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Tags: Grimbeorn,  Gwendion,  Nob,  Noborc,  Riorc,  Bagaglok,  Haldir,  Marzbul

Short Summary: A group of orcs attempts to spring a trap on a patrol of Beornings and a Gondorian, but not all goes as planned.
Date (real-life): 2010-02-22
Scene Location: Old Forest Road, West Edge of Mirkwood

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Early Morning on Mersday, Day 6 of April.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 17:48:34 MDT on Mon Feb 22 2010.

Western Edge of Mirkwood, Old Forest Road
You stand at the edge of the great forest, once Greenwood the great, now Mirkwood the Fearful. It is more shady to the east, and you think you can make out a road there.

The sky is clear.

Obvious exits:
NorthWest, West, South, North, and East

The sun glares piercingly down from the clear spring sky of early morning, for there are no clouds to hinder her rising eye; only the shadows of yon Mirkwood provide any sort of cover from that unrelenting stare...and it is here that something moves in the shelter of shadows. Two shapes there seem to be, creeping along. One of them halts suddenly, and there is a hissed mutter, and the raising of a claw to shield eyes as the creature peers out from the darkness toward the open land to the West. "Garn, foul yellow eye," complains Bagaglok, and he proceeds to give that gold orb a dark glare as it sits content in the sky.

Gwendion enters in under the leaves of the forest from the northwest.
Gwendion has arrived.

Marzbul, his bulky form not shielded by the puny ripped cloak sitting on his shoulders, looks thoroughly disappointed at this daytime foray. Helmet strapped securely onto his large, broad-browed head, he slams the bird-beak visor down and grunts in a sullen agreement with the orc shaman.

Grishnákh emerges from the south.
Grishnákh has arrived.

"Have to patrol these parts regularly..." Grimbeorn says. He and a group of Beornings, along with at least one Gondorian, walk along the Old Forest Road, forming a patrol. "Goblins," he growls. "Best to flush them out in daylight."


"You speak of patrolling and yet I cannot but fear for your patrol; protecting one's self with bark and sap seems impossible against the foes we have seen thus far. And yet, you prevailed on the mountain where I fell," the Knight of Gondor, Gwendion, replies, some wry amusement in his voice, "But perhaps some of that favor can be returned on this patrol. How often do you see these Goblins," he says, the word strange on his tongue.

Slowly, carefully, the crimson-robed orc brushes onward throught the foliage at the forest's edge, and occassionally he pauses, stooping briefly as though searching for something in particular. "Find it yet?" asks Bagaglok, not bothering to spare his companion a glance. "Should check and make sure those foresters even set this thing up properly--"

He straigthens up sharply, yellow gaze peering even more intently, though this time it is toward the surroundings. "You hear it?" he growls lowly, slipping a little more into the undergrowth.

"Ya, ya," mutters Marzbul, more than glad to duck under the cool shade of undergrowth. There is a little rustling, something is twitched, and the helmeted orc gives a low snarl. "There it is, ready ter go. Whatcha hear?" His blackened claws creep for a greasy-looking quiver and a twisted bow.

"More than we like," Grimbeorn grunts, looking right and left. He stops, face scrunched in a frown, studying the dark forest, nostrils flaring as he sniffs at the air. "You have steel, of course. And you may want to draw it now," he says. "Daylight or not..."


A quick nod precedes the drawing of the Knight's aged blade, his shield brought to bear. It is a queer sight in this forest, a man armored for war in steel and leather, a crest of a Swan upon his breast. He lets out a sigh, "I am ready," and then a question, with some concern, "They are close then?"

[Combat(#13388)] Gwendion wields Bruncrist.
[Combat(#13388)] Gwendion puts on Metal Shield.

"Good, very good," replies Bagaglok quickly, keeping his voice hardly above a hissed breath as he peers down to see what Marzbul has found. "They seem prepared," he nods to a few of the nearby trees.

"Something out there," answers the Shaman to the other. "Filthy humans, by the smell of them...get that bow of yours ready, hmm? Draw them closer, and then..." the orc makes a sudden movement with one hand, and points downward. "The fun begins." And he laughs silently.

"Ay," growls the orc-warrior to the shaman, running a blood-red tongue over cracked and pitilessly set lips. He crouches lower in the bush, squinting out of the beaked helmet's eyeslits: there, they really are humans! The cracked grin grows wider.

Marzbul is reminded of something, and lowers a strung bow. "Wot fun do we have ready for 'em, eh, shaman?" Simpletons will be simpletons.

"Stay with the Beornings on the road. Do -not- venture off the road, under any circumstances--it's dangerous even for me," Grimbeorn grunts. And then he veers off the road, quickly into the darkness of the trees, and in the darkness his form seems to shift to something...not human...


A questioning glance is given to the Beornings and then Gwendion's eyes turn back to the road. He does not leave the road as told, staying towards it's center, shield held before him, a dull outline of a crimson flame upon it.

"I wonder if they have sensed us as we them..."

Bagaglok snorts, "Have you forgotten already? You're the one who found it first...what do you think it does? They come close enough, and snap..." again the hand motion shows this, and then he points to the rotten bases of a few trees that form a crude line spanning the sides of the road, perpendicular to the old path. Clearly, some of the orcs have not been idle, though what exactly it is that is hidden in the leaves and brush is well concealed. "Then we've got flatten humans." He gives a look to the side, where the gloom of Mirkwood still stretches, and he frowns. "Where is the other one, the little one? Garn, too cowardly to show up, I'll warrant."

But then the Shaman is silent again, watching through the veil of trunks and shadow to see the road beyond. The disappearance of Grimbeorn seems to have not been noticed.

"Right, right," answers the orc-archer, rolling his eyes beneath his helmet. "So I got ter lure the pretty ones out." His act is swift as the word, and no sooner than a crow-fletched arrow is drawn upon his bow, it is gone, arcing above human heads and perhaps landing among any of them ...

He puts celerity over thought: no sight given to the non-human thing that has merged into the refreshing darkness.

The non-human thing, for all intents and purposes, is rounding through the forest, to try to come up behind this little orc party. But that will take time. Still, for a huge, overgrown bear, he is unnaturally quiet.

 Whether cowardly or no, the 'little one' arrives. Coming up from the south and following the footsteps of his superiors, Riorc creeps through the murky darkness of the trees. He lifts his hunger-ravaged face and sniffs the air, his black eyes squinting in the dim light of dawn. He stops sniffing and stiffens for a moment before dropping to a low crouch. Moving more slowly, with exaggerated care, he slithers through the underbrush towards his companions.If the great bear is near him, he does not notice.


The familiar sound of bow and the sound of its weapon cutting through the air is not lost on the Knight.

"Arrow!" he calls out, squatting he calls behind him again, this time a question, "A single archer? I heard but one released."

Yet still he moves forward, a shout out to the forest, "You must be small and scared little goblin children to be playing with your father's bow so. Poor scared goblins, hiding behind their big trees," he mocks, "Perhaps you should stick to hunting wild pigs; an easier prey for a weak hunter."

The bulk of his attention focused on the road ahead and the humans traveling upon it, the red-garbed uruk's sight misses the creeping shape of the dark haired bear. But while the eyes are occupied, the nose twitches faintly. "This forest stinks," Bagaglok says, wrinkling his snout in disgust. "Smells like wet rabbit, a whole lot of them."

A sideways look reveals the approach of the smaller third goblin, and the Shaman almost laughs. "So you did show, eh? Come here, and perhaps you can serve as a better distraction." But then the words of Gwendion ring through the dark, and Bagaglok scowls. "Stick to hunting wild pigs, you say?" The orc calls back, irritation for the moment overriding cautious quiet. "Then we shall continue, for there looks to be plenty of them here in front of us." He seems to remember himself and their position, and claps a claw over his mouth to cut off another smirking laugh.

"True ye are," snickers Marzbul, attempting to hide his embarrassment. "We'll jus' stick you like pigs, then. Good eats, those legs."

"Ey, you," he rumbles to Riorc, waving a claw, "took long enough." The archer draws another unclean shaft from his quiver, this one aimed at the armored Man in front: it arcs through grass and branches, almost teasing the knight Gwendion to come forward, come closer, answer. It cuts through the air once again.

[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok] Wearing: Skull-Helm


Gwendion smiles from behind his shield back at his party, calling again to the Uruk, "That is sad to hear. The way you shoot, you certainly will starve then. A slower end for you than I would hope, but the end is all the same to me." He pushes forward, having another shot and voices to aim the direction of his feet.

"But Goblin children, should you not run home now? I know where you are and when I find you it will be a bad time your lot. I do not like to slaughter sad little puny goblin children, but I suppose, I am not a very nice man sometimes."

Eau de Wet Rabbit would offer relief from the stench that rises from the newly arrived goblin. Riorc grimaces nervously at the Shaman, his eyes darting to the other orc before asking warily, "Wha' you wan me do?"

At the last moment of his approach, the bear gives up on stealth. Instead, it crashes through the undergrowth and brush, tree branches snapping like twigs as it runs. And then it is out in the open, a ton or more of angry bear flesh ramming down on the orc party. Its aim first: The archer orc.

Marzbul is a sturdy and stalwart orc warrior! But the belittling is a little too excessive -- indeed, Gwendion is not a rather nice man with his speech -- and the archer stands up among the underbrush, throwing off his helmet as he prepares a short-worded, long-winded invective.

"We are no sad children, we are His proud servants! We will fight for Him, and yew," he points a shaking finger at the tall Man, "yew'll -- augghhhhh"

It is precisely at this moment that a ton of Grimbeorn lands upon this unfortunate servant, flattening him with a crunch; in frantic and jerky throes, Marzbul's limbs snag the tripwire, and tug hard upon it. Of course, this sends all the rigged trees falling the Wrong Way ...

Bagaglok peers back at the little snaga with a feign expression of consideration, ere replying, "How about you skip on out there and do a dance to bring 'em closer?" Then he looks back at the approaching Gondorian, and grumbles. "Still not far enough."

But then several things happen at once - the bear bursts into view, and the cloaked uruk half-trips, half-stumbles to the side in surprise and fright at the huge lunging beast. The net of rotten trees tips downward directly for the orc party - a huge row of thick trunks thundering toward the earth. The stumbling causes one tree to narrowly miss, but a second snags a piece of Bagaglok's robe and pins the muddied fabric beneath it.

A curse is muttered, and he moves to set a shield on one arm, and draw a blade.

COMBAT - Wielded: Blackened Scimitar
[Combat(#13388)->Bagaglok] Wearing: Rune-Rimmed Shield


Gwendion lowers his shield and stands, dumbfounded, "I should not be surprised that they are as dumb as they are, but..." he shakes his head and starts a jog towards the short distance between him and the mess of branches and logs. There is no charge or passionate cry. The Knight is cautious in his approach, waiting to see what still stands from the failed trap.

"Did you hurt yourself with your toy?"

At the Shaman's suggestion, Riorc sends an apprehensive look towards the Gondorian. He hesitates, licking his lips.

Then the roar and rush of furious flesh and fur launches the little orc beyond the screen of brush into the road. Turning quickly to face what he evidently deems the most immediate threat, he scuttles backwards away from the bear, his eyes wide with fear.

The other threat happens to quickly to react to and though the logs miss hitting him directly, a sturdy branch snaps his left arm like a...well, twig...as it hits the forest floor. Riorc lets loose a high-pitched scream of fright and pain.

"Mrphhh gurgle mmmph...!" The bear kicks and claws at what was the orc archer, and then grunts very loudly as a tree topples on the pair of them, bouncing off its fur-clad back. It seems to only enrage the beast--its roar echoes through the forest.

And then its beady brown eyes are looking about, searching for a way to vent its anger. Bagaglok?


It is only now, that there is a pause in the action that Gwendion sees the beast that has ravaged the goblins.

A curse sounds through his clenched teeth, followed by another, "Bear!" he cries, at once backing away from the mayhem. He shouts to the other Beornings, "It's not Grimbeorn, it's a bear! Get back!"

Another glance at the giant beast, he says again, in an awed, fearful whisper to himself, "A really, really large bear."

Finally that pesky Gondorian reaches the spot of the trap, but alas, for that planned trap was already been sprung - backwards.

Struggling to free his robe from beneath the mess of branches and trunk, Bagaglok pauses only to offer a hiss at Gwendion's words. "We still have more 'toys' with which to stick you!" Anger and irritation clear in his voice, the Malkog manages to turn as much as he can, trying to strike at the Knight's feet - but he is backing away, and there is a dull thump as the blade hits naught but the ground.

The cry of Riorc is heard, but not heeded, for there is still the matter of the bear..and the look it gives the pinned Shaman is not comforting to say the least. The rune-adorned shield is brought up in a pitiful attempt to guard against teeth and claw.

Strange to hear laughter in the middle of a battle, but that's what now echoes through the forest. The Beornings, weapons drawn as they rush the orc attackers, now as a group laugh at the Knight's comment. "Bears are no threat to us, nor to you, helmed man! Leave the bear to its work and go about yours!"

The sound of mannish voices alerts the snaga Riorc to his third danger and he spins around to face the Knight. With his left arm hanging useless by his side, he bares his yellow teeth at the man and slowly crouches. Reaching out for a thick stub of a branch, the orc begins to pry it off the log.


The Knight seems dubious that the bear poses no threat and he is slow to advance the branch wielding Goblin.

"Your mother will be sad when you are gone, little one," he frowns, contemplating his words, "Well, perhaps not sad exactly," he counters, stabbing his blade towards the wretched creature.

As Bagaglok raises his shield, the bear's teeth flash white, sparkling viciously in the sun. A smile? Maybe even a laugh, too, for it, briefly turns its head toward Gwendion as it lopes on by, a gutteral sound rumbling from its belly. But there is business to be done, and the easy loping pace becomes a charge. Bagaglok had better run.

Freeing the thick branch, Riorc holds it before him - somewhat like a sword. His face contorts into a fierce look, his teeth still bared. He retorts, "Yer mother will ne'er know how ye died, tark!" Though his words are defiant, the hand that holds his pathetic weapon shakes and he jumps back with a yelp when the Knight advances and jabs at him.

[Nob(#16122)] "Ijjits," is what one of the orcs is mumbling under his breath in a sort of droning incessant monologue. "Ijjits. Don' know how to do nothing right, can't b'lieve it..." He scrabbles around on the ground, and finally his hand closes around the hilt of a rather battered sword. It had been knocked from his grip by the tree-trap. Possibly one of the biggest 'ijjits' is the one who stands too close and almost gets caught in his own trap...

And as the bear charges, the tugging on the cloak grows more frantic; giving up with pulling, Bagaglok takes the scimitar and there is the sharp ripping of cloth as he cuts away at the section that is stuck under the felled tree's bole.

Rising at last to shaking feet, the Shaman attempts to turn away quickly from that rushing mass of fur and teeth, but the gnarled tree is in the way. Orcs are not known for their gracefulness, and torn scarlet cloth goes into the air as he trips backward over the pine's mid-section. The mumbling of the battered-sword orc reaches him, and the Shaman growls loudly to the creature, "<Mordain Uruk> The bear, get the bear, garn!" And then Bagaglok is back to moving toward his feet.


"It's probably true. My mother often mentions to me that I do not write enough," Gwendion replies, a subtle sorrow in his voice as he sweeps his blade across the Orc's mid-section, "Even now I am sure she thinks me in Belfalas."

With Bgaglok having escaped at the last moment, the bear's attack finds nothing but air. Large, deadly claws swipe uselessly to where the orc was, and the bear's momentum carries it further into the forest, crashing through any orcs there before it finally comes to a halt. And then it growls once more and charges Bagaglok again, its growls having the cadence of words.

<Atliduk> "Kill their leader!" The Beornings in the group seem to understand, for they nod.

"Stupid tark!" yells Riorc, holding out his stick to parry the sword-stroke. But instead chips fly as it is shoved aside and in the end, the failed attempt at deflection manages only to prevent disembowelment. The orc screams as a scarlet line beads across his naked stomach and spills over. He strikes out blindly with the stick, trying to hit the Knight anywhere he can and takes a half step back towards the sprung trap and his bear-besieged companions.

[Nob(#16122)] "...never seen nothin' like it. Bunch of ijjits.... bear?" The orc looks up, his rather bulbous head whipping back and forth as he tries to figure out what is going on. Small black eyes land on the .. bear. Wow. There really is one. And they light up with glee. With a whoop of glee, he darts forward, swiping his sword through the air with both hands. Back and forth, back and forth - he looks like a little helicopter, side-on, and surely that blade will hit /something/ what with all the swinging!


Rioc's branch makes a dull thud against the Knight's shield. "Now, no reason to curse. Mother may," he kicks out with his booted foot towards the beast's knee, "Wash your mouth out with soap, and from the look of it, it's been some years since she has."

Indeed, the wildly swinging hits something - something red.

Another horrid cursing escapes the Malkog's fanged mouth in the Black Speech. Pushing himself roughly to his feet, Bagaglok spins around to glare at the clumsy creature, speaking again in that race's foul tongue. "<Mordain Uruk> Crazy-fingered fool! I said the bear, the bear!" That leather shield is raised again, as the crimson-garbed orc tries to scamper out of the way of the Grimbeorn's new charge. The curved sword the uruk holds is sent flashing for any humans who would get in the way, and the gloom of the forest is given a longing look.

"Get away, cursed beast!" growls Bagaglok to the bear in the Common Speech, whether he thinks the animal can understand it or not. "Or I'll take an ear off, eh?"

The poorly armed Snaga manages to elude the Knight's kick. Riorc hisses and takes another swipe at the Knight, this one somewhat aimed at the man's stomach. Blood freely runs down his abdomen to stain his filthy ragged breeches. He takes another step back, inching closer to the thick undergrowth of the forest.


"Ah, ah, ah, little one!" Gwendion lunges at the Orc, pressing his attack with a few powerful swings, "You had your chance to go home to mother. That time has passed."

If the bear understands Bagaglok, it shows in the showing of teeth that he bares toward the orc. <Atliduk> "Come and get it," the bear taunts in gutteral sounds. The second blade-wielding orc is ignored for a moment in favor of claw swipe at Bagaglok's face.

The second swing connects, knocking the wretched goblin to the ground. Riorc screams as his broken arm is jarred painfully, dropping his stick to cradle it.

"Bad Tark! Bad Tark! Riorc hurts!" he moans.

[Nob(#16122)] The smaller orc stops.. well, bounces actually, off of Bagaglok, and stands for a few minutes, shaking his head. "I was!" he protests, aggrievedly, but resettles his grip on his sword and charges for the bear again. Swipe swipe swipe swipe!


"Riorc dies."

The Knight raises his aged blade high in the air, his eyes meet the pitiful beasts', then a heavy swing down, to cleft the orc in twain.

The shield fails to block the bear's attack, though it is able to somewhat direct the paw lower and down. Black blood stains the earth as the awful claws rend through fabric and shoulder, and Bagaglok hisses angrily. A poorly aimed swipe is sent for the animal's side as it comes close, and the orc is busy again heading for the cover of Mirkwood whence he came.

Bagaglok's blade grazes the bear's flank, drawing small blood, but the beast is already turning its attention to Noborc, ignoring the slight wound. A paw is sent slashing to the small orc's side, trying to throw it across the forest and into the trees.

[Nob(#16122)] Whooosh. Thunk. It is the sound of one rather small goblin being tossed through the air and into a tree by a rather large bear-paw. Noborc slides down to sit in a befuddled looking lump at the base of the treetrunk, blinking dizzily.

But it is only a minute before he has bounced up again and back into the fray. Straight for the rear of the bear, notched sword up and ready! Nothing subtle about him, nosiree.

The bear passes, its attention now focused on another, and Bagaglok does not stop to watch. Displaying just how much orcs care for the well-being of their companions, the robed uruk gives a last call in the Mordain goblin tongue - this time a call for retreat. But he does not linger to see if they obey or not, for the Shaman slips through a pair of Beornings and melts back into the south of the trees.

Riorc's desire to live has not fled him entirely; with a squeal he tries to skitter backwards, using his one good arm and legs to pull and propel him. This desperate act merely causes him to receive a blow that is fatal but not immediately so.

His squeal of fright turns to bloodcurdling scream as the Knight's sword cleaves him from sternum to groin. His pale intestines unfold from his rent abdomen like some sort of grotesque child's spring-toy. Dark red blood pours out of the cavity, pumped by a heart that yet lives - leaving its owner to experience fully-aware, the agony of his death.

A howl of pain slices through the air as Noborc's blade cuts at the bear's rump--fortunately not deep. The bear reacts, spinning around angrily, and quicly for a one-ton ball of fur. And this time it lashes out withthe full force of its weight, as if to break the orc in half.


The spray of Riorc's blood dots Gwendion's face, "Messy business," he says, unconsciously wiping his face with the back of his blood gauntlet, "Ah, damn it," he whines.

He glances to the others and sees things well in hand. Nonetheless, he begins to round the trap and towards the sinister Noborc.

[Nob(#16122)] Oops. The force of a paw attempting to break an orc into several smaller bits is considerable. Noborc lets out a grunt something between a moan and a wail, as he is sent tumbling head over heels back towards the same tree he just left. What a nice relationship they are beginning to have. Lying at its base once more, the orc stares upwards at nothing much, really, and bleeds from 3 parallel gashes across one leg. His hand is still clenched about his sword hilt however, and after a few minutes, he staggers upright once more, standing at an angle and shaking his head to try and clear his vision. Bagaglok is a blur, the bear a bigger, darker blur. He doesn't noticed Gwendion at all.

The bear lowers its large head, its brown eyes now starting at Gwendion. <Atliduk> "Finish him," it growls ominously, though then it jerks its head toward Noborc, then looks at the Knight again. <Atliduk> "Understand?" Then it hobbles off into the woods, chasing after the fleeing orcs--a little hampered by Noborc's cut to its hind quarters, but not by much, the blood there already drying.

Behind Gwendion and the bear, two Beornings hack the final life out of a few of the less fortunate orcs--and then, despite being blood and gore-covered, they look up and grin fiendishly at the Knight as the bear growls his way.


It is rare to be given Orders by a bear, but the Knight seems to understand, though it is clear he is uncomfortable with the idea of a talking bear. With a casual stride, the Knight strolls up behind the one he was commanded to end. Raising his blade and then bringing it down towards Noborc's neck.

[Nob(#16122)] Noborc is (still) quite unaware of Gwendion's presence or nearness. It's amazing, really, that he's survived this long! Suddenly, with a jerky dart forward the brings him out from under the swing of his foe, he stumbles after the bear. His progress through the forest is marked with thumps and crashes and the occasional yelp. Possibly he has stayed alive so long by immobilizing all his enemies with laughter.

Date added: 2010-02-23 08:40:57    Hits: 81
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