From outside the great chamber, a lone Uruk wanders into the cavern. His attentions is distracted by the marvel of the room and to the spouting fissures, which he attempts to avoid. As he gets halfway into the cavern, he stops to survey his surroundings. Upon seeing the enormous fire-beast he stops dead in his tracks, too scared to run, yet smart enough to still his instinct to draw steel. He stands motionless before the great beast.

The lair is dark inspide of the low-lying fires in the fissures around the great room. The darkness seems to be thicker as one looks deeper into the great hall -- yet there is some faint outlining of a huge human figure in the far end of the room - a living terror, lined in fire. Air is suffocating, hot and smelling of sulfur...

The Terror turns as she smells fresh meat -- glares towards the entrance of the lair and slowly slides towards the throne which she was stationed behind. The eyes are on fire - red and shooting small sparkles in any direction it glares at....the direction of the entrance. She spots the uruk -- small evil grin is born on her hideous face, fangs yellowish - glittering in the low flames, red/blackish lips cracking in the grin. A broken voice snaps out, as the Balrog sits upon the great throne..."Step closer snaga! Speak your name and errand!

Almost without concious thought, the orc slowly and mechanically begins to creep forward. A slight sizzle can be heard as the creature walks forward as liquid falls upon heated stone. The creatures lips begin to move as if trying to form words, yet nothing is heard. Once the creature reaches the steps beneath the Fire-Beast, he comes to rest, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the great beast, yet far enough to be out of immediate reach. Sweat begins to bead upon the cretins brow, and his lips stop moving momentarily as it tries to gain control over himself. Soon it sputters, "I..I...Halok let me in....He say...uh...I should enter. M-m-m-maybe I s-s-should leave you be, my lord." The creature then falls to his knees and bows deeply towards the great beast before him.

As the Uruk moves forward the flames in the fissures flare up, lick the walls, the hissing of the fires is loud, a music demonic - the walls seems to echo the hissing, groaning and grunting lowly -- the heat is turned up, the floor is burning, the smell is all sulfur. The Balrog watches, eyes upon the pray...

Mordamaz snickers lowly, the sound terrifying, the horror nearly physical in the air of the dreaded hall. The Balrog grunts before speaking, raising it's left claw, the black and twisted claw that hold the snickering whip, thounges as snakes on fire. The whip is pointed at the Uruk as the Deamon speaks....the words come out, ripped and tortured. "LEAVE?" she snaps! "Leave, Snaga! You speak your errand -- speak of your doings! Or die now!

Garj without raising his eyes to the great beast for fear of losing his nerve, continues to look down to the stone floor, his face burning from the emitted sulpherous heat. The ends of the fur pelts that he wears as armor smoke and curl in the great heat, and his knees blister from the hot stones upon which he rests. "I am Garj. Fauthug Mazgak of the Valnul tribe, servant of King Nethkar under your Eternal rule. I have done as you ordered, Great One. The King has been told and so it was done. There are three tribes as you ordered, all to be commanded by your wise rule. We are awaiting to serve you, Great Balrog." The orc seems to have prepared the literation as it rolls off without stutter or stammer.

Mordamaz lowers the whip, the flames in the lair settle some, the horrid music of hissing and screams of Mother nature sinks to a bearable noise -- the heat seems tolerant. The Balrog seems to be content! The eyes are yet still on fire, the red hungry and terror-filled eyes that stare into your soul, attempting to drill it's way thro the skull upon the neck of the terrified Uruk --- eyes that are working with a dreadfuul, yet so powerful mind that any stray toughts will be catched and used in it's own way....The beast leans back, the voice wispers - a wispher that can hardly been heard, yet it is felt in every nerve of the onlookers. "Report!

Garj winces at the sharp whisper, and is left without prepared words, none being prepared as the thought of leaving never occured to the hapless orc. He takes a deep breath and speaks again of the tribes. "King Nethkar of Moria loyal servant of the Balrog, has ordered all Morians to divide3 into three tribes, with the Burgapai Tribe being led by the Uruk-Hai Vorshag taking the second and third upper levels of Moria, the Valnul Tribe headed by your servant and Warlord of Moria Zorugg, dwelling in the second and third deeps, and the Erokrakur Tribe led by the Uruk Snagul residing in the fourth and fifth deeps. All serve under your servant, King Nethkar, and await your desires." The smallish Uruk is suprised as his own ability to speak in the presence if sush a great beast, confidence beginning to show in his voice.

From the Great Throne the Beast of Terror rises, the whip hangs from it's left claw, the thongs snarking still, curling up -- alive snakes of flames. She slides closer to the courage Uruk and stops directly in front of him, towering over miserable being. She points with the whip-claw, points towards the chest of the Uruk, finally tuching it with the flaming whip -- the glowing thongs snarking, hissing and urgling as they touch armor. The Balrog speaks, the voice yet again but only a whisper -- the sound not 'hearable' but 'feelable' in the veins of the beings here..."Fulfill my orders, make Tribes thrive! Send leaders to find their master! Moria armies shall be kept trained and ready to move now!"

Garj reflexivly jumps back as the sparks dance around his face. Blinking quickly from the sudden brightness in this dark chamber, his sight is momentarilly lost. Speaking to the darkness in fromt of him, he continues, "Your will will be done Great One. Your will commands all. I will speak of your commandments to all of power in Moria. I will speak of your greatness mighty Balrog." Backing slowly from the great beast who's heat is now scorching the skin of the tiny orc, bowing deeply and keeping his eyes lowered in submission. "I will bring them here myself to assure your will is followed. You shall have them here." With that, Garj slowly begins to back across the chamber to the east.

The Balrog lowers the whip, slides backwards, towards the huge throne, where it takes it's seat again. She nods her head slowly, eyes never leaving the skull of the Uruk and in a low voice she grunts. "Do as I bid, Snaga! You will be rewarded eventually....

Heeding his own words of advice, he never once turns his back on the fiery beast, but instead continues to back from the chamber bowing deeply as he walks. "Your bidding will be obeyed, oh great and mighty Balrog. I will attend to it." On one occaision he steps into a small spout of fire which lances up his leg, but the beast never falters his backwards retreat. The pain evident on his face, he backs until he is out of sight of the mighty Balrog and then proceeds to turn and run towards the exit, flame catching his furs on fire which he drops as he runs revealing a set of scale armor. The orc quickly scampers across the bridge and out the ebony door.