Orders from the Witch-King

Golg hands the spear back to Ver-beeg and pulls his own from the ground, brushing off the dirt that coats the black steel point. An amused smile plays on his lips as he continues to watch the Quartermaster.

Ver-beeg nods as Golg hands the spear back and then takes a step back and trys the to trust again with the spear..this time holding the weapon on eather side of the balance point..and seems to have better luck this time...he then mutters faintly "..was the wrapping I added.." knowing full well that the Golg is more than likely not beliving a word of what he says...

Grishnakh appears slowly in the dim light of the benighted camp, a big shield slung over one broad shoulder, and walks toward the gathered officers.

Golg chuckles, the sound rolling out from deep within his throat, harsh, rasp, as is his voice as he adds with a nod, "Must be the wrapping, aye..."

Ver-beeg nods to Golg and begins to move back to where the weapons he is working one are when he stops short at seeing the Vorazg walking forward..then moves a bit more quickly to where he was working...

Grishnakh bears a thin smile as he approaches, his pale gaze lingering on first one rakarg and then the other. "It is a cold night, lieutenants," he says in a smooth low voice. "Are you keeping warm with your weapons?"

Golg leans against his spear, his eyes following Ver-beeg as he walks away, then shifting to the reason he was so quick in doing so, Grishnakh. To him he bows deeply, then grunts in answer to his question, "Aye...the Rakarg here's been having trouble with his spear...", he grins softly to himself.

Grishnakh looks questioningly at Ver-beeg.

Ver-beeg moves to grap his battleaxe that he set down to work on the spear..then looks back to Grishnakh and nods "Yes Vorazg..keeping the weapons fit and readly for battle..: he then pick up the axe and drops the spear...

Grishnakh says, "I see." He looks at Golg again. "And you were helping him with it?"

Grishnakh nods thoughtfully, gazing intently at each soldier.

Grishnakh looks hard at Ver-beeg, then, quietly: "What are your loyalties, Quartermaster?"

Golg idly lifts his spear a few inches of the ground, then brings the butt down on it again with a dull thump. He does so repeated times, very softly, almost unseen and unheard, as his gaze drifts back and forth from Grishnakh to Ver-beeg.

Ver-beeg stands at the readly then says looking Grishnakh right in the Eye and say "To the Eye first and for most..then to his army..and lastlt to those that are master of of the Tribe I fallow..Vorazg.."

Grishnakh raises an eyebrow, his smile spreading. "What? No loyalty for your Vorazg, Quartermaster?"

Golg 's lips twitch ever so slightly, shaping an amused grin as he watches the exchange of words.

Ver-beeg dose not look away form Grishnakh and say in a cold tone "You are leader of the Eyes army, Vorazg..there fore you have my loyalty with out question.." he then point to a longbow in the pile of weapons and says "..Went I have cleand that one..it will be yours..a gift from my prizes of war to you.." he then looks back to the Vorazg.."..it was taken for one of the tark commanders...

Grishnakh laughs softly. "I thank you, rakarg, but keep the bow. Think on it as MY gift to YOU, for use by an orc better with a bow than I." He turns to Golg. "What say you? What are your loyalties, rakarg?"

Golg 's grin fades away and his lips clench into a thin line as he frowns in thought. After a while he answers, his deep voice soft and controled, "The Eye and the ones He has chosen, Vorazg."

Ver-beeg nods quickly and looks to his wagon and waves some guard to get the weapons on the ground..then looks to the other two uruk-hais

Grishnakh smiles again. "A well-thought answer." He looks at each again. "You are the two best orkish soldiers in my forces of Lugburz. And I seek a replacement for the Gorug, the Standard-bearer of Mordor and my instrument among the realms of the Eye. So. Which of you shall it be?"

A thin bit of light filters down through the mass of smoke and haze issuing from Mt. Doom. The sun has risen, but the day remains dark.

Witch-king comes up from the east.

Witch-king has arrived.

Grishnakh looks between Golg and Ver-beeg quietly, awaiting an answer to a question. From the severity of their gazes, the question must have been important.

Grishnakh and the two uruk-hai officers stand close together near a collection of weapons, in the midst of an orc encampment that has sat in the crossroads for several nights.

Witch-king
A vague figure stands before you. Atop his head sits an ornately worked crown which is visible beneath the hood of the black flowing robe which covers the rest of his body. Deep within the recess of the hood, two burning red eyes stare back out at you, although no other part of his face is visible. An occasional glint of mail can be glimpsed beneath the flowing robe.

A faint hiss of venemous breath can be felt thru the piercing chill that surrounds the figure.

Witch-king strides into the clearing from the east, sticking to the shadows that yet linger in the face of the oncoming dawn. His eyes scan the clearing quickly, eye's alighting upon Grishnakh and the other officers

Golg lowers his eyes to Grishnakh's feet, his forehead wrinkled in thought. His lips move in the motions of speech, but no word leaves his mouth. The grip he has around the shaft of his spear tightens, one might almost notice his knuckles straining against his black leathery skin.

Grishnakh's eyes narrow suddenly as a cold, cold gaze falls his way. He turns, pale eyes searching the shadows until they see a darker shadow still, and the eyes which gleam amid it.

Witch-king moves towards the three uruk standing in the center of the camp, disdainfully striding past all else.

Grishnakh's breath hisses as he inhales, and he descends to on knee, bowing his massive head. The camp grows silent as more orcs sense the change and notice the cause.

Golg 's head suddenly jerks up, his eyes focused on Grishnakh, then slowly following his gaze to the shadow that walks into the camp. His fingers loosen their grip around the spear, which quickly collapses to the ground, falling upon the other weapons spread out nearby with a loud clatter of wood on wood and steel on steel. After the spear, it's his time to fall down, crumbling down to his knees, gaze respectfully lowered to the dirt.

Witch-king stares down upon the three uruk for a long moment...letting silence stretch out. Then , with a harsh rasp, "Get up fools, how can i talk to the top of your heads?"

Grishnakh rocks slightly in place for a split second, then pushes himself to his feet. His soft voice is low, but less smooth and far less arrogant than is usual. "Yes, my Lord. How may we serve you?"

Golg gets up quickly, the right leg first, then the other, and stands before the Nazgul upon trembling knees, his hands nervously writhing around each other and his eyes still studying the beaten earth ground.

Witch-king turns his gaze solely upon grishnakh. He hisses softly, "You are the one to choose the standard bearer? I come to make sure you do not mess up." His eye's flare red briefly as he finishes his speech.

Golg suddenly grows stiffer, spreading his legs slightly apart for his boots to have a firmer hold on the ground, and clenching his hands tight around each other. His eyes are lowered as before, but his breathing, where it was ragged and shallow, is now deep and regular.

Grishnakh scowls for a moment before he nods slowly. "Aye, my Lord. I look now at these two." He gestures with one rough claw toward Golg and then Ver-beeg. "They are fine warriors from Lugburz... our finest save a troll from Mirkwood and... one other who is not what he once was." He looks back up at the Witch-king quietly again.

Witch-king turns his gaze from grishnakh to the other two, looking back and forth slowly between them, he asks with a sneer, "These two are the best you have?"

Golg shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze slowly turning up to the shadow before him, and quickly down again. He does not voice a word, and his expression remains as blank as he can force it to be, even though his eyes are pale and dull, hinting of deep fear.

Grishnakh follows the Witch-king's gaze. "They are the best who are not assigned, my Lord. Other orcs who might be better are charged with captaincies in Minas Morgul, Cirith Ungol, or Dol Guldur."

Witch-king gazes solely at Golg, his voice lashes out at the Uruk, a voice long used to command, "Why are you worthy of such an honor?"

Grishnakh turns his gaze to Golg, staring at him with a quiet, enigmatic expression as he listens to the orc's reply. His pale, slanted eyes seem thougtful, burning brightly in the twilight.

Golg winces back as he realizes the Nazgul is addressing him, and fear grips his body, so, for a few moments, he does not respond. When he does it is with trembling lips and a hesitant voice, "I...I am loyal to the Eye, Master...I fight many times for him, and I...I fight good. I would serve...the Vorazg well, Master."

Lochlann comes within the circle from the west, the ravens caw menacingly at him.

Lochlann has arrived.

Lochlann moves silently.

Lochlann is Hooded.

Lochlann is flat to the ground and comes up at some distance from the circle of trees, behind a small rise and just stays still, scarcely daring to breath.

Grishnakh stands reverently with two other big orcs before the black form of the captain once called the Witch-king of Angmar. Around them a sprawling orc camp is quiet, clearly preoccupied by the chill presence. Orc guards stand at careful attention, staring out into the twilight of the woods, though to inspect them closely it is clear that their attention is directed on what they can hear from their leaders' discussion.

Witch-king waves his mailed hand dismisevly at the uruk as he turns towards the second candidate. He suddenly stops turning, as his head swivels away towards the west. He stares in that direction for a few moments, before turning back to Ver-beeg

Grishnakh stares at Golg a moment more as the orc goes silent, then turns to watch the Witch-king again. His eyes narrow as the Witch-king's attention centers on Ver-beeg, the other orc captain in their group.

Ver-beeg remains silent, trembling in the Witch-king's dreadful gaze.

Witch-king sneers at Ver-beeg, his voice grates, "and what do you have to say?"

Lochlann presses against the small rise, the small peephole made years ago still there. He feels his heart seem to skip a beat as the wraith looks in his direction, then relaxes just slightly as the gaze turns away. He glances around the near area and sees there are no sentries near. His eye goes back to the peephole then.

Ver-beeg chokes, silenced by fear.

Golg lets a sigh of relief escape his lips as the Witch King's gaze is no longer set upon him and now addresses Ver-beeg. He swallows drily, and casts a sideways glance at Grishnakh.

Witch-king steps forward towards Ver-beeg hissing, "can you not speak?"

Witch-king waits but a moment longer, and turns back to grishnakh, releasing ver-beeg from his gaze, "Your choice seems to have been made"

Ver-beeg looks quickly at the other two orcs, finding little encouragement in their stares. He sputters an inaudible answer.

Grishnakh nods crisply, once. "Aye, my Lord." He looks at Golg for a moment. "This one seems the readier."

Orc guards on the outskirts of the camp watch the activity at the center of camp intently, whispering in knots of three or four. Then a sergeant collects himself, not far from the knoll and 'peephole' of the spying Ranger, and curses and castigates a nearby group. "Watch yer assignments, slugs! Yer not ordered to watch them who can guard themselves!"

Golg catches Grishnakh's look out of the corner of his eye, and, at hearing his words, for a brief moment, lets a soft smile spread across his lips.

Witch-king glances swiftly at the rising sun, and pulls his cloak closed around himself.Glancing at Grishnakh he hisses, "I have a task for you Vorazg...."

Grishnakh looks back at the Witch-king, nodding at once. "Yes, Lord."

The guards, grumbling, disperse and turn their attention outward again, roving, watching, and listening in the woods as the sergeant moves on to another group of gawkers.

Witch-king studies Grish as he speaks, "Have you heard of Goru?"

Lochlann flattens himself further, then moves nothing but the eye at the peephole, as the sentries move back to their posts.

Grishnakh's eyes grow narrow and thoughtful. "Goru... I remember the old tales, of the Great Siege, when the cursed Tarks faced the Great Eye Himself. Goru... Goru was the standard, I think, Lord."

Witch-king's eyes flare red briefly, "Close enough..." he stops speaking for a moment, once again glancing to the west..seemingly almost sniffing the wind...

Orc guards patrol the woods slowly as they resume their duties, moving in pairs, each with a big orc bearing a spear or sword following a smaller tracker that sniffs the air and dirt.

Grishnakh listens closely as the Witch-king begins to speak, then his gaze drifts also toward the west, seeing nothing but orcs and the road which stretches under wintery trees.

Witch-king once again looks away from the west, having discerned nothing out of order, and glances back towards grish, "It is said that Goru may yet exist."

Golg keeps his eyes down as the Witch-King and Grishnakh speak, his brow furrowed in thought. The smile goes on and off his lips as he continues to listen.

Grishnakh turns back to his master. "Still, Lord? After these long years?"

Witch-king says, "It is unlikely that the mighty *gondorians* (the word heavily sneered) possessed enough power to destroy it. A miserable worm has said that he has seen it."

Grishnakh nods slowly. "Very well, my Lord. If Goru is found, the standard of Sauron Himself, it would be a bane in the sight of the Tarks."

All the glances in his direction make Lach nervous, but he calms his breathing, trying to wait to sneak back until he can hear more that the little he has, the name Goru familiar for some reason.

Witch-king hisses softly, "In ithilien it is said to lie....you must search for it, and find it. An old cave, or a cave in...the miserable snaga had little idea of where he was..."

Not far from the hidden Lochlann, a sniffing orc tracker stops his roving and looks around. He leans closer to the earth, snuffling deeply. Behind him, his partner scowls. "Garn, what's the hold-up?"

Grishnakh nods again, listening, though he bears a faint scowl.

Golg slowly crouches down, stretching his arm forward, inching his fingers close to the spear he let fall to the ground before him. When they finally touch the wooden shaft, he pulls it close to him and stands up, leaning upon it.

As the noise of the tracker comes closer, Lach starts his careful move backward. Inch by inch he oves, away at a small slant because of the snuffler. He keeps moving like this, listening carefully and nothing in his path moving with him.

The snuffler near Lochlann's hiding place looks back at his partner in irritation. "Shut up, will you! I smell a Tark."

Witch-king extends a bony arm, and points away to the southeast, "the snaga was weak, and died before we could get more out of him...but we believe it lies in that direction...perhaps a weeks march...Find it Vorazg..."

The bigger orc frowns dubiously at the snuffler. "I doubt that. The Tarks have kept clear of us since we ran into them last month. But if you're so sure, then sound the report and let's start the hunt."

Witch-king turns his gaze fully upon Grishnakh, eyes flaring from the depths of his hood, "Do you understand? You will find it, and you will return it to me. Do not fail me."

Grishnakh looks to the southeast, to the woodland and the distant rise of the dark mountains.

Grishnakh bows his head slowly. "Yes, my Lord. We will find this talisman, and bring it back to bear the glory of the Eye!"

Lochlann hears the words and moves a bit faster. The land slopes gently and the breeze shifts slighty away, before stopping all together. He works at staying calm, knowing that fear will give him away more qiuickly.

The tracker looks around, sniffing deeply. "Not yet, fool. I want to know where he is before we chase him off."

The soldier shakes his black head, scoffing. "I'd guess your nose just can't tell the snow from a Tark, and you look scared all winter long. Har har!"

Witch-king glances one last time at the rising sun, he then looks at grishnakh, "See that you do."

Grishnakh's head bows further in acknowledgement.

Witch-king wraps himself fully in his cloak, and turns back to where his steed is tethered, he pauses one moment to stare fully at Golg, "Dont fail me either."

Lochlann pushes himself to move just a little faster, while all eyes are on the nazgul.

Golg 's gaze shifts from the Witch-King's dark shape to Grishnakh, then back to his boots. He is clearly uneasy by the proximity of the wraith. The words meant for him send shivers down his body, but he manages to avoid trembling as he nods and mutters a low, "No, Master."

Grishnakh stands with lowered head near Golg and Ver-beeg, all of them before the dark form of the Witch-king. Around them the sprawling camp is quiet and careful, wary of the chill presence of the Nazgul. On the outskirts of camp, pairs of guards patrol the woods, one pair not far from a hidden and unknown human Ranger.

Witch-king pauses as he passes Golg, and turns to stare one last time towards the west.

Witch-king snaps at Grishnakh, "there is something overthere...see what it is."

Lochlann moves back through the trees, now up and moving, trusting the dimness under the trees. He's still crouched but not crawling. And trying to still move silently as possible.

Burgluk sits in a large, black iron cage, his head bowed low over his crossed legs, cocking his head so that he can see the Dark Rider. Small waves of fear wash over his form as he stares in awe at the Nazgul, his muscles frozen.

The snuffler ignores the taunts of his bigger partner, and concentrates, eyes slitted in the twilight as he listens and smells. His gaze turns slowly, closer toward the hidden and still unseen ranger. He hisses, "This way, he is... Aye..." Then he leaps forward, leacing his startled partner a moment behind as he lopes through the woods and croaks out the alert: "ALARUM! TARK SPY IN THE WOODS!"

Grishnakh nods crisply toward the Witch-king. "At once, Lord." But even then, the scout's cry sounds out from the westernmost edge of the encampment.

Grishnakh snarls and his gaze snaps to the west. Without another word he leaps westward, running swiftly but low to the ground.

Lochlann disappears out of sight of about half the camp at that point and though still staying as low as possible, tries to put some distances between his pursuers and himself. He runs and slides between the trees in an intricate path almost impossible to duplicate unless you are quite close. Another few minutes and he will be out of sight to the west.

Other scouts in the woods look around in confusion as the cry sounds out, unsure where to look or what for.

Burgluk snaps his head up at the cry of Tark, looking all over for the accused spy. He lets out a small growl as he reaches for his spear, remembering that it was taken from him. He mumbles a few curses, then reaches out to a passing snaga, grabing him around the neck. He slips his hands through the bars, grabbing a small knife at the Snaga's belt. Looking around wildly, he stuffs it into his own cloak, then shoves the Snaga back into the fumbling mass of Uruks.

Witch-king steps forward at the intruders presence, fury rings in it's voice as it commands, "Bring me it's head!"

Golg 's eyes narrow as he gazes off to the west. Letting out a great roar, he follows after Grishnakh, his pace quick but hard pressed to keep up with the Vorazg's.

The shouting scout, and his big partner close behind, runs around tress and over a slight ridge, looking about and sniffing desperately. "Where are you, Tark?" He decides, and runs again, still in the general direction of Lochlann, now close by.

Lochlann heads for what looks to be the thickest part of the woods ahead and disappears into it. He moves a little slower once inside but the chances of being seen are slim. While in there, he change direction and starts moving south, to come out of hiopefuly far from where is expected.

Grishnakh brings a wickedly-curved sword from its scabbard as he runs, bellowing out, "SCOUTS, FAN OUT! WATCH THE OTHER ROADS FOR AMBUSH!"

Burgluk let's out a howl of fury as he shakes the bars of his cage. " LET ME OUTA HERE! I WANNA BE KILLING DAT TARK!"

The snuffler pauses at the edge of a thick stand of trees, sniffing and listening as his partner noisily catches up. "Where is he, curse you??" the bigger orc growls. The other snarls a curse of his own and moves a little into the stand of trees, apprehensive at the shadows and many hiding-places it holds.

Grishnakh moves with terrific speed despite the weight of heavy armor and the large shield he bears on one broad shoulder, and soon is not far away from the now-careful orc scout.

Lochlann slips out the south end and to his dismay, hears what were probably the scouts in the south coming towards. About 20 feet ahead is a section of brush and ivy. Lach grabs his sowrd with one hand and dives under the brush, digging under the ivy too before anyone can get closer to it. He lays there them, totally hidden unless someone steps on him and he covers his mouth with this arms, trying to catch his breath without giving himself away.

Golg lowers his spear until it his almost paralel to the ground, pointing slightly upwards, and dashes off after Grishnakh, each long stride he takes making the shield slung across his back swing and painfully slam against his side. He stops for a while, just the time it takes to lower the large round black shield and strap it on his arm, before resuming his running pace, faster now to regain the lost time.

Grishnakh rushes up to the scouts and stops, casting his pale angry gaze about. "Well," he mutters in a low, dangerous voice, "the King wants a prisoner. Where is he?"

Burgluk shakes the bars on his cage, letting out a long howl. " I WANNA CAPTURE DA TARK! LET ME LOOSE!!"

The scout turns, startled at Grishnakh's approach. "Ah, Vorazg, I smelt him around here! In or about these trees, I'll stake my nose on it!" The other orc remains silent, despite his earlier comments.

An orc assigned to Burgluk's cage looks down finally, angrily, at the prisoner. "Quiet, you! You're not good for much anymore anyway, so shut your noise so they can find him!"

Golg slows down to a halt next to Grishnakh, resting his head against his spear as he struggles to regain his breath, which doesn't take long, after what he turns to both Vorazg and scout, waiting.

Grishnakh gives the scout a withering gaze. "More than your wide nose is at stake, snaga. Find the Tark, if there is one. If you find none, you'll answer for it!"

Burgluk stares at his guard, them lets out a contemptful grunt, spitting at the Uruk's feet. He sits back down, crosses his legs, and closes his eyes, letting his hands rest on his knees, palms down.

The scout gulps and nods, and moves quickly into the stand of trees, sniffing and listening.

Lochlann catchs his breath quickly, then settles down to outwait the orcs, something years of scouting have taught him. The patience to do so.

Golg 's cold red eyes peer into the woods, studying every leaf, every branch, every root, drifting close to Lochlann's hiding place, then moving on, as he sees nothing that appears to be out of place. He then glances at Grishnakh, voicing a low grunt.

Grishnakh follows close behind the scout, moving even more quietly despite his bulk and equipment. At one point, the scout turns and is startled to see the big commander so near.

Golg takes a few steps after Grishnakh into the woods, but his heavy boots are loud as they land on the dirt, and with each motion his chain mail jingles, each link of black steel ringing softly as it touches others. Soon he stops, shaking his head, for one as loud as he would be of no use in the search for the hidden ranger.

The scout moves quickly about the stand of trees, emerging southeast of it, looking about desperately and uncertainly.

Lochlann begins to creep quietly from under the ivy. The southern sentried having passed him moving north and he slips out of sight queckly that way.

Lochlann goes south.

Lochlann has left.

The scout hisses with frustration. "Garn, I smelt him this way! Where is he?" He lopes westward a bit.

Grishnakh watches the scout with a look of growing disgust. His voice is deceptively, oilily smooth. "Well, snaga? What do you smell now?"

Witch-king watches as the uruk run around frantically...and ineffectively. A red glow can be spied deep within his hood even in the daylight, as he turns away towards the east, and vanishes quickly

Witch-king goes east. Ravens fret and caw at him as he passes under the branches.

Witch-king has left.

Grishnakh casts his gaze toward Golg, not far distant. "Golg. Bring this snaga into camp." He raises his voice to address the others: "ALL OF YOU! SCOUR THE WOODS AND ROADS! IF THERE'S A SPY HERE, FIND IT!"

Grishnakh turns and moves back into the camp, his gaze dark and angry. He stops only at the center of camp, where several cages hold prisoners, orcs once of high rank.

Burgluk lets out a growl to himself as he hears the crys, shaking his head, muttering under his breath...

Grishnakh pauses for a time, then approaches Burgluk's cage, slow and thoughtful. He motions to the guard. "Unlock the cage."

The guard may or may not be surprised, but moves without hesitation in any event. Taking a heavy key from a pouch, he unlocks the cage and pulls the door open wide.

Burgluk opens his eyes, glaring down at the guard as he stands, stepping out of the large cage. He turns his look away from the guard, and bows his head quickly before Grishnakh, then stands to his full hight, looking into the Vorazg's eyes expectantly.

Grishnakh gazes at Burgluk for a long moment, then growls in a low voice. "I see Rakerath has not judged your fate."

Burgluk shrugs slowly, his hands hidden within his large cloak. " Aye.. He has not. " Burgluk opens his mouth to speak, his eyes wide, then stups abruptly, and closes his mouth. He lets out grunt, then growls out slowly, " Master Vorazg, if you do be seeing it fit to be hurtin, or punishin' me for stuff dat i din' do, dan i be asking if you let me stay out of dat stinkin' cage, so dat i can be of some Use... I'm sure da BP could have tracked down that Tark..." Burgluk slams his hands together as he finishes speaking, then stares back up into the eyes of Grishnakh.

Grishnakh squints for a moment, his mouth twisting into a scowl around gleaming fangs. "'Stuff you didn't do?' Your tribesmen sought my death, and you either knew of it or were too clumsy to catch them before I did."

Grishnakh lifts the scimitar still held in his right claw and slides slowly it back into its scabbard.

Burgluk frowns. " Master, I be ordering dem to be killed... Da ones who are responsable will be punished severly, if you be choosing to set me free. But By da Eye, why would i be wantin' ta kill you? You be powerfull Vorazg, And if i did be trying, dan i would be surly put ta death... " Burgluk lets out a lopng sigh, his hands disappearing intois robes once again.

Grishnakh sneers quietly. "I'm tired of your lies and excuses, slave. You can't even keep up with your own people, and yet you boast of being of service to the Great Eye? You stumble in time to be disappointed by my survival, and yet you claim shock at the idea? Enough. What else do you have to say? What wisdom will you offer in your devotion to the Dark Lord?"

Burgluk takes in a large breath, then let's out a long howl. " ALRIGHT! Da one shaman, Karja, he be coming to me after ye ordered ta cut 'is hand off. He be wantin' me to organiz a small group of assassins, to kill an Uruk. He woul dnot be telling me who.. ANd he payed me well. When i be hearing the noise outside yer chamber, I knew dat it was da Burzum-Prakh dat i had been payed for." Burgluk frowns slightly, then adds, " Day WERE talking bad about you, Master Vorazg... After day did dare job, i was going to have them killed. " Burgluk closes his eyes slowly, and kneels down before Grishnakh, face to the ground. " Judge me as you would, Master Vorazg. "

Grishnakh's eyes widen for a second in surprise, then he utters long, low laughter.

Grishnakh says, "I see! I see, indeed." His pale eyes are bright as they stare down at Burgluk. "Well, Shaman. I shall judge you, then. You'll hang impaled on a boar-spit for three days, for the slaves and ravens to eat of your flesh." He laughs softly again. "What say you to my judgement?"

Burgluk looks up into the eyes of the Vorazg, his own eye blank, as if he is starring at somthing no one else can see. He blinks slightly, shaking his head. " I do not like it, Master Vorazg. " His lips curl up into a snarl, and he reaches into his robes once more. " I do not like it at all." He stares at the Vorazg, waiting for his next move.

Grishnakh smiles broadly. "I thought you might not, shaman. And you'll like it less when it begins. Say your prayers, and perhaps the Great Eye will hear you and order mercy of me. But I doubt it. I doubt it very much." He doesn't move, does not react to Burgluk's actions.

The snarl is still in Burgluk's throat as he stares at Grishnakh. After a few moments, he closes his eyes, muttering to himself. THe few words that can be picked out, are growling curses as Burgluk's mind races.

Grishnakh shakes his head slightly and turns

Grishnakh shakes his head and turns dismissively. "Enough, shaman and slave. Let your doom begin at once."

Guards nearby begin to move toward Burgluk, grim smiles on their faces.

Burgluk lets out a long sigh, and shakes his head slowly. Then, suddenly, his hand flicks out of his robe, a small, slim knife flying through the air quickly towards the one guard that opened his cage earlier. Without making a sound, his other hand flashes from his cloak towards a nearby fire. A huge ball of flame spurts from the fire, blue, red, and bright white light flashing all over the camp.

Grishnakh snarls and crouches instantly, spinning, his right hand whipping forward and jabbing with unnatural speed at where the shaman stood, even as the guards nearby recoil and shout in surprise, and one falls bleeding from his throat.

Grishnakh attacks Burgluk with a Dagger...

The attack against Burgluk lightly wounds him!

The dagger cuts through Burgluks robe and makes a small scratch on his arm as he dives away from the Vorazg, his Burzum-Prakh training coming back to him without thought. He is silent as he rolls away, jumping around the cage, and sprinting with a startling speed for an Uruk to the west.