Camp Thrag

"Alright you lot, get to it." I commanded the assembled Uruks to grapple with each other and stepped my way through the tussling bodies as I shouted instruction.

My students may not be considered 'smart' by anyone who judges such things by achievement in a classroom setting, but the Uruks under me were quick studies in the application of violence, and loved me all the more for my willingness to instruct them however harshly I deemed necessary.

It helped that they were all endurance freaks. The foul creations of Morgoth and Sauron can run for days and be moderately winded. Not walk, not jog, run… for days. And they'd have no problem engaging in lethal combat after that day's long run with just a little break for a snack.

It is an honest compliment to the fortitude of men, elves, and dwarfs that they haven't been completely run off the map by a foe this indefatigable.

"Get that overhook in, don't just let him get under you and in control, you worthless shrahk!" I shouted.

I loved wrestling. Loved freestyle, folkstyle, greco roman, sambo, judo, and jiu jitsu. I was sticking to the later half of that list for the Uruks in consideration of their love of hurting each other. Getting them to stop hurting each other was as simple as making a few examples of the most aggressive among my grapplers, leaving me with a group of guys discovering the joys of manipulating each other's bodies in new and often agonizing ways, safely.

My teachings extended far beyond wrestling though, and that more than anything else was responsible for our need to expand our earthen fortifications around our encampment three times over. Hundreds of uruks had come willingly to my command, and I spread them three scores to each of my captains, Burzronk the Sweet, Grishluk the Singer, Atbug the Fang, and Ishbug the Shrike.

The later pair of assassins had brought us a great deal of knowledge contained within the Dark Tribe, the pair being masters of Mordor poisons, and the elder, Ishbug, having delved into the dark arts of cursed weapons. I was very happy with the acquisition of the black painted pair, as their expertise freed me up from the need to research these topics.

I'd spent my days working on my Beastmaster abilities, becoming quite adept at the capture and domination of caragors, and after finishing my class I leapt into the pen in which I kept my prized pets.

Almost as soon as I landed I was beset by three ferocious pale beasts with vicious claws, fangs, and spikes adorning their muscular bodies. Their powerful fangs failed to find purchase on my body, and I smacked them around, sure to measure my strength lest I kill them in a single blow.

That was something that had changed after my last confrontation with Talion. My epic strength had become particularly lethal to beasts, and I'd become seemingly immune to any attempt by them to harm me. As such the normally deadly and proud dire caragors before me were hardly more dangerous than my pack of varen I kept on the Normandy.

At least to me, cause like my varen they were fucking lethal to everybody else.

And cute in a metal as hell murderbeast kind of way.

"Alright you three, that is enough. Sit." I commanded the trio of powerful predators.

Without hesitation the white beasts sat and puffed their chests out.

"Good. Today we are going graug hunting." I grinned, "Some of the boys spotted a horned graug a little east from the camp, and you boys are going to help me bring back the spoils."

I loaded them up with supplies and a few hunting spears before taking off on my own through the thick jungle terrain, catching the scent of graug a half dozen miles from my camp. On the trail I picked up another scent carried on the wind, Olog. A few minutes following the trail of the graug later brought the pack into sight.

The troll folk wielded brutal clubs and covered their thick hide in furs, the leader a very hairy and pale example of the species had decorated his furry pauldrons with the skulls of deer. The big Olog chuckled and as he fixed his glowing yellow eyes on me.

"I know you." the Olog growled, "And I see you like to wear troll hide. Well come little orc. Come try to take my hide. Look how thick and strong it is."

I got off my caragor and pulled out my freshly forged cursed chopper, a two handed curved sword with a thick spine and a durable edge. Good for hacking through thick boys like these fellas.

"How's your dance moves?" I asked as I closed distance with them and dodged a club strike from one of the lesser Ologs while slicing along his leg, splitting a long gash in his thigh that pulsed with the fell energy of my sword.

"Disappointing." I stated as I wove through two more attacks and delivered slashing reprisal before I had to dive out of the way of a mother fucking net.

"Did you just try to catch me like a fish?" I yelled at the hairy Olog.

"You move fast, you do." The big Olog smiled revealing his sharp teeth, "But what good are fast feet when you are trapped in the net of a very big boy."

I nodded my head in agreement, "Respect, homie." then I grinned, "But I know a secret you don't."

"And what would that be." the Olog asked.

"There is a very sneaky graug standing right behind you." I informed him of the over twenty foot tall beast looming over him.

"You think I fall for oldest trick around?" the Olog chuckled.

"Boss!" One of his pained packmates gasped as he held his guts inside his cut open belly, "He ain't being tricky!"

"Oh… shit." the Olog cursed with great timing as the graug behind him swatted him like a red headed stepchild, sending him to the ground with a thunderous smack.

"Owwwiiieee." he groaned.

With the grace and agility of a majestic leopard I pounced upon the graug and directed my full lethal might upon it's leg, my sword bursting through its flesh like a hot knife though butter and releasing an anime worthy explosion of blood.

I was less than enthused about that as I wiped the mess from my eyes and climbed onto the back of the fallen graug as it attempted to crawl away, ending its existence with a thrust under its skull.

Thank God the thing didn't just turn to ash like in the games. I hate self cleaning enemies. They are so stingy.

"Maybe I can convince you not to kill us?" the boss Olog inquired in a light tone, "My brothers and I can be quite handy to have around. Very good at lifting heavy things."

"Deal." I spat out some blood and smiled, "You lot get this guy rendered down and ready to take back to my camp. Meanwhile I have a date with a river to get this slop off me." then I whistle, "Night Rats, come here girl."

One of my beautiful dire caragors bounded up to me, the one carrying a satchel full of experimental soaps, oils, and creams.

It was time to discover the path to Uruk hygiene.