Blessing or curse?

Old Forest Road, Eastern Edge of Mirkwood

This is open woodland. Various large and small oak and beech trees stand well spaced with grass and low brush growing amongst them. The few trees present are not nearly enough to block out the daylight that pains your eyes. It seems to be noticably darker to the west, though.

Rain pours down upon the landscape. The grass is slightly slippery with mud..

Contents:

Witch-king

Pishgob

Uruk Camp

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Night on Hevensday, Day 18 of January.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 19:17:28 MDT on Sun Sep 27 2009.

The foul smells of roasting meat drift upon the air from the direction of the uruk camp this eve, and even the faint stars that are visible in the forest clearing seem to flicker their disapproval of the gruesome meal that is passed about to the orcs as they move about between the various scattered tents. Multiple dark forms have paused in their labors this night, taking the opportunity to sit nearby the bonfire and munch upon the bones clutched in their haggard claws.

From the Shaman\'s half of the camp, another stooped silhouette emerges from the shadows, muddy red cloak catching the light of the flames as it draws near them. With an impatient growl to himself, Bagaglok plops down on one of the encompassing logs, though he places himself farther away from the other uruks remaining hunched over, he seems to take no notice of them as yellow eyes peer down at the smooth stone grasped in his hands, dirty fingers feeling it and turning it over and over again in the creature\'s palms.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

A chill grows around the orc, never icy but unsettling perhaps to those of weaker will. The shadows would seem to deepen in the camp, and as the revelry continues a shiver runs through the throng. Several orcs look up in alarm or confusion, though seeing naught but the air they soon return to their meal.

On the strange shudder seems to pass through the throng, until at last snakes up to the Shaman\'s side. A cold, thin voice speaks as though from the breeze itself to Bagaglok:

\"Malkog. Thy master comes.\"

Tiring of the finger-prodding, Bagaglok now takes the odd rock and, raising slightly, sniffs it with a short snout-like nose. Eyes narrow again as this new method of investigating yields naught, however, and another unsatisfied mutter is given to no one in particular.

It seems now that the time for pondering is over, as the unearthly chill seeps its twisting course amongst the propped tents darkening stars are the least of the orc\'s worries...

Then, the dreadful whisper comes, and the Shaman ceases his strange scruntiny of the stone as his gaze shifts to regard the shadows beyond the firelight. Hooked ears twitch slightly, but other than that he does not yet move, waiting.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

A hiss sounds then, angry and impatient, and for a moment two crimson eyes blaze in the air before Bagaglok hovering above him as though the gaze of an unseen Man. The hiss drops lower still, and when the voice speaks next it is almost a growl.

\"You have been given the sight of the Blessed, Malkog. Is your will so puny you are unable to use it?\"

A sudden jerk is given in surprise as the speaker seems to evade detection until it is directly in front of him, and it is all the Orc can do to prevent himself from toppling off his perch on the log. Bagaglok\'s own gaze flashes upward to met the awful, piercing pinpoints of fire that now loom over him, and he sits for the moment, evidently rooted to the spot in fear.

Then an unintelligable sound comes forth as he stands up abruptly, stepping back a pace and kneeling. The hard object is clasped in his hands a little more tight then necessary, and the Shaman glances away as the fell voice speaks.

\"My lord,\" the creature manages to gasp, trembling slightly as he stares determindely at the muddy ground, \"...The stone is inscribed with runes that is all. I regret to say that my understanding of the Black Tongue prevents me from translating it fully...\" He takes a rough breath--perhaps, hopefully, the nose-sniffing attempt had not been noticed.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

\"Then you shall be instructed,\" promises the voice upon the breeze, though the red eyes fade somewhat until they are mere suggestions by the firelight. \"But first you will report. Tell me of the mood of the camp. How did you gain your wounds?\"

The other Orcs amid the camp seem to take no more notice of this coversation, and it occurs to the Shaman then, as the fiery points diminsh slightly, that there is naught beyond the flickering edge of the firelight. For surely, such a being of dark power can manipulate the thoughts and visions of his servants?

The possiblity of the speaker not physically in front of him does not serve to lessen the tension that flows about Bagaglok as he stays stooped in the mud. \"Teachings, sire, would be greatly welcomed,\" he assures the faint eyes with a darting look of his own. The Uruk shifts a little as the following questions are asked.

\"The camp fairs well enough, my lord,\" he says. \"The second raid upon the trading town was victorious, though we lost many in the process of burning the wretched place. It is from this battle that my wounds come.\" The newly won gashes on the Malkog\'s shoulder and forehead can be seen in the dancing illumination.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

\"Think you that mine eyes did not witness the battle?\" hisses the voice of the Nazgul cruelly, and those same eyes in question burn all the more in front of the Shaman. \"I saw all, Malkog. Why did one so chosen by the Nine of Sauron succumb so easily to the swordplay of a mannish whelp? Perhaps I chose poorly.. you cannot even focus your will to behold me!\"

And with that the air stirs, some strange rush of evil moves unseen within the dark and seeks to lay a clout upon Bagaglok\'s open forehead wound.

[Combat(#13388)] Witch-king snaps his pale blade back into its sheath with a single fluid motion.

Witch-king attacks you with his Bare Hands!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

Eyes narrow abrutply, and teeth are bared as the creature flinches upon the welling of the darkness. Bagaglok hisses, trying his best to steel himself against the shadowy blow, refusing to display any signs of weakness. His dark gaze flashes upward, almost reluctantly, to dare connect with those foul red orbs that hover over him, and he does not reply immediately.

\"Of course,\" he rasps with apparent difficulty, uttering each word slowly as though choosing the answer with care. \"The dark ones see all...\" Another pause intrudes, as the Shaman dwells on the wraith\'s last statements. Hints of fear once more flit across the goblin\'s twisted features, as he falls further down into the dirt.

\"My lord, if you are merciful, I beg a second chance the filthy scum--\" he breaks off suddenly, and changes direction, realizing that the bruises he now bears are due not to any superhuman prowess. \"Then, magics I ask for the strengthening of will and resolve, to prevent such future disappointment...Is there not a spell that can do this, and of which I can perform in the name of the Great One?\"

[Witch-king(#28583)]

A low, rasping hiss is the initial reply, and it spills down over the prostrate orc with fierce abandon. Still the eyes glow and hover in the gloom, naught else visible save the revelry of the camp, and the evil voice responds after a time.

\"The world of Shadows is the Master\'s realm, Malkog. I have given you eyes to see into it, but you have yet to open them. You wish a spell of the Nine to force them open? So be it, though in days to come think well on the rashness of your request...\"

A blade appears then beneath the fires of the Nazgul\'s eyes a cold, pale knife that would seem to glow with a sickly light all of it\'s own. Down the blade slices in search of Bagaglok\'s cheek, and the darkness roils within the shadows about the Shaman.

Witch-king attacks you with his Dagger!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

No time is there to react as the luminous blade lunges out of the dark, from that same void of nothingness. A second waver is supressed, and only an odd strangled sound is given as the dagger adds its own cut to those of the previous night\'s.

Nary else can Bagaglok do save stare up transfixed at those demonic eyes that pierce his own, and the Orc remains still, an air of uncormfortable uncertainty dominating his mind...Then, without warning there is the deadening chill that burns from the fresh wound, and a violent shudder flows through the Shaman as he feels the unearthly coldness seep around inside him like wintery fingers. The beating of his black heart reaches an unnatural pace, ere subsiding back to normal, and Bagaglok has to force his stiff figure into motion to check that he is still alive. Rumors of something seems to flit at the back of memory and mind, however, dark shadows twisting closer and closer ere they smother all. And then, as sudden as it had begun, the fingers receed, withdrawing and leaving cold traces of their fell presence to linger on.

The Uruk lifts his gaze upward, confused perhaps that the blackness has gone. But another surprise meets him now--no longer is there the Shadow, but in its place, there stands the ghostly pale image of a high and mighty king the remains of noblility are there, yes, but there is more a sickly fell light is kindled in the figure\'s face, and on his head there can be glimpsed the gleam of a terrible steel crown. Everything about this being blurs into naught, dark mixing with the rays of the firelight, which now, Bagaglok discovers, are painful to behold. A clawed hand is flung over his sight, and he trembles upon the ground, in the utmost horror for surely this must be a peek into the Twilight realm of the wraiths themselves?

[Witch-king(#28583)]

A cruel laughter would seem to provide the answer, for the eyes of the kingly figure burn all the brighter lips wrought into a ghastly sneer. The crowned head nods, and the ghostly blade is stowed away once more as the Witch-king looks down upon the Shaman.

\"Your eyes are opened, Malkog -- may what they see comfort you in days to come. Do you regret your request? Would you now leave your Master\'s service?\"

A shudder whracks the creature\'s wiry frame, and for the instant he is unable to speak, gray hand still shielding his eyes from the fire and from the dread being before him. With a great effort, the hunched servant forces himself to look up, to encounter the pale king\'s cruel countenance, and Bagaglok strains to hold it there, though unsuccessfully.

Yellow eyes averted, yet daring not to let the figure leave his sight completely lest he be caught off guard again, the Shaman mutters weakly into the mud, \"I know no regret, my lord!\" The latter is voiced with more meaning than earlier, now that he has beheld the true form of this terrible wraith. \"To depart from the One\'s service would be disgrace, worse than death!\" The statements come forth louder than necessary, as the shock and fear still makes its way through his mortal body. Foolish as he may be, the orc knows well enough that to back out now would be nothing short of life-ending.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

A nod then from the terrible figure of the Ringwraith, and the kingly figure steps away a pace to grant room for Bagaglok to rise anew. \"You choose well,\" he informs the Malkog, and the fire of his eyes smoulders now to a ruby simmer. \"Your eyes are blessed, but your body remains weak. It shall grow weaker still, for the realm of the Dark Lord shall draw away your strength to remould it and make it hale. When your will melds with that of the Master, then too will your limbs lay claim upon His strength. When such is done, I shall seek you anew, and put you to task.\"

\"When such is done,\" Bagaglok echoes, not able to look away from the Ringwraith\'s fixing gaze. \"Not until then it will be good...you have chosen to honor your servant with such a blessing I am grateful for it. May my limited body hinder not the quest of which you speak, dark king, the journey which my mind and will must take. To become one with Him, to serve Him better, it is a high goal I would be cursed ere I give up on such a union!\"

The haggard fingers feel towards the earth now, and Bagaglok snatches up the disk-like stone from before, where it had laid long forgotten in the course of events. He moves his hand to put it safely away in a pocket on his red garments.

[Witch-king(#28583)]

\"You are already cursed,\" comes the reply from the Nazgul, and a vicious laughter dances within his gaze. But then the greatest of the Nine nods anew, his hand raising to point toward the Malkog a golden ring seen bright upon one finger.

\"Look for my return when the pain has left you -- then you shall begin your training.\"

And with that the figure turns, stalking away through the throng of orcs, seen only by Bagaglok, and as it passes each of the less gifted uruks blink and shiver.