Whom do you serve?

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Late Morning on Monday, Day 15 of November.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 20:35:57 MDT on Fri May 07 2010.

Long Plain
Here there is emptiness: the grand and sweeping loneliness of wide plains, yellowing beneath a distant sun. North and west the Misty Mountains rise like tusks of stone from the earth south and east the plains roll on.
Contents:
Ulaire_Cantea
Magua
Morian Orc Camp
Uruk Camp
Obvious exits:
 South leads to Long Plain.
 North leads to Long Plain.
 East leads to Long Plain.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Two settlements stain the rolling lands south of Lorien -- two camps of orcs have been positioned here upon the dead autumn grasses of the plains, and even under the rising stare of the sun bickering and other noisesome activity commences within.

From the Mordain camp, a figure walks, robed in crimson and stooped slightly under the yellow eye in the sky. Bagaglok's steps are aimed for the neighboring camp of the Morians, and as he nears the border his gaze scans those visible therein, as if searching for someone.

[Magua(#32030)] 
Magua stalks the borders of the Morian camp with his axe cradled as if it were his great sceptre of power. Of course, given that it is covered in fresh blood and there are few heads on the ground behind him belonging to those who opposed his will, this is not far from the truth. The king in his black armor notices the figure in crimson and turns in that direction to wait with orcishly regal poise.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The shaman continues, paces slow but never ceasing. At the Northern camp's border he pauses, then shifts direction so that his bare clawed feet draw nigh to the 'sceptre'-holding uruk. There he halts again, yellow eyes taking in the sight of the severed heads with an indifferent expression. "Mountain-king," comes the simple greeting.

[Magua(#32030)] 
The corner of Magua's mouth rises, but he gives no other sign of his reception of this greeting. After a moment, he hefts his axe into his hands and replies, "Forest-dweller. The leaf-ears will not stand by too long while we are out here. You and yours are about on your own."

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] Towards the intermingling of the shamans comes a cloud, almost like a little black rain cloud.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Bagaglok's lip twitches a little but the remainder of his contenance stays unreadable. "We shall soon be gone from here, headed south again. No need to linger where we are not wanted. Where are your scouts? I have business with one of them."

But something makes the light shift, and the orc frowns, raising a brief glance to the sky. The shaman shivers slightly.

[Magua(#32030)] 
Magua notices something as well and the orc-king shifts position. He glances around this way and that nervously, his hands twitching as he holds his axe like he means to use it (or perhaps throw it down?). "They are scouting, ensuring that the leaf-ears do not entrap us before we can flee to the safety of the mountains. Yes, we will be leaving /very soon/."

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] The cloud grows in magnitude and appears to be almost lit from within with an air of maliciousness.

It is now the size of the two shamans put together.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The cloud...is growing? The Easterner blinks, squinting ahead uncertainly through the sunlight that still manages to filter down. Instinctively, Bagaglok's right claw darts down for the partly concealed hilt of a scimitar that pokes out from the red garments but he does not draw it. Instead the robed goblin takes an unsteady step backward, gaze never leaving that strange vaporous formation. He says nothing, though his breathing is faster, wavering.

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] The cloud moves down towards the ground, the sense of pure evil growing as it pulses and coalesces, forming into the shape of a tall man.

[Magua(#32030)] 
Lesser snagas of the Morian camp start to fall to their bellies, curling into fetal positions of helplessness they have not allowed themselves since the first moments of life in the breeding pits of home.

Their king though is made of (maybe) sterner stuff and is able to remain upright, battle axe in hand.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
It seems Magua shall be alone in his standing, for the Mordor-shaman drops to his knees in the dirt and the faded, trampled grass. He watches that awful figure take shape with eyes of horror, filled also perhaps with a sick excitement. But then he whispers something unintelligible, making some sort of rapid motion with his hand Bagaglok lets his gaze drop down as well, fixing it at the earth rather than the dark being itself.

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] Red eyes appear in the shape and a dark cloak forms around the creature. There is a low, long cackle that moves in pitch from deep bass up through the full range of hearing.

[Magua(#32030)] 
At the piercing cry of death, many an orc cries out in fear as he writhes on the ground, expecting a swift end to befall him presently.

The great orc-king Magua sinks to his knees and lifts his axe up slowly as he whispers prayers to the Flame that trades multiple orgies of sacrifice in exchange for salvation.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
At the cackle, the Malkog's mouth twitches once more, and a violent shudder passes through his scrawny frame. The urge to clap his ears shut against the dreaded noise is barely restrained. "Messanger from the Dark One," is all Bagaglok manages to mutter, risking an inch's raising of his skull-helmed head.

[<#28944>] " Do they know Him?" the creature asks, its voice a thick angry-sounding rasp.

[Magua(#32030)] 
Not speaking the lingo, Magua cannot respond. But the sound of the voice only causes him to sink down and down until his forehead is buried in the grass.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
" They know, but do not believe in His might, my lord," answers the Mordain orc in a voice that is rimmed with terror. " They are from the Mountains, and worship another. The Flame they call their god." Bagaglok's yellow eyes focus themselves anew on the ground, and determindely, he does not look back up.

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] A sword emerges, slowly, inch by inch, from the figure's side and it is pointed at Magua as the figure glides towards him, inch by inch. "Do you fight for the Master?"

[Magua(#32030)] 
In plain Common Speech, Magua replies with a throaty gasp as he tries to choke out some words along the lines of, "Master, yes, yes, yes, Master. All knowing, all seeing Master! Lord of the Deep Dark!"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"The Deep Dark of your Mines, you mean?" these next words stream forth in debased Westron ere Bagaglok can choke them back.

And he is silent again, and though he yet strives to avoid peering upon the cold blade that appears, the orc seems unable to prevent his head from shifting slightly in that direction.

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] "The Dark Lord," the raspy voice is impatient and the tip of the sword goes even closer to Magua's throat hollow. "Do you follow Him into battle? I do not care of your mines."

[Magua(#32030)] 
Magua nods slowly, obviously groveling now. "Kill leaf-ears and man-food for him!"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
" A few of the mountain-rats dared mockery of the Master. They think our Eye cannot match the power and will of their fire-demon," the Malkog's breath comes out in a hiss, and he shivers once more, his hands fidgeting nervously at the grass by his knees.

[<#28944>] As the sword remains steady, the creature hisses, a low, malignant sound. " And this is their Shaman?"

[Magua(#32030)] 
Magua shakes his head, not understanding as he maintains his position of weakness and submission. "Whatever you say, whatever you say!" he gasps out over and over.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Eastern uruk shakes his head stiffly, replying, " No, he calls himself their King. They have shamans, but he is not among their order." He glances quickly to where Magua cowers, and the hintings of a smirk might perhaps be perceived on Bagaglok's ashen face amid his fear.

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] "Whatever you say, whatever you say," the dark creature mocks, its raspy voice high pitched. The long sword rises, silver against the flow of the darkness emanating robes...and it comes down quickly, aiming for the neck of the Morian King.

[Magua(#32030)] 
Magua's head falls to the ground and rolls away, the still alive eyes wide with fear and loathing and sorrow at having failed the great almighty Flame. After a moment, they glaze over as brain death occurs.

As for the rest of the orc-king, his body twitches a few times and blood continues to gush from his neck in a steady stream, but soon that too passes. So ends the great Magua whose seed has been wiped from the earth.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Despite his efforts, Bagaglok's wide yellow regard is drawn to that flash of metal, held there as if in a trace. His expression is unmoving, oddly frozen in its mix of dread and ecstasy. It is not until the sword fulfills it purpose that he withdraws his watching, and the robed goblin shifts uncomfortably.

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] There is another long, loud cackle that seems to echo through the trees. "You will do as I say, yes." The creature then begins to fade around the edges.