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Jeren glowered at the woman indignantly, surprised at her needless ferocity. He did not know her, she certainly did not know him...did she? Jeren refused to show his doubt and shock outwardly, keeping these emotions within as he watched the woman's muscles tense and her face lift up into disgust. Taking in the lady's appearance he realized that she was not as emaciated or neglected as some of the other former prisoners. Jeren was certain he had not been captive long, and he was sure that he would be in the best shape of all his new companions...but this tense woman was not far behind. Holding back the impulse to strike the woman in her reasonless and agressive manner, Jeren did as she had and merely held a repremanding look upon his dark face.
“Garak-thűl, garak-thűl!” Grash cried with disapproval, grabbing Jeren's arm. Jeren looked back to the man, who had broken his glare so rudely, and eyed the man with the same lack of respect as the woman had previously shown him. As Grash looked back at him, unaffected, Jeren calmed and let his muscles relax in Grash's strong grip. “Come, come.” Grash continued, “Must go look for weapons, must look like orcs. Leave women to hide here.”
Jeren sighed and walked out under the arch and into the courtyard where the slaves of Mordor had begun their search for weapons and disguise. Grash had momentarily left Jeren to speak to the two women, and Jeren walked out into the dim courtyard. The Southron wondered at the company he would apparently be sharing until further notice, and he quickly noted that he would not be well-liked or respected, based solely on his appearance, name, and heritage. His people were far and wide known only for their strength in war, malice in battle, and cruelty in life. None of his new companions knew that he had been deemed a traitor to the workings of Mordor and its master, and none of his new companions knew of his life or his escapades. Jeren knew that somehow he would have to adjust, and show the Elves, the Dwarves, the other Men...especially the one fierce woman...that he had been just like them. He had been a prisoner, too.
Mumbling to himself in his own tongue, thought he knew vaguely the Common Speech, Jeren searched the grim courtyard for armour and weaponry. Jeren passed over all the long blades belonging to the orcs, choosing only two slightly dilapidated knives. The Southron man could not find any trace of a bow or a good set of arrows, so he felt contented with just the two shorter blades within his hands. Comforted with the weapons, Jeren began to silently search for suitable armour.
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