Guess I was wrong.
Throw in the torture these bastard Kor'Kron have inflicted to my body and face and I'd be lucky to even -look- like a half-rotten undead in Undercity.
"You ready to talk, you traitorous peon?!" A plated backhand brought me out of my daydreaming. He wore the same armor as Kiethoo and every other Kor'Kron I had seen and killed during the Peon riot. I put on my best facade.
"Me know nothing! Just following Thokk orders!" But the Kor'Kron didn't buy it. A red hot iron pressed into my cheek making me damn near black out from the pain.
"We KNOW you're Thokk. No other peon could have fought as you did! Your abilities out there set you apart and even LOOKED familiar, ex Kor'Kron!"
Damn. So everyone had been informed.
"You want to know what I know about Enekie? What she has planned?" I roared between gasps as the iron was pulled away. The burnt smell of my flesh making me sick. It seems they were satisfied or at the very least curious.
"So the peon leader speaks." The head honcho of my "inquisition" chuckled. "Yes, we want to know what this little tree-mite has planned and where she is!"
I could only grin at my stupidity. "That's the thing that I admire about Enekie." The Kor'Kron made a disgusted retching sound, as though she and I had an affair.
I wasn't -that- desperate for a mate.
"She doesn't tell me anything about her." I confessed honestly. But they, again, didn't believe me. The stupid one (take your pick) decided to give me a crack across the jaw. I felt a fang fracture and my mouth was lit in flames. I saw my fang sitting on the floor next to my other one they had pulled to start the questioning. My jaw ached.
"Tell us what you know, peon, or we'll drive every one of your rebellious idiots to death!"
They may be idiots, and they may be rebellious, but they were -my- people. Bent from years of hard labor, the only other orc to show kindness to them was Thrall and only the spirits knew where he was.
"You..." I started, my mouth full of blood. The boss grabbed my ripped tunic.
I spat my mouth full of blood, grit, teeth, and burnt flesh onto the face of his helmet. A small victory that would cost him hours of cleaning and polishing.
"You should have been drowned at birth, you dishonorable pink-skin." An insult that combined the two biggest challenges to an orc, a question of their life, to have been drowned at birth for being such a weakling, and of their honor as an orc, being called (in essence) a human.
I didn't get a chance to speak again when I decided to headbutt a fist flying straight at me.