6/28/97
Lead by two half-human guards, a cloaked figure enters the room. He robes are dark grey his face is covered in shadow. His feet are covered in leather, new, odd because most have to travel quite a distance to get to this point. The figures hands are gloved, and an observant watcher would see the pinky on the left hand was rather limp. Cloaked for secrecy, Gundhosh stands at the door awaiting his audience.
Clad in white, a long fretted clay pipe poised between a pair of closely pressed V shaped fingers, sits a medium sized man bearing a heavy beard. Black pupiled eyes rising from the well-crafted surface of the Great Table, you are greeted by a firm glance and inviting nod to assure you that he expects you to enter into the room without delay. No word is spoken, the silence broken by the rhythmic clamp of heavy boots as the guards retreat from the dimly lit room. The guards' wavering shadows, like to eager sails born by the illuminated winds of many flickering candles, lead the way and are the first to dissapear from sight.
Gundhosh steps forward as the guards pass him. He ambulates to the table where he stands respectfully. So as to assure that things get off on the right foot, he does not try to hid appearance any longer. With a gloved hand he throws back his hood. White flesh on a bald head is exposed, along with his one black observant eye. His mouth is set in a firm line and his ponytail disappears into the back of his cloak.
A glass and wooden instrument dominates a corner of the great table closest to the only visible exit. The glass is worked into tubes, closed bowls and slow rotating spheres. The wooden arms balance and move the more fragile components whose transparency allows the curious to observe a strange play of conflicting waters. A small world in conflict with itself, opposing waves crashing against one another then embracing and dancing a tight circle. The contraption is powered only by the motion of waters, or so it would seem for there is no other readily discernable aide to the teetering balances. The walls are touched by the flowing velvet that is the reflection of light on water.. Saruman's face is immersed by this same shimmering curtain, eyes brightening and darkening in accord with the undulating waves. "Why have you asked for audience?" is the simpley question posed by strong voice determined to receive an answer without a bid for careful cover.
The albino finds his thoughts changing with every shift in the wizard's eyes and uses his one to focus on him. His well laid speech seems a foolish jumble of words. He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, as if to capture an escaping prisoner. He blinks once, twice, three times and his brow furrows. Finally, he blurts out hasily, not wanting to try this one's patience, "Iz come representing da group dat is unhappy wit da King. Der are many, some powerful. Some would be our allies, your ally. Ugluk spits in der face." The albino's tounge rolls over his teeth and lips swollenly, though his speech is clear, his accent thick. "Iz come ta discuss dis problem for da Fighting Uruk-Hai..." and after a moments hesitation he adds, "and a solution."
The whispering voices of active waters accompany Saruman's voice, the resulting echoes at times alien at times not dissimilar to the murmurs of disgruntled servants, then praising, begging, posturing, hissing fury and finally calming. It is naught but the desperate calls of confined water escaping through a vibrating shell of glass. The clay pipe smokes on its own, belching a trio of oval clumps trailed by thin whisps. The pipe is placed on the table with a dull clank. Saruman allows the end to slip from his fingers, scratching the table surface. Long fingers, elongated by dark shadows which seem nearly to reach you, are withdrawn.. or rather sheathed. The shadows are reluctant to follow yet they too are humbled and made to return, sulking just short of their master's clenched fists. The reply is frank: "I have no allies among the Fighting Uruk-Hai." The water hiss complaint. Wave meets wave, one defeating the other. "I seek for no allies and it would be foolish to believe otherwise. Those who do not do as needed are met with just action."
With his mind he begins to trace woodgrains in the table. His eye following a line, some end, some travel the length of the table. They swirl and shift on the polished wood. Cyclones in the wood are where the knots have been, though rather artistic on this piece of furniture. 'Rather like life' thinks the Chieftain. 'Some lines stop sooner then others. Some run into other lines, and some are stoped by the storms of our exsistance.' The current line he is tracing stops halfway at one of these knots. 'Is that my line?' he asks himself. Muscles tighten in his cheeks, erasing the thought as if it were on a chalk board.
The Hai reaches into his cloak and pulls forth something small, circular. He tosses this on the table, it chinks, but not metallicly. Rolling across the table it finally falls to it's side a foot from Saruman's pipe. "Not all are Fighting Uruk-hai, Goth. And if Ugluk is not yer ally, den is his presence really required?"
Dropped.
A thick ring of blackened bone. It is impossible to tell by looking at the ring, from what beast this bone has come from - but it bears obvious marks of fire upon it and a small mark of a lightning, enclosed in a circle.
Saruman's eyes lower, scanning the ring then return to meet Gundhosh. The pipe exhales a long line of greyish smoke that darkens to black as the long breath dies. "You do no understand, obviously. He is not my ally, no, nor are you or any other of the orcs. You are of Isengard, and I.. am.. Isengard." The last three words are said much slower, a stern gaze centered on you. "Is this all you have come to say, Gundhosh of Clan Raven? You wish to make allies those who are my servants? Tell me, how long have you looked to.. better.. my position in such a way? Since before the rise of Ugluk, since the time of the Shaman Jeazog?"
Saruman has turned from slow observation to careful probing.
Gundhosh frowns slightly as the wizard speaks, uprooted by the question. Knowing this is going nowhere, he tries a different approach. "Shaman Jeazog was taken back by dat which created him. I wish ta be created, Goth. I no longer wish ta be Gundhosh of Clan Ravan, but I wish ta make da caves da White Raven Kingdom. Iz come ta tell you Iz have much support. Maybe ya do not concern with such small matters as da replacement of da King, but perhaps you do. Iz come to find the answer ta dat question."
Saruman chuckles softly, a rolling and deep throated sound. Brows bristling and chin pointed he speaks in soft, questioning manner: "What then is your solution? How is it you would rather see the tunnels? Who then is to be your maker? Who are these allies that have emboldened you to such a degree?" The faint smile is gone, replaced by grim demeanor: "Speak and leave nothing untold!"
Gundhosh takes a deep breath. He pulls off his gloves, his hands sweating profusely. He rubs them on his cloak, leaving wet streaks on the grey cloth. Biting his lip with his slight canines he thinks of where to start and how to word his response. "My solution, Goth, once Iz is King, is ta unite all da uruks of da misties, as yer servants. Iz wish ta be da King of da servants, with ya as our Master. Iz do not come ta seek yer aide, for concerns are small for ya I'm sure.... but Iz wish ta know: do ya wish ta stop me? Ugluk was very recently in Mirkwood, observing da Mordain. He posed as some Morians.... until da real Morians came. I know not what has happened, but I do not doubt der is conflict due to his incompatance. I, Master, Iz managed ta pull da wool over der eyes. Dey thought me an officer in der army. I learned more den Ugluk could hope to. Now Iz wish ta replace him, since Iz know his pride and incompatance can easily be surpassed."
Thud.. There is a singly resounding knock as the left fist of Saruman rises, hangs in place then descends upon the table in a slow and deliberate arc. "You have not answered all my questions. The first and the last where wholy or in part forgotten. How do you intend to take command and who are these allies which you are so proud to offer me?" The seat on which the wizard is seated has shrunk or perhaps it would be better to say, the man has grown in size. The black of his eyes have also expanded though the heart of them are lit by steady slits of pure white: reflections of long bodied candles. His face is darkened by the appearance of numerous hard-edged wrinkles. "Remove the cloth that now masks part of your plans so that I may see it in whole." A particularly large wave throws the water contraption off balance, pushing it over and causing it to collapse with loud tinkle and moist spray as the largest of the globes cracks due to the collision. Saruman looks to the broken shards, "Why think you the instrument failed?.." There is long pause as searching eyes meet yours, yet before you have chance to reply: "The Crafstman was not aware of all the possibities and so the waves grew larger with each passing until the order was overthrown. Now.. tell me more so that I may know all that has happened and is planned to happen."
Gundhosh is visibly shaken by the wizards outburst. He physically cringes as Saruman's fist thumps the table. The Chieftain clenches his teeth, trying to master the sudden fear instilled by this powerful... human? He undoes his leather belt, and tosses it aside. Then he unshoulders his cloak, letting it drop to the floor. Just like his actual cloak, his words are doing to the same to his plan, "Dat ring. It is a gift, to you from the firery demon that dwells in the depths of Moria. It wishes ta be yer ally, and if ya do not see it worthy, den mine, especially in dis venture." He continues to stand there, his hands clenched to help hold himself together, his black armor absorbing the surrounding light.
The ring of bone is picked up without even a glance, the ends of it held between forefinger and thumb while turning a slow circle. "You have strong allies, Gundhosh of the Raven! Stronger, truly, than most Uruk I have seen. Who of your kind then has had the courage to deal with Demons and face Saruman the White up to now? None that I can remember. Thou art strong of will, stubborn, misled, hopefull or foolish. I know not which.. perhaps a combination." No longer sitting, Saruman has grown to one and a half his previous size.. it may simply be that only while standing the wizard's true height is made clear. In one hand is clasped a long staff of dark wood crowned by darker orb. Long beard has fanned out, individual locks tracing a snaking path along upraised chest whereupon they leave a greyish trail that mars the otherwise perfect white of the robe's fabric. The criss-crossing lines of grey meet in vortives of black, each passing darkening them.. the grey spreading like to the waters which had only recently broken from the fragile prison of glass. "I see now who your maker is to be. Not he who has bred you, not he who has fed you, not he who has armed you and given you shelter. As you yourself say, you have ally and maker with or without my consent. Truck with the Demons and Demons shall feast upon you!" The candle-lights gasp, flicker and all but four are extinguished. A choking smoke eminated form them, reaching out to all corners of the room. The room is made brighter despite the loss of fire for now there is a new source: Saruman.
The Chieftain's knees begin to quiver as Saruman grows in stature. Sweat rolls off his forehead, down his nose where it pools and drips, splashing on the floor. The non-exsistant wind which has taken life of the candles has also taken a portion of the Uruk-hai's will. Stone-guts is afraid, even beyond that of the terror he has faced with the Balrog. He stumbles back a step, and nearly falls. He holds his hands in front of him defensively. He can't look upon the wizard for the light is too bright. He stammers defeslessly, "D.d.. do you not s..see? T..this *is* for you!" his whisper is a shout in the soundless room, his own words drown out by the blood throbbing in his ears. "W..why would I seek ta s..speak wit ya if Iz d..did n.not wish ya apart of t..this?
Saruman approaches, each footstep booming, echoing.. The glass and wooden instrument is thrown from its perch by the fifth step, the loudest of all. The undamaged spheres explode and breath new life into what was once a perfect seal. Water hisses out through gaping holes, large shards crack against the floor and splinter into ever smaller miniatures of the original. "For me? I am glad to hear it then. Surely, you must then have mistook the Balrog for me or then why else meet with it first? Why else would you make plans and forge an alliance with that which has killed those that serve me without leave? Why then?" The last is addressed in such a manner so it is clear an answer is expected.
Gundhosh continues his stumbling retreat. The wizards footfalls crash, and stone vibrates worse than any earthquake. The Raven falls from the rumbling floor, landing on his rump. He uses one hand to help his scrammbling feet in an awkward backwards crab walk. The other hand is held up like a shield. Words spew from mouth quickly, running together. The Hai forgets to breath in his terror, and just keeps talking until his words trail off when he is out of breath, "Der is no alliance yet. Da ring was just sent with me as a message, a symbol of the Balrogs wishes. Iz think of Isengard as Iz always have, as I alw...." the words get too low to hear. When the Chieftain does remember to breath, it is a rasping, snorting intake of breath so sharp you think he might of been stabbed.
Saruman closes the distance. Thump Clip THUMP! Each thumping step is broken by the sharp clatter of a metal-ended staff hitting stone. Once standing over you, the staff does not rise as before but instead is dragged along beside you, screeching and finally sparking just before it rises from the ground in a wide arch on its way back to its master's side. What had been such a sharp featured face is now blured by the bright light making Saruman's mood hard to discern. Brows and beard appear to have grown, yet the brows fail to overshadow the glowing eyes.. eyes that dim somewhat upon the final approach. The Wizard's last step is met by a soft crunch as a broken crown of glass is caught between Man and Stone. "You continue to evade my questions. Why speak to the Balrog first?" This question is different from the last. No longer does the speaker seem concerned by an answer; it would appear a conclusion has already been reached.
Gundhosh stops retreating. Not because he wishes to but because he is at
the wall. The stares terrifying up at his attacker, his feet still making
the motions of retreat, though weak and useless. Slowly, realzation settles
on the Hai. He swallows hard, audibly gulping. His motions slow, slow until
he is at rest, breathing hard. Then he does the unthinkable. He stands. He
pushes himself up, using the wall to lend aide. His one eye, blank of care,
stares directly into the old mans eye, though they are quite a ways above
him. He doesn't see much, and the light burns his eyes, but he stares
nonetheless. He slips back into his own tounge in his state "
Saruman plants the obsidian head of his staff beside your left ear, the
wooden body of it crossing over your face in the manner of a single
slanted bar. The furiously bright light eminating from the tall man
subside and are replaced by a warm glow that once again makes it possible
to see the true colour of the pupils: black on white. "Is that all?" The
voice has softened, the anger having melted away yet there is an abvious
reseve of it left behind the dam of outword calm. "You have shown
resourcefulness, indeed. But how then did you come in contact with the
Balrog?" The staff slips closer to you, the cold obsidian moving to make
contact with the end of your ear. Saruman continues in a challenging voice,
"Show me then the true extent of your resourcefulness: how did you do
business with the Balrog? How then are you to unite all the Misties? Surely,
to have such lofty goals, you must have planned in advance."
Gundhosh doesn't even flinch as the staff smashes next to his skull. He
does blink in the termendous light, and continues to look at the wizards
face. "The Balrog saw me once, a year ago." his eye seems to recede into
his head as he remembers, "Wez were at war wit da Maggots. I was brought
before da Balrog after being captured by da great troll, Ulogarum. Da
Balrog did not kill me, but had me deliever a message to da Priest-King
Jeazog, dat it wished ta see him. The Balrog's power ran though Jeazog, so
he went... and did not return. That is how I came to know the Balrog." he
looks down at his feet, but not seeing them. He can't see much of anything,
his single eye momentarily blind from the abundance of radiance.
The probing fingers of linger smoke sent forth from the drying clandles
nears the two of you, forward tentacles exploring the path ahead in similar
fashion to a handful of dutiful scouts. The rest follow once the way is
clear, keeping mostly to the marked trails of their previous cousins. The
area around Saruman and you becomes hazy, thick vines of imaterial smole
diverging around obstructive bodies to meet again on the other side. "And
now, how did you make contact with the Balrog? How did it then approach you?"
The swift death that the Chieftain expected is denied, and fear once agian
permeates into his his soul. His rickety resolves cracks and crumbles with
each passing moment. His knees quiver, and he is danger of landing on the
floor once again. "Iz went to it, a cycle of da moon ago. Iz know I don't
have da strength ta defeat Ugluk by meself. So I looked fer allies. If I
had died, it would have mattered little. But I did not fail." a touch of
pride creeps into his voice and then is extinguished. "In return for it's
aide, it and I through you shall control all da Uruks of da Misties.
Together, organized, we shall know no equal. Even da vast armies da
Shadowland" he points to east, "shall fear to stand against us. Even if
you choose not ta use dat power, ya know it there, at yer beckoning." his
hands begin to shake uncontrolably. He finds comfort by resting his hand on
his sword hilt, this blade having helped him through many bad situations.
He doesn't grasp the hilt, not wanting to seem threatning, but just rests
his hand on he pommel.
The wooden shaft of the Wizard's staff withdraws from its oppressive
position though it is still very close to you and has descended to neck
level. There is a grating sound as the obsidian head slides to the left,
away from your ear. Saruman leans closer, using the staff as leverage. Back
bent so that his face may be level with yours, Saruman launches a new
assult of questions. "This is what the Balrog has told you? How
resourceful.." The last word is said in similar tone as you had used
previously.. mimicing, face lit by a mocking smile. "And how then was it
explained that the Chieftain of the Raven, you, were instrumental to this
plan. Why then would the Balrog, or I, need Isengard to possess a new Uruk
leader in order to reach an agreement? Meddle in the affairs of your
superiors and you shall be swept away, by lies, half-truths.. You think
the Demon then had any care for your actions? If the two leaders of
Isengard and Moria should need to meet and make alliance then it shall be
done without need for masked words."
Gundhosh is at a loss for words. Like fish out of water, he flops under
the wizards gaze. Emotionally spent, exhausted, he slides down the wall,
his legs bent. He reaches his arms around his knees and rests his head on
their trembling fleshy mass. He just breaths in and out. No knowing or
caring what happens now. He is resigned, defeated by those greater then him.
His lofty goals have finally fallen, and due to the hieght he as aspired
to, the fall is great, and quite deadly.
Successful in his most recent attack, a direct assault on the orcs pride
and self-worth, Saruman smiles grimly while looking down upon the quivering
bundle what had previously been the tall and unbending Chieftain of Clan
Raven. Whisperting, enticing you with soft-spoken words backed by a
gleeful smile.. That is how Saruman continues in his speech. There is a
growing darkness in the room, one coming from within and without. The air
is thicker, the smoke retreats and shadows lengthen. "Turm against the
East?" The sentence is shrill, not like any one would expect from one such
the White Wizard. What then has possessed him? What has thrown him form his
pedestal to deal with a creature, even an orc, in such a manner as this.
Feasting on the hopes of others, he has grown yet lost much. Illusions,
false hope, that is all he gives in return, all in the name of Light.
Gundhosh raises his head, his single black eye stone. He smiles, even at
the terrifying words of the wizard. He stands slowly, taking in the
darkness the begins to surround him. Now that he is dead already, he fears
not the darkness. The Raven Chieftain looks around hastily, but not looking
for retreat. His eye narrows to a mere slit, "Then kill me. I have won.
It takes the White Hand himself to slay me! Of all your underlings and
slaves that you think you control, one has escaped you. I have run from
the cover you have provided, only to find that it is crushing, suppressing.
I have won for I have seen the truth, and defied it. Kill me, for in dying
at your hands shall be greater glory then anything I could have devised."
He grips the hilt of his his, goading the old man to attack.
His forehead wrinkling by the resulting fury your words have caused,
Saruman's grip on the staff is doubled. It would seem that he will strike
without hesitation.. and so he does. The offensive is in the form of
laughter. Regaining control of himself, Saruman applauds your attempt:
"Even in defeat you think to oppose me. What foolishness. How secret did
you think your venture? I knew of your attempts long before this meeting.
Your own Clan suspected you and spoke to me their concerns, their desires..
Yet they were wise enough to seek advice and so they were made to wait,
and watch. You are alone Uruk. Your supposed allies work against you. The
Balrog sent you to die. You are alone." Staff raised, he continues with
forceful voice, "Now hold your ground!" The command given, the Wizard adds:
"There are other ways for an orc to meet death."
Gundhosh continues to smile, know of Buurash's visit to the wizard, and
knowing other things... He does hold his ground, but his hands remains on
his sword hilt. "So you will not slay me? You will try to deny me death as
you have in life? You think you know, and there is much that you do, but
there is more that you don't. Yes, I have lied to you, for you could the
knowledge which I hold. I will *not* give you that power." He tries to
draw his blade but he can't... he is physically incapible of removing the
black steel from it's sheath.
Gundhosh swears when he finds his sword 'stuck'. He pushes his shield in
front of him, and unshoulder his bow, tossing it on the floor to allow him
more mobility.
You drop Eye Poka.
Saruman's head droops, face made hidden from your. Yet there is a new
flicker of light from the Wizard's face.. the Fire of Anger was sparked by
the Orcs continued resistance. Not used to seeing complete subservience
and thinking himself wronged by the treacherous orc, the full force of
building fury is unleashed, breaking through a strained wall of calm. The
obsidian head of Saruman's staff glows a pale blue as it descends on its
victim: long has it been since last it was used in such a manner and now
it craves the destruction of all opposition.
Saruman attacks you with his Staff!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
Gundhosh is messing with his equipment when a earth shattering blow
descends on him. He raises his shield to fend if off and his arm is
crushed under the staff. He thrown against the wall, bruising his back
instantly. Sparks fly from where the staff inpacted his arm. It falls
uselessly to his side, the bone turned to jelly. With his right arm, he
desperately yanks at his blade, finally getting it free, he suspects the
wizard let him do it, but he doesn't care. Deathdisha, it's blade honed
and slayed enemies numbering in the hundreds comes to life in the
Chieftain's hands. He weaves a fence of deadly steel. The Hai is void,
without feeling. He makes a strong jab at the wizard's face, hoping to at
least leave his mark on his executioner.
You put down Studded Leather Shield.
Wielded: Deathdisha
Removed: Studded Leather Shield.
You attack Saruman with your Short Broadsword...
Saruman dodges your attack.
Saruman does not seem to notice the uruk's weak attempt at a stab, instead
he twists the tool turned weapon. The blue illumination weakens and is
replaced with a red, hissing light. The obsidian grows hot, sizzling as it
comes in contact with the infuriated Wizard's beard yet no mark is left on
it. If only you are so lucky.. The truth shall soon be known for it has
turned against you: parrallel to the ground it darts out to embrace the
abdomen with licking flamed and heated surface.
Get your own Free Home Page