[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Grifdokh, Marshmak and Bellizor had long since left the other Warg Riders. Rhûn Orcs, however brilliant, were never likely to be fully accepted by other Orcs. But Grifdokh had recently desired a truce. He recalled the glory of the full complement of Warg Riders and longed to live that life once more. This was in the Fourth Age, when the Return of the King had ceased to be a matter of interest to the Free Peoples of Middle-earth.

Grifdokh had a few Wargs still under his command, but the majority of the Wargs he had once known had stayed with Sarcroch, the most powerful of the Warg Riders. So he sent out only two Wargs to bring tidings to Sarcroch, whom Grifdokh believed to be now far in the North.

Around six months later, one of the Wargs returned, and a terror was upon that miserable beast. He would speak neither to the other Wargs or Grifdokh, and the head Orc was furious. "So!" he cried, "Sarcroch chooses to curse a Warg of Grifdokh, does he? Well, let him know that I will not cower before him as a slave any longer; I will go to the North and I will challenge this sorceror!" Grifdokh had always resented Sarcroch's arrogance.

So north he went. He brought his allies Marshmak and Bellizor, and a great host of Orcs. Following them came the Wargs, meek and miserable; trapped in this bitter life by the hateful Orcs.

When he came to the outskirts of Forodwaith, Grifdokh halted. He saw before him a great host of Wargs. "So Sarcroch plans to sacrifice his Wargs first, does he?" said he. "Well, I shall not waste my Wargs in a pitiful fight. We will slaughter the Wargs ourselves. With me, my Orcs!"

And with that, Grifdokh and his comrades ran toward the great host with confidence. The three former Warg Riders had seen these Wargs close-up a long time before, and they did not fear them at all.

But suddenly Grifdokh stopped. For he had keen eyes and saw now that he had been outfoxed.....by someone. The Wargs that he was looking at could now be seen more clearly. And there was no doubting now that these Wargs, now moving steadily toward the Orcs, were Great Wargs.

"What is this..." Grifdokh faltered. He realised that he was about to engage in battle with a mighty army of Great and True Wargs, against which there can be no victor.

And verily, the wrath and fury of the Wargs was great, and they tore through the ranks of the Orcs with gusto, and the weak enslaved Wargs were wakened from their oppression and were set free, and howled with delight. The blood of the Orcs ran through the valley of Forodwaith like a river.

But who were these Wargs? That is what Grifdokh wondered as he witnessed Marshmak's limbs being ripped off his torso, and Bellizor's head flying through the air. It was what he wondered as he saw his last sight: the huge jaws of a Warg bearing down on his face.