To break and to remain unbroken

[Therak]

Warm water surrounded him, driving the chill from his bones and relaxing his muscles. He'd always sworn by the healing properties of a good, warm soak and it really did make both his ribs and his arm feel better. The ribs had almost healed by now, and his arm was well enough to be used for simple and easy tasks. It was a bit of a trek, but it was worth it to stay clean and for the bit of peace and quiet he could find here.
The rest of the tribe had gone out to raid the Thunderlords, he was in no shape to join them and there was some guilt weighing down on him over that. It's not that he liked fighting, but as a Varog'gor he felt like he -should- be there.
But in his current shape he'd only be a burden, in need of protection from the others. Better he stayed back so he wouldn't weigh them down...

Footsteps from behind stirred him from his thoughts. He turned to see who'd come to join him, and at the sight of the Thunderlords dove towards his blades.
Lightning struck him and everything turned black.

Pain. That was what they used in their attempts to make him talk. At first there'd been the threats of it, leaving him hanging from his chains overnight. It hadn't broken him, nor had they expected it to. It was just a beginning.
They'd left no fire by him, leaving him naked and chained in the cold. At least he was out of the wind.
At dawn they'd come for him again, asking their questions. "Where do you strike next?" or "What camps have you scouted?". Those were the questions they truly wanted answered, but they'd ask him everything they could think of. From his own name, to if he had cubs and their names. They promised him they'd let him go once he'd answered, lies of course. He knew that. They'd promised him a swift death if he cooperated. That too was a lie he suspected.
When their questions were answered by silence, the beatings began.
These weren't sophisticated torturers with an intimate knowledge of causing pain without causing real damage. There were no thin needles expertly pushed into the flesh, no hot irons pushed against sizzling skin, there wasn't even sharp blades to seperate skin from muscle.
What there was however, was blunt instruments and beatings. And there was alot of them.
At first there was just slaps and punches, demands to speak in between. When Therak remained silent they went further, they began kicking him, taking their agressions out on the helpless orc.
During the second night he made his first attempt at escape.
They'd removed him from the chains long enough to move him somewhere when he took his chance, lashing out with his good arm and taking one of his captors in the throat and stepping sideways to have them all on the same side.
The butts of their spears made short work of that attempt, he was too beat up to put up enough resistance.
After that they didn't remove him from the chains at all.

By the fourth day they weren't even asking questions. They were just beating him, taking their anger out. The butts of their spears would strike into his chest, breaking the ribs again. Then their menders would come, placing their hands on him and forcing the bones to re-knit just enough for them to be stable. Mending any life threatening internal injuries before stepping back, allowing their kin to continue.
Therak howled and screamed, they didn't bother dampening the pain when the bones were forced back together. Things became a blur of pain, the blessed relief of unconsciousness and the return to the painful reality.
Inside his head he repeated one thing over and over again
"The pain will not last, they will kill me or I will be freed. They may break me, but they will never crush me. The pain is a spiders web in the mouth of a cave. I will push past it and out into the open. I will be free in death or life. I. Will. Be. Free."