Waking in the Dark

Oh my poor head.  What did I do?

It's dark here.  My Dzarraf eyes are struggling to make out shapes in this hole.  I'm alone and cold, and I'm hurt.  I took a blow to the head and I'd been cut on the outside of my thigh in the fighting.  Hold on a moment, I'll just take a breath – and I'll try to recall what happened to me.

I can remember the second charge of the Gurgam and Ogruks, but my part in that fight was short – I'm not a seasoned warrior like many of those I marched with.  The Gurgam broke upon us and drove through; they separated the Dzarraf forces, succeeding as easily as that first wave.  I ended up in a small pocket of us, surrounded by both Gurgam and Ogruks.  The Ogruks turned and charged back at the front half of our force, while the Gurgam set about us.  I hacked at a couple, they fall too easily, but one caught my leg.  I was briefly knocked from my feet, but only through surprise – there was little pain.  But then was hit from behind, I think.

I have no idea why I'm here.  I was not dressed in armour like many of my comrades - perhaps the finery of my clothes made me look like a leader in Ogruk eyes.  I can smell them upon me, they must have brought me here - wherever 'here' is.  And the finest of my clothes have gone, I carried extra woollens, and I was wearing some.  The ones that I have left on seem to have dirt ground into them and they're ripped and stretched.

It may be dark in this place, but my eyes are not so old that they cannot cut through the gloom.  I can see there is stout wooden door, and on the opposite wall a small hole in the floor, which stinks like a latrine.  That's probably what it is.  Over by the door I can make out a jug which seems to contain liquid, it doesn't smell at all so it's probably water.  Ah there's a small package next to it.  Hang on, I'll go investigate it.

That's odd.  Its a filthy animal skin wrapped around some bread and some old fatty meat, probably cured pork belly by the smell of it, it's still got hairs on it.  And yes, that's water in the clay jug.  Someone doesn't want me dead (at least not yet) so that's a promising sign.  I wonder who left that here?

By the smell of the animal skin, they're probably Gurgam – but the smell of Ogruk is so strong in this room that I cannot be sure.  There are some filthy woollen blankets in the corner, I think they're meant to be a rough bed.  I could do with the sleep, but I have no idea what else will be crawling around in the wool.  The floor is damp, cold and very hard, though, so I've probably got no choice.  I'll get some rest – hopefully the throbbing in my head and leg will die down with sleep.