Bordan, Bane of the Orcbloods

The dawn light cut through the thin mist that floated over Bree like a ranger's sword through orc chain. A few people walked briskly across the square, their heads down as if in deep thought concerning the day's errands. Bordan looked down at the axe laying on the workbench. "Enough of the sharpening stone for today old friend." He said out loud with a warm smile. The smile faded as he noticed a dark stain on the top of the axehead. He took a rag from his pocket, spat on it and wiped at the stain with a fervour. Eventually the mark was all but gone, and Bordan peered with a morbid curiousity at the rag. He quickly cast the rag into the fire of the nearby forge. "Orc blood" he snarled quietly, his craggy face wrought with discust. For a moment, the anger and hatred returned. The image that would not remove itself from his memory.

Three years previously, he had taken his only son, Grorn, to the Forsaken Inn on a mining trip. He needed gold for a jeweller friend in Gondamon and thought it would be a good chance to do some boar hunting with his son. They had set up camp east of the inn just off the road near a small pond. The ore veins in the region had been rich and it hadn't taken them long to gather all that he needed and a little extra. The goblins had minded their own business, and all was well. Bordan had run back to the inn in the early evening to get some supplies for a final night's camp, though yhey had enough to last three more days, he wanted to get some of that ale that Grorn enjoyed so much as a treat. He spoilt the lad, but what else could he do? He was his only son. When he returned only a few hours later, Grorn was nowhere to be seen. The packs had gone, and the dusty soil on the ground had been disturbed. Bordan began to panic. There was blood in the dust, too dark to be dwarf blood, but someone .... or something had attempted to hide it by brushing it over with a branch. Bordan had immediately looked over to the bushes, and taken a deep breath before striding over purposefully and pulling the dense undergrowth apart. Two bodies. Both orcs with deep axe wounds. A sigh left his lips, half due to relief that there was no dwarven body, and half due to terror at the sudden realisation that his son had been taken by orcs. He had set off at full speed, attempting to track as best he could but there was no sign. Where had they taken him, and why? It made no sense, but then these were orcs and their motives were rarely based on logical analysis. Three long years had passed, but he had never found the body of his son, and he would not rest until he carried Grorn back to Ered Luin and buried him there himself.

So lost in his dark memories had he been as watched the rag burn in the flames of the forge that he had not heard the ranger approaching from behind him. He felt a shadow cast over him, the warmth of the low sun gone in an instant. An arm reached around behind his shoulders and clasped him firmly. "Bordan, are you alright my friend?" said the ranger softly.
"Aye" replied Bordan, as he cleared his throat. It would not do to let a tall one see him grieve. Even a tall one such as his old friend Darran.
"We should set off now if we are to get to the lone lands by dark". The ranger knew of the dwarves troubling tale and knew it did no good for him to dwell on it.

Once they had mounted up at the stable, they headed towards the southern gate. "Now, did I tell you about that Nazgul fellow I scared off last week?" asked the dwarf, somewhat rhetorically.
"Not if you don't count the two times on the way from Gondamon, or the three times in the Pony last night, during which, I should point out, the size of the Nazgul grew exponentially!" replied the ranger, in vain.
"No? Well, there I was taking a drink by the stream west of Gondamon, when all of a sudden....." the voices trailed off as the pair rode southward.
Somewhere in the far, far distance a large group of orcs awoke to what, unknown to them, was to be their final dawn on Middle-Earth...

RSS icon
Facebook icon