Chương 5: 30 days

After Narzug and Morgash had retreated, Morgash immediately began teaching Narzug the various runes. However, as they were as numerous as the sand on the beach, the two focused on the runes they wanted to use for the axe. There were countless runes with different meanings of hate, but also those that addressed the body's blood flow or described bones. Narzug wrote all these small runes on the cave walls with coal until he could draw them perfectly. By the end of the second day, the entire cave walls were densely covered with small runes.

Morgash took a deep breath and tasted the air. "Mmmmm, very good. The air here is getting thicker with negative feelings. Your runes draw the negative feelings from the surroundings, the atmosphere, and the souls of the orcs and concentrate them in this room. What a wonderful taste, such delicate pain, such unbridled rage, and this deep hatred. My little orc heart can't get enough. But let's get to your axe; we will need all the runes I have taught you so far."

Then Morgash drew a rune on a piece of parchment. "This rune means 'Split'. It is formed from the small runes you have learned and thus forms the heart of the axe. All the negative energy will be channeled into the 'Split' rune and give it power. When the axe is finished, it will be able to split everything and everyone in this world!" Morgash squealed excitedly.

Narzug and Morgash were already exhausted but still full of drive. The cave walls were now completely covered with runes, and the air was heavy with the negative feelings that these runes attracted. Morgash had taught Narzug everything he needed to know to create the powerful 'Split' rune. Now it was time to begin the final phase of the ritual and inscribe the axe with the runes.

"We will need your blood, Narzug," Morgash explained seriously. "The energy flowing in your blood will activate the runes and give them their destructive power."

Narzug nodded resolutely. He had no fear of pain; the prospect of owning a weapon that could split everything and everyone was incentive enough. Morgash prepared a small stone basin and placed it in the middle of the cave. He took a dagger and made a deep cut in Narzug's palm. The blood began to flow and dripped into the basin.

"Good," murmured Morgash and began stirring the blood with a stick. "This blood will be the medium through which we will etch the runes onto the blade."

Narzug took the axe blade and laid it on a flat stone. He dipped a fine brush into the blood and began painting the small runes he had learned over the past few days onto the blade. Each rune was precise and carefully drawn, just as they had practiced. Morgash watched attentively to ensure no mistakes were made.

"The runes must be perfect," Morgash explained, "otherwise they will lose their power."

Narzug understood the importance of these words. Every stroke, every angle had to be exact for the 'Split' rune to unfold its full effect. The small runes on the blade began to glow as the blood touched them. An eerie, red glow filled the cave.

After Narzug had painted the small runes on the blade, he put the brush aside and took the parchment with the large 'Split' rune. "This rune is formed from the small runes," Morgash explained again. "It is the heart of the axe and will concentrate and amplify the negative energy."

He placed the parchment next to the blade and Narzug began tracing the large lines of the 'Split' rune with the blood. Narzug watched fascinated as the smaller runes slowly connected and formed the larger, more complex rune. The glow of the small runes intensified as they were integrated into the larger rune.

"Now comes the most important part," said Morgash. "We must etch the runes into the blade."

He took out a bowl with a dark liquid. "This is a special etching solution I made from various poisonous plants and metals. It will permanently burn the runes into the blade."

Morgash slowly poured the liquid over the blade while muttering incomprehensible words in the Black Speech of Mordor. The liquid reacted with the blood and the runes, and a hissing sound filled the cave. Smoke rose, filling the air with a pungent smell. Narzug could see the runes slowly being burned into the metal of the blade.

After the liquid had completely evaporated, Morgash took the blade and held it up. The runes were now deeply etched into the metal and glowed with an eerie red light. "It is done," Morgash proclaimed triumphantly. "The blade is ready for the final step. Take it in your hand and imagine pressing all your negative feelings into it."

Slowly, Narzug took the axe in his hand. He listened to himself and sought all the negative feelings he could find. His fear of never getting out of this world again, his sorrow for not seeing his family and friends, especially his girlfriend, his anger at having his comfortable life taken away, and finally his hatred. Over the days he had already spent in this world, he had developed a deep hatred. A hatred towards the world of Middle-earth which he blamed for the loss of his previous life.

It was not that he didn't want to explore and discover this world, but the feeling of helplessness and that someone else had decided this for him made the flame of hatred flare up in him. He gathered all these feelings in his right hand, which held the axe, and with a scream, he pressed his feelings through his hand into the axe. The glowing red runes on the axe began to shine brighter and brighter. At the same time, they became darker until they glowed black. With one last effort, Narzug pressed his feelings into the axe as hard as he could until the rune was completely black. Like an implosion, the black light was sucked back into the weapon and suddenly everything in the cave was white. Only a few moments later did the colors return, and the rune on the axe emitted a uniform darkness. The axe radiated an incredible evil and corruption, which was visible to the naked eye. A dark mist wafted around the axe head, being drawn into the rune on one side and released on the other.

Narzug looked in amazement at the weapon in his hand and could almost hear an epic, menacing Lord-of-the-Rings-like soundtrack playing in his head.

"And now it's time for me to learn how to fight with my axe," Narzug said to Morgash. Morgash thought briefly until he came up with a training method appropriate for the circumstances. The plan for the next few days was to have Narzug fight to the death with as many orcs as possible. True to the orcish motto: Death is the best teacher. "If you're still alive in seven days, you'll definitely be a better fighter," Morgash giggled. "And a shaman like me will never say no to more suffering and pain in the air. Hehe." With one last giggle and the words, "If you're still on your throne in seven days, with your head still on your shoulders, mind you, I will teach you the ways of the shamans for the remaining days until we leave for Dol Guldur." Then Morgash turned into smoke, and Narzug was left alone in the cave. "Well, fuck you too," he muttered.

Seven days later, Narzug could be seen standing in a large cave, his body smeared with blood and his breath heavy. Wooden bleachers had been built along the cave walls, where orcs watched the spectacle with much cheering and screaming. When the orcs learned of their chief's plans, they built a huge arena within a few hours, allowing thousands of orcs to witness their chief's battles. Initially, the challengers came like flies to a pile of dung. The line of orcs wanting to fight was longer than one could see. By the third day, the line grew shorter, and the pile of corpses behind Narzug grew larger. By the fifth day, Narzug had to order his orcs to drive the next fighters into the arena with whips. None of the orcs wanted to fight Narzug voluntarily anymore. At first, Narzug fought hesitantly and couldn't consciously give himself over to the craft of killing. Although he had already killed Barry, killing still weighed morally on him. Only after a few hours did Narzug stop thinking and let his orcish innate ability to kill and murder take over. He had now been fighting non-stop in the arena for seven days, one orc after another. By now, he was so adept with the axe that the fight against the weak Misty Mountain orcs resembled executions.

"Get in there, maggot. Fight so your pitiful life as a worm at least has some meaning," Narzug could hear an orc roar. A few thunderous cracks of a whip later, a small orc, no taller than a hobbit, with a rusty dagger in his hand, staggered into the arena. Judging by the stain on his pants and his trembling knees, this orc was very eager to give his life some meaning. Nonetheless, Narzug sprinted forward. He swung his axe and split the orc from head to foot in two halves before the orc could even blink. Narzug grabbed the pieces and threw them onto a pile behind him. Then he stood motionless in his starting position again. For a few days now, the orcs no longer called him Narzug the Head-ripper. He had been given a new name. With voices filled with fear, the Misty Mountain orcs whispered his new name: Narzug the Mist Demon.

Shortly thereafter, a new orc entered the arena, but unlike before, with a relaxed step. Narzug casually placed his weapon on his shoulder and asked, "Morgash, are the seven days already over?" Morgash replied with a giggle, "No, my master. But these miserable maggots are no longer of any use to your fighting skills. Therefore, I took the liberty to stop your training a bit earlier. Better yet, we can start your lessons with me sooner. Please wash off the blood of these weaklings and have one of these worms lead you to my cave."

Narzug nodded and then thoughtfully looked back at the pile of corpses. With a grin, he said a sentence he had always wanted to say since waking up as an orc: "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!"

---

After Narzug had washed the blood of his enemies from his body, an orc led him to Margosh's cave. There, Morgash was already waiting to initiate him into the secrets of shamanism. "It's time for you to learn the true power of the shamans and possibly make it your own," said the shaman, leading Narzug into the deeper caves of the Misty Mountains, far away from the arena, the throne room, and Narzug's forge. Far away from the noise of the other orcs.

In a dark chamber, illuminated only by flickering torches, Morgash paused. The walls were covered with ancient runes and symbols carved into the rock. From these seeped an unknown black substance that glowed faintly. "This is the orc sanctuary of the Misty Mountains," Morgash explained. "Here, our shamans have learned the art of mastering negative emotions and channeling their power into our rituals and weapons since the first age."

Morgash began the lesson with an introduction to the history of the orcs: "To understand orc shamanism, you must first know the history of our people. This has been passed down from one shaman to the next since the days of the First, and remains unknown to most orcs. Now I will pass our history on to you. How much of it is true, you must decide for yourself.

We, the orcs, are not a naturally born creature of the world. We are the product of the darkest magic and unimaginable cruelty. Once, long, long ago, when the world was young and Morgoth, the mightiest of all gods, ruled Middle-earth, our sad and terrible story began.

In those early days, there was only one kind of being that roamed Middle-earth beside the gods: the elves. They were beautiful, strong, and immortal, created by the godfather himself. But Morgoth, our great master, saw in them the potential for something else – something that could serve him and fulfill his goals. He abducted many of these elves, dragging them into the dark depths of his fortress Angband, where light never fell.

In Angband began the most torturous experiments imaginable. Morgoth corrupted the elves through unimaginable torture and black magic. Their screams echoed through the halls of darkness, but no one came to their aid. And from these tormented souls, we were born – the orcs, the disfigured shadows of those once noble beings. We were forged in a sea of pain and hatred, our original beauty and wisdom forever lost.

When we emerged from the dark depths, we saw the world with different eyes. Hatred filled our hearts, and we lived only to destroy and conquer. Morgoth taught us his dark arts and used us as tools of his wrath. Thus, the first of the shamans saw the light of the world. We multiplied quickly, for our master needed a great army to secure his rule. And so we grew in number, increasing every day.

Our existence was marked by misery and fear from the beginning. We knew no joy, only the endless cycle of violence and oppression. Morgoth was our lord, and we lived in constant fear of his power. But with his defeat at the end of the First Age, our suffering was not over.

Sauron, Morgoth's mightiest servant, took many of us and continued our legacy of darkness. Under his rule, we became an even greater threat to Middle-earth. He taught us new ways of war and destruction. Our armies grew, and we marched into countless battles, spreading death and terror wherever we went. The armies of the orcs swelled to mighty numbers, but the mightiest of the orcs, their shamans who still wielded and passed on Morgoth's magic, dwindled war by war until only a few could use the old arts. The shamans were slowly forgotten until only a few knew of their existence.

Our history is a history of suffering and war. We are the marked, the cursed, created by the forces of evil to destroy and conquer. And though we had no choice, it has become our nature. We are the orcs, the servants of darkness, and this is our cruel truth."

Narzug was captivated by Margosh's words. He could hardly wait to learn more about the orc shamans.

Margosh looked at Narzug seriously: "Learn from our past. Only when you understand what you are, where you come from, and what you were born for can you advance on the path of the shamans. Learn from our past but do not let it define you."

Narzug nodded, believing he understood what Margosh was imparting to him.

"Negative emotions like hatred, anger, and pain are thus the source of our power," Margosh explained. "A shaman must learn to recognize, amplify, and control these emotions in himself and others."

He led Narzug to an altar carved from black stone. Various artifacts lay on it: an elven skull, bones, feathers, and vials with strangely glowing liquids. Morgash took one of the vials and handed it to Narzug. "Drink this. It will open your senses and help you to feel the negative emotions within yourself and your surroundings."

Hesitantly, Narzug took the vial and drank. A burning taste spread in his mouth, and his head felt light. Suddenly, the flames of the torches began to flicker and cast strange shadows. Narzug could see the outlines of dark energies moving in the room. "These are the negative emotions," Morgash said softly. "They are always around us. A good shaman must learn to use and amplify them."

Morgash sat on the floor and began to sing a deep, rhythmic melody that seemed to fill the room. Narzug followed his example and sat down as well. Morgash handed him a drumstick and showed him how to beat a steady, soothing rhythm. "Music and song are powerful tools to amplify and direct emotions," he explained.

Hours passed as they drummed and sang. Narzug felt himself sinking deeper into a trance that made him feel the negative emotions around him more clearly. He saw dark shadows and felt the presence of hatred, anger, and pain. Morgash guided him through these emotions and showed him how to absorb and amplify them within himself.

"Every shaman has a favored source of negative emotions that accompanies and strengthens him," Morgash explained. "You must find your own source. It will help you channel your powers." Narzug closed his eyes and focused. Suddenly, he felt a deep, dark presence within himself. It was the hatred and anger he had felt since arriving in Middle-earth. "This is your source," said Morgash contentedly. But then Narzug felt a second source, not less weak than his own. It seemed as if they were exchanging energy and strengthening each other.

With a grin, Margosh noticed Narzug's confused face.

"You felt it, didn't you? The source of your axe. Use both sources to strengthen yourself and your weapon!"

In the following days, Narzug learned how to communicate and control the sources of negative emotions. Morgash showed him various small rituals and spells that helped him channel the power of these emotions. "Negative emotions can help you weaken your enemies, heal your wounds, and strengthen your weapons," he explained: "They can ignite a small flame or create a mouthful of water. Shamans with a lot of practice and experience can even get a small glimpse into the immediate future.

"But you must understand them first to be able to suppress and finally devour them."

The days quickly passed between trances, tips and tricks, and an occasional small meal. Five days before the 30-day deadline expired, Margosh woke Narzug from his trance: "If we don't want to arrive late in Dol Guldur, we have to leave at sunset today."