The fateless Wanderers

The sound of steel meeting steel could be heard from afar as the hammers were falling on the anvils, shaping metal into swords and spears. Ost Cyrn seemed to be busy; all the orcs were working hard under their lieutenants’ leashes. The tall dark brown orc moved about, looking at his soldiers as they worked hard with the others and shook his head in disapproval, they came to fight, not to become farmers and make carts. Tightening his grip around the whip he walked to the Mess Hall to have a drink, waiting for another day to pass.

The past few days have been very enjoyable indeed.

A deathly laughter was heard from the beach and the man ran towards it as quietly as he could. He was dressed in black, with black hair and an average height, he wore a black cloak and a black hood to conceal himself in the dark. It was still a long distance to the beach and the light of the moon would betray his presence if he’d move further, so he chose to remain where he was, waiting for the right moment to get near or find another way to listen.

The chilly wind blew over the cold lake Evendim, causing the surface to stir a little, creating a small wave, moving towards the beach. There, the wind blew into the face of a man, tall with dark hair, clothed in the outfit of the tomb-robbers and he turned around to look at his companion, gritting his teeth annoyed. “They’re late… As always! They have no respect for us!” he said in an angry but low voice.

This one visited the halls once again, and sifted through the items belonging to another trader, until he found a suitable cloak. However, upon donning the cloak, one was reminded of what he has left behind.. Midhriell, a friend. Well, she was more than that, but, this one left her behind to travel north, to find this company. He wishes to see her at least once more, before he may set off out to the world.

One found this old journal amidst the wares of a travelling merchant, who he came across as he was exploring the vast hall of Thorin. This is a truly remarkable place, this one is still amazed by the sight of these grand halls. If you had asked him ten summers back, if he thought he would ever see such an amazing work of architecture, one would've laughed in your face, and told you to quit drinking.. So much has happened within these last few winters, that one cannot fully comprehend it all. This one hopes we travel as far east as possible, one still wishes to search for his kin.

A loud creaking noise was heard and the gates of Isengard opened, everything was still for some moments, until the sound of boots echoed in the distance. A company of fifty heavy armoured orcs was marching out of the White Wizard’s land. They were walking in two lines side by side, each one was consisted of twenty five orcs and the captain was to the left, next to the third line from the end. The dark brown orc was looking proudly at his soldiers, holding his trusty whip in his right hand.