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Secret Meetings Always Fail

Tags: Bagurat,  Bulburz,  Sachem

Short Summary: A pair of orcs attempt to hold a followup from a previous meeting that had been interrupted. Not surprisingly, they are spied upon again, but this time by the Morian king himself.
Date (real-life): 2010-10-08
Scene Location: north Mirkwood

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Twilight on Highday, Day 18 of February.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 13:36:41 MDT on Fri Oct 08 2010.


The view is blocked in all directions by towering dark trunks, holding heavy and crooked boughs hight above the ground. The strange ancient forest seems to draw more and more strenght from you as you travel deeper. Beneath you feets the forestbottom is wet and icy and around you the nighttime winter air is shivery.
To the west is a small gap between the bushes and a well used trail lies towards the towering trees, southwest of you.

It is raining. You can hear the raindrops fall all around you and you are soon drenched. The rain sprinkles down slowly making the ground muddy.

Unholy Tent(#5422Oe)
Uruk Camp(#25568en)
Morian Orc Camp
Orc Raiding Party(#18007n)
Obvious exits:
West, East, NorthWest, and SouthWest

Bulburz slips out of the shadows and darkness from behind one of the large forest trees.

Out in the forest-shadow there is a scrapping noise from nearby. There, at the base of a gnarled pine tree, the black robed shape of Bagurat is bent over, tearing at a few roots with her claws. A sack is on the ground at her feet.

Bulburz's ears twitch at the sound of the scrapping. His head keels to one side as his stiff spine turns his head to look. "ah, the witch is out this early eve I see." his voice still croaking from the elven blade run cross his throat. As he approaches the smallish she uruk, he fingers uncurl to reveal what he has in his paw.

        "Searching for roots?" He shoves the gnarled frozen vine he holds towards her, "Would these do?"

At the voice from behind, the shaman straightens, her hands still wrapped about one of the roots below. There is another big ripping sound, and dirt and mud sprays all round before she stuffs the section of plant into the bag.

"Indeed they will," says Bagurat, now turning the front of her crow-mask toward the Morian, and her eyes flicker down to see what he holds. "Put them in here," she raises the sack. "I've been seeking out better healing ingredients. The wretched scouts never returned with the spider silk I sent them to fetch."

Bulburz turns his claw over letting the root fall from his fingers into the shaman's sack. His spindly hand recoiling and wiping the frozen dirt on thigh. The wolf-riders head cranes to the other side, perhaps his neck getting sore from holding it at the previous angle.

The goblin from the Hithaeglir mountains looks down into the eye holes of the crow-masked Mordain witch. His mouth opens, "They never return period from what I hear. They get all tangled up and sucked dry." Bulburz makes a sucking sound with his lips - and then grins. His rotting teeth glinting with saliva and bitter acrid breath falling like a fog on the poor she shaman.

Bagurat coughs, though whether it is due to the cold or the acrid breath it is unclear. Afterall, horrid smells are nothing new to these foul creatures. She does however, tilt her head off to the side when she speaks again.

"A pity," comments the witch-orc impassively, sounding not the least remorseful. "That particular potion will be of no use now, without the silk." A lengthy pause follows, and she glances quickly about, ere her gaze returns to Bulburz's own. "This bat-skin," hisses the shaman. "I found nothing about it in our lore books."

The wolf-rider's hand now done wiping the dirt on his thigh points over the little witches crow masked head to the far western mountain ranges of the goblin's home. "There is more to know in all of Arda than has been written in all books of Mordor." Bulburz surmizes. "The shaman's that follow the Burzgashgul and call the Halls of Durin home have learned much from their god of Shadow and Flame. The prophesy they told me came to them in a vision; ' That the orc that wears the crow-mask shall find the Bat Fell of Thuringwethil.' came from the high shaman there. Perhaps he has some knowledge on how you are to proceed?" Bulburz says. The wolf-rider's stinking breath all the worse for having uttered for so long.

"Hmph," the shaman's initial response is a muffled snort, and her yellow eyes glint, pale in the dark for a second. "Mordor's books store volumes of legends and information. And like your Flame, our Eye reveals much to those who are devoted to Him..." Bagurat's head cants once again, though this time as if she is debating wordlessly with herself. She cranes her neck to see in the direction Bulburz is pointing. "Will your folk depart for home once our business with the leaf-ears is finished here? I could come along...though, your leader," this last is partially growled, "your Gothaka, or whatever, doesn't think highly of me. Blames the army's failure on me, garn."

The claw tipped finger of Bulburz once pointing to the western mountain tops now curles up into a fist. "He is the Gothshaka of of the southern Dwarven Halls of Moria, who claim dominion over all the Misties, but he is not the ruler from where I hail." The wolf-rider's lip snarls before he masks his rage with a cheshire smile. "My town was made by the Goblins of the mountains. We are no squatters in holes carved by dwarves!" He chuckles. "There is a tomb made by Yog, the Great Goblin still hidden in Goblin-Town that holds many secrets; including information on the legend of Thuringwethil." Bulburz now scratches his chin, "If you do not wish to go to Moria, perhaps we should visit Goblin-Town and see if we can find the answers you seek there?"

As the witch-orc listens, her clawed hands fiddle with the fabric of the sack she carries, and she appears to still be considering the options. "Fine," says Bagurat at last, and her mask dips in a nod. "To your town I will go, and as for Moria...we shall see. I take it the secrets are runes inscribed upon the tomb? I can't read your version of the uruk-tongue."

[<#15635>] The Wolf Rider shrugs his shoulders - causing the vertebra to crack and pop. '' do not know in what hand the runes are carved. You will see with your own eyes when we get there and decide''

Bulburz glances at Bagurat's hand on her sack of roots before tracking his own gaze to try and catch a hint of her yellow eyes behind her mask as he says in Morian Uruk "<Morian Uruk> You will have to try my tongue some time and see if it is to your liking..." with a twinkle in the evil imp eye.

Hinting at a frown, Bagurat's eyes narrow from inside the mask at the Morian's foreign words and the suspicious twinkle. "Well," she snorts again after a moment, taking a step away. "I shall just have to wait until I get there, and discover the form of the secrets for myself...and who has claim to this ancient artifact once it has been found?" The question is spoken quickly, and a faint tone of scheming greed might be heard therein.

Sachem pushes through the undergrowth in the direction indicated by his spies. "Holy One?! Are you here?" The orc-king seems hale. He sucks in air through a twisted nose, creating something of a whistling sound before he lashes out with his hand. There ia a loud POP and the beak is now a bit straighter and the whistling is gone.

The frog like croak of a belch followed by the acrid breath of the Goblin are in stark contrast to the consoling words, "There there, do not fret my dear lil' witch you will get what is coming to you to be sure!" his gutteral voice something between a pur and a growl. "The Shaman's have spoken and the prophesy fortold; you have nothing to worry about, I give you my word." The goblin trys to offer his assurance as his nostrils flair and his eyes twinkle turning to welcome the approach of the Morian Orc King.

The shaman looks to be on the verge of responding, when her head swivels round at the shout, startled. Bagurat emits a hissing, slipping backward as her free claw darts downward toward the scimitar she wears. "You knew he was there, spying all along, didn't you?" the witch-orc's glare flickers accusingly back to Bulburz.

Sachem is drawn by the sudden accusing words of the shaman and the good side of his face shows surprise at seeing Bulburz. "Tetrak..."

The Wolf-Rider's grip also reaches for his goblin blade prepared to defend himself if necessary, "No I swear it, I did not know if any was there, nor that we were being spied upon!" his brow furrows at Bagurat's allogation and he calls out to Sachem, "This witch here thinks you have been hiding in the bushes spying on us? Tell her that is not the case!"

[Combat(#13388)] Bulburz wields 'Goblin Blade`.

The shaman stays silent for an passing second, her narrowed eyes moving from the Morian king, to the wolf-rider, and back again. Finally, she laughs, though not kindly. "And what else would he be doing skulking out there in the bushes? I would suggest the possibility of relieving himself, but I wouldn't want to offend his highness, of course." Her ashen knuckles have turned white from clamping over her weapon hilt.

COMBAT - Wielded: Blackened Scimitar

Sachem hisses and takes a step back. "I'm no spy, nor have I need to skulk! I come to plot our next move but find only harsh accusations." He glances at Bulburz and then back at Bagurat, his eyes narrowing at the twin threats.

[Bulburz(#15635)] The wolf-rider also forces a wheezing laugh from the bellows of his breath. "No indeed, you are a proud ruler in the line of Bolg and Azog his father before him. I am sure the Mordain shamaness ment no harm." Bulburz finds himself both literally and figuratively between the Shaman on one side and the Gothshaka of Moria on the other. "It is just we barely recognized you..." he pauses and peers into the mask of the shamaness. "Right?"

"The new scars will take some getting used to," is the only thing Bagurat says in agreement to Bulburz's excuse, and she nods at Sachem's recently deformed features. After a slight hesitation, her fingers move away from the hilt and her form relaxed -- although the light in her eyes does not dim. "I am irritated, is all," the witch-orc explains then. "This is the second time our conversation has been interrupted. Come then, and share your plots for battle."

The sun flashes brightly on the horizon. Night gives way to morning.

Placated by these words, Sachem's face loses some of its anger, though the deformations have their own will now. "We should head east and find a place of crossing where we will not be harried. Then the tetrak here will lead his wolfriders north and scout for the enemy."

Bulburz's eyes narrow as the rays of the yellow face interfere with the orc's plans. "Skai!" he curses raising his arm to shield his face. "I have scouted east and found a place to cross, however we should wait for the cover of darkness before venturing forth from our camp, with the rays of the sun beating down on us we could too easily lose our way. " The wolf-rider suggests, "Then once we cross we shall press Westward and home towards the Misties..." his comment not exactly a question nor a statement.

"The army has been lashing tree trunks together for temporary bridges should we need them to cross," says the witch-orc, blinking and lowering her head from the piercing daylight that is able to sneak through the canopy. "Mordor can send it warg-riders north as well. But we go west after our foes have been slain, not merely after the crossing. And I say 'we'," Bagurat repeats the word for emphasis, "for I shall join you homeward." And she peers back at Sachem, perhaps amusedly awaiting his reaction.

Sachem looks pleased at the discomfort experienced by the two lesser orcs. "If it pleases, Shrieker, Holy One. But only you. We cannot feed more in the Mines, even after the culling of battle recently."

The wolf-rider agrees with the Gothshaka, "That is true, Moria is not as it once was, and there is no need to impose the Mordain army on your mines Sachem. We will ride west to the foothills, then those the Mordain's and I will ride to Goblin-Town, where the mushrooms are plentiful and the subterranian lake stocked with the blind fish of the Grishkuga Tribe! In Goblin-Town will be food a pleanty to feed the horde and if not we can always raid the hives of honey on the outlays of Carrock near the Beorning village, and plunder what we wish from them while under the cover of darkness."

"It will be myself, alone," assures the shaman, and the mention of 'Shrieker' earns a new hiss from behind her mask. "I must ask him for permission before I leave, of course. Provided his plans go well and we succeed against the tree-rats, obtaining his consent shouldn't be too difficult."

The wolf-rider's suggestions cause Bagurat's gaze to raise again, though she squints through the light. "Well, if the foods sources allow, as you say, then I would choose a few to accompany me. Not many, but perhaps those among the Lata-Mogburzuul who are trustworthy."

These plans of going to the North seem to not interest Sachem. "But we will have battle here first and then avenge ourselves against the bearfolk." He fingers the sharp edge of his axe and then nods to Bagurat. "Speak to your Shrieker for when we shall attack next. Moria will be ready." With that, he turns to go.

Bagurat returns the nod, supplying, "I shall. Mordor will be ready." Grabbing up her sack full of roots, she moves to slip back off into the deeper tree-shadow, where the sun's glare cannot reach.

Date added: 2010-10-08 19:23:46    Hits: 93
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