This hero business is not what it’s made out to be, I noted as I watched more than one orc patrolling along the wooden walls of an encampment they had built along the water. “And to think, I drank from that at one point,” I muttered under my breath in disgust. Orc filth along a waterfall, leading off to the Marshes via other waterfalls… You’d think they might have learned some habits from the Men and Elves they had come across, but I had yet to see them clean or pick up after themselves. To say nothing of their eating habits, I also noted with a grimace, spotting one of their number tearing at a boned leg of some form, heedless of the mess it made down its front, before tossing the remnants aside into a pile with other offal inside.
This was Bleakrift. I had made my way across the river at a ford and then over the opposite hill to find myself in front of a small entrance leading to the bottom of some falls. Orcs guarded the entrance they had built there, but I had managed to sneak past them without incident. More of them wandered through the area that I had to avoid, but at least the sound of the rushing water made my sneaking simple. They couldn’t hear me; I just had to make sure they didn’t see me, and I was set.
I had come across a chest as I walked and found myself drawn to it as a burglar would be. It took no time at all to open the lock on the box and find what was within. The valuables were more or less trinkets to me, but I pocketed them, nonetheless. Whatever the reason for them being in an orc camp, I knew the orcs themselves weren’t creators to make and care for these types of items. No, they belonged to Men or Elves, and perhaps Candaith would know who exactly I should return them to. For a price, of course. My altruism only went so far.
I found Bleakrift to be filled with rope bridges, orcs, and more of the chests scattered about. More than once, I saw the orcs squabbling among themselves viciously. Violence ended anywhere in death to maiming with very little in the way of innocuous fisticuffs involved. I knew I should keep moving whenever one broke out, but I had to listen to see who this Uzorr was and where he might be – a free show never hurt matters, in the process. Other orcs either did the same as I or broke up the fighting as soon as they could with threats of doom from those above them. “Aren’t enough of us,” one of them snarled at the two who had been scuffling. “Kill each other some other time.”
Even that information was useful to me. There aren’t reinforcements coming any time soon, I thought as they shuffled off, grumbling, to get back to their duties. Interesting. Whatever orcs are here, that’s all that are here. Any that I kill off besides Uzorr will be one less to harm the people in this land and others.
It gave me a new impetus to try and eliminate as many of the creatures as I possibly could. I needed to corner them one on one to do it, though, and there were far too many of them for only me to handle. I would need help that I didn’t have right now. Candaith would have to do that part at some point and fulfill his words about running the orcs out of the Lone-lands at some point. I wished, briefly, that I didn’t have such a standoffish attitude when it came to others. I needed friends to travel with if I meant to make more of an impact.
I found I wanted to do so. I had been given a duty and, like my past training as a fighter had drilled into me, I now wanted to complete that duty better than expected. My duty was to help save the lands I now roamed from Angmar, the Witch-King, and Sauron however I might. I couldn’t do it alone and realized that as I stood, hidden, inside this large orc camp befouling the waters of the Midgewater Pass. I would have to worry about it later. The middle of an orc camp was no place for an identity crisis.
Tents lined the path leading up the hill of Bleakrift. I used them to my advantage as I crept further up and around. Yet another rope and wood bridge faced me across a span, making me sigh. It was the third one I would need to cross in this camp, and the hardest by far. Finding time to sneak across and avoid the orcs had thus far been possible by only the skin of my teeth, given its open aired nature, but I had timed it just right so that their attention remained elsewhere. This one had sentries posted that refused to move or look away. I could see, across the bridge, where the path turned and moved up to a circle of stones and boulders creating a cul-de-sac with a table and at least one tent nearby. It had to be Uzorr’s nest up there. Nest? Lair? Did orcs have nests? I wondered in idle speculation.
I would have to fight to get to it. I had the fact that fighting seemed common here to protect me from more than the sentries getting involved, at least. Surly things, I mused as I contemplated my first move. Maybe you should call yourself an orc instead of a troll so it fits more.
The idea hit me without warning. Distraction. Fighting among themselves – the combination might just work to get me across. I had no idea just yet of how I might come back over but given I might not be alive to do so, I felt that particular situation could be a focus for later. Cross that bridge when you get to it? I mused privately. My son would’ve enjoyed that joke.
Searching the ground where I stood, I gathered a few stones sized just right for throwing but also for leaving an impact. It couldn’t be a biting fly to get swatted away and ignored; no, these would be felt and noticed for what they were. I then waited and moved to another hiding place angled so that my throws would hit my chosen target whenever another orc passed him, and he couldn’t see what happened. The patrolling orc walked past on his path, stopped to look around with a bored air, and turned to go back the way it had come. I waited until it had taken several steps onto the bridge before flinging the first stone. It plinked sharply off one of the orc sentry’s shoulders to fall and roll away. The victim grunted and looked over at it with a frown as it came to a stop. He turned away again. I aimed another one at the second sentry and did the same with an identical reaction, though the first orc looked at it with growing irritation. I waited until the solitary patrol returned, did his thing, and walked back toward the other side before repeating the activity.
This time, the first orc rounded and snorted with a glare at the orc on the bridge. “You think throwing things is funny?” he demanded.
The patrol halted and looked back in confusion. “Throwing what things?”
The stationary orc made a disgusted sound and turned back around at his post, but his companion nearby muttered, “I should stab him if he does it again.”
“Me too.”
Silence. They shot nasty looks at the baffled orc this time as he came to the end of his route, stopped, and then turned back around. He said with difficulty before he moved off, “Maybe it a craban?”
“Shut up.”
“Why would it be a bird?” demanded the other in a growl. The orc moved off again with a wave of his thick-fingered hands without arguing.
A few steps later, I threw a bigger stone. It ricocheted off of the first orc’s head, and he put his hand up to the area to rub it as he turned back with a snarl. So did his companion. The patrol kept walking even as the other two got onto the bridge to follow him. Upon feeling the commotion on the planks beneath him, the sentry turned around to find himself being rushed by the two larger guards. He fled to the other side, turned, and drew his weapons to make a stand. It had the added benefit of drawing the attention of the other two sentries on the opposite side so that they, too, drew their weapons.
The fight was a vicious one. Orcs didn’t seem to need much to go after one another with the intent to kill and maim. I took the opportunity to head over the bridge to the other side and left it as soon as they had moved away far enough. I had barely hidden myself on the other side when the roaring of the officers sounded as they arrived to break it up. I didn’t move until the area had been cleared once again. Two orc corpses got dragged off over the bridge while the rest went to lick their wounds. That was easy, I noted mentally. How do they manage to fight together when they seem to hate each other so much?
I headed up to my next hiding spot quickly and quietly and soon, I could see a hulking orc moving around a campfire in front of a hide tent. He was armored and fierce, but he didn’t seem all that intelligent. Uzorr, I identified him privately. The table just outside had several documents that he had seemingly been looking over before the latest fight occurred. I slipped closer to the tent, swiped the documents, secured them in my clothing, and hid again to wait for a chance to strike at the War-master. I had half of my mission done. I had to finish it.
I was about to move when an orc approached who seemed to have some modicum of power. I thought I recognized the creature from earlier not by its looks but by its armor. It slowed, straightened its back, and strode into the tent as if unafraid. Having to report to the boss about the unrest, are we? I asked the officer with a little twitch up of my lips. Never a good thing.
“Two more dead?” bellowed Uzorr. “Do we grow on trees?”
I don’t know, do you? I asked myself, suddenly primed for an answer to where baby orcs came from. I remained disappointed a moment later. “No, War-master,” the officer replied as humbly as he could manage. “The others… they grow anxious. Nothing to focus on but each other. Can we just—”
The sound of a heavy blow made me wince, accompanied as it was by a grunt of some form. I recognized the sound of someone getting backhanded before Uzorr snarled, “If you can’t make them obey, then I will find another who can!”
“No! War-master, I’ll control them,” the officer pleaded. “Right now!”
“Right now!” Uzorr agreed. It was followed by the officer’s hasty retreat from the tent as he scurried down the path. He didn’t slow until he came into full sight of the other orcs. Is that how it is? I wondered with a purse of my lips and a beetling brow. They fight together against a common enemy but lacking one, they turn on one another? Is that violence so bred into them they have little control over it?
I could hear a commotion near the entrance at the bottom of the falls and wondered if the officer might be at the end of his tenure, after all. Uzorr threw one flap of the tent aside to stride out, wielding a spiked mace, and look down at what he could see but growled in frustration. The angle didn’t seem right, given he then moved to walk a bit lower down. This would be now or never. He hadn’t noticed the missing papers and wouldn’t expect an attack from behind. Slipping my knives free, I went soft footed toward his paused back, intent on aiming for the holes and gaps in his armor to make it quick. I couldn’t hold out for long against him otherwise. Orcs seemed built to withstand most attacks.
I only got one shot at him. Coming in from the southwest, I plunged my knives into the spaces beneath his arms, where his armor didn’t cover – or would have, had the blasted orc not started turning at the last moment. Just like before, one knife slid home and I pulled it free while the other missed its mark. Not for lack of aiming, this time, but due to the sudden shift of Uzorr’s bulky bicep into the path. When he roared and turned, I received the full strength of the back of his hand. I felt the blow rattle my entire chest as I staggered back, tripped, and crashed to the ground. I hadn’t kept my knife this time, nor was it anywhere near where I could retrieve it. The second had bounced away as well. My only saving grace from having my breastbone or ribs caved in was my light armor beneath my clothing.
This isn’t good, I thought to myself as Uzorr bared his fangs at me from beneath the visored helm. I couldn’t see his face through it nor did I really want to. “Puny little Man!” he stated as he came for me.
I lashed out with a foot for his leg and he dodged it. It gave me a moment to get to my feet in a crouching position, though, and to whip a throwing dagger through the air aimed for his neck above the chainmail he wore. He tried to dodge it and it caught him high in the ball of his shoulder to stick there. He reached up, tore it free, and threw it aside before charging me once again with the mace at the ready. I needed some other kind of weapon. The only place I could think of to get one at this point would be inside one of the tents.
At his newest assault, I turned and darted toward the first tent. Throwing it open, I came face to face with a gangly looking orc who blinked at me, still half-asleep, in utter confusion. A glance told me there were no weapons other than a bow inside. I heard Uzorr’s approach and roar, threw myself aside toward his tent, and heard the orc inside scream as he took the full brunt of his war-master’s mace blow to the head. It was truncated and came with a sickening crunching noise that I didn’t try to think about. Instead, I threw myself into Uzorr’s tent and found what I was after: a shortsword that seemed like it would do.
Not that Uzorr cared about his now-dead archer. He came in swinging as I ducked and rolled out. “Why couldn’t Candaith have wanted me to destroy these tents?” I asked myself aloud breathlessly. “I can do that!” Uzorr barreled out again after me as I finally stood my ground.
He rushed in and I tried to combat him. He was stronger, though, and despite scoring several deep wounds on his exposed arms and legs, he had the superior strength. I could outrun him but for how long? Sooner rather than later, one of his minions would notice our fight and come to help. He swung for me, missed, and in his own tiring state, failed to bring himself back to a defensive position before my shortsword had removed his mace-wielding hand at the wrist.
The howl that erupted from Uzorr made me realize my own mortality. There was no way the rest of the camp didn’t hear that, I realized with cold horror. I only had that much time to think it, too, before the orc had driven his shoulder into my body to propel me backward. I didn’t know where I was going until my back and head contacted the table I had stolen the orders from and buckled it under the force of my landing.
My ears rang for a long moment. I lay there, stunned, until the stench-filled breath of the War-master washed over my face to say, “Now, you will die, Man!” When he grabbed my throat, the grip was mighty for it being his off hand. I choked instantly, my breath cut off, and clawed instinctively at the meaty extremity trying to kill me. My other hand flapped around searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon to make him release me and came up with nothing. The shortsword had vanished somewhere along with my knives earlier. Is this it? I asked myself as my lungs burned and the blood pounded in my ears. Is this how it ends for me? So much elf queens in my dream and becoming a better person for my son to be proud of. I couldn’t even make it to Radagast as I was told.
I knew I was about to pass out from a lack of air when I spotted, behind Uzorr, a tiny set of hands gripping a shield lifted above him in the rapidly incoming darkness. You wanted to see your son so badly you’re hallucinating him saving you, I told myself as I blacked out. So much for famous last words…
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