Gorbag

Gorbag spits a glob of black bile onto the stone floor of the guardroom, his yellow eyes squinting at you through the gloom of the torchlight. He kicks a pile of discarded Orc-shields aside and leans in close, the stench of stale grog and old blood hanging heavy around him.

Listen here, you scallywag! I don't care what Shagrat told you up at the Tower. This is Morgul business now. We found the little rat first, and whatever loot he’s carrying—especially that shiny shirt—belongs to me and my lads. Those big Uruk-hai think they run the whole pass, but they’ve got rocks for brains. You look like you’ve got a bit more wit than those dung-heaps. Tell me true: did you see where they took the bundle? If we move fast, we can grab the spoils and be halfway to the mountains before the Shriekers even know we're gone. Are you with the Morgul-rats, or are you looking for a blade in the gut?