Orcs screamed in pain, clutching their grievous wounds, as bows twanged, sending snakes of death into the never-ending army of Uruk. Despite Sauron's defeat not even a week ago, some of the orc captains did not run like the rest of the savages and decided to "settle" in Minas Ithil, forcing the men to attack their own city. The walls stood high defiantly in the face of such a furious siege, still reflecting some of the green light of the undead flames, although somehow more lively.
"The battering ram is ready, Captain."
Baranor eyed the soldier in a tired manner.
"You may proceed, soldier."
Baranor slowly leaned over the city map, studying the plans of their current offensive strategies. Being a captain in the Human Resistance of Mordor, as were the members of this military group calling themselves, was strangely different from the other groups he had been a part of. In the Minas Ithil guard as well as with the Vanishing brothers, the different ranks given to him felt more like a fact that came with time than a reward.
The people of the Resistance were a mishmash of human refugees, some Ithilian soldiers who managed to survive all those years in Mordor, and some Gondorian soldiers who could not stand to see the adversity the people of Mordor were receiving from the men of the West. To be chosen as one of the leaders by these people left a great feeling of pride and accomplishment within Baranor, only prompting him to feel more protective of the people he led.
Catapults fired from both sides of the main bridge, furiously trying to gain the advantage. The ram battered at the gate; oil ran down it as men ran in anguish, burnt by the magma substance. They screamed until they could not, until they rested into nothingness. Orcs, however, furiously held their ground. Despite battling for a week now, the Human Resistance had barely gained any ground in the lower city. The battle continued.
Baranor eyed the map once more, trying his best to analyze the orc strategies with as open a mind as possible. The soldier was ready for anything except assassination-based warfare. Strangely enough, the orcs very rarely claimed the kills they made, and it was even rarer to see them engage in open combat. All the people they ever targeted were higher-ranking officers and captains; they almost seemed to avoid common foot soldiers.
Despite all of Baranor's warnings, Idril decided to accompany Torvin on a scouting mission into the city concerning some very strange chanting coming out of a small cave enclave. It had no strategic importance and was usually inhabited by all manner of deadly creatures. He only wished they had stopped to strategize before leaving a vague message with one of the newcomers and vanishing from the encampment.
"Captain Baranor! I bring great news!"
Baranor shifted his gaze onto the rookie in front of him.
"What is it, soldier?"
"We've managed to capture one of the orc captains from Minas Morgul."
Baranor's shock, truly, must have been a sight to see.
~°•°~
"How the SHRACK did that happen?!" Mozu the Angry shrieked, only barely being held back from ripping one the poor foot soldiers a new one.
"And here I thought you wanted to honour the Gravewalker by trying to stay calm." Dûsh the Unshamed commented with a small, amused smirk, only sending Mozu into another fit of rage.
"You should not have done that Dûsh, we're all still grieving."
"And here I thought you liked the pain."
Malmûg the Pain-lover gave him a tired look and picked up, the now exhausted, Mozu.
"I might, but I never wanted...this."
YOU ARE READING
Kingdom of the fallen
أدب الهواة***UNDER EDITTING*** As a ranger of Gondor, Talion was slaughtered on the Black Gate with everyone he ever loved. However, Talion did not find peace in death. He was cursed, and resurrected, by a powerful wraith Celebrimbor, who reforged him into an...
