All Hallow's Eve

Smiling, I handed the exposed blade to the shaken guard, pushing my way into the tent, the familiar pressure of my other dagger safe within my right boot. The entire show had been to take their mind off other weapons, focusing on the one at his throat, and the maneuver worked as planned.

"Urlok! Afar Angathfark!" I yelled, pleased and apprehensive to see the familiar face of my old mentor. "Ashdautas Vrasubatlat," I greeted him.

Smiling at me he grasped my forearm, "Nar Udautas," he answered, repeating himself, "Not today."

Looking me over, he smiled slyly at me as he nodded to my feet.

"Right or left?" he whispered.

"You first," I grinned as he snarled in appreciation, both of us acknowledging the other's concealed weapons—I had been taught by the best.

"What's going on?" I asked honestly, seeing a few other uruk captains standing around the tent's periphery. The commander's tent was gaudy for my tastes, the stench of elves still permeating the air even though it had been pilfered many years ago. Now it was covered in excrement and blood, but my nostrils still identified the nauseating sweet smell of an elven female's erotic drippings of gru al ambor, both disgusting my nose and stirring my loins.

Smiling as if reading my thoughts, Urlok handed me a tankard. "Vrasubatburuk ug butharubatgruiuk" he toasted.

I nodded in return, both of us quaffing the strong black draught.

"At least the urdan commander keeps his liquor barrels full!" Urlok belched, also farting loudly as he sighed. "I have no idea what's going on," he continued, answering my question. "I was called here a few days ago, arriving just before you. And before you say anything I didn't have time to seek you out. I was thrown in here with these snagaz and been here ever since. I've already broken the neck of one, at which point we were told any further deaths would be dealt with in the same fashion, fucking gruiuk," he snarled under his breath to me.

I had known Urlok for several Man centuries. It was rumored he was a zanbaur—elven born—as was I, though he would never admit it, and neither did I. Although most higher uruk-hai were a crossbreed of uruk and elven descent, we did not freely admit it. Supposedly such unions gave us the best of both races, the stamina renown by the uruki and the nimbleness of the noldo. Nowadays a direct elven and orc descendent were rare, both true orcs and elves far and few since the war of the Third Age.

Yes, I thought, that piss-faced Sauron fucking things up royally and most elves fleeing in their cursed ships had diminished the available breeding stock.

Maybe that was why Urlok hadn't killed me the day I was thrown into his squad—did he feel a kindred spirit of another zanbaur? Whatever the reason, he became my mentor, both of us moving up the ranks together until he was put in charge of the Southern Ushtarak, a leader of an army.

We had drunk much blood together, and I looked forward to the day I would disembowel him and rape his children.

After he became general I took his place as kritar, captain of his old garrison. My first command was ordering the execution of the three uruki next in command and demanding replacements of my choosing. Unk'tar I took a liking towards immediately, as he was the most likely to slit my throat, promptly making him my second. 'Keep your enemies close,' Urlok had told me long ago.

"I have heard rumors," Urlok whispered, breaking my nostalgia. "I heard Zau Goth was here," he whispered, both of us looking around to make sure there were no ears.

"What the fuck?" I whispered. "Why's the Black Lord in the northern reaches?" I wondered quietly out loud to him.

Urlok shook his head in answer to the question. "Last I heard he was still hunting down the remnants of that bastard Elessar's line."

The Black Lord—Zau Goth. Nobody knew his real name or his origins. The most common rumor claimed he was a lieutenant to Morgoth, the Dark Lord himself in the Second Age. He was believed to be a maia, equal but lesser in power than Sauron.

In the Third Age Zaugoth was the right-hand of Sauron, general of his armies. It was rumored even the now vanquished remnants of the Nazgul feared Zaugoth. Though Sauron may have been the most powerful, he was also the most swayed by emotions; Zaugoth lacked any emotions whatsoever, and unlike Sauron never placed his 'testicles in one sack' as the saying went.

After the fall of Sauron, this Fourth Age or the 'Age of Men' as those arrogant shara touted to their children, Zaugoth took on a crusade to hunt down all of the King of Gondor's birth lines. It was rumored he had even captured Arwen, the king's whore at one point, holding the widow for several years.

She escaped one night after he joined a platoon of uruk to beat, rape, and discover where the rest of their lineage was hiding, proving you should never underestimate noldor.

Shit, it was rumored Urlok himself was the result of that bitch Arwen getting knocked up by an uruk long after Elessar's death and her brief capture by another uruk platoon. I chuckled to myself at the thought, though as I said, Urlok kept his pedigree secreted.

Urlok glanced at me at my chuckle. "Your sense of morbid humor still is with you I see," he said, misunderstanding my mirth. "Wherever Zaugoth is, we should be far away. No good will come of this!" he hissed.

"Why Urlok, do I smell shurr on your breath?" I teased.

The older orc glared at me, the coward's term of piss-breath annoying him.

"Never mind," I said quickly, smiling at his black look. "I agree with you, whenever someone that powerful is near, it means death. And not a clean war—a lufut—but one of death and decay," I scowled, voicing his fears.

Suddenly the tent flaps opened, the glaring light from torches outside spilling into the dark tent as the Laga-hai, head shaman of the Northern Army, entered. He was flanked on each side by a pair of guards similar to those outside the tent—and just as easily vanquished I surmised.

Without a word all uruks in the tent fell to their knees—all but Urlok and myself, both of us standing still, staring into the angered eyes of the shaman.

I had kept my distance from the Laga-hai since being appointed to my platoon. It was not yet my time to battle him, though each day my blade yearned to feel the last beat of his heart on its edge. No, I had to build up my allies first and play it quiet.

That was Urlok's failure, although he would not admit to such weakness. He had gotten too close to the Laga-hai too early, before he was strong enough. As a result, he had been sent to the Southern Army. It was a promotion, the commander having his own Laga-hai subservient to even him; however, the north was his home.

As commander of the Southern Army it was his right not to bow down to the Northern shaman, the gesture not even observed upon to his own shaman.

No, the anger in the Laga-hai's eyes was for me alone, a lowly captain of a platoon, but I refused to yield as our eyes locked. Although technically his lesser, I had analyzed the Fifth Battle of Osgiliath occurring almost 2,000 years after Sauron's defeat, and I knew it was due to this shaman's weakness we had suffered defeat. I would never bow to an urk I did not respect.

It may have come to blows then and there had not another figure suddenly stepped into the tent, their black clothing sucking the remaining light from the room. The figure was covered from head to toe in a dark black cloak, its face hidden behind the unnatural shadows of the hood, no visible part of their body apparent.

Immediately the shaman and his guards fell to their knees, Urlok and myself following suit as we stared at the ground.

'Shit, the Zau Goth himself!' I thought, the first time in my life almost pissing my breeches in fear.

"Mabaj nar armauk within this tent," the soft voice hissed from behind the hood. "I have no enemies," he repeated. "Rise my friends."

The voice had a serpent-like quality reminding me of the slither of a swamp adder just before it struck, its poison sinking into its victims circulation, immediately lethal. Such was the voice from behind the hood.

Fighting the urge to stay kneeling, we rose to our feet, our gaze still locked upon the ground.

Motion caused us to look up as the cloaked figure walked to the side of the tent where four other uruki were still kneeling. Glancing on the ground, I saw small pools of urine welling up beneath their knees, their fear getting the best of them.

"Vaklar, Mishbat, Urblon, and Grishbolot," the voice hissed their names. "You may leave."

Immediately four uruk-hai guards entered, each grabbing the shoulders of one of the urk platoon captains—all my rivals and leaders of their own platoons—dragging their frightened asses from the tent.

I felt more than saw the black cloaked figure suddenly standing before Urlok and myself.

"Urlok. Grim'tak." the voice hissed.

It took all the strength in my blood and that of my ancestors to find the will to lift my head, staring deep into the dark hood, seeing only darkness.

I heard Urlok's and my voice hiss together, "Zau Goth."

Whatever was behind the hood immediately began laughing, a deep resonant sound of pure evil. It reminded me of once observing a demented human slave dismembering a worg pup for pleasure, the sound haunting my mind forever—not that of the pup's screams, but of the laughter of the human.

"Excellent, these two will do," the black figured hissed to nobody in particular. "Leave us!" the voice commanded.

The northern shaman bowed to the cloaked figure who never even acknowledged him. Leaving through the tent flap the shaman gave one final glare at me, as if to say I should watch my steps in the future. I immediately considered advancing my plans on his demise sooner than expected.

The tent emptied except for Zaugoth, Urlok, and myself, the two of us still barely able to stand as we heard the cloaked figure move away, sitting on the room's only stool.

"For now, your thoughts of slaying the Laga-hai will have to wait, Grim'tak," the ominous figure chuckled as I tried to dispel all my thoughts. "Come," the voice hissed again, "sit."

Urlok and I both moved forward and sat cross-legged before the black figure. I noticed Urlok's hand did not stray from his left boot, as my hand similarly hovered near my right, now knowing where he had his concealed dagger.

As if reading our minds, the voice laughed once again. "Do you think after surviving the Wrath of the Valar, the Great Wars of the Three Ages, my presence consumed after that asshole Sauron and my Master Melkor are but memories to scare the vile offspring of Men, that your paltry daggers would stop me if I deem your lives worthless?" the voice mocked. "Rest at ease my brave uruk-hai, yours are lives I deem worth keeping."

Not feeling any more at ease, but knowing any attempt at attacking the figure would end in an excruciating death, I forced myself to relax, seeing Urlok's shoulders do the same, our hands moving away from our weapons as we both wondered what Zaugoth wanted of us.

I could feel, though not see, the figure smile. "Excellent. You two are worthy of my attention," the voice hissed in satisfaction. Again as if reading our thoughts—rumored to be one of his powers—the voice continued, as if answering our unspoken question. "I have need of an errand to be run. My scrying brought me to the Northern army where I deemed the best chance of success lies; however, there are still remnants of another path, most of them being stale, of a trail heading south."

Why do all magic men speak in riddles I thought, the voice behind the hood suddenly laughing once more as my face became white with fear, nonetheless bracing myself for an attack.

"Riddles?" the deep raspy voice said beneath the hood. "I guess I do speak so to those unused to my ramblings. My apologies young uruk," the voice said turning to me.

I realized the rumors of his mind reading were true as he further confirmed my thoughts.

"Yes I can tell the thoughts of lessers," the voice stated. "And you have the same questions as your—mentor is it? Very intriguing," the voice said abstractedly as if pondering something beyond our ken.

We waited within the silence, until the voice within the hood continued.

"I came here seeking two individuals most likely to succeed in my errand," the voice paused once again. "And here you are, more interesting being mentor and pupil. But I digress. You two are chosen for a mission, the success of which will make both of you no longer needing to worry about the petty struggles commanding the armies, or killing minor Laga-hai," the voice said amusingly, the words trailing off as if her were thinking of something else, but not voicing it. "Success will guarantee you a position of Zauvras Zot, Black Assassins, my own personal captains, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. You have been chosen and I deem sufficient for the task. Go now and gather your five most trusted urks each and report outside this tent tomorrow at dusk, I have work needing to be done."

Sensing the dismissal we turned to leave, the voice hissing and causing us to turn back around.

"Short of between the two of yourselves, should you mention this or any other of my words to anybody else you will suffer a most unpleasant eternity in the Halls of Mandos," the voice chuckled, the words chilling us to the bone.

Leaving the tent, Urlok and I said no words, nodding our goodbyes and heading in separate directions to get our men.

I next saw Urlok at dusk the next day as he and five other uruki marched to the tent from the west, my uruk doing the same from the east as if a mirror were showing the two groups. Yes, Urlok taught me well, seeing the smile on his face as both our squads simultaneously turned to face the front of the tent.

"Enter, alone." a voice hissed inside my head, the terror in Urlok's face mirroring mine as we both stepped forward, the black mage's guards stepping aside without a word to let us pass.

The inside of the tent was still dark, the cloaked figure in the same place as we had left it, sitting upon the room's only stool as if it had not moved since we had left the day before. Nothing had changed other than a small brazier now next to the chair, a vial of fluid steadily bubbling over the flame and filling the tent with a noxious smell, not unlike that of the sulfur pits of Barad-dur.

Sensing the black figure's amusement, my nerves got the best of me as I demanded, "What do you want of us?"

Expecting the wrath of Morgoth to smite me—even Urlok stepped to the side—I instead heard that deep laughter, chilling me to my bones.

"Oh yes, I do like you young urkling, you will do nicely!" the voice hissed. "And you," the hood turned towards Urlok, "although older, are still silently admonishing your pupil. You two care for each other; that is good, for only comrades in arms will succeed in this endeavor as the outcome and survival is something even I can foretell."

Again with the damn riddles, I thought, the voice quietly chuckling at my thoughts.

"For one so ignorant of the ley lines of Fate, you do have a quality I've not seen in Ages" the voice hissed at me. "To put it bluntly, I have a mission for you. There are three prophesies of this Age, none yet reaching fruition or truth, and any one is still possible, but one and only one of them shall come to pass. Such is the way with all prophesies, although most only hear one, their actions dictated by their motivations to accomplish that goal," the voice hissed, its ravings keeping our attention glued to the words.

"The Third Age had three prophesies as well. The first being should Sauron obtain the One Ring, he would rule the physical realms of Ea from the Void of Illuvatar to the Isle of Valar. Sadly, the bastard focused solely on the goal of that single prophesy, ignoring all others. In the end, it was the second prophesy—that of the One Ring being thrown into Orodruin and ending Sauron's reign forever—which came to fruition," the voice chuckled. "The Third Prophesy was known to only a few. I'm not even sure Sauron even acknowledged it, which stated the offspring of the greatest foes of Ea would rule the world forever should they survive a decade of Ages.

"Of course all prophesies are open to interpretation. Some of my fellow maia, Olorin primarily, believed the offspring of the greatest foes meant Man and Orcs, resulting in this, the 'Age of Men.' It is why he sat around fucking with Halflings most of the time."

The robed figure paused at length as if it were thinking of something beyond time before continuing.

"No, I now know the prophesy meant the actual offspring of a union of the greatest foes," the voice hissed. "But not foes of Illuvatar itself, but foes of each other.

"Sadly we all know which prophesy was fulfilled, the others evaporating like a fart as Sauron and Barad-dur toppled to my laughter," the voice chuckled. "Sauron was ever a fool, only looking out for himself and never understanding the true goal of our Master.

"Now after over fourteen centuries I have gathered the Three Prophesies of this Age. Oddly one is similar to that of the Third Age, being the offspring of the foes of Illuvatar will decide upon the fate of the world. The second states should my line survive to the Tenth Age I will garnish the power of Valar to do my bidding!" the voice hissed in pleasure. "The other one is irrelevant; suffice it to say I have already made preparations to thwart it. No, you are chosen for this Second task," the voice concluded.

"You both have courage, as yesterday's demonstration in this elven hovel showed," the voice stated. "You also have knowledge and understanding, rare in a true urk, and probably the result of your half-blood—yes, yes, I know your heritages," the voice said, confirming the rumors of Urlok's descent. "You both have more cunning than that of an average uruk and I have use for that. You see, all plans at trying to create an offspring of mine have met with—unfortunate circumstances. All due to that damn line of Elessar," the voice hissed.

"I am not that fool Sauron. No, I have decided to work towards all three prophesies. I have set in motion certain—precautions—of which I require you and your followers to verify. By following various ley lines—the magical timelines—I have determined there is a chance my essence may survive to the Tenth Age. As such, I believe I can satisfy said prophesy by bringing that essence back through time, circumventing a rather tedious wait," the voice chuckled.

My thoughts still confused, the voice hissed angrily. "Such simple minds! I will create a window into the future, whereby I will send you and your squads. I need you to make contact with a settlement of Men and perform—a task," the voice explained. "You will know when the task is complete. I will not speak of it now, for the echoes of the spoken word all make their way to Valar," the voice hissed. "Suffice it to say you will know when the task is at hand. You will go into this world, you will find the settlement, and the task will be completed, that is all I will say—and yes my young urkling, it is riddle-some," the voice chuckled. "Just know this, you will NOT SLAY ANYONE you come upon or suffer my personal wrath!" the voice stated vehemently.

Although only whispered, the last words echoed into our minds, a deafening cacophony causing us to bow our heads in pain.

"Leave us, we have work to do," I heard in my mind. I stood and turned around to leave, seeing Urlok still sitting, his head bowed, and knew the wizard still required his presence.