The stench of blood and burning wood choked the air, thick and acrid, a gruesome perfume replacing the familiar scent of mithril and forge smoke that once defined Eregion. The city, once a vibrant hub of Noldorin craftsmanship and intellectual pursuit, lay in smoldering ruins, a shattered testament to a devastating, merciless siege. In the grim center of the devastated square, where the lively marketplace once thrived with the clang of commerce and joyous Elvish chatter, now stood a horrifying, makeshift standard.

Upon a rough-hewn pole, driven deep into the scorched, blood-soaked earth, Celebrimbor was displayed. His body, once strong and nimble, capable of unparalleled craftsmanship and the delicate manipulation of raw magic, was now a canvas of unspeakable torment. He hung, utterly naked, exposed to the cruel, indifferent sky, his skin mottled with dark bruises, streaked with grime and fresh wounds. A sickening array of arrows pierced his form, their dark fletchings protruding from his flesh like grotesque, morbid feathers, each a mocking testament to his fall.

One might be lodged cruelly in a shoulder, another driven deep into a thigh, perhaps a third impaling his side, just missing a vital organ by a whisper, ensuring prolonged agony. His chest, though still showing the slow, shallow, agonizing rise and fall of breath, bore the tell-tale signs of brutal handling, the ribs starkly visible beneath taut, strained skin, testament to the struggle he had endured.

His head, heavy with pain, exhaustion, and perhaps a flicker of defiance, was tilted back, exposing his throat to the harsh light. His eyes, though dulled by unimaginable suffering and glazed with the film of approaching death, were still open, staring fixedly at the smoke-choked heavens or perhaps at the unfurled, hated banners of the encroaching darkness. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his body, a final, stubborn flicker of life clinging desperately to its last moments.

Blood, dark and congealing, stained the pole beneath him, dripping slowly to the churned earth. He was a banner, indeed, but not of defeat; rather, a stark, agonizing testament to the unyielding spirit of the Noldor, even in their ultimate agony. This was Sauron's mockery made manifest, a triumphal, brutal display of dominion over his most skilled adversary, a horrifying message etched in flesh and blood, raised high for all of Eregion's terrified, scattered survivors to witness before their own inevitable end.