I’ll try to explain this without sounding abrasive, but that cycloptic son of a bitch has decided to demote me and give me the lowliest assignment he could think of. Ugh... Commander of the Armies. The title sounds important, but in practice, it’s just a babysitting gig on a massive scale.
As soon as Daphne was feeling better, we traveled back to Minas Morgul to get a better idea of what we were dealing with. Whatever I was expecting was so much better than what I saw. For one thing, nobody had matching weapons or uniforms other than the color (we go through SO much charcoal-colored metal just to outfit these guys!) so it was impossible to regiment them. The siege towers looked like they were thrown together in an afternoon out of whatever junk they could find. Oh, and how could I forget? You know those big strong trolls who can carry massive clubs and shatter enemy lines with ease? Some genius thought their best function would be to play the drums in battle. The drums! That’s like getting a dragon to join your battle only to have it play the pan flute!
I had to find a way to improve my mood, so I decided to indulge in the whole Treat Yo’self philosophy and see what kind of retail therapy my old friend Gorbag had to offer. Never being one to disappoint, he showed me three awesome things every Nazgûl wants. First was a helmet that makes me look like King Leonidas reimagined by whoever designed the costumes for Slipknot. The second was a longsword with a built-in butane lighter that causes the blade to ignite, and the third was a flail with a ball bigger than my head! Gorbag warned me that I should take a few weeks to get used to the weight of the flail before I use it in a real battle, but I don’t have time for that. What is he, my mom? I know how to use things!
I fixed as many issues with the army as I could in the short amount of time that I had, but I still think we’re gonna have to rely on our numbers. I don’t know what to think of my top general, but after speaking with him, all I can say is I’m glad I don’t have to look at him for a while. I'm not normally one to judge people on their physical appearance, but this guy looked like a half-digested pig! This guy’s face looked like the inside of an oliphant’s asshole! I hastily explained that the first step is to take Osgiliath (here we go again, another attack on Osgiliath) and I wanted to do it quietly. I’m not sure if he heard me, because I couldn’t stop thinking about how he looked like Sloth from “The Goonies,” only not as handsome.
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On a lighter note, Saruman passed away in some kind of crazy yard work accident. I couldn’t help but giggle as I read about it. Apparently, his deforestation project caused some kind of rupture in the nearby dam and an entire river flooded into his tunnel system. Can I call it or what? On top of that, his “solve all my problems for me” bro-orc army got wiped out at Helm’s Deep. I guess that’s what happens when you send 10,000 bro-orcs without a non-bro-orc commander and no real battle strategy to take over a historically impenetrable fortress. I heard they gave it a good effort though.
Gary and Jimbo joined up with me as we prepared for the attack. Gary named his wyvern Kyle Jr (I think he missed Kyle) and Jimbo named his ScarJo after Scarlett Johansson. Daphne didn’t like the other wyverns, but she gets jealous at the best of times. I reminded my scaly princess she had nothing to worry about and she let out an ear-shattering howl in relief.
The attack was a success, but a lot more city defenders escaped than we intended because somebody couldn't figure out how to row a boat quietly (looking at you, General Wax-face). My two cohorts and I looked at the silver lining and decided it would be a good way to get some exercise for the wyverns. Daphne would never admit it, but the saddle was getting a little tight around her. We pounced upon the retreating forces and our wyverns romped and played and threw guys hundreds of feet in the air. I suggested Daphne go for a cluster in the center and she ripped apart four guys at once in agreement. It was all going so well until that guy showed up.
It was an old man clad in white like he was advertising All Fabric Bleach riding in on an equally white horse. He thrust a big glowing stick at us with a brightness that I can only describe as driving at night with someone behind you with their high beams on only to realize it’s just those stupid LED lights and THEN they turn their high beams on? It was like that, but with a horse in the middle of the day and this old man was shoving this light in our faces. We broke off our attack and let the stragglers get away. Ugh, elderly riders.
Now I’m just sitting here in the least ruined part of Osgiliath looking at the giant wedding cake of a city, Minas Tirith and trying to figure out how not to get all these incompetent morons killed. Sauron said he’s gonna send a few more armies, because apparently, he just has them lying around. Hopefully at least one of these armies has their shit together a little more than we do. I hate my job.