Crypt-y Business

Summary
Izol guards Rhamiel while he dissects a living orc. Content warnings for eye horror, and just general Rhamiel. This is a Gilded Fist story.

Crypt-y Business
When Izol had first joined the Gilded Fist, she pictured herself accompanying teams of professionals on great adventures fraught with danger and intrigue. Not in her wildest nightmares could she have imagined she would be guarding a sadistic undead shadow priest with a real penchant for hacking off as many of his living victim’s limbs as possible before they would die. So far his record was three– both arms and one leg, but he’d hit an artery on the last cut and the wailing human bled out with almost merciful swiftness.

Today Rhamiel’s victim was a stocky orc peon Izol had knocked out on his lunch break. It was rare for Rhamiel to select a non-human to mutilate, but he decided that this one had an eye colour that appealed to him. Izol wondered if he might use the peon’s eyes if he ever lost his own, or if he merely meant to sell them to one of his contacts in the Royal Apothecary Society. Either way, she wasn’t too interested in finding out. She leaned back against the grimy walls of the crypt and inspected her nails. She huffed– the polish was chipped in places and the brass nails she wore beneath were visible where the blue paint cracked.

Rhamiel turned to look at her, his quiet voice difficult to hear over the desperate whimpers from the gagged peon. “I hardly think your nails are that interesting, Izol. Don’t you want to watch me work? Or are you frightened to see a fellow orc beneath my knife?”

Izol rolled her eyes, affording the peon one very bored glance. “I’ve seen you butcher plenty of orcs already. Nothing you could do to this one’s gonna phase me, Rhamiel.”

The priest simply grinned at that, looking down at the peon and placing a cold hand on his cheek, patting it. “There, there. Save your voice for when I get started. No use wasting it he— hm, now that’s interesting.”

Rhamiel watched the orc’s eyes move to Izol and stay there in a wordless appeal for help. But there was something more to his expression, and after slipping into the very first layers of the peon’s mind, Rhamiel knew exactly what it was.

Recognition.

A wide grin crinkled his pallid cheeks. “Izol, I think he knows you. Why don’t you take a closer look at him, see if you remember him too?”

Izol scoffed. “Oh, right, because all orcs obviously just know each other. I’m antisocial within my own race too, you know.”

Rhamiel didn’t bother to reply and watched as Izol obeyed anyway, walking closer and peering down at the peon’s terrified face. He watched as confusion gave way to recognition too.

“Oh, yeah I know this one,” she said, nodding slowly. “Er… Gruzok, yeah, that’s it. Always figured he’d grow up to be a peon. Congratulations, I guess.”

Rhamiel’s smile grew as the peon– Gruzok– whimpered again, this time with more urgency. He thrashed against his bindings, tears pricking in the corners of the violet eyes Rhamiel liked so much.

“Look at that, he’s begging you for help,” Rhamiel said, pulling the gag out of the orc’s mouth. “There. I want to hear you.”

Gruzok coughed and panted, sucking in air that was just as foul-tasting as the dirty cloth he had been gagged with. He twisted around to look right at Izol, whole body shaking.

“Help me! Please!” he cried, voice cracking. “Come on Izol, please help me! I-I’m sorry about all that stuff in the orphanage– I was just a child, I was stupid– and besides, you’ve actually got really pretty now! If you’d been like this back then, I definitely wouldn’t have picked on you!” He looked at her earnestly, nodding as if it would add truth to his statement.

Izol sighed and looked away, folding her arms tight across her chest. She’d tamped the memories of her time in the Orgrimmar orphanage down so far it was as if they had never existed. Until now, anyway. Memories trickled back and embedded themselves in her mind like parasites. All those times the orphan matron had beaten her, the endless bullying from the other children, the snubbing from potential parents who had come to give homes to the cuter, sweeter children.

Gruzok had been one of the worst. Of all the orc children there, Izol was considered one of the bigger ones– but Gruzok was a giant in comparison. He was the only one there who could– and DID– hurt her regularly. Like the other children there, he thought her ugly and decided she should pay for that through violence. But one day she could take no more, and the fury in her blood got the better of her. Gruzok didn’t stand a chance. By the time she came back to, the matron had locked her in a cupboard by herself until she calmed down. Though she wasn’t actually released until nearly a day later, and when she did it was only to discover that a pleasant orc couple had taken pity on Gruzok for his injuries and vowed to give him a better home. Izol remembered her fury, her indignation at what had happened. They pitied his injuries? What about the bruises and cuts that covered her whole body? The eye that had been black and swollen for almost a month now? The arm that still moved poorly after Gruzok snapped it once? But she had not been there to be seen, to implore someone to take her out of there and give her a home where she would not have to endure all this.

It all came crashing back in hideous detail. The rage she’d felt all those years ago rekindled in her veins as she looked back at Gruzok. He must have felt the change too, for his earnest face twisted into something full of hatred and fear.

“You can’t hold that all against me still! Help me! Help me, you ugly bitch!” he screamed, muscles bulging as he tried again to get free.

A shriek of fury ripped from Izol as she brought her fist around to smack Gruzok squarely in the jaw. One of his tusks flew from his mouth, bloody and shattered. He grunted and slumped back onto the slab, groaning in pain.

Rhamiel raised a brow at Izol and shook his head. “What a pity. I’d hoped he had been a friend of yours. One of these days…” he trailed off, picking up a scalpel and pushing it through the soft flesh of Gruzok’s left eyelid. The peon howled in agony, starting to sob.

Izol settled back against the wall, deciding she would watch Rhamiel work this time after all.