Language for a Language
Eastern Edge of Mirkwood -- The East Bight
The great forest narrows greatly in this region into the area known as the East Bight. Two Edges of the forest can be seen stretching out in a long arm south and east as well as north and east causing a harbour type effect here. The line of the trees is the only thing you can make out in the harsh daylight besides the great bulge of the forest to spanning the entire western portion of your line of vision.
Rain falls through the autumn chilly air, wetting the cold and wet plains and forest floor about the trees. The sun is hid behind the grey storm clouds hovering about the forest.
NorthWest, East, NorthEast, West, and SouthEast
[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Early Morning on Monday, Day 5 of September.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 17:25:30 MDT on Sun Dec 13 2009.
A puff of vaporous fumes heralds the hunched form that emerges from the Shaman's tent set in a farther corner of the camp there is an annoyed snarl as Bagaglok coughs, his red-garbed shape promptly hidden behind the strange veil of smoke and whatever else the foul cloud contains. The spectacle draws the attention of a few of the passing Snaga now, and the Malkog pauses only to cast a yellow-eyed glare in their general direction. Others take no interest, and carry on with their routine tasks such as lugging firewood. There is a bottle and bandages clasped within Bagaglok's blackened claws, and his gaze looks from side to side, roving over the flurry of movement as though searching for something or someone.
[Mara(#22296)] The slight high priestess moves carefully and stiffly around the camp, staying near the camp. There is a flurry of cursing as she bends down too far and falls down the rest of the way, her neat black hair falling out of its bun.
The chorus of foul words perks the other's ears, and the Shaman turns a little to the side to catch sight of the woman now lying upon the ground nearby. An eyebrow quirks, ere the Orc's fanged mouth curls into a grin. "That is a most colorful vocabulary," he remarks, pacing forward to a halt beside the priestess judging by his expression, it would appear this is the person he had been waiting for. The things he holds are moved into one hand. "Do you require help to stand?" asks Bagaglok, and he indicates a log placed outside the Shaman's tent to the left. "You seem better than last I saw you, but clearly there is still room for improvement. Come, and I'll see what I can do."
[Mara(#22296)] The slight high priestess closes her eyes for a few moments and then counts slowly backwards from 10 in Morbeth before replying. "Please. I...apologize. I am not used to not being on my feet."
The Malkog gives a nod, though at the same time the counting seems to attract a good deal of his attention a curious look of interest crosses the uruk's features, but just as quickly it is gone. He offers out the free hand to aid the other back upon her feet. "I take it you must ride more oft, then? The horse, how fares its health?" The questions are more idle chatter than anything else, spoken more to distract the lady from pain.
[Mara(#22296)] Taking the Shaman's hand, the slight woman pulls gently, trying to right herself. "The horse died in the battle," she says softly. "But there are other horses. How do you fare? The others?"
"I fare well enough," the other answers, giving a lopsided shrug of his shoulders, though doing so causes a grimace. "The wretched dwarf's pick failed to do as much damage as its wielder had no doubt intended." Now that the priestess is standing, the claw is free once more and it reaches down to push a part of the scarlet robes out of the way white cloth is wrapped around the Orc's midsection, and the left side bears signs of a dark stain. "I shall have to change them soon," is the simple comment. "As for the others, the little who were able to make the retreat are being tended to wounds are healing, though it requires more to cure the camp's morale. The Rakarg, Rhorikh, was in a most foul mood the other night."
Then, keeping close in case the woman becomes unsteady again, Bagaglok begins to lead her toward the proffered log.
[Mara(#22296)] "I suspect that the Rakarg is usually in a foul mood," the slight high priestess says. Her mail is completely off and her usual black robe has been replaced with a tunic and black trousers for riding. "Is there anything I can help with? While my movement is still limited, I am a strong healer by the grace of the Dark Lord."
As he comes to a stop to stand beside the log outside the tent, Bagaglok waits for the other to sit. A pause comes then, as he considers the lady's words. "It is not healing that I am interested in," comes the response slowly, "though the offer is appreciated, I assure you. The language of the Black Land--you spoke this earlier. This I am more intent on, for I have yet much to learn of the Shadow Tongue. Can you instruct me in it? Perhaps I can exchange my own healing services for lessons, if you would oblige."
[Mara(#22296)] The slight high priestess's face changes with a smile, the light even going to her eyes. "Of course, though perhaps it would be more apt to trade it for more lessons in the speech of your people, for I wish to learn it better." Mara sighs and stretches and them smiles again a bit ruefully. "I fear the words you heard just now were not the most...apt..for talking to the Dark Lord."
Bagaglok grins. "No, I would imagine they weren't the most prudent to speak in His name." He nods then. "Language for a language sounds like a fair deal. I shall do my best to teach you anything you would wish to understand better." The yellow eyes glance the woman's condition over. "First it seems I should see to cleaning your arrow-wound, if you still desire me to do so. While I tend to that, we can initiate these lessons, perhaps."
[Mara(#22296)] "I would appreciate that," the slight woman says softly, moving her tunic aside to reveal the bandaged wound and grimacing. "Perhaps first a lesson in herb names?"
The Shaman kneels to the side, placing the bottle and clean bandages he was holding down for now. Reaching for the dirtied cloth about his patient's middle, he works quickly and carefully to remove it without causing too much irritation. After this is done, Bagaglok picks up the bottle again and dabs the injury with the dark contents before taking a new piece of cloth and rewrapping the wound. As he works, he listens as the other begins listing off various plant and herb names.
"Thank you, comrade," he says. "Those will prove particularly useful, and are easier for me to remember, considering my work oft involves many of them. Now for yours: what would you want to know more of? You are versed in Mordain Uruk in regard to general conversation?"
HEALING: Mara has no critical wounds and you'd categorize her condition as fair.
HEALING: You administer some aid to Mara.
[Mara(#22296)] The slight woman breathes slowly and then smiles. "Thank you for this. I hope that the lessons will be adequate repayment." There is a pause and the woman seems to stand straight only with much effort. "I know enough Mordain Uruk to...get myself in trouble."
Indeed it is good repayment, and the satisfied look on the Shaman's face would indicate the appreciation. "The cursings will do that, yes," the goblin offers a pointy-toothed smile, "but that would depend on whom who spoke them to. So you still wish to learn more, after acknowledging this? Then, I can explain some of the more common expressions used by the uruks around here."
Bagaglok proceedes to count off various words in the orcish tongue, and their rough translation. "Again, a few of those you might want to avoid saying in -certain- company," he warns.
[Mara(#22296)] "I would be most grateful for the distraction from the pain," the slight high priestess says, putting her tunic back down over her bandages.
The Shaman nods. "I have never had someone complain about feeling less pain. Of course, that is not generally something one should say around Orcs either we would be eager to accommodate his or her wish." The bottle is capped, and the rest of the supplies are gathered back up. Stowing them away beneath the red cloak, Bagaglok pushes himself slowly to his feet. "Soon the poultice should begin to do its work, but until then the most important thing is for you to get rest. The wound is already looking much better than it had last time."
I thank you again for your lesson. Become well soon. You know where to find me if you are in need of something more." He gives an inclination of his head to the high priestess, ere turning to head for the open flap of the Shaman tent.