Once they arrived at Esteldin, the rain had stopped and the morning sun was shining through the grey clouds. The rangers trudged up the muddy path to the hidden stronghold, dragging the heavy bound orc with them. They made their way towards the chamber they used to interrogate prisoners, a dark stone room lit by candles around the large floor, heavy iron rings and chains hung from the wall. The large orc struggled a bit against his bindings, glaring at the rangers in the room. He pushed himself against the wall, "You lot want me to chirp away, but I'll die if I keep quiet o' not."
Daeriim stepped off to the side to smoke a pipe, speaking between puffs. "Aye, you'll die either way, but it's how you'll die that makes it different."
Torchnar had the orc chief dragged across the empty room, the floors of cold stone stained with old blood in the cracks. He looked grimly at the orc and nodded at Ivorneth. She stepped forward, looking at the stab wound near his armpit. The black blood coagulated on the armor and she avoided looking at the orc in the face as she pulled back the armor back piece to look closer.
The large Orc would let her, not seeing the point to offer much resistance to his captors. He glared at her, but then turned his yellowish bloodshot eyes on Torchanar, "Just you pigs wait. You'll be sort'ed out. The Tribes fight together, now. With you scum in mind to slaughter."
Ivorneth glanced back at the men, "I believe he may live from the wound. It’s hard to tell with the armor on." She backed away, moving to the far wall near the few rangers that remained.
Torchanar rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble and closed his eyes for a moment, the ache of the infected wound on his cheek and the exertion sending a wave of weariness over him. He took a deep breath, girding his deep reserves of strength and then sniffed at the stench from the orc, "Tribes together eh? That won't last."
The Orc gave the ranger a slimy sort of smile, as if he knew something he did not. "Won't last?" he repeated, barking a laugh, "Roight. You tell that to Stoneheight. Or Fornost. Your lands will fall to orcs soon enough. A iron fist, coilin' 'round your pale throats."
Daeriim looked toward the healer. “Perhaps we should "burn" his wound shut” he whispered, winking at her.
Ivorneth shook her head slightly, turning her pale eyes toward the scene. Torchanar raised an eyebrow, "Those victories? Hardly much to brag about. Stoneheight is guarded by lesser men, a loss for sure but nothing that cannot be taken back. And Fornost? A graveyard..." He strolled back and leaned on the wall, crossing his feet at his ankles.
The Orc tilted his head from left to right, "The Krahjarn march upon your fellow pigs at Annuminas, and aye, Fornost is a graveyard...But les' see your pig self try to retake it from the Blogmal." he said, barking a laugh. He leaned against the wall. "I can die content, knowin' your time is done."
Torchanar looked at him, reaching into his tunic for a strip of venison jerky. He bit it and tore off a piece as the orc rambled on. "That's all very interesting, but I've been around long enough to know your tribes will likely be at each other's throats before you can even make another major strike." He chewed and spit a bit of gristle at the orc's foot.
The large orc flexed his muscles at that, scooting forward to stare at the ranger for a long moment, "Somethin's changed, pig." he said, a cheerful gleam to his eye, "The Hillmen joined us, but that ain't even the cream o' it."
Torchanar glanced at Daerim, "Hear that? Hillmen.” He turned back to rest his grey gaze on the chained orc, “I'm surprised you haven't eaten half of them. They'll run faster than you once they get a few tastes of our steel. I'm not wetting myself yet."
The former Chieftain hooted at that, his head tilting from side to side, "Oh, oh you." he said, biting his lower lip as he settled back against the wall. "There was an army that came." he said, nodding a few times, "An army that unite'd the tribes, you can lay tah' that, you can."
Torchanar tongued the inside of his cheek, "An army? So you are bending the knee to another orc tribe? Did they beat you into submission?"
The Chieftain shrugged at that, leaning against the wall, "The Tarkrips were the ones at Gundabad. Men leadin' an army. Came from Mordor, you can lay tah that." he said, a gleam to his eye as he looked the Rangers over. "Tarkrips were first to bend the knee to the men. The rest followed. Wit' em came the largest orcs I ever saw, armed well too. Came from the bowels of the Eye,come to pull out your entrails and feed em to your women."
Daeriim grew impatient. "I'm really tired of your tongue, orc."
Torchanar raised his hand, "Please, I find this all very amusing. This orc and his tall tales of the Mordor and Angmar...iron fists." He smiled but it does not touch his pale grey eyes. "Men leading eh? I would never have guessed a proud orc would bend the knee to a man."
Daeriim scoffed, his weathered face scowling bitterly, "Proud orc alright. Look at him. He's pathetic."
The orc glared at Daeriim, but turned to Torchanar, "I was born into the Krahjarn tribe, notably the fiercest. Rose to become bodyguard to the Warlord, until the Ongburz offered a suit of armour, and title." he said, shrugging, "But these weren't any men like I've seen or slain before, you know?" he said, as if still in wonder. Though he paused as he thought of his new masters. "Six o' em, there are." he said, looking down at the ground for a moment, "Your kin," he finished.
Torchanar ignored Daeriim's comment, focused wholly on the orc as he spoke. His eyes registered surprise at the last part. He pressed his lips in a thin line, his previous mocking tone changing as well as his tactics. He glanced at the rangers,"This is no pathetic orc, he is of an infamous tribe and he was the only one not to run from us." He paused and looked at the orc, "You say our kin? Would you know the differences of Men?"
Ivorneth approached the older man, standing beside him to hear the orc better for herself. The few other rangers pick their heads up, staring in shock at the orc's statement. The large orc bowed his head at that, instinctively attempting to pound his chest, though his bound hands didn't allow him to, "The Krahjarn hold grudges against tarks. We slaughter'd men before. But you lot?" he shook his head, "Fightin' you lot is like fightin' wind. Need to corner ya' first, and catch you before we can stab ye. Krahjarn will settle your folk at Annuminas, you lay tah' that.”
Daeriim sighed and looked to the orc. "Have anything else you with to share with us?"
Torchanar ran his fingers over the star broach on his chest, his cloak thrown back to display the silver seven point badge of his kin. “So you figure you'll make corners out of Annuminas and Fornost, is that so?" He peered at the injured orc, his pale eyes keen as he spoke, "And these kinsmen...they look like us yes?" He gestured to himself and Daerrim, both tall men, grey eyed with a stoic bearing.
|He glared at Daerrim again, holding his gaze for a long moment before spitting off to the side. He shook his head though, "Bigger." he said, biting his lower lip, the points of his teeth bringing black blood to dribble down, "And armoured as though they are lords. Arnakhor, leads em. Arnakhor with Two hundred Uruks, united the tribes of Gram and Gundabad to conquer what remains of Arnor. Just you see. Aye you'll pick off small bands like mine. But when they come?" he said allowing himself a grin, as his eyes met Daeriim, "One o' em will fuck your bunghole with a sword!"
Daeriim glared at the filth. "I'd love to see them try."
Torchanar's jaw clenched as the orc described the men, and breathed out sharply. He spoke quietly, his face more grim than before, "Tall men, grey of eye...bigger and from the east. I did not think they still lived. The Black Numenoreans."
The orc let loose a howl of laughter as he saw Torchanar grow quiet, "Oh you doubt us now do ye? Do ye, pig!"
Daeriim's hand twitched in anger. The dagger in his boot was looking more and more friendly as the orc mocked them. Ivorneth put her hand on Daeriim's, her touch feather light but firm.
Torchanar merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "Long lost cousins, could be a family reunion of sorts."
He paced back and forth, the silver mariner's star winking in the candle light. "And why do they come here? Now of all times?"
|The orc seemed to have calmed down a bit, and cracked his neck, "The wheels o' war turn. They spoke of War in the South, and we must do our part to secure our glory and position."
Torchanar nodded, his lips disappearing in a white line again and he looked at the orc, "War is our life, eh old chum? We do our part and you do yours. It never ends until we're dead." He put his hands behind his back, clasping one over his wrist, in a parade rest position, "Indeed war stirs in the south so that must make the north look ripe. You forget though the hearts of men are willful and will not break so easily as you hope." He paused and looks at Daerrim, "We stand until our last breath and the men of this land will do the same."
Daeriim threw his arm in the air. "Aye!!" A few other rangers nodded and spoke their faith.
The large orc offered the Rangers a crude smile, "Good. Stoneheight was too easy, and that was just the start."
Torchanar smiled grimly at him, "That it was. You won that battle with surprise, a tactic well loved by anyone. Stoneheight will be taken back, and this land will run black with the blood of your kin. I wonder...if your Numenoreans will care much about what happens to you...what is your name, orc?"
The large orc shook his head, "Torzog. Kill me here, I know it'd end in that. Let me go? The Warlord will kill me, if not he, the Numenoreans. Either way, you, I am a dead orc. I realized this the moment I saw your blade coming down to my face."
Daeriim spoke up, a question on all of their minds, “So why tell us all this if you decided you would die in the end anyway?”
“‘Cause it won't matter. Might as well have the fun o' gossip before I go on my merry way,” the orc replied.
Daeriim growled, his eyes cold as iron, “'If you think death will come easy to you, you are completely wrong.”
Torzog merely replied to the old man, “A mercy compared to returning to camp, boy.”
Daeriim snapped, “Maybe I'll let the archers use you for practice, or maybe we'll put you on a post and beat you with clubs. It matters not...”
Daeriim looked at Ivorneth when she once more put a restraining hand on his arm. Why give this vile thing mercy, his bitter gaze spoke.
The orc opened the palms of his hands to stare at them for a moment. His brow creased, as he leaned against the wall to drag himself onto his feet with a grunt. "Born Krahjarn. I will die as one, and fight."
Ivorneth looked up at him, shrugging slightly, whispering, "I don't know. Because we are not them."
Torchanar spoke to Daerrim, "You are eager for his blood, you can take it. End it here and we learn no more about what is coming.”
Daeriim replied, “'You have not suffered what I have suffered at the hands of these creatures... You do not know.”
Torchanar held his hand up before the man can move. He looked at the Orc, “Tell me one last thing. How many are you strong? Tell me true and I will finish you myself. If not I will let him have you"
Torzog turned to eye Torchanar, "Krahjarn, or the tribes as a whole?"
Torchanar looked the orc in the eyes, "All of them, Chief Torzog."
Torzog smiled at the title, the courtesy as he flexed his muscles with a grunt, "Over twenty thousand orc. Not sure how many the Hillmen bring forth, though."
Ivorneth grows even more pale, gripping the older man's arm at the number. Torchanar blinked once and then nodded, "What tribes of hillmen?"
Torzog tilted his head from left to right in thought, "We Krahjarn hold Carn Dum, but the Hillmen controlled a smaller city south. Beyond that, ain't too sure for their name, or number." he said with a grunt, "Now how about ye give this orc a blade and we see it done?"
Daeriim turned away, anger etched in the creases of his face.
Torchanar nodded and pulled his sword, the steel ringing loudly in the stone chamber. "My gratitude for your information, I will return it as best I can." He gripped the sword with two hands and raised it so the gleaming tip is nearly eye level before plunging it into the into the base of Torzog’s neck, the blade tearing through to the spine.
He grunted with the effort, the black blood spurting onto his face and chest, staining the ringmail. Torchanar watched him, taking a deep breath as the light started to fade from his eyes, "And know, the Men of the West will see the death of your kin."
Ivorneth watched the dying orc and then looked away, glancing up at the older man's face, "It is done then."
Daeriim looked at the corpse. He kicked it with all his might and sent it reeling as far as the bonds would let it.
Ivorneth watched him, "You wanted to kill the orc?"
Daeriim replied, 'I wanted to make it suffer as I have.”
Ivorneth reached up to push her hood back, her short black hair slightly mussed, "And how did you suffer?"
Daeriim shook his head, “No. I can't tell you. Nobody has known the truth and should Daeriir find out...”
Torchanar wiped the black blood from his blade on the dead orc's arm. He sheathed it, looking down at the body as Daeriim kicked it. He nodded once, "As if I’d fight him again. I'll be writing up what he told us before I forget any of it. He sang prettier than any morning lark." He pulled his cloak around his shoulders, speaking to the rangers still present, "See that the body is disposed of, burn it."
