A Ranger's Mischief

[Eric C]

Time for the next installment:

Angarth staggered to his feet and Daga led him toward the light. They did not speak while they walked and Angarth thought. An idea was born in his mind before he ever left the havens. Now he would present his idea to this Orc for his approval.
Some time ago, he had traveled into northern lands with Baraz the Dwarf who introduced Angarth to his kin there. The Dwarves of that region carried an axe with a haft a bit shorter than three feet and a head fashioned somewhat like the head of a dragon. The cutting edge of each axe was unique to each Dwarf. There was no pole on these axes, but spikes most often resembling the horns of a dragon.
Once out in the fresh air, Angarth’s eyes focused in the sun. Few Orcs were about as they hate the sunlight. Angarth could see a few begrudgingly standing guard here and there. Daga hated the sun as well, but he tolerated it.
“So, what are we looking at here, Daga?” Angarth asked, leaning against a rock. “You and this other Orc-“
“Ublah.” Daga interrupted.
“Ublah. Once you defeat this Ublah, you’ll take over as chieftain of your tribe. You’ll be doubly honored as not only defeating Ublah, but also settling a blood feud in the process.” Angarth paused and looked at Daga for an answer.
“Right.” Daga’s head bobbed up and down in a nod as he looked up at the Ranger.
“I’ll wager they gave you the dumbest Orcs in the clan to fulfill you mission too, didn’t they?” Angarth said, seeming sympathetic.
Daga’s shoulders slumped. He nodded more slowly this time. “I can’t get these rats to do anything right!”
“You had to orchestrate and strictly oversee my capture too didn’t you?” Angarth fed the Orc’s frustration.
“I did.”
Angarth sprang up, startling the Orc. His finger was in the Orc’s face. “You see!? You ARE worthy of the leadership of your tribe! You must prove it! Angarth the Craftsman will make you a gift worthy of such a fine Orc as yourself!” Daga stared at Angarth with weary eyes. Angarth continued, “Now if you will just reunite me with my things, I’ve got in mind just what you need.” Angarth stopped in mid musing and turned questioningly to the Orc, “Do you have a forge and anvil ready?”
Daga nodded slowly. “Good!” Declared Angarth. “My things then! I’ll need the contents of my saddle bags.”
The Orcs had ransacked Angarth’s bags. The contents were spread throughout the party. Most of the Orcs were easily persuaded to give back the items. But one Orc had claimed the pretty purple wood and was not willing to give it up. Angarth watched a heated exchange between Daga and the Orc. The Orc raised the wood over his head as a club. Angarth was impressed when Daga deftly disarmed the Orc then whacked him squarely between the eyes with the stick of wood. The Orc toppled like a felled tree to the ground, unconscious. Black blood oozed from his forehead.

[Eric C]

The tale will be drawing to an end soon! I hope you are enjoying it as I am.

Daga took Angarth into another cave not far from the first. Deep inside there was a smithy. Angarth did not need the tools he had scavenged from the Havens; the smithy was well stocked with tools, charcoal, forge, anvil, steel and iron. Everything he needed was there. The Orcs had been setting this up for some time right under the noses of the Rangers. This rankled Angarth a bit. He insisted upon using the Elven tools he had brought with him though. His argument was that he was more accustomed to them and it was true.
His first task was to get an Orc to cut out the handle to the hammer he had taken from the Havens. Unlike the hammers of the common folk, this Elven hammer head was of all steel construction instead of an iron body with a steel face. It was a high quality, if not wasteful, instrument not meant for just anyone. One of the Orc guards was gone with the hammer in an instant.
During his wait, Angarth was not idle. He weaved a nest out of straw and placed it in the center of the forge. Taking flint, steel and charcloth in hand, he struck a spark. Blowing carefully on the spark, the charcloth smoldered. He placed it in the heart of his straw nest and blew. In a moment, the nest smoldered, then flamed to life. Angarth fed dried grass to the flames before placing small bits of lightered wood on the fire. With the flame burning, he moved the charcoal to the outer edges of the flames. When the Orc returned with the hammer, he found a fire merrily burning in the hearth of the forge and Angarth was warming up by making a fire poker. Soon this implement was finished and cooling in the slack tub.
“Daga wouldn’t like you usin’ his good iron for things like that.” The Orc complained.
“What is he going to do?” Angarth quipped, “Kill me?” The Orc glared but said no more.
Angarth took up the hammer head and thrust the face of it deep into the burning coals. The Orcs watched in amazement as the Man turned the face of the hammer into an axe. Once this was done, Angarth complained so much about the throbbing in his head from his wound that Daga was obliged to let him rest.

“You need to move faster Man!” Daga stood snarling in Angarth’s face. Angarth made a show of rubbing the wound on his head. It really did not bother him, but he stalled. In moments, he had upset the wound and it bled once more. He held a rag to the wound to stop the bleeding.
“Daga, my good Orc, all in good time.” Angarth said in soothing tones. “But frankly, your hunter did not have to hit me with his sword pommel. You had me. That was unnecessary. It is just more of the incompetence you have to tolerate out of these underlings. If he was under my command, I’d give him a good thrashing for this.”
Daga stared at the ranger for a moment, then turned on his heels and tromped away.
“Where are you going?” Angarth called after him.
“To thrash an Orc.” Daga called over his shoulder.
“Wait!” Angarth said, springing up from where he was leaning against what he was calling his rock. It was the rock he had leaned against when Daga originally brought him from the cave. Daga turned to face Angarth.
“I’ve a better idea.”
“What?”
“I need beeswax to finish my masterpiece. Since you aren’t about to let your captive out of the village, he should go, the Orc that hit me.”

[Eric C]

Later that afternoon, Angarth worked slowly at the forge. Horns were taking shape from the claws of the hammer. He was watching the heat die from one of the horns when Daga came into the smithy. Angarth determined that the Orc was not happy. Daga stomped up to where Angarth worked.
“Two of my Orcs were hurt chasing after this beeswax for you!”
Angarth stared at Daga for a moment, the hot hammer head between them. It served to make Daga take a step back away from the Ranger. Angarth seemed to be in thought. He looked genuinely baffled that the Orcs were wounded. “How were they hurt?”
“How do you think they were hurt!? They were swarmed by bees!” Daga spat his answer.
“Did they smoke the hive?” Angarth asked slowly. Daga gave Angarth a suspicious look.
“Smoke the hive?”
“Did your Orcs pump smoke into the hive to make the bees become dormant so they could get the beeswax without getting stung?” Angarth asked more clearly.
Daga’s eyes ventured off into the fire for a moment. Spinning around, he stormed from the smithy without another word.

Angarth finished the axe head about midday on the next day. It was time to move on to the haft. This would be good for Angarth because it gave him an excuse to be outside as the caves were too dark for him to carve. After eating a meager bite, he went out into the sunlight and started carving the purple wood as he leaned against his rock. Scanning the trees closely, he caught sight of a Ranger’s hood. He recognized this as his own daughter, Ruinferil’s hood. She was a wise choice to send in this close; she was very good at going undetected. For a brief moment, he made eye contact with the young girl. It was enough. She disappeared into the woods in an instant. Angarth took a sip from a cup to cover the smile that rose to his lips. He lifted his knife and continued to carve the shaft of wood.
Angarth eagerly watched the tree line for signs that the Rangers and mercenaries were ready for the attack. Now and then, he would see one of his people watching and passing signs to him. Soon the force would be fully assembled and ready to strike. Angarth continued his work fervently, anxious to get out of this dreaded Orc village.
In a day, the Ranger finished one side of the haft with a chain type of design common among some of his people. By the end of the second day, he had finished the second side of the haft and was ready to unite the haft and head. He retreated into the smithy to find the tools he needed for the job. Skillfully Angarth attached the head to the haft, wedged it then pinned it with a brass pin. Once done with this, Angarth deftly sharpened the axe while standing at his rock.

[Eric C]

The final installment. There is some information that I have kept to myself. Along with the transcript of this story an artifact was found. It is in excellent condition. A link to pics will be at then end of the tale.

Angarth worked hard to convince Daga to make this a big event. He impressed upon the Orc how much he was helping him by forging a special axe just for this occasion. Finally the Orc agreed and wood was gathered for a large bonfire where the entire Orc clan would be gathered for a memorable ceremony to the new chieftain. After all, if Angarth was going to die, he wanted to make it a grand spectacle.
Night fell. Preparations were made and Orcs gathered. At last the fire was lit. It blazed brightly, chasing away the darkness in the clearing before the Orc caves. Daga was there, dressed in his armour. Ublah was there, head hung low. He stood on the opposite side of the fire from Daga. In his hand was a bow and a quiver of arrows was on his back. These would be surrendered to Daga as a gift in hopes that Daga would spare his life. That was unlikely.
Angarth was escorted from the smithy into the night under heavy guard. Daga had returned his weapons for the ceremony. As he stepped into the firelight, in all his Ranger kit, the Orcs gasped, then raised a loud ruckus that Daga was hard pressed to silence. Angarth moved to a position not far from the fire. There he made a show of throwing off his cloak, revealing his weapons. He held his shoulders square and stood proud before the Orcs.
“Esteemed Daga!” He began in a strong voice. “Ublah. Orcs of this … fine … clan. Greetings! I am Angarth the Craftsman and Master Ranger.”
From a hidden spot in the trees, Ciradan rolled his eyes at the title his son took for himself. But he knew his son’s style and knew he would have the Orcs thoroughly annoyed by the time he was done. Annoyed, or falling asleep. Only time would tell which it would be.
“I have a tale for you.” Angarth continued. Then he recounted a version of his adventure a few years earlier near the Lonely Mountain. He purposefully failed to mention any roll his son Elyon played in the event for fear that there would be a price on the lad’s head as well. He embellished the story and told it in a theatrical style that began to grate on the nerves of the Orcs. Then, not knowing what Orc Braga had been in the battle, and not knowing where he had killed him, Angarth told of how he went head to head with the Orc, slaying him after a valiant fight. Angarth made known the Orc’s dying words, “I am Braga and I will be avenged Ranger of the North!” This line excited the Orcs and they leaped, hooted and hollered their approval of Braga’s words.
After an hour and a half of his retelling, Angarth moved on to his capture. He told of his fate at the hands of ungrateful people in Bree. He told of his misfortune among scalawags that stole his horse and he told of Daga’s skillful plan to capture him and how it worked.
The Orcs had grown thoroughly bored with the tales of Angarth now. Many were mesmerized by the fire. Some were beginning to drift off to sleep. The guards were growing inattentive. Daga was growing very impatient.
“Now, Daga, Chieftain of this noble clan, would you please approach that Angarth the Craftsman may bestow upon you the honors you have earned from this Ranger?”
Daga moved up to Angarth. In the Ranger’s hand was the axe he had forged. In the flickering firelight the Orcs could see the work that the Ranger had put into the piece. The purple handle glistened a bit from the beeswax coating that had been applied to it. Angarth explained its forging and the carving in the exotic wood. Finally, with all his tales told and the Orcs just plain tired of it all, Angarth began his conclusion.
“I am not anxious to die, noble Orcs, but we all must die some time. After I am dead, Daga will spoil my remains of all my goods and weapons. They will be his to take and to gift out as he sees fit. But I would for my part like to be granted the honor of giving the Orc, Daga what is coming to him. This gift I have for him.” Angarth said. Daga nodded, proud of his own achievements. “Then Daga, I Angarth, Ranger of the North present to you your axe. Please, remove your helm. Make a ranger proud before my death by letting me see the expression on your face when I present the gift.”
Daga removed the helm and tucked it under his arm. Before any Orc knew what was happening, Angarth raised the axe and drove it deep between Daga’s eyes. Without even a cry, the Orc chieftain toppled to the ground. Quickly Angarth turned and saw Ublah panicking to get an arrow to the string of his bow. He almost had it when he looked up to find that Angarth had let fly the axe. It sailed through the air and struck the orc in the head. He went to his knees in anguish, wounded, but not dead. With a cry, “Arnor!” Angarth drew Autheg from his sheath and charged the wounded orc. At that instant, a shower of arrows leaped from the trees in all directions. They found their marks, felling orcs where they stood stunned by the celebration turned assault. Angarth finished Ublah where he knelt wounded on the ground. Retrieving the axe, Angarth leaped into battle as Elyon and Ruinferil both found him and took a stand on either side of him. Ciradan was soon there as well. Thorbed’s mercenaries charged into battle with a cry of their own in a language Angarth did not know. In minutes the Orcs were crushed. None escaped. Angarth would live to fight another day, but a few of his allies and kinsmen were wounded. None of them were serious and they were treated before the party set fire to the interior of the caves to smoke out and kill any remaining orcs. It proved unnecessary; Daga had demanded that all orcs attend his party.
With the fight over, the Rangers gave the head of Daga to Thorbed so he and his men could present it to the Magistrate in Bree and be free of their obligations there. The mercenaries stayed the next day long enough to help the rangers pile up and burn the Orc bodies and all traces of the foul beings. With fire, they cleansed the land of the orc defilement.
The task was complete. Angarth shook hands with the big mercenary and parted from him with fond words. Thorbed and his men rode toward Bree. Angarth checked the tack on his horse and mounted. Once more, he was headed home. One of his kinsmen was set to patrol the area for a while as Angarth took a much needed rest to spend time with his family.

And the link:
http://s963.photobucket.com/albums/ae11 ... xe%20Pics/

Hope you have enjoyed the story and the pics. I wish I could take better pics.

[Rhys ap Ieuan]

Well done! Also, that's a nice looking axe. What is that wood?

[Ernildir]

Great conclusion, and very nice axe! Do you practice axe-throwing with it?

[Eric C]

The wood is Purpleheart. It grows in Central and South America. It is very dense and hard. It also has some toxicity to it, but not as bad as Cocobolo.

I haven't tried to throw it yet. I actually thought the handle would be too long on it until I finished it, but it has a nice balance to it.

Glad you enjoyed the story also.

[kaelln]

Very nicely done, both the story and the axe!