Rainy Bargaining

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

The day sky still dumps copious amounts of rain, and sometimes sleet, down onto you. The early evening autumn air is damp and chilling.

Contents:
Morian Orc Camp
Barzhaat
Uruk Camp
Boundary Stone
Obvious exits:
 East leads to Anduin Vale, North of Lorien.
 West leads to Foothills of the Misties - South of Cloudyhead.
 North leads to Foothills of the Misties.

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Early Evening on Highday, Day 23 of September.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 14:28:43 MDT on Tue Apr 20 2010.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Rain and a few pieces of sleet batter down over the lands, and the evening is chill with the autumn breeze. The orc camps have inched a little more westward, their path slowly aiming for the towering forms of the Mountains. Lorien still lies menacingly to the immediate south.

A small group of black figures stalks over the deadening grasses of the vale, heading back it seems to the Mordain encampment. Scouts they look to be, though at their rear walks the shaman Bagaglok all are drenched and dripping with rain.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The main Morian camp would appear to be just waking to life after the quiet of the day, with black antlike figures moving this way and that - tetraks and the higher ranks giving orders and snagas hastening to carry them out or succumbing to the kicks and curses reserved for failure, early-night irritability or just plain bad mood. It is indeed foul weather.

But scouts are not a phenomenon confined to Mordor alone. A dank, dark shape detaches itself from behind a lone rock and steps out, clearly visible to the newcomers. Barzhaat has her bow in one hand, and around her head is tied a sodden piece of gauzy rag that has just been pushed back from her yellow eyes with the other. Dark is, after all, almost upon them. "In haste, Easterners?" she queries softly, thin lips pulling back from her yellowed fangs.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
A few of the Mordain uruks tense visibly at the sudden appearance of a figure close at hand but it is clearly orcish, and no bows or opposing weapons are aimed. The two camps may be neighbors for now, but is seems that this inspires no ready kindness -- most of the scouts pass into the Eastern camp without so much as a word in acknowledgement to their northern kin member.

Bagaglok however, does slow his steps, halting to face the Morian. A dark clump of plants is clutched in one claw. "Seeing what lurks beyond on the path ahead...the place stinks of leaf-ears, though they cannot be seen." The creature's face is carefully left blank as he speaks, though he cocks a brow. "Is there something I can help you with?"

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The Morian scout's gaze shifts automatically to the rearmost figure. At the mere mention of leaf-ears her nose wrinkles. "Which is why those with wit will move before the cursed tree-humpers set an ambush. It is to us to choose the time when our blades run red with their weak blood." The thin lips wrinkle again, in almost a sneer.

The final question brings a direct stare at the plants. "In the camp of the Mountain-folk, many things are said. They speak of a poison that is death to the filthy tree-humpers. What truth is there in that speech?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The she-orc's initial comments are met with a slight twitch of the lips, but the shaman says nothing, instead answering the other questions. "They no doubt speak of the arrows our camp had used during the crossing." Bagaglok points eastward where the Anduin still rushes in the distance. "Their heads were tainted with spider venom..." The Easterner makes an odd expression, as if trying to hold back a smirk. "While the arrows were shot for the trees where the pointed ears were hiding in, many I am afraid had strayed among your people who were standing in the way."

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat does not follow that pointing finger rather her own gaze is fixed squarely on the patrol before her. Rivers, after all, do not generally kill without warning. "Most .. unfortunate, that," the scout agrees. "Yet all do not appear to have been fatal." For the blink of an eye her own carefully schooled expression changes, almost one might think it irritation. "Is there evidence that this ..venom.. is effective?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Mordain scouts have fairly ignored the Northerner, and the bulk of the patrol is already passing into their camp's borders. Only two or three remain beside the red-robed goblin. Bows and blades were not drawn still, though they lie in wait at the ready.

"Depends on what you mean by effective," replies Bagaglok. "I did not see whether the arrows hit the albai scum or not, so I cannot say if they were effective on the light lovers. Your king, however, can attest that the venom induces dizziness and failing strength in the limbs he was struck with one of the dark shafts." The hintings of a grin are a tad more pronounced.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Once again that irritable expression flits across the she-orc's features. "Like I said ... not fully effective. Perhaps I should seek another venom for my arrow-tips."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Now it is the other's turn for a frown, and the crushed plant in his hand is clenched a little tighter than necessary. "I will give you vemon if you wish it," the statement comes out as a half-hiss, and for a moment it is unclear if he means it as a threat or not. But then, the shaman continues, paying no attention to a few low snickerings that come from the remaining Mordor scouts. "There was not much time to make a multitude of the arrows, and they have pretty near run out as is..but I had planned on looking into creating a more potent poison. If you can wait, you are welcome to receive some."

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The Morian scout shakes raindrops from her braids with their assortment of grisly decorations, sending one object spinning and whirling. It is the head of an arrow, although presumably this particular one was never envenomed. "That ..." she pauses, choosing her words carefully, "would be an honour, Master of Brews. Tell me, how would such a poison be tested?" Her hand tightens round her bow-shaft, and her claws tighten to rap an eager beat on the wood. "And what is the price?" For a moment her eyes flare a smoky yellow then the flame is smothered.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Have you no one that you wish ill to?" the Malkog says, after watching the spiraling dance of the arrowhead hair decoration. "No one you bear a grudge against? Test it on them, and you shall see how well it works on our kind, as well as riding yourself of someone you despise. Or perhaps you will be lucky enough to strike and fell a leaf-ear with a poisoned dart."

Bagaglok smiles fully, finally, though it is tinged with greed. "For a price..would you agree to a piece of gold for twelve arrows?"

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Again that brief gleam wakes in Barzhaat's yellow eyes at the mention of testing. Perhaps there is indeed someone she bears a grudge against? It is swiftly hid, for she murmurs with a fanged grin, "Perhaps I shall fell a tree-hu - a leaf-ear," absently she mouths the Easterner's term, "without the poison. Who knows the will of the Flame?"

The subject of price brings a pursing of the lips. "You drive a hard bargain, Master of Brews. For a price in gold, one would need to fell an entire forest." Of course, her gaze flits toward Lorien's distant trees. Not for long - she returns to watching the Shaman and his guards. "I cannot meet that price." The words are flat. "But I offer an alternative. My," she pauses briefly, searching for a word, "my tribe are gatherers. Leather, wood, meat - these and more we control. I will provide you with a barrel of meat per arrow, or cured skins."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
One of the Eastern scouts shifts slightly at the gleam that the suggestion of testing appears to bring into Barzhaat's eyes but Bagaglok gives him a quick sidelong glance that stays the orc's hand from drawing his bow. It is quite obvious the shaman would rather gold, but he responds nevertheless, "We lost a great amount of supplies in the raft disaster. No doubt anything your tribe can offer will be put to use. Very well," he nods his skull-helmed head, and moves to turn away. "The price I agree upon. I shall find you when the poison is completed."

It is as much of a farewell as the Morian will receive -- for Bagaglok is already stepping off toward the Mordor camp. The scouts follow this time, though not without giving the she-orc a few none too-kindly glances.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] "Then I will await your success, Master of Brews." Barzhaat inclines her head as Bagaglok steps past, having no doubt picked up on the clues as to the other's high status. She remains stock-still as the Eastern scouts filter past her, the unfriendly glances waking no response save a stony stare. When they are gone though, lost in the dark and the rain, her own gaze turns westward, toward the Morian camp and the high mountain peaks. Slowly, her thin lips part and her fanged mouth opens in a snarled grin.