Chapter 6 Reviews:
Schattentanz – Thank you! I'm glad that you like it! I did wonder about whether to go to Mordor or Gondor, but in the end I chose Gondor. This is because Gôltakh believes that by the time that they get across the plains of Rohan and into Gondor, Rohan would be in the control of the Uruk-hai and Minas Tirith would have fallen to Sauron's forces, or at least that there would be forces there to join. But I'm glad that you've pointed it out to me – it shows that you're looking into the storyline and criticism is needed for improvement.
I also took a look at your fanfictions, but I'm afraid my German is 'nicht sehr gut'. Still, with the help of a German dictionary, my knowledge of the German language, and a webpage translator, I managed to translate 'Rain in the Forest' into English. Just not very well. I think I got the basic idea of the story though, and it was interesting to look at a story that focuses on the morals and principals of the 'good' characters, and how dilemmas can evoke emotions.
~Chapter Seven~
Ragnäkah couldn't sleep; he felt as if something was watching him from the shadows, and his belt/whip was cutting off his oxygen. He no longer had his sword; he had had to 'give' it away to an unarmed uruk, who was very persistent. He didn't mind too much though – as long as he had his whip, his favourite weapon.
Most of the other orcs were asleep, with one or two here and there watching into the endless darkness. They had been here for a few hours, and soon it would be time to move on again. Sighing, he stood up and took the belt off, hiding it under the cloak that was his bed. He took a step, and his trousers fell down to his knees, held up only by his boots. He must have lost a lot of weight since he had been in Isengard if they could fall that much. The nameless orc burst into hysterical laughter, waking up a few others. Thankfully, Ragnäkah managed to pull up his trousers before anyone else could see his underpants. Well, at least he had underpants, which was more than that youngster did.
Grumbling, and in a terrible mood, he held up his trousers – rather than put the belt back on and have his oxygen cut off – and went to the furthest pillar where he thought he had seen something move. He peered around, but saw nothing. There was a sound above him, and when he turned his gaze upwards, he caught sight of a creature scuttling up into a crack in the roof, and three pairs of eyes gazed down at him; Moria scouts. He would have to tell Grôltakh. He cursed loudly to himself – they could not be good, even if Grôltakh had been friends with one of them. He returned to the main group, and walked past his belongings – but paused. His cloak had been disturbed and his whip was gone. He picked his cloak up and looked around on the floor to see if it was nearby, but there was not a trace of it to be found.
"Who's taken my whip?!" Ragnäkah demanded. Of those awake, none responded with more than a smirk. The snickering of the nameless one caught his attention. "Do you know anything about this? Tell me, worm or I'll cut your throat with my bare fingernails!" The runt pulled back his cloak to reveal a dark green open shirt with no sleeves, similar in style to Ragnäkah's over top, and a light brown rag that went around his middle and thighs and was held up by a thin black belt.
Ragnäkah quivered with rage.
"You traded my whip for that?" His whip had been worth twice as much as the orc had gotten from it, and someone in the camp was probably chuckling to themselves as they slept at getting the upper hand in such an unfair trade. The nameless one grinned his most terrible grin at him. "You traded my… my…" Ragnäkah would have probably tried to control his anger if it was any other possession that the orc had taken and traded, but it had been his whip, the one that he had had since he was but a century old. Ragnäkah held back no longer; he charged at the young orc, screaming and holding his hands out in front of him. The trousers dropped back around his knees and the nameless orc let out another cackle, which was quickly stifled by Ragnäkah's hands around his throat. Sentries moved around the two orcs squabbling on the floor, encouraging Ragnäkah on and for the nameless one to fight back. Grôltakh was awoken by the fight, and within seconds was awake enough to be enraged by it.
"Stop this at once!" He told the orcs on the floor, to no avail. "Ragnäkah, get off of him!" But Grôltakh had seen Ragnäkah like this before, and there was no way that he was going to stop throttling the younger orc until his anger had been satiated.
The two rolled closer to a cavern in the floor, and Ragnäkah saw his chance to be rid of the youngster so that he could not do anything like this again. In the struggle the younger orc managed to get on top of him, and Ragnäkah found his head over the brink of the crevice, but instead of being afraid, he leered up at the orc.
"Watch the crevice!" Grôltakh warned them, unaware of what Ragnäkah was trying to do. For a moment, confusion was on the youngster's face, but then startling realisation crept in. Ragnäkah bucked the nameless orc up and over his head and into the crack. However, the nameless orc had a grip on his shirt, and Ragnäkah was pulled in head-first with him. Their screams could be heard echoing down the chasm.
Grôltakh ran over to the edge, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the two.
"Oh bugger," he muttered. He turned to Yutshrug, who had been watching the whole thing calmly from his sleeping place on the floor nearby, a hand on his cheek. "Do you think that we'll ever see them again?" Yutshrug shrugged.
~End of Chapter 7~
A/N: Did I fulfil my promise to you all? More fighting scenes to come!