Scene #829:

Owner	Pose
Jonothon Starsmore	Orcs! Real live Orcs! Like those standard fantasy monsters, but REAL! It seems like whatever anybody can think of it exists somewhere in the Multiverse. This is an exciting realization! Though it would be so much more exciting if they weren't currently CHASING HIM! Jono has heard all the fantasy rumors about them eating humans but he's not willing to stop and ask them if they were interesting in talking or taking a bite out of him. Mainly because they approached at full tilt with weapons raised! Jono's the last person who'd ever discriminate against another person due to looks. But there's a line even he won't cross. Suddenly he looks up and sees a forest looming before him. And makes for it. Hopefully there are more places to hide in there. He's wearing black anyway. If he finds a nice dark place maybe he can lose them. It's not like they'll be able to track him by heartbeat or scent-- he doesn't have a heartbeat and doesn't sweat.
Thranduil	If Jonothon was hoping to lose the Orcs in the forest, he might find himself more than lost. The Orcs slow down when they reach the edge of the Mirkwood forest. They're not quite afraid, but they're not comfortable entering the forest from this entrance. There is a path on the ground, and if one strays from the path they could become forever lost in the forest and never find their way out. A few of the Orcs decide to charge in, weapons drawn, ready to take down Jonothon. They roar and shout after him. Perhaps all their noise will keep the other creepy crawlies at bay.
Bitter Medicine	A horde of Orcs on the warpath is an easy thing to track, especially for an Exalted. Bitter Medicine has no idea of the peril Jono is in--as he follows the trampled grass, snapped twigs and misshapen footsteps, his only thought is curiosity. Is this the work of the elves mentioned in so many reports? Dressed as he is, he'll likely stick out like a sore thumb to any eyes in the forest. In his defense, he hasn't had a chance to note the preferred attire of this world--and the intimidation factor of a Regulator's uniform is not to be discounted, of course. These tracks look fresh...
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono realizes they aren't stopping. He's observant enough to note that this is probably not a great place to just start running and hope to eventually come out another side of the woods. Path. Where's a path? Find that first. Then worry about keeping it in sight while also trying to lose his pursuers! There have to be some hiding places in this forest. Jono's good at hiding. Pretty good at climbing. He's no Elf but he's pretty athletic for a human. Unfortunately he isn't privy to those Union reports so he has no idea what might be waiting for him here in these woods. He's also unaware of Bitter Medicine's presence of yet. He's just worried about hiding. Fallen trees? Rocks he can crawl under? Anything like that? This is a bad place for him to be blasting away (even if his 'fire' isn't really fire and doesn't normally burn things). He'd rather just wait for them to leave so he can try to find his way back out.
Thranduil	The Orcs stop partway into the woods and look around. "Spread out." One commands, and the group fans out in all directions, weapons drawn. They aren't exactly stealthy, either. They tend to growl and yell and carry on, their voices echoing in the sickly forest as they pursue their prey. The leader lingers near the entrance to see if anyone else comes through (such as Bitter Medicine), keeping his chipped and dented sword at the ready. He isn't about to go into that nightmarish forest from this end. The air is heavy, the environment seeming to be closing in. To go deep into the forest can drive a person mad, though the Orcs are too simpleminded to be affected by the illusion magic. As Jono flees through the forest, there is the sound of the breaking of small branches above him and behind him. To look around, he wouldn't see anything, but there's definitely someone, or some/thing/ following him besides the Orcs, who are getting closer since they can smell him.
Bitter Medicine	Some of these prints are stamped over. So, that's either a coincidence, or it means they were chasing someone. He doesn't believe in coincidence. The Alchemical kneels and inspects the prints... It's a bit hard to make out, what with the big ugly orc foot stamped over it, but it looks like whoever this is wears shoes. Not just shoes, but shoes with patterned soles. Beyond the work of a single craftsman. Mortal? From a mundane world? He continues a bit further until he encounters the orc leader. His greeting? A stare.
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono finds a hiding place. For now he picks quietly scrambling into some scrubby underbrush. He'd make too much noise if he tried to climb a tree. And he has no idea how sensitive his pursuers' hearing is. And he doesn't want to risk alerting them to his presence yet. He's not completely unaffected by the weirdness of the forest himself though. ('...Bloody hell. I think I'm startin' ter imagine things.') He heard the snapping of branches. They couldn't have gotten in front of him could they? For now he just sits still. He hopes their eyes are like human eyes-- based on movement. Maybe if he doesn't move they won't see him.
Thranduil	The leader of this particular group of Orcs stares back at Bitter Medicine, growling with a toothy sneer. He tightens his grip on his sword and says, "More fresh meat comes to us!" And immediately swings his sword at the Alchemical. His strike is strong and fierce, full of pure hate. The Orcs trailing Jonothon stop and look around. Their eyes are probably as good as a Human's, but they can see in dim lighting much better. Looking up and around, they hear but ignore the snapping twigs and branches, brushing it off as just creatures prowling about. One of them sniffs the air and grins, baring snaggly sharp teeth. He stomps toward Jonothon's hiding place, raising his sword to cut back the brush. "Come out come out. We won't hurt you." For some reason, Orcs have a Cockney accent.
Bitter Medicine	Bitter Medicine brings his forearm up to block the blade, matching the orc's strength and his spite. The blade doesn't quite pierce his synth leather sleeve, but it does bruise the flesh beneath. The real power of the block is not in Bitter Medicine's Exalted strength, but in the message he sends--he could have tried to dodge or parry, but he's confident enough to face his enemy head on. "Call your friends," he says callously. He has something he wants to ask them, anyway. His free hand snaps out, open and hunting for the orc's throat. It closes. Tightly. "Call. Your. Friends."
Jonothon Starsmore	Cursing. SO MUCH CURSING! All of it mental though. Persistent buggers aren't they?! He's not panicked enough to immediately dart out of cover and run when the Orc starts swinging a sword. He's had a little bit of training. He just doesn't happen to have any weapons on him. Other than the explodey-ness. And he kind of doesn't want to do that in the forest. Though if that Orc starts... er... 'cutting it too close' Jono won't have a choice. If that sword looks like it's going to hit him he'll pull the wrappings around his face down just enough to fire a beam of energy at the Orc. The beam would be about the width of a fist so as not to damage anything but the Orc. To note that beam isn't fire nor does it burn. It feels like a solid punch. With the added sensation of someone taking a rotary sander with the coarsest grid sandpaper available to the skin it hits...
Thranduil	The Orc leader laughs and leans in toward Bitter Medicine, his breath hot and foul. "Why? You in a hurry to die? That can be arranged." He thrusts out a foot to try and sweep Bitter's leg(s) out from under him. "You don't look very tasty. Maybe we feed you to the Wargs." He scoffs. "Run, pig pig, run!" The one about to cleave Jonothon is knocked back by his blast, but is then hit in the neck by an arrow from somewhere. The arrow goes through to protrude out the front of his neck, and he emits a weird sort of gacking sound before falling over. The other Orcs look around, suddenly concerned. Jumping down from the trees are a dozen or more tall, elegant figures. They all have long hair, even the males, and dress in forest colors. They all carry bows and arrows, which are trained on the Orcs.
Bitter Medicine	Bitter Medicine finds himself without solid footing. That's what he gets for leaving himself open. If the Alchemical looks like someone who fights fair, it's a mistaken impression. A cloud of dirt flies up, flung by his gloved hand and aimed right at the orc's face. There's no time to see if his dirty (no pun intended) trick worked--he gets back to his feet and draws Voidbane. The weapon is likely unusual to orcish eyes, a circular thing made of some unknown metal--dark, dark blue, flirting with black. Ker-snikt. Teeth like a saw blade pop out of the weapon's perimeter, then, with a puff of steam, begin spinning rapidly. A wailing scream echoes through the forest as he sends it after the orc, startling many a roosting bird above.
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono is not stupid enough to just stay in place after shooting at something. Shooting at things seems to be a great way to draw attention to yourself after all. So he doesn't stay there. But as he prepared to have to finally fight the Orc people start jumping out of trees. It's almost surreal. Then again Jono's kind of new to the Multiverse... hasn't quite figured out how it works yet. It's also possible that coming out of his hiding place might result in some of those arrows being pointed at him! Thankfully he'd pulled up his face-wrap so he doesn't look like he's on fire. That would be a bad thing. Bad enough he's obviously a human in this... ('Oh bollocks... are those elves?') Surrealism seeming to be the flavor of the evening Jono keeps still and quiet for the time being. Not only because he doesn't want to get shot for saying the wrong thing. But because he doesn't want to distract the elves from shooting the Orcs. The sound of Bitter's chakram sailing through the air draws his attention and he looks up. The wail and then the ruckus of the disturbed birds. What was that? Hopefully not MORE bad news!
Thranduil	The Orc leader watches the weapon Bitter Medicine pulls, emitting a low growl as it spins. When it is released, he looks a bit surprised and emits an odd sound as he drops over backward to the ground. Killing the Orc garnered the attention of some of the Elves, and they come running, bows aimed at him. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" one of them asks. The Elves are aware of where Jonothon is, as their eyes and ears are keen, much keener than a human. They try to herd Jonothon back toward the entrance by loosing a few arrows here and there, meant to completely miss him.
Bitter Medicine	The weapon comes screaming back to the Alchemical's hand--how does he catch that damned thing? The teeth stop spinning and retract, and he places it back on his hip, all in view of the elves. "You haven't attacked me yet, so I'm a friend." He gets the feeling their hostility comes from suspicion, not bloodlust, so he plays to that, in his own way. "I came here to meet and pay tribute to the elven king. I saw the tracks this scum and his men left and pursued them." He's never seen or heard of an elf--to him, these guys are just pointy eared mortals. "They seemed to be chasing someone not from your world. Have you seen anything like that?"
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono doesn't have to be told twice. Apparently those rumors of elves in the forest being territorial are true too. So when the arrows come at him he picks the one direction they're not coming from and goes that way. He doesn't bother speaking since they're clearly not interested in conversation anyway. Pressing the issue is generally not recommended when weapons are involved. Bitter Medicine might see Jono heading for the entrance of the forest. He's running at full speed and not bothering to cover his tracks. No sense in trying to be quiet after all. The Elves know he's here. And want him out!
Thranduil	Elves aren't quite mortals. They can live indefinitely, though they can be killed if wounded badly enough. They lower their weapons at the command of the head scout. "Is the other outsider your companion?" He asks, looking back toward where he suspects Jonothon will be coming from. "He will be along shortly. If you wish to pay tribute to King Thranduil, follow me. I will take you to the Halls of The Elvenking. Before you enter, you will be required to relinquish your weapons."
Bitter Medicine	The Alchemical sighs. "Yeah," he says, pointing to the fleeing mutant in the distance. "That's him. Goes by Jono." Guy probably looked like food to the things hunting him. Fitting that something so hideous should hunger for the flesh of men. "I take it you're elves, then. Well-met, belatedly." "Not going to lie, I don't like giving up my weapon, but I will. Good faith and all that." The Exalt unclips his gyroscopic chakram from his belt and hands it over on outstretched palms. "This is Voidbane," he says. All weapons of import must have names suitable to build legends upon, and to rightfully respect the gods of those weapons. "Please treat it well."
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono zooms out of the forest about where the scout leader looks. Right about the time he looks there! Zoom! He doesn't run any faster than a particularly fast human though. But at least he knows when to run the heck away! He stops when he sees Bitter Medicine and heads in his direction. "'Ey. Careful out 'ere, mate. Pig-dog... things 'round 'ere an' they're not too friendly." While his accent is similar to the orcish one himself it's not quite as brash and there's no growl to his voice. Also-- here's something for the Elves to note-- there's no trace of verbal words. Their ears pick up no audible sound. Yet he speaks. And is heard (presuming they're not heavily resistent to telepathy) and understood.
Thranduil	Taking the weapon, the Elf nods once. "You have our word that it will be returned to you just as you left it." The Elves are no stranger to naming weapons. Orcrist, Angrist, Glamdring and so on. "We are the Nandor, or Silvan Elves. These woods are full of dangers. It is not wise to stray far from the path or the sickness of the forest may overcome you. Do not stray from the path." He looks to Jonothon with a piercing gaze, then gestures to the stone path. "Come, both of you. It is not safe here. Where there is a small group of Orcs, there are hundreds more lurking nearby." He begins walking, taking them along the trecherous path where the sun doesn't reach the ground, just bathes the forest in a dim light, the only indication that it's even daytime. Occasionally, the sun can be glimpsed through the canopy high above. Over huge roots, under twisted branches, the path seems to completely disappear at points but the Elves know it well enough to know where to find it again.
Bitter Medicine	Good. They understand each other, even if trust doesn't necessarily enter into the equation. He gets the feeling these guys are slow to trust, but principled. If that's the case, they'll get along like nuts and bolts. "Thanks for the hospitality," he says, recalling the crash course that Administrator Mendeleev gave him. The Exalt follows behind the elves, arms locked behind his back like a general inspecting the troops. The forest is sick? Sick how? If that word means what he thinks it means, perhaps there's a way his people can help down the road.
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono seems to have no visible weapons. Which is probably stupid in Middle Earth. But at least that means he has no weapon to have to take from him. He gives a sheepish look at the piercing stare and raises his hand to rub at the back of his head. He really seems in all ways like a normal human teenager. Except more polite! Considering he keeps his hands where the Elves can see them and follows quietly. He'll stay on the path and won't cause any trouble. He keeps his head down though he does look around as they go. Not enough to lose track of their guide though.
Thranduil	The journey is long and difficult. It takes them through all sorts of terrain from flat ground to skirting the edge of a deep chasm. Eventually they reach an area that is much brighter. There is sunshine, green grass, healthy trees and running water from waterfalls. A river runs beneath a long bridge leading to a set of blue ornate gates. The head scout says something in Elvish to the guards, and the doors are opened to allow them into the massive Halls of the Elvenking. "Watch your step. It is a long way down. I hope you are not afraid of heights!" The scout smirks a bit and leads them across pathways made of roots, narrow stairways of stone. Eventually, they come to a platform with a throne. The throne is extremely ornate with enormous elk antlers situated behind it along with twisting branches and roots. Upon the throne is a silverclad figure with piercing blue eyes and hair many shades lighter than any Silvan Elf. "I see you have brought me more outsiders. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Bitter Medicine	"Elvenking." The Alchemical kneels as soon as he makes it to the throne, making sure not to get so close as to unnerve the king or his guards. He also hopes he used the right form of address! If Jono doesn't also kneel, he'll receive a stink eye. "I am Bitter Medicine, Chosen of the Machine God. This is Jono, a friend of mine from another world." Okay, the introduction is out of the way. Now for the explanation. "I came here from my world to pay tribute to you, but I was attacked by what your subjects referred to as 'orks,' after having tracked them under suspicion they were chasing an outsider." He gestures to Jono. "I'd like to present to you a gift from Autochthonia, if I may."
Jonothon Starsmore	Thank God for combat boots. They'll keep him from looking TOO much like an idiot while making his way down the path. But he's plainly not used to walking through such difficult terrain. Stumbling a little when the path gets rough but keeping his footing. On the other hand, the bridges over yawning abysses don't seem to bother him too much. At least they're easier to walk across. Right then! That is a throne. Logic dictates that a dude on a throne is probably a king. Bitter Medicine's stinkeye won't be necessary-- as soon as it registers Jono shows proper respect and takes a knee. He's not sure if the king's talking to the scout leader or them so he waits. When Bitter Medicine speaks Jono speaks up as well. "Yes, your Majesty," he confirms to the Alchemical's account of Orcs. He's making an effort to clean up his accent a little. "I apologize for the intrusion into your forest. But I had those uh... Orcs after me." He quiets after that though. Doesn't want to overstep any boundaries.
Thranduil	Thranduil lowers his head to the pair, closing his eyes a moment. "You may rise. I am Thranduil, King of the woodland realm. The forest you entered is called Mirkwood. It is full of Orcs, both common and those who come from the fortress of Dol Guldur. You are fortunate you were not attacked by any Giant Spiders or other foul creatures." The King rises and steps down to them, towering at an impressive 6'5. "Bitter Medicine. What a curious name. And you, why do you speak with your mind and not with your voice?"
Bitter Medicine	Now that he's exhausted all of the pointers he was given, Bitter Medicine is at a bit of a loss. He stands when permitted, and responds to Thranduil. "All of Autochthon's Chosen have names like that. They're part personality descriptors, part military designation." He might have just misstepped by saying that, but, true to his blunt nature, he doesn't seem to realize--or maybe he just doesn't care. Either way, he does take care to raise a hand so the guards can see, holding his trench coat open. Inside a pocket, a small ornate box peeks out. He holds it out for the nearest guard, that they might take it and make sure it's not a bomb.
Jonothon Starsmore	Once the king says they can stand up Jono nods and rises to his feet again. He moves slowly and keeps his hands to his side so his movements can't be misconstrued as an attack. Jono's about average for a human male so Thranduil is quite a bit taller than he is. "Jonothon Starsmore." He bows his head briefly in introduction. "'Jono' if yer prefer." He winces a little at the question of why he speaks with his mind. "I er... don't 'ave a voice ter speak with, your Majesty," he explains politely. A few clues indicate that there's more to this than he's coming out and saying: his tread is lighter than someone his size should be. It's as though he weighs less than a Man of his height and build. As if... there's less of him? But he's keeping mum about it. Mainly because he's interested to see what's in the box.
Thranduil	Thranduil watches as the guard takes the box. It's not that they're afraid of bombs, it's more about magic traps or mechanical clockwork traps. When the guard deems it safe, he offers it to Thranduil, who cradles it carefully between his hands, stroking the top. "I thank you for the marvelous gift. I do not pretend to understand the nuances of your worlds. What is your function, Jonothon Starsmore?" He looks back to the box and begins to open it.
Bitter Medicine	The gift is a dagger, thin and minimalist in design. Of particular note is the metal it's made of. It appears like normal steel at first glance, but it has a peculiar sheen to it--almost like the prismatic effect on the top of an oil slick. "Starmetal," explains the Exalt to the king. "The rarest of the six magical materials. Weapons made from it rarely miss, and they never strike targets the wielder doesn't intend to hurt."
Jonothon Starsmore	"Function?" Jono blinks. "I er... don't know that I 'ave one. I'm just a normal bloke." Pause. "More 'r less." A look to Bitter Medicine. "We're not from the same world. I'm not one of Auto... thon's chosen people." Yes he did mispronounce it. But he's only heard it once or twice. He didn't mean anything disrespectful. That dagger is REALLY nice though. Jono's eyes widen a bit at it and he looks at Bitter Medicine as the material it's made of is explained. That sounds handy! Very rare too? "Kinda like adamantium..." He rubs the back of his head. "I'm sorry that I don't 'ave anythin' ter offer in tribute Your Majesty." This was kind of an unexpected trip. But at least he's polite.
Thranduil	Thranduil removes the dagger from the box, which the guard takes away. He examines it closely and nods. "It is similar to Elvish blades. I thank you for the gift." He bows his head once again and holds the dagger out to place back in the box. "No gifts are necessary, Jonothon Starsmore. The fact that you are not trying to tear anything apart is tribute enough." He paces back and forth a bit. "What is adamantium? I like the idea of Starmetal."
Bitter Medicine	For a moment, Bitter Medicine forgets himself. "Yeah," he says. "Me too." He can't speak with any authority on adamantium--the king said it himself, it's another world's inner workings. But there is something he can bring up. "Uh, your majesty--one of your subjects mentioned the 'sickness of the forest.' Is your forest malfunctioning?" It's a decidedly Autochthonian way of thinking, but it does get results as well as odd looks. And no, Jono doesn't get the stink eye for mispronouncing the Great Maker's name. Bitter's a thug, not a zealot, although there are some people the multiverse over that don't make distinctions between the two with their actions.
Jonothon Starsmore	"Adamantium is... kinda like Starmetal," Jono replies as he looks at the blade again. "Except all it does special is that I've never seen anythin' it couldn't cut through. Doesn't improve your aim though." Quiet again, when Bitter Medicine mentions the 'sickness'. One of the few times he's glad not to have a mouth because he'd have snickered at the phrasing there-- 'malfunctioning forest'. That's kind of funny. But he's interested to hear the answer himself.
Thranduil	"The forest was once known as Greenwood The Great when my father was king. A few centuries after we moved here, the fortress of Dol Goldur was occupied by Sauron. We had to build this kingdom to avoid the sickness that overcame is. Pure evil resides in Dol Guldur. Orcs, Giant Spiders and all manner of foul creatures began overtaking the forest. The evil and the taint is so great that the sun will not even shine within its borders. I know not how to reverse the infestation. It has been this way for a millenium."
Bitter Medicine	The Alchemical nods gravely. "In other words, the forest in that area behaves contrary to its original parameters because of an unknown contaminant. We've got something similar where I'm from, called Gremlin Syndrome. It's similarly dire, and has existed for roughly the same amount of time, but we do have a way to curb it--a powerful ability called a Thermionic Orthodoxy Array which forcefully imposes the proper order of a place within a certain area. It's sort of like treating the symptoms of an infection, if that makes sense. If it works, the corruption will be pushed back for a while, but the root will remain.
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono listens to the nature of the 'infection' of the forest and its cause. Even if it's real, that sounds like some serious heavy-duty fantasy stuff right there. Stuff he doesn't have the power to fight. Seems Bitter Medicine does though! But Jono does offer, "So those... things were part o' some spreadin' of evil across the lands?" he asks. Headscratch. "If I'd known I'd've fought 'em. I'm sorry." It sounds like he COULD have fought them but didn't for some reason. "That's about all I can offer is gettin' rid of 'em if I see any more." Though it sounds like they've tried that angle and it hasn't worked.
Thranduil	Thranduil just looks at Bitter Medicine in confusion, nodding along out of politeness. "I am uncertain if you can help, but you are welcome to try. The Necromancer has returned to his fortress and has called his servants to him. The invasion by the spiders continues to become worse. My scouts have gone missing should they venture too far south. The forest is afflicted with spells that will drive one mad should they venture too far. You are both very fortunate that you were not drawn into such madness. You would be wise to not confront anything in the woods alone."
Bitter Medicine	Bitter Medicine nods. Sometimes he forgets not everyone uses his parlance--that's his way of showing his newness to the multiverse. At the very least, classifying everything according to the ideas of a utilitarian society gets quick answers. "Understood," he says. "I'll relay that to my rulers. If my request goes through, you can expect aid to arrive within a month. This Necromancer--what can you tell us about him? How does he operate? Do you have a motive?" At this point, he's in Police Mode, ready to jot down details on a notepad.
Jonothon Starsmore	Jono winces a little at the mention of 'spells that drive one mad'. So he was smart to not go too far from the path. He nods. "Well, the chase started outside it," he clarifies. "I just thought they'd quit chasin' me if I went inter the forest an' hid. Didn't work out like that. And then I didn't want ter fight 'em IN the forest because I didn't want ter cause any damage." If Thranduil's scouts reported back about the scuffle he'd probably know why-- that yellow-orange beam that erupted out of the underbrush he was hiding in. Bitter Medicine is asking the questions and Jono's listening for their answers. All this can prove useful. Though he does comment, "Sounds like a 'storm the fortress' solution. Or sneak in an' take care 'o the problem?" From his tone he sounds like he's totally serious.
Thranduil	Thranduil nods as he listens. "Orcs have a sense of smell unlike you or I. What they cannot see, they smell. Ironic because they carry such an odor. The Necromancer is one that should not be spoken of. Between us perhaps we can meet at can arrange to discuss such matters."