Snaga crept quietly in the underbrush. He knew it wasn't safe to be out here, alone. He looked back at the camp which was slowly fading out of sight. He moved softly further and deeper into the woods. The sound of birds chirping echoed in the trees; the wind rustled the branches and the leaves. Amid all the sounds of nature he listened closely for anything else; making sure that he was indeed alone.
Although he knew it was dangerous for a little orc to be in the woods by himself, hunger had compelled him to sneak out of the camp and into the forest. Snaga wasn't brave in the slightest; to the contrary, he had a reputation for being a coward. But hunger makes people do brash things. Snaga was about as ill-fed as he was ill-treated by his master; which was why he was compelled to scrounge in the forest for something, anything, to eat. He crouched down on the forest floor sifting the dirt for anything to eat; acorns, crickets, even earthworms.
The woods were a source of food when he was hungry; it was also a place to run and hide if his master was in a particularly irascible mood, and it was a good place to relieve himself. Privacy was a rare and difficult thing to come by at the orc camp, which isn't to say that orcs don't urinate in the open (they do); just not Snaga. Snaga didn't dare let anyone know that he was a eunuch. He knew that if anyone found out, it would expose him to all sorts of abuses.
On his hands and knees he scavenged through the undergrowth, brushing aside dead leaves and small plants on the forest floor. Suddenly he noticed something; something bright and shiny half-buried in the ground. He brushed the twigs and dead grass aside. He pulled out of the ground a glittering, silver pendant shaped like a leaf. He wiped the dirt off of it with his fingers. Snaga's heart dropped: he knew instinctively what it was. It was elvish. The craftsmanship of the beautiful, silver broach spoke unmistakably to its origin. Snaga looked up and around him, terrified that there could be elves hiding behind the trees. He got up quickly and darted out of the woods as fast as he could; praying that he wouldn't be felled by an arrow before he could reach the clear.
The camp was an orc outpost situated in the ruins of an old Gondorian city. Over the many decades that the orcs had occupied the city, dwelling among the decaying, crumbling infrastructure, orcs had soiled and vandalized it, leaving their mark on the once stately city. The city was built during a peaceful era when men were proud, confident, and unafraid. They built great cities in those days. They erected towers, monuments, and palaces with no fear of invasion. The old civic centers hadn't been planned defensively. This particular city, who's name was lost to memory, had been one of the first Gondorian settlements to fall since it was unprotected by any walls; there was no citadel where the inhabitants could retreat to in the event of an invasion.
The north of Gondor, in its glory days, was a thriving gem of the nation. But those days were long gone. In the second age the dark Lord, greedy of the proud and prosperous men, had summoned his forces and moved them westward to make war on the northern fiefdom of Gondor.
That's how minions like Snaga found himself thousands of miles deep in ancient Gondorian homeland, conscripted from Mordor to occupy and hold Mordor's stolen prizes. Their camp was a tenuously held orc-outpost; owing to the fact that it had no defensive walls surrounding it. The orcs weren't industrious enough (or perhaps too poorly managed) to erect their own wall. But the absence of walls was a blessing for Snaga; it made it easy for him to sneak in-and-out of the camp. He crept back into the camp unnoticed.
"I should tell someone," Snaga thought to himself. But who? His master was the only person that came to mind. Zurgug was a foot taller than him and sizably meatier than him. He had a thick neck, battle-scarred body, and an ugly scowl. Snaga's small frame made him look minion-like indeed next to his master's towering stature. Zurgug's irascible temper was difficult to predict; Snaga was always wary of coming under his master's ire. He could get kicked or punched for trifling things. He could be whipped for petty offenses. But elves were lurking in the woods, and someone had to sound the alarm.
He found his master standing around a campfire, drinking with the other captains. He knew it was risky to approach Zurgug when drunk, but Snaga couldn't help himself. This was news that couldn't wait.
"Heigh, Snaga! What do you want?"
"There are elves out there," Snaga said bluntly, motioning towards the woods.
"Elves you say?" Zurgug spat. "Did you see them, Snaga? Or were you frightened by your own shadow again? I don't have time for you're fear-mongering, Mouse-shit (his other name for Snaga). If there really are elves skulking around in the woods then why didn't they eat you?"
Snaga held his tongue; even he knew that elves don't eat orcs. "I found this in the woods. Not far off from our camp," He held out the pendant.
Zurgug took a look for himself. He hissed at the glimmering piece of silver. "So you did. Sneaking off again were you, Snaga? Remind me to whip you next time you take your leave without my permission. But I daresay you won't venture out again, will you? Now that you know there are elves lurking out there. Go skin and dress the boar for your masters to eat, and be quick about it or I'll skin you."
Snaga walked away to do as he was told; listening as best he could to the officers talking concernedly about Snaga's discovery.
Snaga did the bloody job of carving the boar as his master had ordered him to do. Every few moments he would pause from his work to take the silver pendant out of his pocket and look at it.
Snaga inspected the shiny object in his hand. He ran his fingers over the delicate ridges, licking the pig's blood away that he transferred from his dripping hands. He'd never seen anything like it before. The little silver pendant titillated and fascinated him but also made his gut sink just by looking at it; it was a grim reminder that there were monsters stalking their camp. He wanted to keep the elvish brooch but he knew there was no use in pocketing it; word would spread soon enough about what Snaga had found in the forest and someone would shake him down and steal it off his person. He didn't want to be the target of that sort of harassment; best to give it up. And he knew just whom to go to.
Snaga found Goreshank in his predictable spot, smoking something acrid, something that Snaga wanted too.
"Aye, Mouse-shit," He flashed Snaga a menacing, crooked-toothed grin with his sharp teeth. " What brings you to Goreshank?
"I want to trade with you." He replied flatly.
"Do you now? Prey tell. I'd be surprised if you have anything that I want. Or perhaps you've reconsidered my offer to you?"
Snaga ignored the reference.
"I found something, it's elvish."
"And you've come to barter with old Goreshank, eh? Perhaps you don't dislike me so much after all. Tell me, Snaga, when are you going to suck my cock?"
Snaga narrowed his eyes. "Rumor has it, the last time you tried to force someone to suck you, you got bitten."
"Rumor has it…" Goreshank said, leaping up, enraged. "That the last time a lowly little snaga like you talked back to me, he lost an eyeball!"
Goreshank stood tall, looming over Snaga and barring his teeth in Snaga's face.
"Now show me what you've got! See if I deal fairly with you now, now that you've displeased me."
Snaga held out the silver object in his hand.
"Elvish you say? I would have thought you too stupid to tell apart elvish from man trinkets. I'll wager you've never even seen an elf before. Where did you find this pretty little thing anyways?"
Goreshank asked while grabbing for it. Snaga instantly closed his fist and snatched it away from Goreshank's grasp.
"In the woods, how much will you give me for it?" Snaga asked.
"In the woods," Goreshank muttered to himself, looking in the direction of the trees. "Fucking elves," He cursed them. "They're out there, aren't they? I've suspected for some time now that something's been watching us. Curse them!"
"Will you take it or not?" Snaga demanded to know.
"You're an insolent little shit, you know that Snaga? I'll give you half an ounce for the elvish charm; that's less than what I would have given you if you hadn't been so uppity with me."
Snaga held out an open palm and Goreshank slapped the weed in his hand while gruffly snatching the elvish brooch out of his other.
"Now get lost, Snaga. Next time you want something from me, mind your tongue and show me more respect."
Snaga hurried away, ignoring the lewd comment Goreshank made behind his back. He was sorry to part with the pretty trinket, but this was better. He was still hungry and miserable; but this would help alleviate his misery. But before finding a secluded nook to hunker down in and light up, he wanted to find Grishnak.
Grishnak wasn't his friend (orcs don't have friends) but he was the closest thing that Snaga had to a friend. They were alike in some ways; they were both called "snaga". They were both small and oft-abused; par-for-the-course for being part of that lesser breed of orcs. For that reason there was a sense of solidarity between Grishnak and Snaga. Snaga had mixed feelings about Grishnak; he knew for certain that Grishnak had stolen from him once. Nonetheless he was someone that Snaga could talk to; they conversed sometimes, they exchanged thoughts and secrets. Aside from petty theft, Grishnak was someone he trusted well enough; someone with whom Snaga didn't have to watch his back. Grishnak was sitting by a fire sharpening a crude dagger when Snaga found him.
"Got something to tell me, Snaga?" Grishnak asked, giving him a side-eyed glance while whetting the blade in his hand. Snaga resented being called "Snaga" by Grishnak. It wasn't fair; they were both slaves. Each was just as lowly as the other. But he ignored the slight.
"There are elves in the woods." Snaga said flatly.
Grishnak looked up. "What makes you think that?"
"I found something out there; an elvish charm."
"How do you know it's elvish? Let me see it." He replied.
"I don't have it anymore. I traded it to Goreshank. He says it's elvish."
Grishnak grunted. Snaga sat down beside him. "Do you believe me?" He asked.
"I don't doubt it. I've heard the rumors. You've heard them too, no doubt. They say the enemy has been watching our camp for weeks now."
Snaga gulped. "I thought we were in men's country. Why would there be elves here?".
Grisnak scoffed. "You don't know anything, do you Snaga? Elves and men make alliances all the time. It wouldn't be the first time that one fought on behalf of the other. That's why I don't doubt what you say about elves being in the woods."
Snaga paused for a moment before asking, "What do elves look like?"
"You've never seen one before, have you Snaga?"
Snaga shook his head no. "Have you?" He asked, turning the question back on Grishnak.
"Once. We were being routed by elves, everyone fought that day. Even lowly snagas like you and me. Did you know that elvish steel can cut through stone?"
"That can't be true,"
"That's what you think, Snaga." Grishnak shot back, posing himself as the know-better on the subject. "But to answer your question, elves are tall. Taller even than the uruk hai. Their skin is pure white."
"White?" Snaga interrupted. White skin, now this was something he couldn't imagine.
"They have piercing blue eyes," Grishnak continued, ignoring the interruption. "And as for their hair, some have brown hair, some have black hair, some have red hair, but most of them have golden yellow hair. Long, yellow hair that reaches down to their backs."
Snaga tried to put all of these descriptions together in his head and imagine what these elves looked like.
"They're fearsome fighters; elves make for far better soldiers than we do. They say it takes five orcs to take down one elf. Have you ever heard of Gelmir's revenge, Snaga?"
Snaga shook his head no.
"Elves do it to their captives sometimes. They cut off your arms and legs and leave you to die that way. Sometimes they gouge out your eyes for good measure. If I were you, Snaga, I would stay out of those woods."
Snaga gulped and nodded in agreement. He envisioned himself lying on the ground, screaming, with his legs and arms hacked off and his eyeballs plucked out of his skull. The mere thought of it made him want to faint. He wondered how long it would take to die like that? How long does a person bleed out in that way? It was too much for Snaga, he couldn't think about this for any longer. It was late and dawn was coming.
"I'm going to sleep," He said, standing up.
But that wasn't entirely true; first he was going to smoke. Before he could fall asleep he needed to banish the worrisome thoughts out of his mind. He crawled into a cranny amid the ruins of an old building, the safest place he could find where no one was likely to bother him. With his back against a stone wall he rolled the substance and lit it. After a few moments his worrisome thoughts started to fade away and the anxiety and fear he had was lifted. An hour or so later he fell asleep.
That night he dreamed about white-skinned monsters with angry, raging blue eyes and gold hair. In his nightmares he saw gleaming, silver elvish blades. He tossed and turned in his sleep; dreaming that he was being cut down by elves. He could feel cruel, elvish steel hacking away at his limbs and slicing at his skin. The nightmares stayed with him all through the night.
Note from the author: Thank you so much for reading this first chapter of my story. If you like this story please, leave a review. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Hope you stay tuned for more;
