Batter Up

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Mid Afternoon on Highday, Day 14 of October.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 13:42:02 MDT on Tue Apr 27 2010.

Foothills of the Misties
The sunlight is too bright for your sensitive eyes. It is hard to make out much of anything.

Heavy layer of clouds roll around the dark day sky, letting loose downpour of snow that quickly is blown into heaps, hugging cliffs and rocks of this trollish landscape. Winter nears. The mid afternoon the grass is withered and brown, and the trees are bright with the yellows and reds and oranges of autumn. air is dull and chilled.

Contents:
Haldir
Morian Orc Camp
Uruk Camp
Obvious exits:
 Northeast leads to Foothills of the Misties - South of Cloudyhead.
 South leads to Plains aside the Silverlode.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
It is afternoon, but the sky is dark and snowy. White flakes dance down here and there across this mountainous landscape, but the earth is warm enough that the grass is still visible in most spots.

Fires are going in both orc camps this day, and many tent flaps are held shut against the snow. But the weather does nothing to stop the activities of the orcs, and inside the Mordain encampment, Bagaglok is busy fumbling around in a pile of snow that has been swept up against the side of a black hide shelter.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
Surtha squints as the bright white flakes settle on his ragged clothing and fraying scarf, melting quickly to dampen his scrawny body. The small orc grumbles a little, then trudges towards the black tent, dragging a makeshift broom of sorts about on the ground.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
As occupied as he is, the shaman looks up at the dragging sounds, and turns his head until the little orc comes into view. "Would you take that broom of yours and whack the pile?" If the question is odd, Bagaglok doesn't seem to care, and quickly he is staring downward again, with one hand still in the snow. He gives a hiss, and yanks it back out. "Bit me again, the wretched thing."

[Haldir(#25231)] 
Surtha looks quizzically at the pile. "Sure I should? Is there something still in there?" Nevertheless, the uruk wields the broom with both skinny claws and swings it (home run!) fiercely at the requested bit of snow, scattering little flakes over himself and the orc-shaman.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Something's hiding in there, yes," the robed goblin replies, though looking quite unconcerned about the possibilty of the whacking hurting the hidden 'something'. He watches the explosion of snow intently, brushing a little of the wet flakes off of himself. "Again." A black feather lands amid the scattered snow from the broom.

[Haldir(#25231)] 
The feather catches the uruk's eye, and Surtha drools a little at the possibility of a hidden store of frozen chicken.

Flexing his skinny shoulder, he braces his knees and takes another swing at the snow-covered mound.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
And that does it a tiny black thing is tossled up from the second swing, and it lands with a plop on the ground nearby. It is a small black bird.

Bagaglok bends to hurriedly snatch the creature up, and when he straightens, the priestly uruk frowns. "It's not for eating," comes the simple statement. "I need it for..something else."

[Haldir(#25231)] 
"All of it?" Surtha eyes the ruffled creature longingly, picking up the black feather and chewing on it.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The bird chirps and twists, trying to wriggle free its tiny beak nips again at the same finger. "Well, no," says the Malkog through a new hiss, and he only holds the animal tighter, "I do not need all of it, only its blood. It must live for a while longer, but once I am finished with it.." Bagaglok peers down to give Surtha a sidelong amused expression. "I can give it to you. You may do what you will with it."

[Haldir(#25231)] 
"Bird's blood?" Surtha tilts his head, then decides it's a good enough deal. "Yessir. I'll wait patiently." Grinning nastily, he props up the broom with his foot claw, then begins to sweep around the shaman's tent.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
For a length, the crimson robed uruk merely observes Surtha's efforts, and he tilts his head in consideration. "One of the Northerners has promised to bring me a live boar if her scouts and hunters catch one. It will serve the same purpose as the bird," there is a loud chirp, and the shaman takes a few fingers of his second claw to try and hold the little avian's mouth closed. "But it too you may have if you wish. After I am done. The cooks might be jealous, no doubt."

[Haldir(#25231)] 
"I hope it still tastes good," says Surtha hopefully, beaming toothily at the Malkog before his ragged figure disappears on the other side of the tent, accompanied by scratchy sweeping sounds.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
With its beak now clasped shut, the bird is silent, although it still squirmes defiantly. "It should taste fine, aside from being rather dry." Bagaglok takes a few steps toward the front of the tent, but pauses at the entrance. "Mind the wood stakes," he warns to the cleaning orc, "else the whole tent will fall over...and I shall reconsider rewarding you with your bird, or the wild pig."

[Haldir(#25231)] 
Barely visible above the tent, the uruk's ears flatten in fear, and afterwards the brushing is much more quiet, much more cautious.