Royal audience!

Moria, Guarded Gates to the Throne

Two large flaming sconces bracket each side of the four massive archways, while a huge firepit crackles in the center of the chamber. The light reveals not only the four entrances into this chamber, one from each direction, but also a grand staircase that rises into the darkened ceiling. In the East is cut a thin slit, difficult to traverse, leading to the Great temple. Passage to the north is restricted by six guards in black chain mail armed with scimitars. The guards seem to be permanent fixtures, as they stand on either side of the northern archway. Stone benches, chipped and dirty, sit against the West wall, and are often occupied with those wishing to seek audiences with the Gothshaka.

Obvious exits:

Up leads to Great Hall of Feasting

North leads to Long Tunnel

East leads to Great Temple

South leads to Baneguard Chambers

West leads to Great Trade Hall

Drums. Drums in the deep.

Not often are the great hammers of Moria struck upon those drums, but when they are all heed their terrible rhythm. Throughout the halls of Khazad-dum of old, down into the nooks, crannies and tunnels carved out into the rock by eager goblins, even up the long lost Dimrill Stair the drums have been heard. Their beat is known to all who dwell under the mountains a summons. The Gothshaka calls for an audience.

And so the strength of Moria has been gathered indeed, the chatter of crude tongues and gnashing fangs can be heard to mingle with the crackle of the firepit dug before the great gates of the Throne-room. A thousand or more of the foul creatures are here to answer the King\'s call, and their throng is watched by the guards warily.

As yet, however, there is no sign of the Gothshaka himself.

Hulking and vicious are two good words to describe Marg. The Tetrak stands holding his gleaming battle axe ready to decapitate any uruk stupid enough to attack the reigning Gothshaka. He casts his gaze about and squints at those closest to the gates, a drop of saliva drips from a the end of a broken tooth on the right side of the slit that could be only generously called a mouth.

Where there is throng, there are pushes, stomped feet, arguments and disorder. Even more so if it is a crowd of orcs. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that the Smith Arnurk is beating a small orc with his mace.

\"Off, off! You\'re too close!\"

Obviously the new distance taken is no more than an inch or so... but the Smith is satisfied, eyes now gleaming maliciously as they examin the other orcs and, most of all, the path through which the king should come.

Watching the pushing and jostling Marg growls a low gutteral growl at the filth closest to him and raises his battle axe just a bit to back off the nearest vermin. The smaller orc notices the threat and wisely backs off, but does so with a snarl of promised violence for later. Marg smirks back at the orc and tests the edge of his axe with the thick stub of a thumb.

Using his weapon to smack his way through, Arnurk attempts to get closer to the gates, for better view. Though curses follow on his wake, he heeds them not, instead guffawing loudly as he carries his bulk around. Then upon spotting Marg threatening smaller orcs, he calls out.

\"Hooho, you, eh, there, yes. Yes. What\'s this all about, hm? Or don\'t you know either?\"

But ere Marg has the chance to reply, suddenly there is a lurch and a screech of iron as unseen gates slowly open. A nervous quiet settles upon the horde nigh every eye in the cavern turned northward then in answer to the noise. The screech lasts a moment longer, and then is done.

Out of the shadows of the northern passage come the stomp of feet and the rustle of mail -- followed quickly by the emergence of a well armed procession. A full two dozen heavy-set and hard-eyed uruk-hai march into view, two lines of menace that appear to flank a lone figure in the center. Tall, and clad in dark leather this last creature walks with a purpose.

Thus does Govog, King of the Pit and Gothshaka of the usurped realm of Moria arrive. His troop halts, his eyes blaze and with a snarl he raises his hands in greeting to the throng.

\"That\'s not for you to worry about maggot.\" Marg replies with a growl at Arnurk. \"The Gothshaka will tell us what he wants us to know.\"

Hoots and guttural cries emanate from the crowd, whether they be of anger or jubilation is hard to tell so vile are they. Some of the gathered hold weapons aloft and clank them on shields, other simply hold scarred and gnarled fist aloft and scream. Tis a vile sight in every respect, just as would expected of the uruk\'s of Moria.

Spitting at Marg\'s response, Arnurk afterwards emits his booming laugh, before likewise falls silent, watching, as the imponent guards flank Govog... though cries then erupt all around, the smith does not partake in them. Instead he places the ball of his mace on the ground, leaning on it.

He waits and observes.

And Govog appears to bathe in the cries, whether they be of approval or dissent, clenching his fist tight as he holds it aloft and nodding. His eyes scan the crowd, narrowing at whiles as he spots those who remain silent, and the sight of Arnurk leaning upon the mace does not escape his notice. All the same, he appears to have bigger fish to fry at this moment, and he barks out a reply to the mob.

\"That\'s right, boys!\" says he. \"Let it out! Let the mountains themselves shiver when they hear yer shouts!\"

Marg directs his attention to the newly arrived Gothshaka and the hulking figure holds his axe aloft and screams his head off. For however large he may be, he is none too smart and for whatever reason is loyal to the wicked king.

\"Ya, ya, ya!\"

That is Arnurk\'s contribution and reply to Govog\'s request, having as sound track idle hits of his mace on the ground. When it\'s done, he returns to his previous stance, his part in the yelling probably unnoticed, so heartless it was.

Arnurk\'s lacklustre display may not have been zealous, but it appears to be typical of a large part of the horde for when asked for noise they reply with grunts and shrugs. It seems even their anger is to be witheld from the King, if it is something he desires.

Once again Govog glares about, and steps forward a pace to loiter by his guards\' side. \"What\'s the matter?\" he growls, and a second time does his gaze rest upon the smith. \"You lads tired or something? Is this the greeting you give yer Gothshaka?\"

A pointed glance is sent Marg\'s way, and the other members of the King\'s guard tighten their grip upon their weapons.

Marg glares at the orcs closest to him and snarls between clenched cracked teeth. \"Scream for your Gothshaka or we will make you scream in pain worms!\" Marg kicks the closest orc in stomach with a iron shod foot to encourage these screams, whether they be of pain or passion. The unfortunate orc that was kicked does indeed howl in pain as the audible snap of ribs can be heard around the gathering.

\"Why we here!\"

At first Arnurk screams this, falling back into the crowd in order to put more orcs between himself and Marg and the guards, but as he repeats it, other orcs pick it up around, encouraged by the anonimity of the other yells prompted by terror, and growing in boldness as other voices join the chorus... still, perhaps, muffled by other cries.

Up into the rock the chant flies, bouncing around the chamber and setting the flames of the sconces a-quiver. The air moves with the fury of their cries, and through it all Govog stands watching his minions. Slowly his lip curls, his fangs are bared, and he raises a hand for peace.

\"Alright!\" he bellows. \"You want to know, eh? I\'ll tell yer, you ungrateful swine!\"

Marg growls under his breadth and gives the orc he just laid out another kick, this one to the head. He looks up and glares at the other assembled orcs with the promise of more violence in his blood shot eyes.

At the promise of an answer, Arnurk and the orcs who\'d been claiming for it fall silent, content to watch and listen, though some others still wreck havoc, particulary those by Marg, scared eyes showing how unsure they are of whether to be silent or yelling.

As the clamour dies down again, the Gothshaka sneers and nods his approval lowering his hand as though to quell the final shrieks of Marg\'s victims. Once more his eyes blaze, and he glares about the mighty cavern before speaks anew.

\"Better. Better. Now, I know why yer shouted, and I\'d be a poor king if I didn\'t care about you lads...\"

He trails off as one hidden voice suggests he is indeed a poor king after all, and a few sniggers rise up like soot from the fires.

\"Gah!\" says Govog then, slapping a fist into his palm. \"That\'s what yer think, is it? You blame me for there being no food in the cellars, and no grog in the barrels? Ask yerselves this: why is it we aint got none? Simple! The hunters aint doing their jobs!\"

Slenkrit arrives through the magnificent passage leading from the Feasting Hall.

Slenkrit has arrived.

This time, even Arnurk is caught in the conflagration that follows Govog\'s accusation. He nods, straightening his back and lifting his questioning.

\"Ay, ay, where have those darn hunters been?! What are they doing?\"

Joined and muffled by others of similar nature and rage.

Ever the dutiful guard Marg snarls at the mention of incompetent hunters. He kicks the now mostly dead orc at his feet and growls, \"This is what will happen to any hunter stupid enough to not bring food for us.\" He kicks him one last time to emphasize his sincerity.

A roar of approval shakes the chamber at this, and Govog nods accordingly, snarling to himself. With narrowed eyes peers about, and raises his voice up over the throng. \"Agreed!\" says he to Marg\'s warning. \"Though, let us not be hasty. Who here can speak for the hunters? Speak up! Tell us your excuses!\"

Thrusting his spear butt into the ground with much frustration, Slenkrit of the Hunters narrows his gaze. The murky yellow seems to brighten in anger with the sudden thrust of the King\'s finger in his comrades and his direction. Hissing and calling out in his ruined voice, the scar on his neck bulging as he speaks, \"It\'s not our...faults!\" He proclaims in a wide sweep of his mangled hand. \"\'snot easy t\'hunt when we gots old blades...\"

He spins his spear, clanging the rusted metal against the ground. \"How comes we don\' gots no new weapons!?\" He cries, pointed a crooked clawed finger at the king. \"Our spears are bent ...broken...old..\" He says, shaking his fist into the air. \"The King must provides...must gives us new!\" His comrades do indeed agree as they roar out, calling for new weapons in a mix of gargled tones, all angry and pointing blame elsewhere.

Arnurk says naught.

The crowd, however, joins Govog is his question, several variations of \"yea, say it, yea, what\'s wrong\", until Slenkrit\'s spear hitting the ground and his words, at first heard only by those around him, by quickly whispered to even those farthest in the crowd, spread.

\"That\'s non-sense! They think us fools??\", Arnurk then cries.

\"Fools!\" echoes Govog then, and the Gotshaka sweeps his gaze around to fix upon Arnurk. A sneer of relish twitches upon his lips as his eyes lock with the Smith\'s own, and the King nods on.

\"Fools.. or slackers. Tell us, Smith. Why do the poor Hunters have no new weapons? Eh? Speak up, if you can! Or shall we open your belly right away for your lazy treachery?\"

Marg brandishes his Battle Axe and begins moving toward Arnurk and those around him to emphasize the Gothshaka\'s point.

Slenkrit has reconnected.

\"Hoooho!\"

At first Arnurk laughs, though it is an angry laugh that silences those around him as it heralds speech. The Smith shakes his head, backstepping at Marg\'s motion.

\"Ask \'em miners why they give us no ore nor steel nor nothing to work with! Can\'t make a spear out of thin air, eh! And can\'t make \'em out if none comes to ask. These hunters, I say, they just fancy lying around complaining about their weapons don\'t come to ask for new ones, no, too careful with their coin...\"

Other of the smiths agree with Arnurk, nodding sagely and yelling their versions of \"Smiths are ready to work, give material, give request!\"

Hissing at Arnurk, \"Hush....ssssmithhh-ah\" Says the hunter with a predatory turn of his head and snap of his jaws. He narrows his gaze, licking his lips and clanging the rusted crude metal of the spear several times against the stone floor. His yellow eyes swivel to catch the King in their gaze as he speaks and fangs protrude far past his lips as a cruel smile paints them slowly cracked and dry as they are.

\"YESSSS!\" calls Slenkrit with annointed accusment in his voice. He turns to look at the smith. His spear is wiggled in Arnurk\'s direction and his comrades hoot and holler, blame being spread! Its not their fault, no! As long as its some elses. There is a step taken, a clawed foot raking the ground as a few of the hunters move to try to stop the smith from leaving.

As the smithies acquiesce to the crafting of new weapons, the hunters eye the king anew. They wait expectantly for his...permission?

But it is not yet given, for among the crowd there appear to be a few voices now calling for the miners to speak up. Govog snarls, but can hardly leave those voices unsated, and so he glares about in search of the workmen of the mines.

One stocky uruk steps forth to answer the charge, and with a reedy voice he speaks past a long hooked nose. \"Hold right there!\" he grunts in protest. \"Just a moment, now. Take a look at my pick here... it\'s as bad as the Hunters and their spears. Them Smiths want ore, they says. And yet they dont give us no tools to fetch it for \'em! Lazy slackers!\"

Once again the blame seems to have shifted back upon Arnurk and his followers -- the Gothshaka nodding once more to show his approval. \"Yes! Yes!\" he cries. \"Seems you aint go nowhere to run now, Smiths!\"

Slowly, with much haught and ceremony, Govog motions to Marg. Perhaps permission has been given after all.

Marg snarls and twirls his battle axe in his gnarled right hand. \"I\'m gonna kill me some smiths.\" He says viciously as he continues to walk toward Arnurk and his crew. \"You!\" He points a finger at Arnurk, \"You smith! You will pay for your failure with your life you maggot.\"

Marg hefts his battle axe and swings it at the smiths head attempting to end the duel early with a decapitation.

Marg attacks you with his Battle Axe!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

ARB: You\'ve been injured for 8 hp\'s by Marg\'s attack...

...you have 79 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.

There is a sudden roar of approval that rises with strength from the hunters. A chittering of voices accompanies the stomping of feet and rattling of rust-worn weapons. Slenkrit, key amongst them hisses out with a cackling laugh that is pointedly for Arnurk. As Marg steps past him, the hunter scraps back, hunching forward in a ready prowl as those gathered circle for the fight. Hunkering over and strafing to the side in shuffling heavy steps, the orc\'s rags flutter in his movements, coiled muscles tensing with the adrenaline of impending death. His head twitches from side to side, taking in his comrades as they croak out their cheers for the large Captain and his mighty weapon. \"KEEEEELLL HIMMM!!!\" Slenkrit suddenly cries.

The old cook seems to apear at just the right time. Perhaps Draugh has a sixth sence that detects the flow of blood? Slowly the old cook smiles and rubs his hands together, \"Finaly a little meat for the stew.\"

Huh?  (Type \"help\" for help.)

You are carrying:

Metal Helmet

Black Mace

Ring Mail Armor

You have 949 OOC Credits.

\"Eh, you all crazy, hm?? Do you all want king-like tools??? These are just fine, look how he bangs the floor with it! Good enough for havoc but not to bring food?\"

In the middle of his argumentation, Marg attacks him. Arnurk scarcely has time to backpedal and duck somewhat. Still the axe hits, the loud sound of steel on steel echoing. The smith shakes his head, raising his mace\'s head from the ground and, continuous motion, aiming it at Marg\'s chin.

\"On us they wage war, but not on the soft skins outside?! THAT IS WHY WE GO HUNGRY! No war, just strife!\"

You attack Marg with your Mace...

Your attack against Marg moderately wounds him!

*Clang* is the sound the mace makes as it comes into contact with Marg\'s helm. The force of the blow sends the piece of armor flying off his head and blooding one eye in the process. He grunts in pain and swings his battle axe back at Arnurk\'s midriff.

Marg takes off Metal Helmet.

Marg attacks you with his Battle Axe!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

ARB: You\'ve been injured for 21 hp\'s by Marg\'s attack...

...you have 58 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.

Strife seems to sit well with the Gothshaka, at least, for looks on with glee as battle is joined. Bloodlust spreads like wildfire among the throng wide and eager do the eyes of the uruk-hai become as they watch the ensuing duel. Grievances appear to have been forgotten for the moment, and suddenly Marg and Arnurk are the center of the entire cavern\'s attention.

\"Go on!\" roars Govog in encouragement to Marg. \"Slit his lazy throat for your King!\"

Bending over in pain as Marg\'s weapon hits him square, slashing his rags and revealing the armor underneath... a ringmail, now with some rings broken and piercing into the Smith\'s flesh. Moaning and gasping for air, Arnurk brings his mace down to the floor, to lean on it for some seconds of mercy.

Could it by chance land on the guard\'s foot?

You attack Marg with your Mace...

Your attack against Marg badly wounds him!

%R      A dozen snagas gather around the old cook, participating in the oldest entertainment in Moria. Draugh smiles as more blood flows and starts collecting bets on the outcome of the fight.

*crunch* That is the sound of the bones in Marg\'s foot shattering with the force of Arnurk\'s blow. He hops back on one foot, his mobility gone. He holds his axe in front of him in a defensive posture but is unable to counterattack for now.

ARB: Marg has \"passed\" on his turn to attack.

A cry of approval picks up from the hunters for the well scored hit by the Captain. There is a hiss of primal enjoyment though as the Smith\'s strike lands true twice. There is a cackling loves of the fight that arises from Slenkrit. The hunters edge in on the fight, swaying as their spears are pointed inward, the butts clanging against the ground in chorus, starting a beat to which they harumph and oh to.

\"Blood, blood blood..\" They begin to chant in time, the voices catching and carrying while drawing others into the hideous call for a death.

Arnurk\'s wasn\'t really a blow, it was more of a limp leaning over the mace, only by luck driven to the guard\'s foot. Yet the pressure Arnurk\'s body made on the weapon seems to have been enough to crunch the bones underneath. For a few seconds he would have stayed thus bent, if the sudden noise and strange feeling hadn\'t forced him to draw back, afraid of a counter-attack that never came.

He warily eyes the Captain, though no breath still powers new words, and hardly any movements: he stills folds over his bloody midsection in some pain. A brief draw, this is...

You forego your chance to attack.

\"Come on coward! You can do better then that!\" Marg snarls at Arnurk. He limps slowly forward the bones in his right foot utterly shattered. And swings his axe at Arnurk again.

Marg attacks you with his Battle Axe!...

...and he misses!

Draugh looks up at the fighting takes a break, \"What? No meat for the stew? This can\'t be. Iron pounder quit in middle of the fight? King\'s guard not following orders? What\'s going on?\"

The cook is not alone in his questions, for Govog\'s fist pounds into his palm once more and he roars: \"What are you playing at, Marg? Cut out the filthy slacker\'s heart!\"

Meanwhile the chant goes on, filling the room and shaking the very stone that walls it.

\"Blood! Blood! Blood!\"

The lost mobility of Marg is Arnurk\'s bless: the smith can easily dodge the blow, motioning to circle the Captain now, a swing sent at the guard\'s knee as his breath is fully recovered-- the knee linked with the good foot.

\"Better... like this?\"

You attack Marg with your Mace...

Your attack against Marg severely wounds him!

Marg\'s swing misses and he stumbles awkwardly. He hears the cry of his king and snarls and raises his axe one more time to end Arnurk\'s miserable existence, but before he can land a blow the wicked mace of his adversary shatters his right knee. His battle axe goes flying out his hand to clank noisily on the cavern floor and he falls to the ground clutching at his now completely useless right leg.

Marg unwields Battle Axe.

ARB: Marg has \"passed\" on his turn to attack.

As the fighting resumes, Draugh smiles and turns back to the snaga to resume collecting bets on the outcome of the fight.

\"Tsk.\"

Raising his mace high over Marg\'s head, Arnurk stares down at the fallen opponent and glances around at the crowd... \"THIS IS THE MIGHT OF SMITHS! ARE WE SLACKERES?!\"

\"SPEAK UP, SMITHS!\"

Chants of \"no, no, no!\" raise amid the smiths, who beat stone and shields with their own weapons, growling and rejoicing.

The mace descends.

You attack Marg with your Mace...

Your attack against Marg terribly wounds him!

A crunch and a squish sound as the mace comes into contact with Marg\'s head. Blood begins to flow freely from his cracked skull. His eyes roll back up in his head and he weezes a death rattle as his body goes limp. Marg once great Tetrak is dead at the hands of Arnurk the Smith.

There is a moment of unwary quiet from the hunters as the slimey Smith lands his mark time and time again. Marg beaten to the ground draws an exchange of glances from the hunters, though there is mostly a hiss of joy just for the smell of blood and scent of battle in the air. The yellow eyes of Slenkrit dodge from Marg up to Arnurk and then his toothy sneer gives way to show his ultimate allegiance. To slaughter and strength. With a sudden return of the beat of his spear against the ground, the hunter sways back in forth at time. \"DEATH DEATH DEATH!!!\" The other hunter\'s wait only a second before they take up their impromptu representative\'s cry. \"DEATH!\" No longer is Marg their chosen fighter. As his death comes, there is a wailing unmeasure and unmatched cry of delight from those around Slenkrit and elsehwere.

A savage of victory and satisfaction rends the air soon after the Hunters\' own, and it builds within the room until the flames of the sconces cower and threaten to snuff out. The horde has been given their spectacle, and many a cheer now rises up for the triumphant Smith.

Meanwhile Govog, the Gothshaka himself has gone silent, and taken a step backward. Rage blazes in his eyes, his teeth gnash in fury, but he seems to have naught to say to this turn of events. Instead he glances about to his guards, who catch the look and tighten in a circle around their King protectively.

Draugh turns back to the fight as Arnurk\'s mace decends. He shakes his head, \"All over too soon! To fast! not enough time to get the bets in.\" Then the old cook shrugs his shoulders, \"Looks like the King could use better guards.\"$E

ARB: Marg has \"passed\" on his turn to attack.

Hearing the cries of the crowd, Arnurk guffaws, raising his mace yet again and twisting his waist, even though the face he gazes down at is lifeless already... he stays in this stance for some seconds, so the horde may notice what he does. Afterwards he brings the weapon to a sideways swing, placing in it all the strength he can muster.

Golf played with heads. Govog is the hole to hit.

You attack Marg with your Mace...

You have defeated Marg!

Your attack against Marg fatally wounds and defeats him!

Tilting his head almost completely sideways to watch Arnurk\'s aimed shot. There is a nasty grin that slowly spreads to Slenkrit\'s cracked black lips. A snickering laugh follows as the head wobbles through the air. Lips part further and teeth open to show the gaping maw that shows the snake like tongue within his mouth. He waits, watching to see if the Gothshaka will flee further. The sudden change of anger and hate back to the King and is ill attempts at ruling are on fall, the smith having proved himself.

Announcement: Faramir has changed the poll to: Lid needs blankets, he\'s a \'cold lord\'

Silence reigns in the cavern as the head flies through the air, and Arnurk\'s aim is true -- the head hits Govog squarely in the chest ere falling to the ground with a thunk. Gore is left behind upon the Gothshaka\'s leather and the guards part to gain a better look at it. For one long moment, there is only the crackle of the fire pit.

But the spell is broken the instant after, and with a snarl Govog kicks away the head in disgust. \"Gah!\" says he, for all to hear. \"What a weakling guard! Yer lucky, Smith, and that\'s no mistake. Very well.. yer saved yerself from my anger -- this time! Just you make sure the Miners and the Hunters get their tools and weapons soon, or you and yer friend\'s will regret it.\"

The King spins upon his heel, and with as much haughter as he can muster he marches back northward to the Throne room.

Slenkrit slithers forth with purpose now as his fellows sense what he does. His crooked clawed finger extends towards the Gothshaka. \"YOu pick the guards.....the smith bested him.\" The hunter croons with delight and then lifts his spear high. \"SMITH SMITH SMITH SMITH!\" Not knowing Arnurk\'s name it seems good enough, the title bellowing from his chest and rising past his lips. His sneer is one of malice. The hunters begin that thumping roar and cheer accented by their spears and the sound of their armor. \"SMITH SMITH SMITH.\" It begins to fall from other lips and soon, those that know his name, take it up with vigor, replacing the title soon enough, all the orcs begin to chime the name.

\"ARNURK, ARNURK!\"

As the head hits Govog in the chest and falls to the ground, a slight snicker comes from the viewers. As soon as the king departs fully toward the Throne Room, it turns into full laughter. Draugh smiles and yells at the snaga around him, \"Well? What you waiting for? Work to be done! Got to get that guard to teh kitchen before he starts to rot!! Hop to it!\" The snaga scater to do his bidding. No mention is made of the bets he is holding. As they leave to get to work, Draugh tucks the coins in a pocket on his apron.

\"EH COWARD KING!\"

Encouraged by the cries of the crowd, Arnurk thus questions Govog, guffawing at the orc\'s back and holding his mace above his head to fully welcome the salute.

\"Going to eat, is he? Banquet while we go hungry, hm??\"

Arnurk\'s words sing true and Slenkrit is one of the first to hiss out a question of the same caliber. Growling thickly, he watches with a keen glint in his eyes. \"Call him out!!!\" Screams the hunter at the reteating back of the Gothshaka.

Laughter rings following Arnurk\'s taunt, and many a clawed hand is clapped to the Smith\'s back in congratulation. All the same, though, while this is his moment, a few wary glances are sent northward to the bodyguard of the King. Indeed, the guards have taken up their weapons and are moving into the throng pushing and shoving and hacking in a bid to clear the room.

Slowly at first, but with gathering speed the cavern begins to empty. It seems the threat of the soldiers hold back a little of the mirth, and the Gothshaka is not quite ready to fall.

Slithering about as the Gothshaka is able to shake off the Smith\'s question, Slenkrit eyes Arnurk. The scar at his neck bulges as he swallows. \"Well done...\" He states with a gurgling spittle sound. Licking his lips, he straggles closer with a heavy footed step.

Draugh don\'t seem afraid of the king\'s guards. As the head in his direction, he shakes his head, \"I got business here.\" and points to their fallen comrad, \"Meat for the stew. That is unless you just want dirty water for dinner.\"

Arnurk doesn\'t seem saddened by the dispersion of the crowd. Instead, he takes a deep breath, turning to Slenkrit and nodding.

\"Hooho, thank you, thank you.\" he puases, musing, \"Eh, Hunter, meant no harm at all back there, eh? Send me the list of what you need, quantities and all, I\'ll have it ready.\"

\"Y\'ALL, WHO NEEDS STUFF FROM SMITHS, SEND IN LISTS AND WE MAKE IT!\"

He adds then, \"And bring coin, of course!\"

\"Ah yes, course course..\" Waves the spear before Arnurk. \"We shall come..\" He motions to the other hunters before they each give a growling approval of Arnurk\'s battle, some walking through the bloodied floor and dragging it with their footfalls. Meat is going to be served, first ones there get what they can grab. Already the mob of hunters is pushing aside smaller snagas and making their way in after the cooks. \"Hurry smith..or there shall be no spoils for you..\" Slenkrit chuckles brokenly before his steps lengthen and he thrusts past a couple of others, throwing them aside before chuckling loudly.

Laughing at Slenkrit\'s words, Arnurk nods sagely.

\"Yea, yea, let\'s run, hooooho, some meat for change!\"

Off he goes with the rest of the crowd..