Fimbul watched from the rocks above the mountain pass
He saw the dwarf-scum winding their way along the road through the Misty Mountains & silently called his warg riders from the shadows of the trees.
“The grey wizard is no longer with them… but the small squeaker trails after them like a frightened rabbit.” Fimbul
Fimbul gathered the orcs around him. Two were sent back to Weathertop, to tell the pale Master that the Dwarves were crossing the mountain. Another was sent to warn the stinking goblins, to keep a watch along the pass. The rest remained with Fimbul to wait until for the coming of Azog.
Fimbul looked up at the sky over head. Thick dark clouds were moving in from the east. He sniffed the air and knew there would be rain and lightening, before the night was over. He signaled for Rabskuttle, his best tracker to follow the dwarves and report back when they camped for the night. The orcs settled down among the rocks to wait. Rummaging through his pack, he found only stale bread and salted warg. The man-flesh was gone days ago. Soon they would be dining on dwarf-meat… tough but tasty! His mouth watered at the thought.
They lit no fire, the dwarves were too near and might smell smoke even if they could not see the flames. Fimbul passed the leather wine skin among the orcs, allowing them only a few slugs each, because he knew they would become raucous and rowdy if they had too much. Fimbul dared not alert the dwarves to their presence, the fate of Yazneg was still fresh in his mind.
As Rabscuttle disappeared under the darkness the trees, Fimbul thought back with disgust, to his visit to the Great Goblin under the mountain. A fat and silly creature, who Fimbul had to bow and scrape to, in order to deliver the message of his Master. A bounty of gold had been placed upon the head of the Dwarf-scum, which should have been enough, but the great bulbous Goblin also wanted to feed the flesh of these creatures to his hungry minions, with the Great Goblin himself desiring the heads for the making a dwarvish stew!
Fimbul told him that the head of Oakenshield had to be returned to Azog on a spike, or no payment would be made. The ugly brute went in to a rage and Fimbul feared he might loose his own head, as the angry Goblins moved in around him. Suddenly, the great beast broke into a song about the wicked ways of dwarves and he was allowed to leave with his head intact. The stinking Goblin was as mad as a hatter!
Fimbul settled in among the rocks, as the first raindrops began to fall. In the distance, there could be heard a great rumbling among the mountain peaks.
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