The SI:7 Hospitality Suite

Fentulk trembled in terror. They blindfolded him, robbing the orc of any warning that might give him a chance to prepare himself for a blow. There were many of those, coming from several directions at once. He guessed there must be four of them, at every corner of the small cell, sometimes taking turns, but mostly pummeling his body in unison.

By the end of the first day, Fentulk was left gasping and weeping in his cell. At his feet was a puddle of sick mixed with urine. His legs shook with the effort to hold him up. They hadn't broken any bones, but it wasn't for lack of trying. His knees had been kicked out from under him enough that his shoulders screamed in agony from having to support his full weight so suddenly, and so often. His wrists were torn and bleeding from the manacles.

Why were they doing this? Nobody even asked him any questions.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, approaching his cell. He tried to swallow, but he'd gone the entire day without water or food. His throat was too dry and sore from roaring in pain.

"Well, now," a voice said casually, and he recognized it as the one-eyed man's. "I see my staff has made you feel right at home. Comfortable?"

Fentulk was no warrior, had never been a soldier. He didn't consider himself a coward or a weakling. He also didn't see any reason to be stupidly defiant after what he'd endured. He had a feeling it was just the beginning, and by no means the worst thing in store for him.

"Whattayou wanna know?" he breathed hoarsely.

"Giving in so easily?" The man sounded disappointed. "Very well. I would like you to tell me a story. A true story, of course."

"About what?"

"Oh, the plot is up to you," he replied mildly. "But let me give you the players in this little tale. The most important character is a human woman. I'm afraid we don't know her name, but I'm certain you do. She is known to... consort with orcs, so to speak."

They wanted to know about Karie. What could he possibly tell them? That she liked it best from behind? That she could do things with her tongue that would make a man beg for release? How would that serve Alliance interests?

"I don't know nothin' 'bout her," he gasped. "Just... Karie. Her name's Karie. That's all I know."

"Indeed," the man replied thoughtfully. He was moving, pacing about the room. Fentulk stiffened, hearing the man circle behind him. "Anything else you'd like to share?"

"No," the orc snarled.

The man tsked almost gleefully. "Oh, you'll tell me everything. We have ways of making sure we get the information we're looking for."

"I don't know nothin'!" Fentulk cried, his parched lips cracking. "I met her on the ship. Never saw her before. She got off in Ratchet, and I ain't seen her since."

"You are a simpleton, if you think your story is acceptable," the man replied. Fentulk jerked his head back as he suddenly sensed the man was right in his face. Strong fingers gripped him by the hair and shook his head roughly. "I'll give you until morning to come up with a better tale. Then I'm afraid I'll have to get more persuasive."

Releasing him, the one-eyed man left the cell, banging the door shut behind him. The orc shivered. He wished he had some idea what they wanted to know. She was simply a woman with an admittedly unusual taste in partners. He wasn't the first orc she'd been with, by her own admission, and likely wouldn't be the last. Why was he being singled out? Hadn't she said she fucked at least one troll? Where was he? Did they fear violating the neutrality of the Darkmoon Faire by taking one of their men into custody? Too bad they didn't seem to understand or care that he was also a neutral party.

And since when were the sexual practices of its citizens of such interest to the Alliance?

"No, no, no," the one-eyed man's voice admonished. "Once again."

A gauntleted fist connected with Fentulk's mouth. Once. Twice. Followed by a steel-shod boot to the gut. Then he felt heat...

"Not quite yet," the man warned. "Orc, I think you know what is expected of you. Once more, from the beginning, and the truth this time."

"I'm tellin' you the truth," Fentulk gasped, breathing heavily.

"You expect me to believe a woman showed up on your ship, completely out of the blue, fucked you repeatedly for a week, then disappeared? She never contacted you before she arrived, and gave no instructions to you when she left?" He sighed. "Again."

The unseen thugs rabbit-punched his gut... he didn't know how many times. All he knew was that when they paused, his stomach emptied bile onto the floor, leaving him shaking.

"Whattayou want me to say?" the orc said weakly.

"The truth," the one-eyed man hissed, once more getting close to Fentulk's face. He could feel the man's spittle hitting his cheek. "I will give you a hint. This slut is a Horde agent, and you were her contact. Now that she has given you your marching orders, you have embarked on a mission to... what?" The man grabbed his chin tightly. "Spy on the Alliance? Slay the king? What has the Warchief set his dog loose to achieve, hmmm?"

Were his eyes not tightly bound by the blindfold he still wore, Fentulk would have blinked in surprise and confusion. They thought him a spy? Him and Karie? It was laughable. Completely absurd.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," he said, unable to hide the amusement from his voice.

"I see," the man replied. "Amarn."

He felt the man step back, and another take his place. The heat returned, and Fentulk's stomach clenched in fear. A searing, burning pain erupted in the center of his chest, and he bellowed in shock.

If they'd used hot brands, he might have been able to stand it. But this was wizard's fire. He could feel the palm of a hand on his breastbone, a hand wreathed in flames so hot his long, braided beard ignited. Trying to back away, he was once more set upon by the men, who beat the orc from behind to keep him from recoiling.

"Enough," the one-eyed man said calmly. The mage gradually diminished the attack rather than cut it off quickly, but his superior made no comment. The stench of his own burned flesh and hair filled the tiny cell, making Fentulk's stomach roil.

"From the beginning."

After the burning, Fentulk hung limply from his wrists, head flung back, legs too weak from repeated kicking and beating with cudgels to hold him up. The men had left an hour or so before. It might have been day or night, and he wouldn't know. The blindfold had never been removed once it was in place.

Get up, he told himself. Stand. His raw wrists burned like the skin on his chest, and his arms would likely part from their sockets if he hung there much longer. Dragging one leg under him, he tried to lock the knee, pushing his body up to relieve the stress on his arms.

As he struggled, he prayed to the ancestors, begging them to show him some sign, give him some spark of hope in this bleak place. Show him a way out. He wasn't smart enough to invent a lie the humans would believe. When he tried, Amarn struck him with such a powerful lightning spell that his body went rigid, shook convulsively, and he pissed down his leg.

Once more, he heard footsteps in the hallway, but he was spent. He couldn't muster the energy to cringe, much less retreat as far as his chains allowed.

The door opened, and someone entered. His brow furrowed, for the footsteps were soft. Not steel-shod, like the men who had abused him for two days. He tested the air; the scent was completely different, too.

"Oh my," a soft voice whispered. His suspicion was confirmed; this was a woman. He wondered what new tortures were in store for him.

She cleared her throat nervously, and he heard the sound of water dripping. Then he felt something touch his mouth, and jerked his head back. The sharp movement hurt, and he winced.

"It is water," the woman said quietly. "Just... water. Drink."

Was this part of it? Lull him with a woman's touch, make him trust her, perhaps reveal all his secrets to her? Not that he had any, but that was beside the point. Still, he'd gone two days without a drop of water. Let them try to fool him with such methods, as long as there was water to quench his burning thirst.

He leaned forward and accepted the offering eagerly. So desperate was he that he tipped the cup slightly, spilling some of the contents down his chest. It felt good, the cold liquid on his tortured flesh.

"Not too much," she admonished softly. "Here. Bread."

She held a small piece of bread to his lips, and he nearly bit her taking it from her fingers. After she fed him a few more pieces, she set about treating the burn. She used no healing magic, only bandages, but the salve was a relief nonetheless.

Then there was the matter of her touch. Her hands were gentle and soft, a little like Karie's hands. A human woman, then. She must be. So far, he hadn't gotten the sense that there were any but humans in this place. No elves or draenei, certainly no gnomes.

Of all places and times to finally meet a potential mate, and he couldn't even look her in the eyes. He suspected he wouldn't want to see what she thought of him, under the circumstances. Likely thought him a spy like the one-eyed man did. Or as Kora tried to tell him, she thought him a vicious beast deserving of such treatment.

"Are you still thirsty?" she asked. He nodded, and she tipped more water into his mouth. This time, however, the cold water hit one of his tusks wrong, and a sharp pain shot through him. He jerked back with a growl, knocking the cup from her hands.

No. It couldn't be. He cautiously ran his tongue over his tusks, and found one broken. He hadn't even noticed, he'd been in so much pain throughout his body. Whimpering, he realized at least an inch was missing as he delicately probed.

First he'd lost the beard that took him years to grow to a foot long, and now one of his tusks. The former would grow back, but the latter...

"Does it hurt?"

He startled at the sound of her voice, having forgotten she was there. "Yeah."

"Are they important? To your people?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as if she didn't want anyone to know she was speaking with him.

He nodded. "Shows I'm strong."

"Wouldn't... large muscles do that?"

"Some," he said in an undertone. "Shows other things, too."

"Like what?" she whispered.

"Shows I can make strong children," he explained. "That I'm fierce in battle. That I'm... well-made." That's just youthful boasting, he admonished himself with slight amusement.

"Well-made?" she asked curiously.

"Take a look for yourself," he offered with a grin, nodding his chin downward.

"Oh," she breathed, and he sensed she was retreating. What the fuck did he say that for?

"Forgive me," he begged. "I've had... a hard day."

"They will just get more difficult," she warned, then he heard her leave, closing the door quietly behind her.