Ritual

Directly upon entering the tunnels, Narzug ran to Morgash, who was already waiting for him in the sanctuary. Together they went deeper into the tunnels. Eventually, they reached the lowest point of the tunnels; below, there were only a few natural caves with the strangest cave dwellers. Some so bizarre that one could hardly imagine them. The air was icy cold, and Narzug could see his breath.

Here, Morgash had the dragon heart stored. When Narzug saw it, he couldn't help but laugh out loud. His greed was satisfied.

Narzug's source flared up directly and began to grow larger. At first barely noticeable, but then it could be seen with the naked eye.

It grew larger and larger until it filled Narzug's entire body.

Narzug felt it immediately. His greed enveloped him, filled him completely, and strengthened him. Narzug felt complete for the first time. He was his greed, and his greed was him.

"Congratulations, Narzug, you have now become a complete shaman. And you have already found your first heart to devour. And what a heart it is. When you originally told me you wanted the heart of the old Smaug, I could hardly believe it... but now look at you. All your plans have come to fruition," Morgash congratulated him.

"If you want, we can start immediately, and I will prepare everything for the ritual."

Narzug nodded and prepared himself mentally. Now that he had prepared everything, he didn't want to wait any longer. The changes in his body, after his source had reached full saturation, could wait.

The heart of Beorn he carefully placed next to the large heart of Smaug, so that it would not spoil in the cold either.

Meanwhile, Morgash painted countless runes on the ground and finally explained their effect to Narzug.

"The runes will help you channel energy, but remember they will only help. The real work you will have to do yourself."

After a few hours, everything was ready. Narzug sat naked in the middle of the runes, Morgash had also painted runes all over his body. In his hands, he held the huge heart of Smaug. He nodded to Morgash, who began to rhythmically beat a slow tempo with two thigh bones.

Narzug began to sing softly in time, his senses fully focused on the heart in his hands.

Narzug sang the Song of Devouring in the Black Speech, a song Morgash had taught him.

🎶

In shadows deep, the hatred hides,

a darkened heart, a bloody beat,

devours in cold and cruel tides,

the souls that night in silence greet.

Blood drips from lips a crimson hue,

the heart is torn in savage pain,

through hatred's flame, love bids adieu,

consumed by dark, in hell's domain.

A cruel laugh echoes through the air,

the pain is sweet, the blood so warm,

darkness devours all that's fair,

in abyss dies the final charm.

The darkness eats the light away,

in blood and hate a wicked pact,

the heart, it screams but fades to grey,

consumed till silence's bones are cracked.

Entwined in hate and greed's embrace,

the hearts, so cold and full of wrath,

one final cry, one last disgrace,

engulfed in fate's blood-soaked path.

🎶

Slowly he felt his source enveloping the heart. After the third repetition of the song, his source began to gnaw at the heart and at the same time, the feelings trapped in the heart tried to defend themselves. A wave of greed flowed from the heart, but Narzug's own greed could withstand it.

A huge pain bit and tore at Narzug's entire body, his mind, and his source, but he did not stop singing.

Repetition after repetition.

Always further until his voice was only a loud croak of pain.

But he did not stop.

Slowly his source gnawed through the heart, devouring it millimeter by millimeter.

Morgash could see the unbundled energies of the heart being absorbed by Narzug and slowly strengthening his entire being.

Hours passed. Narzug was only halfway through the heart, but he noticed his strength waning.

"Don't give up, Narzug, use your greed that drives you. Just a little more and you'll have done it. Don't give up now!" shouted Morgash with a strange glimmer in his eyes. Morgash had meanwhile stopped drumming and stood behind Narzug, watching over his shoulders. He watched intently as the heart grew smaller and licked his lips.

After 10 hours since the start of the ritual, Narzug had devoured 75 percent of the heart. He was on the brink of his strength, the only thing that kept him going was the unbridled greed that burned within him. But suddenly, he felt a stabbing pain in his back.

Morgash had rammed his claws through Narzug's back and enclosed Narzug's heart with his hand.

"Haha thank you, my boy. You have truly been the best pig I've ever bred for slaughter so far! My body could never handle the entire dragon heart, but yours should be just right!"

Morgash also began to sing, and Narzug could feel his source and heart slowly being devoured by Morgash. He screamed in pain, but he couldn't stop singing; otherwise, he would lose the battle against the dragon heart.

Morgash's plan would have worked perfectly, but he hadn't counted on one thing. The dwarf ring on Narzug's finger lit up, and within seconds, one could see the ring's greed flare up. The ring devoured Morgash faster than he could react. But the ring did not stop; its greed was awakened, and it also began to feed on Narzug's source.

Incredible pain coursed through Narzug's body, but he did not give up. With all his will, he started a two-front war against the heart and the ring. He walked on a narrow path, on the verge of giving up and succumbing to the pain. But he continued. He pushed all the feelings he had against the ring and continued to devour the heart.

Two hours later, the entire heart was devoured, but Narzug could not rest. The ring knew no fatigue, and Narzug threw himself against the ring with his last bit of will.

The battle between Narzug and the ring raged on. One could hear Narzug's screams echoing throughout the entire sanctuary and then silence.

The entire sanctuary enveloped itself in an infinite, heavy, oppressive silence. A silence that waited for something.

And then...

"Badummmm"

... the silence was shattered by a mighty heartbeat. A slow but extremely powerful heartbeat was the only thing that seemed to come from the sanctuary.

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In the mist-covered peaks of the Misty Mountains lived a rugged and tenacious tribe of Orcs. These Orcs led a simple life, marked by endless struggles for food and the harsh conditions of their homeland. They were not creatures of great intelligence or sophistication, but survived through raw strength and a certain defiance against the hostile environment.

The daily life of the Misty Mountain Orcs was simple and brutal. They hunted wild animals, dug in the mountain soil for edible roots, and tried to maintain their simple huts made of wood and leather. Their society was hierarchical and dominated by the strongest and wildest warriors. Honor and glory were earned through victories in bloody battles, and many young Orcs dreamed of securing their place among the greatest warriors of their tribe one day.

In this harsh world, few remembered or valued the past. The life of the Orcs was focused on the here and now—on surviving the next day, the next meal, and the next fight. Stories and legends were rarely more than campfire tales told by the elders to entertain the young.

Such was the fate of Narzug, the Mist Demon. Once a feared warrior and chief whose deeds inspired awe in the entire tribe, he had gradually been forgotten. The Orcs, easily impressed but also quickly distracted, had found other battles and other heroes to capture their attention.

A year had passed since Narzug was last seen. Some of the older Orcs still remembered his deeds, but even they could not recall all the details. They spoke of Narzug's incredible strength and his nearly indomitable nature, but his exact heroic deeds were lost in a veil of mist and time.

Among the younger Orcs, few had even remembered Narzug. The stories told about him sounded more like fairy tales or exaggerated legends. Three Orcs claimed to have seen Narzug disappear into the deep tunnels of the mountains. But their reports were dismissed as just another fantastic story, like so many others passed around in the smoke-blackened halls of the Orcs.

Life in the Misty Mountains went on. The Orcs fought, hunted, and survived as they always had. The memory of Narzug faded, and only the few old storytellers kept his legend alive. They spoke of him in hushed tones, as if his name was a ghostly whisper in the wind howling through the mountains. But most Orcs did not listen or paid no attention to these stories.

The soils of the Misty Mountains were full of secrets and dangers. Dark caves and deep ravines harbored ancient terrors that even the bravest Orcs avoided. It was easy to imagine that someone like Narzug, no matter how powerful he might have been, had simply disappeared into these depths. But for most Orcs, this was just another story, one of many they heard and quickly forgot.

And so the Orcs continued to live, their minds filled with the daily battles and challenges of their lives. The stories of Narzug grew quieter, a faint echo in the harsh world of the Misty Mountains. Perhaps, some thought, Narzug had truly vanished, and his legend was just a memory slowly fading away. Yet, in the eyes of the few who still remembered him, the Mist Demon lived on, a symbol of the fleeting nature of live and memory in a world defined by hardship and forgetfulness.

In the rugged and forgetful society of the Misty Mountain Orcs, it was no surprise that even a chief like Narzug eventually disappeared into the shadows of history. For in the Misty Mountains, survival was the only thing that truly mattered, and memories of past heroes faded faster than the mists could clear.

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A year had passed since the Battle of the Five Armies and the year 2942 T.A. began. The free peoples pf Middle-earth learned that Azog and Bolg, two evil orc chiefs, had perished in this war. They were partying their victory.

But they also learned that another powerful Orc had emerged, named Narzug the Mist Demon.

However, he vanished completely from the face of the world after the battle.

The White Council met in Rivendell and they also spoke about Narzug. But they had more important matters on their minds, for they had learned that the Necromancer of Dol Guldur was actually the spirit of Sauron.

An epic battle took place in the ruins of Dol Guldur. In the end, the spirit of Sauron had to flee to Mordor, but he was now fully awakened.

Throughout Middle-earth, evil and vile creatures looked towards Mordor. An ancient evil had awakened and called them to it.

Even in the depths of the Misty Mountains, this awakening did not go unnoticed. Deep in the caves, past the unknowing Orcs in the deepest parts of their tunnels and caves, a pair of deep red eyes suddenly opened.