Right, I'm posting, surprise, this note is important so read it you shmucks, If I ever say I'm gonna write another fanfic before I finish this one, hit me, I aint writing a harry potter fanfic, I'm sorry if yall were hoping for that but I refuse to do it, If I start writing another story I'm gonna start planning and totally disregard this, and I do not want to do that. I have this entire fic somewhat planned. I have the ending planned at least, If I was gonna do a Harry Potter fanfic I wouldn't even know who the main villain would be cause the powers I wanna give my character would blast Voldemort out of the water, not because he is strong but it would just change plot and stuff. I constantly have new fanfic ideas and would love to write them but I just need to get this fanfic somewhat halfway done, which surprisingly is not even close to being started. I procrastinate a lot so just be patient I'm gonna get as much of this done to the point it's a good read, i read a lot of fanfic in my downtime instead of writing this and I hate when there big gaps when someone doesn't update so I'm sorry I'm just like that, but I also hate when fanfics aren't finished, so don't worry, it's gonna get done one day.
...
A force of Thirteen thousand men had formed under the banner of the Harpy. Seeking glory and riches a number of men across the Empire had taken up arms and begun mustering under a young and famous general from a previous war they had fought with the Sarnori.
The general had promised to bring victory and retribution to the Valyrians and called for men to march with him and strike the enemy while the Emperor and nobles scrambled in court.
The young general marched forth with his men and met the Valyrians in battle on the open field, a mistake the young general thought he could use to his advantage.
He knew that the Dragonlords would flaunt their power and use their dragons. They would fly low and burn his armies, his men would die in the thousands, and he would let those men burn to see the Dragons fall.
The young general had brought with him a great number of scorpions, a war machine that had been utilized against the dragons numerously and had worked as well as a spoon being used to cut a man's throat.
The general knew his plan was folly, but his blood boiled, and he had devised something new to add to the Scorpions. Enormous chains were attached to the ends of the bolts, each chain should the bolt hit its mark, was to be run into the ground as fast as possible.
The plan was up to chance, the young general knew that, he would wait for the Dragons to fly low, he would not let the chains fly so high and risk missing, he would only have his greatest marksmen on the Scorpion.
Should the Dragonlords react the way he thought they would act, he would employ spears of enchanted bone. The general knew not of who the bones belonged to, but he had discovered it sturdy enough to pierce Dragonhide.
The young general had won many victories against the Empires old enemies using tactics that had been up to chance, and for every chance he took, he had come out victorious, but this plan he knew had too many moving cogs that needed to line up so perfectly for his plan to work, and he doubted he would see another victory after this coming battle, but he saw no other option, nothing he knew could oppose the dragons, and he would not wait for the hesitant Emperor to decide as his people burn to Dragonfire.
Oh how wrong the General had been. For all his life he had won victory after victory, on near dumb luck, yet for some odd reason, that dumb luck had followed him through his life and into his battles.
But for this young general, even lady luck couldn't save the poor boy from the being who had grown bored of the peace.
The battlefield was a nightmare incarnate
Rain drummed against steel. Bodies lay strewn across the fields, and the water rusted the armor of the dead.
The rain poured and filled great pits in the land that lay scattered across the field of battle.
Those who still lived barely clung to life as they neared death's embrace.
A great tidal wave of power swept through the battle, those that had survived had run home to warn their homeland of the enemy, of the monolith of power they witnessed, for should this war continue, they would have their Empire wiped from the histories.
The young General rested on his knees watching as the evils of the world eviscerated his men.
He watched the sky as dragons strafed his men in fire, he watched creatures end his men who burned who cried for mercy, creatures he once imagined as a small child afraid of what lurked in the shadow, and he watched that shadow form into being and bring down its hammer upon the land.
Holes lay in the earth from where the shadow stepped, filled with rain, and formed great lakes, the sky sat encased by the ash of the dead, and the blood of the fallen fueled the magic that Melkor weaved into the air.
Melkor stood encased in his armor towering above the fields, in his left hand he swung Grond upon the fleeing Ghiscari soldiers
Mountains erupted into lava and fire, the earth opened up and swallowed those unlucky enough to survive, and the sky thundered and roared in the god's wake.
"What have my people done that has so angered such a force of nature, that my people must be punished to a death far worse than they deserve?" The general lay kneeling on his knees, his eyes staring up at Melkor as his massive form strode across the land. The thought of victory wasn't even imaginable anymore. He could only pray that some part of his people would be spared.
...
The roars of Dragons flew over Melkor heading east. His armies marched below them, roaring for blood and glory. But the banished god did not follow the marching force, he waited in the field of the dying, a battlefield that saw him unleash his powers, a display of power to discourage any gods from turning their eyes to Valyria.
But the mass slaughter was not just to deter any foreign force from invading, but the needed catalyst for a ritual.
The shadow of Melkor began to stir, and from it emerged Carcharoth about the size of a large horse.
If Melkor had noticed the Wearwolf then he did not show it, his attention lay in the magic he had begun to cast.
"My lord, is it wise to begin such a ritual, we don't know who would be summoned, for all we know it could be an enemy again." The greatest of the Werewolves made his concern known.
"All we can do is hope Carcharoth, should it be Finwe himself I would not stop such rituals. These castings are the beginnings of truly tearing down the wall that lays between us and them."
"But that is what worries my master, what if you summon one of the Maiar, or even your brother?"
Melkor snapped his head to Carcharoth, his eyes aflame with rage. "I pray to see him again, for I would attack him the next time we meet.
Carcharoth Faltered under Melkors fiery gaze. "Forgive me Master, but I fear should the Eldar discover us they would surely take it to Eru himself."
Melkors attention took him back to the ritual, he gathered the magic of the world and drew the blood of the fallen into one single point.
"My father was a fool to give me a second chance. What he does is not something I nor my brother understands. For now, all I can do is plan."
Melkors attention returned to the ritual, finally nearing its end. The blood of the fallen formed a circle in the center of the field, and lightning flashed across the sky.
The lightning began to strike the center, and Melkor spoke a single word in the Quenya language "Awaken."
The storms ceased at the word, the skies cleared faster than the eye could see, and where the blood gathered now lay the form of a woman.
"Carcharoth, stay close to me." Melkor began to walk towards the woman that lay in the field.
With the Wearwolf behind him, Melkor and Carcharoth got a good look at who they had summoned to this new realm.
"Well, she was the last person I expected, not that she shall be helpful," Melkor spoke, looking at another one of his servant's return.
Carcharoth looked to his master's towering form. "Master, you do not sound pleased, is it not good that she has returned?"
Melkor sighed. "In truth, I would rather it be my brother, but don't tell my wife I said that."
Carcharoth quirked his head at his master. "Was it not you who just said you wished to end his life."
Melkor slipped a small smirk upon his face. "Are brothers not allowed to fight Carcharoth? All I said was I would attack him, killing him would cause too many problems." Melkor sighed "In truth, I sometimes remember the times when Manwe would find me in the halls of Valinor and would try to bore me to death about the comings and goings of the Noldor."
Carcharoth caught something in Melkors voice. It was faint, but he had heard it before when his master spoke of Aina or Fae, it was a voice of longing to them again.
"Master, when we return to Ea, will we truly wage another war?"
Melkors form sank under Carcharoths words. "In truth, I have no wish to even return to that blasted place, I wish to protect my family, but my dealings with the Old gods would not allow me to sit idle. They gave me power, and I must aid them in their revenge." Melkor turned his head and looked into the Wearwolfs eyes. "Why do you ask Carcharoth? I would think you would want to feast on the flesh of elves once again."
Carcharoth shook his head. "In truth master, my time here, with lady Aina, with lady Fae, I've grown tired of revenge."
Melkor chuckled at the Wearwolf. "You've grown soft, and I think my daughter is to blame for that. I remember when she was barely grown and she would demand you play with her."
Carcharoth turned his head away, "That has absolutely nothing to do with it."
"Of course it doesn't, well, enough talking, I think it's time we wake her up."
Carcharoth nodded "Whenever your ready Master."
Melkor extended his hand above the woman's head, and with a quick snap of his fingers the woman's eyes snapped open.
She shot off the ground, her form was clad in a tight-fitting silk dress, her fingers were long and her nails sharp as steel. Her ears pointed at the end and her hair of crimson night fell down her back.
the woman spoke one word. "Master?"
Melkor smirked at her, extending a hand out to her. "Welcome back Thuringwethil, much has changed since your death."