It has long been said that the blood of an arch demon is the most exquisite torture. They say that , if administered properly, the victim would soil themselves in fear, and beg for mercy or death. Glimwraith has always disagreed. Take this Orc War Chief as an example; a quart of achdemon blood had been poured into him, yet every time he was questioned he said nothing. After having blood spat at them twelve times in as many days; the sergeant finally called Glimwraith to the chamber.
“What seems to be the problem,” Glimwraith inquires as he enters the dimly lit room “you know Mr. Drick does not like it me called away to handle such..distractions.”
“This Orclord,” the sergeant responded, pointing to the body chained to the wall “he won’t tell us anything. We tried the demon blood, he isn’t breaking.”
Glimwraith takes a measured step toward the monster. Even the candle light he can see the blood dripping down the orc’s chest. Such a powerful creature, Glimwraith thought, how strange it must be for it to feel so helpless. The Gnome puts his hand on the Orc’s chest. The beast recoils.
“You send a Gnome to break me?” The Orc snarls “do you know how many Gnomes the blood clan have torn apart? You send a sheep to devour a wolf.”
As the orc laughs, Glimwraith motions to the sergeant.
“Leave us,” Glimwraith said, motioning to the door “ I’ll get you what you need.”
Glimwraith has always believed the blood of an arch demon to be highly overrated. The initial pain, while intense, only lasts for a moment or two. Glimwraith felt such pain when he lost his left eye. Glimwraith had only been a simple bard at the time, and even then the pain inspired more rage than submission. Something else would need to be done.
The saliva of a black dragon is an incredibly rare commodity. It was so rare that very little is known about it. However, it remains, at least in Glimwraith’s opinion, the most powerful toxin known. A syringe of pure black dragon saliva directly into the eye instantly causes a feeling akin to having every single muscle fiber in one’s body torn in two. At the same time, the victim experiences a state of walking dread, every fear failure and weakness becomes manifest and magnified. The normal dose is about a syringe. Glimwraith gave the orc chief three.
“ I heard an interesting rumor about your people,” Glimwraith said, as he drags the blunt edge of a knife across the weeping orc’s throat “ I hear, if you are brave and strong, that you take a place among your gods on an eternal battlefield when you die . What a joy that would be for someone like you.”
“Please..” the orc gasps between sobs “no more.”
“Yes..” Glimwraith responses “you have given me all I need. The last question I ask is this: Do you believe your Orc gods will still take a coward like you? You have just given up your clan’s location to a Gnome with a needle. When Mr. Drick receives this information he will murder your men, enslave your women, and use your children as sacrifices. I’m going to cut your throat now. You will bleed out slowly, and when you finally do die the last thing you will even see is your mighty gods picking up your soul and tossing it into the void. I just want you to know that.”
Glimwraith flips the knife over and drags it slowly across.