The First Hall is a bustle of activity. Swarms of snaga move from cart to cart securing any items that seem to be loose and readying the same carts for transport south. Here and there a small tiff breaks out as uruks crash into each other in their rush to be prepared for the march. Packs of guards begin forming into larger packs near the head of the room as the tension for the trek to commence rises.

At the head of the Horde, nearest the exit from the Hall, is Huzghash, Master Guard and Shakh. The Guard seems to be issuing forth a constant stream of orders to the Guards organizing near him, each order being comepleted quickly and effectively. "Let the Horde make ready for the march! We leave soon to aveneg the fallen King and destroy these traitors!" The Guard's voice booms above the din of preparation, causing sporadic cheering and grunting.

Clack. Click. Carts begin being manned by numerous snaga as the horde makes ready for the long awaited trip south. Each cart laden down with armour, food, water, weapons, and other supplies weighs heavy upon the shoulders of these snaga, but the Guards and Gatherers ushering them to lift their burdens make them seem light in comparison. CRACK! A whip snaps above the head of a group of snaga not moving fast enough for the overseer's pleasure. "Move it snaga! Unless you want me to deal with ya! CRACK! The whip snaps again.

Skritsnak doesn't react when the whip cracks above his head, it's happened so many times today that he's used to it. However, he does allow himself a show of disgust, which manifests in him spitting on the ground and muttering a few choice words about the overseer. Grunting and sweating from a day's work preparing for the march South, he hoists an armful of armour onto a cart, which is then quickly pulled away by another snaga. "Oi, 'dis suckz.." he exclaims quietly, "'dat King dyin' is 'de worst 'fing to 'appen to me.. nowz we gotz to go and getz 'dem killers, and who's stuck doin' 'de work? Me!" he kicks the ground in front of him as he begins to transport another armful of supplies.

[Duglabur(#29717)] Doopy, doopy, dee, here comes Duglabur trapsing along in his armor and all, his bobbing up and down. Arms swinging freely, shield thrown across his back, axe at his waist.

[Wurpox(#25602)] A great plank is tipped on-end in the back of a wagon. The plank's end swoops to the ground, dust fleeing the scene in high hazy plumes. The brewer Wurpox hikes up the ramp, ramming a tan drum with the flat of his skull. He stoes his cargo, then leans on the wagons rail, ushering on the activity. "Oh its beautimous!" squeels the brewer, waving at the churning mass with his ladel.

[Mol(#17618)] *Smack* *Slap* *Smack* *Slap* Thunderous foot fall reverbetate off the walls, drowning out the crack of whips. Mol lumbers closer to the door, an axe in one hand and a blood crusted boulder in the other. He seems to be in a very good mood as he lopes along, barely pushing orcs out of the way.

Hykhert is silent as he appears in a shadowy corner of the grand hall, head down and raised only enough for him to survey the crowd gathered here. He moves slowly, feet heavy as he slips through piles of rubble, but does not yet approach the massing force.

Huzghash marches among the ranks of Guard's eyes scouring each of them before he exits through the back of the group. Scanning out over the massed Horde, Huzghash grins wide, bearing his yellowed and fanged teeth. "These traitors shall never make it to the Fighting Uruk Hai. We will smash them to swiftly." Huzghash chuckles, his words drowned out to all save those nearby.

Moving to a nearby cart Huzghash takes up a position atop it to gain a better view. Scanning out over the crowd and the rumbling troll, Huzghash smirks again eyes narrowing in anticipation. "Are the carts ready?" Huzghash booms the question out to noone in particular. "If the carts are ready we will move out."

Hykhert nods to himself from his quiet vantage point, silently and discreetly showing approval of Huzghash's authoritative stance. "Vengeance shall be had," he mutters to himself, then returns to his quiet, pensive state. As he mopes, Hykhert fingers a pouch idly in his right hand.

[Wurpox(#25602)] Flailing his ladel, the brewer flags down a small train of drum-toters. He stands deep in the wagon's bed, directing the incoming drums. The wagon eventually fills, but Wurpox finds himself surrounded by tightly crammed barrels and drums. "Kin't.. get out!" he squalks, squirming for air.

"Carts are ready Shakh!" cries the half-burried brewer. He raps on a few toms with his ladel's face.

Skritsnak stocks yet another cart full of supplies and looks back, realizing that there is very little that is left to be loaded. He grins with satisfaction, a smug expression, making it seem as if he thinks that it was he alone who did all the work. "Right, looks like wez just about done 'ere" he says happily, another cliff of menial labour scaled. He then turns his attention to the booming Uruk, who's taken up a position on a cart a few feet away. He says nothing, waiting for the order to move out.

Mol slowly comes to a stop next to the amassing horde. He looks around, taking in the sight of many war anxious orcs. He chuckles slightly as he sees a trapped uruk near the food. The troll's stomach growls deeply but he makes no move towards uruk, instead he speaks, "Um...You orcies got place for Mol to hide from light?" The troll does seem rather concerned about the sun.

Duglabur trapses on, moving up toward Huzghash, eyes dancing hastily upon him, but they fall away and move up to Mol, "Mol! Great Olog! Of course there will be somewhere for you to hide from the sun mighty troll!"

[Wurpox(#25602)] The drum wagon lurches forward, brewer and all. The drums sway into motion, Wurpox cast down between them. He sprouts again, in the middle of a small grove of handsomely stretched kettles. Wurpox beats their heads with his utensil, and his free fist, encouraging the wagon's spurty progress. "Wagons hooo!" He drums up a simple beat.

Hykhert's spirits are not lifted by the sight of the Kingdom's might as they often would be, though he watches those present keenly and again nods to himself. Opting to stay in the periphery for now, he continues to fiddle with the small item in his hand.

"I'm sure they might find a place for you somewhere in here troll. Though I am not sure where." Huzghash scans out over the crowd, a perplexed look upon his face. Maybe a cart around here has some room for you."

Gates slam to enclose the good carried by the many carts needed for the Morian horde. Snagas scramble for their carts, hoisting the long poles used to pull them atop their shoulders. Grunting with effort the snagas make due and prepare for the grueling march.

"Good, Brewer! Start up those drums!" Huzghash looks out over the horde once more and nods, seemingly pleased with the proceedings. Leaping down from his perch Huzghash moves once more for the front of the Horde, rumbling through the ranks of the Guards once more a scowl planted upon his face. "WE MOVE!" Huzghash booms the call above the sound of the waiting uruks. "Moria shall take its revenge upon these traitors the flee south! Let us take them! Let us have our revenge!" Huzghash pumps a fist into the air, a cheer roaring through the ranks of the Guards.

[Mol(#17618)] "Ok. Big tent works good." The troll nods emphatically. As teh brewer's wagon starts to move the trolls starts to climb aboard, slowing the wagon greatly and making it groan loudly. Mol sighs and shakes his round head. "You orcies too slow. Hold on." The massive cave troll gets up and walks to the front of the cart, grabbing ahold of it and setting his feet to start running.

Skritsnak hears the call to move, snapping him out of whatever fantasy he was playing out in his mind. Moving to the front of the cart he has just filled, Skritsnak grunts and groans as he lifts the contraption up on his shoulders, muscles tensing with fatigue at the almost non-stop work that this day has brought. He lets out a louder grunt as he makes the first big pull to get the cart moving steadily, the wheels slowly making their way across the stone floor. He quickly gets stuck in a jam, though, as the snaga in front of him is moving its cart at an unacceptably slow speed. "Oi, 'urry up, up 'dere!" he yells, and sure enough the cart begins to pick up speed. He continues to push himself forward with his feet, the cart moving onward, onward, onward.

Hykhert throws a hood over his head, veiling his face. As he steps out from his quiet lurking, his garb is changed -- his rags have been traded in for...more rags. Baggy and heavy cloth covers the shaman almost competely as he quietly joins a mob of common Uruks bearing improvised weapons, quickly losing himself in the bustle of those excited to travel.

Wurpox obliges a beat, that rises and rises till his palms are numb and polished from the vibrations. Some drums he scolds savagely with the ladel, others he strokes and scrapes. The wagon jerks, and his face is flung against a great bass. He seems to enjoy the sensation. He tries a purposed head-butt.. a low thud.. a bead of blood on his lip. He seems to enjoy the sensation less.

"Are there shamans among us? Shall they bless our progress?" squalks the brewer above the booms.

Huzghash nods to himself as the horde begins to move forward, lurching towards the exit from the First Hall. Huzghash leads the marching Guards as they exit the Hall to the east, the ranks of uruks disappearing throught the great entrance. "We go!" Huzghash calls out once again as he passes through the exit and out into the mountains.

You pass through the long-broken doors in the East.

Moria, Great Gates

Hewn out of the side of the mountain bodes the east entrance to the depths of Moria. The vast entryway was once adorned by the work of skilled dwarfs but that has been set to ruin or perverted by the uruks who now claim the Mines. Massive pillars stand to the left and right of a ruined main gate. Etchings in the pillars have been over carved with the work of the uruk; an image of a fiery serpent circles the pillars and at the head of each is a mutilated statue of Durin the Deathless. A squadron of lazy orcs usually post guard duty concealed in the shadows. Huge age-worn steps lead down out of Moria. Past the fallen gate is an unnerving darkness - only a fool would rush in.

Mol , being big, pulls the cart very easily and much faster than the orcs can. In no time he is off to the east. The cart clatters and rumbles as it goes but the cave troll pulls it along at an inceadible rate of speed.

Hykhert moves along in the fray, speaking not nor lifting the veil of his hood to betray his identitiy as he moves. Among a nameless host of insignificant Morians eager to maek a name on the battlefield, Hykhert is indiscernible.

Skritsnak drags the cart.

Huzghash jogs at the head of the Guards, slowing a moment to yell back to the emerging horde. "We will move quickly this night to save time in our trek south! Keep the pace and don't lag!" Huzghash glances over his shoulder in time to see the running Olog pulling a cart behind him. "A bit faster if the troll keeps that up!" Huzghash calls out with a chuckle, turning ahead and quickening his pace slightly.

[Wurpox(#25602)] The drum wagon lumbers through the spoiled doors, rolling thunder tops the stair. Wurpox cheers the troll powered momentum, his wirey arms commanding a primal, stirring rhythm.

'Dread, dread here-comes the flood!

Red, red it-must be blood!'

The brewer bellows. He pounds them both savagely; the ladel and the fist.

'The flood is shadow, turn away!

Or stand to drown and burn away!'

Mol keeps up his pace, pulling the cart with great ease. It doesn't seem to slow him down much, but the orc in his way do. the smart ones move and the stupid get pushed. Slowly the cart and troll start to pull up to the van of the horde.

Huzghash's boots clomp to the ground in rhytm with the other Guards, each step the sound of impending doom for the traitors. Joining the brewer in song, the Guards echo his words, their sounds reverberating of the many angled walls of the mountain. Huzghash runs in silence, eyes cast straight ahead as he begins the decent down the stairs towards the Dimrill Dale. Metal chain links clinking together with each hard step.

Hykhert(#28992)] The robed figure in the crowd, no armor or even a crudely improvised weapon visible through the heavy, ragged cloaking he wears, keeps pace with the rest in the rearguard. Grunting as he is pushed and jostled by those about him, the figure presses on, not bothering to push away the impeding hood that veils his face.

Huzghash continues at his rumbling pace, the steps of the Guards and other uruks making the sound of a terrible dark wave crashing down the mountain side. The Black mass that has slowly emerged from Moria is now fully out, carst and uruks plowing on in their search for revenge. In the fore, Huzghash quickens his pace to watch ahead, the other Guards maintaining their pace as he does so. After a few moments the Guard drops back through the ranks and nears the Troll. "You should let snaga do the work, Troll! They are getting to much of a rest and you're surely making yourself hungry!" Huzghash chuckles, casting a glance to the nearby snaga to be sure and pick up the Troll's cart if he leaves it.

Wurpox inflicts bruise after bruise on the toms' virgin skins, soliciting groan after dreadfull groan from their deep wooden bellies. He squalks some more...

'The flood will grind you! /flowing flowing/

The flood will find you! /knowing knowing/

The flood will find you! /growing growing/'

Wurpox begins to salivate. 'So turn and flea! Run /crying crying/.

Or stand and wait for /dying dying/.

But be it tears that fill your eyes,

Or yellow face's yellow lies,

You'll all end up in Sog's surprise!'

Mol keeps going, glancing over at the Shaka that speaks. "Orcies too small and slow. They pull Mol in light." The troll focuses on a tricky bit of ground for a moment then speaks again. "Orcies make good foods for Mol."

The Horde rumbles on down the path to the Dimrill Dale. The descending mass of blackened orc flesh rumbles down the hill like an avalanche of death. Metal weapons glint in torchlight and what light light escapes from the sky. Huzghash moves once again to the fore, his eyes staring hard ahead searching for signs of trouble. "Keep the place you slow snaga, elf-lovers! Or we leave you here in the mountains!" Huzghash chuckles again, his steps pounding onward down the path.

[Talghash(#7929)] Moving in the shadows amongst several of the gathered uruk is the lowly scout snaga Talghash. His form is barely perceiveable to most who pass, but his red and yellow eyes glow eerily as they flow along the line of orc's filing out. As the group moves along so does the uruk, not letting them get far ahead. His eyes continue to search the group with strange curiosity, as if searching for someone or something of interest.

Wurpox tugs out his scimitar, and flaps its flat side on a bass. His ladel rolls across several toms; a busy bee gracing their vibrating faces, gifting them each a different, defeaning seed. "Trod the laggers down good Trolly!" squalks the brewer, entranced in the beat.

You descend the stairs onto the aged path. You continue down the rough and broken winding track. Heather and holly thrust up amid the cracking paving stones. You travel around a mile, into a wide valley.

Dimrill Dale

Not more than a mile to the west, and up, is the grey side of the Silvertine. An aged path travels up to what looks to be a shallow cave at the mountain's base. Northward the dale runs up into a glen of shadows between two great arms of the mountains, above which three white peaks are visible: Celebdil, Fanuidhol, and Caradhras. At the head of the glen a torrent flows like white lace over an endless ladder of short falls, and a mist of foam hangs in the air about the mountains' feet. To the south the Misty Mountains recede endlessly, as far as sight can reach. At your feet is a great pool of water. At the water's side is a single stone column broken at the top.

The strong wind rips into your cloths and it is hard to move onwards. The midnight winter air is biting and frosty.

You take the road south, and descend quickly, running out from between the arms of the dale.

The Silverlode Source

Here to the side of the abandoned road you follow is a deep well of water, clear as crystal, from which a freshet falls over a stone lip and runs glistening and gurgling down a steep rocky channel to the south. The road seems to parallel the stream for some distance... as your eyes follow the streams path down and to the south, you see that it is gathering waters to itself from many other mountain streams, and becomes a swift river.

The faint track of a long abandoned road contiunes up to the north and down to the south.

Ripping through the Dimrill Dale the horde turns southward heading nearer the Silverlode. Huzghash is still out the fore, sweat just beginning to cool his face. Behind him the horde continues to follow the Master Guard in their trek southwards. "Come, Morians, only a bit further and we shall stop and make camp!" Huzghash booms the words of encouragement out as the orcs begin the last bit of their Journey for the evening.

[Wurpox(#25602)] As the drum wagon rolls through pitch scenerey, Wurpox stands tall on his cart, like it were a royal barge. He shrivels up his eyes, and squints into the unknown. "Set us down anywhere good Trolly!" cries the brewer, still commanding a livid beat on his toms.

Skritsnak lets out a long, deep sigh of relief as the entourage of carts and Uruks halt. His back aching, his legs on the verge of cramping, and his body sweating, Skirtsnak lets the cart slide off his back, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Skrit takes a few short moments to stretch himself out, joints popping as he looks around at the mass of Uruks before beginning to unload the supplies on his pulley.

Turning along the silverlode Huzghas spits upon the ground and looks ahead for a spot to make camp. Seeing a decent place not to far ahead, huzghash waves over his shoulder for the Horde to follow only a little farther. "We make camp there!" Huzghash jabs a finger ahead as he continues his run. A few moments later the large pack of Guards are upon the spot and Huzghash is already ordering them to their duties.

As the Carts begins to arrive in mass, Huzghash waves for the carts to take up certain positions, almost forming a wall around the camp. "That's it! Move there! Start unloading those tents and set up camp!" Turning away from the carts for a moment Huzghash takes the time to yell at some Guards. "Get to work, bums! We need fires set up around the camp and in it. Though not many, unless you wish to tip off the traitors!" Orders being spewed forth at a rapid pace by the Guard it is a wonder how the uruks are able to understand them.

Skritsnak lets out an even longer sigh as the carts begin to move, heading towards the spot that the big, bad Uruk pointed to. "Just a few more minutes.." he says reassuringly to himself, lifting the cart back up with a groan and continuing his steady movements towards the camp ground.

Mol is well at the front of the pack even though he pulls a large cart. As he slows and finally pulls up to a stop he starts to pant, obviously tired from the pace the drums kept. As he drops the end of teh cart he looks off towards the east, happy that no fingers of light have yet crept onto the sky. In a huff of air he speaks to the snagas on his cart. "Yous...make Mol tent..before light."

"Yes, Troll!" The group of snaga screech in unison, each scrambling to gather the tent off the back of the cart. MOving quickly the snaga are soon at work placing the tent securely into the ground and laying out the poles to raise it.

Wurpox scrambles atop the litter of drums, their thin skin faces warping beneath his sandals. He springs off the wagon, and waddles up to Huzghash. "Goodly guard, could you set a detail on my juice casks? I swore none would taste their tang untill we've got our revenge.. I brought them for our victory feast." The brewer warily scans the background, but more thoroughly the camps own inhabitants. He sways uneasily, stowing away his sword.

[Talghash(#7929)] A few moments after the carts pull into the new campsite and the ordes are given to set camp a small and dark figure slips in out of the shadows. Talghash the scout snaga wears his hood thrown up and kept low over his face, which still does nothing to conceal the glow that shimmers form his sickly looking eyes. He moves around the camp quietly, hoping to avoid the glance of superiors for as long as possible. As a large uruk passes by he quickly scrurries off towards the nearest cart, and begins unloading with all the other lowly orcs...hoping to blend in and remain unnoticed. He steals several nervous glances over his shoulder as he loads a large sack onto his shoulder.

[Mol(#17618)] The troll pulls out his massive battle axe, turning it so the flat of it is down. With a swat the troll drives the tent poles into the ground several feet with each swing. As the tent is erected the troll crawls under it and starts to dig out a place for himslef to sleep, a shower of dirt flying from the entrance.

Chukk quickly falls in with the working Uruks. He runs over to one of the carts and begins to help unload equipment. He waits till he sees what he's looking for though....the forge equipment brought to make repairs in the field. He grabs some of the tools and looks around for a place to set up.

Huzghash nods to the brewer. "So be it brewer." Huzghash motions for a trio of Guards to move off to the ale cart. "And don't you three be drinking any of it, unless you wish to be Guard Snaga again!" Huzghash jabs an angry finger at the trio as they move quickly to secure the ale cart. "Now, hurry up with that troll's tent! We don't want the sun to get him!" Smirking, Huzghash nods to himself. "I need a few scouts! Come! Quick!" Huzghash bellows out a few orders to uruks nearby as the Morian camp only now begins to take shape in a controlled anarchy.

Skritsnak reaches the designated spot, in the middle of a line of carts, the carts that carry the very lifeblood of this advance, and Skritsnak is more than aware of this fact. "'Deez people 'ave no respect.. 'dey dun know 'dat wez be'an 'de onez carrying 'dis stuff.. without 'dis stuff wut would 'dey do?" he mutters to himself, wallowing is disgust of his treatment at the hands of his fellow Uruks. "But no matta'" he continues, "best not let any of 'de big 'uns 'ere you talk like 'dat.. 'deyz be'an mighty angry at 'dat kind of talk..", he looks around nervously, making sure that no overseers hear his rambling. Finally, it's his turn to deposit the supplies at the camp. Muscles tensing, Skritsnak lifts the cart above his head, and moves out from under it, letting the contraption fall to the ground. A group of snagas descend upon the cart to empty it's contents into designated piles.

[Talghash(#7929)] Following the lead of those around him, Talghash sets his sack down in a quickly growing pile and glances around again, his nervousness easing. He snickers to himself at what he just pulled off then quikly moves back tho the wagons, hoping the snicker went unnoticed and glad to see it did. On his way though he stops uin his tracks and spins slowly around to face Huzghash. "A couple scouts eh?" he says to himself. Then abondoning his unloading duties with little hesitation he strids almost slyly up to the Master Guard. Mocing to stand in front of him briskly he nods his head in a half efforted bow. "You need a scout, Master Guard?" he asks in his slurred voice that is pulled form low within his throat.

[Wurpox(#25602)] A nod, and the brewer skedaddles. He lopes in wide, undulating steps for the largest fire. Still clutching his ladel, it glints high above his head as he speeds towards the flames. "The slop jockey is HERE! Wait but a moment and be ready with your bowls!" he bellows to all the horde.

Wurpox arrives at his cookstation unprepaired. He frantically looks for ways to stall the meal, finally crying: "First in line can feed the trolls." The brewer smirks, and begins ripping open a few bags of meal with his teeth. "That should buy me time," he muses.

[Mol(#17618)] There is still a fury of activity from under the troll tent. It is obvious the troll is trying to make sure he will not be in the sunlight during the day. A few rocks come flying out, almost hitting some of teh orcs helping with the tent.

"Don't unload it all! We will break camp again soon to fully catch up with the traitors, and it will be easier if some of our supplies are still loaded." Bellowing out another order the Guard looks back to see a single scout before him. "Good enough. Go secure the area around the camp, make sure ther's no unwanted visitors nearby. Report back to me once you've done so." Huzghash speaks the order quickly to Talghash before turning away, only to turn back a second later. "ANd grab a couple other scouts to go with you. Move it!"

MOving away from the scout, Huzghash moves into the fracas that is the Morian camp. Tents are slowly being erected around the middle of the camp, with the Troll's tent being the only one already complete. "Guards! Get those watch fires burning, before I have to start kicking your lazy bums!" Huzghash walks past the troll tent, his eyes watching elsewhere. A small rock comes flying from the dirt spewed forth by the Troll's hands, and that rock crashes against the helm of the Master Guard. "SKAI!" The Sound of ringing metal fills the air around Huzghash as the rock bounces harmlessly off of his helmet. "Get to work you fools!" The Guard yells at a few snaga who took the opportunity to laugh.

Chukk quickly begins to set up the smith's area to make repairs to any strained parts of the wagons. The brazier is set up and he fills it with coal to heat up while he assembles the tools he needs for repair, as well as a small Anvil

Talghash remains standing in his position until the Master Guard slips off to other duties. Then he glances around the camp, a slight grin flickering across his visage, searching for any other scouts. He spots a group setting up their own tent on the outskirts of camp and strides across camp and around many workers to reach them. The gathered scouts all glare at the scout snaga curiously as he approaches them, but undaunted talghash fills them in on the orders before giving them a chance to even speak. Strange glances are exchanged with one another before three or four slowly rise and begin their search of the perimeter, somewhat hesitantly. Talghash does the same, eagerly slipping across camp and soon fading beyond sight of all uruk into the trees and unknown beyond the camp.

Huzghash continues to stomp around the camp, his eyes glaring at any uruk he sees slacking. "To work, uruks! The faster we are set the faster you can rest!" Crack! A whip snaps off in the distance near a group of snaga, the group dispersing to their duties with the sound. "Hurry with the food, Brewer, or you may be the one to feed the trolls!" Huzghash chuckles for a few moments before continuing his walk through the settling Morian camp.

Wurpox slouches over a large crock, sprinkling handfulls of odd ingredients into the roiling bubbles within. He cooks beneath the cover of a rather flimsy shanty, its cloth walls bending back the cookfire's glow. Bathed in unearthly orange light, Wurpox sighs, then raps the crocks rim with his ladel. "Stew's ready!" He turns to prepair another pot.

Huzghash smirks upon hearing the words of the brewer. "Good, make sure you have enough to feed th lot of us!" Huzghash chuckles, moving towards the cook's wagon. Leaning against the wooden cart, Huzghash watches the cook preparing the food. Motioning for a group of snaga to come near him Huzghash speaks, "Make sure the Guards on the perimeter get a bite to eat before you touch your own food. I need them attentive unless we want to be had by the elves, or the traitors." Huzghash glares hard at the snaga before looking back towards the Brewer.

[Wurpox(#25602)] A spilling grainsack limp across his shoulder, Wurpox blinks at the shakh. "Before I touch my own food?" He stares at the stew. "You think I'd touch that slop?" Wurpox shudders indignantly, draining the last of the grain into the new pot.

"Tell me goodly guard, have you heard the ballad of the brewer king?" irks Wurpox, thickening his broth and clearing his through.

Huzghash chuckles, "Not you, brewer. The snaga who are running food to my Guard's." Huzghash looks out into the still bustling encampment, tents still being thrown up and makeshift bedding areas being laid out. "No, I havent heard it, Brewer. I could go for a song though, and a cup of water." Huzghash takes a seat upon the wheel of the cart, watching the brewer continue at his work.

Wurpox opens his mouth wide, ready to burst into song. He must remember the water, for he stops and coughs, and digs in his moth-worn vest for a flask. He gives the flask a jiggle, it sloshes. "Can't put water in this, its still full." He happily remedies the problem.. *glug glug gugga-glug*

Wurpox sinks the flask into his broth-water cask, beggining his song as the submerged flask begins to bubble...

'Stripes or spots or covered in fleas.

In the pots, ignore their please!'

He calls them to his crockeries,

and stirs with his terrible spoon!'

Wurpox presents the full flask.

[Talghash(#7929)] A while has now passed since the scouts first departed camp, no sign of them can be seen or heard. Though suddenly a ruslte is heard, a slight movement in the shadows. Talghash slips into the camp as silently and suddenly and stealthily as he departed. He halts as soon as he can get a full clear view of camp and peers about it, observing the progress before moving on. Then his stride turns towards the scout's tent, his movements through the crowd of orc to get there are hardly noticed.

Within a few moments another slight rustle is heard in the distance and yet another scout returns and slips stealthily into the camp. Not long afterwards the four scouts that departed are once again gathered with the rest. Brief words are exchanged, they converse their patrols and nod in conclusion to the conversation. Then the eyes of the scout snaga seek for the Master Guard, a report must me made.

Huzghash chuckles with the Brewers song, graciously taking the flask and downing the water quickly. "Thank you, Brewer." Offering the flask in return to the Brewer Huzghash again looks out into the rabble. Standing from his seat, Huzghash moves off a bit still near the cookery cart. "Good, the horde is nearly set." Huzghash pauses a moment before bellowing, "Eat if you're done, and then rest. You'll need it come the morn." Huzghash chuckles even as a semi-rush of uruks begins to move towards the cook.

[Wurpox(#25602)] The brewer continues...

'A handfull of crawlies, a cupfull of creeps.

He knows where they nest and he comes when they sleep.

But all that squirms or worms or tries to flee,

.. under mountain under moon...

He calls them to hish crockeries,

and stirs with his terrible spoon!"

Apperantly finished, and beaming quite self-satisfactedly, Wurpox waves away the flask. "I've never been south," he notes out loud, "Have you goodly guard?"

"South?" Huzghash reiterates the question moving nearer the Brewer once more. "A time or two yes, though not in search of traitors." Huzghash seems to mull over a few things in his mind before continuing, "This time though, we seek revenge for our fallen King. This time is different."

Wurpox scrubs at his chin with the lip of his ladel. "Do we wonder what we'll find there?" The ladel flaps into the broth, and the brewer works it around dutifully. "It has another verse I think.." he scoops out the spoon, examines, and returns it to the soup unsatisfied. ".. The Ballad of the Brewer King that is. Does the goodly guard know any verse?" Wurpox leers intently into his crock.

[Talghash(#7929)] Glancing about for just a moment Talghash spots Huzghash over by the brewer and starts for him, giving one final nod to the the socuts on his depart. Again the scout snaga moves to stand in front of the Master Guard and clasps his hands behinf his back. He says nothing though. He waits for him to either notice or address him before speaking, wisely not interrupting his conversation. While waiting he gives the farmiliar brewer a quick nod, but again says nothing to him either.

Huzghash nods to the brewer, "Yes, I know a bit, though mainly for use in battle. To raise spirits and all." Huzghash chuckles his eyes slowly floating down to the Scout. "Ahh. Good! You're back. Anything to report?" Huzghash eyes the scout a few moments before taking another sip from the flask held in his hand.

[Wurpox(#25602)] The brewer's stew churns rather reluctantly, the muscles leading down to his spoon all taut as he stirs. He nibbles his lip, willing the ladel around and around the stinking, simmering sea.

"Greetings under-guard!" squalks Wurpox at the new arrival. "Quite some time since I slid you a pint. No juice here I'm afraid.. " he winks at the cookfires shore. "Have a seat! Reporting is hungry buisness!"

[Talghash(#7929)] "We'vvve patrollled most of the area and finds no threat...but the other scouts says there are signs that the traitors have passed thisss way, though they cants be sure." Talghash reports impassively and adds a bow at the end. Then only after the report is made doe he turn to address the brewer. "Indeed it has been, brewer, last time you tried to poison me!" he scowls the brewer's way but it can be easily seen there is no real venom in his tone or visage. The uruk takes a seat as the brewer bade and relaxes the scow and even lets a chuckle escape thinly between his pounted teeth, which comesout as more of a hiss. He hides the eager hunger he has for the food... or any meal at all for that matter... behind his usual and unchanging emotionless expression. THough the twisted features across his face seem to supply his visage with emotion of their own.

Huzghash nods, "Good, scout. We thought they would go this way. We shall soon have them within our grasp." Huzghash clenches his fist for emphasis as, again, he takes a draught of the water. Smacking his lips slightly, Huzghash watches out into the camp, looking for signs of trouble.

Wurpox passes the ladel through a last few steaming stew-currents, before slipping it free of the crock. "AhAH! Poison, yes.. I remember it!" He strikes his chest with the ladel, wetting his vest. "The other verse.." He strikes again, and croaks his throat clear...

'A few claim he's crazy,

but only a few.

For most have been poisoned,

and none doubt the brew.'

Wurpox begins a jig...

'He sucks out their liver,

and lops off their knees.

He calls he calls he calls HE CALLSSS..' Wurpox spins on one sandal...

'He calls them to his crockeries,

He'll come calling, calling soon.

He calls them to his crockeries,

and stirs with his TERRIBLE SPOON!' The brewer splays his arms, flinging stew to the fart tents. "Your turn now guarder. Lets have some booming."

Talghash throws a quick glance at the mater Guard as he replies to him, then mods to himself seeming pleased with his own report. This notion is short lived though as the brewer breaks into song, which seems to somewhat shock Talghash at first. But as the song continues the scout snaga just stares blankly at him as he dances and sings. When the brewer finishes his song and has been quiet for a moment Talghash finally speaks up, "Is the meal almost ready, brewer?"

Wurpox scowls at the impatient snaga. "I don't know" he growls, "Look for yourself." He flippantly wisks his ladel at the stew pot, pointing and tapping his open toes about the cookfire's coals. "Give it a peek, do YOU think it's done?"

Huzghash chuckles, his eyes lifting to the mountains a moment before standing. "A song? I'll leave you with one, for I must be off. There is still work to be done and I must be to it, else my superiors shall be angry at the lot of us." Huzghash chuckles beginning to move away from the pair, a tune being hummed under his breath. Soon the Guard allows words to accompany the tune and he begins to sing.

'A wrath we bring from mountain top, to the scores of elves below.

A wrath of fire and of steel, shall burn their forest low.

We come, we come, From Moria!

Uruks of the Flame!

We come, we come! From Moria!

We come to stake out claim!'

[Wurpox(#25602)] Though the brewer seemingly delights at the shakh's verse, spurting: "Splendid goodly guard!" his toes tap on as he waits for Talghash's inspection. A wry smile...