[Third Age MOS AAR] An Orcs Tale - Completed

[Maltacus]

Chapter VI - I

Malthur looked down at the marching columns with satisfaction. New, fresh and eager ranks of uruks marched along with the old catapult crews and old and new trolls. It was a sight far from the half-starved and ragged army that had marched back north a month before after the last battle near Tir Ethraid. Not only had they resupplied and rested, but the morale had soared when they had finally made contact with Gorbags reinforcing column from Minas Morgul. All knew that at this time no force outfought, outmarched or outmaneuvered Malthurs army, limited as it might be but with the striking power far beyond its numbers. Its configuration was also changed. The ballistae were gone, being replaced by a larger number of catapults and heavy infantry. Orcs in mail armor with axes gave way to uruks in black plate with swords and halberds. He had a new full company of the Morannon guard too, to hold the line wherever he needed to buy time. Malthur rather liked Gorbag, despite him serving at the city of the wraiths. Their mutual contempt for the unliving masters served to bridge the gaps set up by their different positions. He didn't really trust him of course, nor did he know the whole truth about why Gorbag had appeared here and now. Malthur would bet his boots that the wraiths were involved to some extent, but that was about as obvious as betting that the ashes from Mount Doom were involved in the dark clouds that perpetually covered the northern parts of Mordor. Speaking of which, Malthur noted that Gorbag was indeed approaching, flanked by a few of the black plated spearmen that guarded Minas Morgul, the heaviest armoured of all orcs in Mordors service. Malthur tossed a skin of wine towards Gorbag, who caught it in one hand. He had little fondness for human stuff but drink was drink and it was readily available. Gorbag sat down next to Malthur against the hillside overlooking the road. "Chieftain." "Chieftain." "What's happening?" Malthur asked deceptively lazy. "Yuh, that's sort of where I was getting to. You know, I'm in a flaming fix thanks to you, you stubborn sod. You were supposed to be dead, you know." Gorbag replied, but not in a hostile tone that matched his words. "Oh, really? I'm devastated to disappoint you, of course. Who are the other goatlayers that has such faith in us?" "They're...ah...sod it, I think you can guess." "Black cloaks and big boots, sitting on their fancy horses looking down all day?" "Yuh, those." "Flaming cowards. Why can't they crawl back down to their rotten graves and their worms any day?" "Dangerous talk." "Like stumbling around in the woods here with those damned Tark archers hiding under every stone is any safer? Alright, let's hear the whole miserable story. Spit it out." "Well, yeah..." Gorbag took a deep swig "...me and my column were supposed to mop up remaining whiteskins up and down the eastern shores. Whiteskins that were supposed to have destroyed all our armies in the area earlier. Especially so since no reinforcements were sent south - we all lay in wait holed up at the Vale." "Curse those stinking maggot scum traitors! We were getting picked apart, damn it! You didn't even send any messengers, did you?" "Hey, don't pin this on me! I had nothing to do with that! Those bootlickers of scouts around the Vale only answered to the wraiths so I don't know nothing about who sent what message. But are you really surprised? Thought actually never crossed your mind that the higher ups weren't that eager to see you make it out of the woods alive?" "Eh, I reckoned those rangers had every trail in their sights or something. Didn't really bother with messages until they begun waylaying all my patrols. You mean the unliving wretches were sitting and hoping we would be nailed good even before those cloaked...those OTHER cloaked scum had begun having their way with us?" "Quite flaming so. Lost count of all the enemy armies you waded through already? Your boys've grown famous. Some aren't too eager to see an orc in that kind of position. Thinks that might be giving other people the wrong ideas. Thinks it might be convenient if some of us didn't make it back." "Dangerous talk." Malthur took a deep swig. "Dangerous talk." Gorbag swallowed an equal mouthful. They drank in silence for a moment until Malthur resumed the conversation. "What now? Back to Mordor and the boot over our heads?" "I guess so. Now that you lot aren't so dead as you were supposed to I suppose everyone should be trudging home." "Not too glorious, that. Or too much loot to be had." "Nah. But what're you gonna do?" "Say, your orders, what were they again?" "Can't hold our drink, can we? Haha! What is this stuff anyway? It's not common whiteskin drink?" "It is. With a bit of our own booze mixed in it." "Ha! Cheers! Anyway, my orders were to clear out any remaining enemies in the area. The area being pretty much all of the woods here down to the steppes and the southrons." "Then those orders should still stand, shouldn't they? Only now as you have found me 'live and kicking you can hand over command to me and report back for other duties bearing this good news. And if the wraiths are displeased you can always say that the rogue Malthur nicked your entire column and made off. Cheers!" Malthur tossed Gorbag another wineskin. "Cheers! Wouldn't that be a sight! But who's left to hunt down? Haven't you sent every last Tark scurrying home?" "There's one last piece left. It's over there!" Malthur pointed out towards the southwest, towards the river. "And you're gonna swim out to 'em or wha'?" "You could say I have an...appointment with them. I have got my hands on a neat little invitation..." "Yuh, that's the Tarks, righ, polite flaming sods...even 'en we mail...nail...tho'sche maggots... Cheers!" "Cheers!" Gorbag grudgingly opened his one least bleary eye. He had just started to decide whether he could remain on the spot or if the sun was getting too disturbing already when he noticed how quiet all was. Too quiet. Gorbag rolled around and up in one motion. Sure, he was still half drunk and his head thundered like a smiths hammer on the anvil but he was an orc captain and none survived long enough to reach that position without a substantial dose of suspicion and caution. He squinted and looked around. His bodyguards were still drowsing. He should have them flogged, but for the moment he was more concerned with the rest of his force. There were only a third left. Malthur. That damned flaming rebel had really done it and stolen himself a whole new damn army. Just like he had suggested, the miserable sneaking rat! Great. Just flaming great. It was flaming worthless. Gorbag suddenly caught sight of something on the ground next to him. It was a good deal of wineskins, probably a dozen or so. And there was a great chunk of meat lying next to them. It even seemed to be warm still. That meant some of them couldn't have gone very far. He should be able to catch up with them if he roused his guards now and set out at the double. On the other hand... Gorbag looked down again and picked up a wineskin. After all...that could perhaps wait a day or two. There would be plenty of time to catch up with that flaming soldier-thieving brigand later. Flaming cur. Gorbag downed a mouthful. It was in fact flaming hilarious. He wondered where Malthur was going. What was it that he had mumbled about? Something about the river. And a Tark horde that he claimed to know where it would appear. How the hell would he know that? Gorbag took another swig. Flaming ridiculous.

[Alwyn]

Great chapter, I enjoyed the dialogue between Malthur and Gorbag - and Gorbag's perspective of Malthur, who has apparently "stolen himself a whole new damn army". Like Gorbag, I wonder where Malthur will go next - the map suggests interesting possibilities!

[Maltacus]

Here is a hint . Huge spoiler alert, though.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Note Gorbags official mission, and remember the Gondorian commanders we know exist. Perhaps there is one not yet dealt with, and in that case, do we know where he might dwell, or appear from? Like with various other things, Cirions knowledge is the key...

[Socrates1984]

Another great chapter Maltacus! Indeed, as Alwyn said, the conversation with Gorbag was very enjoyable and how the story unfolded after that was unexpected (for me at least). So, now we have Malthur the Tyrant both knowing how the officials regard him and disobeying openly their orders! I would never expect to see so much intrigue and politics from an Orc campaign and I must say it offers a new perspective on them. It's refreshing. I wonder if an elven campaign would have this level of behind-the-scenes workings and dessous stuff. (Please do keep a mental note of this last remark .)

Well done, as always!

[theSilentKiller]

Great chapter! It seems orcs are more complex and capable of politics and intrigue (Socrates1984 said) than had thought. ( Though your AAR always suggested this)! I wonder what the next step will be.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

This continues to be excellent stuff, Maltacus! Malthur's a great character.

[Maltacus]

Great chapter, I enjoyed the dialogue between Malthur and Gorbag - and Gorbag's perspective of Malthur, who has apparently "stolen himself a whole new damn army". Like Gorbag, I wonder where Malthur will go next - the map suggests interesting possibilities!

Stealing army units is becoming such a bad habit among some...

Another great chapter Maltacus! Indeed, as Alwyn said, the conversation with Gorbag was very enjoyable and how the story unfolded after that was unexpected (for me at least). So, now we have Malthur the Tyrant both knowing how the officials regard him and disobeying openly their orders! I would never expect to see so much intrigue and politics from an Orc campaign and I must say it offers a new perspective on them. It's refreshing. I wonder if an elven campaign would have this level of behind-the-scenes workings and dessous stuff. (Please do keep a mental note of this last remark .)
Well done, as always!

If Malthur would come knocking on the door of Mirkwood one day I suppose some court intrigue would be needed to fill out the story before Veroniel would put him is his place...

Orcs, in Melkors typical fashion, are after all a degenerate version of elves who excel at squandering their power mistrusting their neighbours and generally being snooty (just look at the history of Beleriand )...

Great chapter! It seems orcs are more complex and capable of politics and intrigue (Socrates1984 said) than had thought. ( Though your AAR always suggested this)! I wonder what the next step will be.

Imperialistic managements worldwide enjoy succesful generals...but not too succesful. Perhaps Malthur is becoming something like the orc version of Khalid ibn al-Walid in that respect, if not in army composition...

This continues to be excellent stuff, Maltacus! Malthur's a great character.

Such a gentleorc, isn't he?

I hope you're having as much fun writing this as I am reading it!

I liked this reputation comment so much I include it here. Writing is very much fun but also frustrating because I have the whole large scale story finished in my head but getting it down into chapters is the hard thing. I constantly worry that I will be repetitive, not least a as the protagonist army works in the same way in every battle.

I enjoy comments tremendously so thanks for taking the time to write them.

[Maltacus]

Chapter VI - II

The night was dark and foggy. The ship was a cold, damp place to be, and navigation at this time was dangerous at best. The ships of the fleet were anchored, though, and the Anduin was still and quiet. Or at least mostly quiet. The order was out to make ready for landing and on half of the ships Gondorian soldiers and militia was preparing to embark the smaller rowing boats that could take them ashore. Muffled muttering and cursing was heard, but none raised his voice and they climbed down the rope nets and ladders with determination. This was not a hastily thrown together new army, but a bloodied and grim company of survivors of the calamity that had befallen Ithilien. Istdor viewed them with respect. He was not one to start hoping easily, having always been somewhat reserved and eager to act rather than talk, but he saluted their will to make another effort. The force that now disembarked under his command was all of the hale, well, reasonably hale, survivors from the battles with the Orcish monster that now terrorized Gondor. They had elected to stay rather than retreat, to make one final push to rid the world of that terror. The first half of the force, all that could fit in the rowing boats, was led by the captain Colfinmen, a former company commander under Dinethor of Amon Eithel. It was a good choice, Istdor thought, as Dinethor had been able to inflict the most severe harm unto the enemy in a pitched battle, even though Duinhirs tactics had been the better choice in Istdors opinion. Unfortunately the sack of Amon Eithel had been publicly known and it was whispered that an ill fate awaited all who would face the orc tyrant, and that no course could for long prevail. Istdor despised such prophesies, but he could argue that things so far had not done much to encourage anyone, to say the least. With Colfinmen was two companies equipped with dismounted catapults from the larger warships. Now the enemy would have a taste of his own brew. If o part of the army fortified a hill along with that artillery, the rest could spread out and harass the foes lines with archers while cavalry watched against quick sallies. And if the worst should happen and they had to retreat, this shore would be the gathering point. It was unremarkable from land, its lack of sand banks and underwater rocks further out being unknown to the landlubbers. But just to be safe, Colfinmen had orders to march inland for a couple of thousand paces and set up camp on high ground there. Then Istdors half would be on their way to land after him. The boats were off into the mist. Istdor waited, standing motionless with his thoughts drifting back to better days. Even to the war council in Pelargir when Duinhir presented the plans to destroy the orcs. It had been a moment of such strength and cooperation, of mutual trust and energy. It seemed so long ago now. Duinhir was gone, caught at last in the open with his peerless archers. The promising captains, such fine lads, Cirion and Aravir, holding their camp heroically without aid. War had robbed Gondor of them all it seemed, the future generation that should have been there to lead it to greatness again. When the first rowing boat came back, Istdor sighed with relief. He did not need to ask to know that the landing had gone as planned. The oar strokes were steady, telling of calm and concentrated rowers as sure as listening to their breathing next to them would. Istdor turned and signed to the ships captain. "Prepare the second wave. We disembark immediately." The beach lay in between two low ridges. The country sloped very gently down from both sides. It was both good and bad. On the one hand, it was harder to spot anyone in between from far away. On the other, if someone actually went up on one of the heights the view from there was very good. Of course that did not matter now, as the fog was still deep and the dawn was still half an hour away. It was no mean feat, Istdor thought, to land with an army in the dark of the night, form up and be ready to march out in a blink. Even in the calm, the contact of the boats with the sand of the shore triggered the burst of movement and action that was always the case. It never differed. All the time sitting and waiting and wondering if this shore would be the one that turned into an ambush and if the enemy was far away or waiting with a small force, or an overwhelming one, all the anxiety was a relief to cast off and drown in sudden explosive action. Once it was time to unload the supplies and other cargo, the extra energy had usually dried away, Istdor dryly remarked in his mind. A light breeze was starting to blow. The sun was almost visible and it promised a beautiful day. Perhaps a day of hope. The sea had always sheltered the free peoples from orcs and other foul creatures, and the dawn and day was always the time of men rather than the light-hating enemy. Istdor took the time to look around at the surroundings. The fog was liftning from the meadows around them. Were it not for all the noise from the unloading of their cargo and the forming up of the army it would have been a rather peaceful site. He viewed the northern slope again. Something in the mist had caught his attention. He squinted his eyes. Something among those low trees. A very, very uncomfortable knot had been tied in his stomach. Now Istdor could see that he was not the only one staring at the mist. Were they all imagining things now? He rather hoped so. Otherwise... A slight gust of wind created a rift in the mist. The sight caused the men next to Istdor to murmur and point, and more joined them, having forgotten their chores for the moment. He had to have mistaken, he had to. This could not be. Then, as if to convey that the sky had now had its fill of taunting them, the sun rose ever higher and the breeze increased, and out of the mist came the dreaded silhouettes of catapults, infantry and the towering, horrifying mountain trolls. Istdor felt as if all fire he had ever had inside him flickered and died at that moment. He had had one chance and he had squandered it. He had led them to their doom. "Formations! Form up, Gondorians!

[Socrates1984]

Another excellent piece of work Malthur Maltacus!

Even in the calm, the contact of the boats with the sand of the shore triggered the burst of movement and action that was always the case. It never differed. All the time sitting and waiting and wondering if this shore would be the one that turned into an ambush and if the enemy was far away or waiting with a small force, or an overwhelming one, all the anxiety was a relief to cast off and drown in sudden explosive action. Once it was time to unload the supplies and other cargo, the extra energy had usually dried away, Istdor dryly remarked in his mind.

This is a masterpiece! It's written as if you have actually participated in such a landing!

Maltacus Malthur has done his tricks, managing to ambush the Gondorians yet again. I wonder when and if he will "have a taste of his own brew", and how will he react to this. Because he is far away from Mordor's centers of reinforcement and, even if he were close, I don't think reinforcement would exactly be pouring out for him, considering his last encounter with another Mordor captain...

And what you do with your AAR is generally astonishing. No, I mean it. You start gradually building tension right from the start. We, the readers, know how a few things have gone in the past, but your gondorian heroes don't. Which is the definition of dramatic irony. This contrast between what the reader and what the protagonist know gives a tone of building up tension, more and more, a little more, even more, until the final explosion of action. And then, you leave us there, with only a picture, imagining things, with a taste of conflicting feelings.

Why conflicting? Because you have masterfully managed to make us identify ourselves with the Gondorians, while the ones that win are the Orcs! And we know at the same time that the true protagonist is Maltacus Malthur, nowhere to be seen...

Oh, you are talented my friend; and you are devious!

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Socrates1984 speaks the truth (as so often): it's fantastic to read an AAR by someone who can identify so convincingly with both sides in a conflict - and thereby let us identify with both sides, too. And it's given you a brilliant cliffhanger at the end of this latest chapter, Maltacus!

[Alwyn]

A very ominous moment for Istdor! Like Caillagh, I agree with Socrates1984!

[♔atthias♔]

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
good work maltacus

[Maltacus]

@Socrates1984
It's a shame there is no category for "most encouraging post" or so in the yearly awards.

Hehehe, I have at least not had to look for ambushing intruders where I have landed. But I have done a lot of jumping from a boat onto a cliff or dock as a kid, and it has its elements of nervous anticipation. In a war zone, or in very bad weather for that matter, I just guess it would be the same kind of feeling a lot amplified.

We'll see if and when Malthurs fortunes turn. The trouble for upper management is of course that it would be a shame for them too not to see the expensive elite units forming Malthurs army well used, while it is equally annoying to have a rogue Uruk continue to gain fame among the lower ranks in Mordor.

I have no great fondness for Gondor so it is quite an irony as well that you readers are moved by their plight. My dislike stems mostly from the fact that too many players play them and too many modders mod them and the whole Third Age Campaign sometimes seems geared just for a Gondorian player facing Mordor and Harad AI. And we are drowned in mods where everyone has to give them 20 new units and upgrades and have them have every possible kind of unit and so on... The Gondorians seem to me the East Roman Empire of Third Age (the romans which I incidentally out of principle have never played in vanilla or any mod ever since I got the game in 2008, purely out of principle and distatse for their fandom overload).

The Gondorians make for better narrators though, because they are
A) humans with a richer vocabulary, and
B) not Malthur, so he remains the scary and obscure villain he needs to be to terrify the audience.

@Caillagh and Alwyn
I had intended originally to follow the gameplay in this last part of the chapter but after reading the comments I feel like I should change it a bit.

@atthias
I had planned to post the next episode this weekend at the latest but I got ill this week and had fever and headaches more or less non-stop for five days, so the update is delayed. My brain must be pretty much cooked by now...

[Alwyn]

@Socrates1984
It's a shame there is no category for "most encouraging post" or so in the yearly awards.

We could introduce such a category next year, if writers would like such a category. I'll mention this on the chat thread in the Writers' Lounge, to avoid going off-topic on your AAR thread.

@Caillagh and Alwyn
I had intended originally to follow the gameplay in this last part of the chapter but after reading the comments I feel like I should change it a bit.

Changing the campaign events to match the story you want to write sounds good to me! As Shankbot de Bodemloze showed in his Critic's Quill article When Life Gives You Lemons, there are several options for an AAR writers when the gameplay doesn't follow the story you want to tell.

[Maltacus]

Chapter VI - III

A captain has three duties that count. The rest is either means of fulfilling the three or superfluous details. Protect the crew. Protect the ship. Save everyone else. They are, in that order, the only things that matter in the situations where the captains title and authority truly matters. All else is pointless ceremony, petty and shallow. Anyone who will not do his uttermost to fulfill those obligations is a disgrace to the vessel he commands and the title he bears, and no real man at all. Protect the crew. The position was untenable. They would be crushed by the prepared artillery. Istdor signed to his officers. "Turn about and move it a thousand paces back, and be quick about it! I don't care if the lines tangle, they must get out of the fire!" Protect the ship. "Signal the boats to retreat out and warn the fleet! We have no chance to embark again here, we make contact again with the fleet near the beaches further south, which they must keep their eyes on!" Save everyone else. Istdor sighed. Around him was chaos as the infantry was turning and sprinting, boat crews hurrying to their oars and the quartermasters and their marooned deck hands stubbornly trying to gather up what little of the supplies they could carry on them. "Leave it!" "We can take some with us, captain! We can't run or fight on empty bellies!" "You can't take anything with you if you're dead! Leave it! Colfinmens unit will provision us!" Istdor hurried with them after the infantry. Colfinsmens half had been the vanguard. They had not brought many supplies with them except for tools and materials to fortify their position. Colfinmen had been supposed to cover Istdors deployment, not the other way around. But the orcs had outmaneuvered them once again and struck at their soft belly, quite literally in this case. They were at least not too fast, though, Istdor noticed. The Gondorian infantry outpaced the enemy, who followed in a controlled manner, keeping their formation. They would have some time before the enemy caught up. They had to use that time wisely. In fact, it was rather simple. They had to get away from the orcs and they had to retake some of the supplies. So the first measure had to be to retreat further from the shore and lure the orcs away from the discarded baggage. "Commanders! Turn the army east, by a quarter of a turn! We will link up with Colfinmen at the road!" East over the waves of grass the ship of men now steered. Istdor waved and nodded to the rightmost two companies, which broke off south. He hoped they would be able to stay out of sight. The army was coming over a taller ridge now. Istdor took the opportunity to climb a rock near their path and looked west. The orcs were steadily following, in formation and prepared. Their ranks was a carpet of black, crude and misshaped swarthy shapes that blighted the countryside. But what was that... That was a taller shape, even if it was hard to make out in the distance. Istdors eyes had been the best on every ship he had served on, but a lifetime of wind and sun had taken its toll even on him. There...he could see the strange orc again. He had grey armor, not black, and he was tall. Was he one of the accursed men who served Mordor? Probably, but there was something with him. Something that had made Istdor think of something. He just could not put his finger on what. He could not stay where he was any longer. There was an army to save. Colfinmen had taken up position on a hill with excellent view west. His force had been alerted and was waiting in formation. Istdor ordered his force to spread out and combine with Colfinmens, and then walked straight up to see the other commander. "You heard about the landing?" "Yes, my lord. They were waiting for us, all the time?" "They must have been. They let you walk past, even though they could have smashed you at the shoreline, and allowed me to land as well. They want to catch us all here and cut us off from our retreat." "Makes sense." Istdor viewed his sparsely spoken colleague inquisitively. "I mean, that is the kind of strategy that they were reported using before, isn't it? Like when they besieged Aravirs and Cirions army and let them take the time to walk into the trap properly before closing it." Istdor did barely hear him, for his thoughts were racing back and around and around to that moment early in the night. "Istdor waited, standing motionless with his thoughts drifting back to better days. Even to the war council in Pelargir when Duinhir presented the plans to destroy the orcs. It had been a moment of such strength and cooperation, of mutual trust and energy. It seemed so long ago now. Duinhir was gone, caught at last in the open with his peerless archers. The promising captains, such fine lads..." No... Not him... Not him. Istdor ran. He stumbled, he was deaf to the shouts of his men. He was blind to everything but the next hilltop. He must reach it, climb it, spy from it, he must see, he must know... He sensed younger and faster men catching up and slowed down. He would not reach the hill if they thought him mad. Glancing sideways, he saw their worried gazes but they followed him as a retinue still. There was the hill. He must know. One more step, and another... The orcs and trolls were still too far away. Istdor sighed. The first thing you could see as a thing of its own in the black mass was the trolls. The second was the catapults. Thirdly, different companies and units were becoming visible. Then the different armament of the orc infantry would become possible to discern. Istdor suddenly realized that he had lost count of how long he had stood and watched in that same place. He took in all of the picture of the orc army advancing in the midday sun. There came halberdiers, archers, swordsmen. Catapults manned by orcs and those manned by trolls. Clusters of trolls on their own with only their giant clubs, hardly even needing a weapon to wreak havoc among enemy ranks. Istdors eyes darted from one to another, black helmet after black helmet... Where had he seen him before? Was it a specific company? Not with the bowmen, he was sure of that. Istdors retainers were watching the sides, nervously shifting this way or that, clearly displaying that they thought it high time to fall back. He took no notice of it. He was, admittedly, transfixed by the sight of the orc army. Their order was almost immaculate. The speed was not bad for a force with field artillery rolling with them. But he could not see what he searched for. Istdor felt a hand on his shoulder. As if from a great distance, he heard the call for them to go back. He lingered. He could watch for a little time more. The archers were spreading out now, perhaps wary of Istdors group signaling an ambush. They were almost in range. A brave fellow grabbed him across the chest and started to drag him backwards from the hill top. Istdor struggled. He had to see. A group of the orc archers appeared to make ready their bows. Istdor sighed, and let go of the struggle. He would let the others lives go to waste just for his own sake. Walking back with heavy steps, Istdor turned around to look one last time before they descended from the hill. Just one look. Then Istdor saw him. Close to a company at the back, possibly the orc commanders. Time stood still and Istdor perceived nothing but the other one with the rest of the world as a blur around the tunnel of his sight, but in it he saw with every bit of clarity of his hawkeyed youth. Not him... That compassionate soul, concerned for a tired stranger telling a hard to believe tale. That noble heart, not wishing to condemn Dinethor based on rumors and unproven claims. Not him... Istdor had known it deep down. There was in truth no other explanation. The orc chieftain was good, no doubt about that. But nobody could appear everywhere at the exact right moment by being a good field commander. Betrayal. It was not the first time in Gondors history. But it was the first time as far as Istdor knew that someone would sell them all to an orc. It was...degrading. Colfinmen approached, staring at Istdor with a frown that said a lot of his thoughts about his private scouting sortie. "What the hell was that supposed to be, my lord, if I might ask!?" "Colfinmen, I have learned something. Something that I must bring to the ears of Gondor." Colfinmen stared quietly at him for a few moments more. "You know that we can't outmarch them. Not forever. We must stay together to keep them from sending the trolls running in and butcher everyone at will, and that will make us slower. Besides, we have almost no provisions." "If we can lure them here, I have a plan for that. And we don't need to outrun them indefinitely, only so we can make it to the next shore and signal for the fleet." "Won't do, captain. They are closing in on us." "We just need..." Istdor sighed. "A head start. I know that too, captain. I ain't blind." Colfinmen sighed too, then straightened his back and seemed to grow solid, to a rock in the ground. "I will give you the head start you need. I have my own catapults, or your ships, rather, and those mongrels wont like to march their precious trolls too close until we are silenced." "Don't... Don't throw away your lives without a reason. You take what supplies we have left here, and you pack it with you and make a run for it when they come close. Take to the woods and split up. They can't take you all." "Those of us still standing by that point, that is. There will be raining a lot of fire here today before we are done... Make it count, captain. Protect the crew." "Protect the crew." Colfinmen was turning around, seeming to Istdor now as a statue of stone, immovable, solid as the mountains. "Catapults! To me! Let's give those beasts a taste of their own brew today!" Malthur smiled viciously under his helmet. This had been a good fight. It had not been the largest battle, but it had challenged him. The enemy artillery had indeed posed a threat even to his trolls and he had been forced to take special care to spread his own artillery out to aim the maximum number of pieces against each of the Gondorian ones that came into ranger. Needless to say, his crews had won the duel. The infantry had held a hill to their right meanwhile, discouraging the enemy from making any sudden charges, and luring him to focus his attention on the infantry while the trolls bombarded him. Still, there were too few enemies here. The bulk of them had got away for now. But he would hunt them down. Not even rangers would stop him from that. He was just about to give the order to disassemble the artillery to march quicker when he noticed scouts running to them from the rear. It was odd, running in this sun. Something was going on. "Chief! They have taken the shore again!" "What?! Who?!" "Those Tark footmen! They came around from the south, two companies strong at least, and chased us off away from the coast. They seem to be retaking their food and such at that place!" Malthur silently applauded the human commander. It was a sound plan, distracting him here while the rest made off and took back their provisions. He also cursed himself for not having burned those supplies earlier during the day. Sloppy. Now they could have a long march ahead of them. But they had marched before, and not all the woods in Ithilien could shelter the one that Malthur marked as his prey. For the second time, Malthur breathed in to order the army on the move when he was interrupted. "Chieftain! Riders be comin' up on us from the north! They're a host o' them!" "Who are they?! What kind?" "Heavy plate, chieftain. Black horses. They look like the ones...the ones that ride with the wraiths..." Malthur saw from a distance how his infantry parted, giving way for the riders, indeed not showing any will to remain close. He looked intensively for their captain, burning with hot fire at the thought of the wraiths. But the leader was no wraith. A tall and evil shape, mounted upon a black horse, if it was a horse, for towering and horrible it seemed and its head was a mask of horror, more like a grinning horses skull than a living head and flames burned in its eye sockets and nostrils. The Lieutenant of the tower of Barad-dûr he was, and his name is remembered in no tale; for he himself had forgotten it, and he said: 'I am the Mouth of Sauron.' But it is told that he was a renegade, who came of the race of those that are named the Black Númenóreans, and he entered the service of the Dark Tower when it first rose again, and because of his cunning he grew ever higher in the Lord's favour; and he learned great sorcery, and knew much of the mind of Sauron, and he was more cruel than any orc. He reined in his horse in front of Malthur and his captains, measuring them and let out an echoing laughter. "Is there any in this stinking rout with authority to answer to me? Or indeed with wit to understand me?" Malthur discreetly counted the bodyguard and took note of the Black Númenóreans armament. They were the best equipped troops of Mordor, but they were still only men and their horses had little protection. He did not doubt that they would make an impact when charging, but trapped they would be easy to unhorse, especially for the trolls. Perhaps seeing or guessing the chieftains thoughts, the Mouth of Sauron continued speaking. "Malthur, Malthur, what did you think? Did you believe yourself out of the great eyes sight? You are nothing, overseer, not worthy of the time of those better than yourself. Did you believe you could somehow go as you pleased just because some farmers ran before your little fire sticks?" Malthur remained silent, his eyes deep pools of darkness under his helmet. "It is time you relearned your place, orc. Or someone would perhaps be given the pleasure of reminding you of it..." "A wiser man would have shut up by know, Tark." The rider looked around, hissing with malice, but continued his speech. "I serve the great eye! Raise steel against me and it will be a nazghul you see riding into your camp next time!" "A little skittish, aren't we? Why don't you get out of my camp and continue serving somewhere out of my sight before one of your lackeys does something very foolish?" "The eye has orders for you, Malthur! If you still claim to have any measure of loyalty to the Dark Lord, that is! The corsairs of Umbar do not display the fervour that we would have them. The fleets of Gondor and her allies sail unhindered. March to Umbar and bring them in line. Show the Haradrim that crossing the Dark Lord is death!" Malthur watched the last of the horses disappear behind a ridge. He pondered the orders delivered by the little Tark maggot. He had been tempted to give the order to butcher them all, but he suspected that there was a grain of truth hidden somewhere in the threats of wraiths. The Black Númenórean had after all found his camp uncomfortably fast and his army was not the easiest to hide. Umbar. It was the real capitol of the Haradrim even if their chieftain sometimes resided elsewhere. Umbar held the fleets, the slaves, the loot gathered through centuries of pillaging... If Ammu Khand had been farfetched then Umbar was ludicrous. The deserts of Harad were said to be without end and only fit for snakes and scorpions. And the Haradrim were said to be unbeatable in their home terrain. It was a sensible plan, Malthur admitted. He would be lost in the deserts and any reputation would die a mundane and unremarkable death with him. And his army would soften the Haradrim up for the bootlicker hordes that would follow. On the other hand, if anyone would ever find a way to the gilded cities of the southrons... He smiled and produced the rod-like leather case he always kept on him these days and opened it. Harad was large, no doubt about that, but not large enough to be entirely without trails. They seemed to follow what had to be rivers, and those rivers would have dug out ravines. Ravines meant shade. Indeed, if anyone would ever find a way to the gilded cities of the southrons...then it would be him! "Form up, you maggots! Prepare to march south, to riches beyond imagining!"

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Those are interesting - and beautifully-written - developments.

Gondor might have a useful piece of information, and Malthur hasn't quite escaped the notice of his superiors... Well, I wonder what all of this will lead to...

(The bit at the start, with the captain's duties, is fantastic. )

[Socrates1984]

As Caillagh says, many and interesting developments! And I have to agree about the captain's duties!

I couldn't see any this coming. Malthur being outmaneuvered for once, the Gondorians finding out about the Tark in the Orcs' ranks, the Mouth of Sauron himself (or rather itself, we're not sure, are we?) being threatened by our protagonist, and orders to head south to Harad.

What I like the most is that it all makes sense! I mean, you have a Mordor army being redirected elsewhere in spite of their successes and you are given good reason for it. The same is true for Istdor not helping a fellow Gondor captain, for Malthur being so overly aggressive to one of the Eye's main agents, for Malthur again backing down and so on. And these reasons are also connected to feelings too, not just rational thinking; see for example how Istdor reacted to a simple thought: He put in danger his very existence and, in extension, his army's.

If I may respectfully express one point of criticism though. I think Malthur accepted his new orders rather easily. I would expect more cursing and more hatefulness. So far, he has shown to be much more independent and with a personal agenda that is now taken apart. Shouldn't he be a lot more irritated by this last fact? Of course, adapting his ambition to the new orders given to him is a masterful way to channel his negativity, but I think this happened somewhat too fast.
Just a thought really, I'm nitpicking here.

[♔atthias♔]

great work maltacus really inspiring
and I share your opion in regard to the amount of fandom gondor got

[Maltacus]

First, thank you all for writing your mind and all kind words.

@Caillagh
We shall see, we shall see...

With Istdor I took the liberty of not too subtly mirroring my own views of what should constitute the core of responsible seafaring. The prerogative of authors with questionable literary integrity

@Socrates 1984
Interesting last point, and a point I believe you have. In my mind I have the story ready and clearly lined out but it does not always become as clear for the reader. This is an example of a combination of me having such a clear picture of what happens and why, and also being a little tired after writing a long update, that not everything makes it unto paper...well, disc space. That said, Malthur is a scheming villain. Perhaps being ordered south was not quite so different from what he planned anyway as upper management would like to think it was?

@atthias
Down with Gondor!

[Maltacus]

Chapter VII - I

Imlad Carnen, the winter of 2985 How did it come to this? How unimaginable was not this a year ago? The gravity and temerity of the situation overwhelms me. I can not think, nor sleep, nor eat, even discounting the manner of the thing that counts for food among my dear hosts. The thoughts spin and drive me spinning, locked in my own minds whirls of thoughts. No, away with that. I will rise from this. I must reorder my thoughts. I will remember these days, and while I do not dare trust my minds abilities at the present I will write down what important events passes by. This will be my journal, of my travels with the evil of our time, to whom I do now count. Ink and paper I am well supplied with, for I am alone in this company to care about such things. I write at the town of Imlad Carnen in the Near Harad, the northern south so to say. Why is an army of light-hating orcs in Harad? To the studied mind, the question immediately divides into two questions. The first is why the army was ordered here, which is easy enough to answer. The only power that can rival Gondors on the seas is the corsairs of Umbar, the descendants of traitors and rebels of Gondors own fleets in ancient times that deserted the kingdom. Without Umbar, Mordor can not control the Anduin, and can not cross the river at Osgiliath without expecting to come under terrible bombardment from the ships, for the river is still deep near the ruined city as it was in ancient times when its docks were a wonder to behold. And the corsairs have now proven unreliable, which should not come as a great surprise, so the dark power of Mordor will need to make an example of them or their city to bring the rest in line. The second question is why the menace that goes by the name of Malthur accepted the orders, for while they are rational given the strategical context, they are suicidal. An expedition into desert territory without an experienced logistical corps of caravan masters, horses, mules, wagons, even engineers for passing riverbeds, defies every military logic. Malthur surely knows this. And he equally surely does not submit eagerly to his superiors. I have witnessed him practically stealing command of a substantial amount of reinforcing troops on at least one occasion and I can't believe he has risen to his position without having committed similar acts in the past. I have myself witnessed the malice and fury that he is capable of, and to have seen him bow to these orders from his superiors, despite bullying the fallen black Numenorian lord that conveyed them, so seemingly obedient does not make sense. I will put my thoughts on this matter in print for I believe the answer to prove of great importance for events to come. The minor matter of why the envoy was spared a treacherous death, which I know that Malthur would be fully capable of ordering, is in itself easily enough explained by the decision not to fully rebel against his superiors, at least not yet if he harbors such designs. If the enemy is not to be slain, there is no point in antagonizing him into attacking you. The greater matter is why the orc chieftain was capable of tempering his rage enough to actually do that. One explanation is of course that the dark lord hold his servants in such thralldom that his control is absolute when it needs to be, despite their hatred for one another. Or, essentially the same, that the black Numenorians represent a superior whose power not even Malthur dare defy directly. Another explanation, which I for now consider more and more likely, is that Malthur was ordered to go where he himself had been planning to go. Perhaps not now, and probably not to carry out the will of Mordor, but eventually getting his claws on the riches of the land. It is said that great trade flows through the cities of Inner Harad, but I find that unlikely among such a savage and barbaric people. Umbar, though, would certainly hold the loot stolen from hard working Gondorians throughout many years. And where else could great plunder really be gotten more easily? Gondor proper can not be taken without great cost and danger, not with her fleets unchecked. North of Mordor - which discounting everything else would bring Malthur back under the gaze of his dark masters - lies trackless wastes east of the Dead Marshes, until you would eventually reach he men of Dale and the dwarves far north, or the kingdoms of the easterlings south of the Sea of Rhun. Set against those alternatives, Harad might start to look more appealing. It does mean, though, that Malthur thinks he can defeat the climate, the absence of logistical support and the Haradrim in the field and in their walled cities. The army of Malthur in any case struck the Imlad Carnen at night, rolling forth their siege machinery before the defenders had time to react. The local lord, Kirkuk, had summoned a reinforcing host of his fiefs and called in what favors he could. It had not been enough for a prepared battle in daylight and it was even less so now. Imlad Carnen fell after two salvos of the catapults had reduced its wooden wall to splinters. It was looted, which was no more than the knaves deserved, raiders and pillagers as they themselves were, as the men of southern Gondor could attest to. Come morning, the reinforcing army had formed up to assault their town instead of its besieger that they had not expected yet in some days. They held the hills but not the means to take advantage of them. An often misunderstood advantage in the field is that of holding the lower ground. Surely, it is disadvantageous for one who will have to climb the slope sooner or later. But if you hold the advantage in ranged power the enemy must come to you or suffer from the decision. And if the slope is steep, or bulges outward from the hill, it will provide cover from the enemy's rear ranks. If the slope bulges inwards towards the middle of the hill, however, it is the best ground for missile troops. Assaulting down such a hillside, against an enemy that is strong in ranged weaponry, will be a costly affair as the defender can easily shoot straight into your troops over the heads of his infantry in the front ranks. The effects of assaulting downhill into a rain of burning stones requires no further explanation. Suffice to say that the host of Kirkuk ceased to exist that day.