Name That Price

Western Edge of Mirkwood

Under the half-barren outer eaves of Mirkwood, the late morning 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 late morning sunlight.

Thick clouds of billowing grey cover over the sky.

Contents:

Imladech

Uruk Camp

Obvious exits:

SouthEast, NorthEast, North, and South

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Late Morning on Monday, Day 30 of January.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 19:14:24 MDT on Sun Jan 31 2010.

[Imladech(#30819)]

The biting chill and lingering mist of morning is slowly fading from the shadowed eves of Mirkwood. Somewhere above the sun stretches towards its zenith, not quite there yet. The snow has been trampled into mud in the orcish encampment, all manner of filth and refuse drowned beneath the ever-moving feet of the horde.

Imladech is still among them, but not for long it would seem. The tall human has found and somehow managed to aquire what new armour he can, and on his back a full pack rests next to his war hammer. He lingers still near the Shaman\'s tents for one thing, impatiently.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

From one of these tents there sails upon the late morning air that odd scent of sweetness and decay...there are sounds from the interior of the shelter, but the noises do not mean much, lacking visuals to explain their identities. One racket in particular resembles very much the din of some glass jar smashing, and the flap to the tent billows violently.

Out hurries Bagaglok, waving a hand at the strange smoke-like debris that follows him out from the recesses of the mobile home. Through a cough, the orc does a double-take, blinking to spot the waiting form of the Man. \"Patience has failed you, I see?\" the Shaman says flatly, watching Imladech for an instance as the purple-hued haze fades.

[Imladech(#30819)]

Imladech watches the tent which emits so much noise with a look of distaste and distrust until at last Bagaglok emerges at the fore of a billow of smoke. This does not improve his expression. None the less he answers cordially enough,

\"I will wait, yrch.\" He says, \"But there is nothing that will help me enjoy my wait - how do you progress?\" There is a hint of hunger in his question, but it is controlled.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Though the uruk notes the human\'s scornful expression at his arrival, the creature instead gives a rather unpleasant sly grin. \"You wish for something to help entertain your wait?\" Bagaglok ushers away the final wisps of smoke with a long robed arm, before he steps back a pace and holds the flap of the tent open. \"In,\" is the lone response, and the goblin nods his skull-helmed head toward the entrance. \"It shall also reveal the details of your last inquiry. I have but the concluding stages to complete.\"

[Imladech(#30819)]

\"I wish to be away from you and your ilk. Off to serve in my own way, as my talents are suited.\" There is distrust on the human\'s features as he watches the Malkog, but he moves to follow him into the strange, smoking tent.

\"Very well, show me what twisted hocus-pocus you are attempting to concoct.\" Imladech\'s doubts are obvious in his tones.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Still smiling that awful smile that displays several pointed fangs, Bagaglok slips into the tent, glancing back only briefly to make certain Imladech follows. The orc kicks a shattered container to the side casually, ignoring the greenish mark that peppers the ground beneath.

At the far end of the animal hide shelter, there is set a wooden altar--obviously built for traveling circumstances. Even through the murky interior of this place, there can easily be seen even from a distance a large metal bowl set precariously atop this wooden structure. Inside a horrid black liquid rests, and a disturbing smell comes forth to vie with the senses...beside this metallic bowl lays a silver helm, plain and undecorated. In front of this altar the Shaman halts, and waits for the Man to draw closer.

[Imladech(#30819)]

Imladech steps carefully into the tent, his head pulling back in shock at the smells which assault his nose. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, then he gingerly makes his away through the tent, stepping around various unknown objects and spills.

At last the Dunadan stands before the helm, and his expression softens as his gaze falls upon it. \"This is it?\" He asks, gaze darting briefly to Bagaglok then back to the helm. His hand raises, but he thinks better of touching, cautiously watching the black liquid.

\"And what have you done to it?\"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

Bagaglok snorts slightly at the Dunadan\'s questions. \"Yes, this is it...and no, this is not it.\" He says confusingly, while very clearly fighting back a laugh. Evidently the orc finds the situation amusing. \"It is not yet done, I mean,\" he elaborates, pointing a haggard finger at the brackish subtance in the metal bowl. \"I am surprised you did not compain about its uninteresting appearance. You wanted black, and a dragon, did you not? Patience, tark.\"

\"Now,\" the Malkog hisses, producing a small vial from his robes. \"This,\" he holds it up for Imladech to see even in the dim lighting, \"was not easy to obtain...it is the blood of one of the wretched bear-people. What you already see in the bowl is uruk blood.\" He uncorks the red-filled bottle and dips the contents into the black liquid.

[Imladech(#30819)]

Imladech grunts, waving away the uruk\'s derision. \"Orc blood?\" He asks with disgust, hand jerking involuntarily, as though to pull the helm out of the bowl - but he does not. \"Bear-people?\" He asks a second question, this time out of ignorance.

The human steps back, the full weight of his gaze falling on Bagaglok. \"How long?\" He asks simply.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"The shape-shifters to the North,\" answers the Shaman in passing, waving the inquiry off as trivial. \"It will not be much longer, I assure you.\" Taking one claw Bagaglok traces an invisible outline on the front of the helm, which he proceeds to bathe in the mixture. Whether a trick of the light, or something more mysterious, there is a sharp sizzling noise, and the silver helmet takes on the deep shade of jet black. The Shaman mutters something under his breath in a strange tongue, and red flares suddenly--the blazing image of a winged serpent emblazens itself upon the area his claw had touched moments prior. The orc moves to take the armor from the bowl.

[Imladech(#30819)]

\"Shape-shifters.\" Imladech repeats the strange word in his strange accent, considering. But his attention is soon taken by what is happening in front of him. He watches in silence, his pale, proud features now betraying no emotion even as these fantastic occurances move before his eyes.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The helm is raised skyward as the uruk extends his hands toward the leather ceiling, both sleeves and blood falling backward along the length of his arms as he does this. Again, Bagaglok whispers something in the Black Tongue, and the orc closes his yellow eyes, wirey arms trembling slightly.

There is a period of dead silence, and the Shaman remains unmoving as though frozen in spot in some sort of trance or perhaps unknown fear. Finally, the helm is lowered in all cases it appears foreign, changed greatly from what it was mere minutes before--surely it is the same helm? Bagaglok turns slowly, and he abruptly thrusts the item to its new owner. The uruk\'s gaze peers upward to catch Imladech\'s as he speaks. \"There, it is completed. It is blessed by the Eye, and it shall not fail you...provided you in turn do not fail Him...I seem to have forgotten the aspect regarding cost.\" His eyes gleam with hunger.

[Imladech(#30819)]

Imladech watches the process in silence, unmoving like a statue placed in the Malkog\'s tent. At length the human accepts the helm gingerly, as though it might be boiling hot. Carefully he turns it over, examining the changes with a quiet awe.

Finally he raises it again, placing it over his head as he would before battle and at last he speaks, deep and as though with new command, \"You have not forgotten, there was no price - it was a gift in service to the dread one.\"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The Malkog observes the human\'s action with renewed amusement. \"No, it is no longer hot, nor wet. You\'ll find it is quite hard and dry. It seems to fit you well enough.\" But the smirk shifts into a scowl, and he grumbles lowly, disappointed. \"Gift, and services indeed, garn,\" growls Bagaglok. \"But I believe I have enough of a right to place a price on it following the unforseen efforts I have undergone...axes, bear-ilk, gazat filth...\" the complaint expands into an apparent tangent. \"The Old Road of the forest must be littered with my footprints from my searching for a pitiful herb the potion required.\"

He frowns, but watches the human carefully. \"What about the old helm? Do you still have this in your possession? A trade, I will be willing to settle upon.\"

Given.

Imladech picks up a black Metal Helmet.

[Imladech(#30819)]

Imladech removes the helm, \"It fits, and I have not fallen dead yet.\" He says simply, and now it is his turn to smirk as the uruk before him grumbles and complains. \"This is unforseen - you should have told me there might be a cost. And,\" He fingers the wings of the dragon, \"It is not exactly as I wished.\"

The honor-ruined human lowers his pack, undoing the top strings to gain access, \"However, I did not specify either, so I shant complain.\" He retrieves the old helm, a battered wood and leather helm studded through with metal and, as he draws it forth there is a movement of his hand and the clink of silver coins falling into the helmet, \"Remember my generosity, consider it a gift of thanks for, and commitment to, my new-found allegiance. Now--\" His expression hardens, \"I will tarry no longer.\"

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

\"I take it you desired a wingless worm, then, shara?\" Bagaglok\'s disdain deepens as he watches the Man\'s finger-prodding. \"You should be thankful I did not make it resemble you that closely.\" He laughs darkly, but then the orc\'s yellow glare blinks, and he stares half-surprised, half-suspicious as Imladech produces the coins to accompany the old helm. The Shaman stands unmoving but he seems to accept this added prize as readily as he will, and he reaches out to take the helmet up with its shiny contents. \"Go whither you will, tark,\" nods Bagaglok, now quite pleased by the turn of events, and the reward he has reaped.

\"I wonder--\" he eyes the Dunadan calculatingly. \"Did the Lord Shrieker mention reports? Surely you do not plan on leaving and never returning with information of your evil-workings abroad?\" He grins nastily again, gesturing to Imladech\'s discarded helmet. \"The scent on this should make it easy enough for the wargs and Snufflers to track you down, if need be.\"

Imladech removes Studded Leather Helmet.

Imladech gave you Studded Leather Helmet.

You pick up Studded Leather Helmet.

[Imladech(#30819)]

\"Wingless, as of old.\" The Dunadan affirms, but shrugs, \"A new tale, a new twist.\" Imladech tucks the new helm under his arm, shouldering his pack once more. He meets Bagaglok\'s query with a scoff, \"Do you think now that the Dark Captain has chosen me I could escape his gaze? I have seen men die, slowly dreaming terrible nightmares, from his presence alone. I have seen his face. I have heard his voice. I will report.\"

The human turns, stalking from the tent. He pauses at the door-flap, as though to say something more, but instead he spits on the ground and continues on his way.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]

The goblin does nothing, save look after Imladech\'s departing form. The crude method of \'goodbye\' strangely brings Bagaglok to raise a brow, rather than becoming irritated again. \"I will look forward to your return,\" he chuckles to himself maliciously. \"Then the fun begins. Wingless worm, and fireless worm, indeed!\" he thumps the altar with a clenched fist.

\"You are not the only one who has seen the Dark Captain revealed in his true form, and wrath..\" The Shaman stops to finger an odd scar that runs down one cheek. Even now the cut retains its odd cold gleam against the dark skin. But Imladech is long gone, and Bagaglok is left alone to clean up the mess of blood and other ingredients. Very distinctly, passersby would hear the second smashing of another jar.