An Ecunimical Conversation

Slopes of Amon Lanc
The dark and stiflingly thick mass of Mirkwood's trees end here at the edge of a broad, rapidly rising plain of black stone. Tortured whorls of lava, hardened into unnatural eddies and crested peaks surround you, deep fissures and gaping crevices splitting down the plain's face like gigantic axe rents in the earth's blackened face. The plain rises rapidly into a series of tumbled stone piles and mounds of smooth ash dotted with glittering mica chips, climbing quickly to the incredibly steep and fire-hardened walls of Amon Lanc's central volcanic vent. The main peak thrusts into the sky in a series of needle-thin spires, piercing through the shawl of overpresent dark clouds that wrap around the mountain's heights like a dark wreath.

The mountain is surrounded on all sides by the dark and steamy reaches of ancient Mirkwood, though to the east a split in the trees shows a dark and narrow valley leading away into a haze of misty silence. To the southeast a footpath winds up the mountain's bleak and blasted face, threading across Amon Lanc's slopes in a series of rugged switchbacks which apparently lead to one of the darkest holds in all of Middle-earth...the fortress of Dol Guldur.

Rakerath appears over the top of the Slope of Amon Lanc. Not much can be determined by his figure as he is still far away. He appears to be a small creature grasping a staff or something tightly in his left hand.

Yog sits on a log pulled near the fire, warming his hands and feet. The hobgoblin looks up as a stranger enters the camp, yellow eyes focused on the unknown orc.

Jonuk sits on the other side of the fire across from the shaman. He glances up at the stranger but shrugs and turns and stares back into the fire.

Rakerath slowly comes down the hill in the direction of the Moria camp. His movments are slow and bear an unorclike grace. As he gets closer and closer to camp more details of this strange one can be discovered. In his left hand is a Black staff as if it was made from onyx. His dress is nothing but a lioncloth and his skin is a sickly green. His chest is dyed in strange bizare patterns and colors. His hair is long and white and billows in the wind.

Rakerath turns his gaze toward Yog and meet it head on. As one can now see this Uruk only has one eye. The other Eye has been replaced by Black Onyx, and on the onyx eye a Yellow Cat eye is painted on it. To show symblance to the eye this orc serves.

Yog calls out to the stranger, "You are the runner sent by Ver-beeg?" His tone indicates that his words are less a question than a demand. "It is about time. I grow wery of waiting here. What word do you bring from the quartermaster of Dol Guldur?"

Jonuk's hand quickly reaches to a dagger at his belt. Flipping it in his hand so he holds the blade end he swings his arm out quickly at a dark spot near some kegs and bundles of supplies releasing the knife at the end of the swing. The blade twirls in a circle catching the firelight for a second just before it thuds into a something. As the knife hits a terrified squeak is heard. Chuckling quietly he gets up and walks to where the knife disappeared. Crouching down he reachs in and pulls the knife out. Impaled on the end is the twitching form of a rat. Turning back to his seat he finds the stranger standing nearby facing the shaman. Shrugging he takes a bit out of the carcass and sits back down at his seat while watching the stranger carefully.

Rakerath grins evily as Yog speaks. The grin penetrates even the coldest heart and lies waist to it. I am sent by no one for I go and come as I please. I am looking for the leader of this group. Where might I find him?"

Rakerath turns his head as he hears the thump and sees Jonuk's toss and catch. His good eybrow raises slightly but soon his gaze returns to Yog.

Ver-beeg comes down the hill form Dol Guldur..and move to a near by fire...but when he hear the call to someone about the Quartermaster..he move to that fire..muttering to himself about the cold...

Yog grunts, "There are two groups here, and thus two leaders. Seek you Razzgrak of Moria? Or the sage of Goblin Town?"

Bunji wanders in, his arms swinging freely, yet his body tense ready to spring.

Bunji heads towards the fire, but smelling the scents of uruks not of tribe he fails to reach his destination.

Rakerath says, "Either will do. I am coming in response to an Orc by the name of Mogburzum. I am The Eldest Orc of Mordor and leader of the Mordain Relgion. The afformentioned Orc I healed and was coming to check on.""

Jonuk reaches and grasps the rat's head in his hand. Twisting it off the carcass savagely he tosses it into the fire where it sizzles and crackles for a moment. Taking a bite out of the body of the rat he glances at the shaman and listens to him speak. Swallowing the meat in his mouth he interupts by saying, "Me and da hai," he gestures at Vagrok as he speaks, "Can deliver any message you may have for Razzgrak as we are his second in commands."

Bunji slowly circles the group, sizing up the strange uruks. Grunting in disgust he heads to the fire where he sits down upon his haunches.

Yog snorts disdainfully, "Mogburzum? A worthless snaga, scarely deserving your attention. wise one. Come join me at the fire and have a drink. I have questions from one shaman to another. Know that I am Yog, Shaka of the Gundmogobzagh tribe."

Ver-beegas he near the fire that Yog is at..he looks to the uruks around it..then stops short as his eyes fall apone Rakerath...he then stands and waits till he is seen and welcomed to the fire....his stance is somewhat on edge..more than likely form the cold..then fear..

Rakerath nods to Yog and then turns his head to Jonuk, "Very well, give this Razzgrak this message. The Eldest and the Shamans of Mordor that serve him, are offering there healing skills and wisdom to any who may need them." He then turns to Yog and nods, "Greeting's sage, yes I will join you by the fire. I am sure I have questions for you as well."

Bunji takes out a crude small knife and begins to pick at his nails, the whole time, his dangerously intelligent eyes scanning the crowd of uruks.

Mogburzum ignores the conversation that Yog and Rakerath are haveing and turns in the dirrection of Jonuk.

Yog looks at the Elder Uruk, as if sizing him up, before speaking, "Your offer for healing is well received, but not needed. I myself look after the tribes of Goblin Town and Moria, and tend to their wounds. But there may be techniques that we can learn, one from the other."

Mogburzum walks towards Jonuk bellowing as he moves, "Smith, I am in need of your assistance" Mogburzum's words errupt into coughs.

Rakerath lets a crooked grin escape his lip and he stands there quietly examing Yog. His foul toungue licks his crookedly parted lips and speaks in a cold spidery language that freezes the blood before nodding to Yog, "[Morbeth] We shall see"

Jonuk listens to the Mordain elder as he speaks. Nodding his head he turns back to the meal in his hand and takes another bite while saying, "So be it. I's tell him dat." Chewing on the meat he turns to Mogburzum and scrutinizes him over intently for a moment before saying, "What you want?"

Yog continues, "[Morbeth] I am particularly interested in the rumors I hear, of a black slave that is said to heal all wounds. Mognuk, the Eldest has told me of its value." His words are marked with the heavy accent of the northern mountains, making his speech difficult to follow.

Rakerath grins positivley pleased, "[Morbeth] You to speak the dark language fluently. Yes I belive we may have much to learn from each other. Ah yes, Black Salve, so you have heard of our ****"

Mogburzum frowns as he speaks carefully, "I am in need of a short sword"

Rakerath rumbles in his backpack and nods to himself as his hands close over something. He removes the object from his bag with care and with reverence, "[Morbeth] Perhaps this will interest you." The object he removes is a leather bound book and he moves to the fire and sets it down on the ground.

Rakerath drops Tome of the Dark Lord.

Jonuk's eyes glint as a cold light comes into him. Grabbing the caracass at the end of the dagger he slides it off and flings it off to the side where some snaga promptly jump at it and an ensueing fight begins over the meat. Glancing off to the side a the bickering snagas he looks back at Mogburzum. Scratching his chin with his hand he stares at the uruk for a long time before saying with a serious overtone, "I's may have a sword you's can use, uruk."

Yog pulls a withered black root from his bundle, and displays it to Rakerath on his bony knee, "[Morbeth] Often I have wondered if this root, we call it Melkor's Weed, is used in making the salve. I have found it useful for many ailments of both mind and body. Though it is powerles against the breath of the Black Ones, the undead riders who lead your people." He offers a sample of the root to the Mordain healer as he reaches for the book offered to him.

Yog opens the Tome carefully, and with great curiousity.

Mogburzum nods, "Good! Well? Where is it?

Rakerath takes the root and examines it closely turning it over and over in his hand. He licks his lips again and grins that crooked grin. He doesn't answer for long moments as he continually turns the root over and over in his hand.

Jonuk leans back in his seat and crosses his arms across his chest as he stares at the uruk. Snorting at the uruk's impatience he growls, "Why should I's give you it? I's not even know who you be, uruk." Shrugging he continues, "I's don't give out my works unless I's know who you be."

Yog follows the words on the first page of the book with a gnarled finger, grunting quietly to himself as he reads. After a moment he slams the cover closed again and glares directly into Rakerath's eyes, as if examining his soul.

Mogburzum smiles and says, 'I come here by word of Gorkon himself....I am Mogburzum uruk of the mountains." He continues speaking with his healing lungs in mind, "I come here to replace the one you call Ghashburguul"

Rakerath nods at Yog and speaks to him finally about the root, "[Morbeth] Your perceptions are good. Yes this is one of the ingredients we use in the Salve. One of many I might add, were do you. . . ." he stops in mid sentence and meets the gaze of Yog and opens his soul up to him, but at the same time reads deep into Yog's soul. The black onyx eye glittering menacingly in the firelight.

Mogburzum smiles evilly and continues, "Maybe it would be more correct to say called."

Rakerath smiles darkly, "[Morbeth] As I said. I am the Eldest. . .. I have looked in your soul and I know that all that you find here, shall not leave the mouth of the Religion."

Jonuk grunts and scratches his side for a moment as he glares at the uruk. Finally he speaks, "So you's claim ta be here by order of da Shaka, eh?" Rising to his feet he passes by the uruk and heads torwards a tent in the Morian campsite. As he passes the uruk he growls one word, "Wait!" He then continues walking and disappears through the flap of the tent.

Mogburzum stands waiting for the smith to return.

Jonuk thrusts aside the flap of the tent with the edge of a small sword he holds in his hand as he appears through the entrance of the tent. Glancing around for a second he quickly makes his way back to where the uruk stands. Dropping the sword at the uruks feet point first so it lands upright in the ground he grunts, "There! You's do well to take care of it cause it's da only one you's get for awhile."

Yog nods to the elder uruk. "[Morbeth] And I have seen in you the same eye that sometimes haunts my mind. It probes me in the darkness of the night, as if seeking me out for its own purpose. But far stronger to me is the Voice that calls from the Black Pit, bellowing orders and curses at all times. The Fire Demon is strong."

Mogburzum simply nods as he picks up the sword examining it carefully.

Rakerath chuckles fouly to himself, "[Morbeth] The Eye haunts us all in our dreams and calls out to all of us. Even the Fire Demon of Moria serves the Eye as do all things of the night. Though yes, the being which resides nearest you is a great influence on those of your tribe."

Mogburzum bellows, "Not as good as my old sword but It will do". These words rwmind the uruk of something as he touches the left side of is rib cage wincing as his gnarled hand runs over it.

Jonuk steps back and crosses his arms across his chest as he watches the uruk examine the sword. Sneering at the uruks he finally says, "Well dat sword is all you's get! I's not make it so it not so good. But," shrugging, "I's not care as I not like the little pokers myself."

Yog grunts, "[Morbeth] I have learned, from years of practice, to ignore the eye, and let it search me as it wills. Not so with the Fire Demon, whose voice constantly demands my attention." He shrugs, "But the Voice has brought me great luck, and has taught me many things I would not otherwise know."

Rakerath nods to Yog, "[Morbeth] Just as the Nine and my Audiences with the eye keep me aware of their presence. The fire demon keeps you aware of it's. As I said the demons serves the eye, and so you serve the demon. That is how it should be."

Fauthmat's wart covered tounge slides up the side of one large, slaver covered fang, up to the gumline, and back into his mouth. With a grunt he turns to look slowly across the camp.

Jonuk shrugs and turns away from the uruk and heads back over to the campfire and sits down near it with a large stone to his back. Leaning back against the stone he stares into the fire as he mulls something over in his mind and he idlely taps the axe at his side as he thinks.

Rakerath motions to the book in Yog's hand, "[Morbeth] Please open the book and see what treasures it holds."

Yog grunts, "[Morbeth] That has never been my understanding. The most ancient texts say that both the Eye and the Voice serve the Nameless One, who waits for the final darkness before returning. But I will read this book of yours, and learn the wisdom of Dol Guldur."

Rakerath chuckles again, the laugh carrying throughout the camp, "[Morbeth] Yes the nameless one exists. Though I am afraid your interpretation of the text is a little, shall we say biased. The tome you hold details the ShadowVoice or Dark Religion of Mordor."

The corner of Fauthmat's lip rises in a sneer as he takes a few steps forward, stopping before Jonuk's fire. With a squint Fauthmat regards the other Orc with one eye. The twisted grin that is spread across his face is split for a moment as he grunts, "Allies from the mountains to the west, eh?" Fauthmat's squint ends, and his eyes linger upon the other Orc's arms and armor.

Yog laughs with a throaty chuckle, "[Morbeth]] Are not all books biased by the ideas of their writers? So it is no doubt with this one as well." He points to the book on his lap. "But the wise may yet read between the lines, to discover truth there hidden beyond the author's intent."

Rakerath says, "[Morbeth] You are Wise Yog. Very seldom do I deal with one such as yourself. The other elders are scattered and have yet to return from there holes. Speaking with you is like seeing and elf flaying about on your sword. Very refreshing."

The tapping stops as Jonuk's hand goes still. Finally he lifts his eyes from the fire to regard the uruk standing before him. Examineing him carefully the side of his mouth twitches as he responds, "Ya, we be from da mountains to da west." His eyes lift to stare the uruk in the face as he continues, "As for allies dat I's assume we are."

Rakerath reaches on his belt and pulls of a goatskin, "[Morbeth] This is the finest Orc Liquor in Middle Earth. The secret creation is only known to myself and the 5 other elders. Come drink to the religion, and our individual ideas." He offers the skin to Yog.

Fauthmat's hand rests upon the axe hanging from his waist and a black clawed finger snakes over the rune carved into it's side. Fauthmat gives Jonuk a single slow nod, "So you say," his rasping voice cuts out, "but were you perhaps among those attacked on the road to the north?"

Yog grins, "[Morbeth] You must meet Mognuk then, he is the oldest goblin known. He has forgotten more wisdom that you and I may ever know. I will arrange a meeting if it would please your curiousity."

Rakerath continues to hold the Goatskin out to Yog, "[Morbeth] Yes, I would be very pleased to meet this goblin, this Mognuk. Has he traveled with your group here?"

Jonuk chuckles once the uruk finishes speaking. Nodding his head he leans back against the rock and says with amusement, "I was at dat battle. I's fought a big bear but saw da folly in that and turned to attack a nearby human instead."

Yog accepts the goatskin flask, and pours a generous quantity of the stinging beverage into his throat. His eyes roll back into his head as he coughs, "[Morbeth] This is a strong draught, less pleasing to the taste that the chilled elf's blood I prefer, but no less potent, to be sure." He returns the flask to Rakerath with a toothy grin.

Fauthmat leans back, and to the side, the joints in his back cracking as he lets out a rough groan. Falling back to his original hunched position he listens to Jonuk speak. "Yes a bear," he says with a hiss directly after Jonuk speaks, "I heard it was hard work, for all involved. These enemies, what were they like, for arms, or appearance, I mean?"

Rakerath chuckles darkly as he takes the flask and then take a long hard draught himself. Though he seems strangely unaffected by the brew, "[Morbeth] Nothing compares to chilled elf blood, Shaka Yog.

Yog nods with delight at the shaman's agreement, "[Morbeth] This much at least we share in common, a passion for elf's blood. Mognuk too enjoys his draught now and then. He travels with the orcs of Moria at this time. I will make the arrangements for a meeting between us. Invite your other shamans as well, if they are able. An audience with the Eldest is a rare opportunity."

Fauthmat pulls a wineskin from his waist, uncorking it, and holding it above his lips. A viscious amber fluid pours down into the Orc's throat, small tendrils of the grog runs out of his mouth, down his cheeks, and chin. With a throaty growl he lowers the wineskin, corks it and hands it to Jonuk. "Here," he says gruffly before he rubs the back of his gnarled hand over his mouth. "Agh," he hisses, "da blasted thing."

As the sun sinks below the Misty Mountains, far to the west, Yog stands, brushing the soot of the fire from his lap as he nods to Rakerath, "[Morbeth] You will pardon my abrupt departure. I have duties with my tribe that must be attended at once. We will meet again when Mognuk is ready." With that, the hobgoblin makes his way to the Fire Lodge, pausing for a moment at the skin flap before entering.

Jonuk reaches forward with a three-fingered hand to take the wineskin from the uruk. Swirling the liquid around in the wineskin he brings it to his nose and sniffs the aroma. Grinning he lifts it to his lips and takes a long draught from the wineskin. Grunting as it goes down he wipes his mouth on his sleeve before he hands it back to the uruk with the words, "Dat ain't bad."

Rakerath bows lowly to Yog as he stands up, "[Morbeth] Until then, Shaka." He then turns his gaze back upon the rest of the camp examining with his black onyx eye everything that transpires within his site.

A biting hiss slithers out over Fauthmat's fangs before he rasps, "If I'm wrong the black pits take me, but I'm sure we gonna move to get revenge we will. Gar, we just showed dem men in that village who runs things in Mirkwood not too long ago. Looks like we have to do it again. Dats where that bear showed up from. Whenever they are in trouble there's always bears around. Far as them humans I'd think they came from the north east, cant say for certain, but them villagers arent usually so well armed."

Fauthmat grabs the wineskin by the coarse cord attached to it, and hangs it from his belt.