Things That Live

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Twilight on Sterday, Day 8 of October.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 15:18:08 MDT on Sun Apr 25 2010.

Foothills of the Misties

Amid the vast range of the southern foothills of the Misty Mountains, near where the great north/south range begins to tower upward. The rolling hills are heavily wooded, with multitude varieties of trees. About you, the grass is withered and brown, and the trees are bright with the yellows and reds and oranges of autumn.

There are no clouds overhead to block out the view to the perfect star filled sky. The twilight the grass is withered and brown, and the trees are bright with the yellows and reds and oranges of autumn. air is refreshing and brisk.

Contents:

Barzhaat

Morian Orc Camp

Uruk Camp

Obvious exits:

Northeast leads to Foothills of the Misties - South of Cloudyhead.

South leads to Plains aside the Silverlode.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

A lone raven caws in the darkening sky speckled white with tiny stars. The Mountains rear up, a black spine in the West. The two orc camps have moved further upon their path, and now they are in the foothills, drawing nigh to the plains beside the Silverlode. The land is tinged with the colors of autumn, and the air is cold.

The hour of twilight has brought renewed activity to the Mordain camp following the fading of the sun. Black shapes scuttle here and there, bickering, sparing, eating...and away from the rest of the commotion, the shaman section of the encampemnt sits separated from the other tents, secluded. The corner of one of the hide shelters is opened slightly, and from within wafts a curious aroma.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] The Morians have patrols out, scouts sent to spy out the way ahead and watch the trail behind. Now the faint rustle of leaves and a harsh croak that is a mockery of the raven\'s cry herald the return of one such group. This particular group has obviously been set to roam the foothills of the Mountains, and they have not come back empty-handed. Two of the returning goblins carry between them the carcass of some beast - alas, four-footed - whilst another has something smaller slung at its back.

It is this latter, a she-orc, who peels off from the others and stands to sniff warily at the breeze, wide nostrils flaring. Curiosity, perhaps, draws her, for her flat feet patter softly toward the edge of the Mordain camp.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Curiousity lures perhaps, but it does not stop the guards on the borders of the Eastern camp from eyeing her warily word has spread of the Morian king\'s supposed disrespect of the Eye...but as she comes closer, the orc-guards make no move to hinder her passing.

Situated on the edge of the encampment, that tent that emits the odd smells has now begun to be the source of rather curious sounds as well -- is that chirping?

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat\'s feelings toward the Eye remain as yet unknown. Her scout\'s sense for when she is being watched is not in doubt, however her smoky eyes flare for a moment as she turns a glittering gaze toward the guards. The briefest of nods, no more - then she halts, near to that odd-smelling tent, her sharp features for the first time showing doubt. Her hands, heretofore at her sides, clasp together and twist nervously. For the bundle she bears at her back is limp ...

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The smells that come from the tent in front of Barzhaat are sweet and pungent, like a mix of berries and death. The chirping sounds do not quiet, but seem to grow even louder, desperate even. Then there is a large shattering that comes from within, followed by a curse.

A small black bird comes flopping its way out from the shelter, followed closely by the red-robed form of Bagaglok. The lopsided way the animal runs suggests it has broken a wing, and perhaps a leg as well, though this does not stop the pursuing orc from attempting to snatch it back up roughly. The shaman straightens himself quickly after bending down, and he blinks. \"Northerner,\" he says flatly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. In his claws he holds the squirming bird.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] \"Master of Brews.\" Years in the Mines have taught Barzhaat the virtue of respect for the higher ranks, whatever one\'s true opinions. She ducks her chin down to her chest by way of greeting. \"The Flame has favoured us, and the night still new. So I have brought this, as a ...\" there is clear hesitance, and a black tongue licks her thin lips, \"gift. Its skin is whole, its blood still warm ...\" \'This\' is a hare. It is, unmistakeably dead, though as promised untouched (and in a society where there is a strict, who knows how much that has cost?).

Her yellow eyes shift toward the still-living bird and quickly away again, and her braids shiver as though in a breeze.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

For a moment the Mordain uruk says nothing, merely giving her a blank look. Is that suspicion, or mayhap disbelief?

Whatever it is, the expression is swiftly gone, turning into a grimace as the bird bites his finger. \"That is very,\" hisses Bagaglok, this time putting his throbbing finger under the winged animal\'s neck so as to push that beak up and away from pecking again. The motion is seized as an opportunity to ponder an appropriate word. \"Considerate,\" the shaman finishes after a pause. With a call, Bagaglok halts a passing snaga. \"You will take this to the cooks,\" explains the robed goblin to the slave. \"But before you hand it to him,\" the shaman returns his attention to the Morian, \"I wish to touch it, to bless the hare.\" Still holding the chirping bird in one hand, he raises out the other claw.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat\'s downcast eyes miss the bird\'s latest attack at the pause though, she does look up, watching the Shaman squeeze at the creature\'s throat. Perhaps she takes courage from the little creature\'s defiance, for after a long breath she lifts her chin and pulls her thin lips back from her fanged mouth in a parody of a smile. \"If you brew a poison to cull the cursed tree-humpers, we all benefit,\" is her response. \"I wish to speed that.\"

At the request, her grimed brow furrows. \'Bless\'? But then, with a jerk of her arm the hare is thrust forward. Almost she drops it at the other, higher-ranked orc\'s feet she thinks better of it and holds still, staring unhappily at the bird. \"You need things that live?\"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The almost dropping motion is not missed by the Malkog, and he quirks a brow but comments about it not. \"This little pest I must refrain from killing for now a step in the poison concocting requires the bird to be alive while I speak an incantation. Afterwards...\" Bagaglok lets the words trail off unpleasantly, giving the poor struggling black avian another squeeze.

Now that the rabbit is held out, the shaman places his free claw atop of dead creature\'s floppy eared-head. The orc\'s yellow eyes are closed for a brief moment, and he mutters something in a fell tongue -- no doubt the sacred language of Morbeth. Then, the hand is removed, and Bagaglok indicates for Barzhaat to yield the hare to the waiting snaga who sill stands nearby, observing in silence. \"The poison,\" the robed uruk continues meanwhile, \"will be soon finished.\" Curiously, the bird seems to squirm even more following this reassurement.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat relinquishes the hare to the snaga - almost tosses it, in fact, and when her hands drop back to her sides the clawed fingers are twitching. At the mention of poison, a pale light comes into her yellow eyes. \"That is good.\" Her tongue moistens her lips again. \"I am eager to try it.\" Another of those fanged smiles. \"And the payment will be ready. Naturally.\"

The bird is cast another of those worried glances, and the she-orc hesitates - then out it comes, hastily spoken. \"Do you need more living things? Our way is to kill, but-\" The words stop. Yes, she is eager indeed for this poison. Has she even thought that she or others of her folk might be its victim?

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The shaman laughs then, replying only, \"Yes, worry not, for you shall indeed soon try it.\" Is that a promising threat?

Bagaglok tilts his skull-helmed head in consideration. \"The fresh blood of living things makes the potion stronger. Something larger will be good. A boar perhaps, if you or your ..tribe are able to catch one. I will gladly use it.\" Not waiting for an answer, the robed orc turns to disappear into the odd smelling tent behind him the bird chirps wildly again in protest.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Once the robed orc is out of sight, the she-orc\'s features contort in a soundless snarl. \"A boar,\" she repeats slowly, distastefully. \"How-?\" And then she recalls, perhaps, the watchful eyes of the silent guard, the backward-turned gape of the departing snaga, the other orcs great and small that watch from a distance. Her chin lifts, and her lips part again to reveal those yellow fangs, bared in a proud smile. \"Yes.\"

She does not linger to see the bird\'s eventual fate rather she moves soft and flat-footed toward the other goblin camp.