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[Thraxas]

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The interrogation process had been rougher than even his own natural drow resilience to pain could withstand. In the end, they broke him, and he told the everything except the one thing that might cost him his head. Esric Tal, the drow who had been coerced to serve a human lord, found himself chained within a square, narrow, cell within the temple of Oggaroth. His clothes hung in tatters from repeated whip lashings; his face was bruised and swollen; his long, white hair was black and matted with his own dried blood. He was dying of thirst and hunger. There were no drow curses which he had spared to utter toward his tormentors. Yet he had to admire their style and brutality. It would have been enough to bring a smile of satisfaction and pleasure from any Matron Mother.

Thraxas had not meant for it to go this far. He did not want his secret to be exposed, but then, he knew few would care to believe a drow anyway. That was one of his purposes in using such a one as his closest servant. Therefore his initial plan was to beat him insensible so that he would remember whom he served and why. As an "ace in the hole" he still had Esric's family held hostage in some far away secure location unbeknownst to him. But as the beating wore on, and the drow's mind began to wander, he learned a great many more things: that the drow had, in fact, been meeting with someone named 'Azazel' and another name, 'Oskar,' was mentioned. It was for this information that he was made to suffer. Thraxas wanted the whole of it, not part.

Durthagg, a strong half-orc artisan/servant who had learned a few useful mage skills, had escorted him to the temple, along with instructions for Magda Ruk: break him, but do not kill him. Find out what connections he had and what their names were. She had taken this task with pleasure, despite the recent war of words with the daemon-lord. Her own orcish penchant for extreme cruelty and brutality, along with a few alchemical "treatments," had garnered worthwhile results. She sent word to Thraxas and he came to speak of it.

"So he has been acting as a "mole" all along? You are sure of it?" he asked her.

Magda nodded. "You remember the prophecy? One near to you would be your betrayer. There can be no doubt that it is he."

"What to do, what... to... do?"

"Just kill him and be done with it," she suggested. "After I have had my way with him, of course."

"But I have invested so much in him, and I still have his family... how could he have done that? He knew they were in my keeping; that I would see them all die slowly if he turned on me?"

"He is drow, m'lord. His mind is bent on revenge. He was willing to risk that to destroy you, perhaps hoping he could find a way to free them later. Never trust a drow, as it is said."

"Keep him here for now, until I can decide what to do with him. Please do not let him die, not just yet," he commanded.

Esric could hear them talking, but could not understand what they were saying. Little did it matter. He was ruined. All he could hope for was a quick death, but he had long since given up on hope. In the clutches of a mad orc woman and a black-hearted daemon, there was no chance of that.
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"If a criminal has what you want, you do business with him."

[Thraxas]

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"You have greatly disappointed me, Esric. I had such high hopes for your conversion to the truth."

Bedraggled and listless, the former drow valet of the Lord Regent looked up at his master through red and puffy eyelids. His words came out as a gurgled whisper. "T... truth? What is truth?"

Thraxas sat down on the small wooden stool (the only furniture in the tiny cell) and folded his arms. He stared down at his prisoner. "That your pathetic race is inferior to mine in every respect... fit only to be slaves."

Esric's stifled chuckle only earned him a rough kick in the face by one of Thraxas' bootheels. Nevertheless, he managed to mutter, "You... you are not... human."

"Oh but I am... fully... human. Animated by a daemon soul, as you might call it, yes, but do not doubt my humanity. So, you see, you are inferior on two counts, at the very least." Not receiving any response, he continued. "I simply wish to know why you made such poor decisions? I had given you everything... power, gold, prestige. Why did you throw it away like a mindless fool?"

Esric's eyes narrowed. The hate welled up within him and flowed forth like a surging tidal wave. "You... still do not understand our ways, do you? We will never be slaves of humans... nor daemons. It is our destiny... to rule... both the underdark, and this surface world. Anything less will never satisfy... never quench our desire, or supplant... our destiny."

Thraxas sighed. "Your stupidity is epic. I should kill you and be done with it. But... no, I want you to suffer. Let me tell you what I am going to do. First, I am going to remove my protection from your family. You know what that means, don't you? If they are lucky, they might manage to find their way back to the underdark and safety... but don't count on it. But before that, I will inform them of your sad, untimely, death... which will not be real, not just yet. I want you to agonize through many painful days and sleepless nights wondering what will have become of them, whether they were slain or whether your dear wife finds safety and later remarries. Then, when you finally beg me for death, I will give you undeath. I will make you the servant I wanted you to be... an undead one, but a far more reliable one nonetheless." He glared at him long and intently. "What say you to that?" He smiled wickedly.

Esric merely lowered his head. He muttered a curse in his own language:

"Sarn! Phlith Z'ress Naut El"

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"Beware! Hate will not die."

Thraxas kicked him again and left him to his misery.
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"If a criminal has what you want, you do business with him."