Torture and Agony

It had been years since she stepped foot into these lands. The trees were as lush and dark as she remembered, the silence lingering over the expanse of the city almost too much to bear. Morganna brought her hands up from where they rested at her sides as she stood at the gates of Gilneas, looking upon the church where she had once spent her Sunday mornings as a child. It was just as beautiful as she remembered. The stained glass windows were shattered, though the images and colors that remained on the unbroken pieces still clinging to the frame were luminous.”Home,” she muttered…

CRACK! The sound of a whip echoed through the stone hall, followed by an ear-splitting yelp and sobs. A group of men surrounded Morganna as she was dragged back to reality, the gypsy shackled with her face against the wall, her arms raised high in the air. Her robes had been torn to shreds, her back bleeding with fresh wounds. “I don’t know anything,” she weakly cried. “We don’t have any clients! I swear it!” The echoing snap of the whip followed by yet another scream came once more as a gruff male voice joined the cacophonous chorus.

“I will break you yet, you black magic little thief,” Kleekazz grumbled.

Duron growled, walking up to Morganna, his breath hot on her ear as he bit down harshly on the lobe. It had been a week. One week of torture and they still had not gained the information they sought from this woman. They had done horrible things to her in pursuit of it. The beatings followed by sweet gestures, the interrogation tactics, near drowning, even rape. Kleekazz nodded to Duron, “Keep on. She knows somethin’.” With that, the goblin turned and left the chamber, leaving Morganna with Duron and his men.

“N-no, no, please! Please, I don’t know anythi-” Morganna was suddenly silenced as her head was pulled back by a fistful of her hair.

“You know something, girl. And we will bring you to the brink of death if that’s what it takes to find it.” As Morganna began to mutter something in the black speech of demons, she was once more swiftly silenced as Duron’s hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed. “You two,” he nodded to two others who were standing and watching. “Undo these shackles… We’re going to have some fun.”

The two men approached, one on each side as they unlatched the shackles. Morganna weakly began to collapse, though she was swiftly lifted to stand by her throat by Duron. “You try any of that black magic again, I’ll have my boys get the hot poker… We’ll see how you do without that pretty little voice of yours.” He released his grip and she fell to the floor, still bleeding and exhausted.

She struggled for breath, coughing and gagging as she lay there in a crumpled heap. The necklace she wore, and they still had not managed to confiscate, hung close to her chest. The pendant was still in pristine condition, despite the acts she had been made to face. Duron stared at the thing, scowling. His men had tried more than once to remove it from her, only to be met with some strange curse which left them writhing on the ground in pain, spouting obscenities. “If I could get that thing off,” he thought, “maybe we could get her to talk… But how?”

Morganna could not find the strength to move as they stood over her. “What will it be this time? More beatings? Molest? Rape? Surely they have figured out I am incapable of death by now.” She panted, her brow beaded with sweat as she looked up at them with her hollow amethyst eyes. Those eyes which sent chills down the spines of lesser men. Duron would have them believe he was not lesser, yet he shivered every time his eyes locked with hers.

“Take it off,” he demanded, nodding to the object.

Perhaps momentarily finding a second wind, Morganna forced a laugh as she struggled to sit up. “Or what? You’ll beat me again? Oof!” She suddenly found herself back on the floor after having Duron’s boot firmly planted into her chest.

“Oh, I will do more than that, girl… I will take that poker over there,” he gestured to the obsidian metal pole sitting in a bed of hot coals, “and once I’ve shoved it down your throat to silence you, I’ll put it your cunt.”

“You can’t kill me… You don’t believe a word I’ve said… And your week long torture session has revealed nothing. What makes you think I care?”

Duron growled low as he reached down to grab her by the hair, lifting her up. “Hold her,” he stated to the others, the two stepping forward to do as they were told. Morganna wrestled against their grip, though due to her exhaustion, the only thing she really had left was her wit. Physically, she was incapable of fighting these thugs off.

Duron walked over to the bed of coals, pulling out the metal bar which rested in it. The tip glowed white hot, dulling only slightly as he walked it back. He stood before the gypsy, hovering the heated point mere centimeters from her face. “Talk, girl…”

“No.”

Duron took the screaming hot metal and lightly began to graze it down the flesh of her face, down her neck… And an idea struck him. He continued down and rested it against the chain of her necklace, watching as the metal melted beneath the heat and the pendant clattered to the floor. Morganna’s eyes flashed with fear for a moment, bringing a sadistic grin to Duron’s lips.

“Oh… Is something the matter, girl? Did your little bauble just come off?” He pressed the poker into the flesh of her chest and she screamed. The pain was unbearable, like nothing she had ever felt before. Infernal fel fire was bad, but this… This was somehow worse. Duron nodded to the two who held her and they let go, allowing her body to collapse to the floor once more as Duron kicked the pendant away. “Now then… Where were we…”