War in the North

The camp where Duggâsh was stationed, he shared together with two other warchiefs. One even more arrogant than the other, and equally stupid. Duggâsh knew they would not support him. They only followed the Tribe leader cause he gave them a position where they could occasionally fight and have fun. Their ambition went no further. Duggâsh on the other hand had been brooding plans from the moment on he become a warrior, from the moment he earned the right to fight alongside his brethren. And the time had come to perform another part of his plans...

The thatched roof of the farmer's house caught fire quickly, as the Orcs eagerly torched it. Screams sounded over the destroyed fields as one of the green skinned Orcs pulled two women along, cruelly dragging them along at their hair. "These two got some spirit, Chief!" He threw them in front of a tall, black skinned, heavily muscled Orc that leaned on his greatsword, with some blood still dripping from his chin.

          The Rangers of the North were wandering vagabonds that patrolled the boundaries of Eriador throughout the later years of the third age. They were Dúnedain, who could trace their bloodline back to the people of Númenor. 

"Seems like we found ourselves a nice little place of them pointy ears, boys!" A tall, broad orc chuckled softly at the promise of fresh Elven meat for him and his group of scouts as he gazed upon the refuge of Meluinen. He hid again behind the tree, absently waving away the bugs that can be found in the marshes around Meluinen. "B... But, Grubuck, these are pointy ears! A whole refuge of them! And we only have ten Orcs!

She left Gorlakon sleeping soundly, her own slumber disturbed by thoughts that would not settle. Zorzimril slipped on a pair of leather shoes and a cloak over her linen gown, silently departing the tent. The fires burned low, most of the Creoth and Duvardain snoring where they passed out from too much ale. Others stood guard, with tired eyes and deep yawns. And there were those that watched that never grew tired or drunk.

                Dinengel ducked aside as the large beast bounded towards him.  He struck the ground hard, and staggered back to his feet only to see the warg turning around for a second attack. The Ranger flourished his knife quickly in the warg’s face, causing the animal to hesitate, but only for a moment. Digging it’s hind legs further into the dirt, the warg pushed off with its pointed claws and teeth extended towards the fatigued man.