Chapter 7a

P.O.V: The quest

The trio rode north for the rest of the day to the cliffs ahead, only stopping twice to take a rest and to scout the area for danger. This was the first time in years that they had crossed out of the borders of Nurnea, out of the safe zone. Now, they were in an area that they had never been before. After they had ridden for a few hours, they realised that mordor looked the same almost everywhere. It was just miles after miles of barren, rocky, scorched land. Ash hung in the air, making the horses choke and wheeze in protest and greatly reducing their visibility.

Suddenly, Skryder stopped and said," Is it just me, or is the air suddenly thicker?" Everyone stopped. Indeed, it was getting harder to breathe. Their armor and horses were coated in a thick layer of black dust. The wind picked up and drove stinging black grit into their eyes. Armal shouted," It's a sandstorm, or rather, an ashstorm! We must pitch camp now or we will choke!" In a few minutes, they had set up a small tent that was just enough to fit the 3 people. After tying the horses in place, they quickly crawled in. And just in time. As they closed the opening in the tent, the wind became so strong that anything outside that was not secure would be blown away.

" Great. Now we are stuck. What do we do now?" Qwertus grumbled. Skryder responded by producing a pack of cards. After 2 hours, the wind began to die down. As the 3 people were finishing the game, suddenly, the tip of an orc spear shot through the thin canvas of the tent and impaled itself into ground, half an inch from Armal's head.

Armal drew his sword and burst out of the tent, ripping it further in the process. Outside, he could make out the shapes of a dozen horned figures outside the tent, readying their spears to impale whoever was still in the tents. Orcs! He cursed himself for not being alert enough.

He decapicitated one orc and used the hilt of his sword to knock out a second orc, kicking a third in the groin as he did so. By then, the rest of the orcs were aware of him. They dropped their spears and drew wicked looking serrated blades, surrounding him in a circle. Armal looked around. There was no way he could excape without getting heavily injured. One of the orcs raised his blade, a cruel grin on his face as he gloated in victory. Suddenly, the tip of a sword emerged from his stomach. The cruel grin was replaced with a look of absolute loathing and the orc crumpled to the ground, reddish-black blood spilling from the fatal wound.

The 2 captains went into action, slashing at the orcs with blinding speed and excellent technique. Wtihin a minute, the orcs all lay dead on the ground. They quickly checked the remains for anything of use but found nothing except for the weapons and armor that were too heavy for human use and a few bottles of repulsive orc concotion. They were about to burn the bodies now that the wind had died down completely when Armal noticed something strange.

All the slain orcs all had identical symbols of a red fiery eye burned onto their skin. They must have been part of the same group that attacked Nurnea. The orcs were not there by accident. Someone had ordered the orcs to kill them.

By then, the sky had become a slightly darker shade of grey, which meant it was already night. They decided to rest until morning as orcs are more active at night. "Hey, where's our tent?" Skryder suddenly said. The 'tent' had been reduced to a pile of ribbons in the fight. Thus, the 3 men spent a very miserable time sleeping on the hard ground, unable to light a fire in fear that it will attract more orcs. Like all other deserts and wastelands, Mordor was freezing cold at night.