The Myrddraal raised it's head slightly and watched how the trollocs dragged the naked man into the shadowy chambers. The man had a dazed look on his face as he tried to adjust with unfocused eyes to the shadowy environment.
The two trollocs were large specimens, burly and boar-snouted. The Mark of the Chosen was carved onto their faces, thick keloid strands twisting their features into a permanent snarl. They hoisted the wretch up onto his feet between them, their nails digging deep into his arms as they turned him towards their dark master.
The Myrddraal turned towards the man, who slowly seemed to gather his senses and seemed to be realising that he was in a place that most sane people would rather not be. The man produced a low, thrumming sound from deep down inside him, gurgling and coughing as he stretched his throat in pain.
With a pale vinger the Myrddraal traced a deep gouge on the throat of the wretch in front of him and hissed in amusement. The man focussed his eyes onto his dark master and finally rested them on the scene behind him.. He gurgled again, pupils dilating in fear and revulsion.
"Meren.... Do not think you failed me... Because failure in my employ will not get you reborn into a new body, with a new goal, if not with the same soul and name, with all your memories intact..."
The Myrddraal pulled out a small amulet made from crystal and wire from underneath his inky black cloak and traced its swirls and curves with the same pale vinger. The man spasmed, forcing the trollocs to grab his arms even tighter, cutting them deep with their nails, forcing the blood out in bright red streams, running down his arms and dripping onto the black, marble floor. The Myrddraal nodded at his minions.
The trollocs dragged the man out of the chamber, as the Myrddraal turned back to the large table and the gruesome ruin of a man lying strapped to it. He picked back up his wrought-iron plyers and grabbed a hold of another finger.
The Myrddraal dropped the finger into a stained bucket.
Another finger followed..
The Myrddraal mused as the man on the table opened his mouth to scream, the stump of a tongue lolling towards the ceiling of the chamber, but producing no sounds. Yes.. failure in his employ would actually get you reborn into a new body, with a new goal.
It would get you reborn into a new body, but the goal would be repeated and endless pain. He rasped a dry chuckle and walked out of the chamber, leaving the lump of flesh behind, to slowly bleed out. Tomorrow would be another day..
The Myrddraal touched the Cour'souvra again.
"Oh Meren.. just make sure you never, ever fail me.."