[Saurreg]

Loudewater hit the ground face-first and took a mouthful of dried leaves and dirt. He spun around and discovered that Thoronmir was injured – the shaft and feathered end of an arrow sticking out of his arm. The ranger was learning against a large stone outcrop, face turning deathly white and sweating as he fought hard to catch his breath.

Loudewater scrambled onto his feet and rushed to his injured companion’s side.

“Thoronmir! You are wounded!”

There was nothing much the panicky farmer could do. He could dress little cuts or create slings for broken arms, but to assist one who has been injured by a dart of war was beyond him. Loudewater was gripped by a sense of lost as he looked around for the other riders, hopping that someone had seen the incident and was coming to their aid.

But that was not to be. The ambush was far greater than it was at Weathertop and every single rider was fighting desperately for his or her own life against overwhelming odds. As Loudewater looked about terror-struck, he saw the pathetic corpse of Thoronmir’s young companion – Menecar, face down and lying motionless. There was a gapping wound on late ranger’s head where fresh blood poured out profusely surrounding the body in a crimson pool.

Through the din of clashing blades and demonic war howls, Loudewater’s hearing picked out deep grunting that was getting louder and louder. He looked in the direction where the sound was coming from and saw to his horror that a huge orc was bounding towards him and Thoronmir. The beastly humanoid was getting closer and closer with every movement of its greatly muscled limbs and the deadly glare of its feral yellow eyes filled him with a sense of dread.

Loudewater shrieked in terror as he back stepped clumsily and crushed into the wounded Thoronmir who grunted in pain. Loudewater turned back and saw the brave ranger grimacing in pain as he valiantly attempted to step forwards and engage this new foe.

It came to him uninvited and unexpected when Lenny taunted him…

The orc came closer and as he did, it raised a huge black scimitar and roared triumphantly,

It came to him on the morning after and infused him with great happiness and hope…

There were new orcs who had found their nerves under this new leader and there were also advancing, with less confidence but nevertheless, still advancing.

It deserted him at Weathertop and left him witless and timidly again…

“Loudewater! Get behind me!” Thoronmir commanded as he mustered his strength to overcome the poisonous barb. The orcs were getting closer, some were flanking out to the sides. Loudewater and Thoronmir were like fish caught in a closing net.

And now it’s back with a vengeance…

“NO!” Loudewater roared in a voice that was not his own. Pushing the injured ranger back, he leapt and placed himself before the orc and its intended prey.

The great beast came to a clattering halt and faced the farmer hesitantly. This was an unusual prey. A prey whose eye’s known shone mad with a maniacal fire.

“Get back you brute! Or… or face the fiery of Andas Loudewater, man of Bree!” stammered the farmer excitedly as he drew his dagger out from its sheath. The blade, Loudewater noted with some satisfaction, seemed to glimmer with the faint quicksilver.

“Luurrggwarger… luurrgwarger?” repeated the mystified huge orc silently. It body suddenly convulsed uncontrollably. Suddenly, it threw its mane covered head back and howled with hysterical laughter. It was laughing at Loudewater’s name. The rest of the lesser orcs joined in. They started chanting his name in jest.

The hood of Loudewater’s cope covered the eyes of his lowered head. The dagger hilt held so tightly that the farmer’s hand was trembling.

“Do you think that’s funny brute? Do you think my name is funny, beast? DO YAH, YOU PIECE OF DEAD MEAT! ARRAGGHH!!!!!”

Loudewater leapt forwards faster than he ever recalled moving before. By sheer inertia and surprise he crashed into the huge orc and knocked it over. With uncanny reflexes, he actually got the better of the orc and sat on its barrelled chest in a schoolboy pin. The thrashing orc tried to push the farmer off him, but adrenaline gave Loudewater a burst of strength and he continued to pin the orc under him. Sensing that it’s doom was near, the great orc did what its kind could only do under such circumstances.

It whimpered.

But fate has dealt the orc a cruel deck. For here was not Loudewater, the gentle farmer from Bree. This was Loudewater the angel of death. This was Loudewater struggling with a bad bout of midlife crisis.

“Whimper? You brute?” asked Loudewater sardonically in an unusually calm and quiet voice,

“It doesn’t matter, because today is a very good day to die. Remember this day well beast, FOR IT HAS BEEN YOUR LAST!”

With that last shout, Loudewater raised his dagger high and with all the fiery and strength he could muster, plunged it into the face of the beast. The immense blow split the bulbous nose of the creature in half and drove through the skull, crushing dense bone with unusual strength. Bearing resistance to the tip of the dagger suddenly reduced and the farmer found himself being able to drive his blade further in with ease. All the while, the orc’s body thrashed in its death throes about like a marionette whose strings were being jerked about. The dying body went into uncontrollable spasms and started defecating as it lost control of its bowel functions. Strong paws grasped at anything they could get a hold off and found Loudewater’s thighs and even then their strength faded and finally went limp.

As loudewater finally wrenched the dagger from the puncture he created, a jet of black ichor emitted from the cavity of the skull splashed onto Loudewater’s face, covering him in orcish life essence. Loudewater licked at the hot steaming liquid and smiled. He relished the taste.

Like hydraulic pistons, the arms of Loudewater continued to pull and plunge his dagger into the smashed head of the orc. Loudewater laughed as he continued the mutilation.