The Price of Failure
Audience Hall
You stand within a broad and mostly empty chamber. The ceiling looms high overhead, at least eight meters from the floor. The walls and floor are of the dark stone of the rest of the Tower of Sorcery, but the place is filled with the pale luminescence of this, the upper level. At the eastern end of the room rises a tall dais, upon which sit nine seats, four thrones of black stone flanking, four on each side, a massive white throne of cold marble. The thrones are carved intricately with runes, indecipherable to all but the most erudite in dark lore, and figures depicting the Dark Lord and his Nine Nazgul. A shiver seems to run down your spine as you regard the Thrones of the Ringwraiths, lords of the Tower.
Obvious exits:
Western Archway leads to Minas Morgul:Stairway 3rd level.
Tarnok passes beneath the gaping archway and joins you in the Audience Hall.
Tarnok comes into the room and looks around for a moment. At seeing nothing he moves to the center of the room and turns to face the thrones and drops to one knee and bows his head in respect and fear.
Atop the dais, eight chairs stand empty. But in the center throne is the Witch-king, a powerful human figure sitting silent and low in the throne. His silvery crown does not gleam in the pale death-light of the tower, but from the darkness beneath it his cruel red eyes can be seen, staring.
Tarnok feels the eyes of one of the most powerful beings in all of Mordor on him, he then says in a forced voice that sounds of strength, but clearly hides fear " Witch-king does not lift either hand from the arm-rests of his cold marble seat, and his helmet does not move at all. Only his voice, mocking and seeming to echo horribly, breaks his still silence.
Tarnok waits for the Morgul-lord to speek. Useing his will to stay still and unmoveing till commaned, his mind races to find out the reson for why he was called before the Lord of the Tower, how has he failed his master. At the word's of the Nazgul he forces himself to say though his shock "I will command if orded to,Master. If I fail you I know what will become of me."
Witch-king's laughter rings mockingly throughout the chamber. "I hope so, olog. Thy predecessor learned well the bitter cost of failure. I expect you will learn from his example."
Tarnok can only nod in understanding at the Nazgul's words, and his mind races as he knows what has happened to the last five masters of the room before him, and knows at this moment his days are numbered. He then says weakly "I will do my best not to fail you master" he then gives a full bow and waits to see what outher 'kind words' the Nazgul has for him.
Witch-king chuckles mercilessly again. "Of course you will. Now, listen closely, Warlord. In the forest of Ithilien did the Mouth of Sauron capture a spy of rebel Gondor. That spy escaped in a bandit raid. Thy predecessor paid with his life for that escape. But he failed to name the slaves who stood watch over the spy and who were overcome. You shall learn the names of these guards, and bring them into my presence."
Tarnok nods quickly at the High Nazgul's words and says "By your Command, My Master. The uruks that failed the plans of the Voice of the Eye and yourself will be draged before you."
Witch-king's voice is lower, tight and cold. "Excellent, slave of stone. Rise, then, and be about thy mission. When the failures of the Crossroads are properly punished may you take up the duties of Warlord."
Tarnok stands and bows to the Nazgul "Your will shall be done, Master" he then moves to the exitas lets out a faint sigh of thanks as he makes it past the gate arceway.
Tarnok walks out beneath the archway.
Time passes...
Arachias passes beneath the gaping archway and joins you in the Audience Hall.
Tarnok passes beneath the gaping archway and joins you in the Audience Hall.
Witch-king is a still and silent figure of black upon the great white center throne of the chamber. He sits low in the great seat, exuding an intangiable malice. Red eyes stare hatefully from the emptiness between silvery crown and black robes.
A line of six uruks walkin fallowed by Tarnok, he waits till the uruks bow before the Thrones before he dose the same, behind the uruks
Arachias enters down the hallway, his body hanging low to the floor as it quivers in the most extreme fear the poor creature has ever felt. His eyes remain almost clenched closed as they come closer to the dark figure who is surrounded by the wailing of the hallway. The shadows of the walls appear to lurch out in attempts to save the wretched uruk, but only fall as the nazgul's will brings him ever closer. Sweat, chilled and clammy, rolls from all origins of his body, its yellowed stains bringing a foul stench that is dwarfed by a simple hiss of the masters voice.
Tarnok says in a strong tone of voice, but it is clear that he is hideing his fear behind a mask, says "My master, these six are those you wish to see, these are the ones that said they guarded the human in the camp." He then becomes very quiet.
Arachias reaches the thrones of the most horrid of all creations and bows lowely, not knowing what more to do. Then assuming the line with the other uruks he waits for the the nazgul to speak. His eyes do not open except to make sure he does not stumble and as time slowly passes by in a place where it has no meaning, he grows colder with a unholy sweat that drenches his form. Smaller and smaller he seems to feel until soon his very mind is but a blank canvas to paint on, his instincts now taking complete control of his cowering body and his actions.
Witch-king remains silent, watching the procession and their enormous escort. A bitter, shivering chill seems to radiate throughout the room.
The voice of the Witch-king is fell and unnatural, deep and strangely hollow and filled with scorn. "Which of these led the others in their duty?"
Tarnok bows his head and waits to see what the Nazgul has in mind for these uruks, he then shifts a bit as an odd chill fills the air. He then uses pure willpower to stay very still as he waits for what is to come.
Tarnok not knowing the answer to the question he points to the uruk with the highest rank (Arachias) and says weakly "This was the leader, My Master" he then becomes very quiet again as he hopes the nazgul will take his word.
Arachias remains quiet as his lids clinch with the ringing hiss of Witch-king's voice. He turns his head in almost a slight wimper to see if the troll will answer the question, and then faces again the nazgul's on their thrones his body shaking in its fear. The drool and other foulness of his body that once freely flowed appears to have died in the prescence of these creatures which can not suffer, his heart skipping every beat in an unnatural shadow that weaves its choking soul throughout every chamber.
Witch-king turns his full attention upon Arachias. His red eyes seem to flash, shining from the darkness beneath his crown and gleaming in the deathly luminescence of the chamber. The stifling, drowning, icy cold that overtakes Arachias causes even the orcs nearby to shudder and whimper.
Witch-king says, "So. Arachias, herder and sergeant. Yes, uruk. Thy name is known to me already."
Arachias feels the sudden and complete paralyzing grip of the nazgul's eyes, his body dropping to its knees and his head lowers to be tucked between his legs. He shivers pitfully, his mind racing as it covers every moment of his life, trying to find what may have gone wrong. Sweat flows in a deluge off his forehead, its flesh a pale white that remains thin and loosely tucked. His claws dig deep into his scalp, trying to protect the little sanity that is remaining from the challenging stare of the wraith.
Tarnok looks to the uruks before him and notes the fear in there bodys, he then gulps and waits to see what will happen to these uruks, as well as what might happen to himself.
Witch-king continues to stare mercilessly at Arachias. "The Vorazg, captain of orcs in the Dark Tower, saw some value in thy service, Thrakamatamuuk. I see little reason to share his opinion. He languishes now in the Pits of Barad-dur, taking a well-earned reward for his failures. I think thy reward shall be simpler."
Arachias form suddenly freezes as all he had kept quiet for so long is relieved to his comrades and those about him. He no longer quivers as the sentence of his suffering is pronounced and in a sudden flop drops entirely to the ground where he remains deathly still. His heat sounds like a beating drumb about the chamber, its sound bringing a smile to the face of the wicked and a cringe of disgust to the face of the fearing. It booms between each stone and every crevice, seemingly waiting to be suddenly wrenched and frozen by the hands of the dark masters. No longer does sweat roll over Arachias' body and clamy flesh, and no longer is his mind thinking of anything but the blackness of death. Quietly he waits, his fear beyond anyone's comprehension except his own and the nazgul which almost chuckle before him.
Tarnok looks to Arachias with anger in his eye, as he knows well the toment the Vorazg showed him, and is pleased to hear of his fate. This quickly passes as the power of the nazgul is felt once more and makeing him look to the ground.
Witch-king does laugh, the sound of it ringing harsh from the stones of the chamber.
Witch-king says, "Aye, simpler indeed. Warlord! It is time for thee to fill thy duty. Destroy these creatures, craven and useless as they are. Remove their limbs, and nail one above each doorway of the tunnels. Let it be known: such is the fate of those who fail the Mouth of Sauron."
Arachias remains silent, frozen in the suffering which his own mistakes have made him face. His claws dig deeper into the scalp of his head, drawing forth the black bubbling blood that remained behind the thin flesh. Slowly it seeps over and onto the ground and thow harder and deeper he digs the ringing laugh of the nazgul's voice doesn't seem to leave his ears. Even as the command is ushered to the troll he doesn't stir, his hope and energy drained to leave him weak and useless in this woe filled world.
Tarnok nods quickly at the Nazgul's words and pulls his axe free from his belt as he stands . He says darkly and with out feeling "By you command, Master" he then swings his axe in a wide arc and cuts the two uruks closeest to the exit in two.
Arachias finally hears the ringing of the axe from the olog and then turns only to be sprayed by the blood of the fallen uruks. Fear now is replaced with lust an a sense of survival, quickly he jumps up to withdraw his scimitar. Its edge shinning in the light as it tries to threaten the large troll before him with its blade.
There is a faint cry as the Olog-hai steps on the uruk next to Arachias, and hisses loudly "By order of the Will of the Eye, Die!!!" he then swings out with all his might at Arachias in a hope to cut him in two.
The other orcs cry out in panic as their doom is pronounced. Two of them attempt to flee. One of them is blocked by the looming form of Tarnok, and stumbles in terror. The other rushes around and sprints for the towering archway.
Arachias sees the massive axe come straight at him and suddenly lowers his head in a final farewell. The sound of his scimitar spins on the floor, its blade hitting stone first as it shatters the air like the drop of a pin. The trolls axe rips through the still Arachias' torso, tearing him from his top as it flies against the far wall with a loud and dull crack. Slowly his chest and head slinks to the ground, leaving a trail blood behind. With a thud, the lower half of him hits the floor and as the few uruks remaining turn to see his fall they shriek in horror for their own coming deaths. Arachias' eyes remain closed in the last pose he had formed, his life gone and his soul with it.
The lone fleeing orc reaches the archway in his blind sprint... and just as he comes to it, he rebounds violently from the air itself as if against a wall of stone. He grunts as the air is knocked from him and then stumbles to his knees, gasping, eyes wide with horror.
Tarnok hisses smiles as he cuts Arachias in two, then tures and sees one of the uruks runing out the door. Growling he tosses his axe at the fleeing uruk and truns to look back to see if there are any uruks he missed so he can crush with his bare hands.
The gasping orc has not even the chance to see death flying at him. Tarnok's axe whistles through the air and imbeds itself in his skull with a grotesque sound. The orc mewls softly as he slumps to the floor.
Tarnok smiles darkly to himself, and at not seeing any live uruks left. He then turns to face the nazgul and drops to one knee again, crushung the legs of one of the fallen uruks and says "There limps will be nailed as you have ordered, My master." he then ways to see if there are any other orders that may come his way.
Witch-king says, "Excellent, Warlord. See that it is done."
Witch-king rises in a soft rustling of black robes. He strides past the huge troll, taking no note of the bloody corpses beneath him. He passes through the archway as if no barrier had ever existed.