You, as a polite person (who doesn’t want to anger your jailers), agree to talk. You are going for interrogation.

You slowly get out of bed. You take one step at a time, trying not to fall. One warrior comes up to you and offers his shoulder for support. The second warrior accompanies you, holding a club in his hands.

You think with a grin: “Even now they are afraid of me... Although I almost died... Cowardly humans...”

You have very little reason to be happy. Therefore, you try to cheer up even because of such an insignificant fact as a characteristic of the behavior of your jailers. If you carefully analyze their behavior, it will become clear that it is strictly regulated by the orders of their superiors. But it’s more pleasant for you to think that your image strikes fear into the hearts of all humans... Well, your method of artificially increasing the level of your own mood has a right to exist...

You have to walk for quite a long time. You often moan due to pain. You have to climb up the stairs. But with the help of your escorts you cope.

You walk along a long corridor and you come to an ordinary oak door. One of the guards knocks on the door.

A hoarse voice comes from the room: “Bring the suspect into the room!”

You think: “Wow! I have already become a person suspected of some crime! Damn! I feel like I'm cursed! What kind of fucking disgusting shit has been happening to me over the past months! Although it would be more honest to say that this shit has been happening to me throughout my entire life! Fucking fucking crap!”

The guards take you inside the room. You see that this is an ordinary room without any hint of aristocratic luxury. Grayish stone walls, modest ash wood furniture, many cabinets with scrolls and books that line the far wall. A tall, muscular human man sits in a chair at a large table. You are seeing this man for the first time in your life. He is probably around 30 years old. He is dressed in a modest cloth camisole of a dark brown color. You notice on the index finger of his right hand a small silver-colored ring with a small image of an angry bear. His light brown hair falls to shoulder level. He has a small mustache and goatee, and his nose is slightly humpbacked.

You think, “Someone must have broken this guy’s nose in a fight...”

You notice that the properties of his figure and appearance suggest that he participated in many such events, as a result of which some of the participants become fertilizer for the soil... And another obvious fact: this person is the boss of the soldiers who escorted you...

This man makes a casual gesture with the palm of his hand. And the guards leave the premises...

You sit down on a wooden chair opposite this human. He looks into your eyes with his dark brown eyes. For some reason you feel awkward. You seem to sense that behind that stare there are numerous unforeseen consequences that could greatly affect your life... You think: “What the fuck! It's just human! Even if he is a strong warrior! Why the fuck do I feel like they climbed into my skull and started picking my brain with their finger!?”

A fleeting thought arises in your mind that this is not just human. And it's not about noble status. There is something elusive in his appearance and demeanor. It’s as if he is a representative of a hidden system that permeates all ordinary life and which can easily break both the life of its representative and the lives of ordinary persons not involved in anything...

You cannot stand the tense silence; you say in an intermittent voice: “What do you want from me? I haven't committed any crimes!"

Your interlocutor leans back slightly in his chair.

He says: “It would be polite of you to introduce yourself...”

You say hoarsely: “I am Ulkin Nordane. Half-orc. Most of my life I lived in the city of Ranelborg, which is located in the north of the Forest Reach duchy."

Your interlocutor tilts his head slightly as if giving you a slight bow.

After this, he says: “My name is Vincent Roneveld. Human. Lived in a wide variety of places. Lately, I have been living here - in the capital of our duchy, in Ravenkeep Castle."

You try to grin. Because of the pain, you can only portray some kind of pitiful grimace of suffering.

You say sarcastically, “You’re probably about to start listing your many titles and positions in the ducal court! Don’t be surprised if I fall asleep during this fascinating story...”

Vincent smiles slightly and replies: “I am not one of those nobles who tend to boast of their status and arrogantly shout out their title at every step to every passerby they meet... Status is not an independent goal for me. Status is only a tool with which you can provide access to resources that are necessary for the implementation of truly significant goals... However, let’s not be distracted from the topic of our conversation. I will ask you important questions, Ulkin. Your life will depend on your answers... And the lives of many other people... Are you ready to answer?

Your throat is a little dry. You nod.

You say grimly, “I’m ready.”

Your interlocutor examines your face. You understand that he sees your wounded right ear (the part that you still have after the battle).

Then, he utters a phrase that seems strange to you: “Tell me about your life, Ulkin. Who are your parents? Where did you live. What did you do as a child and teenager? What means did you live on until then?”

You say angrily: “Are you going to mock me because of my origin?”

Vincent calmly replies: “No. I want to see the most detailed picture of your life. My goal: to understand how some half-orc commoner managed to play a key role in saving our duke.”

You grunt irritably: “The key role is played by some half-orc commoner... Why do you think so? Perhaps the Duke himself was able to make most of the necessary efforts for his own salvation?

You did not expect the reaction of your interlocutor to these phrases of yours.

He laughed out loud.

You look at Vincent in surprise.

He says: “You clearly have a sense of humor! Of course, the heralds in every major settlement of our duchy will say something like this in the market squares: “Our magnificent Duke Caelan Lamitrin has independently escaped the threat of orcs and mysterious traitorous conspirators! His Serene Highness Duke Caelan personally defeated a couple of dozen of the strongest orcs and all the vile traitors who encroached on the noble life of our beloved overlord!”

He smiles and looks sideways at his ring.

Vincent continues to say: “However, I am a completely reasonable person. I have been serving my overlord Duke Caelan Lamitrin for about eight years. I know quite a lot about his life... About his true abilities... About his character... About his methods of entertainment... And much more... So, do you want to be polite and tell me information about your life that interests me? Or do you prefer not a conversation in comfortable conditions, but a different format of communication?”

For some reason, you felt a shiver from your interlocutor’s polite question.

You swallow the lump in your throat. You'll probably have to start the story. You begin to talk in detail about your life to this human, whose existence you did not know a couple of days ago.

You talk about the tragic fate of your mother... About your poor childhood in the city of Ranelborg... About humiliations and street fights... About your mother's acquaintance with some of the city guards of the city of Ranelborg... About how your mother and these guards taught you to fight with edged weapons...

Your interlocutor asks a lot of clarifying questions... It seems to you that he wants to delve into the smallest details of your life...

The interrogation lasts a long time... Probably about 3 hours passed...

There comes a time when you need to talk about the place where you worked... About the brothel “The Shaded Lantern”. It is extremely unpleasant for you to remember this time... Days, weeks, months of continuous shame... You were deceived into becoming a prostitute in a brothel, your will was broken with the help of a magical tattoo, you were fucked like a pathetic, corrupt whore... You sucked dicks and you allowed your anus to be fucked... From the burning sensation shame your face turns slightly red...

But you understand that you will have to tell all this... In the smallest details...

And you begin the story... The story about your misadventures in the brothel lasts more than an hour...

Vincent listens to you carefully. What is surprising to you: his face does not express contempt for you (despite the shameful facts about your person that you are **** to tell). His face is impassive. You get the impression that he is used to accepting information that can be much more terrible and disgusting than the tragic story of your slavery in a brothel...

When you get to the point where the brothel staff are preparing to travel to the forest mansion, Vincent makes a hand gesture.

He says: “Thank you for your frank story, Ulkin. We still have a lot to discuss. But I see that you need rest. We will continue our conversation another day."

After these words, Vincent calls two guards who brought you to this room. These two guys take you to your cell.

The cell is locked with a key, and you lie down on a wooden bed.

You are trying to relax and, at least temporarily, reject unpleasant memories of the tragic events that happened to you.

You toss and turn on the bed, turning from one side to the other. Your wounds hurt. However, after half an hour you manage to fall asleep...