A Dangerous Honor

Western Edge of Mirkwood

Under the half-barren outer eaves of Mirkwood, the dawn sky is shadowed a bit. The ground over the whole area is frozen in the cold winter climate.

The edge of the foreboding forest continues on in a north-south orientation, but that is about all you can tell in the dawn sunlight.

Thick clouds of billowing grey cover over the sky.

Contents:

Haldir

Uruk Camp

Obvious exits:

SouthEast, NorthEast, North, and South

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Dawn on Monday, Day 21 of February.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 17:37:20 MDT on Sun Feb 07 2010.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The cloudy dawn sky bears the signs of lingering snow held in its gray veil, but nothing falls from the heavens. The land is still, and peaceful...for the most part. However this is not the case in the Uruk camp situated on the border of the forest. Activity bustles to and fro here, and the cold ground has been trampled countless times beneath iron shod feet.

While the morning duties begin to slowly crawl underway--though indeed faster with the sun obscurred--there comes into view an odd scene in the midst of this encampment. There are several robed forms busy setting up a small, makeshift platform, and upon this there has been set a wooden altar. Standing to one side of this, Bagaglok observes silently, arrayed as always in scarlet. Only a few of the other camp dwellers have begun to spare the Shaman group any attention, as many are occupied more with their breakfast.

[Haldir(#25231)]

From the well-trodden outskirts a top-knotted orc comes stamping, cursing under his breath at the snowy ground that has turned to ice. There is a bruised and bloody hare slung over one thick shoulder -- apparently this one wants to make a swift meal before the pesky sun grows stronger.

He sniffs at the arrangements cautiously.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Soon enough the aforementioned arrangements are finished, and the robed apprentices step aside, halting to stand like stone sentinels on each flank of the platform.

For a moment there is silence. Then, Bagaglok stirs from his spot, leaping onto the crude stage, and pausing to turn his yellow eyes on the remainder of the camp. His sight takes in all: the top-knotted orc, the snaga tending firepits, the cooks, the bickering officers... \"Behold all the faithless cowards,\" the goblin mutters seemingly to himself, looking around with a dark frown. \"Such a waste.\" Crimson fabric goes flying left and right as the Malkog-Mogburzuul spreads out his arms to either side, and now he speaks in a voice that resonates over the disorderly scene. \"Brothers, sisters!\" Another pause as Bagaglok watches the reactions beyond as he moves to stand in front of the altar. \"Listen to the might of the Great One!\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

Top-knot Marzbul is starving for breakfast. He sits down at a firepit with a grunt, shoving a snaga out of the way. Setting the sad lop-eared bundle down, he produces a knife and begins to skin the creature, keeping only an uninterested eye on the show.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

And the spectacle continues. \"Too long has this camp, this assortment of the Master\'s soldiers, neglected His will,\" announces Bagaglok, frown deepening and tone rising to be heard over a few various insulted complaints that come from some of the yonder uruks. \"This camp,\" undeterred by the angry mutterings, the Shaman points a blackened claw to the audience, \"offers lip-service to the Eye, nothing more, though nothing less--which is indeed in itself an accomplishment.\" A sneer contorts orcish features, and he glares. \"Who among this rabble claim to have the true faith? Stand now, and let yourselves be know to me, and to Him!\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

Marzbul stands, stretching wearily. \"First ye leads us nowhere and now ye says we\'re betraying Him?\" he snarls quietly to the rabbit, spitting it and sticking it into the hungry yellow flames. Then he sits back down.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"Good, good,\" nods the Malkog as he observes the Mordain who confirm their loyalty by standing, but quietly his voice shifts lower, barely above a whisper. \"Liars and pretenders, garn,\" hisses Bagaglok, and one of the nearby Lata apprentices flickers a momentary smirk. The words of Marzbul are not heard by those on the platform, though the other orc\'s snarl is caught by Bagaglok, whose gaze lingers in that direction. \"A sacrifice is what this encampment needs,\" the scarlet-garbed goblin says slowly after an instance, and he grins, showing nasty pointed teeth. \"Volunteers..would be helpful, but if there are none brave enough or willing enough...volunteers shall be found nonetheless.\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

The rabbit-roasting orc looks cautiously over his shoulder, then resumes his culinary duties. A few spices are produced from a questionable pocket, then sprinkled over the merrily sizzling creature. \"We\'ll need all the arms we can spare to get out of this place,\" he mumbles.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

There is a rough tapping noise as Bagaglok thumps a bare, clawed foot against the wood stage impatiently. \"Pitiful, and disappointing,\" the uruk growls, eyes roving around the scene. \"None at all? No volunteers?\" The Shaman\'s gaze halts, gleaming unpleasantly, and he moves a hand to point anew.

\"You!\" calls Bagaglok over the odd silence that has fallen over the settlement. \"Rabbit-boy! What say you to an offering? The hare will suffice for a start, but perhaps you are loath to give it up, eh?\" the Malkog smirks, yellow eyes still flashing uncomfortingly. \"Surely you have a choice as to a fitting sacrifice for the Eye? Pick now--yourself..or another if you seek to save your own hide.\" Thump, thump, the foot maintains it\'s staccato rhythm.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Marzbul shifts uncomfortably, the hairs upon his neck standing up as he is called. \"Well, mister red-robe,\" he snaps bad-humoredly, resting a bloody claw on his knee, \"I was never one for selfishness, but you gotta consider the Master\'s army. Them snagas are a-plenty, but us soldiers got ter fight. How about you have one of these for now?\"

He takes the rabbit kabob, still slightly smoky, from the fire, shoves it into the hand of an unfortunate snaga, and boots him towards the platform. \"Go make yer brothers proud, miserable thing,\" he growls resentfully. \"Yer happy?\"

The snaga, predictably, bites him on the arm.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Marzbul roars, reaches for the scruff of the slave\'s shirt, and tosses him bodily towards the pavilion, where he lands with a splintery thud and squeal.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

At last, the bare foot ceases its rythm, as the Shaman seizes the moment to laugh. \"Soldier, you say? What soldier cannot control a sn--\" The snickering cuts short, however, as Marzbul proves that he can indeed handle the lower ranking orcs. Now the unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on the view) snaga is subjected to the piercing stare of the Pledged Shaman, as well as the onlookers. Cries break the stiff quiet, and several officers openingly chuckle and whistle mockingly at the sight of the proffered slave.

\"Fantastic,\" grins Bagaglok, shooting the small creature a sizing-up look. \"Most considerate of you to \'volunteer\'. Now,\" he points a haggard claw behind himself, toward the altar. \"Up you come.\" The snaga\'s obviously painful fall is ignored. \"Shuffle your feet up onto the platform.\" Leaning forward slightly as to yank the poor uruk off the ground by the tunic, Bagaglok spares a hissed whisper, \"Be good, and put on a fair show, hmm?\" And he laughs.

[Haldir(#25231)]

Marzbul scoffs nastily and scowls, stamping back outside the perimeter for another rabbit.

The snaga staggers timidly with help from Bagaglok\'s claw, clutching the roasted carcass tightly. A babble of whimpers escapes his lips, and he munches on a rabbit-leg instinctively. At least he got a good meal out of this.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"Sweet, soft, and fluffy,\" the Shaman nods to the rabbit after the snaga has found his footing on the platform beside him. Like a scorpion tail, Bagaglok swipes out his left hand to knock the game aside--likely leaving a nice juicy hare leg for the little uruk to keep in his mouth. \"But we don\'t need that anymore do we?\" The Pledged shows another disturbing grin, this time lit by some sort of sickly amusement and malice. \"We have something better now.\"

With a silent gesture, Bagaglok motions for the flanking Lata-Mogburzuul to step forth. Mirroring the Malkog\'s voicelessness, they do as they are bidden, now reaching to drag the snaga and strap him to the altar roughly.

[Haldir(#25231)]

\"R-roast?\" the snaga whimpers around the leg. His crusted yellow eyes widen in fear, staring blankly at the apprentices as they come with straps. \"I-I am a faithful servant of the Master! I kin do more fer him alive!\" he shrieks, straining feebly at the bonds.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Now that the slave has been tied down onto the cold, splintery wood of the unholy altar, Bagaglok paces nearer to loom over the creature. The Shaman\'s cloaked shadow stretches outward as he peers down. From within the recesses of his robe the orc produces a wicked-looking dagger, long and jagged. The blade is raised, but halts, hovering in the air above the smaller goblin\'s midsection as the snaga speaks. \"Is that so?\" Bagaglok tilts his skull-helmed head in feign musing. \"How would you be more useful to Him alive? To be sacrificed for Him, in His Name...surely you would not pass up such an honor? Your blood will appease Him, and give strength to the Dark Lord. He gave life to you in the beginning, and now you simply return the favor.\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

\"He needs ... my strength?\" quavers the slave, gazing with fear-filled eyes at the point of the dagger, and the shadow of the Shaman. \"T-that\'s ...\" And he sinks into cowed, terrified sobs -- whether they are of pride or utter despair is up to the crowd -- but hopefully he is putting up a good show.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Verily, the Malkog appears rather pleased at the spectacle this victim is displaying, and likewise behind him the audience still cries and jeers excitedly. \"No,\" Bagaglok says, cruely prolonging the conversation as he watches the snaga cringe and falter. \"I would not claim that the Master /needs/ it, for uttering thus would imply a weakness.\" For a passing second, the smaller uruk\'s fear is echoed on the Shaman\'s countenance, and Bagaglok makes a hasty sign with one hand, mumbling, \"Long live His Omnipotence..\"

Suddenly, the dagger plunges for the slave\'s belly, and now the red robed orc\'s voice shifts into a chant in the Dark Tongue. Knowledge of this sacred language lacking in places, Bagaglok stumbles over a few of the words, but they nonetheless would sound menacingly foreign to the poor snaga.

\" Spill dark blood upon the altar stone

Flames consume both flesh and bone.

Cleave the limbs, and hew the head.

To the Master, the life shed

Offers strength and power anew.

Thus it shall be, through you!

Splinter skull and shrivel skin.

May the Eye forgive this wretch of sin!\"

And the dagger follows through its path, cutting through the cold bitter air.

[Haldir(#25231)]

A shriek cuts through the air, grating peskily on the ears of all who might listen. The slave fixes a deathly gaze on the knife in his gut, slimy sobs wracking his bound form. Indeed, the unique shape of the blade results in all sorts of peritoneal wonders spewing out at the edges, staining the slave\'s shirt and the raw altar with blood. And other interesting things.

The snaga shudders as his head hits the back of the altar, gibbering over the gore that runs steadily from the side of his mouth.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Whilst dreadful cheers and roars erupt from the spectators, Bagaglok maintains an uncanny silent observance of the proceedings below his expression sustains a blank mask, marred only by the faint twitching of one corner of his lip that betokens a fanatical, religious satisfaction.

The clawed hand grips the hilt of the blade tighter, and the Shaman twists it in place, features still bearing their cold indifference, ere he yanks the dagger\'s edge upward toward the snaga\'s chest.

[Haldir(#25231)]

As the blade travels up, breaking bone and rupturing tissue with jagged cracking sounds, the snaga\'s sobs turn to desperate gasps for air, wheezing and spitting his gory efforts towards the shaman\'s impassive countenance.

Then this, too, ceases, and with a final dreadful cry he expires, still twitching as the gore bubbles and runs over the wooden altar, platform, the knife, anything.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Ignoring the gruesome mess that is sent to adorn his dark skinned face, the Pledged withdraws the jagged dagger without ceremony, and it is dropped for the moment to clatter dully against the wood of the platform. One clawed hand moves to similarly tear the victim\'s heart from the now lifeless body, and Bagaglok whirls around clutching it for all to see. \"Behold!\" exclaims the Shaman, at last revealing a sickening half-smirk, half-snarl. \"Another soul goes to join with the Master--let this one\'s offer serve as an example of what must be done to regain loyalty for the Eye.\" And then the heart is gone, ripped between sharp fangs to the frenzy of the crowd\'s entertainment.

The Shaman removes himself from the unholy stained altar and the platform. \"Do with him what you will,\" he says dismissively, waving a sleeved arm to both the Latas, and the orcish audience. \"If lunch is sparse...no doubt he shall also serve this army in death.\"

[Haldir(#25231)]

The top-knotted orc is watching from behind a tree, wiping sweat from a hidden face. Today is another lucky day serving in the Master\'s ranks is a ... dangerous ... honor.