PROLOGUE:

War.

I've seen my fair share of it over the years. I've fought Men, Elves, Dwarves alike. I have fought in cities, mountains, fields, and forests. I've used swords, bows, axes, and spears. But the one thing that never changes, is the outcome.

Either you win or you lose. You live or you die. You are wounded and are pulled off of the front lines or you continue to fight only to see what the next engagement has to offer. Sometimes the casualties are high and sometimes they are low. Maybe your friend was killed in the thick battle or maybe you all lived to tell the tale.

I have seen all of the outcomes with my own eyes and let me assure you that it is always the same.

Eastern Banks Of The Anduin River, Osgiliath

"Draw swords!"

An order that I heard much too often throughout the Gondorian Campaign. Even though you were being ordered to protect yourself and your fellow comrades, there was something about the order that wasn't natural. Once those two words wear spoken, then everyone knew that it was either them or us. I didn't feel sympathetic for the enemy, but every time we were given that order, my stomach dropped.

But it was an order. And I followed orders.

Without hesitation, the entire line of Orcs unsheathed their swords and held them with a stone cold grip. We as orcs didn't have many possessions, but our weapons were most definitely something that we could call our own. Most of the Orcs were required to look after their own weapons from day one of fighting, and if you were to lose your weapon you were punished by flogging and then resupplied with a less adequate weapon. Thus, our weapons were very important to us.

"Prepare for battle!" Shouted one officer.

"Do not retreat!" Bellowed another.

For once we were not on the offensive. The Gondorians were attempting to cross one of the last standing bridges that ran across the Anduin River. If they took the bridge, we would be forced to the outskirts of the city and would not be able to mount an assault until reinforcements arrived. But that would take too long. So in order to not lose the city or our heads for that matter, we had to hold the line.

From atop the make shift battlements we had constructed along the ruins, the marching Gondorian force seemed like a sea of silver steel. Waves upon waves of "fearless" knights. But we had fought them before. They were tired of the war, which was strange since all they had to do was sit tight on their side of the river. We knew we could crush them, using the right tactics of course. But my commander wasn't the best tactician.

As the company of enemy soldiers began to march forward across the bridge, I turned to my commander, Gothmog, seeking orders. But no orders came. The disfigured Orc, well as disfigured as an Orc can be, just stared across the river. His pinkish skin glistening in the moonlight. His arm was stiff at his side, and he slowly rubbed his fingers together as if he were about to come up with the plan to top all plans. He took a deep breath and then turned to face me with a grin spreading from ear to ear.

"Do you smell that, Farkû?" I did not answer the question because personally I didn't smell anything, but I didn't want to humiliate my own Lieutenant in front of all of his officers. After a few seconds of silence he answered for me. "Fear", he snarled. "Gondor has an abundance of it, and we shall exploit their fears".

I nodded slowly, but I didn't understand what it had to do with my orders. "Sir", I said. "What are my orders?" The archers on the Gondorian side of the river fired a volley of arrows and the watchers atop the battlements began to shout.

"TAKE COVER!"

I hit the deck with great speed and pressed my back to the half wall on the side of the rampart. Arrows began to smack against the stone walls of the ruins, and then they would rain down over our heads. I heard a few shouts coming from down the line which meant that a few arrows had found their marks.

I then looked up to see what had happened to Lieutenant Gothmog. I was in shock.

The Orc was just standing there, in the middle of the battlement without any cover. An ocean of arrows surrounded his feet almost as if he had obtained a spell that protected him from arrows. But that was just nonsense. The Gondorians had fired over fifty arrows at our side and a majority of them landed around my own commander. Yet he didn't flinch. He just stared down the opposing force with his piercing dark eyes and growled like an animal on the hunt.

"Captain Farkû", Gothmog spat. I stood up instantaneously and turned to face the menacing Orc I called 'Sir'. We Orcs should have called him 'Demon' because he cared little for us normal grunts. To him, we were all expendable.

"Take your company and charge the force head on!" He shouted over the sounds of war.

My eyes widened like the opening of the Black Gate. He had just asked me to charge a heavily armored force head on with a meager force when the enemy was armed with shields, spears, and longswords.

It was nothing short of suicide.

"But sir, wouldn't that destroy the majority of our force?" I inquired almost expecting him to change his mind, but it was useless.

"Yes, but I'm willing to make that sacrifice in order to ensure our victory on this front". I opened my mouth to speak again, but he cut me off before I could say anything. "You will follow this order without any hesitation and you will win no matter how many soldiers you lose!"

Now he was beginning to attract a lot of attention from the surrounding soldiers. With all of their large, dopy eyes glued on the two of us, I began to feel extremely uncomfortable. I just couldn't wait for the conversation to end.

"Listen to me Captain, and listen good", Gothmog began. "If you retreat... I will personally decapitate you and mount your head on the the tower of Barad Dûr. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

"Ye... yes sir", was all I could muster as he pushed past me and paced along the sides of the battlements.

Although I followed all of his orders and respected his rank, that did not stop me or all of the other Orcs in the legion from resenting him. If we could, we would slit his throat without any seconds thoughts.

Too bad he had the Witch King at his back.

I started for the narrow staircase that lead down to the war torn streets of the city. Death was everywhere. Bodies littered the streets, alleys, and buildings, for the we did not have the time to burn them. We just swept them away. Out of sight and out of mind... well... just for the Lieutenant of course. But we had to fight, sleep, and eat next to them. It became so bad, that it was hard to tell the difference between who was dead and who was living.

We were just a legion of walking dead. Although it was what we were bred for, we loathed this war. We wanted to return to Mordor where at least we could catch some proper rest. But at the same time we craved victory. We hadn't heard the sounds of victory chants for ages and now that we knew we weren't leaving, we wanted it more than ever.

I rounded the corner to where my personal company was camped out. They had their tents pitched along the stone buildings and they all crowded around a fire expecting to be able to turn in for the night, despite the sounds of total war coming from around the corner. As I approached, they all jumped to their feet and stood at attention. Unlike Gothmog, I had their respect. But after this battle, I didn't know how long their respect would last for.

"Alright men", I exclaimed, anger flowing through my body. "We have received our orders. Lieutenant Gothmog has ordered us to join our forces at the bridge and help them in a full frontal assault." Just as I expected, their jaws dropped and they began to clamor amongst themselves.

"This is ridiculous!"

"Is he insane?!"

I sighed. This wasn't going to be good. I felt helpless among my brethren. I could feel their anger not just at Gothmog but at me as well. "Quiet!" I finally exclaimed over their shouts. They all fell silent and turned towards me once more. I took a deep breath to calm myself down, and then continued. "Those are our orders and we are to follow them without hesitation."

The silence continued. Their gleaming eyes piercing me like spears. But I was too tired and angry to give in to my men's needs.

"Now ready up and meet me around the corner in less than five minutes or I'll...", I stopped myself before I could say something that would push them over the edge. "Just be ready in five!" And that was it.

I spun around and marched around the corner. Once I was back on the street, I leaned up against one of the many stone buildings, and sighed. "This could be it", I whispered to myself. It was strange. Orcs were bred for one purpose; war. But after so much fighting and death I was tired of it. Unlike the other Orcs, I was beginning to fear death. I didn't know why. I had never felt this feeling before, but it was there and I was sure of it.

I was soon ripped from the solitude of my own mind when my second in command, Crol, rounded the corner and approached me. He was almost a head taller than the other Orcs in his unit and had brown, smooth skin, like the Uruk-Hai that Saruman had been breeding in the caverns of Isengard. He carried a large war hammer that had been sharpened at the very top so that he could puncture and bash at the same time. He was a loyal soldier and as good a friend as an Orc could be.

"The company is ready sir", he stated while standing at attention.

"Very well", I began. "Bring them around."

Crol nodded and then turned back around the corner to fetch the rest of the unit.

I took a deep breath and then slipped my helmet on. I then whispered, "You can do this", and marched forward.

We stood on the bridge, over one hundred strong. In front of us, countless men clad in silver armor. They carried spears and shields, and a few of them even carried swords of their own. A challenging foe, but I knew that the odds were not in their favor. They were tired and most of them were peasants, forced into service. But the odds were not in our favor either. A lot of Orcs were going to be killed. The nerves had now completely left me and I was prepared for battle.

I stood at the front of our horde, at one side of the bridge, while a Ranger of Gondor stood in front of his men at the other side. They were completely silent, but so were my men. I had them well trained.

I looked down at my battle axe, which lay in my hands. I looked over my shoulder at the many Orcs behind me. They stood tall, with their weapons at the ready and their eyes focused on the enemy.

I turned back to the enemy, locked eyes with the Ranger, and brought my axe above my head and held it high in the air.

The Orcs began to chant, and stomp their feet, shaking the ancient bridge. A few of the Gondorian soldiers shook in fear and he could see them slowly starting to step back.

And with two words the battle commenced.

"TO WAR!"

We charged forward to meet the enemy, who were now frozen in place. With every step we inched closer and closer to the enemy. I picked my target; the Ranger who stood at the front of the column. He was young from the looks of it, with long black hair and a dark complexion to his skin. His sword was drawn and he feared no evil but that did not deter me.

Once I came within a few feet of him, he leaped out at me, slashing his sword at my chest. My damaged, yet still strong breastplate repelled the attack and I swung hard towards his cloaked head with my axe. He dodged the move and shifted to the his right. I swung left towards his still moving body but he blocked the attack with his sword. As our two weapons met, I got the better of him and he lost his balance, stumbling back to the wall of the bridge. Leaning against the stone barrier, he lifted his weapon up in defense. I swung again, he blocked again. I swung once more, he blocked once more. Finally, after a third clash, he dropped his sword, the steel weapon clattering on the ancient stone. He looked up in horror as I buried my axe in his shoulder.

Blood spurted out of the wound and he let out one final cry of agony, and then fell limp, with my axe still embedded in him.

I ripped my weapon out, the blood dripping from its sharp edge, and I looked down at his motionless body. I knew I would be thinking of him later, but I could not focus on that. I had to keep fighting.

I moved towards the thick of the battle which was at the center of the bridge. I couldn't tell who was winning. It was hard to even say who was who as we rammed into each other.

I was able to make out Crol in the crowd, who stood tall above the rest. He was swing his Warhammer around, knocking the steel clad enemies to the ground. I pushed through the crowd towards him. We needed more men but I didn't have the time to go back and call for more. Crol looked as if he was about to be overwhelmed but I came in the nick of time, coming down on a Gondorian who was on Crol's flank.

He slammed his hammer down on one last soldier and turned towards me. "We need more troops up here!"

I nodded as I parried an incoming attack from a spearman and swung my axe into his side. He fell instantly.

I maneuvered my way to the back of my forces and grabbed a random Orc by the arm. "Go back to the Lieutenant and get us some reinforcements!"

All he could do was nod as I shoved him east in the direction of Gothmog.

I turned back to the fighting, axe in hand and ready to keep fighting. The battle raged on for a little while longer. I lost count of how many I had killed by then. The blade of my axe was completely red and soaked in the blood of the many Gondorian soldiers I had slain. I kept hacking and slashing as they ran towards me. I was beginning to tire.

All of the sudden, I heard a roar that echoed across the ruined city. Almost every Orc and Gondorian on the battlefield turned to face the eastern side of the bridge. On the other side of the stone bridge stood an armored Olog-Hai armed with a club.

I, along with the majority of my soldiers, began to cheer as they cleared the way for the troll to pass through. He was on the frontline within seconds and began swinging and hacking at the men below him.

The Gondorian soldiers couldn't hold then line for long and their lines began to falter. Soon, their officers ordered the men to retreat. Although we had the upper hand on them, we did not pursue our enemy. We had lost too many soldiers and the second we would cross the threshold onto the western side of the city, they would flank us and would cut us off from the rest of our men.

But we had won... for today.