Drums and Banners

Uruk Camp
        Many sloppy tents scatter this encampment. Banners with the Lidless Eye fly high above the ground. The camp is sectioned off, it seems, into areas for the officers, shamans grunts, and even slaves. A large army outpost is this, hundreds of bodies keep this war machine running under the will of the Dark Lord.
        At this time, the camp stands nearly bare of activity. The suns rays send the smaller Orcs to hide within the comfortable shade of the tents, while only the larger officer Orcs who can withstand the harsh orb's light are about doing their business. Fires are burnt low, and some Orcs are strewn about, passed into grog induced sleep by labor from the night before. For now the army rests, but when the Sun goes down all must beware!
Contents:
Bogak
Pishgob
Ragged Tent
Crimson Tents
Flayed Corpse
Forest Tent
Fletcher
Grox's Tent
Feats of Strength
Grunkblarg
Orcish Defenses
Vorazg's Caravan
Obvious exits:
Out leads to Long Plain.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Dawn is drawing near, and the stars in the reddening sky are beginning to fade. Last minute activity is bustling in both camps --Morian and Mordain as the night comes to its close. However, it is in this latter encampment that a series of sounds can be heard sitting around one of the firepits is the red-robed form of Bagaglok. The embers are burning low, their light casting an eerie hue to a circular object that is placed on the ground in front of the shaman. It is a drum, and the orc strikes it occassionally with a small mallet.

[Bogak(#16349)] Suddenly, a couple of growls and snarls can be heard from one of the tents. Bogak rolls and tumbles out of the entrance and scrambles to his feet in a fit of anger. After a few moments, he peers in past the flap and cautiously leans in, and pulls a large flag and pole out quickly. The pitiful orc gets away from the tent in a hurry, holding the flag in both hands. He turns his attention to the beating drum, once he's sure nobody is pursuing him, and wanders slowly in that direction, sniveling and complaining under his breath.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
If the commotion nearby is heard, Bagaglok does not seem to pay it any heed. Instead, the drum beating pauses, and the crimson-garbed creature shifts his hand downward to fiddle for something in his robes. Slowly a pouch is taken out and the contents dropped onto the dead autumn grass beside his feet. They are tiny bones...knuckles they look to be.

Though he does not look up, the Malkog speaks as the second uruk comes closer. "Fighting over your banner?"

Bogak stops some distance away. "No," he grumbles. Then, he seems to mull over a thought for a few seconds, and adds, "Yes." He stamps the end of the flag down near his foot and leans on it slightly, a bit of pride barely showing itself in the features of his face.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
At last the priestly goblin glances up, and his lips pull back in a fanged half-grin. "They are jealous no doubt. Wish to bear the banner themselves, wish to have the honor of dancing it in front of our enemies' eyes." He gives a hate-filled glare northward, where the gold haze of Lorien still dwells on the horizon.

Taking the free claw, Bagaglok snatches up a few of the bones and places them carefully in the center of the drum's leather surface. "I am practicing divination again," he explains, gripping the small mallet in his other hand. "Would it interest you to watch?"

[Bogak(#16349)] At Bagaglok's words, Bogak raises the flag a few inches from the earth and beams a nasty grin. "My thoughts as well," he says. At the invitation, his smile fades. He cocks his head out of curiosity, and nods it vigorously after a moment of hesitation. He grips the pole with the other hand and shuffles in closer to the fire, peering at the bones in wonder as he approaches. "What do you do with them?" he asks.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Use them to peer into the future, or at least attempt to do so," replies the shaman, pushing himself a bit to get more comfortable on the hard frost-covered ground. "It is rather fun, actually -- get to bounce them around." But then his smile diminishes into seriousness once more, and he fixes his attention toward the instrument. With the mallet, Bagaglok starts to tap out a slow continuous rythym that earns the stare of a few curious passersby. The tiny bones skitter across the drum's top.

"There are runes around the rim," explains the robed uruk, pointing. "Whichever the dwarf knuckles go to, that is the answer...I," there is a pause. "I am hoping to discover what the Master wills for us to do."

Bogak's gaze shifts from Bagaglok to the bones. The skinny creature takes a few steps back, and hunches forward as if to appear smaller. "Wh--what do they tell you," he says, "The dwarf knuckles, I mean."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The thumping and bouncing keeps up its pace, even as Bagaglok removes his gaze briefly to give Bogak a sidelong amused expression. "Nothing to be afraid of...normally," he says, observing the snaga's backward motion. "Each symbol means something different. Some good, and others unfortunately not. This one for example," he turns again to indicate an odd shaped rune with one of his fingers, "means death...for us. No doubt the leaf-ear filth would wish the bones to land on that."

The shaman frowns a little. "But the filth have given us warnings of late. Something about angry trees upset because we felled their 'brothers' in Mirkwood to make our rafts for the river crossing. The mountain-rats from the North mention a black forest that we must pass soon. They say it is filled with evil trees. I don't believe them."

Bogak cringes and looks up at the banner as a breeze catches it briefly. "Well," he begins carefully, "I never did like trees--but I don't know anyone who does, either." He leans on his flag a little bit, and seems to draw some confidence from it. "Where are we going, anyway?" he asks casually, as if he's asked it a few times already.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Bagaglok snorts, though he does not look up this time. "Have you forgotten already? We go southward, for the lands of the wretched horse-lords. Cause some trouble down there, show them the might of the Great One."

He appears displeased about the direction the knuckle bones are scattering in, (judging by his expression this is not the first time this has happened) and the shaman whams the mallet down harder the bones fly into the air, and fall back upon the surface of the drum. A few however, stray, whirling toward where Bogak leans against the Pulgor flag.

Bogak sinks downward again, slightly, and stammers, "Yes, I know. I just, eh... wanted to know if there was a change in the plan." He starts as Bagaglok's drumming escalates. He leans in and peers at the drum, watching the bones skitter across the surface. Suddenly, he jumps backward. Lifting his flag up into both hands, he runs back a few paces. "What are they saying?" he groans.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Any escaping knuckles are swifly plucked back up from the dirt, and plopped back among the others on the hide instrument. A corner of his mouth twitches at the second uruk's frightful reaction. "It is hard to tell," replies Bagaglok, and he pauses in the beating, letting the mallet hover for now in his claw. "Before, they were drifting toward this sign, which stands for the sun...it could have many interpretations. Perhaps our travels and battles will be hindered by the sky's accursed yellow eye, or possibly the rune refers more to the sun's heat -- and thus it might be implying another Eye...hopefully not the heat of its wrath."

Bogak takes a few small steps forward again. "Well," he says, "I don't know anything about that. And I don't want to, either... I'm going to get away before I bother those old Dwarfs any more than I already have." He grips up his flag again, making ready to wander away. "I'm just here to wave the banner."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Indeed," the Malkog dips his skull-helmed head in a nod, and a few more fangs are shown in a curling of his lips. "Then wave it proud and high, that those fools who oppose Him shall see its emblem and cower."

The drum beats resume, and the robed orc casts his focus downward. Thud, thump, thud, thump...