Disposing of Charvok
Elendor - Friday, February 09, 2001, 6:12 PM
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Disposing of Charvok
===== Durin's_Bane (M) ======================================================
CULTURE: Morian (Maia) LOCATION: Unfindable
TITLE: Balrog, true Lord of all Creation.
FIRST: Oct 13, 1996 FLAGS: aF-/IC (F)
CONNECT: Online for 2h 6m 20s (IDLE: 2m) DETAILS: #25526 POuaeA+cxfT
WEBPAGE: http://raevnos.pennmush.org
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DESCRIPTION:
A great form, prehaps manlike, wreathed in fire that does not burn it, with a streaming mane of flaming hair, and mighty, clawed hands. Power and terror seems to be in it and go before it. At its side is a great sword, far too large for any normal creature to wield effectively, with a red blade seemingly sculpted out of glowing lava, and a whipe of many thongs, the tip of each wound with a coil of some metal, glowing from the heat.
Yet despite the flames, it is a dark figure, like a shadow cast in fire.
====================================================== 4785 OOC Credits =====
===== Garjug (bud) ==========================================================
CULTURE: Morian (Uruk-Hai <Orc>) LOCATION: Moria
TITLE: Zealot
FIRST: Jul 22, 1997 FLAGS: aF-/OOC (M)
CONNECT: Online for 1h 26m 1s (IDLE: 0s) DETAILS: #23667 POA+cfT
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DESCRIPTION:
The stench defiles your nostrils before the source is ever seen. The reek of rotted flesh with the vile stench of evil. As the overpowering odor increases, you can make out the silhouette of a hulking, but misshapen figure. The glint of light off of shiny black plates conceal the masses of gnarled flesh underneath. Two smouldering crimson eyes glare at you balefully from the dim light, cutting through the foul air like torches through fog. The rest of his face is concealed behind the skull of some long-dead monstrosity, the skull having been adorned with ebony plates. Bits of rotting hide still hang from the grisly head, giving it a dreadful look of something clinging to it's long forgotten life.
The armor is a chaotic mess of chain links bound to small black plates. The armaments seem to clatter as this grotesque being steps towards you, the heavy bootsteps echoing against the narrow halls. Waves of putrid air seem to fill the air with a dizzying effect. Against the twisted leg rests a long, heavy curved blade. The slight ring of metal on metal can be heard with every step. The blade is of the blackest metal, and the grip seems to be made of some type of hide or...skin. Protruding from the end of the grisly weapon is a long tangle of bloodied hair, presumably removed from some unfortunate victim.
As the gnarled form steps closer, the etchings of many ornate figures and designs adorn the equipment. The overlong arms, bandied legs, and squat torso make a mockery of this warrior's power. Though danger can be sensed in every sinew of this twisted figure's body, the pungent air filled with decay and death seems more likely to overcome its opponents.
===================================================== 45449 OOC Credits =====
Lair Of The Balrog(#8147RantU)
Below the awesome glassed fissure, which dancing gas-fires illuminates, lies the truly massive Lair of the Balrog where the Demon of Fire holds its evil court.
Upon 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 snarls viciously, their features 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 dais. Smoke of sulphurous fumes twirl around the pillars, around the throne- even around you as your hasty tread upon hateful ground renders you senseless by the awe that is displayed 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:
Durin's_Bane
Throne(#25384)
Palantir(#11779n)
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.
A large arch of stone leading to the Chamber of the Baneguard
Durin's_Bane is sitting on its splendid throne, in fire-shape, a living pillar of fire. The round stone of the palantir is before it, held in one firey hand-like offshoot of the Demon's form, and the Demon is staring into it, concentrating on something it sees deep inside the crystal.
From the eastern stone arch that rises far above the burning stone below comes the self proclaimed Zealot of Moria. His usual heavy frame seemingly conjoined with another shape, but the shimmer in the heated air makes it difficult for mortal eyes to see clearly. He seems to labor across the large heated chamber, until he comes to rest, nearly fifty paces away from the throne that is bordered by the massive columns. His face sweats, though it can not be determined if it is due to the effort, the temperature, or the company.
[Durin's_Bane(#25526)] The Balrog looks up as the orc approaches, setting the orb of the Palantir back on its stand. The burning gas jets around the throne flare up, often a sign of the Demon's displeasure. 'What,' it demands, bypassing crude speech to place its words directly in your mind, 'are you doing here and how did you get past my Baneguard, worm?'
Garjug, never having been spoken to in such a direct manner, falls heavily to his knees, and drops his burden, which rolls aside, fully displaying the bloodied form of the once Apprentice Zealot Charvok. Hardly knowing whether to speak or try to somehow project his thoughts to this most mighty being, he begins to speak but his voice comes out cracked. The Zealot redoubles his efforts, and stammers forth, "<Morbeth> I-it is I, Garjug. Your most l-loyal of servants." The Zealot looks over to the fallen corpse, and notices the bare flesh begining to char while resting on the hot ground. Focusing again, he says, "<Morbeth> I have come to offer you the remainder of the sacrifice that I have previously offered. This one is my apprentice, and I have had her sacrificed to serve you in the realm of the Flame." His mind suddenly seems to be empty, the remainder of his practices speech falling away. With no words to speak, he simply lowers his head.
[Durin's_Bane(#25526)] The Balrog repeats its second question, ignoring the answer to the first now. 'How did you get past my Baneguard? They are not to let anyone in without my order.'
Garjug looks ashen at the persistance of the questioning, and now regrets ever having come to this fiery pit. The words seem unable to form properly in his mind, the shock of having words implanted directy into his head being more than he was prepared for. "<Morbeth> I-th-They let me pass oh mighty Demon of Flame, for I spoke to them of my gift for you, and of the orders of the Zealot who speaks for the.." His voice trails off into silence.
[Durin's_Bane(#25526)] 'They would not have let you past.' the Balrog says. 'This must be investigated further.' The Demon stands, a tall burning man-shape, showing all the colors of fire, from white and blue around the chest-area, to orange and red on the fringes. 'Now,' it commands, 'Throw your sacrifice in the lava, to purify it.'
As the giant form of living flame rises to it's full height, the effect is nearly devastating to the Zealot, who wishes only to escape this dreadful being with his miserable life. Hardly able to move, his great will is all that give him strength enough to rise to his own, though his eyes remain downcast, making certain not to anger this Demon any further. Reaching down, he scoops up the corpse of Charvok, and looks for the nearest pit of boiling flame and lava. The Zealot's knees can hardly support the weight, yet somehow he makes it with his burden to the edge of the pit. In his heart he desired glory and praise for his actions, but knowing now that it was never meant to be. Without additional ceremony, he rolls Charvok's body into the flames, and then watches as the flesh is consumed by the boiling core of the magma. Wanting to speak, Garjug's mind is again blank, and therefore the silence is not broken. His mind only thinks of living another day, and escaping the dreadful ire of the Flame.
[Durin's_Bane(#25526)] A few minutes after vanishing in the lava with a soft 'blub' sound, the Balrog makes a gesture, and the lava at that point starts to bulge up, like something underneath is surfacing...
[Durin's_Bane(#25526)] A mound of the glowing molten rock seperates, and floats up several feet into the air, where it seems to twist and deform, like invisible fingers were moulding it like it was wet clay, into an orc-like form.
Seeing this bulbous occurrance in the magma before him, Garjug's will over his body fails, and he falls back, scrabbling backwards, away from the animated lava. His eyes seem wide, and fear tears at his heart, but he soon comes to a stop, unable to either move closer or further from the monstrosities in the chamber. Even the burning of his hands and back seem unable to tear the Zealot's gaze from the glowing orb of Flame.
[Durin's_Bane(#25526)] One arm of the lava-orc, dripping little bits of lava back into the pool, extends and points back towards the exit. 'You have done what you came for,' the Balrog thinks to Garjug. 'Now leave, and only come back when summoned!'
[Moria ZMO(#20000)->Garjug]
As a slave released from years of bondage and torture, the Zealot seizes the opportunity for escape. All honor and self-respect lost, Garjug races, first on hands and feet until he is able to right himself to run. His duty done, he quickly relieves himself of the chamber, and the Dreadful Lord of Fire that he calls his master.
[Durin's_Bane(#25526)] As the Zealot flees, behind him the lava-orc looses its shape and falls back into the pool, and the Balrog sits back down, its flames dimming.