Hurt and Heal: Ladies' Round

[Pitchwife]

As promised:

*raises a pole carved with baleful runes and crowned with a horse's naked skull facing towards Hithlum, clears his throat, shakes his fist at the Ered Lómin and declaims:*

"Let it be known to all and sundry, be they friend or foe or foul offspring of Morgoth Bauglir, Valar of the West or Variags of the East, Elves or Dwarves or mortal Men that in after days on earth shall dwell, that the honour of the House of Dor-lómin is as cheaply bought as Balrog-droppings in the pits of Angband, their word as worthless as the snot on an Orc's nose, and that their constancy changes more quickly than the greediest Hobbit can make room for another meal in his stomach. Not Laughter should they have called you, but Cackle. Túrin should have celebrated when you died. Húrin would sooner have unmanned himself and Morwen had a hysterectomy before giving life to such treacherous Orc-spawn. Galdor would have grieved to know he had such a granddaughter. Hador would have hid his head in shame. Hathol would have wept, Magor would have moped, Malach would have vomited and Marach would have farted in your general direction. Mîm would have approved of you, Glaurung would have applauded you, and decency forbids me to name what Morgoth would have had for pride of you, but it would have hit Ancalagon the Black cruising ten miles above the highest peaks of Thangorodrim. If Maedhros killed you, he did right, and glory be to him!"

And phantom, you backstabbing scoundrel, pick your share.