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It
seemed as if the orcs wanted to play with the prisoner. They had removed him
from the cell and taken him to the nearest forge they had in the prison. The
constant abuse kept going, over and over, from kicking to punching, to slamming
him into the wall. Perhaps it was mere curiosity, but the tall, blonde elf,
Admiral Lightdawn, continued to follow them, enduring the misery that the
pirate had put himself through. He simply could not look away.
At
this point, the pirate was in rags. His outfit was attacked because it was a
stolen Horde grunt outfit. They questioned him constantly, asking where he had
gotten that outfit, but the pirate either chose not answer or was beating so
much, that he was too tired to even open his mouth. His silence bought him another
round of beatings. Each time the brown fists pounded the elf, the Admiral
watched in pain. He wanted to say something, speak up against the abuse, but he
was on their territory now and he wasn’t going to risk anything. The forge area
within the prison was dark and hot, with only the embers of the fire nearby to
light up the room.
The shadows played tricks on the
Admiral’s eyes. At first, he would see the orcs baring their fangs, like
ravenous beasts, as they beat the pirate. Then there was a time when he saw the
pirate look up at him and smile, as if nothing was going on, but the grunts and
moaning coming from both the orcs and the pirate were not lies, and the Admiral
just wish it would all end soon. As much as the pirate made his own stupid
choices, he was still an elf.
The
Admiral focused when he heard an orc laughing and saying, “Show your true
colors proudly, elf.” His companion, also an orc, turned toward the forge and
grabbed something. In the darkness of the room, it was hard for the Admiral to
see what exactly was being held so tightly in the brown hands, but as they
prepared to hold it correctly, he saw the red and orange burning Horde symbol
at the end of the branding iron. With green eyes opened widely, the Admiral
quickly covered his mouth and winced as the brand came inches from the pirate’s
already battered body. At first, the Admiral wanted to say something to make
them stop, but he knew this was part of the punishment, so he looked away.
“This will show everyone where your
loyalties lie!” The orc’s laughter rumbled once more throughout the forge,
followed by the elf’s weakened cry as the hot iron was pressed against the left
side of his chest. The Admiral covered his nose from the stench of burning
flesh and blocked his sight when they peeled the iron off, revealing the
blackened Horde symbol smoldering on his skin. Dark flakes of skin fell off his
chest and the iron. The orcs laughed and slapped the symbol on the already
aching chest, but the Admiral noticed that after the initial cry, the pirate
remained silent, however, his body was so tense that he knew he was in pain.
“He’s a traitor! He’s not worthy of
such a symbol!” The orc pulled out his dagger and began to slash the blistering
symbol. This time, the pirate groaned, his body tensing so much, he looked like
a stone statue holding the pose of a great tormented soul. Blood now ran down
his torso, dripping onto the dirt floor. The orcs threw the weak pirate onto
the ground and spat on him, kicking him a few times. They turned and saw the Admiral
standing at a distance.
After they grabbed their weapons
they walked toward the Admiral. “Put him back, Admiral.” They continued to walk
away and the blonde elf dared not defy the orc’s demand, despite their
ranking. He walked toward the broken man and cringed.
“Perhaps death is best for you,” he
whispered. The pirate seemed to be barely breathing. “Look at you. No one will
recognize you at this point.” His voice wasn’t harsh like the orcs’ voices. In
fact, he felt pity for him, despite all the stupid choices he had made. Before
picking the pirate up, the Admiral was disgusted with the blood and dirt and
burnt skin, but knowing that no one else was going to pick him up, he held his
breath and lifted the elf and dragged him back to the cell.
“You must have a death wish, don’t
you?” The pirate seemed to be making sounds, but the Admiral couldn’t
understand the mutterings. “You must not have a family.” He noticed the pirate
was trying to lift his left hand. The Admiral looked at it and furrowed his brows.
“What? Do you need something?”
The pirate’s blue-green eyes slowly
shifted to look at his hand and noticed that the ring was gone. The Admiral
noticed a tear barely forming out of the corner of his eye. That same eye
stared at the Admiral and softly, barely audible, the pirate spoke, “Yes.”
“Yes you do have a family?” The
pirate tried to swallow the mixture of blood and spit before it drooled out of
his mouth as he clumsily nodded. “Well, I feel bad for them, but if you want,
give me their names and I’ll tell them of your death.”
The pirate shook his head and
leaned against the wall. He tried hard to lift his right hand to touch the
newly acquired mark on his flesh. He closed his eyes as he winced in pain.
“No,” he whispered.
The Admiral nodded and walked out
of the cell, locking it behind him. “You should have just pretended to like us
and stayed out of our way. That would have been the smart thing to do.”
As he walked away, Cristianno
managed to smile faintly, proud that aside of everything he had been through,
he stuck by his convictions. Exhaustion crept up over him and as he began to
fall asleep, he muttered a single word: Alaia.
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