Featuring (both Yfelwydan Orcs): Zar as Tustrak, and Shakhragh

Great Cavern
This is a vast cavern and armory. It is large enough for an entire company to be mustered in its center, or for a squadron to practice at arms, without inconveniencing those who wish to pass through on business.

The walls are lined with rack after rack of weapons and armor, carefully locked in place and supervised by senior officers.

There are always sentinels at the gates and looking out the windows. This is an orchold built for war, and indeed the orcs who swarm through it seem dwarfed by it, as if it had originally been intended for far greater armies to be mustered here.

Contents:
Tustrak
Yfelwydan Armor Forge
Yfelwydan Weapon Forge
Obvious exits:
Barracks, Feasting Cavern, and Great Gates

-------------------------------Trollshaws Time--------------------------------
Real time is: Fri Jun 21 07:13:56 2002 - Elendor time is
Late Night on a Clear Summer Hevensday, August 2, 3026

Note: It is nightime out, so you can leave the the cover of the trees.
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~~~

Tustrak opens round eyes at the immensity of the new hold their enlightned chieftain choose. Such high walls and endless rack of weapons all more twisted or sharpened than the other despite the long years seems to ravish the goblin. What pleases him less is the constant guard over perhaps, most of the orcs in this cavern taller than him. Nonetheless, confident in the shadows, he sneaks up along one wall and soon his claw find the hilt of a scimitar.

Shakhragh, the Chieftain of the wandering Orcs that have taken refuge in the halls beneath the Coldfells, growls as he looks about the great cavern, leaning on the wall near a rack of weapons. The Lord of the Coldfells, a more powerful Orc than he, rules these caves with an iron hand. Not a major threat to Shakhragh's supremacy, but nonetheless a reminder that the Goblin Shakh is not as powerful as he would like. He spits on the ground as he contemplates the subterranean halls.

As Tustrak grabs a blade, Shakhragh catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. "I would not do that, were I you, young Tustrak," he says in his native Orcish, his grammar and diction much better than when he speaks Westron. "If you were caught," he says with a grin, "the consequences would be most dire, I'm sure."

"It's a pretty blade and the cavern is full of some" Tustrak replies, frost in fear until he recognized the voice of the orc chieftain. "I had naught till now, forced to travel over and under the mountains with a dagger and my fist master."

Shakhragh smiles as he is called 'Master', his sharp, rotting teeth fully displayed. "Indeed. Well. These fat mountain maggots have more than they need, anyway. I shall say naught of it." He cackles crudely. "You'll need it at any rate, pathetic little thing that you are," he spits.

Tustrak swings the blade happily in air. "As good, better than the one I had" he beams and eyes Shakhragh caught in his flattery. "They know how to forge them at least; we'll raid the southern land soon. We need slaves." Tustrak assures himself as the view of this simple weapon fills him with a new elation.

"Slaves," spits Shakhragh. "Slaves, indeed. Men and Dwarves are good only for eating, and Elves only for slaying. Slaves slow down our tribe. We need no slaves." His hairly lip curls in a sneer. "But the food and weapons and armor to be gained in the south is another matter. That is what we raid for."

"Slaves or food, we can make them work then eat them" Tustrak counters, as obviously he seems satieted by this huge armory. And speaking, he slips the brand new scimitar in his belt. "And while they work, we can develop ourselves, while they forage for food we can war and practice to kill the elves."

Raising a brow, Shakhragh looks down at Tustrak. "Develop ourselves? Do you mean improve fighting skills? Indeed, the louts of the tribe could stand to learn a thing or two about how to fight. You, miserable little creature, are no exception."

Tustrak shrugs with sufficience as if indeed he had one head more and needed no more training. "They need, if I survived until now, I am good master" he concludes, and retreats as a painful session could start.

Shakhragh laughs dryly. "You are good master. Indeed you are, my little sneakthief. Indeed you are." His mein suddenly changes from mock-friendly to threatening as he pushes off the wall and gives Tustrak a good smack in the head with a heavy gloved hand. "Pathetic insect! I ought to teach you a thing about fighting here and now so you don't fail me next time we do battle."

Tustrak is quick to shelter his twisted face behind his hastily liftes fist and he snarls back as nonetheless the power of the blow ends on one of his fang. He shrinks in pain and tries to roll past Shakhragh, hooking one of his leg as he does so.

Solid as the Shakh is, he is taken quite unprepared. He tumbles to the floor of the cavern, just barely avoiding slamming his face on the hard ground. As he looks up at the smaller Goblin, his eyes glow a malevolent red. "Yer little ingrate! I'll have yer head on a platter fer this!" he roars, slipping into Westron as he pushes himself to his feet. Casting off his heavy cloak and hood, Shakhragh pulls a dagger from his belt, the only weapon currently on his person. "I'll kill you! Learn from this, yer little piece of Elf dung!" He runs at the Goblin, swinging the dagger wildly.

Tustrak shrieks as the loud voice echoes behind him. Possessed, Tustrak scrambles to his feet and rushes for a mad run into and around the large cavern. "Nono." he calls and leaps behind a bench set for the rest of the warrior in the middle of the cavern. There he waits, keeping carefully the furniture between him and Shakhragh.

In his rage, Shakhragh strikes the stone bench with his blade, chips of stone flying off. He runs around the bench and glares at Tustrak. "There yer are!" He raises his arm and swings furiously at the Goblin again.

Tustrak runs around the other end of the bench as Shakhragh tries to outmatch him. Yet, he is forced to an awkard blind duck and the blow connects with his nape sending him in an elegant back flip tripping over said bench. "Nono ! I'll give you my slave !" he shouts terrorized.

Shakhragh stops in his tracks to consider this proposition. "Ye'll give me yer - hoy, yer little cheat! Yer don't have no slaves!" His face contorting in rage, Shakhragh throws the dagger at Tustrak, but he misses due to poor aim. The dagger is embedded in the stone of the cave, so forceful was the throw. With a roar of frustration, Shakhragh barrels forward to retrieve it.

Tustrak smiles and is all panting from the effort he provided. Slowly, the maggot regains his footing, keeping a crouched and submissive stance. His eyes stares at the dagger and his thigh muscles, perhaps the most developped part of his anatomy flexes as he readies himself to leap at Shakhragh throat once he will try to recover his weapon.

Shakhragh grabs his dagger and yanks it out of the stone, dropping into a guarded crouch as he readies his weapon to attack Tustrak again.

Shakhragh's hand touches the dagger hilt and Tustrak leaps claws outstreched to seize his throat and cast him out balance.

Twisting aside, Shakhragh escapes Tustrak's rush. Hobbling to a nearby armor rack, he grabs a metal helmet and throws it directly at Tustrak's head with a roar.

A gift ? Tustrak wonders a second as he wheels toward the larger orc after his failed assault. And it's too late to think about a parry or a catch. Hollow as the helm his skull rings and he falls backward. "Thanks you master, nifty nifty helm" he mutters and his hand searches the precarious shelter or improvised weapon he could use.

Rushing forward, Shakhragh looms over Tustrak. Placing the dagger back in his hilt, he manages to regain his lost composure, although he continues to breath raggedly. Stooping down, he grabs the Goblin by his neck and picks him up off the ground, holding him at arms length. "Thus concludes tonight's lesson," he growls. "Congratulations, Tustrak. You've just been demoted to cook for the next month." With that, he lets the smaller Orc drop to the ground again.

You train Tustrak in bare hands and he learns quickly.

"I cook all the time anyway" Tustrak shrugs as he falls back on the ground, brand new scimitar and helm ringing. Said helm doesnt ring long in fact as he throws it rageously against a pile of armour. "Ever what you say" he sighs and scrambles away.