Dinner and a Show

Near the edge of the Forest

The forest slowly gives way to the North to a great grasslands, though you can just make out the shadow of another forest, far to the North. There are stumps on the ground here, remnants of when the forest once reached accross most of Middle-earth, yet now all that remains is a great grasslands and a few petrified stumps...

Contents:

Barzhaat

Uruk Camp

Obvious exits:

East leads to On the Edge of Fangorn.

North leads to Long Plain, Near Fangorn.

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Late Night on Sunday, Day 14 of May.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 14:35:20 MDT on Wed Jul 07 2010.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Another mild spring night is drawing near its end. The sky is clear and a thin crescent moon shines wanly down on the plains that border Fangorn, illuminating the black blot that is the camp of the orcs of Mordor. Within the camp, nightly activities go on as usual - hammers fall, meat is roasted on the fire and the here and there the snarls of squabbling arise: in one corner there is the ring of blade on blade, followed by a long, gurgling scream as one luckless creature breathes its last. Just another night.

Away to the west, the borders of Fangorn itself are brooding, trees drawn up in black serried ranks as though they linked arms against the malevolent intruders. And then from beneath the very forest eaves bursts a small, dark shape, running hunched across the silvered grasses and towards the camp. From its heaving chest come ragged orc-breaths interspersed with whimpers.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Fires burn here and there across the length of the orc-camp, but it is the western most corner of the settlement that puts them to shame near the border of the last tents, a large section of the ground has been dug out, and the remaining hollow bed has been blanketed with a layer of glowing hot coals. To the side of this a short robed figure stands, red against red. His attention is downward.

A few of the nearby guards however have spotted the coming shape from the forest. Even now one of them points toward that black line of trees.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The running figure comes on - from its zigzag path it would seem to be moving almost blindly. As it comes closer, the hairless head and hunched back are more recognizably those of goblin-kind, more specifically a snaga. The luckless creature has a half-bundle of sticks strapped to its back, some of which are scattered behind it, marking its trail clearly. Its skin is covered in small cuts and grazes that ooze black blood, and its left arm hangs limply by its side.

If not halted by the guards, the snaga\'s path will take it directly toward Bagaglok\'s firepit.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The firepit has no railing for those running towards it...

The uruk guards make no attempt to bar the path of the pitiful creature. While a couple of the orcs shoot the cursed Fangorn a hateful -- though nervous -- glare, the remainder of them snicker. One jabs its speartip to point. \"Looks like a lost little ant who\'s also lost its side legs. Hope it runs in circles next.\"

A slight commotion and excitement at the border is nothing new, and Bagaglok pays it no heed. The heat of the coals is made more apparent by the droplets that have gathered about his brow. Eyes closed, he looks to be on the verge of attempting to step out, into the pit...

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The guard\'s comparison would seem to be an apt one. The snaga stumbles on, chest heaving, and as it runs it sobs out, \"Trees ... trees with hands ... snatching ... gotta get awa-\" The creature\'s mumblings come to an abrupt stop as its foremost foot, the right, steps into empty air and it tumbles headlong into the hot coals at the base of the pit. There follows a hideous wailing keen, accompanied by the smell of singed orc-flesh, and the creature rolls frantically onto its back, still emitting that high-pitched scream.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

That outward step halts. The hideous shrieks and wails snap attention back to the present, and the shaman startles at the sudden closeness of the wretches noises. For a moment he simply watches the unlucky snaga wriggling in the coals, and then finally puts a leg out into that fiery carpet. If there is pain, no indication is evident. Bagaglok flings down a clawed hand to grope for anything within reach -- hand, or arm, or rags -- to pull the other orc out.

It seems guard duty this evening has proven interesting. The laughing guardsman licks his mouth as he observes. \"Smells good, eh? Dinner and a show.\"

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The snaga\'s position atop the coals, rather like a beetle on its back, at least stops its flesh from singing further - but there is a price. The bundle of wood strapped to its shoulders is beginning to smoulder from the heat.

When Bagaglok\'s clawed hand comes into its field of vision, the sorry snaga grabs it as a drowned man might a rope, choking back the screams into sobs. Its clawed right hand is blackened but its grip surprisingly strong for a creature so insignificant. \"Shaman..\" it gasps out hoarsely. \"Trees ... flee the trees. T-took Maldok-\" At this moment the smouldering bundle at the creature\'s back bursts into full flame. Terrified, the creature twists and writhes, so that its torch-burden brushes against the shaman\'s red robes.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"Foolish imp,\" the robed uruk\'s mouth pulls back to display a line of nasty pointed teeth as he looks down over the snaga\'s suffering. But then the creature speaks, and Bagaglok frowns. \"You babble. Who took Maldok--?\"

The question cuts off, as quite abruptly there is another distraction. A fiery one, and quite close at hand. Now the odor of burning cloth fills the air, and the shaman makes a jerked motion. For a passing second he almost drops the poor snaga back into the pit. But he does not, and the other orc is pulled further away and released. Hands are busy fumbling at clasps to remove the robe.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The unfortunate snaga rolls, charred right fist stuffed into its mouth to choke the piteous sobs that now shake its emaciated frame. As it strives to win free of the bundle of sticks, its strugglings bring it nearer to the laughing guards.

\"T-tree,\" it eventually manages to get out in response to the shaman\'s question - conditioning runs deep, and obedience is more ingrained into this creature than care for its own wretched life. \"He was t-takin\' a piss, an- an- the tree r-reached out an arm an\' - aieee!\" The rope binding the stick-bundle to the snaga\'s frame has parted, and now its helpless writhings scatter burning sticks in all directions.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"Oi, yer stupid little bug!\" A cry comes from the group of guards, who had started to gather for the \'show\'. However, now they begin scrambling over, trying to use heavy iron-shod boots to stamp the scattered fire-sticks.

Meanwhile, Bagaglok has managed to likewise stomp the flames out of the robes, and his clawed fingers cease their tugging upon its fabric. His feet would appear unharmed, even with that previous footstep out into the coal.. \"Trees with arms?\" The tone of the voice has turned suddenly to ice, and he seems angry for a reason known only to himself. \"Think you\'re funny, do you, mocking me?\"

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The snaga freed now of its burning burden, cowers and brings up its burned right arm as though to shield its face from the guards\' iron-shod boots. The other arm, singed also, remains limp. \"N-no, shaman,\" the terrified creature gasps out. \"I s-saw it. The tree s-squeezed him. An-an\' then one g-grabs me, an\' I ran...\" Its left arm, should anyone bother to come close enough to make an examination, does indeed appear to have been struck by a branch - but then such things happen if one runs blindly through a forest.

The hapless snaga runs out of words and says no more merely lies there trembling and letting out little whimpers of pain.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"I should cut your tongue out for garbling such lies,\" growls the robed goblin, taking several paces forward to loom over the pitiful slave. To emphasize the point, he jerks his scimitar free from its sheath. \"You\'re no better than those miserable mountain-rats, claiming some sort of \'killer-tree\' nonsense.\" Bagaglok\'s yellow glare drifts briefly toward the stamping guards, and his eyes narrow maliciously. \"You wanted dinner and a show, yes?\" He inquires louder, letting the curved blade dip lower toward the snaga\'s chest. \"You\'ve gotten the latter. Now what about the former?\"

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The poor miserable snaga stares up at the scimitar-blade and tries to wriggle back, but a kick from a nearby guard\'s booted foot ensures that the creature ends up exactly where it started. \"No .. lies,\" it gasps out desparately, and then, as its pale eyes cloud with pain, \"S-stop. Make it ... stop.\"

Bagaglok\'s question is greeted by a rousing assent from some quarters, but one sullen Uruk mutters disappointedly, \"Not much of a show. Cut its filthy little tongue out first, dinner after?\" Clearly that particular guard isn\'t so hungry as the rest.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The initial statement determindely ignored, the shaman leans in closer, lifting a curiously unharmed foot in an attempt to place it ontop of the slave\'s frail chest and pin him in place. The path of the scimitar stays at the disappointed guard\'s comment. \"Oh,\" Bagaglok manages to hiss downward to the snaga in the midst of an irritated snarl, \"it\'ll stop soon, I promise you.\" Instead of continuing with the blade, he reaches out with his left hand for the poor creature\'s mouth in effort to pry it open.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Bagaglok\'s efforts are greeted by a gasp of surprise - nay, horror - and then the tormented snaga gathers its last reserves of strength for a single action: needle-sharp teeth snap together with all the effort they can muster, with Bagaglok\'s hand still between them.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

There is a sharp cursing and a hiss, and teeth are clenched. The robed orc\'s anger certainly does not improve. And instead of trying to open the mouth, Bagaglok decides to simply grab the slimy tongue and give a rough yank...

[Barzhaat(#16260)] At the yank the snaga\'s eyes flicker open even wider (who knew such a thing were possible?) and its mouth falls open a little as a yammer of pain leaves the creature\'s mouth. Pain ... and blood, blood that spews out over the shaman\'s rough claws. For the \'lying\' tongue has been ripped at its root.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Ripped at its root indeed. And the shaman\'s next words repeat this fact: \"The lying tongue is silenced! Satisfied?\" His gaze darts toward the guard who had spoken last, and Bagaglok removes his black-dripping hands to throw the tongue in his direction. \"There -- you wanted it.\" Another sneer twitches his lips.

Then, his attention is turned back to the ground. \"Now..for my promise.\" The plummetting of the scimitar follows the reassurance. It is a downward slash aimed for the wretched snaga\'s neck.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The guard reaches up a reflexive hand too late someone bends down to pick the repulsive object up someone else shoves. A minor squabble breaks out.

And as for the snaga? The blackened scimitar strikes swift and true. Blood fountains from the snaga\'s neck as it is severed from the scrawny body, to roll tumbling into the firepit. Likely the rest of the creature\'s body will soon follow. All in all, not even the most jaded of guards could complain of tonight\'s impromptu \'show\'.

As for the warning the wretched creature bore, whether the garbled tale contained any truth yet remains to be seen ...