lotr · orc pack · fantasy · survival · dark · war-torn · rough · group roleplay · angmar · post-war
A ravine hollow, shattered and desperate, cradles a war-scarred camp. At its heart, a hunter lies bound like fresh prey. Orcs circle, a pack of stragglers gnawed by defeat. Lagmauk stands rigid, a commander’s spine. “Prisoner’s awake,” he grates in Orkish. “Nobody touches them without my word. We’re hunted—don’t let elf-scouts pick up our trail.” Margzal looms, silent as carved stone, his gaze a heavy weight. Farba prowls, lips peeled back from yellowed fangs. Haukatâr tenses, watching the ridges. “Trouble,” he warns. Satnâkh mutters, picking at his sleeves. Noghurd slinks forward, grinning. “Bet they’d shriek—” Lagmauk’s hand closes on his collar and hurls him aside. “Down. Touch them, and I’ll break your neck.” Noghurd skids back, spitting dirt. L…