"Oglib, get your hairy **** up! Saruman just ordered us to attack a Rohirrim column, you great lump!"
I, of course, was Oglib. I opened my eyes, sighing. The speaker of those words had been Sharku, my company leader. He was very strict, as you can imagine.
"Oglib, I said, "Get your hairy **** up!" NOW!" Sharku roared, placing a hand on the hilt of his crude scimitar threateningly.
"Alright, alright," I yelped, sitting up and getting dressed in the light fur-and-bone armor of the Warg-riders. I then buckled my crudely-made sheath onto my belt, and stuck my own scimitar into the sheath, running outside.
My Warg, Shakov, was thrashing around, his tail knocking a snaga handler tumbling head-over-heels. I ran up to the huge wolf-like animal, laying my filth-encrusted claws on his back calmingly.
"Shakov, behave!" I ordered, and the Warg turned its head and looked at me, intelligent yellow eyes glowing as he apparently debated on whether to rip my head off or not. Fortunately for me, he decided not to and got down on his haunces for me to mount his back, which I did with a sigh of relief. My company comrades lined up their Wargs with me in front of the gates of our outpost near Isengard.
Sharku rode along our front, surveying us with a critical eye. He was the oldest of our company, and that proved he was the best, for the Orc who could last that long riding a vicious Warg had to be good enough to be Captain. Wargs were ferocious beasts and in the heat of their battle-rage, they could sometimes attack other members of their pack or even more frequently, their handlers.
"Okay, you Orcish scum!!! We're going to attack a straw-head column of men, children, and maybe one eored, so this should be an easy outride, 'catch?"
The Warg-riders all answered simultaneously with one loud: "Yes, sir!!"
"Then let's ride!" Sharku turned his own Warg, Shakka, around as the gates to our outpost swung open and my company ran out with a speed far greater than the finest Rohirrim horse rider's mount.
It was only twenty miles from our outpost to the Rohirrim column nearing Helm's Deep, and our Wargs ran that distance in an easy forty minutes. Sharku rode at the head of the pack proud as any Orc could be, riding the best Warg in the outfit.
"There are the strawheads!" he suddenly shouted in his raspy voice, pointing ahead with his scimitar. We called the Rohirrim strawheads because the majority of their warriors were blondes.
"Get ready, you dumb lumps of Orc-flesh!" he called out, as the company crested a hill and started down the opposite side. Ahead, on another hill, I could see some kind of man-like shape standing on the hillside, aiming a bow -- was that an elf? Nearby, a dead Warg and its rider lay with a dead Rohirrim rider.
I drew in a sharp breath. The dead rider was my good friend Shokk. Oh, that elf would pay very dearly, oh so dearly! And I would be the one to eat his flesh, I tell you! Elf-flesh was sweeter than man-flesh, and I anticipated it with a light salivation from my mouthful of serrated and yellowed fangs.
"FORWARD!" Sharku yelled, and our company dashed forth at a recklessly quick speed, and the elf fired his arrow, striking Gildabad in the face and knocking him from his mount. The elf archer's next missile struck a Warg behind me and it fell, crushing its rider's legs in the process of doing so.
What was this, a single elf defeating us, the great Warg-riders? I drove Shakov forward harder with a squeeze of my knees, anticipating the elf-flesh again, and suddenly an entire eored was galloping over the hill beside the elf, led by a kingly man, who I supposed was the great Theoden of Rohan.
Sharku only blinked in mild surprise, and raised his scimitar, and that made the company gallop forth still faster. Theoden raised his sword, and his eored came forward just as fast almost and the two sides clashed.
I ducked the swing of a Rohirrim rider's sword, and jabbed my scimitar up through his chest, through his internal organs, and out his back, ripping it out and watching the man fall from the horse, which was being disemboweled by Shakov.
I looked at my bloody blade, then licked it clean, before I drove Shakov back into the battle. He leaped onto the back of a rider, crushing the man from his mount's back and breaking the horse's legs, rendering it useless.
I laughed nastily. This was turning out to be quite fun. That is, until the elf shot me in the shoulder with an arrow. I turned to confront him, scimitar raised high.
really good I personally enjoyed the well written details, such as strawheads, words used initially by the Dunledings at Helm's Deep, but that are also well used here in the story also the term Sharku fits the situation very well considering that Sharku meant Old Man, it makes sense that the leader of the riders would be an older, and more experienced person, and not a novice. also, an eored which is 120 riders does seem to match the situation in the book, where not so many riders where available at that time
however, terms such as minutes don't go along so well with the story, considering the fact Orcs had no minutes but would rather measure time depending on the position of the Sun.
OOC- Oh, sorry just not as well-informed as you are, The Might, lol. I'll be more mindful and researchful of the Orcish customs from now on, and also Rohirrim things like the number of riders in an eored. Well, here's another chapter to add to the story.
The elf looked right back at me and started to load another arrow, lightning fast. But I was also pretty fast, one of the quickest-moving Orcs in our company. I flung my dagger, burying it through the elf's bow and cutting his bowstring.
With that enraged-looking elf now pretty much out of arrow-firing comission, I looked down at my bleeding shoulder and wrenched the arrow out, flinging it aside, then goaded Shakov forward towards the rest of the riders.
Before I could reach them, Sharku riding Shakka flashed past, a Man who was not a strawhead hanging off the side. They were fighting and Sharku apparently lost, for the man flung him off of Shakka, and then the Warg and the Man tumbled off of a short cliff. Sharku lay still near the edge, coughing black blood. He had apparently been mortally wounded.
I stared at my leader for a moment, ashamed I was feeling compassion and sorrow for the impending death of my hard-****d leader, but he had been a good leader and not usually unnessecarily mean.
I shook my head and turned back to the battle at hand. Shakov tore a horse's head from its neck and spat it out as if it was nothing as the horse fell on its rider's right leg, shattering it obviously from his shrieks of pain.
"Man-flesh," I breathed quietly as I swung my scimitar down, burying the painstakingly sharpened and stained blade through the man's eye and cheek, sending him flying back with his leg still under the horse and twitching slightly.
I threw back my head and howled triumphantly. Then I saw something that convinced me I had better get the Mordor out of there! That elf had got a new bowstring, apparently from a dead strawhead and was firing arrows left and right, downing my comrades, beast and Orc alike, with one arrow each.
I heard a loud growl and a shout in Dwarvish and turned just in time for my scimitar to block the powerful slash of a Dwarf's axe. This was just a cornucopia of different warriors, I thought as I blocked another axe-strike and kicked the Dwarf backwards.
It was time to leave. "To me, to me," I called in the raspy tongue of my kind. "Hear me, hear me," I called out again. "We must get back to the outpost. Retreat!" Without another glance or word, I turned Shakov by force and rode him back towards the outpost.
Hey, were the Warg-riders involved in any other battles besides this small skirmish with the Rohirrim? I think some were at the Pelennor Fields, weren't they? Probably a few at the Battle of the Morannon, too.
could be, though I am not sure if it is mentioned anywhere. All I can tell you as extra information on wargs is that most of the wargs came from the northern vales of the Anduin - remember for example the moment when Wargs attacked the company in the Hobbit anyway, I think that if you want to perhaps find out some more information you could re-read the part in the Hobbit where the Wargs are described...you could for example use a dialogue between Shakov and another Warg
indeed...the Wargs would most likely remember that battle, and probably be very angered at the sight of a Dwarf such as Gimli in Rohan. they could speak with each other and probably they had tales as well from that battle, tales told by the few Warg survivors of the battle. anyway, considering the info in the Hobbit, it wouldn't be unlikely if the Wargs would be sometimes let alone without their riders to wonder off and attack a village. Personally I don't think there was a relationship of inferiority between Wargs and Orcs. It wasn't friendship either. I'd say it was interdependency and working together in the best interest of both races. Wargs fighting together with Orcs and viceversa could have better chances of winning a battle then if they fought it alone. Saruman used this to create a strong force of Warg riders that could always use to do great damage.
I see what you mean, The Might. And maybe I'll have the Wargs speak among themselves of their tales about the Battle of the Five Armies. After all, they are sentinent beings and probably have legends just as well as us Men.
indeed...60 years is a short period of time btw, the best example of a legend of the wargs could be mentioning Beorn...after all it was he that turned the tide of the battle, so probably the Wargs feared bears, especially big black ones
The remainder of my company of Warg-riders huddled around a small fire as a cold wind blew across the air about seven miles from our outpost. We could not go any farther than that, because our footclaws were almost frozen off. We had to practically get into the fire to get warm enough to stay alive.
Meanwhile, with their thick pelts, our Wargs, equally rank-thinned, curled up in a loose circle nearby, talking together in their strange language.
My fellow Wargs were bored, and as was I, so I elected to tell them one of our many legends to pass the time. After all, I was the most knowledgeable and clever Warg in our company, so it was only justice that I tell the story, right? Right.
"There once was a great battle, of the Men and the Dwarves and the Elves and our Riders the Orcs and even some of us Wargs ourselves. It was ferociously fought at close range and we were kicking the tail out of what my grandfer called the "nice-mice", or dwarves, and those infernal Elves and the Men, when all these Eagles showed up. The forces of Orcs and Wargs began to have a bit of trouble at the point, as you can imagine."
The other Wargs gave an agreeable series of grunts, growls and even a few howls at the moon hovering above.
I continued, undaunted: "Then . . . this huge black bear comes and attacks us!"
That made the Wargs sit up straight, their fur standing on end. "Big black bear, you say?" asked Trekkin, mount of the Orc Gandabarr, slain at the recent skirmish.
"Yes, and he slew Orcs and Wargs by the dozen . . . " Shakov gave a theatrical little shiver and then leaned close, putting a paw to his fangs.
"Did you hear that? I think . . . "
"You think? You think what?" Trekkin asked anxiously.
"I think . . . THERE'S A BIG BLACK BEAR BEHIND YOU!" Shakov yelled suddenly.
Trekkin leaped six feet into the air, his fur and tail standing on end, fangs bared and claws out, before he noticed the great black bear wasn't behind him. He growled menacingly and threateningly at Shakov and laid back down.
I strode along the front of my small group of stone-faced, remaining Warg-riders, looking as disappointed as possible with my ugly, scarred Orcish face.
"We failed horribly at the engagement with the straw-heads and---"
One of the riders, Rocrist, started to interrupt. "But the Elf and a Dwarf and--"
My gauntleted fist smashed into his face, knocking him sprawling, blood spraying everywhere as his right eye hung loose in its socket from the amazingly vicious blow, the other eye rolling insanely in its own socket. Rocrist convulsed for a few moments, and went still.
"Anyone wanna join him and interrupt me again?" I roared.
Noone answered, just stared at the dead body. They were probably wishing Sharku hadn't died at the skirmish. Sure, he had been harsh, but he had never been unnessecarily. I did this for what seemed like my own pleasure. Indeed, I was smiling as I stabbed my gauntleted claws into the muddy ground of our camp to wash Rorcrist's blood off of it.
"Good . . . Now, mount up!"
My fifteen remaining soldiers got onto their Wargs in silence, preparing to leave.
"We are heading back to Isengard to await orders from Saruman. Any questions?"
Saruman looked on quietly as I told my tale. When I was finished, he stood from his "Throne of Orthanc" in the highest room of that tower.
"Go to Mordor, Captain Oglib . . . Sauron will have more use for you and your company than I, for I have a march on Helm's Deep to organize and plot! Go!"
"COMPANY HALT, YOU FILTHY MANGERATS!" I yelled angrily, when my Riders didn't halt at first order. They halted now, muttering among themselves and pawing their dagger hilts, but I knew they were too cowardly to really do anything.
I rode another few feet towards the Black Gate. "OPEN UP! WE HAVE OFFICIAL ORDERS FROM SARUMAN OF ISENGARD TO REPORT TO SAURON HISSELF!"
After a moment, the gates began to creak open and the Mouth of Sauron rode out with a small escort of Orcs mounted on strange black-furred Wargs.
"What is it you want to speak to Sauron about?" the Mouth asked, revealing his teeth, almost as disgusting as those of mine and the Orcs around me. I grimaced.
"We would like to be assigned to a new duty! Saruman thought we would be more useful to Sauron . . . "
"Well, maybe you can be . . . Sauron could use a company of Warg-riders attacking the Dwarves so they cannot march to help the Men at Helm's Deep!"
"It's settled, then! Send my thanks to Lord Sauron!"
I doubt Saruman would have done that. The Nazgul had already been to Orthanc before the war started as they were looking for the ring (as explained in the UT) Saruman knew that Sauron knew of his betrayal, so I doubt he would have sent troops to try make Sauron happy. We would have rather just sent the Wargs to terrorize some villagers in the Wold for example. But, it is your choice of how you write the story, so I won't interfere.
