It is no secret to the Orcs of Mordor that their lineage is a long one, but few remember just how far it indeed goes back. Most now are Uruks or Ologs, new to the world of Middle-Earth and Mordor, and thus ignorant of their past. The Orcs go all the way back to Morgoth, Sauron's old master, who fought a war against the forces of good not unlike his protégé was doing now. And it was Morgoth who created Orcs.
That said, they were never his own creation. It is known that no matter how powerful any evil was, it cannot create life, but only change and corrupt it. And so, Morgoth took to using captured Elves, breeding and torturing them into becoming Orcs, over the centuries. However, most have forgotten this fact, as Morgoth's name became a distant memory in dusty scrolls, and the Orcs simply assumed to have always been there, or created in some sort of strange ritual. In fact, just about every one of the original Orcs has died out, be it from war, famine, disease, or of course, treachery.
All…except one.
Tulgan, the Last Blade of Morgoth. Warchief of the Black Gate. A servant of the Bright Lord himself. His face was scarred much, wrinkled more then most orcs, his eyes having seen countless years of battle. He was tall and had around average musculature for an orc of his size. The Last Blade was certainly a fearsome opponent for any living being to cross his path.
And he was not having a good day.
The plan had been simple. Since the Bright Lord/Gravewalker/Ranger, or whatever he was called, was off busy, apparently past headed for Mount Doom, Tulgan was the most senior warchief and thus, the one in command. He had heard about the developing siege upon Minas Ithil, and planned to take an expedition party down there to hopefully launch raids and gather more supplies and recruits to disrupt the siege, preventing the city from falling. Not for sentimental reasons of course, Tulgan was no fan of Men of any allegiance, but he knew that if Minas Ithil fell, it wouldn't be much longer before Sauron's forces looked to recapture the Black Gate, whose forces had already barely held off multiple incursions. The best defense was a good offence, and for that, he took a sizable garrison after weeks of preparation, training, and recruitment by force or by persuasion to put his journey into practice.
Problem was, the trek to Minas Ithil had been fraught with danger, with ghuls, spiders, and other monsters of Mordor having reduced his sizable party from the Black Gate down by half, as many Uruks were slain, injured, or simply had run off, just as one of his Captains, Hork, had packed up his boys and ran off when he heard they were going near one of Shelob's domains.
Stupid Hork. Thought Tulgan as the ancient orc poured himself a cup of Grog. Should of never brought him on this journey. Always knew that piece of shrak was secretly afraid of spiders, but he insisted that he wasn't. When I get back to the Black Gate I'm going to find him-
His vengeful thoughts were cut off as Ar-Hisu, the Scribe, a large Olog with scrolls on his back, and a satchel containing some old books, thundered in with his heavy footsteps, ducking under the beam of his temporary tent.
"Just got word from Pushkrimp."
"Yeah, what'd he say?" Asked Tulgan.
"They've already taken the Lower City of Minas Ithil, and are currently attacking the Middle City as we speak."
The old orc sighed as he pounded his fist on the table in frustration. This was not good. If the Gondorians fell, then he knew that the whole expedition had been a failure. "Ar-Hisu, any sighting of the Ranger?"
"None so far, the Boss hasn't been seen for sometime."
"Well…he's probably off doing something important, hopefully. In the meantime tell the boys, especially Norsko, that we need to pack up by dawn tomorrow and move out."
"Norsko is probably off with his caragors, hunting."
Tulgan sighed. "Well, tell that gob that I don't care if he's a Captain and is the "Beastmaster" of this group. I need everyone where I can keep an eye on 'em. Swear he spends more time with his damn pets then with any orcs."
The olog nodded, turning around to duck and step out of the cramped tent.
Tulgan paused. "Ar-Hisu, one more thing."
The olog then turned again, nearly knocking a beam of the tent off with his head. "Yes?"
"…What…do you make of the Ranger so far."
"When we see him? Well, the Bright Lord has his own ways. Course, we trust him. To fight Sauron after all. The Eye on Mount Doom must be closed. For the good of all Orcs."
"Of course, of course. But…why exactly hadn't you sided with him earlier?"
The olog laughs. "Well, I don't exactly know now that I think about it. But, I don't think it really matters. All in all, we're here now."
Tulgan bowed his head. "You're dismissed Ar-Hisu, get some shuteye. We've got a day tomorrow."
The olog nodded, smiling, and left.
Tulgan quietly continued sipping his grog. Ar-Hisu was the same as all the others. The "Branding" that the Ranger had done on them left no memory, only a desire to serve, and a desire to fight Sauron's forces. Not that such a thing was specific to all of the orcs who followed the "Bright Lord". As not all of the Ranger's Orc Captains were branded. Some had joined out of promises of revenge against other uruks. Others joined simply because their blood brothers or were underlings of Captains that did. And he knew that loyalty could be broken. After all, Tulgan was one of the few who willingly joined.