Aresan Clan pt 79

The day before, after being knocked out, Mill had awoken while being dragged by two guards, carrying him by his arms down a set of stairs. His hands had been tied behind his back by a piece of hemp rope that pinched so hard against his wrist that it hurt and his head was sore from the blow that had been struck there.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he had been dragged through a dark, dank hallway, where had been audible the sound of water dripping through the ceiling into stinking troughs of water mixed with human excrement and blood, the sound of rats scurrying away from the new arrivals, and the sound of the plaintive wails of prisoners left in agony in this underground prison.

A wooden door had been opened before him and he had been shoved through, landing on the ground before it closed behind him. “What about these ropes?” he had shouted to the guards, but there was no response.

The room in which he sat was almost completely black, but he had been able see the outlines of the space, and it was a tiny room, with a low, arched roof that he could almost touch his head to when he stood up and walls close enough to one another that he could probably touch both of them at once if he could stand up and spread his arms out.

But he hadn’t been able spread his arms out, since they had been tied behind his back and had been growing more sore and cramped as they remained in that position. As he had sat upon the floor, he had tried to extract his wrists from the bonds by pulling at the ropes, but he had been unsuccessful. He had tried to pick at the knots with his fingers, but, even after much effort, he had been unable to make progress.

He next had attempted to try and bring his hands from his back to his front. This had proved both painful and difficult. As he had sat upon the ground he had tried to push his wrists around his buttocks without success. He had then rolled onto his back, curling his body and stooping his shoulders to the point of great discomfort and still had only just barely been able to squeeze the rope around. Now his wrists had been linked just below his knees and he had had to somehow squeeze his legs through. This part had been easier, but no less unpleasant. As before, he had pushed the flexibility of his muscles as far he could and had only just made it. He had pressed his knees against his chest and then, one at a time, had pushed the rope over his heel and then over his toes, straining with what little strength he had. One leg had come through first, then the other.

Now he finally had had his bound wrists in front of him. He had continued to pick at the knots, but now with his ability to use his teeth to bite into the tough, scratchy material, he had been able to make some progress. Gradually the knots had loosened until the ropes finally fell to the ground. His wrists were sore and purple with bruises.

With no concept of day or night, but tired from his long exertion, Mill had lain on the ground, resting his head upon his hands as a pillow and fell to sleep.

He woke up what he presumed to be the next day to a guard kicking him in the stomach. “Get up!” the guard shouted at him as his foot impressed itself firmly in his stomach. Mill woke with a wheezing gasp, but leapt to his feet as fast as he could to avoid any further abuse.

The guard led the way back up the long flight of spiraling stairs, which gradually emerged into daylight. Around a corner and down a hall, Mill was shoved into another room, an interior room devoid of decorations or of windows. The light in the room came from a large, coal-burning lamp that hung on the wall and produced a prodigious flame. It illuminated a single man in a white robe who sat in the room and the machines of torture behind him. Mill could see a large wheel, and a flat bench that a person was apparently tied to and laid upon, as well as a table full of hand-held tools for the cutting, poking, pinching and burning of flesh.

Mill was put into a chair, where his arms were pulled behind him then tied to one another and to the chair.

The man who sat opposite immediately began to speak as the guard retreated into the background. “I hate going down into the dungeon,” the man confessed, “So, I brought you up here instead. What I’d like is for you to, perhaps, clarify some questions we have about your activities.”

<-- Go to Part 78         Go to Part 80 -->

You can see what's been written so far collected here.

The day before, after being knocked out, Mill had awoken while being dragged by two guards, carrying him by his arms down a set of stairs. His hands had been tied behind his back by a piece of hemp rope that pinched so hard against his wrist that it hurt and his head was sore from the blow that had been struck there.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he had been dragged through a dark, dank hallway, where had been audible the sound of water dripping through the ceiling into stinking troughs of water mixed with human excrement and blood, the sound of rats scurrying away from the new arrivals, and the sound of the plaintive wails of prisoners left in agony in this underground prison.

A wooden door had been opened before him and he had been shoved through, landing on the ground before it closed behind him. “What about these ropes?” he had shouted to the guards, but there was no response.

The room in which he sat was almost completely black, but he had been able see the outlines of the space, and it was a tiny room, with a low, arched roof that he could almost touch his head to when he stood up and walls close enough to one another that he could probably touch both of them at once if he could stand up and spread his arms out.

But he hadn’t been able spread his arms out, since they had been tied behind his back and had been growing more sore and cramped as they remained in that position. As he had sat upon the floor, he had tried to extract his wrists from the bonds by pulling at the ropes, but he had been unsuccessful. He had tried to pick at the knots with his fingers, but, even after much effort, he had been unable to make progress.

He next had attempted to try and bring his hands from his back to his front. This had proved both painful and difficult. As he had sat upon the ground he had tried to push his wrists around his buttocks without success. He had then rolled onto his back, curling his body and stooping his shoulders to the point of great discomfort and still had only just barely been able to squeeze the rope around. Now his wrists had been linked just below his knees and he had had to somehow squeeze his legs through. This part had been easier, but no less unpleasant. As before, he had pushed the flexibility of his muscles as far he could and had only just made it. He had pressed his knees against his chest and then, one at a time, had pushed the rope over his heel and then over his toes, straining with what little strength he had. One leg had come through first, then the other.

Now he finally had had his bound wrists in front of him. He had continued to pick at the knots, but now with his ability to use his teeth to bite into the tough, scratchy material, he had been able to make some progress. Gradually the knots had loosened until the ropes finally fell to the ground. His wrists were sore and purple with bruises.

With no concept of day or night, but tired from his long exertion, Mill had lain on the ground, resting his head upon his hands as a pillow and fell to sleep.

He woke up what he presumed to be the next day to a guard kicking him in the stomach. “Get up!” the guard shouted at him as his foot impressed itself firmly in his stomach. Mill woke with a wheezing gasp, but leapt to his feet as fast as he could to avoid any further abuse.

The guard led the way back up the long flight of spiraling stairs, which gradually emerged into daylight. Around a corner and down a hall, Mill was shoved into another room, an interior room devoid of decorations or of windows. The light in the room came from a large, coal-burning lamp that hung on the wall and produced a prodigious flame. It illuminated a single man in a white robe who sat in the room and the machines of torture behind him. Mill could see a large wheel, and a flat bench that a person was apparently tied to and laid upon, as well as a table full of hand-held tools for the cutting, poking, pinching and burning of flesh.

Mill was put into a chair, where his arms were pulled behind him then tied to one another and to the chair.

The man who sat opposite immediately began to speak as the guard retreated into the background. “I hate going down into the dungeon,” the man confessed, “So, I brought you up here instead. What I’d like is for you to, perhaps, clarify some questions we have about your activities.”

<-- Go to Part 78         Go to Part 80 -->

You can see what's been written so far collected here.

Aresan Clan pt 79