No, I’m from the Shire, and Mordor doesn’t exactly make conversation with us.

But I pay notice to the black smoke. To the Nazgul strikes and the fires of war. I can feel his dark eye watching us all from atop his wasteland tower, whispiering lies and doubt into innocent ears. I hear a poison tongue speaking wicked words into the ear of a decrepit leader, making him but a puppet. I see a war chief turn on his master in a bid for power, only to be cowed and granted a traitor’s reward.

I look to the east, and see Mordor.