On the verge of departure

Iant Umarthen: Bridge to Sarn Goriwing

As you walk across a long bridge of stout trees tied together in a massive wooden plank, you see below you that the wide bridge of smooth black stone has been shattered, and only crumbling and dangerously narrow stretches of jagged and glossy rock now stretch crookedly across the ravine. A heavy dark mist rises from the black waters below you and the incessant thrashing falls around you, stifling your senses and numbing your thoughts with the threat of endless sleep... Before you the black spire of Sarn Goriwing rises from the churning inky spray, a needle of smooth stone worked with clever artifice and ancient sorcery. The tower looks cold and dreary from where you stand, as cheerless and deadly as the forest far below.

Contents:

Witch-king

Morian Orc Camp

Dushdush

Corpse sign

Draw Bridge Wheel

Obvious exits:

Gate and Shore

Bogak has arrived.

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Late Night on Monday, Day 8 of November.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 15:46:34 MDT on Sat Sep 04 2010.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

Night waneth on o\'er the fabled forest of Mirkwood, but however late the hour the fortress of Sarn Goriwing is abuzz with activity. Long has the muster ordered by the fell Morgul Lord been in effect, and after long, frantic toil the soldiers of the Eye are ready for war. Warriors drill and train with a vicious precision in the courtyards, every clawed hand gifted a sword or spear to go with a shield, and beneath iron helms ferocious gazes are kindled in the hope of murder.

But while the stronghold goes through the final motions ere their foul errand is at hand, upon the bridge leading to the gates a terror beyond even the savagery of the uruk-hai loiters. Seated upon a sable steed, a figure robed from head to toe in black watches all from within a deep cowl. Not a trace of identity can be seen, but few within Sarn Goriwing by now need any such marker to guess the idendity of the horseman. The High Shrieker they name him, and all eye that turn his way soon are daunted and turned aside the shadows of the night grown deeper and swollen around him even as the dawn threatens upon the eastern horizon.

Long does the horseman sit, surveying the final drills of his servants, and appears to be waiting for something or other.

[Bogak(#16349)] Amongst the ruckus, Bogak sits on one knee beside a blazing campfire, his left hand clawed around the pole of the Pulgor banner. Gathered around him are a few orcs who watch him in fascination. Bogak rattles the closed fist of his right arm and drops a hand-ful of small objects in the dirt before him. The other orcs bend down and peer carefully at the things thrown, while the thrower snarls and shoves at them until they make room for him to see.

[Combat(#13388)] Bogak raises a heavy banner, and grips it firmly.

[Bagurat(#24847)]

And that something or other comes for a second robed figure stalks then from the great gates, though it lacks by far the terror and intimidation displayed by the waiting rider.

Over the length of the bridge the shaman treads, masked head held high as she passes by the throngs of orcs prepared for war. Steps come to an abrupt halt as Bagurat approaches the Wraith-lord, and that mask lowers quickly in a bow. \"It is time at last, High Shrieker?\" asks she, giving a momentary glance toward the rattling sounds that rise from Bogak\'s area.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

The cowl of the horseman dips in agreement, and while a glove hand tightens upon the reins of his mount a thin, rasping voice answers the witch-orc coldly.

\"Aye,\" says he, \"it is time. The hour comes for the wrath of the Eye to be felt upon the hated Firstborn, though still a little longer you must wait. I ride now to deal with the rabble of Grimbeorn, and draw his attention westward, ere you begin your assault. I shall send a sign to commence your march my newly acquired hawk shall visit you and screech thrice. When the signal is given, take the might we have gathered and enter the forest for true. I will join you when my business to the west is ended.\"

The hood lifts then as though in survey of the gathered uruk-hai, and the horseman\'s voice comes next as a hiss upon the air. \"Have you chosen among the throng a herald, to convey your commands to my warriors?\"

Bogak looks at the objects in the dirt with much concentration. He hesitates, and the few orcs around him begin to get impatient. Finally, he says a few things about a coming battle. \"...and, er, we are going to win! And I see myself... er, carrying a big flag.\" He gathers up the bones and stands up with the support of the long flagpole. \"That\'s all! Leave me alone,\" he grunts, as the others begin to argue amongst themselves. He backs away, and then turns, looking into his cupped right hand. He closes his hand and shakes his fist near his ear for a moment, heading toward the main portion of the horde.

[Bagurat(#24847)]

If the witch-orc finds the manner of the sign strange, the emotionless visage of the crow-mask reveals nothing, though the voice emerges after a moment\'s pause. \"I shall listen for the hawk. Are the hosts to keep along the forest road for now? I know not where the wretched,\" the next word is hissed disdainfully, \"elf paths lurk, and no doubt they are not easy to find.\"

At the question, Bagurat\'s yellow eyes flicker up and then turn to peer among those nearby. \"You, banner-uruk,\" the shaman raises her tone to be heard over those of the other denizens, and a spidery finger gestures to Bogak. \"Come here...I\'ve a task for you.\"

[Witch-king(#28583)]

\"The path will be marked for you,\" answers the fell horseman to Bagurat, though as the witch-orc beckons over her fellow, he falls into an expectant silence.

[Bogak(#16349)] As the sound reaches him, Bogak swiftly stuffs the bones he had been inspecting into a leather sack at his waist, and looks in the shaman\'s direction. As soon as he understands the command, he lifts up the banner, and jogs over toward her, his eyes darting toward the other figure several times.

[Bagurat(#24847)]

\"You will be my voice,\" explains Bagurat as the second orc nears, and her gaze studies him for a moment, the mask tilting ever so slightly, \"and shall bear my instructions to the hosts when I so desire it.\" The shaman\'s head turns anew toward the Nazgul. \"He is suitable?\" The statement comes forth as an inquiry.

Bogak shifts uncomfortably as he glances sidelong at the mounted figure, waiting anxiously for his response.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

The cowl of the horseman turns then to face Bogak fully, and deep within a piercing crimson gaze is kindled. Long moments stretch by as the Nazgul appears to consider the orc before him, ere at length the hood dips anew in assent and he replies: \"This orc will do. He already wears the banner of my brethren in the Southern Fortress, and few could wield that honour without consent of one of the Nine.\"

His voice switches then, and now he seems to speak to Bogak directly: \"But know this, slave: The Eye watches all His servants. Fail your Shaman and the wrath of the His favored will chase thee until thy death, and yet beyond. Keep your troops in line, and serve your Shaman well.\"

[Bagurat(#24847)]

Despite the fact that the warning is not spoken to her, the black-garbed orc still gives a nervous shiver, ere her attention shifts back to Bogak. \"Go now, and for your first task, make certain the Uruk-hai of the Master are ready for soon departure. I will speak to the mountain-rats and ensure the same.\"

Bogak\'s uncertainty begins to turn to pride, which is now visible in his posture. He takes hold of the banner in both hands, and bows as he backs away, \"Yes! Serve well--I will, I will. Uruk-hai will be ready!\" He turns and begins to walk off. Near the campfire, he says, in passing, to a few familiar orcs, \"I am on my way to big things! The Dwarf-Bones told me so!\"

[Witch-king(#28583)]

Watching the newly promoted orc depart, the cowl of the Witch-king turns once more to Bagurat, ere a final warning is issued. \"Leave not before the eagle cries thrice then shall you know my design is full-wrought. Slay all that you find, and await my return under the eaves of the forest.\"

With that the horse spurs into life of its own accord, seeming to require no signal, and turning its head toward the westward path the Lord of the Nazgul breaks into a canter. Away he goes, and with him chase the shadows of Mordor\'s ambition.