Role

Chapter 1

The duergar clan gathered themselves inside the massive cavern that
served as the town square within their subterranean warren. Hundreds of
burning sconces lined the walls, but they did a poor job illuminating the
inky blackness of the Underdark, and the thick acrid smoke that they
emitted burned the lungs of even the heartiest of the duergar.

The clan crowded around three central stalagmites. From these
stalagmites hung rusty, yet well used manacles, that turned these natural
formations into crude whipping posts. Three terrified duergar were
shackled to these formations, whining and pleading for mercy from the
angry and mocking crowd.

A middle-aged warrior king with a battlescarred face, easily ascended a
rather large boulder near the pleading prisoners and raised a thick
fingered hand above his head. The restless noise of the crowd quickly
silenced. The warrior stroked his greasy black beard thoughtfully and
bellowed to his clan below, "The three wretches before you been found
guilty of desertion of the war band when we did be raidin' the
settlements of the invadin' Svirfnebli!"

The duergar populace screamed with outrage, and a few fist sized stones
flew from the anonymous crowd and struck the shackled prisoners. The
leader allowed himself a brief moment for a smile and allowed his people
to carry on for a few seconds longer before raising his hand once again
to silence and halt his mob.

"The punishment...... 200 lashes!" The crowd roared happily and danced
wildly before the three prisoners.

Within the fray of the sweaty duergar mob, stood an adolescent duergar
who neither cheered nor danced. He simply stared with intense malice at
the pitiful duergar chained to the center stalagmite. Oringus, was
absolutely mortified that his father had shown such incredible weakness
during the raid. He had always known his father was not a great warrior,
but such a lack of discipline was something that Oringus could not
stomach. Strength was all that mattered to Oringus, strength and the
power that came with it, and all of that might be taken from him if the
clan thought him to be weak like his father.

The warrior king gazed over his sea of duergar, pointed to three of his
largest and most brutal fighters, and beckoned them forward. They
eagerly arrived at the chained men and picked up the ragged leather
whips thay lay before them on the ground.

The king roared at the top of his lungs, "Punish these cowards for their
weakness! Begin!"

The recently annointed torturers raised their whips above their heads and
rained down savage blows upon the bare backs of the chained duergars.
The whips snapped through the air, and quickly turned the dark skin of
the duergar into a pulpy mess. The prisoners howled fiercely, but none
howled more fiercely or desperately than Oringus' father.