[Third Age MOS AAR] An Orcs Tale - Completed

[Maltacus]

To be or not to be Cirion, that is the question...

Like Turkafinwë and NorseThing, I enjoyed seeing how Nazghul are creating distrust between Malthur and his troop and Malthur's awareness of what is happening (and what's likely to happen).

I almost get the feeling people don't like the kindly and gentle benefactor orc that struggle so with his dysfunctional friends...

[Alwyn]

I like your description of Malthur as a 'kind and gentle benefactor'!

[Maltacus]

Chapter VIII - IX

"What is it?" "The ridge, my lord, the southern. We are seeing movement here and there, it has been going on for a few hours now." "What did the scouts report?" "Nothing. None has come back." Widfara shielded his eyes from the bleak sun. The view was as still as any other day. It was easy to let worries and fear get out of hand so close to the black land behind the mountains but neither should one be dulled or bored by the constancy of the threat that it represented. "Send out a full patrol, with scouts spread out behind it. Send it in an arc from the north, in loose formation." Widfara commanded a pitifully insufficient force, just a little above two hundreds to hold the ruins of Osgiliath. The main part of the Rohirric force in charge of holding the ruins and the island of Cair Andros just north of it was further away, poised to counter orc preparations to cross the river at the marshes north of the island. It was slightly far-fetched, given the orcs aversion to rivers, but commanders had finally learnt not to underestimate the orcs, or at least their lords. The strongholds near the river would have to be manned to appear more heavily garrisoned than they were, a task which they were now used to. Watch fires burned in every tower, banners were carried by every little tent and the guards on duty never ceased joking about their guarding involving more marching back and forth than an actual march, especially since the Rohirrim were a people of riders rather than footmen. Osgiliath was the capitol and crown of Gondor in its golden age. Flanked by Minas Anor and Minas Ithil, the towers of the rising sun and the sinking moon, it lay superbly accessible both from the sea and land and connecting the west-east trade routes and the sea. The farmlands of Pelennor on its western side and forested Ithilien on the eastern brought grain and timber, and ships and caravans brought everything else one could think of. The great buildings rivaled in splendor Numenor itself, yet spared the sickly obsession with the dead who were honoured, but whose concerns did not outweigh those of the living. For many centuries the realm had prospered, until plague depopulated the city and civil war, orcs and easterlings sapped the strength of the kingdom. Minas Ithil fell to the witch-king and Gondors people looked to Minas Anor as their new capitol, becoming Minas Tirith, their fortress on the mountainside, safer than the exposed valley which had now been opened to the enemy. Osgiliath withered to a city of ghosts and empty rooms, and a city of ruins. Gondor held it yet, but as a bulwark only. It had never been meant to be the strong point of the defence, and the buildings that still stood tall were open and inviting, not like the fortified homes of Minas Tirith. After the eastern bank of the Anduin had fallen to the orcs the steward of Gondor had ordered the construction of a great wall around the fields of Pelennor, the great plain of crops, orchards and gardens outside MInas Tirith. After great toil, the wall, Rammas Echor, stood ready, with gates north, south and east towards Osgiliath, anchored on rivers north and south and forming a wide, but not excessively fortified defense. The walls had few towers except near the gates, and they were not nearly as thick as those of the white city, and certainly not with the same strange outer aspect that made the outer wall of Minas Tirith nigh impregnable for conventional siege weapons. Rammas Echors strength lay instead in the proximity to the city and the great fields just beyond it. An enemy would be broken up, stalled and occupied with breacing them. Meanwhile, the Gondorian army could mass behind them, in impeccable order on the open ground, and prepare to attack the foe that came streaming through the breaches. Minas Tirith was so close that the city could support and reinforce almost any point of the wall in little time. Widfaras second, Leofara, their names likeness always a source of jokes, suddenly turned next to him. Widfara looked up and saw him stare intensively towards the ridge. "What...good fathers of old!" From the ridge soared a ball of fire, arcing high and visible to all and crashing to the ground near the road leading to the fallen gates on the eastern side of the city. "Ever the damned showman..." Leofara said quietly. "What do you mean by that?" "I was there near Ostithil. I was one of the few that got away. It was the same thing there once the castle became surrounded. Showing his might, making them afraid and transfixed by his displays of the trolls and his fires." Seeing Widfaras worried but still doubting frown he added with grim certainty: "Yes. It is him." "But there are many orcs with siege weapons these days and this is a city after all. It could be some other force." "In itself, maybe. But think of the past months, my lord. No word or sign of the Gondorian armies sent south? No sight of the fleet? Our scouts gone? No, my lord, he is here."

[Alwyn]

Great chapter! I particularly like your description of the role of Osgiliath in Gondor's golden age, and the contrast with its current status. Leofara's reaction to what happened near the road to the fallen eastern gates is well done.

It's a sign that the fame of the 'kind and gentle benefactor' you mentioned previously has spread, that he is referred to simply as 'him'. There's no need to mention his title or his name, everyone knows who they're talking about.

[Maltacus]

Thanks Alwyn.


A note about the pictures

Alwyn and Darkan pointed out that the images had disappeared before, thanks for that. I have fixed the issue, which derived from the picture hosting site postimage.org changing directory for their images. I don't really know the background. In any case, I discovered that postimage links are easier to fix than anticipated and thought . Apparently all you need to do is replace "postimage.org" with "postimage.cc" in the image adress text string and it will work fine. I found some info here:
https://www.phpbb.com/community/view...=556&t=2467956
Edit the post and switch the editor to source mode (upper left) and you can edit the image adress text effectively without breaking up formatting and such. Much faster and easier than reuploading it all from the host site.

[Maltacus]

Chapter VIII - X

Malthur put his foot against the chest of the dead mountain troll and strained. The sword embedded in it was stuck. He tried another angle, and managed to move it an inch. Pushing back the opposite way dislodged it a little bit more. There. Now he could pull it out. The hilt was wrapped in metal thread, the hilt gilded and the welded blade decorated with runes and lines like flames or serpents. Its balance was flawless, but the great length was uncommon among orc infantry and would take some time to get used to. It was a grand trophy, and a blade worthy of its wielder it had been. The yellow-haired garrison had waited until his uruks were close, the rushed out on balconies and roofs with bows in hand and also let boulders and indeed parts of the roofs themselves fall down on his infantry. The streets were much wider than Gobel Ancalimon in Harad so the effect was not nearly as devastating, but it created disorder among his ranks. Into that the yellow-hairs captain had charged, at the head of two dozen heavily armored riders. The bravery was invigorating! That was a whiteskin worth killing! Malthur could see that there were no troops behind the generals retinue but his infantry was falling back, taking shelter behind rows of halberds. He turned, slightly irritated, and waved a company of mountain trolls forward, the armored Olog-hai. Their roars echoed from a side street but the yellow-hairs did not flee. Even more remarkable, they managed to keep control of their mounts and form up to charge the trolls head on, their captain at the front. A troll to his right met the mounts charge with an uppercutting swing of its spiked mace, but the moment before it connected with his doomed horse he had stood up with one foot on his saddle and jumped, carried forward by the momentum of the charge and driven his sword into the throat of the troll. One puny human had alone slain a mountain troll. The monsters were supposed to be nearly indestructible, their skin thick enough to turn away arrows and the ludicrously thick plate and sweeping swings of their giant maces and clubs making closer assaults doomed from the start. But that yellow-haired captain had done it, although he was quickly trampled into the ground in the melee that followed. None of his retainers had managed the same, but neither did the troll company hunger for more blood and battle as they usually did. They limped. The orc chieftain ignored their disappointing groans and signed to the uruk regiments. Iron-shod feet moved across the old market squares, the shadows of halberds and helmets crept along the withering walls. Black streams of orcs were pouring out from under ancient vaults and lining up to cross the bridges that still stood, memories of a time long gone when such a sight would have been unthinkable. The ruined city was taken. The ruined city was lost. Leofara averted his gaze and looked upon the few survivors and those unfortunate enough to be ordered away to spread the warning of the lost battle, if it could indeed be called such. Like himself. He knew Widfara expected him to go north to warn their people and use his knowledge - how pitifully small it really was - to see that they understood the full magnitude of what was coming. It was the right thing to do, it was his duty. It was Widfaras duty to give the command. And he hated it. "Kinsmen, we make for Cair Andros. Our people will gather there, the river and the steep slopes will be our best defense for the moment." "What about the white city? Nothing stands between it and the enemy now." "Gondors reinforcements march from the south. I do not know how far they are. They speak of a great fleet of corsairs that harry their coasts and prevents them from ferrying their armies up along the whole of the great river and many must be left behind to protect against the black fleet. Those who can will reach Mundborg and the fields of Pelennor from the south, along the road from Lossarnach. By then, we join them from the island and converge upon the enemy on the plains." If the orcs haven't claimed the river crossings and fortified them, Leofara thought. If the enemy hasn't taken the time to man the Rammas Echor to use it against us. If Cair Andros isn't under siege by then. If Mundborg still stands at all. "Hamar, you must ride to captain Nirdir. We cannot delay them here any longer. Lord Denethor must do what he can with the men that could be gathered by now." "What shall I tell him?" "Osgiliath has fallen. Widfara is dead. They are coming."

[Turkafinwë]

Two lovely chapters! Like Alwyn I absolutely loved the history part of Osgiliath. I also like the character of Leofara, loathing to leave his comrades behind against this great menace. The sense of looming disaster is pictured nicely in your last chapter. It really seems Gondor would need a miracle to be saved. And is that a Harry Potter reference at the end?

Again, well done good sir!

[Alwyn]

A very effective chapter! I particularly like the structure, starting with Malthur's perspective of the assault on the city, followed by the images and then Leofara's perspective. (The parallel between Malthur's last line and Leofara's first line is a nice detail.) That's an ominous last line!

[Maltacus]

Mmm, Gondor seems to be in trouble. How far away are the southern armies and can the city withstand the orc artillery?

The last line does indeed figure in a book about the wizard brat but it is not intended as a reference to the book itself, rather the moment when I read the book loud and the target audience was thoroughly outraged when I decided to, logically enough, stop when coming to the end of the first chapter.

[Darkan]

Well done, beautiful descriptions and vivid images, aside from the pictures themselves.

[theSilentKiller]

Well, who's faster? The orcs or the southern army? Or maybe intercepting the army might be a reasonable decision? Or wait until they arrive and let them attack the ruined city? Anyway, beatiful writing and well chosen images. Like Alwyn, I like the change in persepctive!

[Maltacus]

Well, who's faster?

Place your bets, ladies, gentlemen and orcs!

Well done, beautiful descriptions and vivid images, aside from the pictures themselves.

Or maybe intercepting the army might be a reasonable decision? Or wait until they arrive and let them attack the ruined city? Anyway, beatiful writing and well chosen images. Like Alwyn, I like the change in persepctive!

Indeed, many possibilities. Malthur himself would probably like to do some dramatic and unconventional to trap the entire enemy army but the boring ghosts of management past might be more rushed and less thinking outside of their spectral box.

EDIT: Darkan, you have received my PM with the answers to your second group of questions, right?

[Maltacus]

Chapter IX - I

Nirdir, captain in Gondors armies, looked up at the looming battlements above him. The mighty works of Gondors latest generation, the great circular wall around the fields of Pelennor. It was almost eerie, being on its outside, right underneath the dark murder holes where boulders and oil could be rolled and poured down on the luckless soldiers caught underneath. Like him. He wondered if the men waiting outside the far greater walls of Minas Tirith felt the same. How odd it was to be on the wrong side of their defenses when the enemy was approaching. Widfara had warned them of the orc siege engines. While the walls themselves were not vulnerable the city behind them could be set aflame in the worst case and the gate, however strong and masterfully forged, was the weak point of any wall. They were also the core of the orc chieftains strategy so far. If he encircled the city and entrenched himself with those catapults, the reinforcing armies might not even be able to reach the city, and the gate could be barricaded against with palisades, stakes and trenches to prevent the garrison from sallying. Denethors answer was bold. Bold, and brilliant in Nirdirs opinion. The ruling steward of Gondor was not like other men of this age. While all too spent and watered these days, by some chance the blood of Numenor ran nearly true in him. He has long sight, perceiving, if he would bend his will towards it, much of what is passing in the minds of men, even of those that dwelt far off. It was difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try, as that orc filth would soon be taught. The steward was a masterful man, both wise and learned beyond the measure of these days, and strong willed, confident in his own powers, and dauntless. A man to follow in times like these. He was proud, but this was by no means personal for he loved Gondor and its people, and deemed himself appointed by destiny and duty to lead them in this desperate time. Nirdir knew well how the steward eschewed personal comfort, to the point where he would walk and sit and even rest clad in mail under his robes, so as not to grow frail and weak with age. Denethor would lead them from the front, in this most important and desperate moment. Nirdir would do the other half of the task. Instead of attempting to destroy the entire enemy army, Nirdir would engage it and pin it into place with his infantry. The horsemen, few and precious in Gondor, would then skirt around the enemy lines and strike at the siege engines and supplies, setting them aflame and cutting ropes whenever possible. Denethor would then come from the other side, the northern part of the fields where he was waiting with most of the garrison in the shadow of the city walls, hopefully hidden from orc eyes just as Nirdir hopefully was, on the outside of the Rammas Echor. If they could cripple the artillery of the enemy, the city would stand proud, bloodied but proud, when the relief came from the south and from Rohan, whose riders had been summoned by the beacons ranging across the white mountains and by riders bearing them the red arrow, the ancient sign of distress and imminent war.

[Alwyn]

Ah, the beacons are lit and Nirdir, captain of Gondor, has the will to execute the plan of the Steward. (I enjoyed reading about how Nirdir sees Denethor.) It sounds like a good plan, but I notice the words 'hopefully' and 'if' in the final paragraph, and remember the brilliance of Malthur. if the summoned riders arrive, will they come to save Minas Tirith or to avenge it?

[Turkafinwë]

A lovely chapter with some links to the books. I really love when writers try to connect their story to the one that inspired them to write it. A strong and wise man he is indeed but will it be enough?

Again I'm really enjoying this tale! +rep

[Maltacus]

Chapter IX - II

The last days had held promise of snow but the ground was yet damp and muddy, and a wet fog rose as in every morning the last months. Nirdir shuddered in his saddle, wondering if he should have ordered them to dismount to warm up by walking. The column followed a road, going between crops and soon it would take them through orchards. He knew every step by memory. Especially the smallest orchard to the right. He had raided those trees one summer long, long ago, and nearly had his ears shouted off him when he got caught one time. The next summer he had worked up the nerve to offer apologies and to work, and gotten a handful of coppers and a delicious pie, and more importantly a warm glance from the eldest girl of the family. The summer thereafter he had gotten kisses... Now the orchards were empty and the people were gone, walled up inside the city, or trekking east to hide in the countryside or Dol Amroth. The crops would be trampled by iron shod orc feet and trees cut and broken, if only for the sake of ruining them. This was surely the autumn of the realm, in every way. But no, he would make sure there would come a spring as well. Nirdir shook his head and peered forward in the grey. He knew his scouts should have reported if they saw the orcs or Denethor but he wanted to be sure anyway. His column was now almost east of the great gate of the city. They should ideally be more south, but the roads forced them to make this turn. After a mile east the orchards would give way to crops again and they could turn to the right to come up the orcs from the southwest. Nirdir was about to signal the column to turn when he heard hoof beats ahead. One of the scouts. "Captain, the stewards force is in position and ready. We will have to decline south quickly to get into our position." "Very good. Tell the steward that I will turn right immediately. We will split up and trek trough the trails and small roads between and across the orchards and form up on the other side." "As you command, captain. Be advised, we believe we have spotted the main enemy force." "Believe? You do not believe about such things, boy. You are sure or you make sure you see what you think you see." "The others are out there confirming. There are lots of orcs, and at least some trolls too, but they are in many places and we can't see the main column." Nirdir sighed inwardly. With an effort, he kept his features calm. "That's because there is no marching column to see! That orc chieftain did not cause us such grief by acting like a green weed. He is coming across the plains in battle formation, spread out and slow and steady. Men! Double pace! The foe is in sight!" Nirdir watched the youth spur his horse and disappear in the mist. He really, really wanted some visibility now. The morning was long gone, the mist should be lifting soon. As to answer his requests, he felt the wind increase and a raindrop clicked against his plated shoulder. Great. Torching siege equipment in late autumn mist followed by rain. But there was no way to call it off now. The boots of the infantry made wet sounds when the companies hurried out of the narrow paths and small roads through the trees and formed into a line. Nirdir kept glancing nervously around but no surprise bombardment came. They were not detected yet. They could not see Denethor but his scout reports placed the steward to their northeast, above the main road to the city while they were themselves now below it. "There!" "See them!?" "Quiet!" Nirdir hissed at the closest noisemakers. They would not get a second chance at this and timing would mean all. They had to close fast, before the orc catapults could trace them and crush them with their fire. He knew that many of the militia and not too few of the regular troops still clung to the hope that this would work out as a hit-and-run attack and they would be able to disengage and make it back in the mist to the city once they were done. He didn't blame them. You clung to what you had and whatever let you get on with your duties. And maybe they would prove to be right. The orcs had not many light troops and no riders, all reports agreed on that. If they could just lure them all to block his attack on the front lines by their initial ferocity, the riders could sweep in and finish their job in moments. Now. The forest of pole arms appeared for a moment, and there was a huge shape, a troll or a catapult, This was it, they were finally here. Now he could see the enemy better. The line was long but not so deep. He thought he could see reinforcing infantry behind as well, those would be the orc archers shooting from behind their heavy infantry. His own troops were lighter infantry mostly, with sword and shield. Light infantry needed to use their mobility when facing heavy infantry, overwhelming a small area with superior numbers. He would first send in a third of his infantry to pin the enemy. Then, as the orcs turned their attention to those spots, another third would charge at the other areas that became exposed. Now a disordered melee would ensue where pole arm ranks could not support one another. Finally, Nirdir would put his last third to use where the enemy buckled and punch through to the archers and force the enemy to commit their trolls. Then the cavalry charge and retreat. "For Gondor! First detachment, advance!" Nirdirs infantry hit the orc lines in three places very close to each other. It was not optimal but an easy mistake to make. It was natural to draw close to ones supporting units and seek flank protection. He could aim the second thrust at the flanks instead. Meanwhile the first cavalry squadrons were lining up. Nirdir had high hopes for his professional cavalry from Dol Amroth, that had marched further back. The city had a proud tradition of a small but well drilled cavalry, the crown of which were its heavily armored knights. Nirdir had with him squires in training and regular cavalry, in mail coats and no barding for the horses. They had to hit fast and withdraw to not entangle themselves in wasteful close fighting. Just as he was about to send in the second detachment of footmen, Nirdirs second-in-command Peliras noted a messenger speeding towards them and after looking at where he was heading from called out. "Captain!" "What?" "On our left, there is another force beyond our wing! We have only engaged part of the enemy front!" Nirdir let out a foul string of cursewords. Meanwhile, the messenger caught up with them and reined in, seeming as out of breath as his mount. "Ca...huff...captain Nirdir! The orcs have infantry outside of our wing, and they are engaged by what we assume is the stewards force. The orcs seem to have turned to present their front towards the steward, though, and we can see catapults closest to us!" Nirdir cursed again. Focus. He needed focus. His own part of the battle had just begun but they were never the less firmly engaged and would not be able to disengage without serious losses, nor reposition all to Denethors part of the battlefield without considerable delay. Besides, the enemy half, or however large the part he had engaged was, would not let them move without interference. "Nirdir." Peliras was a long time comrade and only addressed him without title on private occasions or in the direst of circumstances. "There is no good option left for us here so let's not waste time looking for it. Do we push here or attempt to help the steward?" Peliras was right. He had to make a decision. The steward would be counting on them. The catapults there might be just as accessible as they looked. He had already sent his infantry. They waited for reinforcements any moment. A Gondorian commander did not send good countrymen to die as a hopeless and wasteful distraction. And Denethor had engaged the enemy first, which could have lured a larger portion of the orc reserves there. He had a duty to his steward. He was responsible for his men. He had a duty to his steward to be responsible for his men. "Peliras! We split our forces - take the right wing here and four more infantry banners and press them, and look for any opening to the artillery. I will take the rest beyond our left to relieve the steward and engage those catapults." "We are too few for that! We have to focus on one point, we can't do both and still press effectively!" "We stand a greater chance to find a weak point if we strike at more parts of the foe. Our cavalry has the advantage of speed, they can find it." "We stand a greater chance of creating a weak spot if we focus or forces. We were fooled by the mist just as much as the orcs were. Accept that fact and salvage what we can from it - pick one or the other and let us go for it! But don't do this, captain. Your decision is an honorable one, but I much fear it will doom us all." "You have your orders, Peliras. Carry them out." Nirdir watched Peliras ride out and bowed his head. Peliras was likely right, tactically speaking, Nirdir thought as he raised his arm and signed to the third detachment to turn and move out as the remaining reserves of the second detachment surged forward. But there was no other way he could do this.

[Darkan]

Well written updates. It's difficult not to root for Gondor's forces and here we are, yet again, hoping Malthur fails. Loved the description of the countryside and the contrast between what once was and what now lies tramped under "iron shod orc feet". +rep

[Maltacus]

Ah, the beacons are lit and Nirdir, captain of Gondor, has the will to execute the plan of the Steward. (I enjoyed reading about how Nirdir sees Denethor.) It sounds like a good plan, but I notice the words 'hopefully' and 'if' in the final paragraph, and remember the brilliance of Malthur. if the summoned riders arrive, will they come to save Minas Tirith or to avenge it?

A lovely chapter with some links to the books. I really love when writers try to connect their story to the one that inspired them to write it. A strong and wise man he is indeed but will it be enough? Again I'm really enjoying this tale! +rep

Denethor would certainly have been an interesting character to know more of in the book. How was he before he was worn down by Saurons Palantir media propaganda? What kind of human can look into that stone and still resist the will of the dark lord? And how did Gondor do in his youth?

Well written updates. It's difficult not to root for Gondor's forces and here we are, yet again, hoping Malthur fails. Loved the description of the countryside and the contrast between what once was and what now lies tramped under "iron shod orc feet". +rep

The cheerleaders don their white tree shirts and line the outer walls. Go, Gondor, go! Go, Gondor, go! Or maybe not. It is of course the cheerreaders that does that.

[Alwyn]

Denethor would certainly have been an interesting character to know more of in the book. How was he before he was worn down by Saurons Palantir media propaganda? What kind of human can look into that stone and still resist the will of the dark lord? And how did Gondor do in his youth?

I agree, he's an interesting character.

The cheerleaders don their white tree shirts and line the outer walls. Go, Gondor, go! Go, Gondor, go! Or maybe not. It is of course the cheerreaders that does that.

* Dons T-shirt with the Red Eye of Sauron *

Go, Malthur, go!
Malthur, Malthur, he's our orc,
He can do it, they're all talk!

One orc to rule them all
One orc to find them
One orc to bring them all
and in the darkness bind them.
Go MALTHUR!!!

Great update!

[Maltacus]

About time someone showed some real encouragement to the noble hero of the story!