Yzah

Second Age
Harad
The stench of rotting wounds and bodily wastes filled the small room. The heat from outdoors only added it's share, making the place nearly unbearable to stay in for any mortal.
Nonetheless, the Maia sat down onto the edge of the bed to contemplate the captive before him. It was apparent that the Haradrim had not healed him and had barely attended to his most basic needs.
The man was dying. Blisters disfigured his whole upper body. The charred skin showed clear signs of rot; his face deformed beyond recognition. His lips and one of the bloodshot eyes melted into a near indistinguishable mass of flesh. No hroa could withstand boiling oil. The intoxication had spread through his blood vessels and made him still and quiet.
The Maia’s senses perceived him clinging somewhere between the darkness of unconsciousness and the excruciating agony of reality. The stridor of his swollen larynx was the only sound to break the painful silence in this room of death.
Still