[Third Age MOS AAR] An Orcs Tale - Completed

[Socrates1984]

I recently discovered this and I love it! What Alwyn and Caillagh have said so far pretty much covers my view on your AAR. I have to add though a major compliment we say in greek for the books we read in one sitting: I read it in one single breath (straight off the reel, google translate says).

Well done Maltacus!

[Maltacus]

Thanks, readers new and old!

Beckitz, that was positively orcish!

[Maltacus]

Chapter V - VIII

For the fortunate orc selected to load and operate the ballistae, life was often a tiny bit safer than the rest. When another was sent to skirmish enemy formation at close range or storm forward into waiting lines of armored infantry, the ballistae was meant to exchange their fire from a relatively secure distance. The sight of burning palisades and foes also inspired enough cheer that they would enjoy some measure of respect despite their less than heroic role. But when they found themselves in the front and the enemy did not wait patiently to be cut to shreds where they stood, the position of artillery crew suddenly seemed like the poorer choice and more than one eyed the thick armour and long pole arms of the heavy infantry with longing. When the line of shouting humans with shields raised and swords brandishing grew clearer at close distance, more than most decided that they would spend this particular battle among the infantry instead. Malthur was furious. The battle had turned into a mess and a protracted slugging match where infantry lines had connected all along the width of the field and his catapults stood near useless, having only the scattered enemy archers to fire at. To add to the stinking day the halberdiers were too far behind the ballistae as well and the light Gondorian infantry surged in between them and then spread out in a full line, instead of being halted and funneled through the space between the pieces. The Gondorian levies wore round wooden shields, steel helmets and leather armor, wielding swords. The infantry from Pelargir was much the same, except for the elongated and narrower shields and the light mail shirts that reinforced their armor. At the Gondorian center was as usual a couple of companies of regular infantry, with pikes and heavy mail, and behind them all the hated Blackroot rangers. The orcs infantry held but the casualties were mounting compared to the more favorable battles when the enemy had stood still and allowed himself to be crushed by bolts and stones. Malthur looked again. Where were those catapult crews? He would flay them all when he found out! A great howling interrupted him. The mountain trolls, the close fighting unit of those creatures, had smashed into the enemy right flank. While the militia was being tossed and kicked apart like dolls, the trolls were shot by the rangers behind, and occasionally one lucky militiaman would manage an effective blow. Some of the trolls had already fallen. Was that the general idea? Without the trolls, Malthurs army would be easy to ride down if the enemy could get around the siege engines, and there would be little heavy infantry left to deal with cavalry after this battle. Damn it, it was the orcs who were supposed to wear the enemy down in that manner! There! The stunted orcs crewing the catapults were running towards a hail of arrows, coming from some group behind Malthurs lines. How had they gotten there? Had his scouts kept such a bad watch that they could go around the entire army at will? Flaying would be to good for them! No, those must be the rangers that had trailed the army for days. So, this was their game. Bleeding him of the most important parts to leave the army being little more than the common orc rabbles that had raided Ithilien. Well then, in that case it would not do to leave out the best parts of the bite this ranger scum thought they could take out of him. "Catapults! Cease firing!" The order was only heard by the nearest of the loaders but they signed to the rest that there was something more important to focus on near them. "Drop the slingers for a while and go out and smash those Tark bowmen on the hill behind us! Hunt them down!" "CHIEFTAIN CALLS! WE SMASH!" With a deafening roar, over forty mountain trolls rushed forth with clubs, rocks and bare fists. The rangers of the Blackroot Vale fought to the last man, but face to face not even they were a match for a troll. They wielded their greatswords masterfully, dodging the swings of clubs as best they could, but sooner or later everyone would make a mistake and after the first blow, there was no second chance. Duinhir was with his men. He was older than most, but he was still an imposing figure, broad, swarthy and grim after long months of deaths and losses. He fought with desperation and bitterness this day, holding his rangers together under the overwhelming onslaught. Always back to back and shoulder to shoulder, the finest of Gondor ended that day, giving their lives to delay Mordors armies so that others, perhaps, could reap ultimate victory from the bloody seed of their sacrifice.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Oh, this is excellent, Maltacus. I regret not catching up till now, but I'm very glad this is still going.

You show Cirion making his difficult choices really well, I really like your battle descriptions, and your dialogue is fantastic.

Socrates1984, "I read it in one single breath" is a wonderful expression. Thank you for giving it to us - I'm sure I'll use it!

[Socrates1984]

Oh, this is excellent, Maltacus. [... ]
I really like your battle descriptions, and your dialogue is fantastic.

I totally agree. It also amazes me how little game details can be transformed into hooks for literary inspiration! Well done again, Maltacus!

I would like to ask you a question: Up until now and after leaving Mordor, Malthur seems to be working for himself, as an independent agent. Shouldn't he receive some kind of orders from higher ranking Mordor officials or be a bit worried about the reports he has to send back home? Or have I missed something?

@Caillagh, thanks for the kind words.

[Maltacus]

Speaking of little game details, Cirion did grow out of the simple Black Numenorian ancillary. He was at first supposed to be a minor point of view character, something like the trapped youths with class issues, but proved to be such an interesting addition that he has sort of hijacked the tale.

It doesn't show completely but Malthur has butchered his way down through Gondors southern armies in a fairly straight line, so it could be that he is carrying out a large scale order, or that he is working independantly with the forces he has gathered to him. Keep in mind also that the orc army has been surrounded and pretty much cut off by its pesky ranger pursuers since the start of chapter V. It might be that there are scores of Mordorian messengers resting in shallow graves all across central Ithilien. Or maybe there are other explanations...

I like the questions because they deal with part of the content of the coming episodes. Stay tuned and all will be revealed

[♔atthias♔]

I cannot give you rep dang!!!!!!!!!!!

[Ngugi]

Gave it on your behalf ^^

[♔atthias♔]

Gave it on your behalf ^^

thanks man

[Maltacus]

Thanks, Atthias. It's the thought that counts, as they say

Ngugi has dah powah to rep'.

My wife decided to hijack the next episode when I wasn't watching and leave the following comment which I will move here because we are a friendly forum who do things on behalf of one another:

Veroniel*: I just hijacked this AAR. To be honest it was the easiest thing in the world to do. A really good commander like Maltacus would never have let that happen. This Malthur doesn't seem to smart if you ask me. His reputation as a great commander and frightful leader is highly overstated. Hey Malthur, are you a noob or what? Haha!

*Veroniel being her in my Third Age installation, as I have added us both as Silvan Elf generals, complete with magical wedding rings of course.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Your wife sounds cool.

[Maltacus]

Chapter V - IX

To the victor go the spoils. The ancient truth of soldiers and crooks alike, Cirion thought. In this instance the difference between the two kinds was also indistinguishable. Orcs spread all over the battlefield and looted corpses as well as hacked off chunks of meat, bringing it to spontaneous fires to cook or grill over the open flames. The hunger had made them frantic, and undisciplined. Even the human contingent took part in these grisly deeds but they restricted themselves to the dead horses and the food supplies that had been salvaged. It was not much, for the army of Duinhir had not had time to unload the majority of its provisions. Malthurs army was hungering, and discipline was breaking down when every member considered the enemy at long last beaten and themselves deserving a good long meal well earned. Malthur knew all too well that was not the case. The Gondorian other army, possibly the last one of Duinhirs forces, was marching steadily towards Tir Ethraid while his lazy slugs were sitting down feasting and sleeping. He needed to get the army moving again. Once it was on the move, it was always so much easier to direct it where you wished. Far more complicated was that he needed the army to move fast and soon, which meant with the lightest of packs and only the barest of supplies. And here was a field of meat waiting to be gathered and cooked and feasted upon. He needed to get the army packing, and the slothful damn sods would only move to eat. There was always the chance that lopping the heads of a part would make the rest fall in line but that could take time and a lot of fighting and beating and such methods did at one point become risky. That point was reached by now, Malthur determined. Besides, he was after all short on men. His train of thought was interrupted by the hurried approach of one of his captains, Muzul, that commanded a company of the heavy infantry. "Chieftain! The boys are just scattering to eat and sleep like some lazy swine! I mean, you can see that, so...what are we gonna do about...uh, what are your orders?" Malthur was about to offer a sharp retort but held up. The captain had after all shown some initiative. Perhaps he could prove useful now? "And what about you Muzul? Haven't you thought of carving yourself a nice steak for tomorrow too?" "Grabbing the meat someone else has just carved is faster. They can take the time to slice another bite." Malthur chuckled quietly. "Right then, let's get this lice-ridden slug nest up and kicking, shall we? Gather a couple of dozen of your unit and have them bring those flaming deserters here. Tell them that we're going to gather up all this fine meat properly before it starts to spoil. That should get them listening." "Aye chief! You lot, come with me!" Malthur was quick to the task. The grumbling and red-eyed uruks and other smaller orcs that Muzul kicked up and sent to him were immediately dispatched to bring up a large part of the mostly empty supply wagons. They were all moved next to the field, where a few wagons with spare stones and pitch and oil for the catapults had been left. Others were assembled in their respective units, which in most case were of only partial strength. Malthur directed them to start gathering and chopping up meat to fill this wagon or that, all systematic and without any hesitation and seemingly following a clear plan. The mood brightened somewhat, as everyone could see the wagons slowly but steadily filling with fresh meat for the coming days. Along with sending newly roused units to gather more meat Malthur would on occasion call up a unit and send it off along the road with orders to start constructing one or another part of a new fortified camp. "Keep in mind, we don't want those Tark armies that are left down south to come up and be able to just walk in while we have dinner. I want a good ditch and palisade on each side, and towers at the corners and gates. And you will keep patrolling the area, if there are any of those rangers left in the woods." During the evening, more and more of the companies were sent away to the camp site. Muzul was organizing the moving of the wounded and most of the camp followers when Malthur summoned him. "Seems like we have got the slugs moving for now." "Aye, chief. I'll have them throwing up the camp walls in no time!" Malthur shook his head. "I have no need for that camp. We are not going to stay and get fat here." Muzul looked at the chieftain with confusion and wariness. Malthur continued. "We won't be able to bring that load of meat with us either if we intend to catch up with that Tark force, which I damn well do. So here's what you're going to do. Bring a few of your best boys here, some who can do as they told and keep their jaws shut about it. See to it that someone that we can manage without accidentally trips with a torch next to that wagon with ammunition, and that the meat wagons are left close enough to catch fire. And I don't need to add that I want our little troublemakers silenced the moment they are done. Do that quickly, but make sure everyone still around here sees or hears it. Everyone in the camp must know what has happened and there must be no doubts about it. Understood?" Muzul recoiled a bit, but seemingly in surprise rather than repulsion. He saluted and waved to his closest subordinates. Less than a count of four hundreds later, Malthur heard angry shouting and arguing from the wagons. Suddenly the darkness was lit up by a sharp light, as wood and oil burst into a mighty flame. More shouts and sounds of fighting could be heard, and shouting that shifted into yells of pain and fear. "Not bad, Muzul...not bad at all..." Rumor spreads quickly, even compared to a hurried march by a determined uruk company. A mob was forming near the entrance to what was going to be the fortified camp. Tired and dismayed, the common orc soldiers demanded answers while their officers bawled commands to get back to work while at the next moment harshly question the closest newcomer about what was going on. If one had superior night eyes, which orcs did, one could spot a faint glow in the dark far away, about the place where the battlefield was. The orc chieftain walked quickly through the crowd and up to a small mound where he was somewhat visible and able to address most of the crowd. "Listen up! Some stupid rats tripped over at the wagons and managed to set a wagon with oil and pitch on fire! The flames spread and nearly the whole damn supply is bloody ashes! There was a storm of cries of outrage and roars along with angry murmur and banging of weapons against shields. It took a long time for Malthurs bodyguards to make the worst shouters shut up. "We have a simple choice! We move or we starve! Gather all of the remaining meat you can, and pack it with you. We will force march with only the most essential gear, no wagons, only the artillery. We will catch that Tark army before Tir Ethraid, and then we will have a bloody good feast!"

[Alwyn]

Veroniel's hijacking is funny! It looks like Malthur's cleverness and ruthlessness will win him this war, unless his losses cause his army to struggle against the army of Gondor which marches towards Tir Ethraid.

The Writers' Study Yearly Awards 2016 are now open for nominations. Everyone is invited to submit nominations here.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Well, that's one way to motivate your troops!

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Just seen this via several threads in the WS Yearly Awards and just had a quick look over, can't wait to give it a proper read - looks really good! Have you got a thread in the TATW fan creations sub-forum or something to make some of those guys aware of it as well?

+rep

[Maltacus]

Chapter V - X

Thirst. Malthurs head was filled with the word, the feeling, the need of drink. He had been wrong. The army could pack what they needed to eat for a few days, but they had not the water they needed. And neither did they have the time to search for a lake or river, lest the Gondorian army ahead would escape their grasp. In these southern parts of Ithilien, the springs were few and far between for the landscape was already giving way to the open ground that would become the plains and steppes of Harad. He had lost scores to the thirst and the sun, always despised by the orcs and always a torment without ample food and drink to give you the strength to stand it. The stragglers were left as they were, he hadn't even bothered to make examples of them. Some might catch up later, but probably not. The uruks marched with heavy steps, struggling forward. The lesser orcs dragged themselves along, wheezing and panting with hanging red tongues. None cared about formations or scouting, only the road and the sun and the thought of fresh meat and water at the march's end. Pilimor, captain of Gondor, steered his horse to a hill beside the road. For the tenth time today he imagined seeing distant shapes coming up behind them. He held no illusions that they were the last. If Duinhir had been successful he was sure that he would have heard of it several days ago. It had been a hasty message delivered by an exhausted courier that had told him to make all haste towards Tir Ethraid and take it back to hold against the enemy. Duinhir would attack to buy him what time he could. His gamble had failed, but it had been worth a shot, Pilimor still thought. Duinhirs plan had been to lure the orc army into the wilds while Pilimor led his force to strike at any outlying camp and outpost far away from the armies, denying the enemy shelter after shelter until dissent and starvation would force them to retreat. Then Duinhirs rangers would torment them for every step back. But something had not worked out with the strategy. Pilimor didn't know what. He admitted to himself that both he and his people probably knew less about the orcs than they would care to admit, and had allowed prejudice and tradition to fill the spots that their experience, or lack of it, left open. The catastrophic early battles and the dreadful encircling and siege of Cirions and Aravirs combined army had proven that. Pilimor held few illusions as to his chances to achieve victory on his own now. But he would not relent. He would push hard and take that orc nest that the town had turned into, and he would make them bleed for it and then he would torch it before seeing it back in enemy hands. Even this enemy that seemed to defy every rule of conventional warfare would crumble after that. Then others would come to finish what he had started, no, what Duinhir had started and he continued, and Gondor would endure. Gondor would endure and remember them. One last hill. One last step. Water. Meat. Blood. Rest. One last step. One more breath... Pilimor had lost count of how many times he had gazed back. He should be riding backwards, he thought dryly. At one time he had imagined seeing something move over this hilltop or that. But he was experienced enough to recognize when he was starting to see things that weren't there, and when it was time to trust in others eyes along with his own. That would be Gondors strength. Her people fought for one another and not to grab the heaviest sack of loot like the orcs or southrons did. Malthur had not even the energy to kick the panting scout in front of him that couldn't find his breath to report. He caught the eye of the subordinate orc and pointed south towards the nearest ridge that the road passed over as if to ask. The scout nodded, drawing wheezing breaths, and pointed in the same direction, as if to confirm. Malthur straightened with his back aching and shoulders stiff and numb from the weight of the plate and held up his fist for the nearest part of the marching column to see. It took a long time, long enough to provoke a violent response under usual circumstances, but at last the column came to a halt. Malthur pointed ahead, to the right, to the side of the wood that grew next to the road and the open fields on the other side. The column started to move again. The fore riders said that Tir Ethraid was near. It was not in sight but it was less than a day ahead. Out of the woods where rolling hills and ridges littered the plain, almost like the sand bottom of an ancient sea. And over those ridges rolled death in a black mass, round the forest and intercepting their course, battle line formed and artillery deployed. Pilimor glanced at his lieutenants. He nodded at them. "For Gondor." "For Gondor." Gondor would endure. The last of Pilimors men had scattered, a third, half a thousand. The rest were slain or lay dying on the field, only left with the hope that they would end before the first orc reached them. Malthur had descended from the ridge and stood among several hundreds of the remaining parts of his army, which now only numbered around a thousand, having paid for the victory with two and a half hundreds, almost all of them infantry. Malthur stopped for a moment, letting it drag out for a bit, and then drew a deep breath and shouted as loud as his dry throat would allow. "Well, looks like meat's back on our menu, boys!" With cheers, mad roars and hoarse cries of triumph the starved horde threw their equipment aside and gave in to their hunger. On this field, none bothered to cook any meat, nor to make sure it's owner was definitely dead. Only the chieftain contended himself with hacking off a slice of tender, bloody flesh from the nearest cleaner whiteskin and started to walk determined towards the area where the Gondorian commander had been stationed. He knew there had to be something here, something that they would have wanted to keep from him. The Gondorians had not had time to burn it, he had kept his eyes on their commanding staff. In a sturdy leather cylinder, Malthur found what he hoped. The map was a sturdy booklet containing a large scale general map of a region, such as Ithilien, followed by a few more detailed ones of specific parts of the region, such as the plains of southern Ithilien, the central parts along with Osgiliath and the Morgul Vale, which the Gondorians knew precisely from the ancient days when it was Minas Ithil, and the northern parts bordering the marshes and the road towards the Black Gates. Not only the lay of the land and the towns were featured but also what seemed to be small notes about suitable camp sites, seasonal obstacles that were likely to hinder one path or another as well as pieces of advice about crossing various types of terrain. All scribbled in the language of the humans, but that would not be a problem as Malthur had access to a human interpreter these days, he thought with a wicked grin. Dragging that pathetic whiteskin along might have proven just what was needed to tip the scales in his favor here in the south. Or rather in Mordors favor, as a dutiful commander should send the map immediately to his superiors to be used in accordance with the wishes of the great eye. An obedient commander would waste no time letting the maggot dung of Nazghuls and their bootlickers enjoy the spoils of his labours.

[Socrates1984]

Another great chapter! Well done!

And what an ending... Malthur is starting to show his true face and ambition. And you Maltacus manage to make it so that I can't wait for the next chapter!

[Alwyn]

I agree with Socrates! This is a powerful chapter, I like the way that you show us the perspectives of both Pilimore and Malthur. Now, each time someone repeats the phrase 'Gondor would endure', I wonder whether it will. I noticed that Pilimore knew that the strategy of Gondor's armies had failed, but not why. (Perhaps they would need to bring a massive force of cavalry, to prevent Malthur's artillery from cutting down their infantry?) It appears that, until an enemy commander works out why the previous armies which faced Malthur failed, Malthur and his orcs will continue to enjoy victories. After Malthur's discovery at the end of the battle, it looks like Cirion will continue to play a central role in events to come.

[Maltacus]

Thanks very much all commenting readers.

@Shankbot
Yeah, I posted the story there too. The thread in the Third Age forum has every chapter posted as a whole, so it's almost never updated. That is the main point of the end lines present in each update here, as they separate sections when the chapter is posted as a whole.

@Alwyn
It seems Duinhir had he right idea about how to deal with a superior force but couldn't stand the thought of laying low while yet another Gondorian army was massacred, or maybe he had some idea about removing the key assets of Malthurs army to make it more managable. Unfortunately for him said key assets had too thick skin and skulls to be easily removed.

I am thinking of cutting chapter 5 here. It has already grown too large and maybe the map finding is so important that it makes for the best ending.

EDIT: Or not, since I notice chapter 6 will have too many pictures in it then.

Cirion is sure to stick around. He is a useful tool for the author as well as the chieftain... If the war slows down he will have an interesting time ahead of himself thinking it all through.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Finding the map - and Malthur's reaction to it - certainly is a good ending. But, of course, I have no idea what else you had planned for Chapter 5, so I really can't say whether or not this is the best place to stop!

It's an excellent update (as always) anyway. And I agree with Socrates1984 - Malthur does seem to be showing his true feelings now, doesn't he?