Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.R.R Tolkien unless otherwise specified. I only own my OC's

Hello all! I am still alive, just been busy with internship and graduation. In which I am done with both! Just job hunting right now. As I said in the summary, this will be a collection of stuff that I've been writing on the side or for the story competitions on lotr amino. Some might take off to be in their own stories or characters that appear might in other stories. Who knows. Just figured it might be better than making multiple uploads.

Thank you so much to my beta, Lydwina Marie, for editing this and being patient with my slow butt. Much love!

This was written for another story competition on the amino and it was interesting to write as an orc. Would not do it again anytime soon that's for sure. Enjoy!

Arzau roared with laughter as another Orc pranced around with the head of a human as a macabre puppet. It's voice was high pitched and whiny after the fashion in which most mortals spoke, mocking the very enemy they had just slain mere moments ago. The fire cast dark shadows among the group as they feasted upon manflesh, tearing at the tender skin, chewing through muscle, using the bones to pick out bits from their teeth. They laughed raucously at their victory, celebrating the prospect of bringing down the ugly city of white. They had spent the majority of the day setting fire to the fields and slaying all who opposed, and Arzau wanted more. He wanted to shed blood under the banner of Sauron, his blade cutting through soft flesh, his teeth ripping out throats, tasting fresh blood that was sweetened with fear. That was what made flesh tender – fear. He enjoyed bringing fear to all, even to his own kind. Orc meat was not as tender, but it certainly satisfied hunger during the long days.

The puppeteer held the head up high, the dead man's glassy eyes staring vacantly into the distance. "To victory!"

The others roared in acknowledgement as the Orc gleefully brought the head down onto its knee, cracking it open and devouring the inside.

It made Arzau hunger for more, but that would have to wait. For there was one last battle to fight, or perhaps two more. Taking one last bite of the arm he was feasting on, he stood up and threw the rest of it to another as they eagerly sank their teeth into it. Most fell silent, and even the one Orc that had been parading around with the head took his seat. Beating a fist against his chest, Arzau growled, baring his teeth as he let out a roar. The entire camp rose up to let out their war cries.

"We shall bring their walls down, wet our blades with their blood, and tear flesh from their bones!" he snarled, raising his jagged blade into the air. "We shall make their dead rain upon their city before overtaking it!"

A horrible screech broke through the air as the Witch-King soared high above on its fell beast. That was the signal! Arzau barked orders to load the catapults, his voice echoing throughout the camp as others commanded their troops to do the same.

It was time. The bloodiest of battles was near and it left him thrilled. Yes… soon it would be time to lay siege upon the White City, just as they had on the nearby farms, revelling in the screams of the dying as they were slain and burned alive. Some were even kept alive for entertainment purposes, and later slain when they were worthless to them.

The massive catapults in their trenches flung their shots high, well over the city's walls and into the first level. Many of the projectiles detonated and burst into flame. Arzau was at the front line, waiting for the order to charge toward the city as the great battering ram, Grond, was taken to the gate. An order rang through the dusty air, and he grinned with a sadistic glee. The heads of the fallen mortals were to be used as catapults, to be flung into the city. The image of weak mortals scampering in fear only made him hunger for more.

Another screech pierced his ears as the Witch-King flew on ahead, an army of Orcs and evil men following behind. Arzau let out a mighty battle cry and followed after the host with his group behind, snarling for the much-anticipated battle.

It was going to be glorious.