Apologies for the shortness of this update, the next one will be longer. More action was requested by a favourite fan of mine, so I will be trying to add more action into the story overall.
Jeroihan leant back against the trunk of an ancient, gnarled tree as he waited for the rest of his cohort to catch up. It had been a few days since they had left Rohan and nothing yet had happened. He was beginning to grow bored. All the Rangers were, as they were forced to move at a frustrating pace and cater to the whims of the tyrannical nobles. Torgathorn had almost shot at Anarion when he turned his back after a particularly condescending comment, and Jeroihan had to forcefully reign the errant Ranger in. The atmosphere had been tense among the Rangers, and Jeroihan had tried to remedy this by sending them out in small groups to scout the Iron Hills. Nothing amiss had been reported, adding to the surmounting monotony. He toyed idly with a small dagger, until a booming call caught his attention. Corandor was shouting to him, a single word that both excited Jeroihan and filled him with dark hatred. "Orcs."
The men quickly took positions across from the approaching war band of Orcs, the Gondor infantry forming an unwavering line of silver armour, ten men across and five rows deep, while the Rangers waited behind them, bows drawn. The Orcs outnumbered the force of Men three times over, racing over the ground and bellowing coarse war cries. Jeroihan counted down the seconds until the Orcs would be in range, his grip tightening on the bowstring. The Orcs thundered across the imaginary line and the front rank fell with arrows protruding from their misshapen bodies. The horde stumbled in surprise, allowing the Rangers a few precious seconds to notch a second arrow and fire again. Another handful of Orcs fell; the rest began bellowing even louder and surged forward, smashing into the Gondor shield wall. Jeroihan shouted at his men to split and flank the sprawling mêlée, firing indiscriminately into the mass of Orcs. He noticed with grim approval the men of Gondor holding fast against the tide of enemies battering them with crude weapons and a few bearing rocks and thick branches. A large brute lumbered towards Jeroihan, only to be brought down with an arrow in its throat. Jeroihan didn't blink twice as he notched a new arrow and brought down another Orc, bawling in its foul tongue as the arrow pierced its heart. The inhuman creatures managed to sense the skirmish was lost and began to flee the battlefield in twos and threes until none remained.