just a note: this takes place before the Fellowship.

Prologue- Firechild

I live in a land of fire.

A land bright orange flames, and black ash that rains down on the black earth from the peaks of the mountains high above. The ground is hard and stony, for no green plants grow here. The sky is dark- it is dark always. There is no sun, only night. From my bedroom window I can see the Dark Tower, extending up into the sky like a dark pillar against the orange smoke that comes from the mountains. Lightning flashes from the Mountain of Doom, and thunder sends tremors through the earth.

I am a child of Mordor.

It is the only home I have ever known.

My father is a servant of Sauron, the dark lord of these lands. My family are among the few humans who dwell here. We live in mountains of Morgul, in a small mountain settlement with the other humans. Both my father and my oldest brother are in the Dark Lord's service, working as spies and guards of the Black Gate. I have seen nothing of the outside world. My whole life has been spent in this land of fire. But my land of fire is also a land of anger. For long has the Dark Lord Sauron been imprisoned in his tower, unable to dominate as he once did, reduced to a mere wisp of a prescence, bound to the life force of a ring that lies somewhere in the West...

But we are not weak.

Behind the shelter of the Black Gate, Sauron's armies are regrouping. Orcs are being bred, armies of men from the south arrive every day. It is nearly time- time to wage war against the free people of Middle Earth. But that story is one that I do not know much about. What goes on in Barad-dur, I do not know, and I cannot tell what I do not know.

But this is my story.

My name is Marina. A name which means dark princess. Fitting for one who comes from the land of Mordor, but I do not know about princess. Princesses are beautiful. By my standards, I am not much to look at. Like everyone who dwells in this land, I am tall and broad- battle ready, but still pale from never being exposed to the sun. My hair is long and black- it hangs down my back in a long braid. I have never cared for vanity. It a wasted desire that can never be quelled. There is no need for it here.

There are few here who would notice beauty, besides. And I do not speak of Orcs. Though they defend us, I despise the Orcs. They are vile creatures, and they act thus, even to those loyal to Sauron. If the Great Eye did not demand they not kill us, I do believe that I would no longer live and breathe. I see the way they look at us humans when they ride through our village. It was naught but two days ago when my sister Mikita and I were cornered by a few of them. We had strayed away from the village, going farther down the mountain. Mikita is younger than I- seven years my junior, and naturally curious to explore everything. We were walking down the path when we came upon five Orcs, beating up a sixth. They saw us- or smelled us rather, their eyes were watching the one on the ground. At any rate, we were detected, and they advanced- uttering lewd curses and insults that frightened my sister and angered me to the very marrow of my bones. They backed us against the side of the mountain and struck us repeatedly, until my brother and father came and warded them off, threatening to go to the Great Eye. The Orcs left reluctantly, but the day will remain forever in my mind as one of the worst of my life.

But in my eighteen years of life, I have seen much suffering and torture, most of which is too grisly to tell. Night begins to fall on Mordor- the sky darkens even more than it is now. From my window, I can see the eerie green glow of Minas Morgul- the dead city, where the Nazgul dwell. Lightning flashes once more from above the Dark Tower.

It is this land to which I belong.

It is this land to which I swear my allegiance.

I am a child of Mordor.

good? bad? unspeakably crappy? let me know. also- I have no idea about any kind of dialects, whether elvish, dwarfish, mordor-ish (is that even right?) so for lack of knowing, i won't even try.

Disclaimer: Elves- don't own em. Dwarves- don't own em. Hobbits- don't own em. Aragorn- don't own him either. Damn! Get the picture yet? i am not tolkien, so...um... don't sue me.