"Sickle-Fly again?! We do we always have to eat the stinking bugs?" Gorb shook his head before smacking that lowly rat of a Hurz back in his place with the stirring spoon. "Because I am the one making the food! If you know how to make this filth into something decent give it a try! Otherwise just hold your tongue and let me do the job!" Hurz scurried of somewhere, most likely to polish those wolf teeth of his. Chieftain said that the maggot used to keep them as pets until the previous cook made them into dinner. Gorb grinned to himself when he remembered the taste of those lousy mutts. They were a good eating. We should let Gorb try and find some wolf pups again. Only thing that maggot is good for. Finding stray animals and crying when we eat them!
Gurgul looked out over his dominion in Middle-Earth. Even though it was unbeknownst to the Orc-Chieftain, his dominion was once known as Ost Ardúlin. A mighty town of Arthedain. From here out the boats of the mighty kings of Fornost would bring commerce to the Lone-lands and the folk from the Bree-Lands. The only thing Gurgul knew was that Merenost (That is how it is written on the commander's map) was the worst place to be the chieftain of. It was wet, cold and the gnats were a constant annoyance. Still, almost none ever came to this sticking bog so we were at least safe from those pesky rangers with their longbows. The bulky orc sniffed in the air for a moment. Eating Sickle-Fly, again. "We must really start looking for a new cook again."
Silence...why by the Valar's name was there silence! There shouldn't be silence! This is an ambush! The young ranger named Hirion was laying on his belly in the grass, next to a fence.I saw the arrows! Where is the noise? The screams?! The young man wasn't alone on the ground. His mentor, Girandor the Hawk, was but a short crawl away from him and also laying on his belly. Am I dreaming this? The young ranger felt the shoulder of his mentor and friend, feeling no reaction what so ever. The ranger tried to turn his master on his back yet the young man didn't needed to be a healer to find out what was wrong. A small puddle of blood was forming on the grass, seeping out of an arrow wound in his neck. We were supposed to watch a farm! Not fight! Hirion recovered himself, knowing that his mentor's fate has been decided. The young man took an arrow out of his quiver and jumped up with the speed of lightning, nocking the arrow at the same time so that he was ready to let his arrow fly! From where did they fire? Left is the farmhouse of the farmer Gaston, ahead is the road and to the right are the trees! Where...where are they? The young ranger loosened his grip on the arrow, letting the bowstring relax again. Is this a pra- The thoughts of the ranger was cut short when he felt a hard sting in his neck. Hirion didn't needed to look down, already knowing the fate that had befallen him. The ranger slowly fell to his knees, letting his bow fall to the ground. Life was flowing away. All his hardships seemed to be but a different memory not of his own. All that he could see and experience was a white light. All consuming and tranquil. He was free of his burdens.
Four figures closed in on the two fallen rangers. They were almost shrouded in the evening light yet their small stature and walk made it clear that it were black orcs. They searched the bodies for anything of use yet quickly discarded them again when they found nothing. Not a grunt or sound did they made and was it not for their kills, none would have known of their passing.
