“I’m sure your friends are looking for you by now,” the tormenter said. He pulled back the coal and admired his work. An ugly black burn covered the entirety of Harruq’s neck. “Looking, but not finding.”
The half-orc flung his head to one side so his long brown hair didn’t cover his face, and doing his best to ignore the horrible pain it caused his neck. His breathing was heavy from the pain, but still he laughed.
“You have no idea,” he said between labored breaths. “No idea how badly you just erred.”
“Oh really?” the man said. He wore black robes with a feline skull hanging from a chain around his neck. His upper lip protruded a full inch farther than his lower jaw, so when he smiled he looked like a strange combination of horse and man. “What mistake was that?”
“Because I’m not the scary one,” Harruq said. They were deep in the bowels of an old mansion, one with an owner rumored to be eccentric and lonely. Looking around at the various torture devices hanging from the stone walls of the cell, Harruq had to agree about the eccentric part. He did not, however, think the man was alone too often. Not in that cell, judging by the blood staining the floor.
“You’re not the scary one?” the tormenter asked, humoring him.
“I’m the big one,” Harruq continued. He was stalling, and by Ashhur the man didn’t seem to have a clue. “Haern, he’s the creepy one. Sneaky. Kill you before you know you’re dead. But no, that isn’t too scary, dying without knowing it. Aurry, however…” The half-orc laughed, then stopped to cough up and spit out a blob of blood.
“You mean your weak little elf woman?” the man asked him. He dug his fingers into the burn on Harruq’s neck. Harruq sucked in air, denying the man the scream he wanted.
“She sees what you’ve done to me and she’ll be hotter than a dragon napping in a wildfire. Haern’s got some sort of honor. Aurry…”
The man in the black robes slapped him, then kissed the skull that hung from his neck.
“Karak protects me,” the man said. “His power protects me from scrying. No one knows you’re here. No one will hear you. No one will know you’ve died until I dump your body at the Eschaton’s doorstep. Too late, then, too late for you.”
Again Harruq laughed. And coughed. And laughed.
“What was your name again?” he asked.
“Karak has given me the name of Tormentus,” the man said, glowing with pride. “His right hand in driving out blasphemy from this world.”
Harruq lost himself in laughter so loud and chaotic he appeared delusional. Tormentus drove a dagger through the palm of the half-orc’s hand, and even that did little to stop his laughter.
“Tormentus,” Harruq said when he regained control. “You give yourself that name?” His laughter resumed, huge shuddering laughs that shook him against the chains that held him to the wall. “Run, children, Tormentus is coming, crazy man for a crazy god!”
The man slashed him across the face and neck with a knife, furious and humiliated. He had given himself the name thinking it would inspire fear in those he worked upon. On most it had, but this strange half-orc, who seemed impervious to any pain he caused, only found it hysterical. Suddenly he was ashamed of the name, felt almost childlike in its creation.
“You may know me as Gregor, if you would prefer,” he said, wiping the blood off his dagger. “The name I held before Karak blessed me with his power.”
“Sure thing,” Harruq said. “So what is your last name? Cutall? Hurtme? Imakebooboos?”
“Enough!”
Gregor marched over to his rack of torture devices full of prongs, pliers, wrenches, strange shaped blades, and rollers full of spikes and rusty edges. The half-orc had dared trespass onto his property. His servants had subdued him with sleep scrolls they all carried. It took three to drag Harruq’s body downstairs to his torture room and chain him to the wall. The half-orc had tested the chain’s strength when he first awoke, then settled in and endured his punishment.
“What were you looking for,” Gregor asked as he grabbed a device with a wooden handle and a small curved blade. “Eschaton do not steal or rob. What was it you sought in my mansion?”
“Just the usual,” Harruq said. The man turned and approached with a sick grin on his face. “Thieves. Killers. Crazy people. You seem like all three. What you going to do with that, anyway?”
“Oh, this?” Gregor asked, smiling at his tool. “You keep laughing and mocking me. You ignore any pain I cause. So I’m going to cause you pain you can’t ignore. And when you laugh, at least it will be at a higher pitch.”
The room fell silent as Harruq realized what it was Gregor was saying.
“Now that’s just too far,” the half-orc shouted, straining against his chains. “You can hurt and kill me, but really, you can’t be that sick.”
Shouts echoed through the closed wooden door and into the room. Gregor glanced up the stairs, frowning at the intrusion.
“What is going on up there?” he shouted.
“I don’t know,” Harruq said. “You should go see, definitely, that is something you should…”
He stopped when Gregor back-handed him and then pressed the curved blade against his groin. More shouts came from upstairs.
“We can talk about this,” Harruq said, all trace of humor gone from his voice. “Talk about this like men.”
“Like men?” Gregor asked, a wild fear in his eyes. More shouts filled the room. People had entered the mansion. It did not take much thought to guess who.
“Like men,” Harruq repeated with an enthusiastic nod.
“But you’re not a man,” Gregor said. “Not anymore.”
The door exploded inward, and in stepped a furious Aurelia Tun. Fire danced on her fingertips. Gregor tensed the blade against Harruq while his other hand grabbed the half-orc by the throat.
“Stay back,” the man ordered. “Stay back, or I cut him, and no priestess will undo the damage.”
“Listen to what he says, Aurry,” Harruq said, a slight quiver in his voice.
“You play some interesting games,” the elf said as she looked around the room. She saw the torture devices, the wooden racks and the chains on the wall. She saw the blood pooled upon the floor. A sick room, she thought. Sick room for a sick man.
“Where are the others,” Gregor asked. “The assassin, where is he? I see one flutter of gray and I cut.”
“Cut him,” Aurelia said, the fire leaving her hands only to be replaced by ice. “And I will do the same to you, except I will have far more time to make sure it hurts.”
“She don’t mean it,” Harruq said, trying to smile. “You just let me go and we’ll all be happy and leave…”
Gregor leaned closer and shoved Harruq’s head against the wall. He knew he was in a tight spot, and the idea of the elf removing his own manhood did not appeal to him. Only by threatening the half-orc did he remain safe, but if he actually carried out his threat…
“Gregor,” Harruq said, his voice soft as if he did not want Aurelia to hear. “Just be calm. She’ll listen to me, you understand? I’m her husband, she obeys what I say.”
“What do you propose?” Gregor whispered back. The half-orc ignored the horrible glare Aurelia gave him, for while his tormenter was an idiot, Harruq knew full well the elf could hear him despite his whispering.
“Just this,” Harruq whispered before slamming his forehead against Gregor’s nose. The blow knocked him back, and that slight separation was all Aurelia needed. A javelin of ice flew from her hands and pierced his back. Lightning followed the ice, reducing him to a dead, smoking lump of flesh and black robes.
Aurelia crossed her arms and stood at the top of the stairs.
“So, do I always obey what you say, dearest husband?” she asked.
Clever ploy, nothing more,” Harruq said, grinning. “Now please, could you get me to Delysia? I think I’m going to pass out.”
True to his word, the half-orc slumped against the chains, unable to stand now that his adrenaline was fading. The elf pulled up her skirt as she walked down the stairs, not wanting to stain her dress on anything in the foul room. She kicked the curved blade Gregor had held, then looked up at the ceiling. A faded rune carved in blood covered it, designed to prevent magical scrying.
“The magic fades over time,” she told the dead tormenter. “And the runes need reapplied. Just thought you should know.” She looked over Harruq’s wounds, wincing as she did. The man had done a number on her husband,
