[Kransha]

“Urkrásh, why are the members of my glorious race such imbeciles?”

Urkrásh glanced glibly at his master and captain as the two of them stood at the center and front of the ragged column drifting, or oozing forward like a smoggy shroud of black moving with enervated speed across the forested plains. Thrákmazh, his armored form erect and stiffened, continued to direct the low-shouldered troops around, pointing them towards the front and issuing as many commanding gestures of he could. Out of the corner of his mouth, he spoke to Urkrásh, who blinked at him dazedly and answered as best he could. “Umm…” he searched for a response that would not anger his captain, stammering involuntarily. “I don’t know, sir.” he murmured, evading the real question.

Thrákmazh’s hand, which had been up with a gauntleted trio of fingers aimed forward and swinging to indicate the proposed movement for some very slow uruks, lowered slowly, falling limp and lifeless to his side, the chain mail riveted upon it jingling. Slowly, he turned to his orcish counterpart, who had the same ready and willing, if not slightly confused look on his face he’d borne a moment ago. Thrákmazh’s single eye narrowed icily, focusing into beady and acute orb that fixed its keen gaze on Urkrásh. After looking grimly at the servant for a dragging, slow-paced moment, Thrákmazh swiveled sluggishly to face the troops again, looking deep into their thick ranks with his single, precise eye, examining each and every mindless uruk.

“It’s because they don’t have a purpose, none at all. They serve like blind rats, being directed by those with high ranks and decorations to spare. I think I might’ve been like that once, but that changed soon enough. They’re just blind, aimless worms that do what they’re told when they feel like it. No loyalty, no devotion, no sense of purpose at all. They probably have no aspirations, no hopes, and I don’t blame ‘em. They’ll never get anywhere, not the way they conduct themselves. You and I, on the other hand, orcs like us are different. And, Urkrásh, if you serve with loyalty and show your mettle for the cause, you’d get somewhere, and any of that lot might too if they did so. But, most of ‘em won’t do anything to get anywhere, and they’ll stay in the filth they made. When they see the elves, they’ll fight all the same, and they might get some pleasure out of it, but no one will remember them, or care about them, or know their names.”

The speech was not meant, or implied as the speech it was. Thrákmazh considered himself quite the wordsmith, and impressive enough in that wording as well, for he had spent many days perfecting his skill with this second language, which most orcs did not speak well. It was considered a point of pride to be able to discourse in the common tongue diligently, as clan gatherings of orcs could not speak the Black Speech, their native tongue, in groups, for each clan and sect had a different, multifaceted dialect (though the speech was not complicated overall). Urkrásh looked now as if he was contemplating the petty oratory, looking as pensive as he could in the passing moment. Thrákmazh was not even looking upon him, had not turned to witness the other orc’s response. At last, as a disconcerting silence descended eerily over the two, though crashing, growling, rumbling, thumping, and snarling abounded all around them, Urkrásh found his voice and spoke, quietly but surely. “I see, sir.”

“I’m sure.” Thrákmazh murmured coolly, stepping back and finally turning toward Urkrásh. “Urkrásh,” he said, the commanding air faded from his guttural voice, “I want you to do something for me.” Urkrash, at this, piped up wholeheartedly, his own gait steadily brightening to reveal his constant willingness as he nodded his head vigorously. “Anything, sir.” Looking back upon him, Thrakmazh almost smiled, but contained the expression.

“I want you to take command of this column,” he continued, causing Urkrash to jump unnoticeably, “just temporary command, and make sure nothing happens in my absence. We have to see to this task with those accursed men, so I might as well see who they are. I’m going to scope them out, see what I can learn. I think that you are capable of making sure nothing undesirable happens.” Urkrash looked at him, at first, as if his commanding officer might have been possessed, but calmed down within seconds, ever eager to serve, and said, simply, “Are you sure?” Thrákmazh glowered at him, a sight which would silence most orcs who knew his reputation. It might not have been the best idea, since another uruk captain might fit the task better. Yes, Urkrásh was sometimes a fool, but a loyal fool, and would not let his master down. He would do this task as aptly as he could. “I’m always sure about whatever I say and whatever I do.”

After a deep breath, Urkrásh bowed his head and answered. “Yes, Thrákmazh.”

Not returning the bow, Thrákmazh spun on his iron-booted heel and strode off slowly, still surveying and supervising, but not for long. Soon enough he was on the outskirts of the orcish line, which was interspersed with the lesser orcs. All orcs noticed Thrákmazh, save a happily ignorant few. Most cringed, and all those he passed busied themselves getting out of his way. This all changed, though, as he neared the equally ragged columns of men, dressed in all manner of bizarre, exotic garb, which escaped Thrákmazh completely. These mortal men did not think to oblige Thrákmazh’s path, and none took note of him except as what he was, an orc. None moved for him, few acknowledged his presence, and none stopped their idle conversation on the march. Snorting indignantly, Thrákmazh proceeded towards the head of the line, hurrying slightly, as he did not relish the company of men. At long and irksome last, he found the crest of the column, with the men there who he presumed held some notion of authority. He saw one, with another alongside, who fit the description of a captain of the men he'd been told of by other orcs on the societal fringes of the army, who had nothing better to do. Worming his way with very little grace through the claustrophobic rows, he found himself just behind the man and another beside.

“You are the one called Koran Cenbryt, yes?” He queried, utterly unexcited about the meeting. But, the meeting was not to happen yet, for the crowd had carried both away. Still uninterested, and irritated, Thrakmazh headed off, towards the rocky ground that bordered the whole area where and on which the armies traveled. The orc captain sauntered towards this virtual grove as night's pale hue tinged the reddening sky above. There, seated neatly upon an elevated outcropping of stone, was another Southron captain. The one called Herding.