Spying were you?
Long Plain
The grass to sways in fluid motion as the wind bends the blades of grass to its will. Towards the North and the East the plains continues.
Contents:
Barzhaat
Obvious exits:
North leads to Long Plain.
East leads to Long Plain, Near Fangorn.
[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Dusk on Trewsday, Day 3 of January.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 15:15:14 MDT on Mon May 24 2010.
[Barzhaat(#16260)] It is a chill winter's dusk, and the sun is now no more than a faint smudge of pink tinting the peaks of the distant Misties, like the fading remnants of a girl's blush. Here in the plains the greyed-out grasses are already stiffening with the first rime of frost. A bitter wind tugs and bends them.
In one place in the grasses, the bending is not caused by wind alone. Barzhaat has hollowed herself out a small nest amidst the grass-stems to wait out the passage of the Yellow Face, and now that the cold will let her sleep no longer she is roused and about another task: the tending of wounds. Currently her fangs are bared in a grimace of distaste as she winds a length of filthy cloth torn from her ragged garments tightly round her upper arm. Its predecessor, stained black with old and new blood, lies nearby whilst the scimitar that cut the makeshift bandage rests beside her taut right hand, the claws of which are dug into the hardening ground.
[Combat Function Library(#15)] Barzhaat tends to the injuries on her own person.
The sun sinks in the sky and falls below the horizon. Nighttime takes over.
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Close at hand, there is more rustling, and judging by the orcish scent that accompanies it, this too is not merely the wind. A section of the grass nigh the Morian's left trembles wildly, and promptly it parts as a crimson-garbed goblin comes tumbling out into this small clearing Barzhaat has crafted. With an unhappy and pained growl, Bagaglok lands flat on his stomach. "Stupid stones--" he begins to mutter, but the grumbling swiftly ceases as his yellow eyes find the she-orc.
[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat's head is down as she focuses on her task, pulling the rag tight and tucking its end in as best she may, but suddenly her nostrils flare. As the crimson form tumbles toward her the she-orc's yellow eyes widen and her lips part in a snarl. "Spying on me, were you, Easterner?" Her tone is understandably wary, and she forces her right hand up from the dirt to grasp at the hilt of her scimitar. She starts to lift it, but then hisses suddenly and its tip dips back toward the frosty ground.
[Combat(#13388)] Barzhaat wields her black scimitar.
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Perhaps I was, and perhaps not. I daresay you're going to do something about it?" the response is mocking, but the Mordain orc's expression turns sour once more when he attempts to push himself to his feet he makes it halfway with a grimace, then kneels in the dirt as he presses a hand to his middle. No doubt there is a sizeable series of bandages underneath all that red cloth. With his right hand, a scimitar is also drawn. "I could accuse you of the same, Mountain-rat," the shaman says. "The rest of the Northerners are gone...except for you."
COMBAT - Wielded: Blackened Scimitar
[Barzhaat(#16260)] "What's it to you?" is Barzhaat's hostile answer, as she scrambles to her knees and then to a crouch. "If it hadn't been for those filthy tree-humpers ..." The snarl twists as she opens her mouth to bring up a gobbet of spit, which lands hard on the cold ground. "But here I am - and here you are. All those magics didn't stop that tree-humper from sticking you, did it?" Her gaunt features mirror the contempt that echoes in her voice. "There'll be no traps and cages today." The words are flat and final. "Now, get gone by the count of three else I'll open up a new door for you .. in your guts."
By shifting her left hand to support the right she manages to raise the scimitar to a point in front of her meagre chest.
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Bagaglok listens with a growing snarl on his ashen face, and by the time the Morian has finished speaking, the threats have done nothing to improve his expression. "Shouldn't have pulled that arrow out, afterall." the robed uruk fixes the second with a hateful glare. Then, with a visible struggle, he shuffles himself to stand, raising up the blackened blade to point the curved edge of it forward. "Should have let you be cut down by the leaf-ear's pins. Not too late to fix my mistake." He takes an unsteady step in advance.
[Barzhaat(#16260)] "Not if I have any say in the matter, you won't," Barzhaat growls, watching the red-robed figure step nearer with suspicion hooding her gaze. "I'll warrant you pulled that arrow out part of some twisted experiment. After my blood, was that it?" She pushes herself painfully up from half-crouch to near-standing and the two-handed scimitar reaches out to meet Bagaglok's own, attempting to push the blackened blade away. It is a testing move - for the she-orc as much as for the one she faces. She needs to see if her limbs will obey her.
Barzhaat attacks you with her Scimitar!...
...and she misses!
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Malkog snorts. "If I wanted your blood from the arrow, then why would I have given it back to you? No..there are easier ways to get the blood of an enemy." He stumbles aside of the she-orc's attempted blow, and his gaze narrows as it spies the two quivers of shafts upon her back. Then, abruptly, Bagaglok flings his hand up, manuevering his own scimitar with one hand toward Barzhaat's side.
You attack Barzhaat with your Scimitar...
[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok]
Your attack against Barzhaat mildly wounds her!
[Barzhaat(#16260)] "Such as?" Barzhaat's eyes narrow as she espies the direction of Bagaglok's gaze, and thus it is that she is taken unawares by the Shaman's sudden move. The scimitar-blade scores along her poorly protected side, if not with the force it might have had were Bagaglok at full health, and she hisses angrily. "What is it you want with me, Mor- Easterner?" She stops with whatever epithet her folk have for the goblins of the East unuttered. She moves her own scimitar two-handed toward Bagaglok's off-side - two can play at this game - though not with full force. It seems she is still reserving her strength ... or else is weaker than she will admit.
Barzhaat attacks you with her Scimitar!...
...and she misses!
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
It seems wounds can also have their benefits -- the Northerner's weapon soars out, and the shaman tries to twist out of the way but the injured midsection protests to this motion, and with a jerk and a hiss, the Mordain orc is staggering to the ground again. He shoves his the scimitar out as he falls to avoid landing upon his own sword. "Such as this," replies Bagaglok after a pant of breath, and then he directs his blade for the closest target he can reach: the she-orc's legs. "Tested them yet?" his mouth contorts in another snarl, and his eyes drift to those curiously fletched arrows in the second quiver.
You attack Barzhaat with your Scimitar...
[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok]
Your attack against Barzhaat mildly wounds her!
[Barzhaat(#16260)] The she-orc's motions are sluggish, and the extra momentum of the two-handed lunge is enough to keep her off-balance so that Bagaglok's scimitar can connect. A thin line of blood wells up on one scrawny calf. Barzhaat's thoughts are elsewhere, but she manages to stumble backwards for some breathing space.
"Not on anything worth the effort," comes her disgruntled reply, after a pause. "That filthy tree-humper managed to dodge. You saw it yourself. And my other target ... is no longer available." Her eyes narrow, though it's hard to tell whether that is in response to her words or an indication of her next stroke. The scimitar-tip lunges forward, aimed at shoulder-height.
Barzhaat attacks you with her Scimitar!...
...and she misses!
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
With a pained grunt, the shaman manages to flatten himself further into the dirt, and Barzhaat's attack rips cloth but no deeper. "The filthy albai scum always slither out of the way," he says, pushing himself to an awkward crouch. "Almost caught one in a net before, but the wretch slipped into the river before it snagged him."
"Not anything worth the effort," Bagaglok repeats, and scowls. "Is that an insult, rat?" Standing roughly, he steps away a pair of paces, and the orc-blade digs into the soil. His shoulders rise and fall with ragged breathing.
[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok]
You forego your chance to attack.
[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat's right arm is clearly tiring the scimitar dips as she pulls it back, and wavers somewhere around knee-height on a standing orc. "A net?" she murmurs, hostility forgotten for a moment. "Interesting." And then the Shaman speaks again. A snorting comes from her that might almost be laughter. "No ... Mordor-maggot." The 'Mountain Rat' title has finally riled her enough to respond in kind. "Surely you do not believe yourself the venom's intended target? I am not so foolish as to believe you do not carry an antidote. No, my interest lay ... elsewhere." For a moment her yellow gaze drifts northward, toward the Mountain peaks. Clearly she is wearying, for she continues words not blades. "The target is dead, and not by my hand. No glory comes to me, nor to my tribe. Thanks to /your/ kind." Her voice is bitter. "Still," her tone turns musing, "there will be other targets."
ARB: Barzhaat has "passed" on her turn to attack.
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Sure," the robed orc spits at the frosted earth, and he takes another footfall away, "blame the 'Eye-worshipers.' Have you ever thought this previous target might have died from lack of faith? Perhaps punishment caught up with them.."
As the Morian's gaze strays, Bagaglok growls again. "Be gone then, back to your holes. The sight of the black wood scared all of your little companions off, the cowards."
[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok]
You forego your chance to attack.
[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok]
You train Barzhaat in scimitar and she learns quickly.
[Barzhaat(#16260)] At the soft crunching of Bagaglok's footfalls, Barzhaat jerks her gaze back. She does not rise to the bait about faith at the final comment, though, her eyes narrow. "Next time you speak of cowards, remember who it was that shot at the scum who gave you that," her gaze flicks briefly to Bagaglok's stiff torso and back, "with his own arrow. Perhaps I'll stay long enough to see you enter the Black Wood - just to see what happens." Her lips pull back from her teeth in a mirthless snarl.
Wearily, she forces her right arm to lift the scimitar a little - its tip now reaches hip-height rather than knee-height, but the strain is apparent in her hunched shoulders and taut features. She makes no further moves to attack the Mordain.
[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Bagaglok observes the she-orc's efforts with disinterest, but her words bring an unpleasant forced grin to his mouth. "Fine, linger longer and keep up your foolish spying if that's what you wish -- but if I catch you, well..." the fanged smile broadens, though the elaboration does not.
Then, ducking stiffly back into the grass, the shaman begins to slip away back toward the southeast. Only a yellow-eyed glance is given over one shoulder, to make certain Barzhaat does not follow.
[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat snorts softly, her wide nostrils flaring. "I'd like to see you try. Begone, then, back to your little tent."
She does not follow. Rather she stays standing until she is sure Bagaglok is gone, then slides down to a sitting position, left hand clutching at the right shoulder as soon as the scimitar is lowered. "Curse the filthy tree-humpers!" comes her soft murmur as she waits for the pain and stiffness to abate - for night is the time to hunt ... and yes, indeed, to spy.
