| Grog Pit A rough natural cavern with a stone firepit at it's center. The firepit contains a roaring fire, built up to nearly three feet in hieght. The fire casts the stone walls of this cavern in a ruddy glow as well as expelling a thick haze of grey smoke into the air. Several spits bearing cuts of meat are thrust through the fire, suppourted upon the rough boulders that form the firepit. The cragy ceiling of this room slopes up to a soot stained natural chimney that must lead into the main shaft of the volcano. A stone floor carpets the pit, a slight coating of debris upon it, consisting of broken vessels, well gnawed bones, and bone fragments, dried mud, small rocks, and even the occasional tooth knocked out in a brawl. A few battered, low tables with animal pelts before them lay about the room. Many Orcs would usually sit about here, drinking and boasting. Those Uruks who are warriors drink out of humanoid skulls that have been sealed watertight to allow them to be used as drinking bowls. The many slaves, who outnumber the warriors roughly three to one, drink out of wooden, or earthenware drinking bowls. You see a distinct favoritism between the high ranking Orcs and the lower ranking Orcs: the officers are given free drink and food, while the lower Orcs must pay for their fare with any valuables they can scrape together. Contents: Darshgar Spinnekop Dice Table Pinky, the Grog Keeper Obvious exits: Jagged Arch leads to Living Pits. Dubgub steps out from under the jagged arch that leads to the residential hall. Dubgub has arrived. Guruok is already at the gambling table when you arrive, laying down florins on the table, winning some and losing some, but generally breaking even. Signalling to the bartender for another liquor, he takes a swig, then looks at Spinnekop, who has just entered. Ahh, Quartermaster, just who I wished to see." he says. "Come on over here to the table and try your luck with me, as I have need of a new dagger!" Pinky grabs a bottle with an red X on the label, putting it in front of him. "Second best liquor in Mordor. That'll be 8 coppers." You +give 8 Copper Pennies to Pinky, the Grog Keeper. Pinky smiles at Guruok, accepting the money gladly. Pinky, the Grog Keeper pours the liquor into a standard wooden drinking bowl after he receives the money, pushing it over. "Tell me if you want some more.", he winks. A low creature, dragging about the ground creating trails of odd formations and shapes enter's the bar. His eyes are groggy and covered in bags that run down both sides of his face, yet he trudges on. Over his right shoulder is slung a great waterskin, obviously full. He squirms, obviously and precariously hauling the monstrous skin across the bar. Laughter echoes through the room at the dogs words, the Logaz who was addressed turning to face him with malicious glee. "Bah, gambling is for fools, keep your folly to yourself foolish one, you want dagger, we play game of MY devising, or you pay me good coin." The pelt pulled around her, Spinnekop clomps into the room, her armour jangling softly beneath her pelt. Guruok scoops up his money on the table, a little more than before prehaps, but not spectacular. Glancing only briefly at the lowly snaga dragging his heavy load, he looks back at Spinnekop. "What did you have in mind, Logaz?" he asks simply. Dubgub reaches Pinky and looks up, hoping against hope to be relieved of the burden...no such relief comes. The uruk smirks, cruel yellow fangs gleaming in saliva in the lamplight. The uruk head motions to the table at which are sat...more uruks, gathering chips, coins, gambling, etc. With a noticible roll of the head, Dubgub turns and waddles over to the table, "Would any of ye'sssss wantsss ssssssome grogsssss?" the snaga's raspy voice bites the air. Peering at the snaga as he serves the gambling uruks, the she-uruk grins softly, shuffling his appearance into her mind for future reference. Turning to Guruok, her smile widens, a malicious glint finding its way into her eye. "Hmmm, how much you want dagger dog? Spin think, you run, Spin throw, haha, you get dagger, but may get hurt...if dagger hit, Spin get your blood, in cup, then I drink in front of you!" Raising her voice she shouts, alerting all in the room, "OI! I think this dog to scared! I think he no want bleed! Who dares him bleed?" She grins at Gur and tilts her head. Guruok growls at Spinnekop as she turns to the crowd and calls out that he is scared. Guruok is a warrior of the eye, Chosen of Khamul, and fears no man or beast. Draining the rest of his bowl of grog, he snarls at Spinnekop "I accept your challenge, Logaz" he rasps. With that said, Guruok moves to the wall, and stands there, staring directly at the Logaz with his startlingly red eyes, and says "I'm waiting" The snaga continues to stare up at the table of contestants, his face droops....NO! Must stay awake and serve the higher orcs!...Yet his head falls and his eyes douse, the skin is so deep and so soft, it just molds right to the shape of his...high, piercing snores shoot through the room. Spinnekop pulls a dagger out of her sleeve and gets ready for combat Maliciousness hangs in the air surrounding the urukess, a silence falling over the room, except the sound of those who move to the sides, clearing away to the sides, careful to avoid the path the dagger must fly. Reaching to her belt, Spinnekop takes the dagger from her belt, wiping dried blood from the blade to spread across the cloak of warg skin. "Hmm, brave dog, either brave, or stupid, Spin think you stupid uruk, now see, snaga, he SMART! He sleep, maybe I put dagger in him instead....but no, I be good, hold still dog." Flicking the dagger up to her shoulder, she pushes her arm forward, the elbow crashing forward, sending the dagger spinning through the air, aimed at a glinting red eye upon the dog Guruok. Spinnekop throws a dagger... With a quick stroke of your scimitar, you knock the dagger out of the air! Nice move! The dagger lies now on the ground at your feet. Guruok waits patiently as Spinnekop pulls the dagger out of her sleeve with a smooth motion, then casts the weapon at him with a flick. Without anyone noticing, Guruok has slid his scimitar out of his with a small motion, and faster than the eye can see, bats the dagger out of the air in one smooth motion with his scimitar. The dagger flies off course, embedding itself into the wooden floor right next to Dubgub's head. Guruok then smoothly places his scimitar back into this sheath. "Care to have another try, Logaz? This time I shalt even block your throw..." Through the jagged arch an unusually enormous shape appears, huge, and black as the heart of the Master himself, save for the single scar upon his cheek. The troll peers about the natural cavern for a moment, peering about, before giving a faint snort. The hulking beast invites himself in, apparently, the orcs more than happy to jump out of his way, as he goes to sit toward one corner. The snaga head jumps as a dagger slams before him and stands erect before his eyes, embedded in the floor. Yet perhaps he quickly forgets, or is indeed to tired to care, for he leans back further into the waterskin and continues snoring. A monstrous uruk-hai rises from the opposite side of the bar and saunters over in the midst of the commotion. Snatching the water-skin with a, "Git off me drrrrink scum!" And a heavy kick that sends Dubgub sailing out the door, the uruk-hai is content and returns to his table. Unwielded: A black-hilted scimitar A dark glare directed at Guruok remains unabated, the Logaz's mouth open, her long tongue lolling out in amazement. Slowly, a rumbling sound begins, as if the very cavern itself was collapsing, until, a yowl of laughter erupts, spewing forth from her mouth. "You....you slimy little tark-whore! You warg spit! You..." Unable to speak she collapses in laughter, until a few moments later she stands, eyes still glaring, but with a little respect showing that was not there before, "Bah, you good with sword, take dagger, I will pay for it, you amuse me, I will let you live, for now." Seating herself upon a nearby chair, she continues to chuckle softly. Guruok lets his tongue lick over his teeth as Spinnekop laughs, noting that he as impressed her... prehaps he can use this in the future, its something to note, anyway. Moving over to where the dagger is embedded a few inches into the wood, he pulls it free with a negligent seeming tug. Examing it briefly, he notes its good quality, then tucks it under his leather armor. Smirking to himself, he turns, and comes face to face (well, face to shoulder) with Darshgar, who has just entered the tavern. The smirk leaves his face immediatly, as he flinches, and starts to back off. The onyx eyes of the hulking stone beast narrow upon the orc as it comes so near to him, but he doesn't say a word; he simply stares at the orc, eyes locked upon it, slowly sitting up as if it were necessary to seem bigger. The orcess watches the movements of Guruouk carefully, though does not pursue him, idly considering involving him in matters of import, if of course, he survives the troll. Guruok continues to back slowly away from the troll, both hands out in front of him as if to show he meant to insult or harm. "Please, great one, dont hurt me, I didn't mean to get in your way" he grunts out, his face turning somewhat pale Though one would be rather unlikely to notice the troll's eyes going wide, his eyelids the same colour as the infinitely dark wells that are his eyes, the trolls facial features do alter perceptably, into a look of outrage, "YOU MEANT TA GET IN MEH WAY?!?!?!?!" he demands, obviously terribly upset - and mishearing the orc - raising his axe up into the air, preparing to smash it down upon the orc before him! Witch-king gathers his robes about him and becomes plainly visible. Witch-king has arrived. Guruok backs off a few steps, fear coursing through his face as he see's the anger of the Olog-hai before him. Knowing it will do little good, he none the less pulls free the heavy scimitar at his side so that he has something to defend himself with, although he makes no threatening moves iwth it. "No, No, Master Olog, I didn't mean to get in your way!" he barks out, still backing off Moving her body forward as quickly as she can, which is not all that quickly, Spinnekop races to stand between the troll and the dog, screaming at the troll as quickly as possible, "Massa! Dog no mean get in way! He trip, no mean to annoy great Olog, he very loyal Uruk he is! Strong and smart too! Well trained! Asset to army! Spinnekop take him under leash massa, make sure he no get in trolls way again, if massa have problem with dog, hurt Spin for dogs badness!" At the coaxing of the pair of orcs - though one dares to draw a weapon - the massive troll gives a snort, letting his arm fall to the ground once more. "Bah. Go 'way, pushdug," he states, spitting before the Dog, though the orbs do survey him carefully, almost as though making a mental note. A slow smile creeps over the monster's lips, bit of ivory teeth showing in contrast to his ebony lips. A hiss rises in the room and the torches are dimmed about the bar; some sputter and go out. As the words of the troll are heard, all sound otherwise is muffled. The air shifts - dreafully cold and heavy does it become. Through the door comes a fell and tall figure, crowned with steel. His raven, billowing robes reach out to burn any being the brush past and swiftly does the Lord of the Nazgl, the Morgul-lord, rush towards the former Warlord. "Snaga!" rasps his deadly voice. Darkness conquers all sight; all except the flashing fires of the Witch-king's hateful gaze. Guruok's eyes narrow as he see's the troll is not going to attack. It's obvious that Guruok's obvious prowess has made the huge brute have second thoughts. He rams his black-hilted scimitar back into the sheath at his side, peering at the Olog from behind Spinnekop. Then all becomes darkness. Guruok turns, spotting the black-robed figure and feeling the chill upon his heart he collapses to his knee's, his eyes full of fanaticism "A Dark Master" he mutters to himself in ecstasy. Unwielded: A black-hilted scimitar Blinking once more, as that old fear creeps over him, the unmistakable fear that the Nazgul exude as an aura of darkness, the stone beast turns his eyes from the orcs, and it is not merely any Nazgul before him, speaking to HIM, but the Lord of the Nazgul himself, the steel crown making the Nazgul easy to identify. The axe drops to the ground, a dull thud issueing forth as it strikes the stone floor with the flat, and the troll bows his head. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" he greets the Wraith, not knowing the words that the Master spoke were infact elven, the first word being in Morbeth. He continues, speaking in the dark tongue, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" he asks, eyes remaining upon the ground, not looking to the horror before him. As the chill of death fills the room, a miasma of pestilence combined with the smell of the grave fills the room, the she-uruk does not even move, her body freezing in place, still amazed to be alive, and now knowing her life is once again worthless. Dropping to the ground, she buries her face in the dirt, the warg pelt covering her form, hoping to avoid notice, or perhaps just be ignored. The fell Morgul-king, though tall, does not match the height of the great stone warrior; now nothing before the Captain of Mordor. His voice tears into the trolls mind, as well as those most unfortunate to be present. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" he rasps, a gloved hand gesturing to the fallen axe beside the troll. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" he commands. The weight of his will is unbearable. Guruok shivers in fear as he hears the words of the black speech that he cannot understand. His eyes are fixed on the Nazgul, he is seemingly unable to look away as the words burn themself into his mind. Unknowinly to him, his hands have gone slack by his sides, it is as if he has become a marionette, with the strings being pulled by the Witch-King of Sauron. The hulking stone beast, though sitting, falls upon his face now before the Wraith as he is commanded in the tongue of the Masters, and he replies, face lying upon the ground, to be absolutely certain to stay below the stature of the lord of Angmar. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" He states, obviously not noticing the pointing, since he dares not look at the terrible wraith. To the latter comment, he does reply, hastilly, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" The wraith seems to grow to terrible proportions before the fallen troll; though the sight alone is not for reason. Every torch is doused in his presence, now, and darkness prevails. Death's will bears down with agonizing weight on the olog. Images of death and fires molest his mind, feeble in comparison to the Black Captain. "Aye, I am great for I am Death and no Man shall stay me. Thou art a Snaga, slave. Thou art not permitted to wield such great weapons." hisses the Lord of the Nazgul and with one swift motion he swoops and snatches the axe up for his own. Cruel, deadly laughter ruptures from an unseen mouth. The axe suddenly snaps at the hilt. The blade; to dust. Nodding quickly, the troll replies, still in the dark tongue, though the Nazgul chooses to change languages, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" he replies, softer this time, watching as the dust slowly falls to the ground before him, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" The monster pauses a moment, still sprawled upon the ground before the dreaded being, before asking, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" The laughter of the Nazgul magnifies in the darkness he harbors. The pair of flames flash beneath the steel crown of the Witch-king and his malice bends to finger the orcs about the prostrate olog. His words are granted in a rasp of Common Speech. "Aye, a little of both, but for thee my work here done here." he hisses wryly; his gaze drilling into the back of Darshgar's head. "However, thou art in folly. Touch no other weapon but the one thy Lord has prepared. In His forges is it being remade, superior than its former self. If thou art caught with anything less before then - woe is you." he whispers. However, the words are painfully loud. Slowly the massive head of the troll nods, his cheek scraping along the stone floor, though it fails to even scrape the hide of the beast. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" he replies, still in the dark tongue that he has always been taught. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" The High Nazgul flicks his gloved fingers free of the dissolved steel. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" he hisses conclusively. His robes flail out to brush against Darshgar and Spinnekop, not too terribly far away, as he turns; numbness lingers where they touch. Heavy bootsteps taper to nothingness as the Witch-king takes his leave. With him, the despair that comes innately. One torch flickers back to life. Some moments as the Witch-king of Angmar leaves the natural cavern, the troll slowly sits up from off his face, eyes turning to stare a moment at the little pile of ashes before him, and then his head turns, to survey the reaction of the orcs in the chamber. As the miasma dissipates from the room, the warg skin gains life, albeit slowly. Almost like a child born from the womb, Spinnekop comes, head first, out from under her cloak, peering around carefully, before standing to her full height, and looking to the troll. "Bah, perhaps the Teguks orders bear worth, for I can not speak to you until I have availed myself of teaching." She bows her head to the troll, backing away slowly, planning to make keep order amongst the orcs still under the grips of the dark ones terror. |