Huzghash is Promoted to Master Guard and Khartzog wins the battle for Master Hammerer

 

 

Moria, Coliseum

 

This is a huge cavern, at least half an acre in size, the ceiling far out of reach, where troughs of burning oil lie suspended, to give a bright light to the area. The floor is covered in blood and gore-stained sand, and the walls are broken only by the viewing stands, running halfway around the circular arena, about 20 feet up. At intervals on the walls are giant iron loops that chains can be attached to, to hold prisioners or wild beasts. Save them, the place is free of any decoration, to leave no distractions to the fighters who meet here.

 

Contents:

 

Magog

 

Khartzog

 

Gurstaka

 

Obvious exits:

 

 South leads to Fighters' Waiting Room

 

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] The sands of the Coliseum, though stained with the blood of fallen gladiators and a few rotting limbs, would be called empty were it not for the presence of a lone uruk standing quietly in the center. His arms crossed about his chest, shield covering whatever may be in the other hand, Khartzog stands staring at the southern entrance to the sands.

 

 

[Magog(#22308)] A flamboyant orc would enter from the stands, leaping from above - down to the sands. Magog slams open the wooden door that separates the arena from the fighters' waiting room instead, girt in his mail and battle axe instead. A conventional entry for the Gothshaka. "So," the King shouts forth in a booming voice, "Rumor has reached my throne room that there is one who would challenge all to combat." A grin fills Magog's face, his jaundiced teeth flickering forth. Tightening his thick hands about his weapon, Magog kicks at the loose ground, grinding his boots downwards, solidifying his position just a few paces in.

 

Climp. Clomp. C'hink. The Senior Guard comes marching through the entrance to the coliseum, his eyes growing accustomed to the blood-stained stands. He grimaces slightly as he remembers a previous fight here, though not with pleasure. His quick, powerful footsteps carry him into the room behind the Gothshaka, his eyes darting between the King and the Fighter. His mouth, however, remains clamped shut, a vice in a death grip of teeth. His feet carry him to the near wall of the arena, as he resigns himself to watching, and waiting for the King.

 

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] "Gothshaka," Khartzog murmers, bowing his head a smidgen in respect. "I offer chain mail to the orc that can beat me into submission." His head rises and he catches glimpse of Huzghash out of the corner of his eye; "He," revealing the contents of his right hand to be an axe and pointing it in Huzghash's direction, "Has already attempted to answer the challenge and failed. None others after him have stepped forward." He recrosses his arms, hiding the axe.

 

From the audience, As a few days ago, a raggedly cloaked figure appears in the stands, gliding as quietly as possible to the edge of the rough railing. Speaking not, the shaman Hykhert grins evilly as he catches the events below. Cocking his head to the side as he playfully ponders the logistics of this discourse, he speaks not...for he is but a spectator, and a quiet one.

 

 

[Magog(#22308)] While gripping the base of the shaft of his weapon, Magog removes his top hand, using it to twirl his massive axe on the palm of his lower hand. As this scythelike creation whirls just inches from his face, the King's shoulders rise slightly in a show of stature. "As one who was a Smith, I value strength." Eyes narrow slightly upon Khartzog, "You were beneath my notice while I was master, but it seems all my apprentices have fallen or are too cowardly to challenge you." With a scoff, Magog's weapon lurches out in one hand, pointing at Huzghash, "You challenged this uruk and failed. He mastered you, yes?" comes the inquiry, head pointed with the weapon.

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] Slowly nodding his head, Khartzog regards Magog cooly, motionless except for the heaving of his chest. "I suspect my defeating of the Senior Guard there," a brief nod in Huzghash's direction, "Has lended to my lack of challengers." A grin slowly creeps over his face, but is wiped away a second later.

 

Huzghash nods, a grudging assent to the question. Yes, Gothshaka. He defeated me....easily. At least, however, I did challenge him." Easily escapes his mouth through clenched teeth, an almost angry response, but at noone but himself. The second sentence trying to make up for his failings. The Guard shrugs however, and looks back to the King; his eyes glazed slightly in reverence.

 

From the audience, Hykhert holds back the urge to speak as he leans on the railing, stifling himself before he can make a sound as he intently watches the self-appointed gladiator and king, and the defeated guard. He smiles still, but his eyes look not mirthful...the Shaman is certainly thinking something over quite hard.

 

Though he makes no effort to conceal himself, Hykhert does not announce his presence yet.

 

[Gurstaka(#20794)] From behind the steps of the senior guard yet another uruk enters. This one's muscled form bears the weight of his heavy armour with ease as he steps along behind Huzghash. Gurstaka's hand grips the hilt of his heavy mace for a second, as he moves over the lean on the coliseum wall next to the guard. His red eyes, set in a ruddy face due to a lifetime of working at the forges, roam the arena, taking in everything. Only a brief widening tells of his suprise at seeing the King himself in the arena.

 

Listening to the King's words, Gurstaka grits his teeth slightly at the perceived insult offered by the uruk-hai. Relaxing, he offers a few words under his breath to the uruk next to him.. "I think the smith will need to be scraped off the floor after this fight..."

 

 

Magog's neck inclines backwards, glancing at Gurstaka, though his attentions are given to the other uruk when he speaks. "What I seek in my hammerers is different from what I seek in my smiths. In my smiths, I seek strength." Magog sniffs the air and points his battle axe at Gurstaka in turn, "You are senior of the bold smith. If you wish to be master, you must slay him. If you do not wish to risk it, you will serve as his apprentice." These words, haughty with command, are in no part delivered to Khartzog. Turning now, Magog utters, "As for you..."

 

Magog's gaze falls on Huzghash, "You are to disarm this Smith and give me his axe. The attribute I seek in my guards is obedience, not strength." The Gothshaka quietly licks his lips before rumbling, "I am my own iron fist."

 

 

From the audience, Hykhert nods silently to himself as he watches, eyes flashing at the 'tact' of his King. Though he paces the empty audience area, he sees no reason to interrupt, and allows only a small, gutteral laugh to hint at his eavesdropping.

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] A strange light floods Khartzog's eyes and his arms slowly uncross while a sly grin spreads over his lips. His shield drops before him, his axe not far behind it. "Finally, some sport," he says with a demonic laugh, "Come." Eyes darting from Huzghash to Gurstaka, though they lie more often upon Gurstaka.

 

[Combat(#13388)] Khartzog pulls his mace from his belt.

 

Gurstaka grins as he nods in agreement to the king. "I accept your challenge, Great Lord, and in your name I will show my worth!. With these words, he pulls the heavy mace from his belt. Readying his shield, he talks to the guard beside him

 

"Then let us defeat this troublesome smith in the Kings name, Guard. Working together we may both get what we want..."

 

Laughing, Gurstaka advances on Khartzog, his mace held high in the manner which he has been taught, and his shield offereing maximum protection to his body.

 

[Combat(#13388)] Gurstaka snaps his flanged-mace from his belt, holding it firmly in his right hand.

 

[Combat(#13388)] Gurstaka swings his heavy shield around from his back and fits his left arm through the straps. The painted flame in the center almost burns with a life of its own.

 

Gurstaka grins as he nods in agreement to the king. "I accept your challenge, Great Lord, and in your name I will show my worth!. With these words, he pulls the heavy mace from his belt. Readying his shield, he talks to the guard beside him

 

"Then let us defeat this troublesome smith in the Kings name, Guard. Working together we may both get what we want..."

 

Laughing, Gurstaka advances on Khartzog, his mace held high in the manner which he has been taught, and his shield offereing maximum protection to his body.(REPOSE)

 

The Senior Guard nods quickly, reaching over his back to retrieve the spear strapped there. The Spear pulls free and Huzghash spins it into a more comfortable and strong position in his right hand. Adjusting the shield on his left arm with a shake, Huzghash says, "As you say, Gothshaka." The Guards eyes flick to Gurstaka as he adresses him. "Very well." The Guard nods his assent again. Stepping forward and circling slightly to his right, the Senior Guard advances on the Fighter, eyes intent but emotionless as he moves forward.

 

From the audience, As combat appears imminent, the shaman Hykhert continues to watch the sands below. However, he looks not aroused with bloddlust or excitement. Rather, he seems apathetic, as one watching serving snaga pick up scraps in the Feasting Hall. Yawning briefly, he stops his idle walking about the railing. Looking for a moment at the slope to the sand, which so many have jumped in times past, he growls in disdain.

 

Then, choosing a more dignified exit, he slips out and down the stairs.

 

Magog spits a vile wad into the sand, rubbing the saliva in with the toe of one of his boots. "Idiots," he snarls, "Only one of you has proved his worth at the present." The massive axe in the King's hands slowly roams the air in front of him, as if seeking a target. Eyes squint and gleam with what could be a budding fit of rage. "I have given an order. I am to receive the axe, at once. Combat can wait until I have been given my due." The battle seems to lock on Khartzog, bold Hammerer, "You will cooperate with my guards, or you will die."

 

From the audience, A Morghash apprentice guard walks through the stands of the coliseum. Seeing a fight, he sits down and watches from a shadowy corner.

 

Hykhert slips, as quietly as he walked above, into the sands. However, he is no sneakthief: he lets the door idly close behind him to announce his presence. Then the Shaman stops casually, standing at leisure away from the pending incident to observe. Still he looks mildly amused, but certainly not excited.

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] "Two," Khartzog murmers, "Even better." And just as he takes one step, the commands of the king fall upon him. Though his actions follow the orders of Magog, his face tells another story, one of displeasure at this turn of events. His shield remains at port, but he slides his hand up the haft of his axe and holds out the bottom half toward Huzghash, his eyes now jumping from Huzghash, to Gurstaka, to Magog, and back.

 

Gurstaka scowls at the King's words, but none the less lowers his mace immediatly. Still, he is ready to strike at any time, his muscles bunching as he keeps the shield up, ready for defense. He relaxes his fighting pose however, as Khartzog hands his only visible weapon to the guard.

 

"Your loyalty to the Gothshaka shows nothing less than any uruk should." is all he says, as he turns to Magog to wait for permission...

 

The Senior Guard straightens, his eyes locking suspiciously on the Fighter as he continues to approach. His weapon is withdrawn, used merely as a walking stick after the King's command. His steps seem strained as if agitating in anticipation of the Fighter's strike. Yet, the spear remains a stick as the Guard reaches a place mere feet from the Fighter. "Well, fighter. Your weapon, if you would." The Guard extends his hand to grip the haft of the axe, his eyes gliding the length of the weapon. His fingers slide tightly around the haft as he looks at the Fighter expectantly.

 

Khartzog removes Axe.

 

Khartzog gave you Axe.

 

You pick up Axe.

 

Magog calmly watches the disarmament transpire. The peacebringer extends an open hand, waiting for the axe to be placed there.

 

From the audience, Targut steps out of the shadow and gets a better view of the spectacle, but doesn't make any intentional noise.

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] As his axe passes from his possession, Khartzog's face droops as do his shoulders. His eyes are now locked upon his weapon, ignoring everyone else; even his shield droops to the point that it covers mostly only his nether regions.

 

Hykhert looks no more, no less interested as the situation appears to be defused. Looking idly at his claws, biting at a scab on a finger lazily, he seems almost to have forgotten the others in the coliseum as his eyes glaze in thought.

 

The Senior Guard accepts the axe with a nod to the Fighter. Turning swiftly, his eyes flash to the Gothshaka, and his feet carry him quick before his king. Huzghash looks up to the King a places it quickly in his hand. "The axe, Gothshaka." The Guard gives a quick salute as the axe is placed in the Gothshaka's hand, and the Senior Guard takes a step back; allowing some room between himself and the King.

 

You drop Axe.

 

[Gurstaka(#20794)] Gurstaka's foot shifts in the sand of the arena slightly as his red eyes bore into the Gothshaka for any hint of what he should do next. His mace is still firmly gripped in his hand, giving tell of what he would LIKE to do, however...

 

[Combat(#13388)] Magog pulls a small axe from his belt and raises it up with his right hand to chest level.

 

Magog accepts the axe from his guard, the miserable weapon dwarfed by the battle axe which he wields in his off hand. Magog's words begin as a rasp: "Listen, snagas, while I reorder the Flame's Domain as its chief lieutenant." The King's oratorical prop changes from the battle axe to the axe, pointing at he who gave it to him first. "You are master guard. Those that disobey my commands will answer. You are to apprehend the self-Proclaimed Master Gatherer and deduce from where he received his authority." Clearing his throat, Magog spits forth another wad. "You are also to inform the Master Scout he is master scout no more. I have not seen him lately and will treat such as separation as insubordination." Now the axe points again, first at Khartzog and then at Gurstaka:

 

"You will also fight alongside the stronger of these two, if there is to be a fight. The new Master Smith will be strong." Finally, the axe halts in between the two of them, "Also, I will readmit the shamans to our affairs for they have proved trustworthy. Those that harm the shamans will be made to answer to me." Magog flicks his wrist bearing Khartzog's axe back and murmurs, "You can fetch this and fight with it - if there is a fight - when I am done with it." Pushing his wrist forward, Magog idly tosses the axe at the shaman, a hypocrite in deeds if not words.

 

[Combat(#13388)] Magog throws an axe...

 

Magog's axe throw hits Hykhert, lightly wounding him!

 

The axe lies now upon the ground now at his feet.

 

Khartzog pages Gurstaka and Huzghash: GG just made Huz Master Guard, we have to fight for Master Hammerer/Smith, ya know; he wants Soth apprehended, etc

 

Hykhert, self-absorbed in his coarse manicuring, is caught rather unawares as the weapon squares him in the chest. Thrown with vigor, the blow might have been lethal, but as it was, tossed oblong, the weapon merely glances off the chest of the Shaman and sends him sprawling. Rolling, panicking...ASSASSINS!!!...he leaps up, blade out as he rises. Then, realizing the thrower, he replaces his blade quickly and almost sheepishly.

 

Though the King looks not at him, he bows a bit at stands, grimacing a bit from the blow.

 

The Senior Guard again salutes his King, this time his clenched fist pounding solidy to his chest. "Yes, my King. I will do as you have ordered." The Guard moves to the side, allowing the King a clear view of those before him. The new Master Guard angles his body, eyes darting to the two Hammerer/Smiths, gauging what they are to do. The Master Guard's eyes flick between the both, a small smirks growing across his face as he waits.

 

You paged Targut with 'Magog is King. He Just promoted me to Master Guard, decreed a bunch of people to be arrested, and said some stuff pertaining tot he two hammerers'.

 

Gurstaka hefts the mace in his hand, the weapons black surface seeming almost to absorb the light of the coliseum. "I will be strong. for your glory Great Lord" is all he says as he advances on the Smith, the weapon ready to strike.

 

 

 

"Are you ready to lose, Cobug?" he taunts, as he draws nearer to striking range, the deadly weapon weaving back the forth in the air like the tongue of some deadly snake.

 

Targut pages: OK, thanks. That's weird. Yesterday I called you a Master accidently, and now you are one.

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] Almost the second after Magog lets go off the axe, Khartzog is on his toes, sprinting after it; and once it hits the sand, glancing off of Hykhert, he dives and grabs his weapon, rolling head over heels to a near stance position. Pushing himself fully to his feet, the hammerer reorders the axe in his hand and raises his shield. "So you demoted yourself to Cobug," he taunts, eyes locked coldly upon Gurstaka and slowly he approaches.

 

Khartzog picks up a Mace.

 

[Combat(#13388)] Khartzog pulls his mace from his belt.

 

Hykhert's hand goes to his blade as the hammerer rushes over, drawing it yet again. He comes very close to jabbing in defense at the rushing gladiator, but holds his blade. "Fool," he mumbles to himself. Seeking eye contact with the King, he looks over with some trepidation...and he should, since he may be out of favour with the King.

 

[Magog(#22308)] His face tightening into a smirk, Magog notes, "If a death arises, it had best be accidental. Fight to submit if possible, the Horde is short competent smiths." A fell smile flashes at Hykhert, "It is time for the Shamans to pay attention to the affairs of Moria - lest they be stung." Jest creeps into the Gothshaka's words. "The Shamans have traditionally made sure all goes well. I delegate oversight of this contest to you - make sure the best interests of the Horde are served. I," the red orbs of the King narrow, "Am considering whether it is time we had a Master Shaman once more." Magog steps back, boots crunching onto the rough sand below, eager to give a wide berth to the combatants. Lazily, a fist is made and brought to his chest, a salute for the newest Master Guard.

 

[Gurstaka(#20794)] The time for talking is over. Truly like a snake Gurstaka is, for as he enters range, his mace flicks out immediatly in a strike towards the other Uruks head. It seems to be merely a testing blow, to discover the reflexes and skill of this unknown foe, but its strong enough to crush the unfortunate opponent if he doesn't do something about it. The weapon lashes out, and....

 

 

 

Gurstaka attacks Khartzog with his Mace and lightly wounds him!

 

 

 

From the audience, The silent, low-ranking apprentice recognizes Huzghash, but doesn't announce his presence. If the orcs below know that he is there, let them act first, he's in the presence of high rank and obviously won't interrupt a delicate discussion.

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] One of the mighty horns upon Khartzog's helmet is nearly wrent as the mace collides just above its base, denting it and his head jerks violently to the side. He grunts once and a second later, his axe is on the prowl, striking out for Gurstaka's shield arm.

 

 

 

Khartzog attacks Gurstaka with his Mace, but he misses by a hair.

 

 

 

Hykhert would normal be disgusted with such a petty assignment -- a Shaman of the Flame supervising a childish brawl? But at the moment he is content to be in the good graces of the King, and nods, eyes showing curiosity at part of Magog's statement.

 

 

 

"As you wish, Right Hand of the Flame." He pauses, idly watching the fight as a slaver might watch his charges. "If you'll forgive it, I'd seek your private counsel as well. A matter or importance, or I would not trouble the King." He ends his request quickly, knowing it may be brash, and returns his gaze to his charges.

 

The new Master Guard returns the salute of his King. The crisp salute snapping to his chest and back down once more. Huzghash moves back, away from the central area as his eyes flick to the fighting Smiths. However, his viewing of the battle is distracted momentarily as he hears the Shaman call out to the King. Twisting his head, the Guard eyes the Shaman for a moment and then casts his gaze back to the Gothshaka, seemingly more concerned with them than any fight.

 

Magog flares his nostrils and turns his massive frame away. "This combat decides a new Master. The input of the shamans is important. You may come visit my throne room at a later date for an audience." A rugged hand swishes in the air, dismissing the Shaman with a gesture. A half-glance is spared for the combat just begun, but with a flick of his thick head, Magog continues his course out of the arena...

 

Gurstaka twists his shield arm up competently, the shield arranged at just the right angle to deflect the axe harmlessly off its surface. "You'll have to do better than that, Cobug" he sneers, as he feints, looking for an opening. "I was trained by Brax and Ghlurshrekh himself, and the scars on my face prove it."

 

 

 

With this last word his mace lashes out again, the heavy weapon striking out toward the shoulder of his foes weapon arm.

 

 

 

Gurstaka attacks Khartzog with his Mace, but Khartzog parries the attack with his shield!

 

Khartzog rends his torso so that his shield comes up and deflects the mace with a terrible ring. "It gets better," he mutters as he lashes out with his axe from beneath his shield at Gurstaka's midsection.

 

 

 

Khartzog attacks Gurstaka with his Mace and moderately wounds him!

 

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] His axe recalled just in time, Khartzog is able to parry away the oncoming mace. "So when did you demote yourself to Cobug," he taunts just as he launches his counter-attack toward Gurstaka's knees.

 

 

 

Khartzog attacks Gurstaka with his Mace and badly wounds him!

 

 

The Master Guard stands calmly by the wall of the Coliseum, his eyes still cast upon the two smiths as they duel. Huzghash smirks slightly as he sees the Fighter slash his axe into Grustaka once again, this one landing near the knees. Huzghash, himself, leans upon the spear held in his right hand as he watches the fight progress, his eyes following their every move.

 

 

Gurstaka overbalances as his heavy strike goes wild, and faces up again just in time to get an heavy axe blow on his knee. The force of the blow sweeps Gurstaka off his feet, the smith going down with the grace of a poleaxed cow. As soon as he hits the ground he is up again however, rolling away from the agressor. As he pulls away he launches the weakest of attacks, more an attempt to get the Smith to back off and give him time to recover than any real attempt to cause damage. The limp on his left leg is noticeable, however.

 

Hykhert watches a blow miss here, a parry there, an wound here. "Ah, and a Master to come of it," he mumbles. At the same time, he casts a quick nod toward Huzghash. "I said your time woudl come," he mumbles, and returns to idly watching the quarrel.

 

 

Gurstaka attacks Khartzog with his Mace and moderately wounds him!

 

Khartzog backs off alright as the mace catches him solidly in the hip and sends him back. His approach to attack is only slightly slowed by the new wound he bears. His axe begins to come from below, but sweeps up in front of Gurstaka, coming down at his shoulder.

 

 

Khartzog attacks Gurstaka with his Mace, but he misses by an arm's length.

 

 

Gurstaka manages to struggle his way out of the axe blow, the strike swinging past his body as he leans back out of the way, then lashing back in quick, weak strike back towards the foe as he recovers from his blow. Gurstaka is continuing to fight defensively, giving back a few steps when prehaps he didn't need to. Limping steps, of course.

 

Gurstaka attacks Khartzog with his Mace, but he misses by a long shot.

 

[Khartzog(#29717)] Those limping steps back actually seem to help Khartzog avoid this onslaught, himself only having the lean back to dodge the swinging mace. He moves forward again, his weight shifted away from his wounded hip and his axe comes swinging down in an angle following his weight.

 

 

 

Khartzog attacks Gurstaka with his Mace, but Gurstaka parries the attack with his Mace!

 

Huzghash gives a curt nod in return to the Shaman. "Again I thank you, Shaman. Though it seems the Gothshaka has cast a disinterested ear to thew news. If he knoews of it at all." The Guard shurgs his shoulders, his eyes flicking from the Shaman to the fighters and back again.

 

 

Hykhert looks relieved as the fighters wear each other down; this is not a concern of his, though the King seems of a different mind. "Is the Flame making a choice, hmmmm?" He grunts in jest at the fighters. "Is one of you failing? Will there be a forfeit? Save yourself when defeat is upon you?"

 

Gurstaka moves his mace up chest height, following Khartzog's swing and pushing the axe further out of position once it is past his body. Bringing his own weapon back quickly, he attempts to backhand the weapon across the face of his opponent, hopefully catching the warrior off guard. Still however he is fighting defensively, the blows lacking his normal crisp snap.

 

Gurstaka attacks Khartzog with his Mace, but Khartzog parries the attack with his Mace!

 

Khartzog swings around to the side and leans his head away as he brings up his axe from the recesses and parries the attacker away. He now presses attack, moving forward quickly, swinging his axe from below and up toward Gurstaka's mace wielding shoulder.

 

Khartzog attacks Gurstaka with his Mace and severely wounds him!

 

 

The Master Guard watches as yet another blow is landed upon Gurstaka. The crimson orbs of Huzghash glint in the light as they stare out at the fighters, engaged in their dance of death. The Guard seems to grow slightly disinterested with the fight, his body turning and feet carrying him towards the exit. As he goes the Guard gives another nod in the direction of the Shaman before turning his back on the fighting entirely and walking through the wooden frame.

 

 

Gurstaka looks at the axe coming in toward him, trying to use his shield to get in front of the attack. Too slow he is, and the weapon hits home. Not on the shoulder, as the blow was aimed toward, but the blade slashes into the uruks throat, blood immediatly running from the wound. Gasping Gurstaka stumbles back, dropping his mace on the ground. His free hand immediatly grasps at his neck, trying to stop the flow of foul black blood that runs from the wound.

 

 

"Taking deep, slow breaths, he rips a rag from the cloths he wears, balling up the cloth and holding it against his wound. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes focus themselves upon Khartzog.