The man opened puffy eyes and was mightily disappointed he still wasn't dreaming. He didn't remember very much but recalled a great battle between his company of Gondorian Rangers and a sortie from Mordor, the Land of Shadow, made up of Men and Uruk-hai and hill-trolls. Looking around he had the sinking feeling he was the lone survivor. He was laying on his side with his hands bound behind his back and apparently for the time being forgotten as Orcs looted their dead enemies and rested from their labors. Clumsily he scooted to a sitting position, realized he was propped against a dead Orc of the North, then figured their wasn't much he could do about it at the moment and gazed at his surroundings. The land was even ripped and torn from the furious battle, littered with the dead and dying of both sides and blood, blood everywhere. Carrion crows squawked over the choice spots at the Scavenger Buffet. He rather hoped he would join his companions and have the suffering over with now, but this was the hand fate had dealt him, and he was a stern man of high lineage and would face whatever came.
"Well now!," came a harsh, guttural voice grating with glee. "Looks like he's come back to the land of th' livin'!" He was kicked like wayward farm animal, tipping him back over on his side. It was one of those vile Orcs and he'd been noticed. It was larger than Northern Orcs but not a big Uruk-hai. "Now what good is a tark male to me? eh?"
"He's gonna tell us where those filthy forest brigands are hiding," came a smart reply from the troop's captain who came striding up. The captains always were bigger and had the better armor, and were usually smarter as well. "Then he's gonna make weapons for the War."
The man snorted in disdain. Even he didn't know the secret location of Lord Faramir's base in Ithilien, and he would've taken the secret to his grave in any case. The harrying of the movement of troops and supplies was one of the few offensive moves he could make as Sauron's might spread across the land, searching for what was lost to him.
Stooping, the captain pulled him upright easily and hissed at him. "Hah, think you're a big boy? We have ways of making you talk. Don't we, shauks? Get him up," barked the captain at the nearest orc. He was tall and upright for one of the Glamhoth with long dark, thick hair braided down his back with various bones, beads and other trinkets woven in it for decoration. War paint adorned a rather soft, human-like face and exposed skin which looked to be bronze or brownish-colored.
The man then noticed that the orc-chieftain was a female. "You gonna have a little fun with him on the side, Shaakhlob?," asked the Orc clutching his arm and digging claws into it.
"Hah! I would break him in five minutes."
The man didn't know whether to be relieved or outraged. He was accounted a man of formidable size and strength among his people, and he had been told by various maidens that he was good to look at. His long dark hair was tied in a ponytail and his high-cheekboned face was marked by his large, steel-grey eyes which missed little and discerned much. He had not time for such things, for he was serious and grim and took his honor and duty to his country to heart. The orcs huffed and chuckled.
"Melak, you not gonna tell him?," a great Uruk-hai asked her.
The captain cocked her head at him innocently. "Tell him what, Murz?"
"Ah, you know."
"I'll tell you a thing or two, if you don't start packing up soon! Skai! We have work to do!"