Garjin watches the old one closely, expecting a sudden attack, but wanting to believe it's fevrent wishes. "<Uruk> Come with me old one and we shall get you fed. If you still wish to visit the Fire Demon you must speak with our King." his voice begins to get alightly more firm. "<Uruk> You will now come with us back up these stairs. Barak will follow to assure you do not fall."

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] Suddenly, the uruk-hai leaps backwards with suprising agility. His eyes are wide, and he appears to be looking through Garjin. He still leans heavily on his spear. His words are bellowing and some would not be sure that it was in fact the shaman that spoke the words. "No!" he screams definately. "To feed! A need of da body, will cloud da spirit!" he looks to the east again, and back to the Cheiftain. "Iz MUST seek da Power, da Darkness has tasked me!" he steps forward again, his one free hand glasping a crooked hand to the front of the Morians chest, trying to a hold. He stares into the Cheiftains eyes. He speaks, his voice much more calm and determined, though still clear. "Iz know you wish da best fer your lands.... but youz will surely be killing me." the air around the Shaman crackles like his robes are full of static electricity, it makes the bent figures few wisps of white hair stand on end and wave erily.

Barak's eyes go wide as the old one burst into movement. He takes a step forward but holds as he sees the elder orc does not strike. He has learned though experience not to rush in and he knows this shaman must be a little off, speaking about things he does not see himself. To remind the Orc of his presence he barks out "Hold where you are Go'gurlg. Hold fast or DIE!"

Garjin starts at the sudden leap from the wizened one, and instantly his mace is at his side. A cruel ebony barbed mace, scratched and marred through many years of hard use. The grey cloak fluttering only slightly with the breeze swirlying around the floor of the cavern. The Valnul chieftain looks again at the wiry form, "<Uruk> Skai! But you are quick on your feet! Perhaps you are equally quick with your spear. Even that, however will not allow you to pass through. You will return with us, and if you dislike our food, then none shall you have. But you will come with us up these stairs." Garjin, his usual sour mood straining to remain civil, moves back between the old Uruk and the Balrog's lair. A brief flicker of the war face flashes across Garjin's face as his eyes turn hard and his muscles tense. Ready to battle this aged orc to the ground, yet respectful and nervous of the magic this one might hold.

Go'gurlg lets go of the front of the Chieftain's chest as he moves away. He sighs and shakes his head frustratedly. Looking longingly over the two uruk's heads, he whispers something under his breath before turning to the stairs. He begins to plod forward. Scrape, scrape, thump. The uruk-hai drags his feet, the spear shaft a third leg. He murmers words under his breath and the attentive person would hear the occasional 'Power' or 'Darkness' in that cracked, croaking voice.

Barak lets out a crisp breath. More a way to relieve some tension than anything else. He has learned from the brutal hand of another shaman not to rush in he didn't have too. He flashes a quick glance at his Chieftain and then moves in closer behind the old one. His eye is sharp and he does not let his guard down. He slows to pace the elder and eyes his spear.

Garjin is pleased that the aged one is responding without additional combat, for he has great respect for the mystics and fears the powers he has heard they wield. the Valnul Chieftain strides forward, following the bent form up the great dark stairway. The cloaked one is silent and all that can be heard of him is the slight clink of his chain mail rubbing against itself.

Moria, Hall of the King

A chamber has been hewn from the rock here, the ancient strength of the workmanship defying the attempts of time to erode and destroy it. A rectangular cavern, longer north/south is adorned with the markings of both recent and ancient, long gone inhabitants. Whatever use it held in the past seems unclear, yet now it has become the court which belongs to the King of Moria. At the far northern end of the cavern lies a large upraised dias, steps leading on all compass points to the throne which rests at the zenith of each stairs end. Several smaller chairs rest behind, both on the right and left hands of the throne. Stone pillars upon the east and west sides running southward from the throne present sanctuaries close to the wall, and allow a great hallway of stone to extend from the chamber entrance to the throne itself. the light of flickering torches rest on both wall and pillar alike whilst an oblong shaped fire pit runs before the throne, each flickering fire from torch and pit presenting light by which to guide. Between the northern wall and the southern entrance a multitude of orcs could gather, and in such need, olog warriors and uruk-hai guards, evenly spaced on the west and eastern walls protect this hall.

Contents:

Orc Caravan

Throne

Obvious exits:

South leads to Moria, Second Hall, Eastern End.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] A withered creature enters the throne room and looks around, unimpressed. He moves to a position towards the middle, and slowly eases himself down on his tired haunches. He lays his decrotive spear beside him. Reaching into his robe, he pulls out a motar and tresle. Taking some leaves from somewhere, he drops them into the bowl. From a pouch, he produces a little wooden box, takes a pinch or orange power and puts the box away, and the power in the bowl. He spits into the bowl next. Then he begins mixing the contents as he sits indian style.

Barak enters behind the older Hai. He keeps a respectful distance andscans the room when he enters it. Seeing the King he immediately bows his head in respect. Taking a step to the side he allows Garjin to move into the presence of the King.

The doorway is again shadowed with the large form of an Uruk-Hai. This one in a weathered grey cloak, identifying him as the Valnul Chieftain, Garjin. He enters behind the small elder uruk and before the first Uruk-Hai. His dreaded barbed mace out and at his side. His eyes are hard and distrustful of the wizened orc and he keeps a carefull eye out for him. Once fully in the room, Garjin lowers his eyes and nods his head in respect for the king. "King of Moria, I am Garjin of the Valnul,"he begins more of formality and respect then a need to introduce himself, "I have brought to you an outsider I found in the lower halls of Moria. He was trying to get to the den of the Fiery Beast, but we brought him here to you."

[Razzgrak(#2715)] Upon the shadow of the entrance there is a flicker of movement, and then suddenly from the doorwaythe King appears. He stands at the doorway and pauses, momentarily watching the orcs in front of him before resuming his canter. He looks old, though certainly not frail, the chords of his muscles easily showing beneath his customary clothing of deepest black.

Tnair, a loyal guard of the king, glares at the disrespectful old orc, but as soon as he is about to ask the others about this elder, the king appears from the north. Tnair narrows his suspicious red eyes, but does not do anything, waiting until his master gives him an order. However, Tnair tightens his grimy hands' grip on his axe, and prepares to dispense death, if the king orders it to be done.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] The bend Shaman takes little notice of the goings on around him. Using the tools he brought with him, the uruk-hai has made a crumbly paste with the power, dried leaves and saliva. He reaches into his robes and produces a small flask and pours it's entirty into the bowl and begins mixing again. His green eyes are focused on the bowl before him, and he is mouthing silent words.

Razzgrak turns once he reaches the foot of the dias, nods to Tnair and speaks. "What do you maggots want!" he roars aloud, watching for some sort of answer.

Barak eyes the shamans workings with distrust. The crafty old one must be up to something. He watches briefly then turns his attention to the might King. He stands ramrod straight and waits to speak untill he is spoken to directly.

The tall form of the Chieftain strides forward and again addresses the king, Razzgrak. "We have brought this one up from the depts of Moria, near the lair of the beast. He is not of Moria, and he speaks of shaman things. What is your wish, master?"

Gnashbone shuffles in, doing his best to avoid attracting attention to himself. He reaches inside of his worn leathers, scratching at something, and then pushes a finger into his hear, pulling out a large gob of wax that he wipes off on his leathers. He spies the group talking to the King, and shuffles forward, spotting the old one that he took to the sixth deep earlier.

Razzgrak looks upon the shaman for the first time, actually studying him "Where is it from?" he questions as his eyes flicker once again onto Garjin. He moves forward, somewhat interested now in this outlandish shaman.

Tnair continues to glare at the intruders, specifically the one sitting down, and begins grins evilly as he considers what the king might order. I shall have my loyal guard, Tnair, execute this brat of a snaga! Tnair begins to ponder that possibility fondly, but tries not to reveal what he is thinking, save a small grin, perhaps.

[Vorshag(#21290)] The shadows around the enterance to the cavern seem to move and one of them detaches and moves slowly into the light. The form is indeed a dark shadow..But a uruk. Vorshag glances around the hall and the gathered uruk and uruk-hai before the king. A soft hiss escapes his lips and he moves foreward into the faint light of the torches. The chieftan lets out a grunt and bows toward the king from the hips before hissing softly as something in the air does not seem right. His peering eyes fall on the seated uruk and growls softly as he moves foreward to mingle with the crowd

The Valnul Chieftain stands directly behind the shaman, unaware of the potion he seems to be mixing. He awaits the King's appraisal or his questions, standing rock still.

Go'gurlg finishes his incantation and pokes his finger into the orange paste he has produced. He dips his pointing finger up to the first knuckle and draws it forth. Holding it inches from his face, he studies it. Moving slowly, purposefully, the gnarled finger of the Shaman begins to course over his face, making a mark here, a dot there. He cirles the right eye completely and follows the brow of the leg, lining only the top. Paste is applied to both sides of the nose, widening it. Dipping his finger again he runs the paint over the edges of his ears, outlining them both. Finally, he runs a mark from the middle of his bottom lip down his chin. He lifts his head and continues the mark to his adam's apple. The bowl disappears into the folds of his robes.

The Shaman then looks into the air and begins to speak. "Da Darkness has sent me. Iz have done dis for Him. My body is cleansed, 'aving not eaten fer days. Me spirt is open, ready to accept His Judgement. Iz follow da Power ta 'ere, wher You have led. Now, des" he motions in a circle around him, "'Ave denied mez passage, so now Iz make preperations ta 'ave da Raven take me away." His eyes are still focuses on something above.

Targ feels uncomfortable with all the sudden activity and looks to the doorway. Slowly he rises and leaves his hole, waddling to the south. His long fat body barely noticed amoung the tension in the room.

Barak feels uncomfortable with the preparations the shaman is making and looks away. he notices a particullary large Morian rat move south. He doen't pay it any more attention and turns back to the gathering.

Razzgrak snarls lightly, an intake of breath as he watches "Gah! A southerner, or my aging eyes defeat me" he retorts, his eyes widening. "You and yours assume that you may enter my halls unbidden on a quest I have not heard about? You Maggot!" he spits. "Why should I not tickle you with my scimitar and enslave you into the deepest, darkest mine?" he questions.

Garjin remains behind the seated Isen shaman, awaiting instructions from his king, secretly hoping the order will be to slay this worker of magics.

Tnair's grin grows a little bit larger, and more of his yellow, decaying teeth are being revealed to everyone. His crimson eyes gleam with a new wave of maleficence, but he quickly controls himself, and shuts out a little bit of his desire to slay the miserable uruk. Tnair still awaits the king's command, although it need not be more than a breath of a word.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] Looking about him like he's not sure he's suppose to be here, the Shaman grabs the spear lying next to him. Holding it upright, he using his arms and legs to force himself to his feet, grunting loudly. He slowly shuffles toward the King, his face perplexed. He reaches a hand out slowly, palm out, and stops two inches from the uruk-hai's chest. The Shaman's mouth opens, the few teeth he has showing. His ears twitch and his eyes go wide. "Youz know da Power... been touched by da Power. Will youz take me dere?" he looks pleadingly up to the King of Moria.

Razzgrak remains motionless, but his grin widens from the sickly sneer it had been just seconds before . He nods, once - a careful gesture "You know then." he speaks, his breathy tone within this large hall small and diminuitive suddenly "Aye, I know that power which you speak. It is my only master" while he gestures around him, he conculdes "While these orcs have many masters". Snarling though now, as if his mind has changed, he steps back. We shall strike a bargin!"

[Razzgrak(#2715)] he steps back "We shall stike a bargin!" the king says. "You will recieve your escort, but speak now if you are one of those Southerners, before I continue."

Vorshag hisses softly as his axe slides free of his belt with the soft hiss of the metal of the blade against the metal of his belt buckle. The chieftan swings the weapon to the side and raises it slightly to display it to the eyes of the king. Vorshag then steps out from the crowd to look down at the southern uruk with clear disdain in his dark eyes. Vorshag glances up at the king of the mines and his face silently asks for the order to spill the blood of the alien one the stone of the balrog's domain. A angered hiss escapes the lips of the chieftan and his axe slowly lowers to his side again

Gnashbone breathes a bit easier as he hears the King's words, but he quickly holds his breath as the others still look poised to strike the older uruk. He wonders if he did the right thing earlier by taking the old one to the sixth deep, or if he is going to be disciplined for allowing the stranger in. Perhaps he was ensorcelled! Yes, that would be his excuse, the stranger sapped his will with his southern magicks! Yes, that was it. His breathing becomes more regular as he outlines his excuse in his head, nodding to himself and mumbling.

Go'gurlg frowns slightly at the question. He looks at the King and chokes out, "Iz not know from where I come from where I am. Iz 'ave followed da Power, da vision sent by da Darkness, not da compass. Iz come from da Black Dragon Kingdom. Iz dis da land ya speak of?" His head swivels slowly over his hunched shoulder to few the Chieftain that is axe swinging. The Shaman doesn't look threatened or frightened and only has a look of pity in his sparkling green eyes as he turns to look again at the King.

Garjin takes two quick strides towards the king, placing himself within easy arms reach of the wretched worker of magic. Ready to smach this tiny orc should there be a threat to his king, the warrior's instincts tell him that all is in danger when magic exists.

Razzgrak shakes his head clear of the orcs confusing dialect "It is no matter. You seek the Fire-beast who has tamed us. Therefore shall you go to it, on this condition. You must seek me out should you survive the encounter with The Master." he pauses, considering his words, his cloak ruffling behind him as he gestures. He steps away turning around towards the throne behind him, "And should you survive," the king declares as he turns back to face the orc "Then you will seek me. And you will take the quest that I shall give you". With a loud grunt, "And Maggot, that is the only way you will see the Master, for should you not agree, you will be turned out of our caverns - or killed should you offer resistance."

Tnair steps sideways closer to the king, wondering if he should push the rude snaga away from his powerful master, or wait for the king's orders. His red eyes continues to glare at the elder, but they begin to show a small amount of uncertainty in them. Tnair curses mentally, and will wait for his master's orders. Upon hearing the king speak, the guard waits for the shaman's reponse, and knows what to do if the old orc causes any trouble.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] A weak and struggled laughter begins from the robes that the bent uruk-hai is wrapped in. It gets louder and he opens his mouth, the laughter getting clearer. The guffaws end in wracking coughs that double the Shaman over. Finally, he stands and looks at the King. "Youz tink Iz could defeat any Master?" a broad smile covers his face. "Me time gets shorter, I can sense da Power. If Iz must die anyways, den tell me who dis 'Master' is dat Iz can get it over wit. It is clear da Iz 'ave failed da Darkness. Iz also doubt dat if Chakdral strikes da 'Master' down fer me, dat I'd 'ave da strength ta seek ya out." he chuckles again, shaking his head. "Send me where you will, da Power knows Iz 'ere just as me know da Power iz here. If da Darkness meant fer us ta meet, it will be so. Show me dis Master."

Razzgrak blinks several times, then shrugs and nods quietly. Looking upon Garjin and the others assembled, he speaks with a sneering tone "Then take him down to meet with The Master, the Fire-beast. Await his return, for return he shall - and send him back to me. Order who you will to keep watch over him, but make sure he is returned to me!"

The warrior chieftain nods to the king and gruffly grabs the aging shaman by his upper arm holding the jar of paint. Speaking to the king, "As you wish. I will watch over him myself if it is your wish." then turning to the bent form, "you will come with me old one, and you had better not cause trouble." Garjin then turns himself around and marches the shaman back to the doorway of the throne room.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] Being half lifted, the Shaman uses the tips of his toes to push himself to the door. He speaks no more and his paint covered face is blank. He simply goes where he is lead.

Razzgrak watches the pair leave the hall, and turns to head back towards the throne, pondering the self-assured shaman.

You venture out upon the first graven red glass bridge. The heat and stench of the glowing magma below you redoubles. You pass over the first 3 bridges, which are carved in the tortured likeness of two Dwarves and a Man.

Lair Of The Balrog, Mid-Chamber

Six giant vaults compose the 120' high ceiling. Adorned with mithril and gold, their arches support a surface of clear glass that looks up into a natural fissure, one forever illuminated with dancing blue light. There, huge gas-fires fill hundreds of terraced ledges, all marching toward the roof of the great chasm, 640' above.

Your gaze drops down from this twinkling but ominous scene to the fire-lit 600' by 300' throneroom. Here, the Balrog holds court. Six wide pools of flowing lava fill the chamber from the west to the east. Arching red glass bridges span these pools. Each is carved in the form of a fallen lord and is representative of the tortured Free Peoples laid to rot in the pits of the Demon-king.

You stand upon a central island amidst flowing pools of glowing lava. To the west lies escape, to the east, a high dias holds the throne of the Balrog.

Thick pillars of sulphurous smoke rise from the surface of the lava, shrouding the area in dimness.

Obvious exits:

East leads to Lair Of The Balrog.

West leads to Lair Of The Balrog, Front-Chamber.

<OOC> You say, "The pair cross the glass bridge, suspended many feet above the fires below. Ahead you can see a shadowy beast, but it's image is obscured with the heat"

You venture out upon the graven red glass bridge to the east. You cross over it, and two others, which bear the likness of two Sindar Elves and... a Noldor!

Lair Of The Balrog

Below the awesome glassed fissure which is illuminated by dancing gas-fires lies the truly massive Lair of the Balrog where the Demon of Fire holds its evil court.

Upon a the threshold of a Throne do you stand, blackened granite pillars standing as monuments of servitude to the being which resides in this cavern most venal and unwholesome. Twisted dragons curled one upon the other snarl viciously, their feautres etched without fault into the pillars. Flaming brands of fire support each monolith structure in light, while fire spews from the mouths of the nameless beasts etched upon every surface that surrounds the dias. Smoke of sulphourous fumes twirl around the pillars, around the throne- even around you as your hasty tread upon hateful ground renders you sensless by the awe that is diplayed about. Upon a throne lies an ancient orb, a mystical ball of power and mystery- of the very elements itself; stolen from the world above.

Contents:

Mordamaz

Throne

Palantir

Obvious exits:

South leads to Hall of Waiting.

North leads to Balrog's Chamber of Enchantment.

West leads to Lair Of The Balrog, Mid-Chamber.

[Mordamaz(#19028)] The Lair is dimly lit from the fires and there is no trace of the Beast anywhere. The darkness seems to be thicker at the far end fo the lair and it is not possible to see anything in the shadows behind the throne.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] A withered man is being pushed into the lair. His bright green eyes look about him in the complete darkness, frowing. He leans, bent on his spear, using it to prop him up. The wisps of hair on his head wave in an unseen breeze and his breath comes raggedly from the treatment he has been under.

The larger Uruk-Hai holds the wizened shaman by his upper arm, the warrior's fingers pressing in deeply as his anxiety presses in upon him. His commanding figure, somewhat cowed in the lair of the great beast. The small of sulphur burning his nose and the heat causing him so sweat underneath the heavy mail. Garjin leads the shaman before the massive black throne, and then forces him to kneel there. The Valnul then awaits, nervously, hoping that he too shal live yet another day.

Go'gurlg does not cry out in pain dispite the strength in the Chieftain's grip. He grunts as he is forced rather brutely, to his knees. He blinks in an attempt to clear the darkness around him, or to pierce it, neither of which is successful. Enwrapped in layers of robes, the uruk-hai does not sweat, his skin completely dry. He studies the Throne before looking over it, in the air, and smiling broadly.

[Mordamaz(#19028)] From behind the throne, the shadows seem to part and faint outlines of a huge form start to take on a picture - something humanlike, yet much much bigger finally steps forward and slides silently towards the throne where it takes a seat. The beast is lined in fire and snaking and hissing in it's right claw is a huge whip of many thongs. As the Balrog appears, horrid feelings seem to emit from it, out towards those that have intruded.

[Mordamaz(#19028)] As the beast assumes it's seat, she glares out towards the two that now kneel in front of the huge throne, stares down at them for a long time, silent and still. Finally, after what seems to be forever, low growl as of a great cat fills the lair - once that is silenced the beast speaks. The voice is rasp and carries threats of eternal pain in itself. "Speak your errands Snagas! What is your business here!?

Go'gurlg is still looking over the Throne when the Balrog appears. The Shamans eyes slowly shift to the emerging figure, the smile slowly fading proportial to more visible the Demon becomes. Now at the goal of his quest, the uruk-hai must test his faith in the Darkness. Opening up with many senses, the Shaman studies the Fire Lord. Not peeling his eyes away, the Shaman releases his fear as he senses it need for it. Releases it like captured butterfly, letting it flutter and land on the beast. He mutters, "Da Power." very low, barely a whisper, absorbed in a silent exchange within his own head.

Garjin instantly falls to his knees, never even knowing if it was purely from respect or fear. His head bent low, he maintains his hand on the arm of his charge, more to keep him from sliding into the realm of the supernatural, than to prevent any aggression. Garjins head is held low, his eyes averted. The great heat causing even more sweat to line the warriors face. The heat from the stones being felt through his knees, the sound of the fissures forcing jets of hot gasses into the room, the only sound. Once the great roar batters his ears, Garjin hears the commanding beast demand explanations. He feels compelled to answer the great demon, "Razzgrak, king of Moria bade me escort this foreigner to you. I am only his charge and I am to report back to the king immediately after." These rehearsed words being spoken with the last resolves of strength, and the Valnul Chieftain again falls silent.

Mordamaz shifts her eyes from the Uruk-hai that spoke after studying him and recognizing him yet again, and towards the other that has been lead so abrubtly to the den of the beast. For a long time she studies what can bee seen of the old Uruk-hai, her red eyes shooting small flames, her black lips being constantly licked by a blood-red tounge. The noise from the fires seems no to disturb the Balrog, nor the foul air that is poisoned with gasses and sulfur. Finally it seems as she has had enought of her studying and she growls out lowly, pointing at the foreigner with one claw. "Your errand, Snaga? Speak your name and errand!

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] The Shaman can feel the hellish heat all around him. In the air, the floor, in the beasts very presence. He releases the spear that is lying at his side, and looks to the Balrog's feet. "Da Power." he says in answer to the question, and the Uruk-hai begins the story. He tells of how while he was medatating weeks ago after using a hallinating concoction, he saw the Darkness. He tells of the totems that were with Him. Chakral, the Dragon, the Wolf and Raven. Then he saw through them, as if it were a window and saw yet another branch of the Darkness, that which the Shaman came to call the Power. It was distant, but more real then the totems in texture and solidity. He felt a sudden urge to seek the power and left on a journey into the wilderness. Wandering for days he finally came to Moria. After all this, the Shaman realizes that even though his story is told, he hasn't said anything beyond his initial two words...

Garjin remains silent, standing watch over the ageing wise one and using his arm as a crutch to steady himself. His eyes never leave the floor beneath the beast's feet, but his ears listen intently to the ramblings of the old one. Silence may serve him this day in the presence of his lord and master.[Mordamaz(#19028)] The eyes of the beast never leave the foreigner, digging deep into his skull as he 'tells' his tale. Horrid blink is alive there in those eyes, blink of recognition and of knowledge of all that the Shaman 'rambles on' about. The tounge constantly shoots out like a snake to wet and lick the cracked lips, the horrid fangs glow slightly in the red light of the lair. As the old one finishes she looks from him and down onto her claws, seems to fall into some kind of meditation. This lasts for a long time. Nothing is heard in the lair but the whine of the fires and the hiss of the gasses spitting out into the hot air.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] The withered Shaman drops to all fours, suddenly exhausted from the many days travels without substance. For the first time since entering, the beads of sweat begin to form on the uruk-hai face and hands. But it comes in torrents. A near constant drip, drip, drip falls off the tip of his nose that ran from his forhead and sizzles into steam on the ground. He coughs, a burning in his lungs. He tries to focus his thoughts, because his head feels like a closet that everything has fallen out of.

Garjin remains still, acutely aware of the silence, but not of the deep communication between the other occupants of the room. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, very aware of his danger.

Mordamaz finally looks up from her claws again, he eyes rest for a short time on Garjin before darting yet again to the Shaman. The voice finally comes to alive again and the words that the Balrog speaks are few and spoken with a low voice, ripped and broken. "You seek The Power, Snaga! You shall bring the glory of The Darkness with you, you shall deliver the Darkness! You shall be my voice!

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] Shaman realizes all as it falls into place. The Balrog is not a false god like so many Fighting uruk-hai believe, nor is it a Totem, like Chakdral or the Wolf or the Raven. The Balrog is messager of the Darkness. A tool. The Hermes for him. The Shaman sees it all now and is angry at himself for not knowing earlier. "I shall." he repeats in a voice filled with dedication and reverance. Not like a worshipper, but like a believer.

Mordamaz growls lowly at the trail of thoughts that she catches, annoyed by the 'pictures' of the totems.Mordamaz grunts out, the voice giving away the annoyance and delivering hate and fear as is her nature. "There is only One, Old Snaga!

The guard is stunned when the shaman suddenly falls forward, but he allows the motion. When the words again boom through the cavern, Garjin is suddenly aware of the impact these words may have. The Voice of the Beast! This one has been given a high honor indeed! Garjin now wishes only for the demon to finish and bid them leave.

Mordamaz leans backwards in the throne and toyes with the whip, her eyes resting on Go'gurlg.

Go'gurlg raises his head slowly, his eyes even slower. They follow the form of the up until he looks into the Demons eyes. He seems pain and suffering, his own as well as others. He gives up his fear like bread to a hungry animal. He nods, while looking in the monsters unearthly gaze. "Aye, there is only One." He tries to swallow, but there is no moisture in his mouth to do so. He blinks some tears out of his eyes, feeling physically exhausted and spiritually bloated.

Mordamaz nods slowly, her eyes and senses knowing excactly how the shaman thinks and what he feels from now. He, like so many other servants of this dreaded beast, need not to be in her presence for her to know their hearts and minds. She looks from the exhausted one towards the Chieftain, squints her eyes and grunts at him. "Take him back to the Snaga King. Report, that he is a tool of the Dark, he shall not be harmed. First, remove a finger from his right hand and leave it here!" as she finishes speaking, she looks towards the old one, monotoring his faith.

The voice hitting him with strength, Garjin's only desire is to do the beast's bidding. From underneath his heavy cloak, you hear the distinctive *schinnnng* of a blade being drawn. The heavy scimitar is brought from the folds and Garjin turns towards the aged shaman, with not a look of hatred, anger or pleasure, but one of subservience. As commanded, Garjin takes the arm which he holds and moves it further from the shaman and in front of him to remove only one of the slender digits. Garjin raises the blade and prepares to swing.

Mordamaz follows with her eyes, every movement that takes place out in the floor in front of the throne, her tounge slowly moving over the lips now as the beast awaits to see blood drawned. As the blade is wielded, the fires flare up, licking the walls, dancing madly with the shadows.

[Go'gurlg(#13008)] The Shaman looks at his hand, makes no motion to stop the placement by the Cheiftain. As the uruk-hai readies the blade, the bent uruk-hai suddenly stands, with speed and strength that belay his apparent age and condition. He snatches the blade from the Cheiftain's hands and attempts to push him backwards, out of the way. Falling to his knees again, the Shaman graps the back of the scimitars blade and curls his fingers on his right hand that is set out before him, all except one. He lowers the balanced middle of blade onto the first knuckle from the palm and presses with all his weight and suprising strength. The scimitar makes no noise as it passes through skin and bone, and the only signal the deed is done is the *TINK* of metal on stone. The Shaman pulls his hand away, but the single finger stays with the blade on the floor. His whimpers in pain and blinks back the tears from the contribution of heat, gasses and the fire that burns in his hand like it burns all around him. He looks up to the Balrog, 'feeding' it once again with pain and fear.

A loud growl rumbles from within the Chieftain, as his blade is unexpectedly taken and he himself shoved to the side. Almost instantly the evil black mace is again in his hands, but seeing the shaman himself doing the task at hand, Garjin waits. Once the task is complete Garjin reaches forth and clasps his heavy hand upon the bruised upper oarm of the shaman again, this time with much strength, causing pain to the shaman.

[Mordamaz(#19028)] Low laughter emits from the Balrog, laughter filled of horror and blood-lust. The sound carries no pleasure or joy in it, but pain, hate and terror only. As it dies out, nearly as fast as it was born the beast nods down at the Shaman. He is her 'property' now, property of total darkness and destroyer of life and light. She speaks but one word, spits it out once she has had her share of 'feeding' of pain and fear. The Balrog eyes shine brightly once she speaks, her voice approving when she says the word "Darkness!" The beast has dismissed the two.

Go'gurlg stands slowly, knowing he will be bullied again. He hands his 'gaurdian' his scimitar back, and glasps the wrist of his right hand to stop the flow of black ichor the pulses from it.

With a sudden great vigor, Garjin snatches the scimitar and slides it back under his cloak and rises, standing and dragging the wretched shaman to his feet as well. Glaring intently towards the decrepit thing, Garjin suddenly is reminded of whose presence he is in, as a blast of a jet of gasses returns him to the here and now. With a slight nod towards the throne, Garjin turns quickly and half shoves half drags the smaller foreigner from the presence fo the great Fiery Lord of Moria, passing west across the glass bridge.

[Mordamaz(#19028)] With a small movement of her right hand, the balrog makes a swift move, the whip whines in the air, so sudden that noone can or could have espected it. The end of one tounge grabs up the finger, lets it loose in the air and flying straight for the Balrog. She raises her left hand and grabs the clawy finger with her claws, secures it in the palm of her hand. The wip is again still and silent.

Go'gurlg jumps with the crack of the whip, as if his spin were connected to the sound. As he is manhandled out, he takes one last glance over his hunched shoulder, to see the Balrog with it's prize...

Mordamaz looks into the palm of her hand, grins to herself as she puts the prize into her horrid mouth as she watches the Shaman and the Chieftain leave..