#uruk-hai
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Any uruk and olog that tries to talk to Talion
#in both games Talion has the most interactions with Ratbag (excluding other characters that aren't orcs/ologs)#does this mean anything to you? to me it does.#shadow of war#shadow of mordor#talion#orcs#uruk-hai#ologs#olog-hai
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I'm writing a lotr fanfic abt 5 orcs that desert Sauron's army to make pastries if anyone wants to beta read for me
I'll give more details if anyone replies
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#iskanderednaksi#lord of the rings#lord of the rings fanart#Uruk-hai#white hand#orcs#lotr fanart#lotr orcs#girl with a weapon#orc girl#fanart#fantasy girl#pinup art#⚔️#female warrior#2d butt#bum#2d art#waaagh#swordswoman
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9 CONVERSATIONAL TRICKS
LORD OF THE RINGS
THE HOBBIT
#9 conversational tricks#the lord of the rings#the hobbit#thorin#legolas#richard armitage#Orlando Bloom#Isildur#Arwen#Liv Tyler#Tom Bombadil#Uruk-Hai#Frodo#Elijah Wood#Sam Gamgee#Sean Astin#Gandalf the White#Ian McKellen
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The meat of Orktober: the Fighting Uruk-Hai!
I did some light modding: turning six sword-only uruk-hai scouts into berserkers (with two-handed swords) and ferals (with two weapons), a banner-uruk (the reverse has scrawlings in cirth that amount to 'middle-finger [at] everyone'), and a drummer and priest of Morgoth.
Conceivably, I could use another banner, but practically, I haven't been able to fit in a second banner in Lurtz's scouts before 800pts, which is well past their peak. Similarly, if I need a Scout Captain, I'll probably grab one of the berserkers.
There's definitely room for expansion on the side of the warriors/siege troops. I don't particular want to get siege engines, but some bombs, ladders, and enough uruks to credibly assail Helm's Deep would not go amiss. Not sure how I want to handle crossbows yet, whether that's bashing some together or biting the bullet and getting official ones... *goes and looks* ...oh they're failcast, to heck with that. Bashing it is!
For the other parts of Isengard: I have warg riders (not quite 400pts; would need a second box to actually field the Legendary Legion), and Dunlanders (about 600pt), but they've yet to be painted. All built, though.
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Uruk-hai (Tolktober, 16), 2023, encre de Chine sur papier, 21,5 x 14 cm
#art#Tolktober#Tolktober 2023#encre#ink#encre de Chine#indian ink#dessin#drawing#Tolkien#Seigneur des Anneaux#The Lord of the Rings#Middle Earth#uruk-hai#orc#Isengard#Saroumane est un facho
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Saruman & Uruk-hai
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Do Not Ask - LOTR One Shot
(EomerxOC, Helm's Deep, Love, Fluff, Gore, Blood, One Shot, Grief)
Helm’s Deep was full of the last remains of its people. They were all gathered in the aftermath of what was set to be the battle of their lifetimes, for it saved them all. Blood coated the grey stone walls. Black and red blood of both enemy and ally. It smelled as battlefields do; the foul stench of rotten corpses, excrement and hot iron blood.
Eomer frowned as he stepped through the Keep. It was thick with bodies. How far they’d come into their last defense, how close Rohan was close to being an extinct race of Men.
His legs burned as he climbed the final ascent of stairs. He entered a grand hall. Only it was not lit with torches and the smells of roasting foods as he remembered it.
Women and children were out of the caves. They were frightened. The looks on their eyes as they searched for their survivors reflected a fraction of the terror in their warriors eyes. The things on this battlefield were harsher than most. Uruk-hai made war a vile, horror filled with atrocities too filthy to be recounted.
Eomer was Third Marshal of the Riddermark. His place was out in the field in search of survivors. It was where he was needed. He fully intended to join his Eored once his search was complete. There were two he needed to find first.
Selfish need drove him further into the room. It was duly noted that it was out of line for his position. Still, he walked farther inside the hall until he saw them. All he needed was a glance. One look, and his heart would be settled.
He caught sight of his sister. She had her hand pointed, where supplies were to be set as they tended to the wounded. Her eyes were rimmed red. The caves were a savior to the men’s mind, but it did not save their loved ones of the sounds of the deaths. It only amplified the fears of what might come find them in the cave whether it be freedom or death.
Eowyn found his gaze. Her body gave slight give, weakness to her knees, a kind breath out of her chest, as she gave a wobbly smile.
He, too, shared the same relieved breath.
There was a face he sought out in the crowd. Through the endless waves of faces, some familiar, some not, he yearned for a face that was known to his heart by instant fluttering.
The longer the absence, the harder his heart pumped.
Where was the face he longed for?
It took too long to walk through the survivor people until he located someone who was bound to know. An elderly woman with crooked fingers and a boy near thirteen in age. The boy’s clothing dragged on the floor behind as he walked.
Eomer placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maynard. Where is your sister? Her face is lost to me.”
The woman and boy exchanged looks. Their faces told of a restrained guilt. He was not let in on their silent exchange. Tensions in his gut quivered. The battle fear was not yet over for him. There was relief still to be awash his body in victory. Their hesitation did not ease him.
“Speak,” he barked.
Maynard gathered the billowy fabric up to move. “We don’t know.”
Eomer stood straight. His eyes squinted as he took in the boy’s slumped shoulders. The woman’s deepening frown.
“I’m sorry, my lord.” The boy trembled.
He staggered a step, startled by his own thought he’d come to.
She wouldn’t.
Now he saw it. The clothing was sizes too big for the young boy. A young boy who – if by recollection – should have been out on the battlefield alongside his countrymen.
The elderly woman held a stiff face as he turned to her in anger.
“Do not ask to send our young ones,” her voice said, “when there were perfectly fit soldiers ready to fight.”
Eomer flew to the battlegrounds. He searched the dead before they made safe the castle. There were wounded to tend to, provisions to secure, men to regroup, efforts and rebuilding all to be concerned with yet his solider heart could not rest until he found her.
The frantic wavy grip of his throat struggled to keep breathing as he looked through bodies. Their helmets pulled from their heads. Blood, mud, disgust smeared around. A singular stench of death on the wind. It cloaked the stronghold with its inescapable melancholy.
He moved through the bodies on the wall – what was left of it. There were men with crushed ribcages. Their insides leaked out onto the stone.
His stomach flipped. Eyes turned to sadness at the innocent round eyes of children that gazed up from their limp corpse.
All he pictured was instead her: light colored eyes of sky blue with perfect golden hair, more flat than wavy. The coloring of her cheeks perfectly pink turned white, ghost-like in death. Broken bits of her body torn from her flesh like an animal consumed the life straight from her living tissue.
He fought every want to succumb to his emotion. They were bottled so tight, ready to release. He did not know if he would weep or scream. Perhaps, it was the brewing of both: his sorrow at losing the woman he loved so deeply and the anger at himself for not keeping her safe.
A foot solder approached behind his back. The clinking of the chainmail against the armor chest plate echoed in the silence of the dead.
The loud clank of a helmet dropped to the stone.
“Keep that helmet on, solider,” he said through his gritted teeth. “There is still reason to fend for your head.”
“Is your head forfeit then, my Lord?”
It was a voice he convinced himself would never sound in his ears again. He turned around.
There she stood, much like a man, in her armor. An empty sheath hung from her belt. The chill of morning left her breaths clouds sourced from her chapped lips.
She panted heavily. The effort to remain standing dwindled as she swayed.
“Brona,” escaped his lips in disbelief.
Eomer rushed to hold her in his arms. His hands trembled against her body. It was real. No figment of his imagination. It was her. Alive.
He pulled her against his chest. Her weight impacted him fully. She was exhausted.
“Yes, my Lord. I am here.”
“Why did you not come find me?” He murmured. It was a selfish yearning in his heart. To have known she was there would have had him fight harder. Harder to protect her. Harder, to keep them all alive.
She winced as slid his hand between the plates of her shoulder and pulled them down her arms. “You’d have sent me back to the caves.”
Glimpses of her flesh below her tunic showed deep purple and black bruises. Red rashes at her neckline were from the metal chainmail too close to her neck below the armor. He pulled the last heavy pieces off her body showing what woman laid inside. She was not small, nor slender, but woman all the same. A woman who loved flowers and song and enjoyed riding in the yellow light of dawn.
He collected her body into his arms. It relaxed, limply hung by a thread of her energy.
The cots were assembled for the wounded. Eowyn tied a knot at the back of her head to keep it out of the way as she wound a linen wrapping around a bleeding arm. She directed the others tending to the injured around the room.
She rose, wiped the blood from her hands to the white apron tired around her waist, when her eyes caught at Eomer. Her face went pallid.
Not a breath exited her chest as she rushed across the room. A finger ran along her friend’s face. “Is she?”
“No.” He shook his head. “She’s passed out from exhaustion. Dehydrated.”
“Bring her here.”
There was an open space on the floor. A wooden crate was covered with spare comforts that were available. A flat pillow and course blanket.
He frowned. He pulled the cloak from his uniform. It was a luxurious cloth. He slid the fabric over top her body.
His sister handed him a bladder of water. “Drip some into her mouth. I’ll massage her muscles. It will ease the pain.”
He tried to hold the bladder steady. His hands trembled too much. It flicked water over her cheeks down her neck.
Eowyn frowned. “I’ll do this.” She took the water. “You massage her.”
The room was thick with energy. The battle left many wounded, some beyond repair, and many young men dead on the fields that surrounded the grand hall. There were cries of loss, cries of reunion, cries of pain around them.
Neither sibling said a word as they worked on their friend.
Eomer gave a long glance at his sister. Her hands worked at the joints of Brona’s shoulders, rolling them and stretching the muscles with her long fingers. She discovered a split in the skin of Brona’s underarm like the slice of a sword come from behind.
A cold sweat formed at his spine.
War was no place for those with tender hearts. It was horror and gore. It was for the field of monsters and those who became monsters in their fight against monsters.
His innocence was lost on those death fields. The slain bodies full of blood and hate and anger and other worldly tissue filled his mind with no impact anymore. It was like a tapestry woven of a scene. He saw what was before him, but it did not illicit emotion. Just a barren stare.
There was no hope for him. But his love. The beautiful pieces of her soul were light and delicate and glee. They were the bits that he adored. She felt emotions that he could not bring his heart to feel.
What had she endured that night? What savage action had killed that spirit, he wondered. Would she even be the same?
“Did you know?” He bumped his sisters arm with his shoulder. His fingers worked at massaging the left hand. It was the one that held the sword. The grip on a sword for extended periods of time cramped the hand woefully.
Eowyn swallowed but said nothing.
“Eowyn,” he said sternly.
“I only suspected,” she replied with no give in emotion. There was fear for her friend, but no guilt in what had befallen her. “There were too many around. I-I could not see what happened until it was too late.”
“She could have been killed.”
His sister put a palm against Brona’s cheek. She leaned into the touch. “You don’t know what its like. That feeling. Left behind, to wait for everything you love to be stolen from you bit by bit.” His sister placed a gentle kiss atop her forehead. “There is ache in surviving. Being the only one to not be killed in bloody battle. To carry on with the weight of the dead as a reminder of why they perished. It would have killed her, Eomer. Killed her. To have Maynard slain in battle while she lived. She would have not been the same woman we love. I could not ask that of her. Could you?”
Eomer sat there for a few long hours while his duty called at him to rejoin his uncle and regroup his men, he remained by Brona’s side.
His sister’s words echoed within his head.
The shrill heartbreak of cries that came from the caves when the boys were pulled from their mothers. Old men pulled from grandchildren. The women of his country asked to give more than they were willing to survive.
He’d not allowed himself to consider what was done to Brona when they came for her brother.
The fact she changed her clothes with him, made herself a man, just to save his fate from being skewered by an Uruk-hai lance.
Tears were in his eyes when her eyes started to slide open. Her brow flexed in confusion as she looked around her. They stilled when she caught sight of him on side of her cot.
“Eomer,” she breathed.
Her hands touched his cheek. A slip of water fell from his eye. Her thumbs wiped it away.
“Am I dead?”
He shook his head. “No. You should be, but you are not.” His hand trembled as it cupped her cheek. It held her close. The coloring of her face returned. Peachy pink hue touched the tops of her cheek as she stared up at him with those loving eyes. The fear of losing her had near come to fruition. “Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for what I asked of you. Our land was in need. Our people nearly extinct.”
She held the hand against her face. “Forgive me for doing what I must.”
Eomer pulled her into his lap. Her body slowly wrapped around his. Lips pressed against his cheeks. They both forgave what awful betrayal they had done to one another without fulling realizing the devastation it could have caused.
The land was safe. Their loved ones survived the long battle.
The world was far from perfect. It had more trials to endure, but they did not doubt the strength of one another as they faced the terror that grew in the east. For a dark cloud hung over their life, but it did not shade their love.
For more stories on Eomer Eadig and Rohan, please check out my Eomer collection on fanfiction.net!
#lotr#eomer#eadig#rohan#riddermark#lord of the rings#Eowynn#helms deep#uruk-hai#eomerXoc#fanfiction#fanfic#love#romance#oneshot#Battle of Helms Deep#Theoden#survival#fluff#short story
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Lugdush: Lemme get this straight. [Gestures to Merry and Pippin, tied up and looking on warily] We have to somehow get these Halflings -
Ugluk: Yeah.
Lugdush: From here, back to Isengard?
Ugluk: That's the conundrum.
Lugdush: Whoa.
Ugluk: Yeah, internationally...
Lugdush: Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa. Slow down, Einstein.
Ugluk: The way I understand it-
Lugdush: Right.
Ugluk: These Halflings have to go from here...
Lugdush: Right.
Ugluk: ...To Isengard...
Lugdush: Absolutely.
Ugluk: [Stretches in frustration] These Halflings are driving me nuts.
Lugdush: [Pulls up a PowerPoint and points to certain points on said PowerPoint...] Okay. Alright, so we diagrammed it, we've got this part clear. We've got this part clear -
Ugluk: Yes.
Lugdush: This is the only fuzzy part -
Ugluk: The middle.
Lugdush: So we're working on the fuzzy middle.
Ugluk: Yeah.
Lugdush: Okay. [Quiet for a moment.] Explain the problem to me again?
Ugluk: [Leans in, motioning to Merry and Pippin] We have to get these Halflings -
Grishnakh: [Comes in, motioning to Merry and Pippin as well] Hey, do you guys know how to get these to Mordor?
[Ugluk and Lugdush sigh and lean over. Cue FedEx announcing that it doesn't have to be this hard.]
#incorrect lotr quotes#incorrect lord of the rings quotes#the lord of the rings#the lord of the rings books#lord of the rings#lord of the rings books#orcs#uruk-hai#ugluk#grishnakh#the two towers#source:fedex commercial#imagine being Merry or Pippin and listening to THIS debate...
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This is such a powerful moment. The moment it fully sinks in to Grima who he's allied himself with and what he's helped set in motion.
#I love the way Brad Dourif plays this moment#Grima Wormtongue#Saruman#Uruk-hai#The Lord of the Rings#The Two Towers#LotR#they-have-a-cave-troll's GIF#Brad Dourif#Christopher Lee
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During the Fellowship's showdown with the Uruk-hai at the end of Fellowship of the Ring, Aragorn faces up against the enemy's captain, known as Lúrtz. After some epic swordplay (which actor Viggo Mortensen was very skilled at, turns out), Lúrtz throws a dagger at Aragorn, which he expertly deflects with his sword.
This one might be considered more of an act of self-defense than an improvisation. According to legend, the actor playing Lúrtz was meant to throw the dagger far off Mortensen's body, but because of limited vision from his prosthesis, he errantly threw it directly at him. Instinctively, Viggo swatted away the dagger, creating an incredible moment of close-up action. As told by director Peter Jackson: "That was a real knife that was being thrown, and he literally did bat it away with his sword for real: it wasn’t anything fake about it."
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Orcs would love Gossip Girl because they are all gossip girl deep down
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"'Why do you look out? Do you wish to see the greatness of our army? We are the fighting Uruk-hai.'
'I looked out to see the dawn,' said Aragorn.
'What of the dawn?' they jeered. 'We are the Uruk-hai: we do not stop the fight for day or night, for fair weather or for storm. We come to kill, by sun or moon. What of the dawn?'
'None knows what the new day shall bring him,' said Aragorn. 'Get you gone, ere it turn to your evil.'"
-Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
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On Repeated Visits
A friend from work asked me why I went back to Middle-Earth: Shadow of War so often. They're the Tolkien Purist type, the exact sort that wrinkles its nose at The Rings of Power.
I shrugged. I don't care much for Talion and Celebrimbor and the timeline getting Batman-Backbreaker'd in half in order to accomodate the designers' desire to design a city inhabited by Men without invoking Minas Tirith really didn't strike me as being sacrilegious. I don't need Everything Tolkien to be focused on Hobbits and I really don't mind Monolith ignoring and twisting huge swaths of the lore, not when said lore remains accessible in its correct form, through the Silmarilion and the Unfinished Tales.
I like Shadow of War that much because it gives one of the least-represented groups a voice, and does it in a way that respects their posture as antagonists while still adding more to the fire than the usual "Well, dur, the Uruk-Hai were made by Sauron, of course they'd follow him!"
SoW's Uruk can be seen and heard bickering, debating Ethics during wartime, behaving as much like weary soldiers as they would like the caricature of shellshocked pricks with War Crimes charges waiting in the rinks. You can see them trying to dodge conscription in hunting parties or raid groups, or step aside to question orders on the sly. They function off of woefully incorrect and incomplete information, yes - but they're asking all the right questions. They're like companies in Vietnam that went on for too long without furlough; the pecking order gets challenged, authority crumbles and the occupying force's fault lines are laid bare. They're shoddily trained and taught to think of themselves as the Bestest Evar, and some come achingly close to realizing that their training modes are insufficient. They're all clamoring for something better, but were never taught what to ask for, what to expect.
And so, logically, they hate those who have it better. The better-trained with palatable rations and properly-developed skills. Those who were given processing skills to tolerate the rigors of war without snapping. The Men of Gondor and the Elves of Rivendell or Lorien. Their aversion to light isn't just an affect of their starting as troglodytes, it marks their finding the other races' acquired power and wisdom as being insulting to their own efforts. It speaks to a massive inferiority complex and a sense of envy that's pervasive in their culture, that they see as more or less smothered away behind their hatred.
In my mind, the Orcs aren't really hateful - they're envious. They just can't process this correctly, being the product of generalized trauma. It speaks of Sauron as being an absent ruler and commander, an abusive father, an incompetent figure of authority and a force of Evil for whom the only driving factor is his absolute pugnaciousness. Sauron is very much a Karen, and he's spent two Ages of Middle-Earth's history trying to Speak to the Manager.
With that in mind, how could you not pity the Orcs and find them several orders of magnitude more interesting than Arda's better-adjusted races?
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These are all very old, but they still hold up pretty well, unlike most of my older stuff
The Witch-King, Durin (maybe VI), and a captain of Isengard
The WK's helmet/crown is sort of based off Tolkien's sketch of the crown of Gondor and some designs I drew up for some regular Gondorian helms
He's dressed in a full-body outfit that's held to his body by leather straps, it's hard to make well-fitting clothes for him since his measurements are a biiiiit tricky to take
Neither of his hands are good, his left especially (which is why it's subtly cropped out of frame), otherwise there's nothing here that I think is tooo clumsy
Designwise there's not much I'd change, I'd just remove the spike from his helmet (I remembered immediately after I drew it that he wears his hood over it), add some more weapons and stuff to his belt, and decorate his armour a bit (i have a different design for him as the ruler of angmar that's much fancier and i reeeeeally wanna draw that again now, so stay tuned for that)
Durin's crown is based on the design on the West-gate of Moria, just fancied up a bit
His shield is based on one from Tolkien's drawing of Smaug, but he really deserves a prettier one :P
I thought a hammer would be a cool, it's ceremonial and made of gold, silver, and pearl
I think his design and the drawing holds up basically to how I'd do it today, though the mail's a little too dark (oh and I wouldn't give him the chausses, since I mostly tie those to Dáin and the dwarves of the Iron Hills)
The Uruk is still really really good from every aspect to me
The feathers in his helmet mark him as a captain, worn in a plume like Men wear them, and they're eagle feathers that he bullied out of some mountain Orcs for some extra flair
The cape is just for decoration, unlike in Mordor where it denotes status
Same goes for the fur over his shoulders
He could use a shield and some other equipment I guess, but otherwise there's not really anything I'd change about him!!
(yeah pretty much every single one of my older drawings is in the same pose from the exact same angle, it was a hard habit to break XP)
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Not quite done with these lads, but they're very nearly there. Their skin needs a post-wash highlight, and there are few details like the banner and the goblin's head to do. And bases, of course, but I've got another entire squad also waiting for that.
I had 46 uruk-hai scouts to paint, and I still have 18 left, but I painted a little more than 3 non-uruk minis this month, so I'm going to call this Orktober Uruktober a success. Glamour shots for Orktober once I can get everything sealed.
My lovely assistant, without whom I wouldn't have all these lovely puncture wounds.
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