Grassy Standoff

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Dusk on Mersday, Day 23 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 15:16:26 MDT on Thu May 20 2010.

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
Haldir
Obvious exits:
 North leads to Long Plain.
 East leads to Long Plain, Near Fangorn.

The sun sinks in the sky and falls below the horizon. Nighttime takes over.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
The day is fading over Parth Celebrant, the vaguely inhabited grassland bordered by forests and rivers. To the north is golden Lorien, to the west ancient Fangorn, and of both have many tales of witching been told. But now velvet twilight lies over all, lit faintly by cool pin-pricks of stars, and all is quiet. In this land, however, one may have the prickling feeling of being watched.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] If one trusted that feeling, one might be right. Many things, fair and foul, move through these lands. Now, as day deepens toward darkness, a darker blot moves through the grasses, worming her way forward snake-like with naught but a shallow ripple to show her passing - the Morian scout Barzhaat. The she-orc has her bow clutched in one taloned hand, and she uses it to part the stems ahead. On her back are slung two separate quivers of arrows. She pauses to sniff at the air, nostrils flaring suddenly.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The grasses sway and ripple gently in a small breeze, filled with winter-chill. But a little way ahead of where the Morian creeps, the blades have parted -- for something is seated there on the ground. Covered to about stomach-high by the stalks of grass, Bagaglok sits perfectly still, legs folded beneath himself. The red-robed Mordain orc is apparently in the middle of some sort of meditation. His eyes are shut.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
And standing perfectly still, a bowshot and some more away, is Haldir. He might seem to be melted into the surrounding tall grasses, grey cloak taking on a pale straw-like hue and hood cast over flaxen hair. The elf crouches down, a pair of grey eyes watching through the grass blades.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat's lips pull back from her yellowed fangs in a grimace. "Filthy tree-humpers!" she hisses, softly. "That stink of theirs fouls every scent." She turns her head to swipe her irritated nose across one of her braids, leaving a trail of mucus, then tries again, inhaling gingerly. "Something ..." Her eyes narrow to slits, and her hand reaches to the leftmost quiver of arrows, drawing out a plain black-fletched shaft. Rising to a crouch now, she inches forward toward the as-yet-unseen Bagaglok, arrow nocked at the ready although the bow is not yet drawn.

She moves as swift and quiet as goblinkind can - of course, sight and sound are not the only senses that might alert others to her presence.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Indeed, for there is yet smell. The scent of Elf does not appear to evoke a reaction from the shaman -- afterall, the stink of Lorien seems to lay all about these lands night andf day. As for the odor of goblin...

The only sign that Bagaglok is aware of another of his kind approaching is the faint twitching of his nose, and he takes the moment to peek about with a half-open yellow eye. Is that stealthy rustling? Whatever is it, the orc picks up a small rock with one claw, and hurls it in the direction from which the uruk-scent comes.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
As there is the stink of Elf, so there is the smell of Orc: Haldir grimaces beneath the hood, and as the movement of a flung rock catches his eye, the elf draws a clothyard from his quiver. He does not raise the tall points of the longbow above the grass, however: instead watching for what the sudden action from the Mordain shaman may bring to the creeping Morian.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Bagaglok's rock evokes a response: a soft thud as it rebounds off a leather-clad shoulder, a moment's rustling and a hissed, "Skai!" as Barzhaat drops the arrow she had readied. Precious moments are wasted in fumbling it back to the string.

Having thus unwillingly announced her presence, the she-orc speaks softly in harsh Common. "What is it you're after. Surely not arrows? Of those I have aplenty." Her voice is deceptively smooth and level. She does not stay still long enough to be targeted again rather she attempts to circle Bagaglok in the direction in which the elf-stink is weakest, her movements continuing even when the words fade.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Now that there is a voice to attach the scent and the traces of sounds to, the Eastern orc follows it with a cocked ear until it fades into silence. He pushes himself closer to the ground, attempting to further conceal himself in the confusion of grasses. He mutters softly about the red of his garment that fails to blend into the surroundings.

"Keep your arrows," Bagaglok replies to the foliage after a moment. "I'd rather not be reminded what it feels like to be a pin cushion...quiet is what I want. And to be alone. I was meditating if that means anything to a skulker in the night."

[Haldir(#25231)] 
The elf skulking in the grass listens intently, bowshot held for now: yet, as the rasped Common reaches Haldir's ears, his expression achieves an almost spiteful pleasantness. And in the end, the arrow is drawn tightly over the string, pulled back to the point of an elven ear, and then released. With a soft hiss, it seeks the ground by the feet of its scarlet target.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The final words bring forth a soft growl from Barzhaat. "Meditating?" she repeats, uneasily. "And an Easterner, from the sounds of it. That means something." Her own words carry the cadence of the Mountains.

She continues on her circuit a moment longer - she has by now covered more than a semicircle, and is no further from the 'elf-stink' than she was originally, though likely she does not realize it - and her bow lifts suspiciously. There is the faintest of creaks as it is drawn back.

But then something streaks past her with that unmistakeable arrow-whine. Reflexively she looses her black-feathered shaft toward the direction from which the missile came, even as her clawed hands seek for another.

[Combat(#13388)] Haldir wields a longbow.

Barzhaat launches an arrow...

Barzhaat's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
In response to Barzhaat's deductions, the shaman's lips pull back in a sneer. "Mountain-rat," he answers, but ere he speaks aught else, something streaks through the air and bites the earth nigh his clawed feet. Bagaglok gives a startled yelp, and stumbles backward. The grass rustles widly as he looses his balance and plops stomach-first to the dirt. "You dare--" but then he stops, blinking at the still quivering arrow and seeing that it is not black-feathered. "Leaf-ear," the Mordain uruk hisses again, scowling more.

He puts a hand on the hilt of his scimitar, and crawls toward the more familiar noises of orc-kind. "Where are you?" Whether the question is meant for the Morian, or for the marchwarden is left unclear.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
Never one to make polite conversation, the Elf ducks low, another arrow already upon his string. The black-feathered reply sent by the Morian lands softly among the grass, and Haldir's eyes narrow, tracing the path from which it came. The tip of his bow rises above the dense grass, shuddering slightly as the arrow is sent from it -- toward the path of the archer, Barzhaat. Another snap of bowstring and a whine...

Haldir launches an arrow...
Haldir's bowshot hits Barzhaat, badly wounding her.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] This time the shaft that Barzhaat sets to her curved wood-and-sinew bow is different the cock feather is a pale grey, so that the effect of the fletching is rather like the stripe of a badger's mask. The arrow's tip is blackened silver. As Bagaglok approaches, she hisses warningly, "No closer. I think you remember this arrow."

She is not crawling rather she has adopted a half-crouch with her bow slanted sideways. Cautiously now she rises so that her eyes are just above the level of the grasses, seeking a target.

Alas, that target finds her first. The Elven shaft flies with dizzying speed, planting itself deep within the Barzhaat's flesh, just below the shoulder of her bow-arm. The Morian drops backward like a stone the tainted arrow loosed from the bow as it and she tumble together flies no more than a few feet. No cry of pain comes from her fanged mouth rather a wide-eyed, choking grimace as the shock seizes her.

[Combat(#13388)] Barzhaat unwields Bow.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The shaman's movements halt as Barzhaat comes into view at last, and as she speaks his eyes alight upon the arrow she holds. He scowls anew at it, but goes no closer.

This time, the Easterner's yellow gaze catches sight of the speeding Lorien shaft as it flies, and his eyes shift to peer hatefull through the plants in the direction from whence it came. Carefully, slowly, Bagaglok raises his skull-topped head to dare a peek above the grass. His mouth twists into an unpleasant smile as he spots the tip of the longbow that protrudes upward. Swapping the handle of the scimitar for a smaller hilt, the shaman pulls a long jagged dagger from the reccesses of his robes. It is thrown toward that glimpse of the longbow, and starlight glints off metal.

That done, the shaman proceeds to ignore the Morian's warning, now stepping ahead to crouch beside her. "Suppose you'll object to me removing that?" He points to the shaft that has embedded itself in orc-flesh.

COMBAT - Wielded: Sacrificial Dagger
Removed: Sacrificial Dagger.
[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok]
You throw your dagger at Haldir...

Your dagger hits Haldir, mildly wounding him!

[Haldir(#25231)] 
The wickedly curved dagger grazes Haldir's cheekbone, and though he frowns at the cut it does not deter him from getting closer. The longbow tip falls below the tops of the grass, and the marchwarden stalks closer, no arrows sent...

ARB: Haldir has "passed" on his turn to attack.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The pain comes now, and Barzhaat's thin lips are drawn back from her teeth in a near-soundless snarl. She claws at the arrow, her features blanching, but it will not move and after a moment her unhurt left arm falls back to her side. Her mouth works. "Curse .. tree-humpers," she manages after a few efforts that sound rather like moans.

At Bagaglok's question - and his nearness - she tenses. "Just pull .. the wretched thing .. out." Smoky yellow eyes watch the Shaman suspiciously, and her left hand twitches as though craving a weapon. Her nostrils flare with each breath, but it's unlikely she notices the elf-stink getting stronger.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Bagaglok, likewise, shows no signs of noticing Haldir's advancement instead, the Easterner's attention is fixated downward upon the she-orc. The suspicion she displays is met with a fanged smirk. Something shines in the dark once more, as the robed orc fetches something out of his clothes it appears to be some kind of dreadful looking metal device that resembles pliers. "Might hurt quite a bit, of course. Have to dig it out a little first," is the only warning.

And then, Barzhaat would find the cold touch of iron at her side, as the shaman prods and scrapes the tool into skin. Once the arrow shows hints that it is more loose, he wraps fingers around it, and pulls.

HEALING: You examine Barzhaat thoroughly...
She has an untreated arrow wound.
OOC: See "HELP ADVANCED +HEAL" for treatment details.
You would categorize her overall current condition as fair.

HEALING: Barzhaat has one arrow injury which you now attempt to treat...
Success! You remove an arrow from Barzhaat without causing further injury.
Ah! Lucky you: the arrow is still usable.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
As dreadful snarls curl upon the air, the longbow tip rises again. Haldir's eyes alight upon the blood-red cloak, turning dark as the sun sets, and his lips set in a grim line. The next arrow that is drawn does not commend Bagaglok for helper or savior rather, it dives for the turned back of the shaman, shot from a closer range as the marchwarden exchanges stealth for power.

Haldir launches an arrow...
Ow! You've been injured for 13 hp's by the bowshot.
ARB: Please RP this injury accordingly.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat's teeth clamp down on one of her braids as the shaman gives his warning. When he begins to probe and tug sweat stands out on her greasy brow and her jaw tightens convulsively, but her cries are muffled.

And then the arrow comes free, followed by a gout of blood. Barzhaat's eyes, still pain-misted, show a momentary relief. She snatches a couple of snorted breaths then spits out the remnants of the braid, now severed. "Send it .. back," she hisses in a hate-filled mutter, her right arm groping for her bow. Her clawed hand closes round the curved shaft, which of course brings a second gout of blood from the hole in her shoulder.

Fully occupied in her own struggle, she has no warning of Bagaglok's peril.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
As black blood flows, the Malkog watches intently, eagerly perhaps. His right claw twitches slightly. Whatever he might have been pondering, it is cut short as yet another elven arrow whines, and Bagaglok flinches automatically at the sound. Then his breath comes out in a venomous hiss as the wooden shaft slices along one of his shoulders, drawing more blood to add to the ground.

"Skai!" the robed orc curses, and as he stuffs the metal pliers into his garments, he thrusts out the previous dart that had just been freed of the Morian's side. "Here, return the favor, yes -- with the filth's own arrow."

You +give an Arrow to Barzhaat.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
Haldir is close enough that he may be found, a pair of argent orbs sighting along the shaft of a third arrow. "Into the void with you all," the marchwarden hisses softly, a trickle of red running from his face to brush onto the white feathers.

And then the elf shoots again, at the same scarlet target, not waiting for an exchange.

Haldir launches an arrow...
Ow! You've been injured for 30 hp's by the bowshot.
Arrgh! The arrow is stuck fast, requiring treatment.
ARB: Please RP this injury accordingly.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat snatches at the discarded Elven arrow, though she shudders at its 'unclean' touch. Try as she might, the she-orc cannot draw the curved bow fully, and the arrow would be too long for it in any case. Still, the hated 'tree-humper' is closer now and easier to hit - and has just provided a handy direction-finder in the form of another arrow. Barzhaat does not wait to see if her saviour is injured her breathing rasps loud in the newborn dark as she pulls back and looses, the hated clothyard returned to its rightful owner.

[Combat(#13388)] Barzhaat wields Bow.
Barzhaat launches an arrow...

Barzhaat's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Bagaglok does not see whether or not the she-orc's exchange has hit for suddenly, there is a large throbbing pain. The orc gasps and staggers as cloth is torn and mail is pierced, and narrowed yellow eyes flit down to behold the new arrow that has stuck itself in his midsection. For a moment, the shaman stands as if frozen, before he forces his body to react. But the plier-like object does not remerge the robes and the armor are in the way of its work.

Instead, Bagaglok pushes his claw downward through a grimace and a flurry of cursings in Morbeth. He gives a yank on the wretched dart. "Get away, tree-loving worm!" the creature manages to growl in Haldir's direction.

HEALING: You have one arrow injury which you now attempt to treat...
Success! You remove an arrow from yourself without causing further injury.
Ah! Lucky you: the arrow is still usable.

[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok]
You forego your chance to attack.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
The peak of Haldir's hood rises slightly above the grass, but the arrow flies clear of it. Another arrow perches upon the bowstring, but the marchwarden stays his hand for a moment. "Well," he murmurs, the sound carrying as no more than a deadly whisper, gaze marked by a quiet wrath, "will you fly or will you sink below the earth?"

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat's arm is trembling and her chest heaving with the aftermath of the bowshot. She twists round, reaching for an arrow from the right-hand quiver, but she cannot quite reach. Grimacing, she tries again ...

And the voice comes. She matches Common with Common, though hers has a harsh, almost grunting sound to it. "Below the earth lie the Deeps and the Flame to consume you, tree-humper." The new-drawn arrow - she does not look to see whether its fletching is black or brindled - is set to the bow and loosed in a single jerking movement (weaker than the last) even as she hisses to the Mordain shaman, "Back."

Barzhaat launches an arrow...

Barzhaat's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Eastern uruk merely listens to the hatred-filled conversation, his own responses failing as his lungs are occupied with panting against the pain. The claw is clamped tightly over the wound, and black streams through the death-grip nevertheless. A pity there are no more daggers to throw, for he does not dare risk a charge at the Elf...

A retreat the shaman can agree upon, and Bagaglok yields a jerked nod to Barzhaat as he begins to step away.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
Haldir's voice comes out of the grass-shadow, unmarked by arrow-wounds: "Not me. The one who will fall is you, and even you will not find respite from your masters which abide there." The elf's tall form stands at last, bearing a last arrow that points at the Morian, but does not loose. "This is your final warning, filth. Take your wounds and go."

[Barzhaat(#16260)] This time Barzhaat clutches at her shoulder after the arrow is loosed, and the bow slides through her clawed fingers to bump against the ground. Haldir's words are neither answered nor contradicted - likely the she-orc is well aware that the Flame is not a kindly master. Dazedly she gropes for the bow and then, still facing the direction of the threat, begins to back off.

She does not take the same path as Bagaglok. Perhaps two trails will be harder for the hated 'tree-humper' to follow than one? Or perhaps Haldir is not the only threat ...