Dirt, Grime, Blood

"Wake up, you bleedin' lazy scumbag!" There was a roar over the din as the Thorny Rose opened her eyes to find herself chain to a post in an uncomfortable standing postion.
"I said wake UP!" Another roar. Then the sound of flesh striking flesh and Carlotta raised her head, dazed by the grimy, dirty fist that proceeded to punch her in the cheek.
"Gurgh..." She could only gurgle and cough on the floor, spitting out more blood as she realized where she was. The smell in the air was unpleasant and tainted. The Fires seemed more haunting than before. Tents of crude craftsmanship dotted the vale before her, the cloth used dirty and worn and patched. With a jolt, she realized that she had been captured by Orcs.
Warily looking to her sides, she came to the conclusion that her weapons were gone. A faint glimmer however, made her eyes trail to the hilt of a fine, sharp elven blade that lay in a pile with a spear, a notched sword, and two daggers. Trophies taken from them. She looked to the side. There was Caspier, out cold, bound to the same post. To her right was Flynagin, dressed in dirty rags and barely able to stand, looking sickly pale due to the poison in his system. And now, to herself. She still had her old clothes... and they were stained with brown and black blood. Her's and the Orcs that she killed.
"There's our pretty 'lil sluggard comin' too now eh?" A huge, squint brutish orc stepped in front of her, the air around him pure menace and his own smell disgusting. Carlotta inhaled sharply and held her breath, meeting the orc's eye.
Trees swished in the wind, Leaves fell. Yet she was only focusing on the Orc's hideous squint black eyes, staring back at her own cold grey eyes. As she turned to the full potency of her wolfish glare, she noticed the Orc's eyes began wavering as they were cowered by her resolute staring assault.
Then a whip crackled and shattered the glaring contest. Carlotta buckled down in pain before she was forced to stand upright again. There was shouting as another large orc, the one brandishing the whip, began shouting in incomprensible words at her captor, clearly arguing over something. Carlotta could only stand idly and watch helplessly as the conversation escalated into threats. Though she had bravely stood in battle before being taken out, Orcs were still an intriguing race to her. She virtually knew nothing of them except that they were ugly, brutish, and violent creatures bred to the service of the Eye. As she watched the two orcs before her yelling the entire valley silent, it dawned to her that these creatures could not be reasoned with; She would not be able to rationally talk her way out of this mess. Either it was death, or coming up with a means to escape.
Then, she realized that a means to escape was almost impossible at this stage unless it was great cunning and planning set forth. At this revalation, fear kicked in and she began struggling wildly against the post, attempting to break free. There was another hoarse shout of defiance and anger however, and the whip cracked once more, this time striking her in the back and causing her to shoot upright with a roar of anger and pain. With her unbound foot, she kicked a nearby orc in the shins out of pure anger. Watching him buckle and reel in pain satisfied her, knowing she had managed to get some semblance of her anger onto him. But before she could bask in her glory, she was untied from the post, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged, by the hair, down a steep hill and near a river.
"There ya go pretty, somethin' fer ya to wash those clothes of yours!" An orc cried out. It all went fast. There was a splash and water, and she was kicking wildly with her feet to keep afloat, hands still tied.
It was pain like no other. But she had to endure this: Dirt, Grime, and Blood.