Ashes to Ashes

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Midnight on Hevensday, Day 14 of March.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 15:43:07 MDT on Mon Feb 15 2010.

Western Edge of Mirkwood
Under the renewing eaves of Mirkwood, the midnight sky is shadowed a bit. The whole area is sprouting in the night cool air.

The edge of the foreboding forest continues on in a north-south orientation, and the wide open spaces of the Anduin Vale lie off to the west.

Thick clouds of billowing grey cover over the night's sky.

Contents:
Broddur
Uruk Camp
Obvious exits:
SouthEast, NorthEast, North, and South

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
There is a cooler wind this late night, and with it comes signs of the new spring: sprouts are surfacing, and the leaves overhead are returning to their homes on the dark and twisted branches.

Of course, where there are signs of beauty, there are also things nearby to ruin it - in the midst of this scene of green rebirth, dreadful creatures strike up a racket with harsh, gutteral voices. Oblivious to the spring, or perhaps just uncaring, the Orcs of Mordor go about their nightly duties. Currently, there appears to be some sort of argument arising in the far corner of the camp, but it does not transcend raised voices. Sitting not far from the small group of quarrling uruks is Bagaglok, back facing the nearest black tent. In front of him there is spread out a series of bowls filled with what looks like mud.

[Brogdush(#16974)] One new-come to the scene is the broad, bowlegged orc currently dragging a section of fresh-hewn tree trunk across the camp. As he strains at the rope wound round it, he pauses for breath (or perhaps out of mere curiosity), turning half an ear to the argument beside him. Yellow eyes flick over the group and he fingers the broad-bladed machete at his waist but then, seeing nothing immediately worth spilling blood over, he moves on, halting outside Bagaglok's tent with a grunt. He stares at the bowls and some emotion - awe? fear? - clouds his twisted features. "Was you as was wanting this?" The question comes almost as a grunt.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Shaman's gaze moves upward from the containers to flash the yonder squabblers an annoyed glare then, the broad form of the tree-hauling orc comes into view, and that yellow regard lingers in that direction. "Yesss," hisses Bagaglok, flicking a claw at the ground beside himself, "place it there, if you will."

Attention drifts back down, and he stirs one of the bowl's contents with a dirty twig. "Would you like to see something?" the red-clothed goblin asks slowly after a brief silence. An odd grin plays on his features.

[Brogdush(#16974)] The order is dealt with first. The forester-orc stoops to untie the rope from the log, and a fresh, resinous scent fills the air as new sap oozes from the tree's wounds. It doesn't seem to bother the one who inflicted them he wipes a sap-smeared hand across the back of his nose and then, with another grunt, rolls the log to its final resting place.

Only then does he lean back on his heels to look up at the Shaman. "Seen a few things. Seen our boys been busy in the woods of late. Seen the filthy day-lovers kick our backsides once too often. But your ..uh, prayers.." a sidelong glance at those unknown bowls, "are going to change that. Things are lookin' up, right?"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"My prayers?" chuckles the second uruk, but he does not look up again. "You imply that the prayers of the camp as a whole do not matter, forester. Little wonder why this rabble is in such a pitiful state...but yes," Bagaglok pushes himself to his feet, and stooping, plucks up the closest bowl from the earth, "the prayers are working." Pacing to the left, the Shaman halts next to the muddied side of the felled tree. The wooden container is clasped rather tightly in one hand, and he swivels his wrist to allow the liquid inside to slosh about slightly. Now a vile scent can be sniffed over the fresh pine and sap odor from the tree.

"You may have seen many things," Bagaglok says, sparing a glance to the forester-orc, "but I do not think you have seen this spectacle..." With a quick flick of his claw, the orc dumps the mud-like liquid over the end of the tree. The air above it seems to almost shimmer in the night air, but nothing appears to be happening...

[Brogdush(#16974)] The orcish forester shakes his head. "It's not my job," he mumbles. "I do what the bosses say. Don't know how to talk to ... Him." His nose twitches as a waft of noisesome stench drifts his way, but in their time goblins smell many things. There is no other reaction.

He gazes in nervous awe at the shaman's actions, but when the liquid is poured over the stump he leaps back with a yelp, as though he were expecting sudden flame to sprout up. Yellow eyes fix on the shimmer in the air and he remains crouched in stillness, like a mouse held rapt by the snake's gaze.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The Malkog snorts at the other uruk's reply. "You speak to the Great One the same way you speak to me clearly you can manage that, hmm?" But then Bagaglok waves the issue away with his free hand, and the dormant tree is given a frown as he studies it for a moment, ashen brow furrowed in concentration.

Then, as the short robed goblin snaps his grimy fingers a breath parts his lips, and one word hangs louder in the air: "...ghaash..." The forester's guess at fire couldn't be closer to the truth...there is a sharp cracking noise, and suddenly the gloom of Mirkwood is alive with brightness. The end of the tree is crowned in a dancing veil of ominous green fire, and slowly the pine wood appears to be steadily turning black - dead, and yet not consumed by the hungry tongues of flame. The Shaman mutters something inaudible, and he looks quite pleased indeed at what is occuring. "The test," he says aloud, "is not disappointing...if this is what the fire can do against the weak trees, then imagine what it could accomplish when used against His enemies."

[Brogdush(#16974)] The forester-orc's breath is released in a hiss as that sheet of flame springs up, and the green of the flame gives his scar-pocked features a sickly hue. Slowly he leans forward, palms pressed against the ground, and begins to mutter. Perhaps he has found a prayer he can utter - or perhaps it's just a simple curse.

At Bagaglok's words his head jerks back up. "Their crops'd burn. An' those pathetic wooden houses they insist on throwin' up." Clearly, today 'enemies' means the Bear-folk. The vastness of the world outside and the might of powers that the Dark Lord's minions must pit themselves against seems to have entirely passed him by.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
At this point, the bickering orcs have ceased their fighting. There is utter quiet from their corner, and many either stare in disbelief or awe, while a handful of others retreat into the further shadows, traces of fear etched into their twisted faces.

A sickly moan rumbles, almost seeming to come from the ground or the tree itself. With a hissing sound, the flames merge and flow up the pine's length, covering it whole behind the green wall. Then, the fire whirls, and falls to the earth where it withers ere vanishing with a puff of oddly hued smoke. The tree is gone. Black ashes litter the earth where it had rested seconds prior.

"Crops, and houses, of course," answers Bagaglok after a time, and he turns his head to fix the forester-orc with his yellow stare. "And their owners as well, yes? Even better - we shall see them suffer and be devoured like the pathetic plant. Then they will know and fully fear His Name and power!" the red-garbed creature laughs - an awful cackle laced with malice. "But the same might befall those of His servants who betray Him," he grins at his companion. "Or those uruks who displease Him...but you are loyal, eh? It would be most -unfortunate- if you were not..."

[Brogdush(#16974)] The forester-orc lifts his palms from the ground as it starts to tremble. He stares mutely as the tree is consumed, and there is a long stillness before he lifts his head to sniff at the ashes. He makes no attempt to touch them, or to move any closer.

Is it some mere trick of the shifting light that the orc's sallow skin seems to pale a little at Bagaglok's question. "I serve Him," the creature proclaims hastily, "same as everyone else. Do what I'm told, go where I'm sent. What else is there?" He pauses, swallowing, and then seems to regain his nerve. "You'll be wantin' more wood? Don't know all this learning-stuff," he jerks his head uncomfortably towards the Shaman's array of bowls, "but I know fire needs wood to burn."

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
"Good, good," nods the Malkog as the orc confirms his loyalty, "you'd be a fool to say otherwise. As for wood, yes more will be required. Perhaps at some point we shall even chance to steal some of the pointed-ear scum's wretched gold trees to burn as this one has done. Teach them a lesson," he laughs again. "Very well, then," says Bagaglok. "The show is complete. You may go." He moves to collect his bowls and waves a hand in dismissal.

[Brogdush(#16974)] The forester listens. He scrambles to his feet. And then, as the Shaman makes mention of gold-trees, his fanged mouth stretches in a slow grin. "Yes!" Away he lopes across the camp, long apelike arms swinging at his sides, and then disappears into the darkness beneath Mirkwood's tangled boughs.