Orc-men Treacherous and Vile
A/N: Forgoil, meaning "strawheads," is a Dunlendish term for the Rohirrim. Tark is Orkish (and in my story, Dunlendish) slang for a man of Numenorean descent.
Sharkey says I's old enough to have a fake ID. He have it made for me in Isengard. The ID says, "Eowulf Girdhelm, Age 21, Citizen of Rohan, Race Mixed-blood of Dunland and Rohan." I ain't 21, I's 15 but Sharkey say I looks like I's 21. That cuz of all the Orc blood my Pa's got. Orcs grow fast an' they's hardy soldiers, says Sharkey. I says I don't want an ID that says I's Forgoil, that I ain't Forgoil an' the Forgoil is all motherfuckin' assholes. That's what my Ma tells me. Then she asks me why I's knowin' the words motherfuckin' an' assholes. Sharkey says they may be assholes but he wants me to get meself into high places, without havin' nob'dy go thinkin' 'bout who I is.
Sharkey says I's goin' up North to a bar. The bar's called the Prancing Pony or somethin', as in the stupid shitty creatures the Forgoil's shitheads are always full of I was thinkin'. An' I can gorge on all the meat I want up thar, an' drink beer 'till my stomach hurts. He says this in 'is musical voice of 'is, an' 'e makes me wanna. I mean, really wanna. Ma don' like no bars. She says good Dunlanders don' drink, it's for filthy tarks. An' that I ain't gonna eat no meat that ain't killed the special Dunlendish way, quickly an' painlessly with the blood drained out. Quickly an' painlessly with the blood drained out! Pain's what it's all about, man. Life's all 'bout pain.
I tells all this to me matey Garghash. We'd done real well in an Army drill that day, beatin' everyone to git the Man who was all tied up in that creepy forest an' carry 'im back to Isengard. We was havin' some fun wid the Man back in Isengard, takin' turns cuttin' S-runes into 'im an' suckin' out the blood. Then we skewered the Man on a spit while 'e was still movin' but when we just 'bout couldn't git no more o' the juice out of 'im. An' we lit a fire under 'im to cook. That frickin Man sure needed to be browned. 'E was a Whiteskin! Gargh says he's surprised I ain't puttin' my Ma on the spit next, an' then 'e laughs.
Don't think I'm that type, who'd do the likes o' 'at to my Ma. I ain't never et man's-flesh 'cept when Sharkey gives it to me. I'm not like some o' those full orcs, who et the breedin' stock once! Now that's psycho. They's killed for that, I heard, an' deserved it too.
An' I ain't never drank alcohol 'cept for maybe five times, when some Man gives it to me. One of those times was strong liquor, woooh! But Sharkey don' know. He sends out a barrel that says, "Southfarthing High Life Malt Liquor" an' thinks it's the first time I's ever seen the stuff. He says it's made by folks in this place up north where we's gonna go live, y'know. Y'know, the ones that live the high life. That's a place 'e tells us 'bout sometimes. An' 'e says:
"I, hwant, you, too, re-, mem-, ber, a, name!"
"That, name, is: Bag- gins!"
"If you do, See any-, thing strange,"
"I must, must know..."
I's more'n half done wit' the leg o' the Man, an' suddenly it tastes sweeter, like. That's what Sharkey's voice does to ya. An' I feel strong an' powerful, like I'm the meanest thing in the whole damn fuckin' world.
I'm gonna leave first thing in the mornin', once I sleep off me meat an' drink.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.