The Eleventh Hour

In feasts I spent My evenings, crushing maidens in the night. Drunken on wine, bloated like Ungoliant, from Mine mouth came thunderous salvos that rocked the very pits of Angband. The Elves thought the rumblings were the forerunner of war; 'twas merely indigestion.

Forgotten, forsaken, alone the prisoners suffered for long years in the deep pits of abysmal dungeons. Sometimes during a feast, I would summon one to be brought forth. 'Twas great sport to taunt them with the table's fare, only to withdraw the morsel at the last moment. The anguish upon their wan faces was an exquisite delight!