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We are Coming.... Death by Fire!!

Tags: Buugoc Gunk Logoz Bal'Dyak

Short Summary: The Orcs of Moria empty from their mines!
Date (real-life): 2011-10-26
Scene Location: Gates of Moria, Dimrill Dale
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Cloudly

Dimrill Dale


Not more than a mile to the west, and up, is the grey side of the Silvertine. An aged path travels up to what looks to be a shallow cave at the mountain's base. Northward the dale runs up into a glen of shadows between two great arms of the mountains, above which three white peaks are visible: Celebdil, Fanuidhol, and Caradhras. At the head of the glen a torrent flows like white lace over an endless ladder of short falls, and a mist of foam hangs in the air about the mountains' feet. To the south the Misty Mountains recede endlessly, as far as sight can reach. At your feet is a great pool of water. At the water's side is a single stone column broken at the top.


A sudden breeze falls down from the mountains, the lighted sky broiling and steaming above you. The mid morning spring air is chilly and bitter.




Orcish Campsite

Morian Orc Camp




Stone Column

Obvious exits:

 Northwest leads to Mountain path.

 South leads to The Silverlode Source.

 West leads to Moria, Great Gates.




     Utter blackness surounds the mountain, heavy clouds cover the mood and stars high above. The Mines of Moria seem to have emptied themselves upon the Dimrill Dale, every type of foul and unsavory creature seems to be present, Orc, Goblin, Troll, Warg, and worse. A massive bonfire burns in the center of the makeshift formation, throwing its flames high into the sky and giving off the only light.


     Standing before the formation is the Gothshaka Buugoc, the fat and veil King stands with his whip in hand, watching the mass of evil move about, listening to the foul voices and the crude language. As his yellow eyes move about he seems to be waiting for something, someone.




A shortway behind Buugoc, sly eyes slipping from uruk to uruk as he surveys the gathering, a strange goblin is among these denizens of Moria. Logoz, newly appointed to the Gothshaka's guard stands lazily to one side, licking yellowing fangs with a red tongue, and at whiles his claws dig hopefully into hs nostril.


"Reckon they were too cowardly to come, King?" he asks, after a time.




Gunk, Voice of the Flame, starts to make his way through the formation of scum that surround the bonfire. He leads a party of particularly vicious looking orcs, four of them carrying a pole to which is bound a poor snaga. Trailing the orcs and their burden are more snagas, who cast glances at their unfortunate comrade but don't appear too broken up. Better him then them! The shaman leading the party carries bones and organs, clear evidence of a recent 'reading.'




"Quit yankin yer warbles and SHUT it," barks Bal'Dyak in lead step of scouting party. Practiced effort almost has the troop of five in synchronized march, minimizing the crunch of heavy boots as they follow the river against its stream closer. Up and ever up, ceaseless.


    The clink of metal casts eerie music in the depth of night. The cover of forest has slowed and now breaks - as the land. An edge appears. The rumble of drums and many gathered nearby. A red glow flickering. A field of freshly hewn stumps - stench and pine mingled heavy in the air. The Raven Captain gestures violently to the ground and quickly lowers his form to earth. The obedient guard follows suit.




     Looking to Logoz the Gothshaka says "He will come Bruiser, he will come." looking about he shouts at the top of his lungs "Make a path for the Shatrauga! The Voice of the FLAME!!! Move before you are filleted alive!!!!" his tone is that of pure anger, letting his whip crack out to add that finishing touch to his words the Gothshaka glances over to Bruiser and laughs aloud.


     The masses of Orcs, Trolls, and Wargs move out of the way as best they can, shoving and pushing one another with many a knife fight breaking out and many a Orc having his guts spilled out on the ground. The Wargs have all mustered into one area, growling, snapping, and biting at any that draw too near, the Trolls move about lazily, eating whatever they can and smashing any that do not get out of the way. Though hearing the Gothshaka most look towards the massive fire and wait.




"Hope so," nod Logoz to the Gothshaka, turning his head to spit, but as the way s cleared for Gunk he dutifully shuffles to one side. But then his freshly cleaned nose takes a sniff of the air and his ears prick; those sly eyes flitting of a sudden down the mountainsde.


The 'Bruiser' steals a quiet few paces southward then, swuinting into the distance, and once more does his tongue slide over his fangs with interest.



Here and there, a newly slain orc lies on the ground next to Gunk's path. As he and his party passes, he quickly drops down to cup blood in his hand. He smears it on his face, the faces of the orcs and on the poor poor snaga tied to the pole. The bloodletting is clearly effecting these orcs as are riled and start a raspy chant that cannot be made out. The snagas following are clearly having second thoughts about their safety. The party is about midway to the bonfire now.




A motion to the party's left, and the Barber rises. Skirting the open land, under cover of the surviving edge they go - guard following sharply, blades loosed to hand. Decked in the mighty gear of Saruman's finest, each of the sortie trained to bear two weapons or more, they reach sight of the gathered host of Moria.


    At the rear Skrub jests in their breed of speech, "I sneezed out better snaga than that rabble of beast." Nug's Elbow is a club, finding his mate's rib cage. The former reacts as if to fight it out cave-style, but Bal'Dyak's glare and dripping fangs need not be seen to be felt by the subordinate. "Ya got a brain in that skull?" the Captain hisses whisper in his approach, hand darting to throttle tightly beneath Skrub's chin, "Silence, not one word, or i'll have yer head. None of ya!" He steps to the very edge of the clearing.



     With intent eyes the Gothshaka waits, pulling out a dagger he slices upon the palm of his hand, drawing his dark blood forth. Waiting until it pools in his palm and begins to drip he smears it upon his face, licking his lips and then licking his dagger clean before returning it to his belt.


     The mass of foul creatures are growing more and more savage, with orcs gutting each other for nothing more then sport and to cover themselves in the fallen's blood, the army of Orcs resembles that of a blood bath, with blood cover nearly every creature.



Logoz eyes the treeline with a narrowed gaze, but sniffing to himself it would seem the forest goblin's nostrils fill not with the stench of blood, and he glances behind him to see the hurly-burly. Cackling lowly to himself he turns fully, stealing back to the Gothshaka's side.


"I'll trade yer one of the legs for a spot of good knowledge, King?" he proposes.



     Licking his lips the Gothshaka looks to Logoz and reaches forth to smear his blood on the face of his guard and says "Speak!" looking about he lets his whip crack out once again, sending that distinctive sound into the air.




Reaching the front of the formation, Gunk is drenched in blood. As he waits for his party to come up along side in their ritual positions, the shaman watches the killing go on. One of his orcs gives the poor snaga tied to the pole a kick to the head, waking it from its drugged slumber into a nightmare of blood and flame. On command, the free snagas appear and start to lift the pole vertical. It is clear, the poor snaga will burn this night. It starts to scream.


The Voice of the Flame does not try to stop the orcs from kiling each other as he starts to speak. "We have failed the Flame in the past. Past Gothshaka's have led us astray. The Flame demands sacrifice. The Flame demands our blood. You feel this in your hearts! I see it! Let the Flame purge our failures. And the Flame will give us victory!"




Licking the blood from his cheek with relish, the fire of battle-lust shines in his eyes from the taste, but he steels himself to say: "I don't think we're alone no more, boss..."


The forest goblin turns then, to point a yellow-clawed finger at the treeline down the slope.



     Hearing the words of Logoz, the Gothshaka's yellow eyes grow serious, looking to the shaman he shouts "Burn him, burn away the failures of the past!! Let the fire blacken our hearts and strengthen our bodies!!!" Looking back to Logoz he points to his guards, and says "Take them, and the troll.. Kill whoever it is that wishes to disrupt the ceremony!"




As the masses before them grow in fervor, the pitch of bloodlust shrieking its familiar call, even the Captain's fangs grow wet. He leaves the shadow and his guard fans behind in step. Within the rings of snaga farthest from the ceremony's center and on pace towards the front, the troop steps now fearlessly among frantic underlings.


    The gear, the weapons, or the mighty presence of Isengard's warriors - fear disrupts the intoxication in waves about them, a path clearing ahead and closing in their wake. Bal'Dyak halts his party while still deep in the outer circles.




And Logoz in the meanwhile makes good on Buugoc's orders, jerking his head indicatively down the slope to several of his felow guards. Warily, but deliberately he snaps his fingers to draw the attention of one of the trolls, and as the great ogre looks his way he smles slyly.


"Got some good meat for yer if you follow me, biggun," he assures the lumbering giant, who narrows his eyes but nods all the same.


And with this troupe in tow, the Yfelwydan trots off down the mountainside, approaching the arrival of the Isendrim.



Gunk smiles at his king and then nods to the snagas, who hastily lean the pole and their comrade into the fire. The poor snaga's pleas for mercy go unheard over the roar of the bonfire and the cries of the bloody horde that surrounds it. A lick of fire touches the poor thing and it burst aflame from head to toe immediately! Gunk roars in approval that "The Flame accepts our sacrifice!"




     Upon hearing the words of the Shaman the entire horde erupts into a savage approving scream! Orcs gashing themselves and spraying their blood upon one another, feasting upon the newly dead, but still screaming and chanting.


     Watching the Snaga burn the Gothshaka roars his own approval, approaching one of the other snaga's he looks the poor wrench over and then slits his throat, bathing in and drinking the blood as it pours and squirts from the snaga's throat. Completely covered in blood he screams at the top of his lungs, a lustful scream and he tears into the barely breathing snagas throat, ripping it open further with his teeth and fangs.


     Tossing the body into the fire to burn with the other he lets out a victorious battle cry and shouts "The Flame will see the Forests Burn! See the Leaf ears on spits over our fires!!!"




A cheer rises in the unfamiliar tongue of these orc kind distant to the breedings of Isengard. Some concepts remain linked in thought and sound, despite all seperation of time and distance - and so the chant translates well, "Forests Burn!" Bal'Dyak and his troop catch this much clearly.


    As the chant grows louder, and fuller, both Nug and Skrub become lost in the words, bellowing back and brandishing their jagged swords in the air. The Barber turns to his lieutenant and speaks, "Mindless, but powerful. Yes. Tha Hand, the wisdom of Sharku to send us forth."



Gunk and his orc disciples follow their king's example. Quickly, before the poor fools know what is happening, each orc snatches a snaga. Gunk does not kill his, only crippling it so it cannot escape. He produces a wicked looking bone blade and slices the snaga's guts open. Entrails and organs are removed as blood fountains out at regular intervals. The shaman opens his medicine bundle for sacred stone and other artifacts. Bones rattle and then are thrown to the ground. Taking it all in, Gunk shrieks in delight.


"The Flame is pleased, Gothshaka. Victory is yours for the taking!"



     Again hearing the good fortune the Gothshaka looks to the Shaman and shouts for all to hear "We will destroy our enemies!!! Take what we wants and kill any who try to stop us!!" Licking some of the blood from his claws he starts up a chant "Death by Fire!!! Death by Fire!!! Death by Fire!!!" the chant is quickly taken up by the Horde, screaming the chant at the top of their lungs!



Making their way down the slope, the half-dozen guards and the troll are driven on by Logoz, who somehow manages to now be at the back of the line depsite having been the leader at the beginning. As the guards catch sight of their visitors, they snarl and snatch up their weapons, but strangely enough Logoz spits and growls: "Easy, lads. Easy. Something's up here. They aint no goblins from the mountains, that's fer sure, which means they aint Fuk'yu's boys..."


The troll stomps forward hungrily all the same and beats its chest as he bears down upon the Isendrim, and the Morians are quck to give chase; snatching for the chains that dangle behind him from his wrists and neck.




With the approach of a rock-beast, only two of Bal'Dyak's guard stand still at his side. The loudest pair are quieted and instinctively slipping slowly backwards. The Barber looses battle axe, and oddly holds it readied flat side forward. His best mates snap glances sharply and wide eyed, hands tight upon hilts of broadsword.


    "C'mere doggy," he hisses in common tongue, "Nice doggy." His feet spread for the most solid ground, and a fat grin breaks so wide his lips crack and bleed.




Gunk and his orcs toss their kills into the flames with glee. His part in the proceedings concluded, Gunk and his orcs stand by the flames to chant and enjoy the spectacle.



     As the chant continues to grow louder and more violent the Gothshaka screams with an evil joy. Looking to the Shaman he says "Prepare to march Shatrauga" and with that he lets his whip crack out, and shouts "We march!!! Death to the leaf Ears! Death by Fire! Death to the Leaf ears! Death by Fire!" looking about the Gothshaka motions for his scouts to lead the way, lead the horde onwards! Jailers and slavers, stand around the horde using their whips, spears, and other weapons of torture to urge the horde to move.



As the troll downslope charges on, the goblins behind it holler and snarl as they finally catch hold of the trailing chains, and as one their muscles bulge as they attempt to heave for all they are worth. This slows the troll down greatly, but does not halt him entriely, and dragging the guards as an unwilling entourage he slowly arrives before the Isendrim. Breathing heavily from the effort, the trol finally pauses and bellows out in challenge.


"Hold it!" rasps the voice of Logoz as he catches up, and with narrowing eyes he looks the leading Isengarder up and down. "Hold it everyone! Gubz," he hisses to the troll, "there'll be meat enough without these scraps, so why not calm yerself, and you..." he adds turning toward Bal'Dyak.


"I'd think twice about taking a sword to the prize troll of the King of Moria. He won't like it, and as I'm sure you ca see.... he's got some back up."





"See's we got a traveler," answers Bal'Dyak to Logoz, forging words across dialects with difficulty, "like my axe." He lifts it higher, displaying its weight through the air. "Just gonna spank it croxt the noggins if it come much closer, mate," he says.


    "Bows boys, bows," he whispers forward, and the sound is enough to find his guards and enough wits and ears to respond. Black feathers on mighty shafts with beastly black points quickly ready at bow-string.

Date added: 2011-10-30 22:41:05    Hits: 109
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