The heavy iron gate swung open with a creak and a slam. Into the dark metal room strode an individual in armor, flanked by four elite guards who were quite taller than this person. The individual was fully covered, with a cruel spiked helm that covered the face completely. Only two intimidating slits allowed for vision through the helm. As the leader entered the plant, a young Nurnhoth boy, barely five, ran right in front of the imposing figure and bumped right into their black steel greaves. The boy thumped to the ground and looked up, suddenly overtaken with fear.
The figure was silent as a guard stepped forward, brandishing his pole-axe.
"Milady!" A Nurnhoth woman ran forward, pulling the boy into her arms as she fell to her knees, "I had my eyes off of him for a second! I deeply apologize! Please, whatever punishment you would inflict him with, inflict unto me instead!"
The guard spoke, "Lady Aglarari?"
The leader, Aglarari, looked down wordlessly for a moment before flicking her arm to the guard. The guard reassumed his former position and Aglarari spat, "Teach your spawn to watch his step next time."
She marched forward, the guards following, leaving the mother and child behind. One of the guards whispered to Aglarari, "Mistress, you would let them go?"
Aglarari responded, "The Nurnhoth youth are the future of Mordor's productivity. The less slaves, the less labourers available to do our Dark Lord Sauron's bidding. Taking them out for a minor offense is unwise in the long term. Remember this, this is my father's way."
They were in a food processing plant. The slaves here, mostly Nurnhoth, were responsible for taking the crops sent in from Nurn and preparing them for the armies of Mordor. As Aglarari walked through the dark, smoky environment with massive conveyor belts, roaring ovens, and pools of cleaning water, she scowled beneath her helm. She had been sent here on a mission, one of several on her to do list, by her father himself.
Aglarari ascended the cold bar and steel steps up to the overlooking balcony, where the overseer was already waiting for her. The mistress finished the climb and approached the tall black uruk that looked down from his height with nothing but inborn malice.
"Overseer Shagnok." Aglarari greeted the uruk far taller than her with no fear. The uruk looked over to her, "What is Lord Aglarzor's bidding?"
Aglarari placed a gauntlet covered hand on the railing, "Tell me, why has production slowed these past months? It has been steadily declining in your sector for quite some time."
The uruk spat, "Don't blame me! Blame the slaves that won't shape up no matter how much I whip 'em!"
Aglarari spoke, "What do you mean? Are they defying orders?"
"No, they're just slow."
Aglarari thought for a moment, raising her hand and grasping the bottom of her helmet as if pressing a finger on her lips. After a moment, she asked, "How old are the majority?"
Overseer Shagnok had to think for a moment, then responded, "Er, 'bout forty percent of 'em are above fifty. Ten percent are under fifteen. The rest of fifty percent is between."
Aglarari looked down to the working Nurnhoth populace. The mother was trying her to pass on how to clean vegetables to her son, another much older Nurnhoth in her sixties trying to help both keep up the pace. Looking across the floor, indeed a fair number of older Nurnhoth kept the pace slacking. The young heir lifted her hand and motioned to the guards to come closer and turned to the overseer, "Cull the elderly, and order a fresh batch of young slaves from Nurn's Second District. That should solve the problem, and your neck."
Shagnok nodded and turned to the lower ranking commanders to dish out the orders. Aglarari turned and marched down the steps, her guards following.
"Well, that was easy." Aglarari muttered to herself as the uruk announced the latest orders to the whole plant, "I swear to Morgoth, these uruks can't solve any problems for themsel-"
A shriek interrupted her internal dialogue. She turned to see that the decommissioning was already starting. She noticed the mother from earlier, darting forward as her son cried out in confusion. Aglarari's pace slowed as she witnessed the mother run up to a black uruk pulling the elderly Nurnhoth away, tugging at said woman, trying to pry her from the guards. She screamed, "Mum! No! Let her go!"
Aglarari froze as a long buried memory replayed in her mind.
One of the guards paused, "Mistress?"
Aglarari shook her head, feeling hot and nauseous. She staggered for a moment, "I think I breathed in too many fumes. Get me out of here."
The guards worked to pull her through the chaos that had erupted in the processing plant. Aglarari had to dodge an elderly Nurnhoth's body falling limp on the floor as a young man fell to his knees nearby, crying for his uncle. Aglarari's vision blurred as the guards quietly and effectively escorted her from the scene. As they left the foundry behind them, screaming and wailing resounding from inside, Aglarari ran ahead of the guards and fell to her knees, ripping off her helmet.
She vomited, her bile falling into a puddle on the ground. She panted as the guards silently stood watch for her on the ashy plains of Gorgoroth. When all the vomit was emptied, she wiped her tears away and searched for her helm. Yet, before that, she found herself staring at a puddle of murky green water.
The reflection was recognizable. This was Aglarari, the daughter of Aglarzor the Silent, heir to his throne. Her jet black hair hid her eyes from view as cold sweat dripped down her face. Her skin stood out against Gorgoroth's dark horizon like a torch in a dim cave. Her skin was far too white to be Black Numenorean. She had another bloodline within her as well. She panted, remembering the name she bore before her father brought her to his lair.
Sari Mosa, a Nurnhoth farm slave.
She had just ordered a mass execution of her own people.
