Shadowy Healing

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Dawn on Sunday, Day 15 of January.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 16:36:52 MDT on Mon Sep 27 2010.

Mirkwood

The view is blocked in most directions by towering dark trunks, holding heavy and crooked boughs hight above the ground. The gloomy ancient forest seems to draw more and more strenght from you as you travel deeper. Beneath you feets the forestbottom is wet and icy and around you the dawn winter air is shivery.
The dim light hurt your eyes a little, but you think you can make out a gap between the trees west of you.

It is raining. You can hear the raindrops fall all around you and you are soon drenched. The rain sprinkles down slowly making the ground muddy.

Contents:
Pishgob
Witch-king
Mara
Bugzlok
Uruk Camp(#25568en)
Morian Orc Camp
Orc Raiding Party(#18007n)

[Bagurat(#24847)]
It is the chilly gray hour before dawn, and the rare bits of sky that can be glimsped through the darkling forest roof are heavy with storm clouds. A light rain has taken hold, pitter-pattering over black leaves. Multitudes of fires dance across the length of the Mordain encampment, and they are large and greedily fueled to keep them roaring despite the wetness that falls from above. Sickly smells of burning flesh have already begun to waft upon the winter air as cooks prepare the army's morning meal, and the hundreds of orcs that tramp about are as pleasantly noisy as ever.

Sitting on the cold muddy ground in front of one of the firepits is Bagurat, and currently she holds aloft what appears to be an old black-stained bandage. Setting both claws upon it, she begins to tear it into small pieces, and then proceeds to fling them one by one into the flames.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
It is then that a shiver runs through the orc encampment, a nameless fear slipping through the ranks of uruk-hai as the darkness might seem to grow blacker still around their fires. Many have by now come to know the cause of this strange dread, but even as some orcs glare and peer about there seems little sign of the horseman who usually accompanies the chill.

Save, that is, for a tall, shadow-wrapped figure striding from the woods beyond, moving within the camp with neither pomp nor ceremony. Bagurat seems to be his quarry, for those that step into his path and pushed aside, and while those close by catch a glimpse of the familiar figure, most go on with their raucous business merely slightly subdued.

To the Shaman's side this figure steals, and a deep cowl masks as ever the features of the shadows' lord.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
The shaman meanwhile, continues to toss the bits of material into the firepit, contentedly watching as they are curled to cinders. But an unnatural chill seeps about the tents, and her head rises. Then, shivering, the witch-orc glances about from behind the mask covering her face, and the yellow lights within the eyeholes would seem to dim slightly.

Quickly though painfully Bagurat pushes herself to her feet, and turns around. "I thought," her voice begins, uncertain, "you would not be coming again?" Now that the shadowy thing has come close enough for her to recognize the figure within, she bows her head.

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Emerging from the woods and entering the Mordain camp is the Uruk Scout Bugzlok, with him are some ten other scouts, they are all filthy, covered in mud and grime. Looking to the other scouts Bugzloks hisses at them saying "Go get some gruel.." then looking about the camp he eyes the shaman and begins to slowly make his way over towards her, shivering slightly he looks to the dark shadowy figure, and as if walking into a wall he stops in his tracks, frozen as he looks to the pair.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
The black-robes figure nods his cowl to Bagurat, ere a thin, rasping voice seeps out in answer. "I will bide my time, concerning the Elves," he hisses. "Unless there is great need, I will save my most dreadful blow until it will be felt the hardest. But I am watching, my Shaman, always watching, and I see your wounds. I have come to dress them myself."

The hood twitches then, espying Bugzlok it would appear, and beckons him closer with a gloved finger.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
An odd sound comes from behind the metal beak at the shadowy-figure's announcement -- a gasp of fear? Awe? Whatever it is, Bagurat dares a peek upward at the darkness within the cowl, and then shifts her gaze away once more. "You cannot touch me," she answers after a moment, "Shrieker...I am not worthy." As the scout is beckoned to, the shaman takes the moment to glance Bugzlok's way.

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Seeing the shadowy figure beckon him, Bugzlok begins to approach, gulping rather hard as he walks over. Bowing his head as he nears, he shivers once again "Yes Shrieker.." his eyes do not leave the cold muddy ground, rather he turns to the shaman a moment and says "Shaman.."

[Witch-king(#28583)]
"Perhaps not," says the Wraith-lord to Bagurat, "but you are the fittest of those gathered, and I shall make you even more fitting. Reveal to me your wound..." he commands, ignoring Bugzlok for the moment but no doubt expecting his obedience.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
The witch-orc stretches out her right arm, pulling up the black sleeve to expose a long gash thereon. With her other claw Bagurat gestures to her shoulder, explaining, "And an arrow wound, there, from one of the wretched albai."

She peers back to Bugzlok. "My scout here, also suffered a hit from one of their darts, though I think it might have healed faster than mine?" The words are directed to the scout in question.

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Not moving Bugzlok listens to the shadowy shrieker, his eyes do not dare look upon him, rather they are fixed upon the muddy ground, though as the witch-orc speaks he looks to her and tries to glance at her wounds, as she mentions his own wound he looks to where the arrow stuck his arm and says "The Albai arrows merely scratched.. Tis not worthy of care."

[Witch-king(#28583)]
The cowl of the Morgul lord dips then to seemingly inspect the Shaman's wound, a low hiss slipping from the depths as his gloved hand reaches out to stroke the damaged flesh. "The sting of the Elves is strong, but small matter for me. I shall reknit your flesh, and your shall be given strength beyond your due to revenge yourself upon them..."

[Bagurat(#24847)]
Bagurat remains silent, still as stone for the most part as the dread specter speaks on. But then his hand reaches forth, and its cold touch causes her to involuntarily jerk away slightly, shivering again.

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Watching closely as the Dark Shrieker looks at the Witch-Orcs wounds, Bugzlok once again bows his head, though his eyes stay fixed upon the Witch, not even remotely glancing at the Shrieker. As he waits he wipes some bud off of his arm and flings it upon the ground at his feet, seeing the Witch-Orc jerk away, he shivers and continues to stand still, still as stone.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
The rasp of the Ringwraith turns harsher still as Bagurat jerks away her arm, and within the cowl two crimson fires burn for her benefit. "Still your arm, Shaman, or I shall find another with greater resolve!" he seethes, and for a moment the shadows beyond the firelight might be said to stir and roil.

But then the livid glare turns to the witch-orc's wound anew, and in a low, forgotten tongue the Morgul lord apparently beging an incantation. Foul black fog seeps from his hood to the Shaman's flesh, and though they remain lit, the nearby firelight seems to dampen and quake. Gloved fingers stroke the marred skin of Bagurat, and those orcs within earshot shudder as though hearing something dreadful.

[Combat Function Library(#15)] Witch-king tends to the injuries on Bagurat.
HEALING: Witch-king attempts to treat your wounds...

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Shivering and shaking as the Dark Shrieker performs his magic, though whilst he shakes he does not dare look up, rather he continues to stare at the ground, as the fires darken he glances over and watches as the Uruks nearby shake and cower in fear with him.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
"No," answers the shaman at last, glancing upward briefly anew, "I will prove my resolve, Shrieker." Even as this is said her small frame trembles again, though this time with the effort of keeping her arm still as the foul mist and words assail it.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
As he works, the Wraith-lord's power would seem to pour into Bagurat's flesh, for slowly, as he speaks her wound closes though the result is far from fair. An ugly, strangely coloured scar is writ into her skin by the time his incantation ends, and releasing her arm he draws himself up to his full height anew.

Turning the cowl then to regard Bugzlok, the fires of his eyes do not fade, even as the light of the campfires begins to assert itself once more. "Does my Shaman's scout need similar assistance, or does his stomach churn and his courage leave him?"

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Standing up strait though bowing his head, Bugzlok says in a clear voice "My courage is strong, my wounds are not in need of healing Shrieker." Rolling up his sleeve to show that the cut is nearly healed "It will take more than foul arrows of the tree rats to fall me shrieker.."

[Bagurat(#24847)]
There is a strange discomforting feeling on the wounded arm suddenly, and then the pressure from the gloved hand seems to have withdrawn. Slowly, the witch-orc lowers her mask to peer upon the new ugly scar, and she pokes it curiously, amazedly with her finger. "Its-" she starts, then swallows. "I am honored," supplies Bagurat by way of orcish thanks.

"Indeed," the shaman turns toward the scout, and offers a nod. "Your skill with the blade has improved. I have seen it, and felt the bite of it for myself."

[Witch-king(#28583)]
A nod then from the cowl of the Witch-king, and his gaze smoulders and fades within its depths once more the shadows of the forest dance only to the guidance of the flickering firelight. "Then it is done, and your strength returned. Do not fail me, slaves," he rasps at the last, ere he turns to stalk his way back toward the waiting woods.

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Hearing the words of the Shaman, Bugzlok says "I am using that skill amongst the Scouts, teaching them what they need to know, for it seems many have forgotten under the old commander." spitting upon the ground he watches as the Shrieker leaves, shivering slightly once again he breaths a sigh of relief as he leaves.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
It is not until the dread lord leaves, and the ethereal cold with him, that Bagurat turns back around to face the second orc. "That is good," says she in approval. "They must be ready for what is to come, if we are to emerge in triumph for the Master. And how has your gift been serving you? Better protection than your old suit. Now you can deal more harm to our enemies."

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         A nod is given and then Bugzlok says "It has saved me yes, allows me more chances to gut our enemies." A sly smile appears upon his lips and he says "It shall be of great use when we face the tree rats again." pounding his chest with his fist "Their sharp blades will have a hard time cutting though this."

[Bagurat(#24847)]
"Though arrows," the shaman points to the torn robes at her side, even though the damage has now been healed, "you must still be wary of. They like to irritatingly find their way through the rings, and stick."

With a last glance to the dark wood beyond, Bagurat begins to step away from the fire and further into the camp but she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder, and beckons to Bugzlok. "Come with me, for I think I have found something that might interest you. There is a tome in my tent, detailing a few creative manners of deaths, torture, and how to perform them." Her tone turns horridly amused, "Might be..fun to experiment with them on any who earn your dissatisfaction."

[Bugzlok(#11425)]
         Nodding his head the Scout listens to the shaman, then hearing about torture he grins and follows her saying "I would enjoy such a tome." his tone is full of a rather creepy evil happiness.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
As the scout follows, the witch-orc slips off to lead the way, and her voice has turned into an unpleasant crooning as she lists off, "Flaying, stretching intestines, removing eyelids...useful things." And Bagurat pushes her way on ahead through a group of uruks.