| Moria, Great Temple The cavernous ceiling of this room lies hidden in shadow, like viscous ink, it obscures nearly every rough surface of this giant room. A halo of burning light sits in one end of the enormous cavern, a pool of liquid lava, bubbling with the energy of the earth. Its heat casts an oppressive haze throughout the temple, as if the spirit of the Balrog has blessed this room. Behind the bubbling pool, an outcropping of rock shoots towards the ceiling, providing a platform adorned with fetishes and icons in honor of the Flame. Yet before it a giant stone altar sits heavily, like a gateway to the common uruk. The stone surface is stained in places with the dried blood of victims, and a multitude of braziers burn with a brilliant flame, mirroring the pool of light behind it. In the nightmare darkness of the shadows, two doorways lie, one covered by a heavy cloth, the other stinking of herbs and sickness. Contents: Purity Stone Obvious exits: Up leads to Drum Room North leads to Apothecary South leads to Zealot Confessional West leads to Antechamber to the Throne Room Down leads to Baneguard Chambers Hykhert arrives via the cruel path from the Throne complex. Hykhert has arrived. Gurstaka enters into the Great Temple, his red eyes surveying the expanse of the huge room. Wrinkling his nose at the awful stench in the room - awful even by Urukish standards - of decaying flesh of the victims of the terrible sickness ravaging Moria. Scowling, he clamps his mouth shut, as the miasma in the room seems almost to drift on the air so thick that it can be tasted. Entering further into the room, his hand drifts unconsciously to the mace at his belt. It was not that long ago he himself laid low in this room, life thread hanging in the balance. Scanning the room like one looking for someone specific, he grabs hold of a nearby temple apprentice, pulling him in front of the Uruk so that he can hear what he is saying. His fetid breath washes over the apprentice, as he hisses out his words. "Apprentice, tell me, do you know of the one called Hykhert? I have travelled from the forges to have words with him..." [Hykhert(#28992)] Speak of the devil, some might say. In this case, how close might they might be! Even as he is mentioned, Hykhert enters from the North, looking at length at Gurstaka's back before speaking... "Words you'll have, if you seek them. Hykhert is here, and Hykhert wants to know who disturbs him...and why? Another pompous hammerer to earn my hatred, as the Master has?" Hykhert: This Uruk wears ragged, tattered robes, cloaking most of his hunched body and shadowing his features. If one looks closely, fine chain armor can be seen through the gaps in his tattered outer garments, however. Beneath a heavy helm is a face marked by a snarling maw baring crooked yellow teeth, framed by the downward curves of the helm's horns. His eyes are wide, as if the Uruk is constanty afraid or surprised. As his tattered garb moves with his steps, one might see a hint of a notched scimitar tucked in his belt, or a heavy, knobbed mace slung over his frame by a thong. Forever scanning his surroundings frantically with his enlarged eyes, this one tends to give his company feelings of uneasiness with his furtive, nervous movement and incessant jerky looking about. Surely someone, or something is stalking this Uruk, for he seems completely unable to relax or stop looking about with his ever-widened eyes. Carrying: Chain Mail Armor Metal Helmet Mogishi Scimitar Mace Gurstaka looks up, a cruel grin breaking over his features as he scans the figure standing a short distance away. The uruk is hunched, clad is robes of questionable quality. Armed to the teeth however, this less than impressive figure has strength more than appearances would grant. The Flame is with him, and that alone argues caution. Unperturbed by this assesing Gurstaka seems however, and he straightens to his full height. His hand pulls away from the mace, not wishing to give offence. "I am Gurstaka, Hammerer of the Flame. Long have I been in service. I seek to speak to you of recent matters... perhaps we could talk in a place thats not so... public?" Gurstaka says with a small tightening of his mouth suggesting amusement. Hykhert doesn't look appeased, nor at ease with the visitor. "In private...so you can mug and maim me?" He growls. "No matter, you'll find me a hardy foe if that is your sinister plan." He spins on a heel and slips into the Zealot's area to the south. Just before he disappears, he chuckles. "Not much more private than here: No Zealots to speak of." Then he slips into the abandoned chambers, not bothering to see if the hammerer follows. Hykhert pushes past the heavy cloth. Hykhert has left. You push past the heavy cloth. Moria, Zealot Confessional Air, hot and think with the stench of death reaches out to those that enter this room. The room is large and well lit by five large fires, one in the center and one in each corner. The floor consists of a deep black marble. The far wall is hidden behind a great marble statue of the Balrog that is holding a fire that is always burning. The walls have been carved by uruk hands to depict the dread Flame overseeing the slaughter of the Dwarves. Various torture devices are scattered around the room, some even have occupants. A few cages hanging from the ceiling hold the skeletons of elves, men, and dwarves. All around the room uruks are chained to the walls. Only the ones that have been chained to the walls for a few days still scream, but like the rest, they too will go silent. Contents: Hykhert Balrog Totem Obvious exits: North leads to Great Temple South leads to Master Zealot's Quarters Gurstaka pushes past the heavy cloth, into the home of the zealots... when there are zealots. He is chuckling slightly as he enters, but you can see in his red eyes that he is annoyed by the reaction of the shaman as well. "Such reactions to those of my profession is becomming more and more frequent in recent times. It is a shame truly. But I did not come to speak of such matters, or maybe I did. I have a question for you. of your opinions of the current matter. "Do you know of the one known as Khartzog, my superior? The Master Hammerer, of the Morghash tribe. He has but recently taken over the forges - do you know of him? Hykhert spits...one gets the impression that Gurstaka is not in the good graces of Hykhert. Then he elaborates. "Khartzog is an embarrassment, a disgrace to Moria awarded a Master role on a whim. He ought to be deposed from his tribe, then his role, till he learns respect for something. If he has sent you, then you may take that message back to him." His words are charged, but apathetic as he fiddles with discarded items on a table. Gurstaka scowls, nodding his head viciously as he listens intently to the shamans words. Khartzog is a fool, new to to the Hammerers, unfit for his duty. He has brought disgrace to the hammerers, he offends everybody, he is causing great harm. As a loyal servant of the flame, I cannt bear to see what he is doing to our profession. Gurstaka draws nearer after this, his voice dropping lower, into a conspiratorial whisper. "There is others who support me. Other right minded uruks. I have served under Narkhash, who taught me with his own hands, and Goth_ob_Gund, I have served the flame for many years. I know of our lands and their politics. I seek to displace him, and I seek the blessings and support of the shamans in this matter. Many know of the shaman's disatisfaction with Khartzog. I will go to our Talaskakh and seek his downfall by my own hand." with these words Gurstaka clenches his hand into solid fist. Hykhert looks pleased, then suddenly raises a palm to intrude on Gurstaka's thoughts. "That may please the Shaman, and earn you favour with the Temple...but the Shaman will not order any such involvement. It is not my place to settle disputes in your work, and I would NEVER, NEVER order Khartzog's death...but some things Morians do earn the Shaman's favour...do you understand me?" He allows a hint of a smile. Hykhert's words seem to agitate Gurstaka. It seems he was looking for more than a vague promise of spiritual fullfillment. "I have already fallen once before Khartzog's hand, I ended up over there.." Gurstaka points with one hand at the apothecary section." I cannot stand against him without the aid of one stronger than I. I must go to the Talaskakh with support, on my word alone he will not move against a Master of his own tribe. Khartzog is incompetant, on this we both agree. Your involvement need not be open. It need not even be by aid of the Shamans, or even by your hand. If I go to the Talaskahk and tell him of your disapproval and belief in the unsuitability of the Master Hammerer, that may be enough. Will you grant me that at least? I can assure you that as Master Hammerer, relations between the Shamans and the Hammerers can be close. The best weapons and armour for your order. Hykhert chuckles at what he perceives to be density on the part of the hammerer. "My disgust with Khartzog is well known, and will be known to his chieftain soon. I will not order a usurping, but surely you are not too foolish to know how the Temple would react to Khartzog's death. The Thrakburzum have been out of my sight often...maybe it is time they culled some weak links from the Morian chain?" He grunts, enjoying the vaguery. "I think you seem to be on the right path, hammerer." Gurstaka grunts. Its not what he wanted from the Shaman, but its better than he was expecting. "Then the chain of Moria will be forged anew, with a new, strong link replacing the old weak one. I thank you for your time Shaman, and I will speak to the Talaskakh at the first available opportunity. I would prefer it if you did not mention what we spoke of here today. Khartzog should not know of what transpired until the hammer blow falls. Smirking with his own cleverness, he drops to one knee before the shaman. "Will you bless me in the eyes of the flame before I go? In the events that will come, I could use his guidance... Hykhert nods, then shakes his head at Gurstaka: a yes adn a no... "You need no blessing from me...the Flame will have blessed you if you succeed in your endeavor. And as for the secrecy...it is well to do so. Follow me...I will make sure none know of this. A farce for the crowds...it means nothing. Follow me, hammerer, and do what you know to be right..." He slips out of the chamber, a mischievous look on his face. Hykhert pushes out past the heavy door of cloth. Gurstaka comes out of the confessional, his face once more back into the unreasonable stone mask that he uses for the majority of the time. A quick glance shows that none nearby are showing undue interest in his actions. red eyes burning, he turns again to face the shaman who he has followed. Falling to one knee before him again, he awaits the actions of the elder uruk. Hykhert looks relaxed, calm as he enters the temple, but suddenly a wash of anger passes over him... "I said, begone! Another disgraceful hammerer!!! Get out of my sight, and do not come again with your threats! Begone!" He draws his blade, and takes but a step toward Gurstaka, but does not attack. "Trouble me no more!" Did Hykhert wink at Gurstaka just then? Surely not. Gurstaka growls angrily as he comes to his feet, his hand on his weapon but pulling it free of its restraints. Coming to his feet quickly he spits on the ground, careful to make it land no where near the shamans feet. Ba, Skai! I shall come not back to this place of death again unless I seek the company of maggots like yourself! Nothing I seek is here! Curses rolling off his tongue, he backs off toward the door, moving faster and faster until he runs off outside. Hykhert watches him go, growling and muttering curses...then a smile crosses his face as he slips into the apothecary. |