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Subject:The Ancient Chronicles, Vol. 2
Date:Tue Sep 9 06:53:04 1997

Ahh, I see there are a few of you finally starting to pay attention.  Maybe the
Lore isn't just some mindless hobby of the terminally stupid, eh?  Good.  That's
a very good start.  Trouble is, I -still- see far too many young snagas killing
their Loremasters.  Yes, he's easy to kill... he's gotten old and weak.  But
believe me youngster, he's -forgotten- far more than you'll ever learn.  Listen
to him from time to time.  You'd be amazed at what you might pick up.

In this, the second story in the Ancient Chronicles, you young pups just might
get a few more ideas as to who you really -should- kill.  If you're ready, 
Wilford?  Oh, some of you may not yet have met Wilford.  He's my scribe.  He
writes down the tales as I tell them, as accurately as he can.  A little too
accurately at times I see, now that I read back over the other Volume.  Say
"Hi" to the students, Wilford.  ["Erg."]  Please pardon the poor boy, he
really hasn't had much energy lately, since he started eating those dyin'
centims.  Him and his buddy, Joules,... I just don't know...

Anyway, back to the story.  Once again, gather 'round the fire bright...

Ever so long ago, in the days of yore when orcs roamed the lands west of
Weathertop, there were two cunning warriors named Skar and Strop.  These two
evil creatures were, by themselves, good hunters.  Strop used his majikal
abilities to confound, confuse, and cook the whities who were unlucky enough
to make his acquaintance.  He was not the strongest Orc, nor was he the fastest
Orc, but he was clever.  If he ever found himself in a situation that he could
not handle, he could easily shake any pursuit.  Often he would come home to
the caves, cackling about some stupid whitie who fell for his tricks.  Usually
he would also come home with his bags full of loot, and a new belt made from
the hide of the whitie he'd met.  Truly, he was an excellent fighter and a
shining example of what orc spellslingers should aspire to be.

Skar on the other hand, was sneaky.  Part warrior, part scout, he could sneak
past guards and roadblocks set up by whities, without ever being caught.  He
would bypass the defences of that great armed encampment known as Fornost, sit
near the door to the old inns, and murder the citizens of that town in their
sleep.  Quietly he'd sneak in, quietly he'd slit their throats and escape.
If he were ever discovered, he was strong enough to hold his own until help
could arrive.  Today's scouts and warriors could learn lessons from him.
Fight with your brains, not with your muscles... well, muscles help too, but
you get the idea.

Alone, these two orcs were perfectly capable of inspiring terror in the streets
of Bree.  I heard that once even the folk of the Shire closed their borders,
hoping to keep them out.  It didn't really work, but it sounded good.  Anyway,
one day Strop was experimenting with his magic, and made an incredible discovery!
Strop had managed to open a gateway, a magical doorway that seemed to lead to
that far-off elven city, the Grey Havens!  Immediately, he called the nearest
orc, Skar, to join him in a fun-filled afternoon of shopping in the old wharf
district.  Or was that the ol' dwharf district?  Its been a while since I last
heard the story...  Musta been the dwarf district, come to think of it.  Skar
brought home a lovely dwarf-skull mug from the trip.

Other orcs had been ravaging the lands near Bree and the Shire, so all the
young elves and hobbitses and suchlike were hiding in the Havens.  Behind the
magical gates, nothing could touch them they thought.  Slayer, Snarf, Mogrash,
and other such names of legend, were keeping the Istari and their toadies
all tied up in futile chases along the Greenway.  There was really noone around
for Skar and Strop to pick on, or so they thought.  Strop opened his gateway
again, and the two popped on through.  They landed near an old well with some
vile Elvish name of Ozzie.  Skar promptly had the urge to relieve himself, which
he did.  Kind of the elves to make such a convenient recepticle.  As soon as
they were ready, the two intrepid explorers set out to paint the town red.
At first all they found were elf children and shopkeepers, a mild distraction
at best, however pleasant.  The real fun began however, when they stumbled
into the inn to get a drink.  Lo and behold, there were pukes in there too!
I'm not sure who was more surprised, the Breeland children who were hiding
from the terrors of the outside world, or the overjoyed orcs who had just found
their new chew-toys!

How exiting it must have been, chasing the whities around the town, armed only
with whips and spoons!  Many many whities died that day, the last image they ever
saw being two insane orcs, laughing and hitting everything around them that
moved.  Two days they played, or so I am told, and in the whole two days they
never saw that great coward of an elf, Cirdan.  The big ninny must have snuck
out the gate at the first hint of trouble.

Eventually the heros Strop and Skar had to come home.  By this time, the
alarm had been sounded throughout the so-called "Free Lands", and they had
to run a gauntlet of warriors to get home.  But that is a tale for another

Think on these words, my young friends.  There is more to the story than first
meets the eye.  In this age of the world, with Orcs thinking themselves the
Forgotten Race, the Lost People, it would do good to remember what we have
been in the past.  For what we once were, we can be again, and more!  The
Lore is there to teach, for those with the wit to listen and learn.

  -- Avcom, the Ancient Orkish Loremaster (semi-retired)

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