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Tags: Bagaglok,  Egennir,  Nob

Short Summary: A particular hemlock doesn't appreciate being burned, but...tree's can't move, can they?
Date (real-life): 2010-08-01
Scene Location: eastern edge of Fangorn

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Highday, Day 27 of July.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 21:37:27 MDT on Sun Aug 01 2010.

On the Edge of Fangorn
You stand on the border between forest and plain. To the south lies Fangorn Forest with all it's legends and mystery. You can't help but wonder if the legends about Fangorn are true. The trees seem to be examining you as you examine them. Turning towards the north you see streched before you a vast grassy plain...seemingly with no end in sight.
Obvious exits:
 East leads to Along the Edge of Fangorn.
 West leads to Near the edge of the Forest.
 South leads to Fangorn Forest.
 North leads to Long Plain.

The plains are grey beneath a late night sky, dusted with cold stars. The summer air is humid...but it fails to rival the oppressive, uncomfortable darkness that lingers at the east edge of Fangorn. Here it is darker than dark, and silent -- save for the occassional creaking of tree limbs.

One of the shadows is not cast by bough or branch. It moves slowly, picking a path around a felled tree, and over stray roots. It is not a shadow, of course, but a short orc garbed in red. In a hand there is a large vial that shines faintly of pale purple. "Treesss," the word is expelled in a hiss, and Bagaglok kicks a nearby root as though to check it. "Suitable enough..." And then, he throws a glance back down at the bottle. "Burn..."

[Nob(#16122)] The darkness somehow shifts - growing darker and more ominous - and the trees shake, as if in a high wind, branches rubbing and creaking together, bending low.

Something moves overhead. The shadows dip, and the shaman makes an involuntary reaction; he ducks. When nothing appears to be falling on him, the orc moves his yellow eyes upward, to yield the branches a frown. He glares at them a moment, and then, without looking away, begins to uncork the vial.

[Nob(#16122)] There is a tearing and a branch comes crashing down.

This time something does fall..and the duck comes too late. The largest part of the branch misses, but the remainder strikes Bagaglok on the shoulder, and he topples sideways with a startled curse. The sudden motion has knocked the bottle loose, and it goes airborne.

[Nob(#16122)] The bottle arcs through the air, spilling glittering drops behind it, and lands, splashing over a root. There is a sudden keening moan in the air - a wild rushing wind.

There is a hissing and spitting from the fallen liquid -- but that sharp moan drowns its noises out. The wind ripples grass and trembles leaves. Instead of enjoying the progress of the acidic purple-hued potion, Bagaglok is checking over his shoulder at the awful moan-disturbance; and then, peering nervously into the black of the forest.

[Nob(#16122)] The tree seems to writhe, as if it is living, as the acidy potion eats into the root; and instead of growing less, the windsound grows sharper.

Something shivers in the air, or in the ground. A distant rhythmic thrumming.

As the sound increases, the orc clamps his now empty claws over his ears, grimacing. He is now indeed watching the effects of the potion, staring uncertainly and confusedly at that impossibly writhing trunk. "It's not supposed to make it...move," the shaman breathes, trying to pull himself away from it. He seems too shocked to realize it would be more effective to get on his feet. "It /can't/ make it move."

[Nob(#16122)] And then the root tears out of the ground, and a branch strikes down towards the orc, to hit or to snatch, or to swat. And the wind's howl is no longer the wind, but a full-throated basso roar. Two golden eyes blink open high up on the trunk. "Buuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnzzzz!"

Not just moving, but speaking as well!

As the ground heaves and the root tears free, Bagaglok flinches. By the time it has registered what has happened, the branch swings out, catching on the goblin's crimson robe. Hurridly, he attempts to scramble to his feet at last, but the branch is stuck. And then the voice comes, and he gives another cringe. The golden eyes are met with a terrified stare. Words at this point have clearly failed -- the shaman only gives an odd strangled sound.

[Nob(#16122)] The branch swings back into the air, most likely dragging the orc with it, unless his robe rips. "Sssssooooooooooooo," says the voice. "Naassstyyyyy little orrrrrrcs."

Bagaglok's face has turned slightly pale. "--Tree-demon--" he does manage to choke out, and as the branch yanks upward -- orc in tow --- he clings to it with his hard claws.

[Nob(#16122)] The gold eyes turn more yellow, harsher somehow - implacable. And the branch has grown several more branches, or split into them - for now they are wrapping around the orc's waist and one leg. "Burrrrrning!" The ent is getting more worked up, his voice louder and louder. "BURRRRRRNING!"

The orc watches with horror as the branches start their ensnaring, and he vainly tries to twist away; but clearly, he is also afraid of falling, for still his dirty hands clutch at the barky limb. "I didn't mean for it to spill on your foot!" he lies, voice higher than normal. "That was your fault--" But then he stops, perhapes considering accusations are not the best to use in this situation.

[Nob(#16122)] "FAULT!" the ent roars, squeezing both its hands together in a fury. Then he subsides into rumbling. "Hate orrrrcs. Nasty little orrrcs, always burrrning things." The eyes peer at Bagaglok closely. "Looks like orrrc. Smells like orrrrc. Burns like orrrrrc!" He is getting worked up again.

"--No, not an orc--" the shaman gasps, now beginning to claw at the tightening fingers. "I'm -- I'm a ghoul..like a ghost. Put me down, or I'll curse you!" Bagaglok keeps struggling against the branches, determindely avoiding the Ent's eyes.

[Nob(#16122)] There is a pause in the squishing, though the ent's grip doesn't lessen. "Hmmmmmmm," he says, and tilts the orc so as to look at him better. "Looks like orrrrc," he repeats thoughtfully. "Smells like orrrrrc."

He looks around, and shakes his head - it is an awesome sight, the great branches cutting through the air back and forth, back and forth. "In Fangorrrrrn, therrrre arrrre no ghosts," he says.

The orc cringes once more at the frightening spectacle of whoosing tree limbs, and he forces himself to look up, although he chooses rather to stare at the bark below those awful eyes. "No ghosts, but demons," he mutters before catching himself.

Something that resembles angry hatred surfaces over fear, ere it is gone. "You don't believe in curses?" Common shifts into harsh, foul words, as Bagaglok hisses an unintelligable phrase in Morbeth.

[Nob(#16122)] The sound of the words sends the ent into a rage, his fingers clenching into fists, loosening, clenching again; with no regard whatever for what he is holding. "DO NOT SPEAK THOSE WORRRRDS," he booms. "FOUL CRRREATURE!"

The Ent gets his wish -- for the squashing makes further speaking impossible --  for a few seconds.

"Burn you all to ashes! To nothing!" the orc spits in between one of the squeezes; clearly, pleading has been abandoned. But again, he ceases talking as the fists close and loosen, and repeat. Giving pained gasps, the shaman wriggles against the hand, but the struggling is growing weaker. He looks to be on the verge of fainting.

[Nob(#16122)] Egennir no longer hears what anyone else is saying, lost as he is in his own private litany of hatred for all things orcish. "Lost and lost, burned and lost, and we will kill them, kill them!" Suddenly reawakened to Bagaglok's existence, he says to the shaman, "You at leaaaast will neverrrr burrrrrn anotherrrrr trrrrrreee!" And closes his hand, very tightly, before opening it to let whatever remains of the orc fall to the ground.

A petrified yelp comes at the increasing strength of the fingers, as it is realized what is about to happen; and then, a helpless cry that is quickly stiffled. The remains fall indeed, crumbled as they are, to the Ent's burned feet.

Date added: 2010-08-02 07:37:38    Hits: 68
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