Genre: Horror

Rating: R

Warnings: gruesome talk, gruesome idea… What do you expect from orcs? Please proceed with caution!

Summary: Radog and Otol, two (from many) orcs stationed about the Echoriath after Húrin had revealed the location of Gondolin, were fighting over a fresh kill. Who won?

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Radog snarled. “It’s mine,” he barked. The Elven scouting team had been beaten back, leaving only one dead in the battlefield. But the orcs had been all killed except the quarrelling two.

Otol sneered. “I killed it, you sneak.” He pointed at his naked scimitar in emphasis, then gestured at the Firstborn’s body some yards away with it. Fresh red blood dripped from the rustic blade. “Your fault you didn’t kill any. Those cowards’ve fled back to their hole, eh? No time to grab one, now?” He croaked with laughter, like a vulture in sight of prey.

Growling like an enraged warg, Radog swung his scimitar at the other orc. Ranks were forgotten now that there was a promise of fresh Elven flesh and there were only the two of them on site. “I’ll chop you small, maggot, and eat you with the treat.”

“I’ll feed you to the mangy beasts and tell them to report to the Great One that I won the battle alone. Then he’ll award me.” Otol snorted. He met Radog’s sword with his with wicked enthusiasm.

In the ensuing fight, their quarrelled object, not half as dead as they had thought, crept away to safety.

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Notes: “The mangy beasts” were of course the wargs. Heh, now who was the cleverer between the two?