Excerpt from Ranger 'Stalker' Hinruin. Twenty-ninth of January, Third Age 2984.
After we left the wounded in the village and taking a brief, much needed rest, Ranger Herthaf, the six men still capable of travelling swiftly, and I set off to track down the final group of Orcs that was in the area. The men felt confident. They had scored a victory despite being outnumbered and they boasted to one another about the kills they had made and the village they had saved. Physically, these men had not changed much since Ranger Herthaf and I had recruited them, but mentally they had matured greatly. Their morale in battle would be more steadfast, their weapon arms a bit more keen. I hoped it would be enough.
Unlike our men, Ranger Herthaf and I did not share their confidence. Normally we would only be outnumbered around two to one. Given that we had restocked on arrows, this should have tilted the balance of the upcoming battle in our favour. Yet, as we started tracking down this second party, we found reason to worry. One of the Orcs, presumably the leader, given how Orc society functions, was leaving behind deep tracks and it was unlikely that he was not bothering to hide them. That was unusual. Raiders, as a rule, concealed their tracks as best they could and the rest of the raiding party's tracks were visible only to Ranger Herthaf's and my eyes. Given how easy to track the other footprints were, that meant that the final Orc was either enormous, or heavily armoured, or both. Not a comforting thought. The larger Orcs did not usually dwell around these parts. Such creatures lived up north, past the forsaken realm of Angmar. A place where even Rangers not dared to go near. Gundabad. The ancient Dwarven fortress.
Regardless of what Orc was awaiting us, we still had a duty to fulfil. The Dúnedain guard these lands, and so Ranger Herthaf and I gave chase, only to encounter yet another problem. It seems that the Goblins were afoot in force. We crossed a particularly tall hill when we caught sight of them, as well as a small Elven force, battling it out in the distance. We had drawn closer to Rivendell than I had assumed, for otherwise no Elf would venture so far from his home.
The Elves were, as always, thoroughly outnumbered and going by their light armour, they were only a vanguard, perhaps no more than two, three dozen strong. It was hard to acquire an accurate count on beings so nimble as they are. The enemy, however, were easier to count, as they approached the Elves while maintaining a solid formation, a rarity for Goblins. They were with roughly a hundred men spread across five units of twenty. Even from this far I recognised them. I had come up against them on a few occasions and they were not foes I enjoyed battling. Deepmine Warriors, as the Goblins called them. In typical fashion they were split in two lines. The units in the front were armed with shield and sword, those behind them with bows. Unlike the fearsome Orcs from Gundabad, who donned scavenged armour from the fallen Dwarves, the Goblins had to contend themselves with what they could make themselves. It was subpar quality by any professional standard, but against the people of Eriador it made them even more dangerous.
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Given how they advanced towards the Elves, shields heft aloft despite that they offered little protection against the keen eyesight of the Elves, let alone their swift arrows, I could tell that they had received proper training. They did not rout or break from the onslaught, but steadily closed in while the bowmen behind them spread out and fired back. Ranger Herthaf smiled at the sight, easing my concern that the Elves might lose. He had far more experience than I and shared what he knew of the creatures with me. They dwelled deeper in the Misty Mountains and held some status, which came as no surprise given their crude, light armour. For Goblins, he told me, they were disciplined and capable fighters, able to hold their ground in larger engagements. One could almost call them brave.
As a new group of Elves entered the fray, jumping into being from behind the Goblin bowmen and rapidly began cutting them down, his smile widened into a grin.
'Of course, no Goblin has ever been blessed with actual courage,' he told me as the Goblins, now beset from two sides and their numbers rapidly dwindling, broke formation and tried to flee, only to be mercilessly hunted down by the Elven warriors.
We waited a few moments more, preferring to let the Elves kill any remaining Goblins rather than run into any survivors. While in their current numbers they posed little threat to Ranger Herthaf or I, the same could not be said for our men. In a fight with equal numbers, things would not end well for our party. Once we were sure that no more Goblins were left alive, we continued on our path. We struggled to reacquire our trail in the midst of the battlefield. Goblin corpses, broken swords, splintered shields and arrows littered the area and we had to steadily expand our search. It took a while for us to pick up our foe's tracks, but I made use of the time to study the dead Deepmine Warriors. Like all Goblins, they were not truly a threat on their own, but if we are few, then they are very many. A Goblin is never alone, after all, and when fielded in large numbers they become a force to reckon with.
For now, however, I put aside that knowledge. The Elves have returned to Rivendell after a short conversation with Ranger Herthaf, one that I was not privy to, and we set off once again, ever nearing the Misty Mountains.
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