Punishments and Rewards

The Crossroads

A ring of trees of vast size, very ancient and still towering high though their tops are gaunt and broken, as if tempest and lightning blast have swept across them but failed to kill them or shake their fathomless roots. In the center of the circle towers a huge sitting figure, solumn as the great stone kings of Argonath, looking over the roads running through the trees. Indeed, roads stretch off in all 4 directions: East towards Minas Ithil and West towards Minas Anor; North towards the Morannon and South along the S.Ithilien Road...which one you choose is up to you, but choose wisely, for one small mistake in these parts could cost you your life.

Ragakmog spies that the High Warlord is dealing with another matter at the moment. He reaches into his belt and fingers the bone tube there as he moves forward just beyond Blhkowh and his entourage. He shuffles a bit impatiently at having ot wait for a Jr Officer and for the ah so grand privilegde of speaking to a hated troll.

Bhlokwh smiles slightly at the War-lord, his demeanour proud. 'I am Bhlokwh, Warlord, he speaks in crude man-tongue for the human 'Logaz Pulgoburzob. I scouted with a few fellows to the woods north of this camp, and came across a camp of Tarks.' Bhlokwh lets his eye's wander as he remembers back to that glorious day 'We uruks butchered three of the company, and I knocked this one out for you for the trials. Speaking then in uruk, he he adds a few more comments "<Uruk> This human seems weak, War-lord, for I put him down easy, but he seems to be some kind of leader amongst his people, so we took him. He might know more"

With the intrusion of Kerthio Tso'harDao's gaze shifts to this one. All of a sudden Dao's eyes open wide, in a strange understanding. He had seen this one, in his dreams...yes...he was certain! And as the Uruk with the scimitar at Tso'hars throat bends down, both of them have to keep from jumping in surprise at the sight of Kerthio for fear of the sharp edge so close to vital veins. And rarely does Dao hold his tongue, for he must talk for two, the other being mute, but now he does, for something is not right...and it is more than the sharp point...

Once the heart of the camp is reached, or the closest the camp has to a heart, Angstuurz finally lifts his gaze from the bare ground, and turns to look around him. More dirty tents, more labouring snaga, more filth and an occasional corpse in variable states of putrefaction. In the distance, towering above it all, the vast bulk of an Olog-Hai. And nearby, a tone of voice that can only be employed by an officer. Angstuurz scratches his chin and begins walking towards Pushdug.

Shandor's fear is momentarily halted by Bhlokwh's word. He turns his head to him, his face obviously confused. He turns his head quickly away though when Bhlokwh continues in the dark language is does not understand. He just lowers his head, in fear.

Faramir cocks his ear to the foul tongue of the Orcs and frowns as he only discerns a few known words to him. It is at this moment he wishes his mentor was here, the grey wanderer knows much of the speech and could do him use, but resigning to what he can do for now he looks to moving even further afield. Such that he is right at the bordering edge of the crossroads and he sets himself low amoung the brake and ferns.

Trakarg shows no reaction to the words of Bhlokwh, nor does he make any move towards the captive human who is held before him. For a short moment he ponders the situation, intense gaze focused upon Shandor, eyes eagerly searching. "<Uruk> You did well, Logaz." He begins once more, in the tongue of orcs, "<Uruk> You reward will please you, I am sure." Momentarily switching to a thickly accented westron, he now questions the man. 'And what have you to say, lowly maggot? Or have you already chewed through your own tongue from cold fear?'

Kerthio looks seriously at the Teguk for a moment before whispering into his presented ear. "... ..., these ... are from ... ..., they are ... ... the One, ... ... ... ... ..., ... ... ... ... ... Leer-Teguk SharLan ... ... once of their .... ... ... powerful ..., more ... than ... other ... ... ... ... place," she utters softly. "... ... not ... ... of ..., in fact ... ... ... remember ... ... ... ... were ... ... his ..., ... ... ...-Teguk ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..., ... these ... his equals." Kerthio continues her eyes filled with both power and for some reason fear. "... ... ... ... ... ..., as a severant ... your ... and ... ... ... advisor ... ... ... ... ... when though ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... ..., ... believe ... ... the ... if ... ... ... ... their speech ... ... ... ... they are ... ... ... and ... their ... ... far ... from ...." The Master Healer of MM finishes by turning to the uruks and regarding them with a slight nods before looking bcak at the Teguk.

Ragakmog taps his spear on the ground immpatiently and disrespectfuly as he awaits the High Warlords attetnion. Upon hearing the Logaz claim credit for the capture he gufaws loudly.

Shandor looks up in defiance at Trakarg, although the fear is obvious behind his eyes. His voice croaks out, "You may use me for whatever dark deeds that you may, but by Valar, you will die by the hand of a man such as me." He then spits at the feet of Trakarg. His eyes widen at quickly after he does, realizing what he just did.

Bhlokwh bows to the War-lord, and steps back slightly, still holding the leash firmly, before whispering to the human "... ... ... ..., ..., ... ... ... the .... Trolls arent ... best ..., ... ... ... speak ..., you may ... ... turned over to the ....." and he stops in mid sentence as his eye's widen at the humans actions and words. Drawing his scimitar, he steps behind the human, and holds the blade under his neck 'The War-lord is not to be treated that way, worm.' he hisses.

Faramir frowns deeply beneath his cowled visage, "Damn fool" he mutters to himself..."Quiet" he pleads as if the man could hear him.

Pushdug nods his head slowly at the worlds of Kerthio, the master healer Dushgob, and lowering the prick of his scabbard from the neckline of the larger brute of the two uruks, he says with a flat tone, "Very well. They shall be speared upon your word, healer. They shall also be welcomed into my garrison into Dushgoi as a healer and skilled priest. But I will tolerate no insolence from either of you three, here forth, make sure this one isn't a traitor master healer...or I will hold you responsable. As for debts, we are more or less even. My gut tells me these two should die, but you say they are valuable. Let them prove it then." Spinning on his heels suddenly, his scimitar being lowered with a blink of the sky back into its sheath--a metallic scream echoing as both steel surfaces rub against eachother in friction--the captain now strides towards the Warlord and the uruk whom he speaks too, knowing well he will soon have to acknowledge the defeat of his garrison in the wake of this event.

Shandor says, somewhat unsure, "My tongue is in my mouth, and all that I will say is that if you black scum consider three young boys to be warriors and take pride in defeating them in battle, as the one who holds my leash did, then my people will never have anything to fear from your warriors, or their lack of skill. It took three of you to bring me to my knees, and by a stroke of luck at that." His head remains lowers, shaking visably in fear.

Trakarg is seemingly untouched by the human's words of defiance, gleaming eyes cold and expressionless as ever. 'Be sure, worm...' He replies in Westron, his words dropping to a rasping, if loud, whisper, 'You will be used for whatever dark deeds suit my master. And be sure also that many, many such as you have and will die by my hand before I myself join them.' The High Warlord looks suddenly away, his gaze settling upon the impatient display of Ragakmog. "<Uruk> Approach, Tek'rak." He calls in the tongue of orcs, before turning back to Bhlokwh and questioning in a language understood by the man, 'Has he yet been interrogated?'

Ragakmog laughs openly at the humans man's actions. "Fine care you take of our Dushgob captive, Logazzzz." He hisses to Bhlokwh. Bringing his spear ready for any suden attack from the Logaz he thrusts the bone tube back in his belt with his free hand.

Hazzerukan watches the entire scene between the War-lord, Bhlokwh and the tark with keen interest while making sure that no one sees him neglecting his camp duties. He whispers to himself, "Lucky stroke. More like pure tactical skill on my part." With that he allows himself a small toothy grin.

Breath escapes the two as Dao slides over to check the neck of Tso'har, looking to see if it dipped any lower then the first few layers of tough skin. Then looking back upon the one who interviend on their behalf he makes a bow, "Many thanks, me'lady. Are all here like that?" he motions to the exiting uruk-hai and his temper that preceeds him. "Dao...Dao know you? Dao see you, in visions. But..." he can't put his finger on what bothers him now...

Bhlokwh holds his scimitar under the chin of the human, his stench without a doubt reaching the nose of the Tark. The blade is held rock steady as he listens to the words of both Ragakmog and the Warlord. 'You have lost, Tek'Rak' he mutters 'Pulgorburzob has won, as was always to be, and no words from you wil change this. I do what I must.' He then adresses the war-lord again 'No, Warlord, we have not as yet. We decided that you might wish to talk to him before we interrogated him. Things have a way of breaking, or falling off in our conversations, and you might have wanted him whole'

The word 'Interrogation' finds foul upon the ear of Faramir and he ponders deeply upon the choises now placed with his keeping. Upon his back is shouldered the Bow he rarely travels without and he knows that one long shafted arrow could steal from the enemy their prize, but the cost is great and the sorrow he would indure be upon him for a long time. Taking the life of a lad seems beyond approach, yet he wonders what the boy knows and waits for now.

Everyone seems to be busy and in a poor mood at the moment. Angstuurz quiet observation of the most proeminent figures in camp is quick to reveal that. With this in mind, the orc decides another day would perhaps be a wiser choice for him to present himself. And he really is too tired. With a threatening grunt, the Rakarg scares a snaga off his resting place, a comfortable nook between two tents, and occupies it with his bulky frame, curling up on a pile of rags. One hand rests on the hilt of his scimitar and one ear is kept alert. Sleep is dangerous in Mordor.

Shandor looks up at Trakarg, his eyes on fire. He feels the cold steel on his throat, and smells the creature holding it. He laughs, the blade cutting into his throat a little, "Your overconfidance is your weakness, foul creature. It will be your downfall." He smiles and twists his head and pushes down. The blade cuts through his throat as the man twists his head again. Blood begins to stream down his throat and out his mouth.

Trakarg dips the tip of his tall, twisted horns in acknowledgement, casting Bhlokwh a quick, disinterested glance before looking across towards the approaching Pushdug. 'Interrogate him, then, Logaz.' He commands, gesturing with his mailed left hand for the Teguk to come nearer, 'See what you can pull from his eager tongue, and report to me when it is done.' Switching suddenly to the words of orcs, he adds, "<Uruk> Be sure he is still able to run when you are done."

Kerthio nods to the smaller uruk as if understanding the problem with recognisation. "Yes, most are like that, quick to anger and suspicious of all," she says softly. "Trust and loyalty can be bought cheap in this place," she snarls, looking around at the uruks surrounding her as they disperse to various duties around camp. "You will join me in my tent," she says quickly, her eyes scanning the pair. "There is a large space now available due to the absence of the 'white-skinned bitch preist Famlin'." Kerthio's eyes narrow and she turns, leading the pair towards the healer tents within camp.

Pushdug stops near to the Warlord, his crimson orbs kept narrowed so that their focused beam reflects off of the troll's blackened skin--its surface so near to that of obsidian's. His frown is still sturdy on his face, and folding his arms across his chest he waits to see whether the Tala-Goth shall speak to him first or immeditately reveal to the entire camp the victor of the trials. Stiffening his legs, his knee caps straightening as best they can upon his squat and crooked legs, he looks upward towards the slitted eyes of the huge Olog and there spies the intelligence that swirls within. His own cunning nature is visable through his two bright orbs, but masked and held much deeper in his skull is his own mind's wit. A cool wind blows over his ebony flesh, the weakened eye of day caught within the shadows of eastern clouds and smoke.

Blinking once, Dao nods in agreement, and Tso'har begins following immediately. Perhaps this Kerthio could answer questions for him, but..."Fam...?" he shakes his head at the recognition of the name, and Tso'har reaches up and pats Dao's head consolingly, so much like a pet, but a sign of comfort between companions together for life. The one iron band around Tso'hars leg clicks off a rock or two as he makes his way to the tents Kerthio talks of.

Bhlokwh swears suddenly and jerks his scimitar away from the human. 'Healer!' he calls out loudly, before inspecting the wound. Luckily for him, the blade seems to have missed the jugular, but the humans life is still in danger. Bhlokwh stands there, not sure what to do, but he quickly rips off some of the humans cloak, and uses it to press down on the wound 'Get me a healer now!' he yells at one of his snaga, who spots Famlin and beckons for her to come 'It doesnt seem to be too bad Warlord' he lies 'A healer should be able to patch him up'

Kerthio talks softly as she walks, winding through the tents on her way to the healer tents. "The white slut, Famlin is wanted for forgery by the Warlord of Mordor, many hope she does not return as her position amongst the Pulgors is a prize many seek." her eyes glitter strangely but she deosn't slow or speak again until she reaches the tent and ushers them inside.

Shandor struggles to bleed all over his captors.He reaches down and attempts to bite Bhlokwh's hand, his feet pushing up, trying to stand up.

A metallic hiss is emited by the massive Warlord as he sucks in a sharp breath, his cruel eyes focused still upon the captive human. "<Uruk> Be sure he does not find death so swiftly." He commands Bhlokwh, turning then towards the waiting figure of Pushdug. Ignoring now the bleeding captive and the Logaz who took him, Trakarg questions the Teguk. "<Uruk> Have you a report to account for your failure in my trials, Captain?" He asks, his hollow voice flat and emotionless.

As the empty, hollow winds blow across the plains of the Crossroads, a large figure emerges from the camp. The figure is Muzkgash, the Uruk smith, and a twisted grin is currently spread across his bulldog-like face, his usually straight features wirhting into a smile....not a smile of happiness, mind you, but a smile of malice, for malice is what uruks like.....the creature steps forward, eyeing those in the camp, unknown to him are many of the beings here. Ignoring these others for the most part, he heads towards the smoke filled smithing area.....

Bhlokwh snarls as the human suceeds in biting his hand, and he growls slightly 'Better to do this another way' he mutters, before bringing his scimitar down toward the humans forehead 'Sweet dreams' he whispers, before yelling out again for a healer 'Famlin, Sharlan, Kerthio, go get one of them and bring them back here now 'He orders his other snaga 'Dont take no for a answer. Do what ever it takes.' the snaga nods, and rusn to the healers tent, entering the one belong to Kerthio, and babbling inside'

Pushdug is short in his reply, a firmness in his voice as he faces the massive troll, "<Morbeth> I do not great Warlord. I do not. No, I will not attribute my near death--that night you may recall when I dragged into the camp--to my failure. Nor will I speak of the conflict that occured but a few nights ago where you were also present with my Tek'Rak. Indeed. I can say little, but that I went for men and this foul wretch goes for boys. Do with me as you will, Tala-Goth, I have shamed my position and failed your will, skai." His voice, by the end of his speech, has fallen into to a soft and thoughtful whisper, cast from the edge of his tongue. As if correlating with the volume of his voice his head too sinks downward, along with his crimson eyes, yet when he is finished he stands rigid as if at attention and immediately turning his fiery orbs back upon the troll's own black slivers he awaits the Olog's reply. A great shadow is upon him, like an icy veil of death, which to those stand aback spot it as the massive creature's own silhouette...a possible forshadowing of what is to come.

The frown upon Faramirs brow turns into a scowl of disgust and he fights to not stand right now and send a dart across the roadway toward the foul Orc that torments the captive. He fidgits slightly, looking to the greatbow upon his shoulder then back to the camp...quiet again for now.

Keleir pages: I'm dozy right now.. who are you saying is doing it well and who isn't?

Kerthio beckons to the sibling pair and turns quickly to follow the uruk to where Bhlokwh stands over the fallen human. She shakes her head and bends down, running her hands over the human. She snatches them back angrily as if the being is tainted. "<Morbeth> To heal a Tark **** a blessing of the eye is almost demeaning to my faith," she snarls bitterly in a hushed voice as she removes a jar of salt from her pouch and pours a small content into her hands. "<Morbeth> May the eye forgive my treason for using its power in this manner," she growls, rubbing the salt into the bloodied flesh of the human and begins chanting softly a tune to the eye, overlaying it every so often with a call to the power of the One, the melody twisting strangely in her harsh, power filled voice. She beckons for the two strangers to help her with the healing as she begins to sew the wound together with a bone needle and thin line of sinew.

Tso'har reaches out, and with unusually nimble fingers for such a large uruk holds the cloth with firm pressure to the human. All the while Dao chants and 'dances'. A strange sight indeed, the 2 foot uruk doing a cartwheel on the shoulders of another, all the while singing to of The One and other untelligable things.

Bhlokwh looks up at Kerthio 'Do you have the situation in hand, healer?' he grunts, as he takes his hands awy from the human 'The human must not die, healer. Trakarg's orders. Take him, and fix him up, and send word to me when he is able to speak to me.' Bhlokwh smiles at Kerthio 'The Warlord mentioned a reward, should the human recover fully I shall consider your actions when they fall upon me.

Shandor falls, a childish grin on his face, to the floor. He does not move, but he breathes, if not with a strange gurgling sound.

At Trakarg's side, held firmly by the stone crushing grip of his mailed right hand, rests a massive hammer of enormous proportions. The weapon's weighty iron head is topped by a foot long iron spike, the tip now pointed almost coincidentally towards Pushdug's broad chest. "<Morbeth> There are no excuses for your failure, Teguk." He replies in the dark tongue of his master, the words booming and audible nearly across camp. The towering creature's eyes flash momentarily, his blocky feet carrying him directly before the comparatively smaller Uruk captain. "<Morbeth> Your garrison was beaten in nearly every trial, Teguk. Tell me. How would you punish an inferior who failed utterly in a task you set upon him?"

Kerthio completes binding the wound as the song she sings and the feverished dance of the smaller brother climax. She ties off the bandage and turns to the Logaz, nodding her head. "The human will become better," she says. "Perhaps you would like a healer with you for the duration of the interrogation," she suggests archly, her eyes narrowed as she beholds the uruk. "It would be best to preserve the human and through such extend his torment and recieve greater information with less risk of fatal injury."

The sun rounds its zenith path, righting the shadows of those in the camp. But the cold wind still blows, setting a chill in any who's hide sits thick not. Tso'harDao stop their efforts of help as Kerthio does likewise, and waits to see just what they are to do now. A strange camp this one is, not at allike the ones they have crossed before.

Pushdug is still, and speaking again sharply says, "<Morbeth> Need I say it Warlord? I think not. Do what you must, I am the Teguk, so punish me for my maggots failures. I accept, but before you do punish me Tala-Goth, I ask you punish yourself as well--not in defiance but to refrain from hypocrisy. After all, did you or did you not kill the tark you fought but a few nights ago? No, he was the very tark too that I fought and could not kill. Thus, do as I said, what you must...to both of us." Stepping forward, his arms still held firm against his breast the Teguk then bends down upon one knee, and lowering his head against the massive hammer which was pointing at his chest he awaits either a blow or its removal. No sweat runs from his brow, nor do any signs of fear dominate his feature. In fact, his only scowls, and waits patiently for the Olog's reply.

Trakarg's hand tightens around the thick haft of the hammer at his side, his black clad bulk shifting beneath the weight of its protective leather and mail overcoat. "<Morbeth> The task was not set upon me, slave." He replies, slitted eyes focused upon the Teguk as he slowly sinks to one knee. "<Morbeth> It was upon you. I will do as was stated from the beginning... reward the victorious, punish those who fail me. Yet I still see use in you, and to end your service to the master now would not please. As a lesson, I ask only for your left arm." The great weapon rises in his hand, its iron head drawn slowly away from the kneeling Pushdug. "<Morbeth> Give to me your left arm now. And never again question my authority, for my orders are those of the master."

Bhlokwh takes one last look at Kerthio as they healer goes around the human. Standing back up, he wipes his hands on his trousers, tranfering the blood that was on his hands. He does nothing else but watch the war-lord and the Teguk, awaiting his turn to talk to him about the Tark.

Lifts one gauntleted hand to rest beneath his chin and he mumblers quietly to himself, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

Pushdug stands and looks up to the Olog with a fierceness in his eyes that flares with a renewed hatred, "<Morbeth> Kill me instead! For if you take my arm then you must also take my shield and any chances of me ever serving the Eye. You make a lame uruk and who is little use to anyone, be it with with teachings of my skills, or service in the fields of combat. Truly, your are not as stupid as your lesser kin. The Eye ensurred this, great Tala-Goth. Do not carry through with such a proclimation. If you are to take an appendage of mine, be it something else. An eye, an ear, or my teeth. But do not make me useless, if you do, kill be instead." Unfolding his arms the Teguk suddenly lowers his hands down to the hilt of his blade and drawing it with a loud metallic ring, he says one more thing, "<Morbeth> Choose something else."

Bhlokwh mutters back at the shaman 'Prehaps that would be wise, healer. I might be a bit rough, and we wouldnt want him dying on us would we. Prehaps when im done, I will give him to you for experiments?

Trakarg's eyes flash from deep within their slitted sockets at the Uruk's outburst, momentarily betraying his anger and irritation. "<Morbeth> Again you question my orders, slave." He replies, this time in a low, raspy voice barely audible to any except those nearest him. "<Morbeth> Does all your skill and knowledge like in this one limb?" He questions, gesturing to Pushdug's left arm with the spike atop phis iron hammer. "<Morbeth> If its removal will leave you as you claim, useless, than I will crush you beneath the weight of my weapon here and now. Decide, and decide swiftly maggot. You have a final chance."

Pushdug blurts out with a sound voice, the westron tongue this time forging the words for all to hear, "Then kill me! For as I said, I speak nothing but the truth. Kill me you dumb stone maggot! Arg, I should have known it was foolish to try to rationalize with a troll, I thought a Warlord would have more smarts then his skin. Obviously not. Kill me, then. I gave *you* a further option, to take my left arm is to kill me anyway. The Eye will be displeased, but I go to see my master upon my death and ill fortune shall befall you ever after. I curse you stone beast, kill me!"

Trakarg stands motionless and silent in the face of Pushdug's outraged, shouted insults. His broad shoulders rise slowly beneath their thick coverings, muscled arms and legs tensing visibly. "Swift death I will not grant you, slave." He replies in an even tone, the words as well spoken in Westron and loud enough for all those around to hear them. The hammer suddenly rises overhead, yet it hangs there for a split second as the Warlord shouts, "Take him, strip him, bind him, and shave the skin from his flesh! I want it done now!"

Hazzerukan drops what he's doing and comes running at the Warlord's shout. Having watched the entire scene anxiously, he moves close to Bhlokwh and waits for orders.

Kerthio looks at the Teguk Pushdug sadly, most of her expression covered by the loose hood of her apprentice cloak. She pulls a small jar of a strange grey liquid from her pouch and conceals it several inches into her sleeve as she draws her bow and knocks a deadly black dart to its tip. She steps forward to take the Teguk captive along with the Pulgor Logaz Bhlokwh. "Stay back Pulgor bastard, she says softly, if thou kin hadst not cheated in the trials it wouldst by thy traitorous tribesman Teguk who stands before my shaft," she whispers to Bhlokwh, her eyes seemingly focused hatefully on the Teguk, but somehow concealing some other motive.

The warlord's shouted words have a visible effect on the orcs and uruks around camp, who are obviously startled and surprised by the orders. Many eagerly spring to their feet, baring weapons and sharp, yellowed fangs as they hurry to the place where Pushdug confronts the massive beast. Others move more hesitantly, though numbers do grow steadily, both soldiers and slaves gathering to watch or aid with the fate of the former Captain of Minas Morgul.

Pushdug grumbles sharply at the words of Bhlokwh and shakes his head, "Do you enjoy having idiots working for the army of the Eye Tala-Goth. Look at this maggot behind me. If I wished to die, then should I not just take a step back? Or perhaps, I should turn and kill him? I grow weary of this game. If I am to die, then I shall die now and I will *not* grant you any satisfaction. There is no cause for that. Speak, let your tongue say a few words. Are you suddenly incapable? Come on, speak!" The former Teguk taunts, his own scimitar still firm in his hands, having drawn it when he had offered the Olog a choice of appendages. There he holds it, a weapon if any and capable of doing harm. It is evident, as the camp wonders, that this uruk who has already come so close to death will not relinquish himself this eve. No fear is present in his fiery eyes, only a fixed arrogance which dominates his entire features.

Shandor peeks up barely moving. He sees the his "Master" has let loose his leash to pursue other matters at hand in the camp. He sees the forest to the west but sees that things are heating up. He decides not to move and wait.

Trakarg regards Pushdug evenly, momentarily ignoring the crowd of bloodthirsty orcs and uruks which has begun to gather behind the former captain. "Do as I said." He commands, the words no longer shouted, yet ringing clearly over the assembled Mordain. "Take his weapons and armour, bind him to a post, and skin him alive. Do so here and now!" At these words, much of the gathered crowd surges suddenly forward, many clawed hands reaching for Pushdug's limbs. Cries and shouts fill the air, as before the Warlord, the orcs of Mordor turn upon one of their own.

Bhlokwh growls as he hears the words of the shaman 'Attend to the human, healer, should he die your life will also be forfeit. This situation calls for warriors, not healers, and I am quite capable of handling this situation. As for cheating, well, Great Warlord would have known any treachery and punished it accordinly, unless you wish to doubt his judgement, leave off this suicidal track. Bhlokwh nods at the words of the war-lord, and begins to grab at the shield on pushdugs back.

Bhlokwh grunts softly as the Teguk is taken away, and glances down to see how the prisoner is doing. suddenly, he realises the prisoner is not there, and glances around quickly. Spotting the prisoner making his way towards the west end of camp, he mutters a quick oath as he begisn to slip away 'Stop that human on the orders of the warlord! he cries out to the scouts and patrollers on the west side of camp. About five of the nearest scouts break into a run to catch him, snufflers, heads down low as they chase.

Looming above the chaos directly before him, Trakarg watches impassively as the Teguk is stripped and taken to the nearest post to be bound. The hammer lowers slowly to his side, its iron head dropping to rest upon the mud just by his blocky feet. Like the towering trees behind him, the Warlord stands motionless and silent all throughout the terrible act, looking upon the grisly scene with cruel eyes. Only until the Teguk slumps upon his post, passed out and dying, does he move again. A quick turn of his great bulk, and he is off through the woods, north towards the small encampment of trolls further into the trees.

You head north, under the oppressive trees..