Ambush by Rauros Falls, Part One
An army of orcs of Mordor are encamped in the Nindalf swamps, where they are secretly building a new fortress...
Gulgor chuckles again, "We are fully supplied, and have a full reserve of all necessary equipment, your Excellency." Smiling sarcastically, he gives a dramatic salute and bow, as he steps back to end the conversation.
DuRoch grunts again. "Fine! Thank you for that most informative report Logaz" DuRoch's voice is a notch above a sneer. "Get back to the lines and perhaps you'll see some fighting today." DuRcoh salutes inorder to dismiss the Logaz and then he stalks off.
Grishnakh stops with his troops at the gate and turns his massive head to look back into the torchlit fog, awaiting the approach of Troglaaz.
Troglaaz jogs slowly through the crowd, his powerful legs carrying him towards Grishnakh and the Lugburz orcs. As he reaches the Vorazg, he stops and straightens at attention, his right hand rising to his helm in salute.
Grihsh finally finds his clan, moving over towards Arachias, grunting softly. "You know what happen?" He scratches his clamy face, and sheaths his scimitar, though rests his hand on the hilt. His shifts his weight as he eyes over the others around him, and constantly looks across the campt owards Grishnakh, his face often with a combination of fear and awe when set upon the Olog-Hai.
A tall orc, a sergeant by his equipment and markings, of some Eye-forsaken orc pit of Lugbuurz, walks at the front of a small troop of orcs, hard to see in the fog, their silhouetes like great hulking beasts with protruding horns and claws, their spears and scimitars, gleaming faintly in the orange light of the torches.
Grishnakh grunts a greeting at Troglaaz. " Gulgor grins coldly at the officers back, his fingers absent-mindedly tapping the head of his axe, "Yes...fighting..." as he turns and returns to the ranks.
Arachias looks over at Grihsh and shakes his head slowly, his beady red eyes glowing brightly in the darkening evening. "... ... ... ... get ... ... ... attack .... ... ... no more." he turns his head again to gaze at the drawing company of high ranking officers and seems to prick his ears as if to listen to what they might be saying, or at least understand it. The shrill wind of the bog seems to drown out most chance, though, and as the cold mists contineu to swirl about his feet he mutters something which it seems only he could understand.
Grishnakh smirks sarcastically. " DuRoch moves through the throng of Dol Guldur garrisoned orcs. WIth pushes and shoves, he selects 20 or so of the Uruks. With a crakc of the whip, he moves the warriors aside and hustles them to the front of the troops.
Troglaaz listens intently to Grishnakh's words, his eyes narrowing in thought. Shaking his head slowly at the Vorazg's last question, he replies, " Grishnakh sighs and shakes his head disgustedly.
Grihsh snorts, spitting a ruddy piece of meat from between his teeth onto the ground, and then says gruffly, "Must be riders..they 'round." He kicks the dirt, and readies in his line, next to the banner-carrier. His in-set eyes now turn towards a group of Snaga rushing about to get the soldiers their arms and banners, and then over towards the other clans.
Here and there, there's a clang of armor, followed by loud grunts of anger...then a crack of whip, and silence again, as columns of troops crash into each other in the poor visibility, and, mostly, in the sloppy discipline their leaders mantain in their ranks. Muffled grumbling is heard somewhere in the fog.
Grishnakh says in Morbeth, "I can't tell if you understood or not, Captain. But you'd better hope that you did." He turns away from Troglaaz and raises his sword to get the attention of the orcs, Minas Morgul and Dol Guldur, being gathered for the raiding party. "I'll give them the most important order myself."
Grishnakh raises his sword to attract the attention of the orcs in the raiding party. "Scouts and soldiers, pay attention! We're taking some from Dol Guldur tonight, and some from Minas Morgul. You from Dushgob will follow Troglaaz, by my order. Understood?"
Arachias simpply nods his heavy head and rotates his own boddy. His ears remain focused on trying to hear over the wailing winds of the bog, yet still very little sound seems to come over their hot gusts. His drool and spittle seems to hang in the wind, as his eyes glow brighter in thirst of coming blood and feast of battle. His nostrils flare outward as steam erupts from their core and then with a dark grunt he chuckles and draws his glimmering scimitar, ready for war and the onslaught of death to those who step before his path.
Troglaaz glances back towards the gathering Uruks of Dol Guldur, his gaze lingering for a moment on a small group of orcs who wear circular red badges upon their left shoulders. Turning back towards Grishnakh as the Vorazg resumes his instructions, he takes a step back and nods slowly.
Grihsh yells out along with many of his other clansmen an affirmative to Grishnakh's orders, and quickly pulls out his scimitar, holding it up in the air, and more readily organizes himself into a line with the others. He spits again, and snarls out to himself, waits...
Grishnakh says, "All right. Now, listen carefully. When we get in place, we'll make the stupid horse-lovers think that we come from the NORTH, not from the east. So we'll come at them from the north, and we'll depart to the north. If any of you takes a step eastward without my personal leave, I will take your skin and feed your naked carcass to the trolls. Is THAT understood? Well?"
DuRoch walks the lines of his men, pushing and beating those that need it, unitl all are in somewhat order.
Grishnakh silently regards the orcs of the raiding party and awaits their reply.
Grihsh roars out loudly, his hoarse voice carrying. "YES, VORAZG!"
Arachias nods his head and bellows out in unison with his fellow garrison members, "Yes great Vorazg." his eyes glow in the now black night and in a strong salute to his armor he shuffles into position for marching. With a snort from gut he draws in his dangling drool and snot, saving it in a ball by his cheek for the foolish hooman who will confront him.
Troglaaz sneers disgustedly as he looks over the Dushgob orcs gathered nearby, his dark eyes narrowing. Turning back towards Grishnakh, he raises his mailed fist in salute and barks out, "Aye, Commander. From the north." Spinning away, he hurries through the crowd back towards the Dol Guldur orcs and DuRoch.
Grihsh glances towards Troglaaz, blinking and then glancing back upwards and over towards Grish. He grunts, and scratches his cheek idly, waiting for the line to move.
Grishnakh nods, finally, and turns for the gateway. In passing he grunts to Troglaaz, "Your lieutenant can keep track of your orcs while you watch those from the City. Now, let's move out. With luck we might catch some before daylight."
DuRoch stands before his unit, patiently awaiting the orders from the Vorgaz to come.
Troglaaz motions a small group of Pulgorburzob orcs over to his side, half a dozen, scimitar wielding Uruks marked by the circular red badge on their left shoulder. Quickly hissing out several orders to them, he turns away and marches towards the cluster of Dushgob orcs, his head shaking slowly from side to side as he looks over their disorganized ranks. The six Pulgorburzob orcs follow behind, their eyes narrowing as they cautiously watch the city orcs around them.
Grishnakh says, "All right, troops," glancing back at the raiding party. "We march. Double time, follow my step and keep silent! Move!"
Grishnakh trots off through the gates and into the foggy darkness of the swamp beyond.
You walk out the gate and into the marsh.
Foggy Marsh
Here in the thickest of the swamps the air is dead and still, as stagnant as the oily waters that slosh disgustingly about your feet. The fog is genuinely opaque beyond a misty few yards. In even the brightest day, this is a world of grey shadows. At night it is black as a hole, with only rare stars piercing the veil above. In some places the ground gives way entirely, and it is frighteningly easy to sink deep into the clutching muck. But worse, perhaps, are the signs that all is NOT dead in this desolate place: occasional depressions as of heavy feet, well-gnawed bones of uncertain origin littered by careless hands... and ahead, after a time, what seems to be a great shape looming in the mists. Perhaps it would be better to turn back before looking further.
Contents:
Pediment below the Emyn Muil
You stand below the towering cliff that forms the southern border of the Emyn Muil. The scarp runs almost due east and west from here, then in the distance bends out of view to the north. A well trodden path--something you could almost call a road--runs parallel to the cliff, some few 100 feet from its base. To the south and southeast, a haze rises over the lowland marshes of the Nindalf and the Dead Marshes, respectively.
Around you, the cool and damp earth is rich and spongy, and the nighttime autumn air is cool, misty. A loud roar comes from the west which could only be the great falls of the Anduin, Rauros, plummeting down onto the lowlands.
The rain continues to pour around you. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing crescent phase.
Contents:
Obvious exits:
Troglaaz stumbles into view from the swamps.
Troglaaz has arrived.
Arachias stumbles into view from the swamps.
Arachias has arrived.
DuRoch stumbles into view from the swamps.
DuRoch has arrived.
The night swamp teems with activity, buzing chirping and chittering insects, and the calls of wild beasts sounding loudly amid the sagging trees and fenns. The ink black belly of the night lays heavily all around, boiling with a foggy reek rising from the marshy soil. As the Orcs pass, a large dark shape, previously hidden in a grove of willow trees beside the course of the Orc patroll, steps out behind, and begins to follow. A pale glimmer of moonlight escapes the rolling grey clouds high above, to shine it's silver splash across the huge hammer the lumbering shape clutches in one clawed hand.
Grishnakh comes trotting into view under a sudden heavy rainfall and a thin autumn moon, jogging at the head of a large and dispersed party of orcs, no more than fifty in number, wearing the varied emblems of Dol Guldur, Minas Morgul, and Barad-dur.
Grihsh stumbles into view from the swamps.
Grihsh has arrived.
Grihsh marches in form behind the banner carrier, carefull not to slip in the muddy holes caused by the pouring rain. He glances up at the moon, shrouded partially in whispy clouds, and continues on, his scimitar ready.
Grishnakh turns westward as the soft earth gives way to a more solid path, his heavy boots slogging tirelessly through the muck.
Troglaaz jogs at the head of a column of Dushgob orcs, his heavy boots splashing noisily into the mud and water below him at each step. Directly behind him march six Pulgorburzob orcs, strange, circular red badges clearly visible on their left shoulders.
Arachias marches with behind Troglaaz and with the merged company of Minas Morgul and Dol Guldor uruks. His eyes glow in fiery anticipation as foam spews over his lips and tusks. The steep and rising mists of the bog encircle his feet, bring a cold dampness to his flesh. Dark shadows to creep about his body as he moves onward, the call for battle and for blood ever growing.
DuRoch plies the whip to those in his company, quickening their steps.
You head west towards the roar of Rauros falls.
-----------------------------------OOC NOTE-----------------------------------
This room you are entering is VERY loud. Any attempts to whisper or speak normally are impossible. RP should be adjusted using poses and +shout. Normal speech has not been disabled, but IC persons are expected to RP according to the environment.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rauros Falls, East Bank
You stand very near the eastern flank of Rauros Falls which thunder down from the Emyn Muil plateau above. The water cascades down it's long path, making a roar that drowns out all but the loudest of speech. The falls have cut back northward into the cliff slightly. The river makes a large, turbulent pool after it falls from above. The cool, misty nighttime is laden with mist and humidity. The cool and damp banks around you are littered with rockfall and detritus from above. To the south, the river calms and widens again.
Rain pours down from the night sky, drenching all around you. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing crescent phase.
Obvious exits:
Troglaaz comes over from the east.
Troglaaz has arrived.
Arachias comes over from the east.
Arachias has arrived.
Gurgarath comes over from the east.
Gurgarath has arrived.
Gurgarath is here..;
DuRoch comes over from the east.
DuRoch has arrived.
Grihsh comes over from the east.
Grihsh has arrived.
The jingling of armor and the pounding of heavy boots in the mud is drowned as the party comes near to the mighty falls of Rauros. But there is no time to admire the moonlit downpour, as the troop already turns southward, jogging toward the fords.
You head south along the eastern bank of the Anduin, away from Rauros Falls.
Anduin, East Bank
Near to the north, the roar of Rauros Falls can be heard. All along the northern horizon, the escarpment that marks the southern edge of the Emyn Muil rises up and spreads to the east and west. To the east and south, the land sinks down into the mires of the Nindalf marsh. The great river, just to your east, runs in an almost pure north-south orientation, and across it lay the grassy, rolling plains of eastern Rohan.
Around you, the autumn nighttime is cool, misty and the banks are cool and damp. The river flows by, swift and deep. The paths continue to the north and south, and a beaten area leads up to the water's edge--apparently this is a well-used fording spot.
Rain pours down from the night sky, drenching all around you. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing crescent phase.
Contents:
Obvious exits:
Gurgarath comes down from the north and the roar of Rauros.
Gurgarath has arrived.
Troglaaz comes down from the north and the roar of Rauros.
Troglaaz has arrived.
DuRoch comes down from the north and the roar of Rauros.
DuRoch has arrived.
Arachias comes down from the north and the roar of Rauros.
Arachias has arrived.
Grihsh comes down from the north and the roar of Rauros.
Grihsh has arrived.
Grishnakh pauses before the narrowest portion of the wide, wide river, and takes stock of his troops. Seeing none missing, he grunts and nods, then leads the way, wading into the rain-swollen water until it flows along around his broad waist. But he keeps going, pushing through the current until he finally reaches the far side.
West Bank of the Anduin, Below Rauros Falls
Near to the north, the roar of Rauros Falls can be heard. All along the northern horizon, the escarpment that marks the southern edge of the Emyn Muil rises up and spreads to the east and west, and the great falls plummit down directly north of you. To the west and south, the rolling, cool and damp plains of eastern Rohan sprall. The great river Anduin, just to your east, runs in almost a pure north-south orientation. Across it, there lays a brief beach and then the great Nindalf marsh and northern Ithilien.
Around you, the autumn midnight is cool, misty. The river flows by, swift and deep. A path leads northward towards Rauros Falls, another heads out onto the plains before disappearing, and a beaten area leads up to the water's edge--apparently this is a sometimes-used fording spot.
The night sky still dumps copious amounts of rain down onto you. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing crescent phase.
Obvious exits:
Arachias has arrived.
Troglaaz has arrived.
DuRoch has arrived.
Gurgarath has arrived.
Grihsh has arrived.
Grishnakh pauses again to allow time for the troops to gather as they complete the crossing. Fat, fast raindrops pound his helmet with a steady tinny thump. The rainfall seems to already be cleaning the ground of the disturbance of the orcs' passage.
Arachias seems to take no notice the thick amount of rain which falls heavly on his head. His eyes stare foward, cold and uncaring as they glow in the dark and stormy night. His flesh remains firm as the chill wind and frosty air bite at its scales, while his blood boils in growing anticipation of battle and the blood that is will surely spill.
Grihsh wipes his face off with his stubby fingers, pushing the gathering drops towards his neck, out of his eyes. He coughs slightly as he accidentally inhales some of the rain water, and nearly bumps into the larger orc in front of him as they slow. He grunts in annoyance, but seems somewhat relived that he did not colide.
DuRoch slides a pink tonuge out from his mouth and lets the rain gather there.
Grishnakh growls impatiently as the last of the orcs stumble, drenched and muttering to the shore. Finally he gestures northward with his drawn blade, and sets the pace again, jogging at a quick trot into the rain.
You head north and up towards Rauros Falls.
-----------------------------------OOC NOTE-----------------------------------
This room you are entering is VERY loud. Any attempts to whisper or speak normally are impossible. RP should be adjusted using poses and +shout. Normal speech has not been disabled, but IC persons are expected to RP according to the environment.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
West Bank of the Anduin, at Rauros Falls
You stand very near the western flank of Rauros Falls which thunder down from the Emyn Muil plateau above. The water cascades down its long path, making a roar that drowns out all but the loudest of speech. The falls have cut back northward, recessing into the cliff face somewhat.
The river makes a large, turbulent pool after it falls from above. The cool, misty midnight is laden with mist and humidity. The cool and damp banks around you are littered with rockfall and detritus from above. To the south, the river calms and widens again. Looking around, you espy no way up the cliff face.
The night sky still dumps copious amounts of rain down onto you. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing crescent phase.
Obvious exits:
DuRoch comes up the path from the south into the roar of the falls.
DuRoch has arrived.
Arachias comes up the path from the south into the roar of the falls.
Arachias has arrived.
Troglaaz comes up the path from the south into the roar of the falls.
Troglaaz has arrived.
Gurgarath comes up the path from the south into the roar of the falls.
Gurgarath has arrived.
Grihsh comes up the path from the south into the roar of the falls.
Grihsh has arrived.
Troglaaz's right hand drops down to grip the hilt of his black scimitar, holding the weapon tightly to prevent it's sheath from slapping noisily at his mail armor. Through narrow, dark eyes, he scans the flat lands around him, his right hand rising occasionally to wipe away the large drops of water dripping from his helm onto his face.
Grishnakh slows his pace, and finally stops, as the course brings the orcs up near a swirling pool of the roaring, deafening falls. With silent gestures and occasional shouts he directs the orcs: this group to sit tight and keep low, that group to move out eastward and southward to post the watch. No fires, no lights whatsoever, even if any would survive the downpour and the ever-present mist of the falls.
DuRoch signals a halt to his Uruks and edges them down into a readied-sqaut position.
Gurgarath walks calmly behind the ranks of marching Orcs, his hammer held in one massive hand, and laid across one huge shoulder. He takes a few steps to the side as the Orc halt their march, standing amid a tall formation of rock, fallen from the cliff face ages ago.
Arachias see's the motioning of the Vorazg and follows the direction of Troglaaz as they take their positions. His scimitar shines brightly as its wet surface cast the glow of the wanning moon. Slowly he lowers it from view, his dark and infernal eyes the only objects still casting the faintest of glows. Rain pours down upon his helmet and falls heavly upon his flat pushed in face, but with little care he simply ignores it and almost seems to smile as it wipes away his snot and slobber.
Grishnakh watches as the orcs move out on their assignments, seeming not to notice their inevitable grumbling. Rainwater pours from his helm and gathers clammily inside it along his scalp, a constant irritation that is barely acknowledged.
Gurgarath leans against a tall spire of rock, and is invisible to eyes that are not made for night vision.
Grihsh crouches, resting on the balls of his feet behind a large fern of some sort. His holds the scimitar against the ground for balance, and the water runs constantly off of it, leaving a muddy pool at its tip. His pink eyes dart about the path, waiting for any sign of danger.
Troglaaz turns to look over the orcs of Minas Morgul as Vorazg calls a halt, his jaw tensing beneath the heavy steel of his helmet. His head tilts forward as he barks several orders into the ear of a nearby Uruk, who nods rapidly before hurrying south with the other orcs on watch. Turning back to the six Pulgorburzob who remain with him, he gestures for them to follow as he moves to squat silently near the edge of the pool.
Gurgarath is silent, and he does not move. He is a shadow among shadows. Rain pours down over his scaly hide, but he pays it no mind as it runs in rivulets down his body.
Troglaaz growls softly in irritation, as they pouring rainwater drips into his face from overtop his heavy metal helm. Dropping to one knee on the muddy ground, he loosens the sheath of his scimitar and idly taps the round black pommel at his belt.
Grihsh creeps slowly through the ferns, his dark form mostly conceal by the mist and his noise by the heavy rain. He slowly dissapears past the river, and over a small hill, dissapearing out of sight.
Grihsh heads south, down and away from the hills.
Grihsh has left.
Time Passes...
Continued in Part Two
Stone fort walls
Gurgarath
Foggy Marsh
West and East
South and East
Small Boat
South, Fords of the Anduin, and North
North, Fords of the Anduin, and West
South