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Middle-earth date is:
Mersday, Day 23 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 15:03:51 MDT on Mon May 07 2007.
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Caves of Isengard: White Wolf Inn
The entrance to the White Wolf Inn is large, the doorway spanning twice as tall as any Uruk-Hai and easily five times as
broad. The door is made of wood but is encased completely in iron in order to protect against fires, the handle to the door
is a large metal ring welded on. The floor of the Inn itself is made of smooth black stone, it is in desperate need of a
wash, food, and filth and grog coat almost the entire surface of the floor. The ceiling of the Inn is also made entirely of
smooth black stone; it is low hanging, the cave itself not actually being that high. The centrepiece and most dominating
aspect of the Inn is without a doubt the bar, the bar is made of black obsidian stone and is completely smooth, and not a
nick can be seen on its hard stone surface. It spans across almost the entire breadth of the cavern, behind the bar is Bram,
and he is by the looks of him a half orc. He is hideously ugly, and looks almost entirely uruk, but his skin is too pale and
his teeth too straight and blunt. Throughout the Inn are scattered a number of wooden tables, and wooden stools. Most are
broken as a result of the brawls that go on here daily. At the very end of the cave are several women, half-orc by the look
of them; they look like either beautiful orcs or ugly humans. They are chained to metal poles stuck into the ground, they do
whatever any passing Uruk or Uruk-Hai ask them to do. Past the bar can be seen an iron door, small, and left ajar. The smell
of Uruk cooking wafts out of the door and into the Inn, it smells of burnt flesh mixed with the scent of fermenting alcohol.

The walls of the cave are again made of smooth black stone, but that is not all, on the wall opposite the entrance to the
Inn there are five carvings made into the cave wall itself. They depict grotesque stone visages of Uruk-Hai wielding various
stony weapons. Opposite these carvings on the walls either side of the entrance are four more carvings, to the left of the
entrance immediately is a huge carving of a hammer being held in a clawed hand. To the left of this carving is the depiction
of a large raven flying out of the wall, it's beak open and it's wings spread. To the immediate right of the entrance is
carved the form of a Bear crawling out of the wall, it looks as if it is actually crawling through the wall, and only it's
torso and upwards can be seen so far. It has been painted a dark red colour; it's jaw open exposing stony teeth. To the
right of this is the image of a wolf; only the head of the wolf is carved. It's neck embedded in the wall itself, the wolf's
eyes are painted a striking yellow and the rest is left the same black colour of the stone it was carved from. Directly
above the entrance is the effigy of a huge hand grasping outwards, painted white. The hand of Saruman.

Participants:
Shryuk
Gerntung
Gnarsh
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Tis late afternoon, and there is little slumber in the caves. Talk of clans, plans, and life spans are mere gossip, most of
the talk seems to be of the upcoming trip. Several orcs grow restless and are picking fights in eager anticipation. Captain
of the Hammer clan, Shyruk, flanked by two smiths, one a gemsmith, and another an armor smith.

"A drink before battle, for in mere days will we drink on the blood of man." He growls and two little snaga slink away from
the bar where they've tried to steal a drink. The smiths take a seat and ignore the individual patrons.....for now.

Leaning against the bar with his hands curled around a large mug of ale, Gnarsh turns with his drink in hand as Shryuk
issues out his toast. "To the feast and glory ahead!" He calls out as he lifts his mug. Putting the mug to his mouth, he
gulps down the ale, slobbering droplets down each side of his chin.

Finishing the ale, he slams the mug down on the black bar, "Another!" he snarls out.

The smiths look down at the end of the bar, "another drink, another drink, you'll drink yourself down into a pit and then
we'll be without our ale. Someone poke him with a dagger, see if he bursts." Shyruk leads the taunt and drinks a bit of his
ale letting it roll from his chewed lips with a relieved sigh.

Gnarsh snorts in disgust as he takes hold of his freshly filled ale. "Well look what we have here, entertainment for the
afternoon. Snaga nursery rhymes or ale and the swaying of the dancer," the Uruk-Hai calls back. Turning to the crowd he
lifts his ale and leers at the dancer. "Which is it Warriors? Me, I prefer the ale and dancer!"

In the crowd, several Bears laugh out loud and raise their own mugs towards the female. "Dance!"

A rather burly looking beast of an orc silently watches the proceedings in the bar. Hands blackened by the heat of the
forge. Skin roughened from years of labor. Eyes shining with the faint glimmer of insanity. Gerntung leans heavily on a
tremendous maul hammer. A hammer forged from the sternest steel and blackened by some unknown art so as not to reflect a
glimmer of light. Instead it seems to absorb the darkness around it, shrouding the uruk-hai in shadow.

He steps forward with a couple long strides, bringing himself directly to the right of the captain and his men. The voice
that eminates from the beast is low and rough, with a metallic rasp from deep within, "Going out? I think I'd like ta join
ya." He doesn't look to the dancer nor the barkeep. His head remains tilted down and to himself.

The Arauruk dancer looks slightly embarassed as she begins to sway her hips with a dull drum beat on by a snaga. The chains
give another sound for the half-orc to dance to.

Back at the bar, Shyruk looks at Gerntung, "I've heard rumor that deep in the mines a hammer was forged from hatred and
steel. Tell me, how do you do with that thing?" Shyruk asks as the other smiths make little comments about it being to big,
or the orc is overcompensating for something.

Glancing at the dancer for several beats of the drum, Gnarsh shifts his glare towards the new arrival. Holding his mug, he
leans towards the conversation, boldly listening to the Captain's words and waiting for the other's response.

The massive left bicep twitches, but the head does not swivel, nor does the body flinch. Still Gerntung gazes forward and
down, taking interest in nothing but the spot on the floor. The deep voice softly laughs as the comments swirl about him,
"It moves as I wish it to." Another soft laugh, "Comes from not leaving the mines for years on end. I haven't even
been...here...." Finally the head moves, glancing about and finally settling it's gaze on Shyruk, "since I can remember...."
The crimson orbs glint with a hidden lust.

"Well then, please join us for a drink, tell me, what clan were you of before you went into isolation in the caves?" Shyruk
smiles and looks at the massive orc. Smiling a toothy smile he orders Gerntung a large ale and slides it towards him. "Here,
a gift from the hammers."

"Was the isolation forced upon you, or taken by choice?" Gnarsh calls out, butting into the conversation. Moving away from
the bar, he draws closer. "Shying away from both the activities here," he says swinging his mug to point out the room, "And
the havoc that could be raised outside, there must have been something, or someone that influenced you."

The large orc slowly wraps a hand around the mug and responds, "Hammer clan. Weapon smith. Spent many years perfecting the
art." The ale in the mug disapears with a couple long gulps. Empty now, the mug slides towards the barkeep at the other end
of the bar. Gerntung heaves the mighty hammer above his head with his right arm, giving it a twirl. The fine craftmanship
evident he then slides back to the floor.

The eyes flick to Gnarsh, an evil glimmer resting behind his calm outward stare, "I was someone once. A leader. I watched my
whole contingent die. Killed by the horse men. I alone survived....though no one knew." The eyes cloud over as he remembers,
though they still stare straight at Gnarsh, "I secluded myself in the mines until a time I saw fit to come forth again and
bare my wrath." The cloudiness passes and the orc sneers,

Standing, Shyruk takes his own ale and the mug offered to Gerntung. Taking small steps towards the strange creature he
places a mug into his hands. "Then we, the hammer clan of Isengard, will avenge our fallen brethern. A drink to those who
died at the battle of the fallen horsemen!" Almost all of the orcs raise their glasses to drink to the memories Gerntung
speaks of.

Lifting his mug, Gnarsh voices agreement to the slaughter of men, but he eyes the hammer welding, Hai. "So you've not faced
the strawheads since your party was lost?" the Bear asks with a snarl, "Why so long to extract vengence? It seems to me that
the need to taste the horseriders blood, and to feast upon their mounts would send you driving an attack."

The strange and long secluded orc takes the mug and downs it in a couple gulps. He rises to his feet and hefts the hammer so
it's head rests on his shoulder. He doesn't look at anyone, seeming to sink farther into himself at that moment. A few quiet
words leave him as he begins to walk away, gaze fixed on his own feet, "I care not for conversation and less for friends.
Take me to the blood, captain. There I will get what I seek." He continues his way out, "I seen yer caravan. I'll find a
spot." With that the strange orc exits the bar.

"Then we fight on! Brothers, ready your bags, sharpern your weapons and prepare. Prepare for the days that slowly pass away
before finally we'll feast on man flesh! We'll drink the blood of others, and nibble on the fingers of the kin of man!"
Shyruk looks at the Gerntung making sure he doesn't come back as he looks to the gemsmith and whispers something into his
ear.

Gnarsh snorts harshly as the large Hai departs, but he's not fool enough to turn his back until the large, hammer wielding
hai is well outside the door. Shaking his head, and taking a large swallow from his mug, the Bear returns his gaze to the
Captain of the Hammers. "Nice weapon he weilds." he comments aloud as he tilts his head in an attempt to see the Captains
own weapon.

"Yea nice weapon," His cloak drapes about his own weapon keeping it hidden however most know, a smith and hammer are like
eating horse eyes in Rohan. Chuckling he looks at the gem smith and the other armor smith. "Brothers I want to see you in
private." The three smiths stand and leave, neither of them return to the now garbled inn.