The Forgotten Ring
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
51
Views:
5,100
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
51
Views:
5,100
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Oomberfoot, the Orch
Disclaimer: All familiar characters of this story belong to the awesome world and works of JRR Tolkien, who is an unparalleled genius of this genre. All unfamiliar and original characters, animals and places are of my own invention. I do not derive any monies from this work and created this story solely out of the love and respect that I hold for all of the works related to this canon.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The Forgotten Ring
by Sienna Dawn
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 2 - Oomberfoot, the Orch
Third Age of the War of the Ring - The Battle of Helm's Deep - Year III 3019
Inside the great hall of Helm's Deep, as men, elves and one lone dwarf rested, prayed, or cleaned their weapons, outside Orc, Goblin and Uruk soldiers paced carefully, dismembering the corpses of the dead and mutilating those who were unlucky enough to still draw breath.
It was in one Orc that the will of the Valar rested. He was called Oomberfoot by the others because of his uneven gait, or oombergait, meaning slow and unsteady in the common Orc tongue. Whether he had ever been called by another name he did not recall, for it was to Oomberfoot that he answered. And it was wretched Oomberfoot that would play a pivotal role for the plan the Valar had in mind.
As the night wore on, the sounds of battle and death diminished and Oomberfoot was making his way across the ramparts already under Uruk and Orc control. He was wary of these giant Uruk soldiers and personally thought them to be rather dense, for who preferred manflesh to the sweet flesh of children, but the dense and ignorant? Still, he shrugged, what could be expected of the half-sane wizard, Saruman? He half suspected that his lord, Sauron, had already dispatched with the treacherous wizard, for none now knew of Saruman's whereabouts. He shrugged again. Not that he cared.
Sniffing carefully, his quick hearing caught something.er ber by the northern parapet. Stepping over and atop bodies of elves, men and orc alike, he rushed toward the sound, hoping it was a live one. He was bored and wanted a bit of fun.
Spoilsport, he thought with irritation. Nothing more than a dead, simpering elf. Well, not exactly simpering, he thought. He carefully studied the elf. This one seemed different. There was a look of command about him. Even to Oomberfoot's dense orc-brain, the fact that there was something different about this elf, did not fail to register.
He approached the body with care. Long blonde hair, matted with blood at the back and the crown of the head. Oomberfoot sniffed the face carefully. Dark blue eyes staring at the sky. Silver armour, which he knew would be painful to the touch. Yrchs, yes, that was what they called his people. Yrchs. He loathed the elves. Just as much as he loathed men. Well, no...that was not right, he scratched his groin. He loathed elves far more than he could ever loath men. That was settled, he thought. He loathed elves.
And so why was he so intently gazing and inspecting this dead elf, he thought? He tried to touch a strand of the elf's golden hair...and just a strand caused his fingertips to burn. He yanked his hand back in fury and nursed his burned finger. Damn, ugly elf. He kicked the body. Ugly, ugly elf. He sighed with relief. His booted foot was safe from the burning magic of the dead elf. For he knew that even in death, the elves still wielded strong magic.
Still nursing his burned finger and sucking it ge, he, he turned to look at the elf one last time. And there, about the body of the elf was that light. What light? thought Oomberfoot. This is a dead elf, or no?
Opening his mouth to scream in panic, Oomberfoot suddenly lost his balance and fell. Darkness and light joined and both blinded him with their intensity. He wanted to scream and knew if he did that his comrades would come to his rescue, but he could not make a sound. He punched and kicked and he knew he could not best the elf that heim iim in the painful vise-like grip. He struggled to breathe. He burned! The elf's touch burned!
[To be continued....]
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The Forgotten Ring
by Sienna Dawn
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 2 - Oomberfoot, the Orch
Third Age of the War of the Ring - The Battle of Helm's Deep - Year III 3019
Inside the great hall of Helm's Deep, as men, elves and one lone dwarf rested, prayed, or cleaned their weapons, outside Orc, Goblin and Uruk soldiers paced carefully, dismembering the corpses of the dead and mutilating those who were unlucky enough to still draw breath.
It was in one Orc that the will of the Valar rested. He was called Oomberfoot by the others because of his uneven gait, or oombergait, meaning slow and unsteady in the common Orc tongue. Whether he had ever been called by another name he did not recall, for it was to Oomberfoot that he answered. And it was wretched Oomberfoot that would play a pivotal role for the plan the Valar had in mind.
As the night wore on, the sounds of battle and death diminished and Oomberfoot was making his way across the ramparts already under Uruk and Orc control. He was wary of these giant Uruk soldiers and personally thought them to be rather dense, for who preferred manflesh to the sweet flesh of children, but the dense and ignorant? Still, he shrugged, what could be expected of the half-sane wizard, Saruman? He half suspected that his lord, Sauron, had already dispatched with the treacherous wizard, for none now knew of Saruman's whereabouts. He shrugged again. Not that he cared.
Sniffing carefully, his quick hearing caught something.er ber by the northern parapet. Stepping over and atop bodies of elves, men and orc alike, he rushed toward the sound, hoping it was a live one. He was bored and wanted a bit of fun.
Spoilsport, he thought with irritation. Nothing more than a dead, simpering elf. Well, not exactly simpering, he thought. He carefully studied the elf. This one seemed different. There was a look of command about him. Even to Oomberfoot's dense orc-brain, the fact that there was something different about this elf, did not fail to register.
He approached the body with care. Long blonde hair, matted with blood at the back and the crown of the head. Oomberfoot sniffed the face carefully. Dark blue eyes staring at the sky. Silver armour, which he knew would be painful to the touch. Yrchs, yes, that was what they called his people. Yrchs. He loathed the elves. Just as much as he loathed men. Well, no...that was not right, he scratched his groin. He loathed elves far more than he could ever loath men. That was settled, he thought. He loathed elves.
And so why was he so intently gazing and inspecting this dead elf, he thought? He tried to touch a strand of the elf's golden hair...and just a strand caused his fingertips to burn. He yanked his hand back in fury and nursed his burned finger. Damn, ugly elf. He kicked the body. Ugly, ugly elf. He sighed with relief. His booted foot was safe from the burning magic of the dead elf. For he knew that even in death, the elves still wielded strong magic.
Still nursing his burned finger and sucking it ge, he, he turned to look at the elf one last time. And there, about the body of the elf was that light. What light? thought Oomberfoot. This is a dead elf, or no?
Opening his mouth to scream in panic, Oomberfoot suddenly lost his balance and fell. Darkness and light joined and both blinded him with their intensity. He wanted to scream and knew if he did that his comrades would come to his rescue, but he could not make a sound. He punched and kicked and he knew he could not best the elf that heim iim in the painful vise-like grip. He struggled to breathe. He burned! The elf's touch burned!
[To be continued....]
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*