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The Best Time to View

Tags: Bagurat,  Formin,  Sudanir,  Witch-king

Short Summary: Sudanir helps the dwarf Formin up a tree so he can watch the orcs who have spoilt Mirkwood. What the pair observe below is not what they expected. Is that an orc..reading? And the Elf almost leaves the dwarf hanging up in the tree, the nerve!
Date (real-life): 2010-09-23
Scene Location: North 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 midnight winter air is icy.
The fragile circle of your light seems to fade and thin in the darkness of the wood. 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.

Uruk Camp
Morian Orc Camp
Orc Raiding Party
Obvious exits:
West, East, NorthWest, and SouthWest

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Midnight on Hevensday, Day 4 of January.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 22:59:55 MDT on Thu Sep 23 2010.

Nighttime is the best time for orc viewing, as everyone knows.

The stars shine down upon the black wood, dusted and clumped with fallen snow. In this area of the world, there should be dark, old, twisted trees as far as the eye can see. But there is a hole cut into the heart of Mirkwood, and orcs have taken up residence in the void. Hundreds of lights: campfires in little clusters, fill an unnatural clearing as far as the eye can see, and dots its way into the standing wood. From the perspective up in the trees, it looks like a sea of lights.

Sudanir stands among the bows, braiding some white rope intently, completely ignoring the terrifying scene below.

[Formin(#26827)] Formin is uncomfortable. For one, the dwarf too sits above this spread of lights in this unnatural clearing, listening to the sound of the countless uruks below. But that is not terribly daunting. For two, he is balanced precariously upon a number of intricately woven ropes. It is not ideal, but again, the prospect is not overly daunting. But for three, and certainly most importantly, he is FAR too high above the ground. And there is nothing but a few splindly limbs of a tree to hold him up. Maker have mercy.

The dwarf shifts uncomfortably, shooting a sidelong glance at the calm Sudanir nearby. Yet for all his glaring, Formin seems to have accomplished the near impossible: he is holding his silence.

Oblivious to the precarious dwarf situation high over their heads, the orcs below go about their routine of what they do best: bickering, sparring, gambling, and simply deviling the forest further. The firepits are many, and so too are the stumps left over from the felled trees. It is upon one of these that the robed shape of Bagurat sits, her black crow-mask once again upon her face. A heavy tome is clasped in her claws, and the faded pages are turned slowly, almost boredly.

Sudanir loops the remainder of his rope under the rear of the dwarf, wincing at the view, before he loops the end around the tree and pulls it tight, completing the makeshift seat. "There. More comfortable?" he whispers, then climbs around to the side, behind Formin, and gazes out into the cleared wood, his mouth close enough to tickle the dwarf's ear. "There is one...a little female, I think. Of course, who can tell among orcs?" Sudanir whispers. "There. That one. Do you see? That one seems to be in charge...sometimes."

[Formin(#26827)] "Sublime," Formin mutters back at a whisper, even then managing to make his sarcastic disapproval more than evident. At first the silversmith instictively winches away when the elf speaks very close to his ear, but then he is squinting at the darkness, at the fires, struggling to follow Sudanir's direction. A frown ascends over his features for a second and then...recognition. "Aye, I see her. It," he whispers after a moment. "Though I think mine eyes doth deceive me. Is that a book? I did not think it possible."

As Bagurat's boredom directs her to study the tome, a large, heavy-set orc of the armies approaches her. A black helm would seem to indicate status among the uruk-hai, and a jagged-tipped spear is held in his hands as he arrives to bow before her.

"<Mordain Uruk> Oh wise Shaman," says he reverentially. "<Mordain Uruk> The Rakargs have sent me to see if there is anything you need...?"

Sudanir peers also. "Yes, seems to be a book. Likely stolen, wouldn't you guess? Maybe they are using that stump to...oh." The elf waits, listening as the one with the black helm speaks to her. "That one is perhaps a captain. Seems to lead them in battle. Very troublesome." Sudanir pipes down, listening.

'tis indeed a book, although a rather dirty and damaged looking one. Perhaps sharp enough eyes would espy the old blood stains that run along the corner of several pages. The boredom is given other focus however, when the larger orc approaches and speaks. It is a time before the witch-orc glances up, and the mask dips in a nod. "<Mordain Uruk> Now that you mention it, yes...I require something, that would normally be difficult to find. Troublesome, in fact. Deathly."

[Formin(#26827)] "Mayhap she's relieving herself and the paper is to, you know--" Formin looks sidelong at Sudanir, lifting a brow, then seems to decide the elf may not understand. "Well, or she might be reading. Anything's possible." He looks back towards the shaman and her captain, squinting through the darkness to watch them. After a few seconds, the silversmith whispers to Sudanir, "Have they stayed here long? They've moved no further?"

Meanwhile the black-helmed uruk nods to the witch-orc, bowing ever lower as her death-mask dips toward him. "<Mordain Uruk> Name it, O Holy One, and I'll have the lads provide it..."

Sudanir winces again, this time at the words that float up from below, the Black speech seeming to make him sicken. "They move about, and scout. I think this camp is a bit more northward of the last site, before the battle." he answers in Westron. "And I would not have thought them much for reading but...as you say, anything is possible." He waits, listening. "In a battle, you might seek her out," he suggests.

The shaman stares long and hard at the captain as he so readily bows, and an almost purring laugh emerges from behind that metal beak. "<Mordain Uruk> Spider silk," says Bagurat simply, and she seems to wait amusedly to see his reaction.

The flesh of the uruk-hai of Mordor is black and motley for the most part, but even so the colour seems to drain from the black-helmed orc's face as he hears Bagurat's demand, ere he swallows and nods anew. "<Mordain Uruk> I'll find some runts to squeeze some silk from one of the spiders in the forest," says he, "<Mordain Uruk> Though I reckon most of em wouldn't return. Is... is there anything else we could fetch instead... Holy One?"

[Formin(#26827)] Formin pauses to look sidelong at Sudanir, seemingly sceptical as to the elf's sincerity at his suggestion. But Sudanir seems not to jest and the dwarf gives a soft snort. "You give an old smith, and a dwarf, much credit," he says simply. His eyes return to the scene below and he sneers at the continuance of that black speech. The dwarf shifts uncomfortably amidst the branches. "What a black tongue," he mutters to himself. "Is their aim to assault your folk then? You ought to send word to Erebor, to Dale."

"Well, it is a female, and small. I think you can take her." Sudanir replies, staring down below. He shifts to another bow, placing his foot on another branch, before he can stiffen. "They stated they seek Amon Thranduil. And we've sent word to Dale, though I have not heard a reply." Another pause. "I don't think we need to send word to Erebor, however."

A hiss is the first response. "<Mordain Uruk> You bid me name it, and I have. There is a healing brew that requires its use." Bagurat's head tilts, and she points at some series of mysterious script scrawled upon the page she was previously reading. "<Mordain Uruk> See, there is no substitute. We either fetch it, or go without all together. If the puny runts will not survive, than perhaps we shall need the use of stronger soldiers..." She gives the helmed orc a pointed, meaningful look.

Though bowed, the helmed orc nevertheless contrives to inch backward from the glare of the Shaman, and he nods hurriedly. "<Mordain Uruk> It shall be done as you wish, O Great One!" he assures her, planting the haft of his spear into the gnarled earth for support. "<Mordain Uruk> I shall see to it at once!"

And this said he rises, whirling about to bark orders into the throng of passing uruks. Several of their number slink closer warily, their eyes flitting between their captain and the infamous person of Bagurat.

[Formin(#26827)] Formin snorts at the description of the female leader and the implication Sudanir attaches to it. But at the elf's last, Formin twists to look full at Sudanir, dropping his chin and giving the elf a long look from under his brows. He pauses a moment. "I certainly hope that's followed by some revelation that no word need be sent because Erebor already knows." He whispered still, but no as quietly as before.

The dwarf's long gaze perhaps makes Sudanir uncomfortable, and he looks back briefly. There is a long, awkward silence, and then he says, "Perhaps. Such is not a call for me to make."

"<Mordain Uruk> And he courageously fetches others, rather than offering to do it himself," the shaman snorts, and she snaps the book shut with a heavy thud as the other uruks line up. To each of these, her veiled yellow scruntiny turns, passing from one to the next. "<Mordain Uruk> That one," and Bagurat points with one of her spidery claws toward one of the taller, more able-bodied orcs.

Offering a curt, gruff command, the helmed orc seems to notice the Shaman's rebuke little, instead busying himself with ordering another forward. The chosen orc steals forth, eyes wandering hither and thither nervously, even as he stands for further inspection by the witch-orc.

[Formin(#26827)] Sarcasm lingers heavily in Formin's long stare, but the usual jesting glint that also plays across his eyes is little evident just now. "You've a problem asking dwarves for aid, eh? But not guiding them, as now. Or insisting they accept elvish protection upon the Old Forest Road. Grace and old age do not make your folk the solitary useful protectors of this land. Nor the only ones that care for it. Dwarf I may be, yet here I am - and tis not from curiosity alone." Formin grunts like a reprimanding parent, disgruntled and grumbling.

"Oh all right," he mutters, annoyed, after a moment. "I've seen what I need to. Let's be gone from here before I have the urge to stab something. Unless you'd like to leave me up here."

Even as the chosen orc steps forward, the 'Holy One' pushes herself to her feet to stand up ontop of the stump. From there she peers down at him. "<Mordain Uruk> I have a task for you, 'lucky' soldier," says she. "<Mordain Uruk> I need to you go out into the forest, and return to me with silk from the spiders therein. Do this, and you shall be rewarded. But we cannot wait for long, so," Bagurat's tone shifts, indicating a grin upon the hidden mouth, "<Mordain Uruk> off you go now, yes?"

"Well, if you would prefer to get down from this tree on your own..." Sudanir says smoothly, the corner of his mouth pulling slightly, "Without my guidance, and find your way out of the Wood, without my help, I will not protest too loudly, and I will shoot down any orc in pursuit, within bowshot of course." Sudanir starts to move down into the thicker parts of the tree, where the branches are not quite so spindly.

With a gulp and a nod, the chosen orc bows low, ere he steps back to glance towards his captain. The helmed uruk merely bares a fang in response, pointing to a good dozen of the nearby goblins, and growls in satisfaction.

Nary a word passes between the uruk-hai then as the chosen one gathers his fellows, and with final bows sent to Bagurat, the hastily assembled search party slinks off into the woods.

Turning back to his Shaman, lowering his eyes, the black-helmed captain asks: "<Mordain Uruk> Do you need anything else, Holy One?"

[Formin(#26827)] "Oi!" Formin whispers after Sudanir as the elf descends with maddening grace. "Don't leave me in this...bloody thing." His words become distracted as he suddenly struggles to extract himself from the tankle of ropes and limbs, and equally struggles to do so quietly. The result is a rustling of limbs - like the wind, just the wind. "And well I ought to!" he whispers after Sudanir again. "A better chance I have of surviving on the ground on my own, then up in a confounded tree!" And some muttering, he gingerly begins to pick his way downward.

This wins yet another snorting from behind the mask. "<Mordain Uruk> And once more ready to aid now that that task has been taken care of?" The witch-orc takes a leap from the stump, robes billowing momentarily like some horrid shape of bat-wings, and she snatches up the large tome. "<Mordain Uruk> No, there is nothing else...for now. Though perhaps in the near future I will decide to test your courage. Or lack thereof." Without another glance, Bagurat turns away toward the middle of the encampment.

Sudanir winces yet again, his fair face screwing up at the sound of the tree limbs swaying "Stop that! You will give us away." he says, his voice completely devoid of the characteristic calm and smoothness. "Here let me show you...there, there, and there..." he points to the places where the dwarf should put his feet, to cut down on the swaying of branches as much as possible, guiding the dwarf down to the main trunk at the very least.


Date added: 2010-09-24 02:05:10    Hits: 156
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