Orcish Concert

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Dawn on Trewsday, Day 29 of August.

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Real time is: 18:18:46 MDT on Mon Apr 12 2010.

Anduin Vale, North of Lorien

As night descends the transformation of light resolves only into duller shades of grey, the fall deterioration only adding to the suddenly oppressive feeling that only darkness can bring. Lorien lies to the south, and to the west, the Misty Mountains cannot be seen, though their presence is undeniable. The humidity of day becomes the dewey, wet ground by night, summer wreaking its harsh toll on the climate here as the land withers under the merciless sun.

The night sky is cloud-filled and gloomy. The dawn summer air is hot and slightly humid around you. The moon is full.

Contents:

Haldir

Morian Orc Camp

Uruk Camp

Obvious exits:

North, SouthEast, and West

[Haldir(#25231)]

It is barely dawn: Gil-Estel still glisters above the dark line of Mirkwood, and the mist settles heavily upon reddening leaves and drying autumn grass. Few might tread here upon the Anduin Vale, yet there is a disturbance here ... the ground is heavily trodden, having been utilized as an orcish camp for the Mordain and Morian tenuous partnership. Still, there is a fair one who keeps watch in the scraggly copses of trees: a grey-cloaked archer with dark hair and disapproving grey eyes.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

It is no secret that the Mordor orcs are rather displeased with their current location -- caught on three sides by the rushing Anduin, the distant Mountains, and line of Lorien to the south. Dawn is nearing, and yet it does nothing to diminish the noises the yonder camps are making while the voices may be unintelligable to elven ears, they are clearly complaints and grumblings.

A rock sits apart from the commotion, positioned in the no-man\'s land betwixt the Mordor and Morian camps, and the Wood. But it is not a rock -- for it is red and moves occassionally. There is a final shift, and then the figure of Bagaglok stays quite still. Something circular is placed before the orc-shaman on the dewey grass. It would appear to be a drum.

[Haldir(#25231)]

A small, scrawny orc with a scarf-rag securely obscuring his neck has followed the orc-shaman, his eyes round and rapt. Although Surtha has somewhat recovered from the curious reaction of lucky-brew and spider venom, his admiration (and fear) of the shaman has not diminished.

The Elf peers at the arrangement, though he makes no effort to ready a weapon.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

If the crimson-robed goblin notices the trailing steps from behind, he pays them no heed for now instead he seems intent with the animal hide instrument waiting by his outlaid feet. On the grass nearby lays a small drum mallet, and in a claw Bagaglok fiddles with a tied pouch. Tiny clacking and rattling sounds are heard faintly therein.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Surtha freezes every so often, trying to avoid Bagaglok\'s notice (a futile effort) by attempting to look like a lichen-riddled, crumbly rock. He peers at the instrumental set-up, however, pointing a questioning claw at the drum.

Aelion remains guarded in the tree, a frown thoroughly permeating his hidden countenance: if there is a concert, he can only stay to hear it.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Upon the surface of the drum there are strange markings and runes burned into the material. Currently the Malkog reaches for the object\'s brim, and turns it in place. Then, apparently not satisfied with what rune is facing him afterward, the uruk rotates it again. Quite abruptly a glance looks around. And there is a pause.

\"Curious,\" a funny grin sticks itself on Bagaglok\'s mouth, \"it must not have been enough for the trees to come alive...but now the rocks point as well?\" The yellow gaze peers at the Surtha-rock, and the shaman waits. The drum is left alone for now.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Surtha jumps in fright as he is addressed, tucking his claws tightly into his belt as he bobs his head. \"I-I didn\'t mean ter intrude,\" he stammers. \"Just curious, eh -- whatcher doing?\"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"Divination,\" replies the other simply, as if it were obvious. \"And perhaps serving to annoy the albai pests in the process.\" He nods toward yonder Lorien, where the pre-dawn still lays over its boughs. Bagaglok opens the pouch at last and spreads a few of the contents out over the grass so that Surtha can see. \"Dwarf knuckles bones,\" comes the explanation, and indeed the small round things look to be just that, white and scrawled with red markings. With the second hand, the shaman takes up the small mallet.

[Haldir(#25231)]

\"Oh,\" says Surtha shortly, chewing on a hangnail. \"Will the dwarfs be angry if I watch ye?\"

In the foliage, Aelion looks positively ill (at least there is no one to observe him). Dwarves? Dead ones? And their knucklebones being used as an art? The sheer strangeness of it all leaves the sentinel confused even before the \'annoyance\' begins.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

An eyebrow quirks from beneath the skull-helmet, and Bagaglok peers sidelong at his orcish audience. \"No, I daresay they will not mind. They are, how shall we say, above and beyond where we sit now.\" An uncomforting sneer shows itself. \"Or wherever it is that their ilk claim to go after death.\"

The shaman now snatches up a few of the bones and puts them in the center of the drum. Raising the mallet, the robed orc begins to tap out a pattern, watching as the little white objects bounce to and fro across the surface toward the runes at the edges. \"Might as well sit where you can see,\" he says, indicating the spot opposite himself. \"We should be out of bow range should the leaf-ears decide to shoot...\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

Scooting up to the indicated spot, Surtha beams with anticipation. \"And if they shoot, we can send them to above and beyond too,\" he offers cheerfully, smacking the scimitar at his side.

Quietly, Aelion observes, engrossed and horrified by the bouncing of the bones.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Slowly, the knuckle bones creep their way across the top of the instument. \"I am sure you\'ve noticed how..\'thrilled\' the others are to be stranded above the albai-wood,\" sighs the Malkog after a silence. \"It is difficult to keep their faith from straying in such an unlucky situation. This, I hope, will show me a way to reassure them that He has not neglected us.\" Bagaglok points to a few of the markings around the drum\'s circumference. \"Whichever rune the bones gather around will be the answer. This one here, means a sacrifice will amend things...\" The shaman begins to list them off, pausing at the last one. \"..that symbolizes death. Not for our enemies, but for us.\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

Surtha\'s expression is puzzled, as if he does not understand why a Dwarf can decide the fate of the great Mordain camp with only his fingerbones. But the smaller orc hunkers down, hugging his knees at he mention of sacrifice and death. A willing martyr he might not be -- but he keeps his silence, dirty claws straying to feel something beneath his makeshift scarf.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Thud, thump, the beat continues...but then there is a pause. The red-garbed orc mutters something that could only be a curse in Morbeth, and frowns, glaring down at the drum. The yellow gaze flickers up to see if Surtha has noticed: the bones look to be steadily inching toward that last drum-rune.

Bagaglok coughs slightly, shifting the position of the mallet to strike the hide surface in a different spot, trying to make the little bones move the other way. In frustration, he whams the tool against the instrument rather harder than is necessary. A reverberating series of pounding echoes around the area, easily heard by any listening ears. The knuckles are for a moment airborne.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Aelion stops his ears against the pounding noise, averting his eyes from the frustrated spectacle. He lays one pale hand upon a branch behind -- is there any respite to be had from the orcish concert?

The small orc watches, engrossed, a bird\'s fascination with a snake. It is unclear if he even remembers the purpose of each rune, but he reaches out a hand hesitatingly, as if under some lapse of thought ... Suddenly, as he leans too far forward, Surtha\'s feet are entangled in his raggy foot-wrappings, and he lurches forward with a sharp cry.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Alas, for no respite is in sight! Boom, boom, thunk. Bagaglok\'s frown deepens, and he blinks to see that he is no longer beating upon the drum -- by rather something small, dirty, and orcish. This fails to improve his mood, as he stares down at Surtha\'s head, and form in the way. \"No, that\'s -- look what your excitement has done,\" hisses the shaman, attempting to pull the drum out from beneath the second uruk. But now there is no drum for the skyward bones to return to, and down they fall, promptly onto Surtha\'s back.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Surtha whimpers slightly as the bones bounce off his spine, and he rolls away, out from above the drum and under the mallet. Rubbing his head, he grovels miserably: \"I\'m sorry! I\'s sorry! I\'ll help you collect them,\" he whines, although he does not dare move to collect the scattered knucklebones.

Aelion peers curiously at the somewhat different sound, and the small accident with orc-runt and shaman.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"No, no, don\'t touch them!\" the Malkog says quickly, sharply and then he sighs, pushing himself to his feet and leaving the animal hide instrument behind for the moment. Carefully he steps over the grass, skirting around the dropped bones and doing his best not to disturb them. \"Come,\" surprisingly, Bagaglok gestures for Surtha to stand beside him. \"What do you see?\" The robed orc points a haggard finger down to a nearby spot where a number of the knuckles have fallen in a clump together. There is only grass where they lie...and a crushed twig.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Surtha scratches his head, shrinking away from the Malkog. Never one to infer too much, he says, hesitantly, \"Dwarf-fingers. And grass and a stick. Is it supposed ter mean something?\"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The orc-shaman muses briefly, as if considering how he should explain to the other. \"...the twig is crushed, yes? You can see that...cannot trees be crushed as well?\" Bagaglok gives a scheming fanged grin to the border of Lorien southward. \"Perhaps the ologs can redirect their strength toward their precious trees. Or mayhap we can put our own fire arrows to use. Their wood may be \'magical\',\" he snorts slightly at this, \"but I doubt they are immune to flame.\"

He looks to the rag-clothed goblin, then, as though his reasoning proves to be the most logical thing in the world.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Surtha\'s face lights up. \"Roast elfers,\" he says through a bubble of spit, the happiness returned to his ugly face. \"I says yes. If we has time to spare, p\'raps we can get some elf bones fore we go away.\"

High above, Aelion listens to the conversation, his face still -- even though the sentinel might not understand the twisted Westron, something seems afoot...

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Surtha is happy again, and likewise do his eager responses appear to satisfy Bagaglok, who stoops now to retrieve the dropped bones. The little white things are plopped back into the pouch and hidden away inside his red robes. The shaman pauses however, after picking up the mallet and the drum a glance is given to the excited goblin, and then the Malkog holds the instrument out. \"You may help me bring this back to the tent, if you\'d wish. However,\" adds Bagaglok, eyeing Surtha once more, \"mind you don\'t drop it..or yourself this time.\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

\"Yessir.\" The goblin tucks his rags carefully away at the ankles (the equivalent of shoe-tying) and hefts the skin instrument, carrying it with the caution of some hideous creature handling its child.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

And with that, the shaman too turns to trek back into the confines of the Mordain camp. A respite for elven ears at last -- the orcish concert has concluded.