The sword fell with a sickening crunch as the Orc Archer fell lifelessly with all the grace of a dropped sack of potatoes. It was always a grim business, killing, but Beolrath would be lying if killing Orcs didn't give him a sense of personal satisfaction after what had happened to his father and had almost happened to him. Musing about the past in battle was never a wise thing, a point proved moments later when a cry of cursing came from Wil; who was, some twelve feet away, dancing with a massive Orc whom was intent on cleaving the Herald's head off in a single swipe with his massive Greataxe. Beolrath sighed at himself and made a charge towards Wil and his aggressor.
It came as quite the surprise to Wil as he was pushed clear at the last moment, a great axe stroke imbedding within the tree against which the Bree-Man had been pressed moments earlier. The massive Orc roared in frustration, turning to see whom had moved his target and was met by a Man roaring just as loudly whose sword was moments from cleaving his head off. The inevitable blood, carnage and cleaving a path of bodies from the camp that one might expect did indeed follow.
'I don't get it Beolrath.', Wil stated as the two of them strode away from an Orc encampment they had emptied of Orcs twice in the past day.
'They are Orcs, what is there to get?', he asked without looking at his companion.
'How many Orcs have you killed in your life? Hundreds? Thousands?', Beolrath shrugged.
'I do not really care to keep count. It is not like I do it for fun Wil.', Wil sighed.
'I know but, between you and all the others that hunt Orcs we've met. Tens of thousands of Orcs must die every day across Middle Earth.', the Captain finally looked at Wil giving him a questioning look as he waited for the point of the conversation.
'Where do they all come from? And Goblins for that matter, seem equally as abundant. Yet you never see any female Orcs, do you?', Beolrath chuckled. Female Orcs, both an amusing and a disturbing idea.
'They would have to breed and mature faster than rabbits to maintain their losses.', he shuddered at the unwanted images that came to mind.
'Most likely they are created in some way, spawned by dark magic or some such. Probably great pits underground that they tend which spawn them. At least that was what my childhood tutor used to theorise. It is quite likely we will never know for certain, unless we find our way deep into Orc and Goblin underground cave networks and find either females or said spawning pools.', Wil shuddered in response as the two of them neared Trestlebridge.
'I find both options horrid and find it disturbing that you've given it that much thought.', Beolrath chuckled.
'To know where your enemy comes from, is to better know how to vanquish them.', Wil gave his Captain a look mixed with admiration, respect and confusion; for nearly a year they had travelled together and fought side by side yet Wil was still not even close to understanding how the former Rohirrim's mind worked. Perhaps, Wil considered, it was better that way.
