End of Razzek
Elendor - Sunday, March 04, 2001, 9:13 PM
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Gulp, Razzek and Zilgrosk
March 5, 2001
Moria, Feasting Hall(#424RtAMU)
A huge bonfire burns brightly in the center of this expansive hall, belching forth thicks clouds of smoke and bathing the hall in a reddish wave of heat that all but expunges the oppressive darkness. Oily rags smolder endlessly in torch scones on either side of the stone archway in the north wall, issuing forth tiny, sinuous trails of noxious smoke. Nearly a half-dozen tables lie scattered about the hall, all are marred and ruined through an age of orcish abuse save the marble table which stands august and resilient, a lone testament of the dwarven legacy of old. The table tops are littered with half-eaten meals, rotten meats, small bones and rags.
Contents:
Grack
Razzek
Vranorgush
Gumble
Baerk's Head(#29082p)
Sog(#2947O)
Obvious exits:
Wooden Door leads to Moria, Still.
Stone Archway leads to Moria, Drum Room.
Razzek emerges from the north, in noticeably poor shape. His paces are slow and choppy, and he relies heavily upon his spear to make his way. His body is crisscrossed by very recent scars, and his robes and armor are soiled with his black blood and that of others. Every so often, Razzek stops, leans upon his spear, and coughs - a terrible, guttural noise that seems to pain the forester's body terribly. Sweat gleams upon Razzek's black brow, a sign of his fever. "Skai," he grunts hoarsely as he spots Sog, "Razzek needs ale. Lots!"
Ghlurshrekh sits at the long marble table, hunched over a tall iron mug of ale. Silently he broods, the great fire in the center of the hall to his back, about ten yards distant. His pale eyes are focused on the dark liquid within his cup, as he raises it to his lips; his sip is slow, deliberate.
Trezak enters the feasting hall through the stone archway in the north wall.
Trezak has arrived.
Coming from the northern doorway, the Zealot of Moria steps into the large chamber, and pushes his way through the unusually crowded feasting hall towards the bar. Once there, he simply stares down one of the serving snagas, who quickly bring Garjug a large flask of ale. With his back to the rest of the room, he seems rather defenseless other than his spear leaning against the bar by his side.
Razzek grasps a frothing tankard of ale from Sog greedily, his arm trembling as he raises it to his crooked maw. Though he tilts his head far back, his arm continues to rumble, possessed of a mind of its own. Razzek manages to get most of the foul drink into his belly, but some of spills about his face and onto his front. Wiping suds away with the back of his hand, Razzek demands another tankard, his arm steadier this time.
Turning, with alcohol in hand, Razzek shouts at the incoming Zealot, "Hail, Deacon," though his voice is somewhat tired. His eyes scan the room, and locking on the Thrakburzum Chieftain, he bows low automatically.
Ghlurshrekh notes Razzek's bow from a corner of his eye, but he does not respond to it. As Garjug enters, his narrow nose twists slightly, as he surpresses a gasp at the Zealot's truly fearful stench. Forcing a breath, he eyes the Zealot with something like interest.
[Trezak(#17618)] A red cloaked uruk slides into the feasting hall. Pale life-less eyes slide across the room. He seems to be studying everyone there. A scared hand reaches up and scratches his scared face. The uruk has burns covering his body. He walks slowly up to the bar and whispers to Sog.
Garjug turns his head towards the shout that hails his name, and mumbles something under his breath, "<Morbeth> Damned Forresters, they smell like the elves..." then turning his speech to the common tongue of the mines, 'Aye woodsman.' is all that is said, as he turns his head back to his drink, obviously not one for much discussion. Shortly thereafter, the snaga to Garjug's right silently slips from his bar chair and makes his way to the door, his drink untouched since the entrance of the Zealot. Perhaps it was the Zealot's company, stench, or the violence that often follows him that scared the snaga away.
Ghlurshrekh rises slowly from his chair, now, downing a long swallow of his ale, presumably to settle his stomach. Slowly he begins to walk toward the Zealot.
Razzek idly tosses his shoulders back at the Zealot's rather sparse greeting, and seats himself at the bar. He brings his spear up in a long arc, and deposits it horizontally upon the bench in front of him. Again, Razzek drains the contents of his tankard, slamming it down hard upon completion. With the second drink, the forester's movements begin to less pained but somewhat more awkward. Razzek runs his rough hands along the smooth shaft of his weapon, and flicks his gaze towards his betters.
Grack thinks that it maybee time to go to the mines for awhile...but desides to finish his drink..instead..keeping and eye on the gathering of bigger orcs at the bar..
[Trezak(#17618)] The red cloaked uruk watches Sog as he goes and fetches him a mug of some hot liquid. Once he has the steaming mug the uruk turns back to the room and eyes the Zealot. He takes a long drink of the hot liquid before slowly walking towards the smell.
Some sixth sense nags at the nape of Garjug's neck, causing him to turn, and see a number of puissant Uruks positioning themselves about the room, perhaps converging on him for an attack? His confidence level is high, but nevertheless he turns around in his chair, putting his back to the hard wooden bar. Now facing the chamber, he locates some of the larger threats in the room. His eyes lock on those of the Thrakburzum Chieftain who seems to be making a bee-line towards him, and a shaman that seems to be looking towards him as well. Taking another sip of his ale, the Zealot simply waits to see who reaches him first
[Ghlurshrekh(#29406)] The Thrakburzum Talashakh's metal-shod feet click upon the cold floor. He strides toward the Zealot, extending a steel-clad hand in a benevolent salute. "Zealot. The Demon guards you still, I see?"
Garjug looks towards the chieftain with the salute, and as he is the ranking servant in the chamber, Garjug nods to him in acknowledgement. His low voice barely audible over the din within the chamber,
Trezak sips from his mug slowly. His pale eyes inspect the uruks who approach the Zealot and how they speak to him. A slight smile is pulled across his tight facial skin. The respect for the Zealot is apparent and Trezak hungers for such power over the horde of Moria. For the time being he simply watches the Zealot studying him and siping his hot liquid.
Garjug looks towards the chieftain with the salute, and as he is the ranking servant in the chamber, Garjug nods to him in acknowledgement. His low voice barely audible over the din within the chamber, "Hail, Ghlurshrekh. Aye, the Flame protects those that serve it well. And you seem well, perhaps your duties have become so mundane that you can spend time in the pits of late? I have not seen you about lately." The comment could be construed as friendly ribbing, or as an insult to his responsibilities. "I would imagine that you only have to keep the Troll-Chief from stealing your tribesmen then?"
[Ghlurshrekh(#29406)] The Talashakh offers the other a chuckle. "The pits? No." He glances meaningfully at Garjug, as if trying to see whether he means anything by his last remark; at length, he simply grunts. "The ale here is good, and though my duties are far more important, I can always spare time for some ale ... But the pleasures of the pits ... too much time is spent, for too little a return." He shrugs. "And you? Have you found any wenches in the pits to teach your arts to?" This is a jest, clearly, from the bantering tone in which it is delivered.
Garjug responds with a wide and unfriendly smile. 'Ahh, yes. Of course I have to teach all of those in Moria the ways of the Demon.' The undercurrents of his words leave too much for the imagination. Then looking around at the others that continue to stare at him, he leans into the Chieftain and whispers something. "I take it that the Troll is still giving you troubles?" The chuckle afterwords brings a bit of levity to the conversation.
Trezak sputters into his mug at Garjug's words. With a glance around the shaman's smile fades quickly. Trezak finishes his mug and takes it back to Sog before returning to his vantage point. Something curious about this uruk becomes apparent, he seldom blinks as he watches the feasting Hall.
Razzek issues a withering stare at the orc to his side, gripping his spear tightly for effect. The orc gulps down the last dregs of his ale, and makes himself scarce. This means that the bar is clear between the Zealot and Razzek - that is how Razzek likes it. He holds a glass stein aloft, and tilts his head in the direction of the two stronger orcs. As he drains its contents, he can see them through the bottom of his glass.
[<#29406>] The Thrakburzum Chieftain's eyes widen; he draws closer to the other. "Indeed." he hisses, tones too low to be audible, save to Garjug. "The Troll Chieftain is a little ... shall we say ... difficult. At times it seems as if his goal is to incite tribal war, at times it appears he wishes to destroy his tribe. Do you ... perhaps ... have a solution?" As he ventures this question, Ghlurshrekh's tongue darts across his lips nervously.
Garjug listens to the words of the Chief, and the implications are tantelizing. Continuing in conspiring voices he leans in close to Ghlurshrekh, "Of course I can not be of assistance, without the words of the Demon..." After a moment's pause, when he looks around to those nearby, he continues. "But if the Demon wished the Troll dead, then of course I would be commanded to put him out of his misery."
[Halark(#29739)] He does not walk but swagger into the smokey and pungent hall of feasting. A heavy limp betrays his confident walk a little, but his broken tooth sneer makes up for him. Halark stretches as he steps through the door, pops and cracks rising from his back as he extends his body and then chuckles to all that would listen, "Arrr. A little fire down in the gullywash to be put out today..." his eyes wander to the chieftan of the thrakburzum and the other who speaks with him, and his words die in his throat. Then the smile spreads to a grin and he moves toward their table with sweeping strides, reeking of arrogance and stale blood.
[<#29406>] Ghlurshrekh seems faintly disappointed. "Ah, that might be difficult business." he whispers. "You see ... the Demon's command was for the Chieftains and Master Shaman to appear to Her. What did the Olog do, but go on a caravan to the mad forest-city, Dol Guldur? Is this not disobedience? But I fear that the Chieftains may be in bad air with the Demon, now, because of this, for the Demon's will, as the Demon has stated, is for results. Would the Demon heed me, unless I were to bring the Olog before Her?"
[<#17618>] Trezak looks at the uruk-hai that walks into the feasting hall. The shaman clears his throat and mutters to the Zealot. "<Morbeth> I ***** be ******* ******** in here. *** all dislike the ***** *********." The Shaman looks around at the hall smiling.
Razzek attempts to listen, but he cannot hear much of the whisperings of the Zealot and the Chieftain above the hubbub of the Feasting Halls.
Garjug leans in close, knowing that he looks to be conspiring, but knowing that these words dare not be heard by others nearby, "Of course the Demon could be convinced with the proper support and sacrificial gifts... I'm sure you understand of what I speak." As he prepares to continue, he is interupted by an Uruk that approaches and attempts to spout off his Morbeth. Even such broken tongue shows effort, and the Zealot simply stares at the one interrupting his conversation. Garjug stares at Trezak, his eyes not showing any pleasure, but instead displeasure at being interrupted. He doesn't speak, but he seems to be considering how much of his conversation was overheard, and if this one must perish for overhearing too much.
[<#29406>] Ghlurshrekh's eyes flicker. "If it will not cripple my Tribe -- the Demon's Tribe, that I hold in trust for the Demon -- you have but to name it." He turns, hearing Trezak's remark, understanding a few words of it. One brow rises slowly, arching.
[<#17618>] Trezak takes a deep breath shakes his head. He motions with his head towards the bar and Razzek. "<Morbeth> He is *********." The shaman takes a step back to the bar and takes another mug of hot liquid from Sog. Trezak then walkes up to Garjug, 'I don't care what you want to talk about here but others may. the Flame has told me not to meddle in the tribes until She tells me to.'
Ghlurshrekh's brow slowly lowers; as Trezak speaks of his neutrality, the Chieftain gazes beyond Trezak and toward Razzek. A single glance, and then his eyes return to Garjug, glittering.
The seriousness of the Chieftain's glance when looking over his shoulder, causes the Zealot to pause. Then unspeaking, he slowly turns his gaze towards the object of Ghlurshrekh's glance, and sees Razzek sitting and drinking, and trying to remain as inconspicous as possible. The Zealot's eyes flare, and he turns to more fully face the Forrester beside him. "You! Woodsman. Have you been listening to our conversation?" His words obviously intended for Razzek.
Razzek's eyes have been flickering about nervously as suddenly the focus in the room seems to be directed at him. He lets out a low chuckle, "Razzek has been attempting to overhear your conversation, but to no luck. Razzek is sure it was rather interesting." The forester flashes his fangs at Garjug, for he has caught only about one word in ten, "Razzek does not understand the black tongue in which you shamans converse either, though he would be eager to learn."
Ghlurshrekh steps toward Razzek. "Really? Nothing? Not anything interesting? Perhaps you weren't trying hard enough?"
Razzek spreads his arms wide, and lets out a mighty shrug, "Absolutely nothing of interest, Chieftain." A flash of mirth passes through Razzek's crimson eyes, and he notes with a snort, "Razzek has been told that eavesdropping can be detrimental to the integrity of his body, yes?" Razzek licks at the side of his mouth with his tongue - a fearsome contrast of red and black. "If you care to repeat, Razzek is all ears." The forester wiggles his ears up and down so as to emphasize his point.
Garjug gets off of his barstool, and reaches behind him to pull the veteran spear that has been patiently leaning against the bar. "Then, he too takes a step towards Razzek. I think that you have been listeining to us for too long, and have been understanding more than you admit." The previous jovial nature of the Zealot (if it could be called such) is completely gone, as his eyes show the turbulent nature that boils just underneath his skin.
Razzek adds hastily, as he and Garjug seem to speak simultaneously, "No, no, no, Zealot. Razzek is truly a failure. An obvious eavesdropper who heard nothing." The black uruk darkly shakes his head from side to side, "Should have stayed asleep today," he murmurs to himself.
Trezak looks at Razzek and then to the Zealot. He chuckles slightly, "Forrester. The flame is with the Zealot not with you." the shaman chuckles. "The flames hears all you do. I am sure if you begged that the flame would take pity on you soul."
[Razzek(#22308)] "Razzek does not doubt that the Zealot is absolutely stuffed with the Flame, Shaman," the forester replies to Trezak with an insolent tilt of his head, "But that does not mean that Razzek has been abandoned by the Flame. Razzek would not be the pre-eminent healer in Moria without great conviction in the Flame. And as part of that conviction, Razzek defers to the Zealot's judgment in religious matters." The forester turns his head back to Garjug, and quirks a brow while awaiting a response to his flattery.
Garjug simply stares into the eyes of the best healer in the mines, but his anger seems hardly diminished by the flattery. His face remains cold, and his upper lip begins to quiver slightly. "Yes, you defer to my judgement in matters of the Flame...and I believe it would be best if you were done with your drink and left quietly without additional tears in your clothes, and your skin." The hardly concealed threat seems to be a dismissal of sorts.
Grack looks around at the tension building in the room and cowers even more into his mug
[Razzek(#22308)] "Of course, Zealot, Razzek would not be impudent enough to reject these words of wisdom of yours." The forester slides his stein down the bar to Sog, and stands, one hand upon his spear. Ever so slowly, his eyes meeting Garjug's stare and giving back as good as he can get, he takes his spear and brings it to a vertical position by his side. He does this all at the pace of a snail to indicate that he means no combat. With a dip of his neck, he mumbles, "Razzek shall leave now, yes?". The forester takes a step back and prepares to depart.
Trezak watches the forester through slanted eyes. His slow movements seem to anger the shaman but he does not move against him. His hand does slide into his robe and restsupon something.
Garjug takes a step back, to allow the spear tip to pass by in front of him without interferance. He takes his eyes off of the healer for just a moment to cast a meaningful glance towards the Chieftain, still standing by his side. It is as if unspoken words pass between the two, and then the Zealot's eyes return to the Morghash as he begs leave. Without the use of any additional words, Garjug simply nods at Razzek's request, and then awaits his departure. Thoughts reeling through his head, the Zealot wonders how much of the shielded conversation was overheard by that one, and if he has enough of the Flame within him to do anything about it.
Razzek steps past the Zealot, and his spear begins to click into the stones as he makes his way back. As he comes to the center of the room, continuing to walk, he looks back over his shoulder and calls, "Pleasure speaking to you, Zealot." But this is a fatal mistake, for Razzek's spear catches in between two stones. Razzek cannot help it as the point of his spear drives into his own body - his own neck, in fact. An intense spurting of black blood follows, as Razzek's spear crushes his windpipe and goes into his neck. Evidently, an unlucky day for the Forester. Razzek's eyes widen. All he can do is gurgle at the spear stuck in his throat.
Grack gets up and wanders around the room...and stops sudently..never before has he seen somehting the like of this...a forester stuck himself with his own spear..amazingly he still seems to be alive..
Upon seeing the Master Healer of Moria turn to deliver his parting words, the gurgle that is heard is hardly the sounds that the Zealot expected. Watching as Razzek impales his neck upon his own spear, Garjug simply watches as the hapless figure bleeds out. Though knowing a bit of the healing arts himself, he seems unmoved to try to rescue Razzek. As the Healer writhes on the floor, gasping for breath, a smile seems to spread across the Zealot's face, like some disease, giving those in the room as much comfort, as a disease might.