Can't Wait to Be King

[Antnog(#32047)] With the departure of the king the Mordain battalion snakes back to their camp, soured by their meeting with the arrogance of Moria's suzerain and grumbling bitterly to that end. Amongst the cheiefly disgruntled - and utmost itchy, as evidenced by his fingers dancing figure eights across exposed flesh - is Antnog, whose scimitar angrily drags clicking agaisnt the ground. But he is not one to just grumble. No. The executioner, in fashion of his trade, prefers the slit-throat direct route, and thus he approaches the Shaman about a matter which would turn complaints into action, "Oi, shaman. About that revenge. I got a plan that'll keep us away from His Favourites," a momentary shudder shakes his shoulders, "but get us nice and even with that heathen bastard. Or at least: I got me the inkling of one. It's got to do with some trolls, a dead king, and civil war amongst the rats. Wanna hear more?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Following path along with the departing group, Bagaglok is likewise grumbling, although his curses come forth in what must surely be the sacred Black Speech. The red robed orc falls silent as the second uruk nears, and the shaman turns a sidelong glance as he listens. "Keep us away from them, the Favorites, that is good," he agrees, also giving a small shudder and running a few fingers over the shape of an old scar that runs along a gray cheek the faded cut still bears an odd cold tinge...

"Indeed, speak on," nods Bagaglok after a moment, yellow eyes now clearly filled with sick excitement. "I listen."

[Antnog(#32047)] A grin twists open the wide mouth of the executioner as he proceeds in the discussion of his musings for regicide, "Wells I thinks it outs like this: The rats think themselves higher than they are. They think they ain't got to pay the piper to the Great One and think they're not accountable for their deeds or words. As a consequence, they gots them a king. A king who sits down on his throne and he's got a hall 'o traitors right under his nose, as none of them are kept in line by proper respect to nothin'. They got a flame, but he ain't ruling them: Else there'd not be a king. So I says we make sure they ain't got no king for much longer. We send in some trolls. Some big, heavy, piles o' stone that don't matter none if they die, so long as they do what they're told. These trolls go in, kill the king, and the whole rotten structure comes tumbling down. Rat against rat. All the while, we watch. We wait. We bide our time, all patient like. Then," Antnog mimes the slitting of a throat with his blade, "we barge in, cut them up, and set up a right proper king for them, who knows Who's Who and What's What, and ain't cause us no trouble speaking ill of the Eye and being afraid of no leafy sissies."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Malkog listens to all of this with one ear cocked, and all the while his dreadful fanged grin only grows more horrid. The Mordain orcs have now reached their own camp again, and as the others file past, Bagaglok halts, clawed fingers tapping out a beat on the hilt of the scimitar that is visible from beneath his ritual garments. "Rat against rat," he laughs. "I like that greatly. Perhaps you'd fancy yourself as their king? Knock some sense into them and rule them properly..."

The cool hiss of metal heralds the drawing of his blade, and he holds it in one hand almost lazily. "But a king would need to be certain of his weapon skills, yes? Shall we see what you are capable of?"

COMBAT - Wielded: Blackened Scimitar

[Antnog(#32047)] How does ambition show in an Orc? Does the grin become wider, more carnivorous? Does the nose sniffle clean and the nostrils flare? Does the back somewhat unhunch, the chest puff out? What about all of it? For the executioner shows the lot as he rises up to the mentioning of kingship. "Crowns are nice," says Antnog, "and I ain't got nothin' against servin' the Eye by reigning over a bunch of fools. I'd savour it, yes, I'd savour it indeed. But you're right," his clawed hand clutches tight his scimitar as he raises it before him while grabbing likewise his shield from behind his back, "a crown ain't gonna protect this purdy face and if we gots talk of king-slayin', we might as well talk about sword play. How'd cha think of this?"

Planting the lead-foot forward, Antnog swipes his curved blade at the shaman in a broad, reckless stroke, more fit for chopping heads then for battle.

Antnog attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he misses!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"I think," replies the shaman, sidestepping the blow, "it could be better." Unlike the the other, Bagaglok does not wear his shield, relying solely on the crimson robes that cover him -- though who knows what may lie beneath?

He takes a pace forward, turning the flat of his blade toward Antnog's knees. "If you are successful, then make sure they know their true Lord. Never again shall they worship the false god, their demon of fire. Or at least the mountain rats will understand his place below our Master." The scimitar sails.

You attack Antnog with your Scimitar...
Your attack against Antnog mildly wounds him!

[Antnog(#32047)] Thwack! The executioner is neither nimble enough to dance away nor quick-reacting enough to parry or block the flat-bladed spanking his bowed knees endure from the shaman. Well aimed it was, too: Right beneath his hauberk of mail, such that if the cutting surface struck true, he'd have been hobbled for sure. "Good one," concedes Antnog amidst a cough. "Well played. But have try this!" The planted leg shifts foward as he lunges into a stab at the shaman near to his shoulder, the scimitar angled upward so as to run the cutting edge forward.

"And aye, there'd be not a single bit of their burning idol nonsense. I ain't gonna tolerate heathenish foolery that sets them at odds with the Master. They know nothing of the real powers at play and think they're set on par with us! They're nothing but shrews in the fields. Ever outragin' the Eye. Ya hear that louse? The fool said the Flame protects them from trees, but the Eye can't do naught for us. I say: Psshaw! No tree can match the Lord and I ain't fearin' no bark from no dogwood. No sir."

Antnog attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

ARB: You've been injured for 1 hp's by Antnog's attack...
...you have 89 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The executioner's strike hits, and judging by the hissing sound Bagaglok makes, it would tell it has done enough to at least make a bruise under the hidden mail the robed goblin wears. "Good," acknowledges the shaman with a skull-helmed nod. "And it seems your tongue is just as sharp -- necessary for dealing with such filth who speak blasphemy. They will leave us to the giant birds of the mountains? Then let them crawl back to their holes..let them think they are safe until we put your schemes into motion."

This time, his own orc-blade is aimed higher as well: purposing to smite upper arm.

You attack Antnog with your Scimitar...
Your attack against Antnog mildly wounds him!

[Antnog(#32047)] Futile was the effort of Antnog to block the shaman's assault with his shield, as the blade, though it is slightly deflected, still stings the shoulder where it lands true. "Agh," spits Antnog, "ya got me again! 2-1, eh? Let's see...What should I do..." What appears to be a useless flourish of his scimitar as he feigns indecision is merely a feint to a shield bash! The boss of his wooden heater shield is sent pummelled against his sparring partner, the steel driven towards his chest.

"Aye, back to their holes. Back to their holes, their squalor, and dishonour. They're a cowardly lot. And they're about to know true fear and true obedience when we comes to wring their necks for their words and disrespect. Didcha see what he dared to do to the correspondence from the Lord? He crumpled it! He thinks HIMSELF is an equal - not even just the liar fire."

Antnog attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and you parry his attack with your Scimitar!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Thanks to the single sharp, curved edge of a scimitar, the weapon is easy to manipulate while holding it close to the body and thus it is held, allowing the robed orc to meet the onslaught of the proptruding midsection of the shield. The bulk of the attack is fended off, but the force of it sends Bagaglok back several steps. "You are resourceful too, I see," says the shaman, appearing pleased by his opponent's change in tactic. "A good king you would make, verily. Now, show me again."

He raises the scimitar at an angle as he advances anew, directing the point of the orc-blade to pass around the side of the shield and strike at that arm that holds it.

You attack Antnog with your Scimitar...
Your attack against Antnog mildly wounds him!

[Antnog(#32047)] "My thanks!" answers Antnog even as he hisses from the sting of another landed blow striking around his defenses. Still, he presses through drawn blood and the bite of steel and retaliates in kind with a looping, swooping blow from his blade. Like with his first assault, the course is lateral: A swipe, rather than a slash, but aimed low as to tickle the belly rather than the neck. Were their blades not pulled, this would be for the sake of evisceration rather than decapitation, or else a crude, Orcish variation of the caesarian section.

Antnog attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he misses!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Alas, for the second orc espies the oncoming attemp ere it flies true, and he hops sideways to avoid it. Nevertheless, Bagaglok nods still, "Persistance, determination, use them to your advantage, yes. A few more swings perhaps, before we finish?" He pulls the scimitar away, only to bring it forward again, seeking to connect with Antnog's legs just as the shaman's initial attack had done.

You attack Antnog with your Scimitar...
Antnog parries your attack with his shield!

[Antnog(#32047)] Clunk! For once, the executioner is quick enough for wood to block steel with a satisfying, victorious 'thud'. Of course, it is a small victory, and one which would be sweetest if spiced by a second tagging of his trainer, and let none doubt Antnog's sweet-tooth when he seeks success in chopping down at the helm of the shaman. The rise and fall of his blade arm is is quick and the chopping, downward cleave is brought down with assistance of a forward-stomping leg such as to deliver the blow with sufficient weight behind it. "Aye, let none call me a quitter. Pure stubborness oft works where naught else can, 'specially against nimble shamans."

Antnog attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he misses!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Malkog cannot stiffle a grin at the words, watching with his yellow eyes as the executioner's weapon falls short after yet another back step. "Nimbleness is the next thing you would be clever at working on." The scimitar is still held at the ready, but something makes his attention shift for a passing moment, and Bagaglok's gaze is turned. Tsk, tsk, is that a priest of the Eye letting his guard down?
 
You forego your chance to attack.

[Antnog(#32047)] Will the executioner dare a sucker punch? Or rather, a sucker slash? Simply put: Yes! No orc worth his water will not take what's given him, and in this case, Antnog is afforded an opening that sweetly exposes his trainer to a second assault. "Aye, not nimble but not distracted!" he announces as he takes the opportunity against Bagaglok, his scimitar wind-whooshing as it is brought in speedy, chest-crossing slash.

Antnog attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

ARB: You've been injured for 1 hp's by Antnog's attack...
...you have 88 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The shout about distractions, and the wind-whoosh of the foe-blade as it streaks snaps the Malkog's attention to the fore, but too late. He gasps in a mixture of surprise and pain as the scimitar leaves its mark the concealed mail does not serve its wearer as well as it promises, for a thin line of black is visible from the tear in the fabric. Bagaglok stumbles back more, rubbing at the spot with his free hand. The second claw retains his own weapon, but it does not lash out for a retailiation. Evident by his breathing and posture, the older uruk has grown weary by the exchange.

"That is enough, I think," the shaman says, and the orc-sword is sheathed. "For now." He straightens, turning as though to head further into the confines of the camp. "Your abilities are promising, and I look forward to hearing more of this 'rat against rat' plot when you are ready to put it into motion. I give you leave to seek me in my tent should you require anything." Bagaglok points the particular black structure out amid the shaman section of the encampment.

[Antnog(#32047)] Antnog is likewise fatigued but the pleasure of a parting shot does much to relieve the immediate ache of wounds sustained and muscles exerted. Still, he is neither opposed nor hesitant to sheath his scimitar and, after affording a nod of respect to the shaman, says, "Aye, I'm not too shabby at cutting, but I'm more used to loppin' the heads off insubordinates, thieves, and other miscreants amongst the ranks than a cunning, skilled shaman who taught me a few nasty tricks to play on our foes. I thank you, shaman, and it is certain that we'll be speaking soon on the rat fights. The sooner we can set them against eachother and get us a proper king, knowin' well the ways of the Eye," and here a grin betrayed that he was speaking of himself, "the sooner we can play kickball with the heathen's head. Now, if only we can find a proper troll that's fit for the task. A bag-o-marbles with a few missin' in the noggin' who won't mind ripping in twain a filthy, blasphemy-spewing louse like that would-be-king. Aye, that's the rub. I'll go a-searching. Shouldn't be too long...nor too hard."