I was helaing a terrible wound I had acquired from a fight with a
cave troll -- they hit hard! As I sat, munching on some dried meat, A
young orc by the name of Krash asked me for assistance. He begged
me to take him past the Trollshaws to the old priest. Krash said the
priest had called him to teach him in the curative arts.
I explained to Krash that I was too wounded to be of any service, but
he insisted. He reminded me of the many things that old priest can
teach... curing horrid wounds, how to blind creatures, how to refresh
your friends when they are tired....
Finally, I couldn't handle his pleading any longer. After having slept
for three days straight to get rid of my wound, I was itching to travel
anyway. I spent the afternoon finding an orc who could cure me with
magic since I was in no condition to travel. We then bought food and
draughts and filled our water skins. On the east side of the caves we
purchased wargs from a trainer who assured us our wargs were
Rumors spread that there were several powerful elf mages
wandering outside our caves, so we mounted and ran our wargs east
hard. When finally we were by the shores of the Bruinen, we slowed
our pace. The next part of the trip would be dangerous. Anytime you
get close to Rivendell you should be careful.
We followed a canyon trail that led us to an abandoned inn. As I
dismounted from my warg, it bolted to the south. Muttering, I told
Krash to go below and wait. Just as I ran after the cursed beast, the
sun rose, and I found my myslef in need of a draught sooner than
expected. It hurt as it went down, but it revived me. An hour later, I
was no better off and so I headed back to the inn, with out my warg.
I made a mental note to murder that warg trainer and have him
replaced when I got back.
We slept the day in the Warrens, chatting with a few trolls. There
were a few unfriendly trolls we were forced to kill to earn some
respect, but for the most part the Warrens welcome our kind.
When night came, Krash and I left the way we entered, and headed
west. I took a wrong turn and got us lost, but I worked my way back
to the Trollshaws and I was able to quickly find the road. We both
mounted the warg and made our way west. I was merciless with the
warg as I drove it hard. I had no desire to meet anyone on the Old
At last we came to the last bridge, and I realized I had gone too far.
So we made our way back east until we could work our way north
into the brush. We headed north and east and then opened that
hidden crack. Inside we found the old bearskin and removed it from
the celing, revealing a passageway upwards.
The old priest welcomed us warmly, claiming he had been expecting
us. Frankly, I hadn't been expecting him -- since I feared we would
be hunted by white-pukes before even getting here!
I watched the door as Krash learned from the priest. I played poker
with the rickety skeleton until I was tired of losing... It's no fun being
beaten by a creature with absolutely no brain!
When The priest began talking about blinding creatures, I listened...
It was interesting, and so I decided to learn it as well. The priest was
surprised that a warrior would be so inclined. He said most warriors
simply don't have the wisdom or the will.
I was reminded of the old marching song my papa, Wimp, used to
sing to me.
"Where there's a will, there's a way!" Only his crew changed the
words to reflect their patrol leader's methods.
"Where there's a whip, there's a way!"
Finally my nerves got the best of me. "C'mon we're leaving, Krash>
Hurry up and finish."
With that we said our goodbyes and closed the doors as we left,
hoping there would be no sign to any white-scum that we had passed
On our way back we encountered a messenger that said there were
several white-scums such as Kip, Rentera and Alatar blocking the
Warrens. There were others, he said, but those three were legendary
figures whose names were well known -- and hated.
We mounted the warg and headed back east. Periodically, we rested
off the edge of the road, but close to dawn we got nervous and
headed straight into the dark forests where the trolls might protect
us -- and the sunlight would not touch us.
We were hiding there as the sun rose and we heard a strange
deathcry. Pukes! We prepared ourselves to run -- we were in no
condition to fight such great opponents. We a foot step and I raised
A troll! I was elated! We hugged the bewildered troll. He then lead us
to the sodmat where we descended to rest until nightfall.
In the Warrens, Krash suggested we look for some equipment the
trolls take from white-scum travelers on the road.
We found 2 bucklers and a large metal wall shield. As a smiter, I was
ecstatic. Krash wore the wall shield proudly. But night fell them and
our search needed to end. We headed east amid cries that Alatar had
slain someone. We hurried eastward.
Through the heath, along the rivershore and finally through
Loudwater Plains we rode. Along the way we were surprised to find
a jagged scimitar lying on the ground. Krash was overjoyed. These
few days had gone far too well. So with the promise of a dense fog
ahead, we truged on toward home.
When finally we emerged from the fog a mere mile from our beloved
wolfgate, we gave out a cheer.
My diary contains few examples of such successful journeys. Arda is
an unforgiving place for orcs, and when such good things happen, one
can only gain hope that one day we will be able to wander our own
mountains given us -- without fear of our young being slain for no
apparant reason other than genocide.
Diary of a curious orc *An old priest calls*