Orctober Drabbles by Grundy
Fanwork Notes
Fanwork Information
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Summary: Drabbles for the Orctober challenge, done in an impromptu instadrabbling session with Cuarthol. (Four words were selected at random from Orctober prompts. Chapter titles give the prompts.) Major Characters: Major Relationships: Genre: Fixed-Length Ficlet Challenges: Orctober Rating: General Warnings: |
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| Chapters: 3 | Word Count: 306 |
| Posted on 7 November 2024 | Updated on 7 November 2024 |
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This fanwork is complete. | |
Firth of Drengist
Watchtower, surf, winter, sea
Read Firth of Drengist
- From the watchtower, one can admire the storm from safety. Barad Nimras is strong enough that the winter storm is little more to it than a passing breeze. The cold does not reach the cozy fireside. Finrod finds the sight of the sea soothing, even now with the surf churning wildly, whipped to a froth by the winds. Ossë may be unpredictable, but he is no friend to the great Enemy in the North. Should they try to attack from the ocean, his wrath will put the current gale to shame. Let the wind howl; all will yet be well.
Ivrin
waters, pain, Elf's, evil
Read Ivrin
He nearly falls headlong into the river. The fierce burning light in the sky has all but blotted out his sight and given him a throbbing pain in his head. He hadn’t expected that. He’s not sure if he was a fool to believe the elf’s whispered directions or not, but the waters do soothe. If he can get across them safely, maybe he can carry the message to the other elves. They can’t very well call him evil if their bewitched river allows him to pass. And he carries news of their clanmate. That must count for something, surely?
Lothlann
histories, burned, sacrifice, remember
Read Lothlann
The histories say… except they didn’t, for those who were once known as orc. They did not get to write histories in the First Life. They passed what they could from generation to generation, preserving what they remembered. But much had been lost. Their Master was no kinder to them than he was to the Free Ones. The Burning had been a great triumph for the Master, but they’d had no cause to celebrate. They were sacrificed by the tens of thousands to buy that ‘victory’. In the Second Life, they have a chance to write and build for themselves.
Ch 1
I wonder if, cozied up in his tower beside the fire, he ever felt like he was back at Alqualonde 🥺
Ch 2
I hope that this does inspire future writings, it's such a compelling mystery!
Ch 3
Indeed, nothing of the histories from their own perspective.