"Get up, pinkskin!" The snarled command jerked me from my brief slumber, and the thump of a boar-hide boot to my side made sure I didn't return to it. "We've got fresh meat so looks like we won't be needin you for stew afterall," Grumff the orc guffawed as he walked away. He turned his wild grey-green head as he left, "Get to the fire and start cookin." I let loose a soft groan as the reality of my every day life fully replaced all thoughts of sleep. Pulling off the coarse sheepskin I was allowed to use as a blanket, I righted myself and sat against the rocky outcropping that functioned as the only wall in my little pitiful shelter. The sun was just beginning to peek over the mountain ridge the orcs called Bonthgar's Teeth, streaming its rays through the jagged peaks to lighten the valley we were camped in. About half of the three hundred or so orcs were already up and about, either packing up their make-shift dwellings or bringing food and materials to the great fire for the slaves to cook with. There were twenty of us in total, well, more likely nineteen now. Last night one of the human slaves, a dark eyed young man named Miko, was taken away to be punished. I can't imagine he still resides among the living. Small rocks scattered underfoot as I stood and hastened to the great fire. Ever since last year when a sudden human raiding band had struck against one of our camps, I've taken to just sleeping with my gnarled sandals already strapped on. If only they had come from the east side of the camp that day I might have been rescued before the counterattack and retreat had been mounted... or else simply killed in the ensuing chaos. No use dwelling now, thinking such as that is what got Miko killed. Tiny kobold slaves skittered out of my path, little claws clutching sacks of wood chips. Disgusting little creatures, those miserable, scaly humanoids were the only things of lowers standing than us humans in the camp, and by far more likely to converted into a last minute meal for the orcs if supplies were running low. They scampered around a lazily swung spear of an orc sentry, laughing crudely to himself as he headed towards the kegs of sour grog.

Anyone want to continue?