[Amanaduial the archer]

Calenvasa was right; the army was to learn of the nature of the Anduin - even as the elf captain said it.

At the edge of the river, the water lapping at their toes, three huge, thickset trolls stood unhappily, knee deep in the churned up mud. All around them the dwarfed figures of Southrons and orcs scurried like so many ninpins, shouting in vain at the massive creatures, but their commands and whips only made the stupid creatures angrier. Standing a safe distance away from the riverbank, Koran winced as one of the creatures let out a massive bellow and took a swing at several of the orcs around it. Shrugging into his dark leather coat, Koran turned in disgust from the chaotic scene to where Ehan was standing nearby, apparently mesmerised by the scene, his eyes bright and a slight smile hovering on his lips.

"It's not a sport, Ehan," Koran said dryly. The younger man blinked and looked at him sharply, then smiled sheepishly, before turning his eyes once more on the riverbank, where the orcs were attempting to whip the trolls into doing their will.

"What a sport it would make though..." he murmured in reply, his eyes starry." Just pit the orcs against the trolls in a battle, add a muddy river to give the orcs a fairer chance...why, given enough time, I think they would probably mange to wipe each other out."

Koran snorted, shaking his head as he looked down at the ground. "Bloody sport..." he grinned, glancing up at Ehan. Looking back up, he threw his head back onto his shoulders and sighed wearily, closing his eyes. They had been dragging the trolls with them for the past few days, and what with Herding's complete disassosiation with anything to do with the beasts, it had been chaos to move them at all, and they had claimed half a dozen orcs so far - not that Thrakmazh seemed to care. And it was a wonder - no, a miracle - that the elves of Mirkwood seemed not to have followed them. Yet. So much for the famed and terrible far-sighted scouts of Mirkwood...

"Whose bright idea was it to use trolls to make bridges- no, in fact, to use trolls to make anything of use?" he asked, his eyes shut.

"Probably not your friend Herding," Ehan replied sardonically. "Unless there are now bright ideas painted on the sides of wine bottles," he added just for good measure. Koran grinned and raised his eyebrows, opening his dark eyes to look up at the stars. Unwillingly, he turned slowly around to look back at the riverbank, his expression one of dismay and disdain, and took in the scene for a few moments with impassive eyes. They had been working for several hours now, and had managed to bully the trolls into constructing...one raft.

Koran's thoughts were not to be mistaken: he had admired the idea of getting larger, stronger creatures to do the work, and the fact that they could now stand daylight - well, it seemed perfect.

In theory.

He just wished they had some brains.

Another of the orcs swung his whip zealously at one of the trolls and the massive creature had finally had enough. As the whip wrapped around it's giant forearm it bellowed fiercely and pulled backwards sharply; as the hapless orc at the other end of the whip didn't quite let go quite fast enough, he was catapulted into the middle of the river with an abruptly cut off scream. As Herding was nowhere to be seen (probably lost in the depths of a wine bottle, Koran thought darkly), the younger captain waded in, waving an arm fiercely.

"Stop, stop! Oh for the sake of- look, you two, come here." He pinpointed a Southron and an unusually scrawny looking Uruk, calling them over. When they were within talking range, he carried on. "Look, chain them up to the trees for the night - we'll get no more work done here. It's a bloody marvel we haven't got every elf in the forest on our backs with that racket..."

"Stop?" The Uruk looked at Koran dimly and the Southron stared back, trying halfheartedly to restrain his disgust. "Only the Captain Thrakmazh gives orders to Uruks. We listen to no Man now-"

"Your bloody captain is nowhere to be seen, and if you try to defy me, I shall have you make the trolls build rafts - by yourself," Koran hissed dangerously, his face close to the Uruk. The monstrous being growled but didn't hold the man's gaze, his yellow eyes flitting away. Without another word he turned rudely and yelled fearsomely at the orcs in the black tongue, laying his whip into all those around him who were slow to react. The other Southron cast a baleful look at Koran then hurried to carry out his orders. The Southron clenched his fists fiercely then released them, turning away from the scene towards the Southron camp that lay to the North. The evening was coming on now, and, regardless of puffed up Uruks, theoretically excellent (but practically hopeless) trolls and drunken captains, he was going to get a drink and a game of dice before they tasted 'the blood of the beautiful'...