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Do you smell it? The scent of fear? I remember your father reeked of it... Thorin, son of Thrain.
— Azog to Thorin Oakenshield

Azog, the Defiler was a Gundabad orc who acted as the chieftain of the Morian orcs. He was considered the strongest orc to ever walk Middle-Earth and the greatest menace towards the dwarven race. After Smaug had driven them out of Erebor, King Thror led his people back to Moria where Azog reigned as its new lord. The Pale Orc and his armies fought the stalwart dwarves in a deathly battle where he managed to kill Thror himself. This act drove his son, Thrain, mad, but drove his grandson, Thorin enraged. Despite Azog's advantage, he learned the painful lesson to not mess with dwarves after the dwarf prince cut his left hand off.

He was believed to have died from his wounds after getting dragged to Moria. That happened to be untrue as he continued to plot against Durin's Folk: his newfound obsession. After embarking on a wild hunt, Azog nearly killed Thorin if it wasn't for the intervention of the Great Eagles. This didn't set back his plans and the chieftain returned to his dark master, given control over a monstrous army that later fought against the combined forces of men, elves, dwarves, and beasts. In the disastrous Battle of Five Armies, Azog battled his hated nemesis for the last time and succeeded in his quest to end Thorin's bloodline. For all his success however, Azog died alongside Thorin, ending his reign of terror over Middle-Earth.

Battle vs. Belegar Ironhammer (by Monkey Doctor 33)[]

A decrepit old town lies in the middle of a cold night in winter, with two mysterious moons that glow as brightly as one another hanging above it. No one is in the settlement, but it's quite unsettling to see its tidiness and how its buildings are lit up with a decent amount of lights. Snow falls on to the town in the silent night and strange magical winds blow throughout the lands. The landscape surrounding it isn't exactly natural, as well. Two drastically different mountains flank the town and within them, two separate strongholds are built into. They are both built by dwarves of different worlds: worlds that have collided this very night to settle a long-standing grudge.

A small yet stout figure treads through the town's snowy grounds, holding a hammer, shield, and torch. Hailing from Karak Eight Peaks, north of the settlement, Belegar Ironhammer of Clan Angrund has descended from his former rightful seat of power to the town. Before the end of the world, his journey to reclaim his home came to an end when the vile rat-men of Chaos smashed him and his army apart. He isn't sure why he's back to life, but his priority as of now is to find a place other than his cursed city to stay in.

As he walks around the town, he investigates the houses and buildings scattered around to find a place to sleep in. Though he is still fresh as if he's in his prime, he prefers to play it safe and not repeat the last mistake he did. After he silently scanned the environment, Belegar approaches a nearby tavern. Oil lamps brightly light up the place, and he can already feel the warmth radiating from inside it.

"Is there anyone inside?", Belegar knocks on the door and asks with a neutral tone in the humans' language, keeping down his voice to avoid attracting potential threats. He doesn't know if he's still in the Old World, but from what he knows, many night creatures prowl at this time. Especially when both Morrslieb and Mannslieb hang high and bright upon the skies.

Several seconds pass and no response is heard. He once again knocks on the door, three times. After waiting and knocking for multiple times without a response, Belegar decides to just barge in and wreck the locked door with his hammer. Before he can wind up his hammer, however, he instinctively picks up a distinct scent coming somewhere around the town. He can't tell how far, but he can tell whoever has that scent isn't all that far. All those time inside the dungeons of the Eight Peaks has trained his nose to differentiate the smell of his kin, the Greenskins, and the rat-men. His sense suggests that he's picking up the second, but something is unnatural about this one. Whoever is in this town with him, he or she may have to deal with the Ironhammer one way or another. Belegar quickly extinguishes and throws away his torch, taking cover behind a wagon to scout out who's coming his way.

A distance away, a figure of immense stature stands tall and walks around the place, a giant ball-and-chain towed on his right hand. He is Azog the Defiler, enemy to the line of Durin and a dark servant of Sauron. Years before his master's demise, he had died on Ravenhill to his nemesis, Thorin Oakenshield, and truly his death was a disappointment to the Dark Lord. While unlikely, Azog believes that his resurrection is a second chance for him to prove his worth in front of Sauron.

Azog heard the unmistakable language of the humans, accompanied with a thick accent that suggests the presence of a dwarf, albeit a foreign one. For all the hunts he embarked upon Thorin and his party and Azanulbizar, he has never heard a dwarf like this one. One of Durin's Folk or not, he will take joy in whatever dwarven victim he comes across tonight.


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