Disclaimer: If I had ever owned it, it wouldn't have been a success.
Trust me.
A/N: Okay. I shall begin by telling you that at this point in time, I have seen both the Fellowship of the Ring and Two Towers movies, read the whole Lord of the Rings book through once (and recently), and intend to read The Silmarillion this summer, and the Unfinished Tales sometime. What I'm trying to say here is, that whilst I have a good knowledge of Tolkien's world and characters (especially orcs - or so I like to think), it is not yet complete. Most of my story is not based on the main storyline of the books, but it could have happened during the timeline of Two Towers/ Return of the King. So please do not kill me if I seem ignorant of Middle Earth history, or I go a little wrong on the plot somewhere - I have a bad memory! :(
Anyway, the story is based upon a band of orcs at Isengard just after the Uruk-hai have been sent off to the battle of Helm's Deep and just as the Ents are arriving. Why orcs? Because I love bad guys! I usually side with them because they make the story what it is. Anyone can be a sappy little do-gooder. Plus there's a shortage of Tolkien orc fics out there. Too many sappy Legolas romances, but a shortage of orcses, my precioussss..
This story is a mixture of movie-verse and book version with a spattering of Amilyi-ishness to warp it all up a bit. For those of you who are even less knowledgeable of Black Speech (or have a bad memory like me): Sharkú = 'old man' in Black Speech, the name given to Saruman by the orcs of Isengard. Snaga = slave, also used by the Uruk-hai to refer to their lesser counterparts.
Well, that author note must have bored you out of your mind. Now, onto the fic.
~Chapter 1~
The Uruk-hai were marching south, spears and banners held proudly aloft, and their dark armour shining ferociously in the sunlight. The sunlight. It caught Yutshrug's skin and burnt it, causing him to curse and worm his way deeper into the shadows. He pulled his fur trimmed coat closer to his skin and admired his tattoos on both arms. He was considering getting a few on his thighs as well, to compliment his great selection of piercings. Yutshrug adjusted the plating on his arms and legs before he turned back to the sights and sounds. The rhythmic booming of the army's footsteps and chants slowly faded into the distance, and Yutshrug became aware of padded feet approaching him from behind. He turned to find his teal skinned friend Grôltakh behind him, who was dressed in the aged and torn garments of an Elvish high lord that he had killed more than a century ago. The front of the forest green great coat had been ripped away, revealing some of his chest. The coat length had never been altered, and it dragged along the floor, its ends torn, not meant to be worn by the smaller, fouler creature. The trousers, patterned with time-haggard dragons on the thighs, were held up by pieces of medium width rope that wound around the stomach and both legs. The arms were wound with the same rope up to the elbows. A highly ornate sword sat on his right hip with phoenixes as a decoration, also a trophy from the Elvish high lord. He also had his left cheek bone smudged with brown mud, whilst a lighter shade of the same material had been rubbed over his left eye in a circular shape. There were three rusty golden rings in the tip of his ear, and a ring in his nose, all on the left side of his face. A single, plain band of heavily scratched gold adorned his second-last finger on his right hand. But Grôltakh cared not for the beauty of these things.
"So they've finally gone? Good riddance to the bloody buggers," Grôltakh's voice rasped. "Now we can recover our numbers. Do you have any idea how many of us those Uruks killed?" Yutshrug shrugged in response. "Well I'm glad that Sharkú is gonna let us use the pits to breed some more orcs," he continued. They looked to the south, the chant and march still sounding long after the dark creeping lines had moved out of sight. "Where's Ragnäkah?" Yutshrug finally asked. "Thought he'd be here yelling insults at those Uruk-hai all the way to Helm's Deep," he grinned. "Especially after that Mushtror gave him those nasty little scars on his arms." Grôltakh grinned. "He's been assigned to help get the orc pits up an' running."
*
Many days had passed since the Uruk-hai had left. A few of the chambers were orcs, bred to help in the caverns, but most chambers were more Uruks that were being bred to replace those that would definitely fall at Helm's Deep. They would be needed to assault Gondor later, when the main battle that would decide the fate of Middle Earth would take place. Ragnäkah stood beside one of the breeding chambers, his eyes closed and his right leg folded in front of his left. He held up his hands with the palms turned upwards. Grôltakh and Yutshrug stood nearby, snickering as they watched their friend in this strange position. The meditating orc wore dark, knee-high boots into which he had tucked his baggy trousers, so baggy that they flowed over the rim of the shoes and outdid even Grôltakh's baggy trousers. A whip that doubled as an unneeded belt was wrapped around his waist, made of black creepers twisted into one long lash. Like Grôltakh, a sword rested by his side, and three golden hoops were through his left ear in imitation of him. His shirt was a simple piece of cloth with a hole cut in it for his head and fastened at each side by a loose cross stitch. Over this (though no one knew why) Ragnäkah wore another simple top, with holes cut in for his arms and fastened at the front with another lazy cross stitch and another fastening of thick interwoven threads strewn across once at the bottom of his shirt. A cloak went over these shirts, hiding some of the thin yellowish white fabric that he used to keep the top quarter of his arms covered. Below this were the scars that he had recently obtained from an Uruk, and from his elbows down to his wrists, armlets covered his ochre skin.
"An' remind me what this is supposed to do to ya again, will you Ragnäkah?" Yutshrug grinned. Ragnäkah did not respond. "I think it's supposed to help 'im to relax and all that," Grôltakh answered. Yutshrug blinked at Ragnäkah, then at Grôltakh, and back again before bursting into hysterical laughter. "With his short temper? Ha! He won't be able to! Not our Ragnäkah!" The orc standing as still as a statue (if a very funnily positioned one) began to growl, but did not open his eyes. A large clamouring up above had started, and many of the orcs that were in the caverns rushed to the surface. "What's going on up there?" Yutshrug muttered to his companion. "Don't know. Probably just an assembly, or something like that." At that moment, a newly bred Uruk strided past, making sure to push the meditative orc over as he went by. Yutshrug burst into laughter again, and Ragnäkah lost his temper. He stood up, drew his sword, and with a look of pure maliciousness in his eyes, he began to stalk the Uruk.
Before Ragnäkah had walked even a metre, the sac behind him began to howl and wriggle violently. A new orc was ready. Reluctantly, Ragnäkah put business before pleasure. All three of the orcs stopped what they were doing and began to recklessly pull the sac from its chamber in the wall, ripping it open and allowing the still-blind new-born to suck in its first gasps of the hot stale air. A loud hissing noise could now be heard far above, but it was ignored for the time being; it was most probably steam being released. It slowly began to open its eyes, and it looked in Grôltakh's direction. "'Ere, I think he thinks you're his mummy, Grôltakh," Ragnäkah teased in his high, squeaky voice. The young one's eyes began to focus, and it became obvious that he was not focusing on Grôltakh, but what was behind him. And that was when the orc spoke his first words:
"Oh, bugger."
Puzzled by this, the three other orcs turned around to find a cascade of water had begun flowing into the huge crevice, and beginning to fill up the caverns quite quickly. It soon became even louder than the constant ringing of the hammers, which even now had not quite stopped. "Oh, crap," Ragnäkah gasped. "Oh, bloody 'ell!" Yutshrug shrieked. "Oh, for Sauron's sake! Let's get out of here!" Grôltakh shouted, bringing the two other orcs to their senses. They began running up the steep ground to the next level, and leaving the naked newborn behind.
~End of Chapter One~
A/N: .Gee, wasn't that exciting? Well, I'm done with most of the descriptions of the main characters now, so you may sigh a deep relief that you will not have to endure that many in a chapter again. Reviewing is good. It helps me. Please review.
A/N: Okay. I shall begin by telling you that at this point in time, I have seen both the Fellowship of the Ring and Two Towers movies, read the whole Lord of the Rings book through once (and recently), and intend to read The Silmarillion this summer, and the Unfinished Tales sometime. What I'm trying to say here is, that whilst I have a good knowledge of Tolkien's world and characters (especially orcs - or so I like to think), it is not yet complete. Most of my story is not based on the main storyline of the books, but it could have happened during the timeline of Two Towers/ Return of the King. So please do not kill me if I seem ignorant of Middle Earth history, or I go a little wrong on the plot somewhere - I have a bad memory! :(
Anyway, the story is based upon a band of orcs at Isengard just after the Uruk-hai have been sent off to the battle of Helm's Deep and just as the Ents are arriving. Why orcs? Because I love bad guys! I usually side with them because they make the story what it is. Anyone can be a sappy little do-gooder. Plus there's a shortage of Tolkien orc fics out there. Too many sappy Legolas romances, but a shortage of orcses, my precioussss..
This story is a mixture of movie-verse and book version with a spattering of Amilyi-ishness to warp it all up a bit. For those of you who are even less knowledgeable of Black Speech (or have a bad memory like me): Sharkú = 'old man' in Black Speech, the name given to Saruman by the orcs of Isengard. Snaga = slave, also used by the Uruk-hai to refer to their lesser counterparts.
Well, that author note must have bored you out of your mind. Now, onto the fic.
~Chapter 1~
The Uruk-hai were marching south, spears and banners held proudly aloft, and their dark armour shining ferociously in the sunlight. The sunlight. It caught Yutshrug's skin and burnt it, causing him to curse and worm his way deeper into the shadows. He pulled his fur trimmed coat closer to his skin and admired his tattoos on both arms. He was considering getting a few on his thighs as well, to compliment his great selection of piercings. Yutshrug adjusted the plating on his arms and legs before he turned back to the sights and sounds. The rhythmic booming of the army's footsteps and chants slowly faded into the distance, and Yutshrug became aware of padded feet approaching him from behind. He turned to find his teal skinned friend Grôltakh behind him, who was dressed in the aged and torn garments of an Elvish high lord that he had killed more than a century ago. The front of the forest green great coat had been ripped away, revealing some of his chest. The coat length had never been altered, and it dragged along the floor, its ends torn, not meant to be worn by the smaller, fouler creature. The trousers, patterned with time-haggard dragons on the thighs, were held up by pieces of medium width rope that wound around the stomach and both legs. The arms were wound with the same rope up to the elbows. A highly ornate sword sat on his right hip with phoenixes as a decoration, also a trophy from the Elvish high lord. He also had his left cheek bone smudged with brown mud, whilst a lighter shade of the same material had been rubbed over his left eye in a circular shape. There were three rusty golden rings in the tip of his ear, and a ring in his nose, all on the left side of his face. A single, plain band of heavily scratched gold adorned his second-last finger on his right hand. But Grôltakh cared not for the beauty of these things.
"So they've finally gone? Good riddance to the bloody buggers," Grôltakh's voice rasped. "Now we can recover our numbers. Do you have any idea how many of us those Uruks killed?" Yutshrug shrugged in response. "Well I'm glad that Sharkú is gonna let us use the pits to breed some more orcs," he continued. They looked to the south, the chant and march still sounding long after the dark creeping lines had moved out of sight. "Where's Ragnäkah?" Yutshrug finally asked. "Thought he'd be here yelling insults at those Uruk-hai all the way to Helm's Deep," he grinned. "Especially after that Mushtror gave him those nasty little scars on his arms." Grôltakh grinned. "He's been assigned to help get the orc pits up an' running."
*
Many days had passed since the Uruk-hai had left. A few of the chambers were orcs, bred to help in the caverns, but most chambers were more Uruks that were being bred to replace those that would definitely fall at Helm's Deep. They would be needed to assault Gondor later, when the main battle that would decide the fate of Middle Earth would take place. Ragnäkah stood beside one of the breeding chambers, his eyes closed and his right leg folded in front of his left. He held up his hands with the palms turned upwards. Grôltakh and Yutshrug stood nearby, snickering as they watched their friend in this strange position. The meditating orc wore dark, knee-high boots into which he had tucked his baggy trousers, so baggy that they flowed over the rim of the shoes and outdid even Grôltakh's baggy trousers. A whip that doubled as an unneeded belt was wrapped around his waist, made of black creepers twisted into one long lash. Like Grôltakh, a sword rested by his side, and three golden hoops were through his left ear in imitation of him. His shirt was a simple piece of cloth with a hole cut in it for his head and fastened at each side by a loose cross stitch. Over this (though no one knew why) Ragnäkah wore another simple top, with holes cut in for his arms and fastened at the front with another lazy cross stitch and another fastening of thick interwoven threads strewn across once at the bottom of his shirt. A cloak went over these shirts, hiding some of the thin yellowish white fabric that he used to keep the top quarter of his arms covered. Below this were the scars that he had recently obtained from an Uruk, and from his elbows down to his wrists, armlets covered his ochre skin.
"An' remind me what this is supposed to do to ya again, will you Ragnäkah?" Yutshrug grinned. Ragnäkah did not respond. "I think it's supposed to help 'im to relax and all that," Grôltakh answered. Yutshrug blinked at Ragnäkah, then at Grôltakh, and back again before bursting into hysterical laughter. "With his short temper? Ha! He won't be able to! Not our Ragnäkah!" The orc standing as still as a statue (if a very funnily positioned one) began to growl, but did not open his eyes. A large clamouring up above had started, and many of the orcs that were in the caverns rushed to the surface. "What's going on up there?" Yutshrug muttered to his companion. "Don't know. Probably just an assembly, or something like that." At that moment, a newly bred Uruk strided past, making sure to push the meditative orc over as he went by. Yutshrug burst into laughter again, and Ragnäkah lost his temper. He stood up, drew his sword, and with a look of pure maliciousness in his eyes, he began to stalk the Uruk.
Before Ragnäkah had walked even a metre, the sac behind him began to howl and wriggle violently. A new orc was ready. Reluctantly, Ragnäkah put business before pleasure. All three of the orcs stopped what they were doing and began to recklessly pull the sac from its chamber in the wall, ripping it open and allowing the still-blind new-born to suck in its first gasps of the hot stale air. A loud hissing noise could now be heard far above, but it was ignored for the time being; it was most probably steam being released. It slowly began to open its eyes, and it looked in Grôltakh's direction. "'Ere, I think he thinks you're his mummy, Grôltakh," Ragnäkah teased in his high, squeaky voice. The young one's eyes began to focus, and it became obvious that he was not focusing on Grôltakh, but what was behind him. And that was when the orc spoke his first words:
"Oh, bugger."
Puzzled by this, the three other orcs turned around to find a cascade of water had begun flowing into the huge crevice, and beginning to fill up the caverns quite quickly. It soon became even louder than the constant ringing of the hammers, which even now had not quite stopped. "Oh, crap," Ragnäkah gasped. "Oh, bloody 'ell!" Yutshrug shrieked. "Oh, for Sauron's sake! Let's get out of here!" Grôltakh shouted, bringing the two other orcs to their senses. They began running up the steep ground to the next level, and leaving the naked newborn behind.
~End of Chapter One~
A/N: .Gee, wasn't that exciting? Well, I'm done with most of the descriptions of the main characters now, so you may sigh a deep relief that you will not have to endure that many in a chapter again. Reviewing is good. It helps me. Please review.