The burly orc barked an order to one of his subordinates. Wazrárz gazed to the north, his demeanor hiding little of his foul mood. He was clad in armor, and a huge war axe hung at his side. He was getting impatient. The easterlings should have been here days ago. They had been camped near the hill of Dol Goldur waiting.
As a thick mist was slowly forming, draugs could be heard howling from a distance. Another pack would be released once more to hunt near the banks of Anduin before venturing deep into Mirkwood. He would order the wolf-riders as well, else they would grow lazier then they already were, he thought quite irrated.
The orders were the same. Wait for the mortals, and the news they would be bringing. Warzgarz trusted the easterlings little knowing that most could break easily, once they were put to torture. But some did have good uses. It was this reason that they were given orders in such short notice, in order that the lord’s plans would not be betrayed to their enemies. But getting vital information and using devious means to create havoc, which was to these men’s credit.
“Gurgzhâk! Get your useless face here!” He growled. A smaller orc with a badly scarred face appeared, with a glint in his eyes. “Any news of those easterlings? What are your scouts doing besides whining like the useless dogs they are?”
The smaller orc grunted, “Nothing… but three men were sent to wait their return and bring them here.” He then quickly left, knowing such news did not abide well with his superior’s mood.
“Incompetent fools!” He heard Wazrárz say, a sound something breaking was heard as an object was hurled.
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