I looked at the faded green cover of the book, on which was written Nameless Darkness in gold ink with Daemon letters. Tbe rest was in my tongue, saving me the horrible headache of translation.

It began with an account by the Blue Wizard. The Wizard came into the East with intent to challenge Sauron, but soon realized fighting Lord Sauron was futile. He named Sauron the Lord of Death and praised his might. There were poems of fear and worship, poems which closely mirrored my own reverence of the ancient power of Sauron.

It spoke of all of Sauron's dreadful forms: an ancient and cruel sorcerer that worked his magic from the darkness, a vicious wolf of unsurpassed strength, a serpent with fangs dripping the most vile of poison, the form of a hideous Man with the wings of a bat, a beautiful form fairer that Daemons, and a merciless tyrant in black armor. Sauron, though, is wholly unlike mortals. He has no true form.

He is not of this world. Sauron came to this world from the Outside. Beyond this Middle-Earth, beyond the circles of the world, lies the Void and Everlasting Darkness, from whence came that which is called Lord Sauron.

I trembled as I read the long, rambling account. Next came another account, this time by a Daemon, entitled "The First Account of Lord Sauron in this Age." I though Deamons knew no fear until I began reading the account.

"On my hunting trip, I wandered away from my normal lands and into the southern part of the great forest. Our people tend to stay toward the north as of late, but I happened upon the trail of good game.

Something about the forest seemed unnatural. Every day, the sunlight that came through the leaves appeared less bright and the starlight dimmer. Every day, the forest took on a darker green until the whole of the wood looked black.

When I neared the hill of Dol Gulder, some vague urging in my inner mind, apart from the darkness, told me to turn back. Still, I moved onward though the trail of the game had long since disappeared.

I heard as I moved through the dark bushes music, like the sound of a flute playing some chaotic melody, which drew me toward its source. Moving toward the source not entirely of my own will, I believed I heard playing with the flute drums. I walked onto the hill of Dol Gulder, into the Darkness, the Shadow. Still the drums beat: drums, drums, drums in the Drak that overtook all. This Shadow over Dol Gulder gripped me, gripped me, held me as if it had my mind and body in a metal hand.

I do not know what happened in that horrible Darkness. My memory has faded until my awakening by the Anduin. Over Dol Gulder looms a power like death, an intangible Necromancer even the Eldar cannot contend with."

The accursed tome told of all Sauron's deeds. The Rings of Power, forged by the very hand of Sauron which even now bend all Middle-Earth to his will... The people who once inhabited Mordor now completely enslaved or else dead, with the rest of Middle-Earth soon to follow... The creation of the orcs themselves from fallen Daemons through unspeakable means... Massive pyres of worship, in which Men were burnt alive... Men and Daemons fed alive to the wolves for sheer pleasure...

I wanted to stop reading, but it was beyond my power. As a man who longs to put away mead cannot, I was unable to throw that horrible knowledge never meant for the minds of Men away. Intoxicated on the horrible knowledge, I kept on reading.

To my utter horror, I saw that Sauron was not alone. Second only to Him was the horrible Balrog called Durin's Bane, an ancient and destructive power that even now sleeps beneath the halls of the Dwarf mansion Khazad-Dûm, ready to awaken at any time and rain fire upon Middle-Earth. Another Balrog, no less fiery, bides its time in the cold, frozen waste of the North beyond the land of Men. The Hunter, the horrible formless terror that twists the body and mind of all it ensnares that lurks in the Utmost East. These and other eldritch horrors occupy Middle-Earth, yet chief among them is Sauron, who the others dare not oppose. Sauron... The-Thing-That-Should-Not-Be.

I dropped the book. I know not how time passed, for I began reading of the night, and after futile denial of the truth, I simply sat staring at the wall of my tent for I know not how long. This was all too much... too soon... Things which Man was never meant to know...