Spooked

Old Forest Road
The wood closes tightly about the ancient path, bottlenecking it into a thin 10 foot wide tunnel. Furry oaks and conifers, tall and spindley at ground level, dominate the wood. All around you is quiet and foreboding, like your appearance interupted the natural course of things.

The warm summer dawn seems calm enough, if not a bit spooky. The road continues its ancient, grass covered path to the east and west, marked and carved by centuries of hard travel.

The faint glimmer of twinkling stars can be seen through the thin, exposed slice in the trees around you.

Contents:
Formin
Farak
Erebor Caravan
Obvious exits:
SouthWest, NorthWest, East, and West

ooc note: I didn't catch the start of the log, but basic scene is Erebor camp sleeping on the Road, with Formin and Farak conversing near a firepit. 

[Formin(#26827)] "Eh, all of the above again" Formin answers again. "Mostly the travel bit though. Dwarves our age ought to have a late-life crisis or somesuch, don't you think? Aye well, this is mine. Smithied in the Iron Hills and the Lonely Mountain all my life, most exciting story I had to tell was of the retaking of Erebor and the Battle of the Five Armies and the like. So, said I to myself, about time to see the world before this irritating evil and darkness and such takes over, eh? Ah but now there goes the gloominess again. Never mind me."

[Farak(#26511)]
         Nodding his head Farak says "I agree, so many never leave their forge or mine, and then speak of regret." pausing a moment "I have traveled little in my life, spending most studying ancient scripture and our histories. It is time not only read of the goings on, but live them."

[Formin(#26827)] "Indeed, my thoughts!" Formin chuckles again, coughing slightly around the blue-smoke of his pipe. "Besides, there are altogether too many folk who mutter we dwarves are all content to stay in our halls. Hah! Many were there who said also we would never again live in Erebor. Never fall into a simple set of labels, say I. So you are a reader of history? Ah, then I should wager you are of Mazarbul, are you not?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
A clump of high foliage at one side of the road stirs as if tossed by a sudden unfelt breeze. A thin brown neck emerges slowly on the head sit a pair of antlers. That pronged head turns carefully, cautiously, and fixes the dwarven encampment with wide curious eyes. The young stag stays motionless as the tree bole behind it, and it watches from the safe distance. An ear pricks and tilts in rhythm to the sounds of gruff voices.

[Farak(#26511)]
         With a smile Farak says "That I am Master Formin" Looking into the fire and watching it for a moment "Many are content to continue their works, which is an honorable ambition, but I myself need a slight change of pace from time to time." Grabbing a small bag near his feet and pulling some salted meat he pulls a chunk off and takes a bite, then looking to Formin with a offering glance.

[Formin(#26827)] "Nay thanks, cousin," says the silversmith, waving away Farak's offering. "I am content to choke myself upon smoke this night." He grins, then shakes his head. "What think you of the elves then? These merry and yet not-so-merry folk who follow us along the road for our protection, eh? There's not a few of our party who little like our escort."

[Farak(#26511)]
         Chewing a bit on the meat Farak says "I do not like the elves, but having them as our escort of such does not anger me, for I would hate to think how the events of the other night would have unfolded without their assistance." taking another bite "Though I can not stand the fact that they are expecting payment of assisting allies."

[Formin(#26827)] "They don't usually, as I understand it," says Formin, chewing thoughfully on the end of his pipe again. "I believe the Moody King of Elves' thought was to levy a payment in reparation for breaking the terms of a treaty between he and King Dain. My cousin once tried to explain it to me. Seems the elves want to know when we dwarves are to travel the Old Forest Road, that they might protect us." Formin gives a bark of a laugh, disbelief evident in it. "I wonder if they ask the same of the men of Dale, eh? Shall we ask if they request to be informed by the goblins and other terrible creatures of this place whenever they trespass into the realm of the elves?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The stag has meanwhile has begun to nibble at the tall grass around its feet. Even with its head lowered and blades of green protruding from its mouth, the creature still keeps a wary eye upon the figures beyond and the lights of the fires. The bush beside it rustles softly once more as it moves slightly to the left to get at a particularly juicy looking collection of undergrowth.

[Farak(#26511)]
         With an irritated laugh Farak says "The audacity of the elves.." Taking another bite of meat and then pushing his bag away he chews for a moment and says "We must ask permission.." grunting his disapproval and returning his now cooled pipe to a pouch at his side. "Let us change the topic of discussion shall we."

[Formin(#26827)] "Indeed," says Formin, chuckling. "And yet for all that, I do not think the elves such a bad sort, in fact. Laughable, certainly, but that is not unusual for me. Ah, but as you wish." He taps the stem of his pipe against his lips, briefly listening the rustling and creaking of the forest about them. "Well, perhaps we should speak not at all. Indeed, you were clearly deep in thought when I interrupted you, cousin. And truly, I take no offense at being informed that I speak far too much. Indeed, you would not be the first to say so, I assure you."

[Farak(#26511)]
         Listening carefully to the sounds of the forest Farak looks across the camp staring into the darkness, looking for something that may or maynot be there. Looking to Fromin he says "Tprotect us"he sounds of the wood make one uneasy and on edge." Closing his eyes and bowing his head he speakes softly under his breath, slowly opening his eyes "Maker keep us safe"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
There is a subtle hissing sound as of leaves whispering against one another. The stag pauses in it chewing, and its neck straightens quickly. It is motionless again, and its ears are poised behind, listening intensely to the forest to the south.

After several moments, the animal bolts, as though suddenly startled. Its cloven feet skitter over dirt and grass as it springs onto the road from its haven of foliage. Clearly, it is less afraid of the dwarves than it is of whatever spooked it. Over the old road it bounds, heading past the encampment (still at a respectable distance) before it vanishes into the forest on the opposite side of the ancient pathway.

[Formin(#26827)] "Mm, that's one way of putting it," Formin replies, mistaking Farak's muttered prayer as some sort of reply to his own offer to be silence. Yet he seems not offended, grinning instead. At least, until the stag bolts. The rustle of undergrowth brings Formin sitting upright, all good cheer banished at the sound of a large animal crashing about

in the forest. The silversmith fair starts when the shape of the stag bounds onto the road and off it again almost before he has time to blink. One of Formin's hands rests on the pommel of his short broadsword, but he visibly relaxes for the deer disappears again. "A stag. One of the more harmless residents of this wood, it would seem."

[Farak(#26511)]
         Upon his feet and hand upon his Mace Farak listens to the words of Formin and says "But what caused the Stag to bolt in such a fashion?" Looking about into the darkness hand still upon his mace "A Stag would not bolt so close to firelight and the sounds of our voices if it were not spooked by something else."

 Also hearing and seeing the stag Guards about the camp draw there weapons, peering into the darkness for anything that may be hiding in the darkness. As they search many speak to one and other about possibilities.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Possibilites... none present themselves for certain the forest has fallen silent in the wake of the deer's flight. Nothing stirs. Nothing can be seen. The darkness lies heavy, forebodingly in this gloomy place. It is the wood's reminder -- Mirkwood is not the most cheerful of obstacles for travelers to cross...

[Formin(#26827)] "Ah I can think of not a few things that would so spook an animal," says Formin, slowly hauling himself to his feet as if obligated to now that Farak stands. "A fair few might be hostile to us, I shouldn't wonder, but not all. By Durin, a tree creaks in this place and I find myself wary. Goblins, wargs, trolls, what shall it be now, I wonder." He comes to stand next to Farak, but his whole person seems unnaturally relaxed, his tone glib.

[Farak(#26511)]
         Looking about the darkness once more Farak says to Formin "I think most will be on edge up until we leave this place." Hand still upon his mace he sighs heavily and says nothing just continues to look about the dark and forbidding forest.

 The guards continue to move about the camp, weapons in hand peering into the darkness and mumbling to each other.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Silence.

And then, for a third time, the foliage quivers, now in the spot the deer had once stood grazing. Twin points of red gleam from between the gnarled branches of a bush, and there is the sound of sniffing. A long spidery-fingered hand carefully stretches an arrow to a bow string. The hand pulls back to the bottom of a twisted ear, and releases. With an unmistakable whine, the black feathered shaft flies through the air, before falling among the fires of the camp at an angle. Poorly aimed, at that, for it hits smack into the roaring flames of one firepit, and is gone therein.

[Formin(#26827)] The fire before Formin spits suddenly, coughing up red embers of wood at the silversmith's feet. He starts at that and quickly stomps at the glowering little faggots of wood, but once he has ensured he is not about to be ablaze, his eyes wander to the flames of the fire itself. And then Formin's glibness rapidly fades. "Do you know, I think you might be right, cousin," he says quietly and then his voice is rising. "Dwarves awake! Attack from the south!" Even as he shouts, he points at the arrow in the midst of the fire, even now with flames crawling up its shaft.

[Farak(#26511)]
         Seeing the arrow strike the fire in font of him Farak looks to Formin for a second as he draws draws his Mace, looking at his robes to ensure he is not on fire he hears the words of Formin and echoes the call "Dwarves, we are under attack" Grabbing his shield from the ground beside him he adorns it as well and looks from where the arrow came from.

 The guards among the camp look about the darkness Weapons at the ready looking for the enemy and shouting to one and other.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
It seems the attack in the south is lacking. A single arrow has been fired, none more. Surely more would have been shot if an army was skulking in the shadows? Then, again perhaps stealth is more important this night to the creatures of darkness.

The bush rustles more violently this time, and ever so slowly, a skinny gray leg emerges, and then another, and then finally the whole form of a scrawny pitiful looking creature. As it waits on the edge of the road, its breathes come in ragged pants that might be exhaustion, nervousness, excitement, or all mixed together. The rag-clothed orc stands for a moment, bow still clenched in its claws as it blinks feriously against the bright lights of the fires. Slowly, reluctantly the creature holds up a hand, palm out, in token of parley. A ruse? Perhaps. It licks its lips and swallows.

[Formin(#26827)] The camp is indeed rousing, but in the chaotic manner that usually accompanies the sudden emergence from sleep. Formin's sword is drawn and his shield comes down off his back into a defensive position, but he searches the shadows blindly, poor eyesight seeing next to nothing in the darkness. But not nothing entirely. For a the shape of a ragged orc appears suddenly, almost tumbling from the shaking bushes at the edge of the road. Formin's eyes narrow.

"Afraid I don't read palms, my lad," says the silversmith, unmoving. "If you want your future told, you'll have to come closer."

[Farak(#26511)]
         Faraks eyes spot the shadowy figure and he takes up a defensive position and shield in front and Mace at the ready. Taking a few steps forward he shouts in a very agitated tone "We dont like visitors in the night, what exactly do you want! Speak quickly before you are cut down!!"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Ssss," with a sharp hissing of breath, the crimson eyes dart over as Formin speaks. "Don't want my future told," the goblin spits. "Already know what you'd say." He gives the dwarven weapons a meaningful glare. The unpleasant hissing quickly turns into a small squeak of fright at Farak's agitated advancement, and the creature flinches instinctively. For a moment he almost flees. But does not.

"No cutting!" the orc whines, tugging upon an ear. "Just wants to deliver a message..." The expression turns slightly malicious. "No more steps now. I's got a group of lads out there with plently more arrows." He manages a laugh, which may or may not hide the hints of a lie.

[Formin(#26827)] "A message, hah!" Formin grumbles back at the raggedy orc. But then he lowers his voice and leans towards Farak. "Figures they'd send the squeaky little one for a dead man's job. Let him talk a moment." He straightens up again, then growls back at their messenger. "Go on and speak then and maybe we'll stop making steps. But hurry up, eh, your whining's giving me a headache as it is."

[Farak(#26511)]
         Hearing the words of Formin, Farak says nothing simply stands at the ready, taking a half step back watching the shadowy figure intently letting him speak.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"The messssage," the goblin swallows again, clutching the bow so hard that his dark knuckles turn white. "The Master doesn't like your passing through His land. Wishes you good and dead, He does." The orc allows himself a fanged grin at this statement. "We've a warning for you worms. Turn back, and go no further..keep going and you'll get worse than last time." Perhaps gaining courage at the lack of attacking, the creature cranes its bald head to see better into the camp.

"Got anymore of them dead ones? The ones we cut down? I wouldn't mind a bite." He drools a little in hopeless anticipation.

[Formin(#26827)] "Oh ho, now is that a fact?" Formin says, cocking his head at the little orc. And then, a pause, and he starts laughing. "Well, first off," says the silversmith, recovering himself, "you may tell your Master that he makes a very formidable show of strength sending shrimpy little goblins to deliver his messages. Why I believe I may even be taller than you, my lad. Bravo to your Master, eh!"

Formin pauses as if considering, then looks to Farak, muttering almost comically, "Would it more dramatic to give my name? Aye, much more dramatic, very good." And then, with drama and pomp worthy of a actor, Formin raises up his sword and clashes it against his shield, almost grinning at Farak, though he tries to hide it. "And you may tell him that Formin son of Forlin walks where he wishes, so be gone!"

His voice lowers suddenly, very matter of fact. "Unless you are indeed interested in some more dead ones, in which case there's about to be one standing...just...there. Aye, right about where you are, in fact."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The pitiful 'little shrimp' listens to all of this with a growing snarl about his face. At the conclusion, he spits a second time. The sky is given a mistrusting look, as though he might be expecting any of these 'dead ones' to rain down at any second. "Stupid short-legs, fools, garn.." the words pass into an angry rant in Mordain Uruk, and it isn't long before the orc begins to inch backward, away from the scary dwarves and the hated firelights. The creature turns and is gone into the bushes, leaving only his stench behind. No more arrows sail.