Raid

"Hello there, Azog the Defiler."

"Welcome, Narzug the Mist Demon. Let me introduce my son to you. He will lead the assault on the elves. BOLG!" Azog shouted, then looked around.

"Where are your troops, Narzug, or have you come alone?"

"I am more than enough for this raid," replied Narzug, watching the orc running towards him.

"This is Bolg," Azog introduced the orc. As Bolg approached, his imposing and fearsome appearance became evident. He was half a head taller than Narzug and very muscular. His gray, leathery skin was covered with scars and marks of countless battles. The orc's face was a gruesome mask of rough, bony features, with deep eye sockets hiding a cold, piercing gaze. He had a large scar on his head that looked as if his skull had almost been split open.

Every step he took made his heavy, metallic armor clink, which was studded with thorns and spikes. Trophies of his defeated enemies hung from the armor, including elf ears and other gruesome mementos reflecting his brutal nature. In his massive hand, he held a large, brutal weapon, a massive hammer. His arrival was heralded by a sinister growl and the loud clinking of his steps.

Narzug immediately noticed that the source of Bolg was based on the feeling of fear. But the source seemed tiny and unused. Apparently, Bolg did not know how to use it.

He stopped in front of Narzug and looked down at him. "So you are Narzug, the Mist Demon. Hmm, Papa, can I fight him?" he asked Azog.

Azog replied: "If you are ready to lose your head..."

Unlike Bolg, Azog could also sense the sources of other people. He himself was not really gifted, but through years of practice, he was able to significantly increase his physical strength through his source. The mere thought of a fight against Narzug made him tremble slightly, although he hid this. When he extended his inner senses towards Narzug, he felt incredibly intense feelings: a breathtaking greed for power, a superiority over his surroundings, and a terrifying hatred. For the first time, he realized that he did not want Narzug as an enemy. It was the first time he felt this feeling – it was fear.

Narzug was slightly disappointed that he could not fight Bolg, but he was glad about one thing.

"Luckily, the orcs here look like the ones from the 'Lord of the Rings' movies. When I see Bolg, I am glad not to have to fight on the same side as some exaggerated CGI monsters."

Azog invited Narzug into the large tent, where he was offered food and drink. After a brief refreshment, the three of them discussed the upcoming attack and forged a simple plan.

Narzug largely stayed out of the planning and contributed little. He knew the attack would fail, but since he only wanted to fight, he didn't care.

---

Azog the Defiler stood in the center of the camp, issuing commands with an iron fist. His eyes were cold and calculating as he watched the orcs preparing for the upcoming assault on the elves. Bolg, his son, stood beside him, towering over the other orcs with his fearsome presence. Narzug, the Mist Demon, observed the preparations with a mixture of indifference and anticipation, his thoughts solely focused on the impending battle.

The camp buzzed with activity as the orcs armed themselves with crude weapons and donned their tattered armor. The night air was filled with the smell of smoke and sweat, mingling with the tension that hung over the camp. Narzug, outwardly calm, felt a tingling of excitement. The anticipation and his greed for battle were like a drug to him, something he craved more than anything else.

As the final preparations were made, Azog called Narzug and Bolg back into his tent. A rough map of the Woodland Realm was spread out on the coarse wooden table. Azog's finger traced a path along the river winding through the forest. "You will attack from here," he repeated the plan they had forged with a deep growl in his voice. "With 250 orcs, you will penetrate the wood elves' caves. Kill everything in your path until you reach the dwarves. Thorin is to be brought to me alive. Destroy everything of value on your way back, and if the Elvenking appears, distract him with weak orcs to buy time. Sadly i can't join because i have dealings in Dol Guldur."

Narzug nodded, though he had little interest. Bolg, on the other hand, listened attentively, his eyes gleaming with anticipation of the bloodshed.

As dawn approached, the orc raiding party moved into position. The river was shrouded in mist, the perfect cover for their attack. Narzug and Bolg led the way, their figures barely visible in the haze. The orcs followed, their movements silent and deadly.

They reached the riverbank just as the first light of day began to pierce the fog. The orcs waded into the water, their eyes fixed on the cave entrance and the small elven outpost with a gate that could close off the river. Narzug could almost taste the tension in the air, the calm before the storm. But just as they were about to launch their attack, a sound broke the silence and made them freeze.

It was the sound of elven horns, clear and piercing. Narzug's eyes widened in anticipation as he looked towards the source of the noise.

Through the trees, he could see the glint of elven armor and the flash of blades. The elves were alerted, but not looking towards the river. They looked towards their own home, as if something is coming from the inside.

Bolg on the other hand could hardly believe his misfortune. It got even worse when Bolg's sharp eyes noticed movement in the river. He watched as barrels floated down the river, each one occupied by a dwarf. The realization hit him like a blow: the dwarves were escaping.

Azog's plan unraveled before his eyes. The element of surprise was lost, and the elves were closing in. Bolg growled in frustration, his hand clenching around the handle of his hammer. Bolg roared in fury, his cry echoing through the trees.

"Form up!" he shouted, struggling to regain control of the situation. The orcs rushed to obey his command, but the confusion was palpable. The elven horns sounded again, this time closer, and the orcs could see the first ranks of elven warriors emerging from the trees.

Narzug's mind raced. The battle he had longed for was here. The elves were ready, the dwarves were escaping, and the orcs were caught off guard. He knew they had to act quickly or be overwhelmed.

"Attack!" he roared, charging forward with his axe raised. The orcs followed, their war cries mingling with the sound of elven horns. The river ran red with blood as the battle began, and Narzug reveled in the chaos.

Arrows whizzed through the air. Orcs and Elves were dying. Only the Dwarves had remained unscathed so far, but they were trapped in front of the gate between both sides.

Narzug killed one Elven warrior after another with his axe. He could feel the pride of his weapon rising with each defeated opponent. Narzug felt his greed for battle being satisfied.

With a mad laugh on his lips, he threw himself at three Elven warriors and split all three with a single swing of his axe.

Narzug felt that he was born for battle and enjoyed the carnage around him.

He watched as one of the Dwarves, Kili if he wasn't mistaken, climbed out of the barrels to operate the lever of the gate.

Bolg also noticed the Dwarf and shot an arrow into his leg with a bow. But with his last strength, the Dwarf pulled the lever and jumped back into his barrel. The Dwarves were swept further down the river.

At Bolg's command, the Orcs began to pursue the Dwarves. Narzug split another Elf's head and joined the pursuit.

A wild fight erupted as the Orcs pursued the Dwarves and the Elves pursued the Orcs.

Narzug enjoyed every single moment. The blood of his enemies on his hands, the pride of his weapon, and the greed in his own blood, which found sweet satisfaction. He noticed how his source became increasingly saturated.

The chase along the river was wild and relentless. Bolg led his orcs with tireless energy, their brutal shouts echoing through the trees as they pursued the dwarves drifting down the river in barrels. The dwarves, exhausted from fleeing and the injuries they had already suffered, desperately tried to maintain their lead.

Narzug felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he ran along the riverbank. Each step brought him closer to the fleeing dwarves, helplessly drifting on the water. Again and again, an elven warrior stood in his way, but Narzug slew each one.

The orcs in front of him, also driven by bloodlust, roared and bellowed, their weapons gripped tightly, ready to bring more death and destruction.

Through the trees, Narzug could see the river winding like a silver snake through the landscape. Bolg's calls echoed through the ranks of the orcs, giving them clear instructions: the dwarves must not escape. Narzug used all his strength and dashed forward, his axe sparkling in the light, ready to spill more blood.

The river carried the dwarves inexorably onward, but Bolg and his orcs did not give up. The chase dragged on for several minutes, with the orcs running along the banks, trying to match their speed to the river's currents. The orcs could see the barrels in the water, racing with the dwarves over the rapids. The sight of their desperate faces fueled their boundless hatred and lust for murder.

Suddenly, the forest cleared, and Narzug found himself at the edge of the Elven realm.

The orcs continued to chase the dwarves, but Narzug stopped. He knew that the elves would not go beyond the border of their realm. Narzug's thirst for bloodshed and violence was already sated, but he still wanted to fight a worthy opponent. He had already chosen one. Again and again, he had seen him during the battle, killing orcs with ease left and right. Narzug wanted to fight the elven prince and future companion of Frodo, Legolas.

"I need to know where I stand, and here is a good opportunity. How strong am i in this world? Here I can fight Legolas and flee if necessary. Legolas will not leave the Elven realm and pursue without his father's command!"

From the second Hobbit film, he knew that Legolas would stay here, so he searched the surroundings with his eyes. And there he saw a person standing on a rock and looking towards the fleeing orcs and dwarfs.

It was Legolas, and his presence was unmistakable. The day's sunbeams glittered on his golden hair and his light but deadly armor.

Legolas stood calmly, his bow in hand and an arrow already nocked. His eyes sparkled with a mix of sorrow and determination as he watched the fleeing dwarves and orcs.

Narzug paused, his eyes fixed on the elven warrior before him. A wave of hatred and greed for battle surged through him as he gripped his axe tightly. Narzug felt feelings of love and friendship emanating from the elf, with an intensity of emotion he had only felt before with Morgash. These feelings disgusted Narzug. Slowly, he walked towards Legolas, who turned and scrutinized Narzug.

"What strong orc do we have here... I will sacrifice you to my fallen brothers and sisters!" Legolas shouted loudly and shot an arrow at Narzug.