Another Piece of Chapter II

The Dwarven District in Stormwind City

Bas Oakthorn awoke to the painful sensation of someone slapping him, and between blows managed to see he was nowhere near where he last remembered being. The dark and dank surroundings told him he was in a cellar somewhere, and probably where no one would think to find him. Bas realized he could not move, bound to a chair by thick ropes around his arms and legs.

He had been running through Stormwind’s Dwarven District, somewhere near the Deeprun Tram, and others had been chasing him. They’d wanted something- a necklace he no longer had- and had been pursuing him for two days. But how did he end up here?

Briefly the image of a horse-drawn cart came into his mind- it had pulled out in front of him while he was looking back at the men chasing him, and he’d run face-first into the cart. It must have knocked him out, because the next thing he remembered was waking up hear. That, and his head was pounding.

The slapping continued until a voice said, “‘S’enough, he’s awake, can’ you see?”

It came from a figure seated in the corner. He stood up as the thug hitting Bas backed away- tall and stocky, with thick hair covering his face., his thick arms threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt, and he smelled strongly of dwarven ale. The man grabbed a chair, placed in front of Bas, and sat down.

“Where is it, Bas?”

Bas clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Krant.”

Krant spat on the ground. “You know about my temper, Bas, so don’t get stupid. Where is the necklace?”

“I lost it. Must have dropped it somewhere in the city. Why don’t you go look for it?”

For his snide Bas received a punch across his jaw. For the second time in the day blood leaked into his mouth from where his teeth cut into his cheeks. This he spit onto the floor at Krant’s feet.

“You won’t find it, Krant. It’s out of your reach. I know what you want with it, what your boss wants with it, and he won’t get it. He can try all he wants but he’ll never get it, and without it, he’ll be as powerless and impotent as ever.”

From behind Bas, a cold, cruel laugh rang throughout the cellar. In an instant, all Bas’ fake courage he had tried to show Krant dissolved away. Even Krant and his two thugs seemed to quail a bit.

“Your tongue is almost as sharp as your nose, Bas. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to avoid trouble for so long.”

Bas didn’t recognize this new voice, but like the laugh, it chilled his very insides. There was a harsh quality to it, as if there was no shred of kindness inside the man who spoke. At once, Bas felt a very real threat from this voice, to him still disembodied, and he tried to gather his bravado again.

“I said I’m not talking, and you can’t do anything about it.”

Bas couldn’t see it, but the man replaced what had been an ominous smile with a sneer. He looked at Krant.

“We have no time for this.” As he spoke this statement, he strode forward, stood right behind Bas, and grasped the prisoner’s head with both hands.

Bas opened his mouth to let out a scream, but no sound came out. In his head, he felt a white-hot pain, the intensity of which he could never have imagined. It was as if every hair was burning, the flames crawling down into his skull and lashing at his brain with a thousand whips. Bas believed if he could touch his cheek, his very fingers would turn to ash at once. More than the physical pain, though, Bas thought his very mind was being ripped apart, torn by some intangible harrow. He’d had no time to prepare for this mental onslaught, and was thus laid bare, in mind and body, for this torment of which he could see no end.

Then all at once, it was over. Bas was able to open his eyes, though his vision was blurry and everything seemed to spin a little. He could feel some residual pain, though it seemed more like the soreness a long day of physical labor. He noticed he was sweating, and his breathing was deep. Bas started at the sound of a voice right in his ear.

“Now, Bas, let us try again. You have information I need but won’t give up. It’s there in your head, hidden somewhere in a dark corner. I will have that information, and what you just experienced is a demonstration of how I will assault your mind until I get what I want. So, I ask you this- will you play along with us or do you need more....convincing?”

Bas clenched his jaw, quickly running through the situation. Five years ago in Southshore, Berdin had given him the pendant for safekeeping, and until now there had been no problems. Somehow someone had learned about the pendant and tracked him down to Stormwind. Krant had approached him several times asking to pay handsomely for the pendant, which he claimed was an heirloom, but the veil over the lie was a little too thin.

Bas knew there were other pieces of jewelry that combined with the pendant to grant a wearer abilities no ordinary person would have. He didn’t know about the nature of these powers, and when asked Berdin had always deflected the questions or changed the subject. Bas also wasn’t sure how many of the pieces these brigands had, but he was determined to keep the last one out of their hands, no matter the cost. He shook his head in response to his tormentor’s question.

“Cut him loose,” the still-faceless voice commanded. Krant’s look was just as confused as Bas, who was caught off guard by this order. But Krant clearly didn’t want to cross the one giving the command, and so pulled out a knife and cut Bas’ bonds. Before Bas could even think about trying an escape, he found himself flung forward as the tormentor kicked his chair hard from behind, sending both spinning to the ground. As Bas tried to get up, he felt the man grab him by the hair and with unnatural strength and speed lift him off the ground. The tormentor threw Bas against the far wall, and the latter crumpled in a dazed heap. The next thing he knew, Bas felt a hand around his neck and pain as he was pushed against the same wall. The face that now looked at him stole his breath.

It was like looking at a cutting board- dozens of scars of all sizes adorned the face of the man Bas know knew belonged to his tormentor. The man’s face was gaunt and pale, like his skin had rotted away and new skin had been stretched over his skull. Strange markings Bas didn’t recognize had been etched into the man’s forehead and on his jaw. By far the most unsettling thing about the face, though, was the eyes. Though they burned bright with obvious rage, it was like there was nothing in them, just a strange emptiness. Like daggers they bored into Bas’ eyes, and he found that no matter how much he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.

“I can draw the information from you like poison from a snake bite, Bas. Are you sure you really want to go this far?” The malice on his face was almost palpable.

Collecting every ounce of courage he could, Bas shook his head. The other man didn’t even blink or break eye contact, but instead took his place behind Bas’ seat again, placing his hands over the prisoner’s ears. Bas could only make out a few mumbled words of some unknown incantation before the furious pain erupted in his head again.

This time was different, though- Bas could still make no sound because of the pain’s intensity, but he could see images- no, memories- flashing before his clenched-shut eyes. These were recent memories, just from the past few hours. He saw the bridge in the Canals where he spent last night...walking along the roads through Cathedral Square...breakfast at the Salted Hog tavern...ducking into one of the smaller churches near the Cathedral after seeing one of the men looking for him...now at the Harbor, sensing his pursuers closing in...looking for somewhere to hide the necklace.

Bas now realized, between waves of agony, what was happening- his tormentor was extracting every memory he could until finding out what Bas had done with the necklace. He tried, used every bit of will he could muster to try and stop the images, to protect them from being revealed, but nothing he could do stopped the advancing flashes of memory.

With a sharp pang of guilt, he saw the woman and her daughter he’d overheard buying passage on a merchant ship...they were leaving in the evening...he offered the necklace to the girl, her mother smiling at his generosity...now he was returning to the Salted Hog...behind him, his pursuers, to Bas’ relief unaware of what he’d just done...

The pain stopped. Bas felt more sweat all over his body, his breathing heavy again, but he couldn’t open his eyes- he was too weak. He felt as if he had lost all ability to move, and when he tried to flex even the smallest of muscles, they barely responded. He heard his tormentor barking orders to Krant and the others, telling them who and what to look for, threatening them should they fail. Then heavy footsteps approached him.

“Bas, you should have listened to me,” the cruel, cold voice said again. “You could have avoided all this pain. And where did your bravery get you? We have the information we wanted, and we will get the necklace as originally planned. So all your effort, all your pathetic time has been wasted.”

Bas felt the same cold hands on his head again, and somewhere deep inside him knew what was about to happen. But he lacked the strength to offer any resistance. He heard the voice right next to his ear.

“Such a waste.”

And the white-hot pain started all over again.