
Energy transfers into it. It pulsates, and the chains vibrate. 'A husky growl emanates from its depths. A spark appears in one eye, then in the other. And then both eyes flash into blazing embers.
Grond, you are called, I name it.
The fiery gaze falls upon me.
Command, my lord.
I feel – it is awaiting.
You are hungry. Your food is destruction and death.
My words awake desire. Overwhelming, tremendous – longing to be satisfied.
Go. Feed. Destroy. Ravage.
I feel – it wants to set out this very moment.
I give the sign, and the trolls take their place next to the construction. Grond's journey begins.
The world of Men shall fall.
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