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Logs

Council of Horrors

Tags: Bagurat,  Bulburz,  Sachem,  Witch-king

Short Summary: Morians and Mordain are graced with the return of the Witch-king, who holds a brief 'council' with three selected orcs.

Things to watch for: a lucky scout's punishment, a flirting wolf-rider, and the strange warning against firing arrows at birds.

Date (real-life): 2010-09-13
Scene Location: North Mirkwood

Mirkwood

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 frozen and around you the late night 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.

A lone star sparkles for a moment between the clouds, but dissapears again as the boughs block the sight to the sky.

Contents:
Gandalf
Bulburz
Sachem
Witch-king
Morian Orc Camp
Orc Raiding Party
Obvious exits:
West, East, NorthWest, and SouthWest

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Before Dawn on Sunday, Day 5 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 16:01:09 MDT on Mon Sep 13 2010.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
It is the twilight hour before dawn, and it is cold and bitter; winter has come. Here, in the lightless gloom of Mirkwood, a great number of tents have been haphazardly erected, and amid them trampes a horde of orcs. The landscape is marred, and to one side of the encampment a collection of felled trees has been gathered.

In the camp itself, activities go on as usual: the routine arguing, gambling, cursing, and other pleasant orcish pastimes. One of the uruks at least has settled herself away from the raucous noise. There at the border of the line of tents, sits the robed shaman, Bagurat, her face hidden behind a black crow-mask. She remains still as stone, though the yellow eyes that shine forth would suggest she is not asleep.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
It is well that she is not, for even as the raucous events of the late night continue within the camp, without the shadows grow darker in defiance of the expected dawn. A silence comes upon the surrounding forest, though the orcs may spot it little in their revelry, and even as the hour stretches on a cold breeze steals between the trees.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
Coldness and darkness. This is nothing new to the evil forest; but it is not normal that they creep and converge of their own accord...

And so it is that the witch-orc's gaze narrows swiftly, to fix itself upon the moving shadows. Something that resemlbes a hiss slips out from beyond the emotionless mask, and her form trembles, spidery-fingered hands clenching at the grass and the dirt. With a stiff effort, Bagurat pushes herself to her feet, and peers into the gloom with what might seem to be fearful and anxious anticipation.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Her sentry is rewarded soon enough, for as the shadows pool all the more an uncanny dread descends upon the orc camp, and now at last do many of the uruk-hai pause in their activity to glance about. A hush begins to fall, and no wonder, for even as the raucous crowd quieten down, a horseman clad in black emerges from the southern treeline.

Tall and hooded, his mount a sable stallion, the rider trots into view, and draws closer to the edge of the firelight that yet contends with the strange darkness. There he halts, and his cowl twitches this way and that in survey.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
The shaman's stare follows that nightmarish figure unblinkingly, perhaps unable to look away. And as the horse trots close, she bows low although the movement elicits a sharp snarl of pain. "You've returned once more, Shrieker," supplies Bagurat, head raising anew. "I trust your...errand has fared well? The camps," there is but a second's pause, "has good news and bad."


[Witch-king(#28583)]
A long, slow hiss escapes the hood of the rider as it turns to face Bagurat, and it dips once in affirmation. "The business to the west is concluded; the attention of the Beijabar was drawn thither and his paws were absent from the forest. But speak your news, Shaman. Tell me all."


[Bagurat(#24847)]
"Thus far the accursed albai-worms have done little damage to us," explains the witch-orc, "though they have proven their annoying determination to meddle in the Eye's affairs. Multiple times they've returned to share their gifts of nasty arrows. But the uruk-hai march onward, nonetheless."

There is another hesitation, ere Bagurat speaks more. "The scouts have failed to find the hidden elf-paths." And she waits, yellowed eyes peering upward nervously.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Long moments pass by as this news is digested, ere the reins of the rider's horse and squeezed and released. Down the Nazgul slips from his mount, landing with a grace perhaps unexpected, and he stalks toward the witch-orc.

"The scouts have failed? Then find me two of their number, and I shall question them myself as to their folly. But the hated Eldar hide their roads well, all the same. I must consider another way to discover them."


[Bagurat(#24847)]
The mask jerks in a nod at this, and when the Wraith-lord draws closer Bagurat makes an instinctual motion, as though she would step away; but she does not. Instead, turning briefly to peer sidelong into the hushed encampment, the robed-orc silently beckons to a pair of onlooking orcs.

Quickly they come as they are bidden, but the reluctance and uncertainty is obvious. Leather garments they wear, and bows are upon their backs. And they offer the cowled figure frightened gazes. "Scouts," Bagurat hisses quickly then. "For your Highness to interrogate as he desires."


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Then the hood turns to regard these two scouts, and for an instant there is a flash of crimson fire with the depths of it; the Witch-king's eyes kindling with interest. A gloved hand raises to the closer of the two, and beckons it closer.

A hush for true now settles upon the camp, and in a mixture of fear and glee the orcs watch their fellows dealt with by their master. The shadows beyonf the firelight might seem to grow evermore, quenching the farthest reaching of the tongues of flame in their desire to choke the light entire. The Nazgul hisses anew to the chosen uruk, and says: "What good is a scout with eyes that see no farther than his nose? Perhaps you need them not..."


[Bagurat(#24847)]
The lucky orc shuffles forward slowly, wringing his dirty claws, his entire frame shivering all over. His pale crimson eyes do their best to stare at anything other than that horrid hooded form, and he swallows. "I-I try and serve the Master well," mutters the scout, the thin voice faltering. "Forgiveness, Shrieker! The leaf-ear paths are difficult to find, and smell doesn't aid when the whole place stinks like wretched albai."

"Another chance, lord, if you're merciful," the second scouts ventures, keeping back a considerable distance. Bagurat meanwhile, has moved to the side to observe.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
But this plea earns no more than a sneering, mocking laugh from the depths of the hood, and with the Nazgul advancing upon the orc the shadows seem to roil and thrash against the dancing light of the campfires. "Mercy? The Dark Lord brooks no mercy for failure, cur," rasps the voice of the Ringwraith, and the fires of his eyes smoulder all the more. "Your eyes and nose have served me poorly, and so I claim them as trinkets of my displeasure..."

And with that a hand snakes into his robes with startling speed, bringing forth a pale knife from some pocket unseed. Out it slashes, three deft strokes slicing the air to rid the hapless scout of his eyes and nose, unless he is able to prevent it.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
The first scout flinches and cowers all the more at the cruel answering words, and he gives an odd strangled sound at the pressing darkness. An intake of breath comes when the knife surfaces, and the crimson eyes widen in horror. "No, please!" the goblin sputters. "I will serve Him better, I will serve Him better!"

And unable he is to hinder the dagger's wrath, though the orc does attempt to duck away. Unfortunately, this appears to fare the worse, for not only does he lose sight and nose, but the blade draws a long line along the neck. The scout falls to the dirt, clutching at the wound and the blood that comes forth. His comrade watches onward with increasing anxiousness. "A second chance, Shrieker!" he says again in desperation. "I will serve better than that runt!"


[Witch-king(#28583)]
"Will you now?" hisses the sinister voice of the 'Shrieker', and the Nazgul turns quickly to face the second unlucky scout. The dagger, bloodied slighty but ever yet glowing with a sickly light points toward this orc's heart, and the fell figure speaks anew.

"And how will you do so, cur? What better performance can I expect from one who has failed the first time?"


[Bagurat(#24847)]
There is a heavy silence, and the uruk eyes the deathly knife. He does not move however, and his pointed ashen face has grown sickly pale. "I will learn from mistakes, and failure, great Shrieker." I will do better this time. I will search and spy until my nose falls off, and if I don't succeed..." The scout's mouth opens and closes for a moment, ere the words form. "Then may I be blinded."


[Witch-king(#28583)]
"So it shall be," nods the cowl of the Ringwraith, and deep within the twin fires blaze anew. "And I shall do more, in turn, to make your fellow's fate seem a boon when placed next to yours. Name yourself, and all here will hear your promise..."


[Bagurat(#24847)]
"Darurzg, Pulgorbuurzob," says the pitiful creature, licking his cracked lips, his eyes flitting about nervously to glare at the gleeful audience in the camp. The orc yields a new shudder ere his attention returns to the Wraith-lord. "...And I promise to sniff out the blasted albai-paths, or else may the Master strike me blind," he calls out loud enough so that the others may hear.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Seemingly sated by this display, the cowl of the Witch-king turns then to Bagurat, and dips anew, ere the blade is deftly stowed within the black robes once more. "Let this one lead the next patrol, Shaman, and go with him to remind him of his oath."


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem seems to have witnessed all this from afar, fear mixed with familiarity and eagerness to watch others be killed and maimed. Leaning on his battle axe, the orc licks his teeth, poking for meat caught in them.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
"I will do so," answers Bagurat, dipping her crow-mask in a nod and then glaring at the scout in question until he backs away. His wounded comrade crawls his way to his feet, the ground where he had been lying now stained with black blood that still drips down his maimed face. And the two of them slip off quickly, now that orders have been given.

And now alone once more with the fell specter of shadow, the Mordain shaman peers upward a new. "Are there any further commands you would give, High Shrieker?" Her eyes stray toward where Sachem stands watching, but she says nothing for the nonce.


[Bulburz(#15635)]
Out of the Morian camp, an ancient and twisted goblin emerges. An old version of fell imp made in mockery of elves; a wicked goblin from low down on deep. His gate slowed by the deformed bones hardened and stiff; joints knotted from abuse both given and taken. The impish creatures snarls and sneers as the nervous ferreting of the other uruks. The throat of Bulburz croaks a belch, like rocks on gravel. From between the gases comes the distasteful words, "Mordain" and, "dung bugs" punctuated with the escaping stench of rotting fish.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
The cowl of the Witch-king twitches then, away from the witch-orc and seemingly searching the ranks of uruk-hai massed in the camp. A low hiss seeps from the depths of the hood as a gaze unseen alights upon Sachem, and a gloved hand raises slowly to beckon the Goblin King closer.

"Step forth, friend from the mountains, and you also, my Shaman. I wish to hear more of the encounters with the cursed Albai."


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem slowly moves toward the Shrieker, respect apparent as he keeps his head down to both show deference and perhaps to not have to look at those fiery eyes. "Friend's not a word heard much here, but the Shrieker has made his mark and I serve as I can."


Bulburz's neck twists to gaze from the she shaman; whom he looks at long and hard, his lips a quver with dispicible thoughts, to the summons made by the Specter Lord to the Goblin King. Bulburz twitches with slinks aside to let Sachem pass.

        The pointy teeth of the impish wolf rider glint with webs of saliva as his mouth gapes open tongue dangling from his maw as his eyes sneek forbiden glances at the she shaman once more.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
At the beckoning, Bagurat takes a pace closer, and then turns her masked head to watch as Sachem does likewise. The yellow eyes that can be seen narrow slightly as she gives a long scrutiny toward the second form of Bulburz. "I have told what I have to tell, for the most part, dark one," says she after a minute of quiet. "Perhaps our...friend," the word emerges in a soft hissing, "can share more."


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Long moments stretch by as the Ringwraith looks between Bagurat and Sachem, ere his cowl dips once more. "Perhaps he can at that, and the word friend is used by me, and thus by all. The Dark Lord's gaze bends hither, and his plans will not falter through mutiny. Speak, King of the Pit; what of your trials with the Eldar?"

If Bulburz is noticed by the fiery eyes of the Nazgul, the dread lord shows it not as yet.


[Sachem(#32030)] 
"Great Shrieker," Sachem begins. He clears his throat a moment, a nosy, gurgling sound, and then goes on, "It's them elfs. They turn up whenever we press north. The trees 're so thick, they cut us off and cut us down. My men aren't used to the woods. We were hopin' the Holy One's scouts could lead us to battle as our force is under her command."


[Bulburz(#15635)]
The Morian imp Tetrak hisses from behind the other, low and to himself, "Yes! Speak..." his mouth snapping shut. His words trailing off in a near whisper..."Tell them of the bloody rivers you let flow!" Bulburz' pointy chin drips with spital. His eye drifts back to Bagurat to whom he winks disgustingly.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
"The Eye's scouts have so far failed in their task to discover the secret leaf-ear paths," supplies the witch-orc in reply to the Morian leader. "But now that the Shrieker has demonstrated what befalls those who serve poorly, I hope their efforts will yield more desirable results."

Bagurat shrugs slightly then, though it earns a low hissing of pain. "As for the tree problem, that is easily cured. Why not cut them down, and be rid of their hinderance?" This said, she falls to listening once more. A small snorting sound emerges from behind the crow-mask at the wolf-rider's winking.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Heedless of the winks and whispers, the Nazgul's breath comes as a fresh hiss at this, and the fires within his hood blaze anew as his gaze rekindles. All about the camp the shadows might seem to writhe and dance, clawing ever at the campfires' light as though to choke it. "Aye," he rasps. "Hack down those that stand in your path, and burn them until a thick smoke belches from the canpoy of Mirkwood. Then we shall see whence the Elves come to look upon your deeds; thus we shall discover them."


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem nods furiously with his bowed head. "It will be as you say, Chief Shrieker!"


[Bulburz(#15635)]
The Thrakburzum nods with delight at the witch-orc's suggestion, "Wood burns. Smoke smothers. We Misty Mountain uruk know how to use the hot fire from the Buurzgashgul to burn out the eldarats from their hiding places!" Bulburz stomps excitedly as he moves closer to cabal of the Orc Witch, and Goblin King, and Witch-King and fallen ruler of Angmar.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
The Nazgul's decree elicits an unpleasantly thrilled laugh from the 'Holy One', and judging by that sound, Bagurat's hidden mouth has pulled into a fanged smile. "It shall be so," agrees the she-orc, nodding as well to Bulburz as he nears. "Smoke them out and that way spy their pathways. Surely then the scouts can't miss the revealed roads, the incompetent fools."


[Witch-king(#28583)]
But even as the orcs exult, the cowl of the Witch-king turns toward Bulburz; thither his crimson gaze alights from deep within. "Who comes before me unbidden?"


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem turns his bowed head to one side to catch Bulburz out of the corner of his eye. Recognizing one of his own, he calls with reverent fear, "One from the Mountains, no doubt brought by the rumor of your greatness."


[Bulburz(#15635)]
Several of the Thrakburzum Wolfriders snort their approval, one at the prospect of elvish meat to eat snidely coo's, "Smoked Eldarrats for supper!" as the others slobber and drool with hightened anticipation.

The Thrakburzum Wolf Riders go suddenly silent as Bulburz strides towards the Nazgul Lord, "I come from Goblin-Town with reinforements and to replenish the forces from loses sustained already." Bulburz indicates his fellow Thrakburzum Wolfriders, "I am Bulburz, Tetrak ob Thrakburzum, I come with my wolfpack. Among us are expert scouts and wolf mounted cavalry, ready to draw the blood of our foes!" He snarls and bows his head


[Bagurat(#24847)]
The shaman's laughter ceases then, and her dark robed form stays unmoving, tensed as her yellow gaze flits back and forth between the wolf-rider and the Ringwraith. And when the former introduces himself, Bagurat's voice comes anew. "Unbidden as he may be, it is well nonetheless. Surely a skilled rider will aid the will of the Master, and strike fear into the pitiful hearts of our cowardly enemies."


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Silence reigns for a long moment ere Witch-king stirs anew, and his voice is low and dark as he replies to Bulburz. "You are tardy," says he, "unless the rule of the Goblin King of Moria does not stretch so far north? But no matter. Many of my own wargs have been lost, and so yours come well enough indeed. What saw you of the lands of the Bear-folk as you hastened through it?"

To Sachem and Bagurat no response is given just now, save the cold dread that ever hangs about his figure.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
Respecting -- or perhaps fearful to do otherwise -- that the Morgul-lord's attention is fixed upon the impish Morian, Bagurat stays silent for the nonce. A shiver is given to the cruel cold of the coiling shadows, and she stuffs her gnarled claws into her robes against the chill.


[Bulburz(#15635)]
The Wolfpack of Thrakburzum mermer amoung themselves, and mutter under their breath, "The Mordain or Morian, when they can't get it done send for us from Goblin Town!"

Bulburz' bowed head looks over his shoulder, a wicked look; eyes full of daggers back to his pack is enough to still their tongues for now. Bulburz raises his head to look into the abyss of the Ringwraiths visage, "We skirted their territory to come here and combine our forces. We made away with some of their honey, got stung, but no bears were seen." Bulburz reports.


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem sucks in air at the bravado of the wolfrider-tetrak of Thrakburzum. His Morghash neck stiffens at the perceived slight, but he says nothing.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Long again do the fires of the Nazgul's eyes linger upon Bulburz, ere at length his hood nods anew and he might seem to grow; straightening up the blackness of his robes spreads a shadow about him. "That is well, though news of their dealings would prudent to seek. I shall counsel and ask tidings in my own way, however; do not stray from the path laid out by the Shaman and the Morian King."

And then his eyes blaze anew, their fires flashing as he adds in a loud, cruel rasp wrought with menace: "And hear all! Should the shadow of wings darken the Moon, or the rush of air come from above, fire no dart into the sky. A servant of mine dwells in the heavens; take care to loose no arrow at birds, or it shall go ill with any who break this command."

At these words the darkness about the camp roils and rises up, quenching any sight of the trees beyond the firelight, and fingers of fear claw and snatch at the wits of the gathered uruk-hai.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
Many of the orcs gape and appear slightly surprised by this unexpected caution, and even the witch-orc frowns. "As you say, Shrieker," she manages to acknowledge with a stiff nod of her mask, and she pulls her black garments tighter about her small frame as the darkness and bitterness of the air swells. "No darts shall assail the wings creatures of the skies...provided they do not firstly attack us."


[Bulburz(#15635)]
        The Thrakburzum Wolfrider Bulburz looks away from the Nazgul's burning eyes, sweat drips down his brow as he struggles to control his fear " No arrows will be launched from Thrakburzum bows." Bulburz replys. "With your permission, mighty Lord of Angmar, I shall take my leave." Bulburz waves a spindily appendage at his pack of orc wolf riders, "The service of my wargs and the uruks under my command will obey the Shamaness and the Morian King, heir to Bolg. With your permission, I shall take my most able bodied uruk and wargs on patrol, scout for the Sons of Beorn and seek out the stench of our Quenya prey." Bulburz takes several steps back and away from the Witch-King and he turns towards the Morian camp. As he passes by the Mordain Shamaness his eyes are again drawn to the tightness of her black robes like a shadow of the form within. Bulburz hisses as he passes the crow masked Shamaness, "I have a message for you from the Temple to the Burrzgashgul within of Moria. Find me later, and I shall provide the report from the Shaman of Moria."


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem watches Bulburz go and breathes easier despite the fear of the Witch-king. One less variable.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
Satisfied it would seem with the small council, the Witch-king turns back to his sable steed then, reaching for the reins and drawing the powerful beast near. His cowl switches back to face the commanders of the two orc kindreds present, and a final hiss escapes the hood in parting.

"Then go to your tasks, and wait not upon my return. I shall come, by and by, to inspect your progress. See that the scouts fare better!"

This warning given he sweeps up onto his mount's back; nary a whinny nor grunt from the great horse as it bears his weight.


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem drops to both knees and grovels.


[Bagurat(#24847)]
A wordless nod is given to Bulburz's departing statement, and when the wraith mounts, Bagurat bows deeply until the chain about her middle clanks against a rock and the mettalic beak of the mask scratches the dirt.


[Sachem(#32030)] 
Sachem prostrates himself, extending his arms as his face meets the undergrowth. "Shrieker," he murmurs.


[Witch-king(#28583)]
The mount of the Nazgul stirs into life unbidden, and with a snort of relish it turns away from the camp to canter into the waiting treeline southward. Slowly, as the sound of its hooves fade behind the fences of trunks, the shadows of the night likewise fade and slacken, and the fire's light reclaims the surrounding area.

And, just as Sachem's word murmurs forth there comes a distant shriek, terrible and fell to hear, until that too fades. The orcs are alone once more.

 


Date added: 2010-09-13 22:25:50    Hits: 43
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