The Problem with the Orcs
The Witch-king of Angmar, having swooped back to the gates of Minas Mor-go, withdrew a hunk of fetid meat from his tattered robes and fed it to his steed as a reward for its good work. It gobbled down the meat and swooped back to its perch on the spiky towers of the city. "Let's see what Ringwraith #4 has been doing down in the dungeons, and if he's got those orcs in line yet," he said to himself. He descended from the gate by steep, winding staircases lit by the eerie green glow that permeated the entire city. Down and down he walked, through windowless towers and down onto the desolate city streets. He now walked through the empty streets, where the buildings lay abandoned for thousands of years. He soon came to the great tower, which he entered, and descended more steps straight down into the gloomy innards of Minas Mor-go. The groans and shouts of a thousand orcs reached soon reached his ears, and in no time at all, the Witch-king of Angmar had arrived in the dungeons of Minas Mor-go, where over a thousand orcs toiled day and night to spin the huge axles of the city, propelling Minas Mor-go across the land.
He now entered the main dungeon, one gigantic hall, with a great beam of ent-wood crossing the entire space, a beam as wide as a man is tall, and suspended three feet off the ground. This was the great front axle, extending all the way from one shadowy end of the hall to the other, the entire length on Minas Mor-go, and along with the back axle supporting the entire city. All along one side were hundreds of orcs, chained in place to the floor, and all howling like madmen. Right at the middle of the axle was a horrible stain of blood, and dead orcs were piled all around it. Ringwraith #4 stood nearby, flogging an orc to death.
"Did you kill that orc, the one whose arm is missing?! Did you!? I swear, if you did, I'll feed you to the furnaces! Bad orc, bad orc!" He continued flogging the orc mercilessly. The orcs continued to howl.
"SILENCE!" shouted the Witch-king. "What happened here? Why are some of the orcs dead? Why aren't they rolling the axles?"
Ringwraith #4 stopped flogging for a moment. "Well, sir, it seems that those orcs on the left end of the axle were taunting those on the right end of the axle. One of them spat at another, and pretty soon a fight started. Some of the ones in the middle got killed. I think we need to shorten their chains."
"I see that," the Witch-king said. He now addressed the orcs in his best orc-speech, "Any one of you seen fighting will be thrown under the wheels and crushed like a worm! That means you get killed! Do you understand me!? Killed, and your guts will splurt out!" The orcs fell silent. Now he addressed Ringwraith #4, "Start chaining the left-axlers to the axle. Let's show them what happens to disobedient orcs. Make sure to space out the right-axlers to even out the spacing. Bring some back-axlers up here to the front axle if you have to."
"Yes, sir!" said Ringwraith #4, and began his duty diligently. "So, sir, where will we be headed to once we've got the orcs started pushing again?"
"I've been thinking that we should head due west, into Mirkwood. We've lost precious time with this orc problem and I think the quickest route possible will be best. What do you think?"
"I think that's a fine idea sir," said Ringwraith #4, "But don’t you think heading south could be better? Mirkwood won’t be in the way, after all."
"And let Gothmog and Saruman get ahead!? No way. We've lost precious time and we need a direct route straight to those Havens. My old realm of Angmar also is in the west. I've still got some buddies there. West it is."
"West it is then."
"I'll be up at the steering wheel on the gates. Join me when you've finished chaining those orcs and we can get started."
"Yes, sir."