The ghastly sight of the jagged, rocky peaks of Mordor's tumbling and lethal mountains was the first assault to the senses. It cut a rough line across an already foreboding and gloomy horizon. The sharply pointed rocks that seemed to jab threateningly at the sky were chilling enough for such lifeless objects.
The second attack was the sound of thundering feet pounding mercilessly on the cracked and dusty ground. Boots, armored boots, rough boots, the occasional fine boots and particularly large boots all contributed to the drum that beat against the earth.
The third and most unforgivable horror was the stench: the pungent smell of brimstone was odiferous enough, but the even more terrible revelation was the pure stink that rose from the unwashed and putrid bodies of the grinning beasts.
The marching line of Orcs, Olog-hai, and Uruks slowly lumbered through the gates of Minas Morgul, sent away by their grim masters – the Nazgûl – to some distant and most suspicious destination for reasons unknown, although it was heatedly debated by several particularly precocious Orclings that they probably were going to stand around in the sun, growl charmingly, sweat profusely and stamp their feet threateningly. This was alright – everyone knew how to do that quite well.
However, even as the fierce brigades spilled out of the eerie gates, two of their number surreptitiously snuck back into the fortress, warily watching if anyone noticed their disappearance.
None did.
The pair of Orcs dashed with blind, frenzying speed across the echoing and unnecessarily elongated corridors towards the depths of Minas Morgul, feeling their way in the darkness with familiarity.
Finally, they plowed into a storeroom and slammed shut the door with a sense of finality, their breathing the only sound in the darkness. One of them felt around and lit a match, whilst the other fetched two pipes hidden in a loose stone embedded into the wall.
Breathless, they stood for another moment in silence, until the shorter and stockier of the pair finally spoke up in a hushed tone. "Ulkum, have you seen the longbottom leaf?"
"I'm afraid not, Burzum. At any rate, those blasted Halflings are good for something, at least." grunted the second.
"Curses. What a shame. Now there was no point to this." Rumbled Burzum belligerently as he shot a withering glare to the pipes that he held in his calloused hand, as if they had cause to be blamed.
"Calm down, old chap! No need to fret." Ulkum hurriedly rushed to the other's side, patting him on the back good-naturedly. "We'll just look for it in the kitchens. Not everyone has been dispatched, you realize, so perhaps there's still a good deal of food left in there."
Burzum nodded, baring his teeth at the pipes now, as if to frighten them. "I say, you always do have such a spring of patience within you, my friend."
The two lone Orcs, after gently exiting the storeroom loped with caution towards the foul-smelling kitchen of Minas Morgul, relieved to find no one on the way there. It wouldn't do for any hasty trouble to be made.
Eventually, after a long raid of the stock, they chanced upon their smuggled longbottom leaf.
"See? I told you we'd find it here!" gloated Ulkum, a lopsided smile distorting his face.
Sitting down at the table leisurely, the duo lit their pipes and were content to lean back in their chairs, resting their feet on the edge of the cracked and unused wooden table.
"Here's to en-gen-oo-ety!" Ulkum raised his pipe in mock toast, rumbling with laughter.
"First off, my dear friend, it happens to be pronounced ingenuity, with a long pause on the u. Hear the definite 'u' sound there? Secondly, I do heartily agree to that!" Burzum chuckled and took a ponderous pull on the pipe clenched around his sharp teeth, pounding his chest for good measure. Suddenly, he dropped the pipe and his mouth opened wide.
"Dear Melkor! Are you quite alright?" Ulkum cried as he too let the pipe clatter out of his hand.
"I've got…a terrible…itch…right between…my shoulder blades. Be a gentleorc and help me, would you?" Groaned Burzum, trying in vain to satisfy the feeling by rubbing his back on the wall. "I do apologize for the crass nature of this request."
Ulkum rushed to his aid, his long yellowed and curling fingernails scratching where Burzum moaned for him to do so. He smiled in sheer relief as Ulkum found the source of the irritation, and was about to thank him when they both froze.
A shadow loomed at the doorway, which both of them, - in their haste - did not bother to lock. One of the dreadful and ancient Nazgûl leered at them disapprovingly, a hiss emanating from the beneath the darkened hood. The two Orcs stood in paralyzed fear for a few seconds before Ulkum unexpectedly snarled and grabbed Burzum's throat.
"Next time yeh steal my man-flesh fer supper, I'll tear yer throat out!"
Burzum heaved himself back, pushing Ulkum against the wall. Letting out a roar of rage, the taller Orc retaliated by tackling the other, pinning him to the ground.
The Nazgûl, after a considering moment of infinity, seemed content with their violence and passed beyond the doorway, with a certain note of ominous theme music striking an off chord behind it as the dark billowy thing glided away with precision. It was a welcome departure for the Orcs.
"That dreadful bigwig is gone, thank Melkor!" Ulkum panted, rolling off Burzum. "Are you alright? You must realize I didn't mean to harm you."
"Of course, my dear fellow. Of course. Now, I do believe we have some longbottom leaf that is waiting for us." Burzum offered his arm. "Shall we?"
"Oh, certainly."
There we go! I've expanded the whole story and refined several details. Unfortunately, I've lost much of my collected knowledge of the Lord of the Rings universe, so many of the certain nuances have been lost.
At least it's a comedy, ehhh?