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Who's for the feast?

Tags: Barzhaat,  Veredhiel

Short Summary: The orc-scout Barzhaat is hungry, and it looks like there might be more than rabbit on the menu.
Date (real-life): 2010-05-27
Scene Location: Long plain
Date (in-game): Mersday, 12 January

---------------------------------------------------------------- +ELF TIME ----
================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is:    Twilight < About  8:38 PM >
IC day is:     Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is:    42 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase:    New  <HIDDEN>
Earendil:      Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is:    Loa 25 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3049>
RL time:        Thu May 27 15:32:44 2010
Calendar help: +ELF TIME HELP    Quenya version: +ELF TIME QUENYA

Long Plain
The grass to sways in fluid motion as the wind bends the blades of grass to its will. Towards the North and the East the plains continues.
Obvious exits:
 North leads to Long Plain.
 East leads to Long Plain, Near Fangorn.

Twilight this eve is cold and quiet. Tiny stars shine in the darkling sky, occassionally veiled by passing wispy clouds. Winter has fallen upon the plains, and the breeze that blows over them is bitter.

A shape makes its way through this blanket of grasses; nary a sound do booted Elf feet create as they tread along. The cloak the elleth wears seemingly melds into the surrounding winter-grey foliage. A yew longbow is held in one hand, and a hood is cast up over Veredhiel's raven-haired head.

COMBAT - Wielded: Elven Longbow

[Barzhaat(#16260)] More than one being may choose to move at twilight. The Morian scout Barzhaat threads her way through the grasses, yellow eyes gleaming as she looks out on the night. Her flimsy rags, made thinner by the fact that bandages have been torn from them to bind her right shoulder, do little to combat winter's cold and shivers rack her gaunt frame. Her own bow, shaped from wood and sinew and blackened by substances best not thought on, is also to hand, though she does not yet have an arrow on the string.

The she-orc moves slowly, cautiously, flat feet testing each step as she parts the frozen grasses ... As yet she has found nothing within them - nay, not even game. Her belly rumbles softly.

A new wind picks up, and Veredhiel uses her free hand to pull the cloak more tight about her shoulders as she continues onward. Her pace is neither quick nor slow, and the very top of the hood peeks up from the grass. The sentinel frowns, and her steps now, however, slacken. She scrunches up her small pale nose -- perhaps she has noticed the growing foul odor upon the air. And..was that rumbling..? The Elf's fingers clasp harder about the bow, but no arrow is fit upon the string as of yet. Instead, she cants her head, listening, breath making small bursts of white cloud in front of her face.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] That same wind that carries Barzhaat's scent to Veredhiel keeps the 'elf-stench' from the orc, so that she moves on blissfully unaware she is being unobserved. She is quiet for her kind, but not elf-silent, and keen ears might pick up occasional rustlings or cracklings that do not match the wind-motion.

Another sound there is too, a rustling slightly further off and then a startled thump of warning as a rabbit takes flight. Hissing through her yellowed fangs, Barzhaat reaches behind her for a black-fletched arrow and fits it to the bow before straightening to her full height to peer across the grassland and see if she can sight her quarry.

[Combat(#13388)] Barzhaat wields Bow.

A faint series of noises cause Veredhiel to raise her head a little higher, letting half the hood slip into view above the top of the rippling grasses. She turns her head, gazing round with narrowed grey eyes; and then, the Elf chokes back a cry -- there is an orc head peering across as well.

Quickly, she ducks her hood back down, though perhaps as silent as Firstborn are, this sudden motion has disturbed a few stems of foliage. Carefully, a grey-fletched shaft is readied, and briefly starlight glints off metal. She moves no closer, waiting with fingers upon the string.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat's head is not turned toward Veredhiel. Rather her attention is focussed on the ripples of passage made by the fleeing rabbit, though her nostrils do flare briefly (a gust in the wind?) She swipes the back of one hand across her nose then squints again at the ripples of the grasses and in one swift movement draws and looses the black-fletched arrow rabbitward. Her chances of hitting said rabbit, moving unseen below, are slim - she must be getting truly desperate for fresh meat.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Random roll: Barzhaat rolls a 8.
Your action is highly SUCCESSFUL.

The familiar whine of an arrow flits in the night, and carefully, the elleth inches a pair of footsteps toward the noise. There is a deeper frown in the grasses, as Veredhiel peeks through the faded plants to see ahead as best she may. Her head she keeps tucked down in the undergrowth.

An elvish sigh parts lips before turning into words in Common. "Begone from these lands, orch," the voice in the dark threatens, and the Elf stretches her own dart up to the point of an ear as she sights down the shaft's length. "You shall find no feast here tonight." Then, a sharp twang, and the grey-feathered arrow flies.

You fire off an arrow at Barzhaat...

Your arrow hits Barzhaat, lightly wounding her!

[Barzhaat(#16260)] There is a sudden sharp quiver of the grasses where Barzhaat's arrow parts them, then stillness. Success? Her fanged mouth widens in a grin.

That is short-lived, as the melodious voice floats through the night. Smile becomes snarl, and she is already twisting round to reach for a new arrow when the elven shaft seeks her. That motion is her saving, for the grey-fletched barb merely nicks her arm as it speeds past, slicing a thin line of red beneath the rags, rather than sinking in. Perhaps it is Veredhiel's saving too, for the orc merely grabs for the first arrow she can reach. It is black-fletched. "Filthy stinking tree-humper," she growls as she sets it to the bow. "Maybe I'll feast on Elf 'fore the night's done. Ahh, it's been a while ..." And with a horrid light in her eyes she looses in the direction of the hated voice.

Barzhaat launches an arrow...

Barzhaat's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

"No, I think not," responds the grass, and a smooth hatred and disgust is found therein. "I am afraid you will have to wait even longer then, for you shall have to catch me first...and you cannot catch what you cannot see."

The Morian's gift strikes the earth a little ways to the left, its wooden body still trembling as it sticks. A second Lorien arrow is nocked, and bow raised; the very top point pops up above the grass. Slender fingers slip off the string, and the next delivery is freed.

You fire off an arrow at Barzhaat...

Your arrow hits Barzhaat, moderately wounding her!

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat watches the flight of her own arrow; thus it is that she spies the moving tip of the longbow. Her eyes widen in a horrified stare as the next shaft spirals her way, and there is no time to move more than a step backwards ere it finds its mark in tough goblin-flesh, quivering in her thigh. A grunt escapes the she-orc, and she growls, "You've just made a mistake, tree-humper. Might be a fatal one. Perhaps I won't feast on Elf tonight, I have other plans."

Carefully, deliberately, she reaches for an arrow from her right-hand quiver; its shaft is brindled. The tip of her tongue pokes from between her fangs as she pulls the curved bow carefully back, takes aim at a spot just beneath the bow-end and eagerly looses ...

Barzhaat launches an arrow...

Barzhaat's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

The whistle of another projectile reaches the sentinel's ears before she sees it, and she pounces to the side to avoid its path. "And what other plans are these? I shall have to make certain that they fail. Will you be angry?" Veredhiel smiles, although the curving of her lips holds none of the normal elven mirth. A third elf-arrow is placed upon the longbow, but this time it is withheld, and the elleth shifts the weapon sideways, so that the tip is once more concealed. "Perhaps if I fill you with enough holes, it will deter you."

You forego your chance to attack.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] There is no cry, no sound of a falling body and plenty of speech: one precious shaft wasted. Barzhaat's features twist in fury, but when no arrow is forthcoming she jerks angrily at the one in her thigh - it has not penetrated far, and slides out easily without need of skill, though the wood cracks under the pressure of her claws. She tosses the useless barb aside then ducks down beneath the grasses, sidling sideways without any betraying speech. Somewhere out there lies her rabbit.

ARB: Barzhaat has "passed" on her turn to attack.

There is no answer. The Elf frowns once more, but likewise she speaks naught else, instead slipping a few paces backward in the foliage. Her hand she keeps on the arrow, just in case, and her grey eyes peer from side to side, warily. Afterall, where there is one orc, there are bound to be many more...

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat's hand seeks another arrow, but this time it is black-fletched; clearly she dares waste no more of her poisoned barbs. It is held loosely nocked in her bowhand, ready to nock and draw should the need arise. But it has not yet arisen, and there is a distinct smell - a warm, wonderful meaty blood-smell - off to her left. Slowly and carefully the she-orc inches that way, groping with her left hand. It falls on - oh joy! - a hunched rabbit carcass, still with a black-fletched shaft buried in it. A single slaver of drool drips from the she-orc's lips, despite her peril.

If the Elf-maid has seen the poor rabbit, or caught whiff of the scent of its fate, she does not show it, save for a passing shadow that falls upon her countanence. But she does not shoot again, and it is with swift motions that Veredhiel creeps off. Traces of that hatred are in her eyes, and yet there is something more, if fainter. Sadness perhaps? And then the Elf is gone, a grey shadow of a whisper into the cold night.

[Barzhaat(#16260)] Barzhaat snatches up the rabbit, arrow-shaft and all, and places the precious burden between her fangs so that she has both hands free for the bow. She waits ....

After a while she oh-so-carefully begins to edge backward, away from the place where the archer had stood, the careful creeping giving way to crouched flight. Her gaze is still wary, but at least she is no longer hungry; she sucks happily on the precious life-blood of the limp animal as she goes.

Date added: 2010-05-28 10:29:17    Hits: 144
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