Arrow-heads in the Dark

Western Edge of Mirkwood - Dol Guldur Road
Under the sprouting eaves of the dark and dangerous wood, you feel a discomfort in the cool midnight air. Perhaps it is the nearness of something dark and sinister accompanying you on the great Dol Guldur road this midnight, or the sounds of the surrounding forest all around. The stones seem to ring hollowly at each step and draw the attention of the creatures within the trees.

The forest edge cuts to the northeast and southwest of you. To the southwest lies the vast, flat floodplain of the Anduin vale beyond the beginning of this road. And far to the east, down this great work of Khamul, servant of Sauron, lies the fortress given to his care, the fortress of Dol Guldur.

The sound of rain falling surrounds you in all parts of the forest, though in the night only the silvery lines of the rain infront of your face can be seen before darkness swallows the falling water into blackness.

Contents:
Barzhaat
Uruk Camp
Obvious exits:
Road East, NorthEast, and Road SouthWest

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

Real time is: 15:23:30 MDT on Thu Feb 25 2010.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
There is a pitter patter like music as large drops of rain flit down from the midnight sky and fall on the draping leaves or slip to add more wetness to the soil. A pathway stretches here, disappearing into the deep of Mirkwood to the East -- the Dol Guldur road. A little ways off of this path, nearer to the bordor of the twisted trees there sits the Mordain encampment. Now that the sun is gone, activity has renewed but perhaps the most worked upon task seem to be the dragging of many tree trunks and logs into the scattered area of tents. The forester orcs are particularly busy this night, it seems.

From the immediate North comes a red-shrouded form, and beside him trots a small snaga. "No, I did not bring Elf back for you, now be gone!" growls Bagaglok, and the mocking grin the little slave bears is quickly wiped away. The snaga slinks off, as the Shaman enters into the border of the camp. There is an obvious limp in the robed orc's step, and many bandages are wrapped around his right side.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The pitter-pat of the raindrops conceals another noise: the soft steps of flat goblin feet. From the plains to the west they come, swift and noiseless as weasels, nosing the air as they go. They are smaller than the Mordains, lightly clad though with a tough, wiry look, and number a mere half-dozen - scouts, mayhap. Their leader bears on his bloodied and tattered leather the device of a skull.

The sounds and smells of the camp draw them, of course, and the boldest of them inches his way forward to the trees about their margins, trying to get a closer look at the activity within.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The new comers' presence would be easy to overlook, as quiet as they are and as noisy as the Mordain camp is. But there is a guard set at the camp's edges, and suddenly a spear-wielding uruk-hai gives a shout. The daring Morian who creeps closer has been smelt. A harsh voice barks suddenly, "Who goes there?"

The Shaman pauses on the bordor of the camp, curiosity turning his head and he fixes his yellow regard in the direction of the commotion. Slowly, limping still, he approaches to watch.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The Morian scout freezes, pale eyes blinking raindrops away as he glances this way and that. Almost, he might seem to be contemplating flight. But then he steps out from behind the concealing trunk and gives answer in crudely-accented Common, "Friend. The stinking light-lovers passed our gates in the West. We track them, and those Woodmen worms."Thin lips draw back from the creature's teeth, revealing black fangs one is broken. "What's all this? Some toy to kill those cursed tree-humpers?" He licks his lips almost eagerly.

He does not draw the sap-dulled scimitar at his belt likely though, his comrades with their bows are watching. Perhaps they would shoot if he were killed, perhaps not ...

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Mordor orcs are not stupid, though their species can be dim-witted at times they do not shoot or move to strike the scout -- for no doubt his little friends are watching in the distance. "Ehh, the light-lovers? Not seen some in a few moons.." the nearest orc-guard says, but Bagaglok steps closer, waving a hand to silence him.

"The leaf-ears, you mean?" he stares closely at the Morian, speaking slowly, suspiciously almost. "I met one of the tree-huggers the other morning northward. He was alone, but wielded a wretched blade," the Shaman points to the bandages, frowning hatefully. "As for the logs...they are not for them, but for a different purpose."

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The Morian grunts at that, neither confirming or denying. "Past time the King sent out the Horde. Filthy tr- uh, leaf-ears," he corrects that with a wrinkle of his broad-nostrilled nose, "been getting too bold lately, I tell them," and the fanged mouth stretches in a grin.

It doesn't stop him sending a sharp glance toward the logs and asking casually, "What are they for, then?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"So that is your business here, then?" asks Bagaglok, pausing a moment to scan the dark treeline perhaps for any more signs of the little goblin's comrades. "Fair enough, the less of the albai scum there are, the better." And he laughs, but it is interrupted by a cough and the orc rubs his torn side with one claw.

"The logsss," hisses the Shaman slowly, "I have been using some of them to test potions that I've in store for the light-lovers of which you speak. But, that time is done...the logs are for traveling purposes now." He does not elaborate on this, still watching the Morian with that yellow stare.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The remainder of the goblin-scouts are as at home in the darkness as bats. They remain in cover, hiding beneath the gnarled and twisted boles of the Mirkwood. Should Bagaglok happen to glance the right way, he might catch the glint of filtered starlight on an arrow-point, nocked to a bow that as yet has not been drawn back, or the faint susurrus of breathing, or perhaps mark a tree-outline that is swollen broader than before. The hindmost of the scouts is at the forest edge, ready to flee should it go ill for his companions.

The foremost, the spokes-goblin, lifts his head. "The eyes of the Mountain-folk are not blind. We see, we learn ... the-" He starts to use a title in his own twisted tongue, stops and amends, "King, acts."

The logs are given a shake of the head and a chuckle of derision. "You think to make them grow legs? Better to run by Mountain trails or ride wolf-back. That is how the folk of the Mountain go to war!"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The red-garbed uruk growls in reply, and appears irritated at the Morian speaker. The glinting arrow points in the nearby gloom do not improve his expression. A small gathering of guards has begun to form in this spot on the edge of the camp. Bows are strung and weapons held at the ready, though none make any indication to attack as of yet.

"Ha!" snorts Bagaglok, turning a cocked head downward to look down upon the smaller creature. "Our Riders mount and fight upon Wargs, little mountain rat." And he frowns, pointing a haggard claw. "You mock my magick with the trees, then? Speak naught on what is beyond your ken."

[Barzhaat(#16260)] At the title given him, the Morian's lips pull back sharply from his teeth, revealing the broken fang. "I do not mock, not even ash-sweepers." His pale eyes gleam slightly as his head turns this way and that. Then he states simply, "I go now. These lands are yours, across the River ours. There we fight and kill. If there is no killing of cursed light-lovers to be done here ..." Words uttered, he starts to back away, step by stealthy step, never taking his gaze from the red-robed figure.

[gurgag(#15662)] A snaga comes out of a tent and smells a familiar smell the smell of morians he rushes to the the source and says " Morians why are there Morians near our camp?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Hold," states the Shaman simply, his own eyes likewise not wavering from the Morian even as the goblin begins to back away. "If it is light-lovers you seek, they plague this forest often, coming from the North. There you should find plenty to cut down, and smite beneath your blades if you so desire."

The guards acknowlege this last, still clutching their weapons warily. As the snaga comes close, Bagaglok answers without turning his head, "They say they come to track and kill the leaf-ears, the Elves." The last word is said with venomous hatred, and the orc looks as though the word tastes unpleasant in his mouth.

[gurgag(#15662)] The Snaga Yells in rage. "Long Ears i hate them." Snarling he continues, "Well i dont think Long Ears would come to mordor at all. Not even in the most desprate of sorts."

'Wait i smells them" He states "they are in the forest with battlin somthin"

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The Morian scout freezes, his breath rasping slightly in the damp night air. Then he nods, still watching Bagaglok warily - his eyes widen slightly as the Shaman pronounces that ugly-sounding word. "I tell them. Perhaps the King sends the Horde out to play, perhaps not. East, west, north, south - the whole spine of the Mountains is his playground. It has many toys." He laughs then, not pleasantly. "Now I go."

At the snaga's yelling he gives a little chuckle. "Catch one then, maggot. They make good eating."

Suggestion made, he resumes his slow retreat.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Begone then, and play with your little toys," Bagaglok says, tone of disgust in his voice and he turns away from the departing Morian, letting the guards to deal with him if he decides to pull any tricks. "I would not complain if you managed to kill one of the pointed-ears," the Shaman nods to the snaga, giving an awful grin that shows a few fangs. "They taste good in stew as well." He points to the stained bandages that cover one of his sides. "But they are not always so easy to catch, otherwise we'd have feasts that never end." The robed uruk begins to walk back into the main of the camp, heading for the Shaman section.

[gurgag(#15662)] He smiles a wicked smile "If You hunt the long ears good they becoming to bothersome around here" With that said the snaga goes back to his tent.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The Morian scout acknowledges the snaga's words with a stretching of thin lips over blackened fangs that might be construed as a smile. More used to ambush than to open confrontation, he does not try any tricks. He simply continues that steady retreat - and as he goes, other shapes slip from the trees to join him, swift and silent as shadows. Westward they head, toward the open plains, toward the river and the old bridge that leads back to 'their' lands. Whether they or their kin will return again, who can say?

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The retreat of the mountain orcs is ignored by Bagaglok as he limps, save for a disdainful glare he shoots over his shoulder. Into a black hide tent the Shaman disappears, and an odd smell drifts out as the flaps open briefly. Then they close and are still once more.

As the guards relax a little and resume their duties, a large forester orc exits another tent from a different corner and, grumbling to himself, approaches one of the flickering firepits.

[gurgag(#15662)] A snaga come out of his tent following the forester saying. "I need a job and forester seems to fit my need to chop wood and not make trouble."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
With a grunt the forester orc turns his attention from the fire to Gurgag. "You'd like ter be a forester, eh? You like ter chop wood up, like the sound of axes going thunk against the trees?"

[gurgag(#15662)] Gurgag says in reply to his question. "Yeah. I love to chop the wood and the thunk of axes against trees."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Hmm," the forester rubs his chin as if considering. "Well, we could use some more lads to fell some trees." He walks slowly around the snaga, his eyes roving him up and down. "You look promising, I admit. Strong and willing, eh? Very well then. The foresters have been felling lots of trees in Mirkwood. We need them ter build a raft, the Commander says. His orders." He steps back, and nods. "Yes, I think you'll do nicely."

[gurgag(#15662)] The snaga nods saying "I will my best to fell the tree and bring the wood."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Good, very good," says the forester. "I'll make sure to let the officers know we've got ourselves another tree cutter orc."

And he walks off across the camp to do just that.