Orc's Head

You steel yourself so as not to give the satisfaction of stammering and ask for the green orc. The figure makes no reply, simply throws a switch near the base of the bench, and without fanfare your rotation stops. You glide forward beneath the crystal, which blinks out as you touch the curtain beneath it, leaving you to gradually deepening darkness as the thick curtain drops back into place, filled with and increasing volume of guttural snarls. Your blood quickens as the familiar scent of orc rises. The sound of your breathing and the steady tread of the Jester are soon lost in a rising chaotic hubbub, a horde of orcs whooping and growling and getting closer.

You strain at your bonds still securing you to your bench but fail to begin to loosen their well crafted hold on you. In fact as if in response to your struggles, the very bench itself twists and tilts, turning slowly but relentlessly in the darkness, leaving you disoriented and contorted helplessly under it's mechanical power. As torches begin to flicker to life around you, the red glow falls on you now travelling backwards, knees pressed together and your naked bottom in the air. With a final ratcheting click your head is drawn down to the bench, arching your body. The delighted orcs follow your progress with glee and you glance around with alarm. It's then you notice that you are passing through a tunnel of iron bars, a cage which seems as much to keep the small horde out as to keep you in. It narrows around you though and before long, dirty green hands are reaching through for you, almost but not quite able to brush against your pale skin.

Unable to defend yourself or recoil you can do little but watch and wait and wonder what is in store for you.