His visage is grim, his head covered by a heavy helm of iron, forged by the skill uruks of Barad-Dur, and his dark red eyes stare out from his face. Around his neck hangs a necklace of sorts - three pointed ears, and two straight ones hang from it, and from his belt trail two long beards. Looking into this warriors eye's makes you want to shudder - there is no room in this warrior for compassion or even simple decency.
He wears no clothes than his heavy ring mail armor, solidly covered with iron rings, and his bare arms ripple. His figure is muscular, showing a awesome strength, and he moves with a quickness unlike most Uruks. He is what he seems. A killing machine, a heartless warrior, and one who has given himself totally to his dark masters.
He is surrounded by a group of armoured uruk bodyguards, wielding a variety of unpleasant looking weaponry. By his side is his own cold weapon, a black hilted scimitar rests in its leather scabbard. This weapon is well made, but old, and its blade is scarred from many many battles. You think you can faintly see some of the words of the black tongue inscribed onto the hilt. Tucked neatly out of sight in his left boot is a deadly throwing dagger, and another dagger hangs from his waist. This dagger makes you go cold all over, its hooks andbarbs make it more a weapon of pain than death.
Slung on his back is a solid metal shield, small notches in it from his many battles, but the red eye that dominates the centre of the shield is unharmed. Neatly slotted under the shield, he carries a mighty war-standard, emblazoned by a picture of sun eclipsed by moon, forming a fiery ring of gold. Worn on his arm, in easy view by any who care to look, is a blue cloth, loosely knotted, which symbolises his rank as Rakarg.