While he languished in his prison cell Torgo had been sleeping fitfully and when awake praying for a quick death. His mangled legs prevented him from getting up and pacing about, and even rolling over on the floor was excruciating. The filth of the cell floor was getting worse every day but his captors had been diligent in bringing him adequate food and water now that his ordained torture period had ended. While the Witch Queen wasn’t necessarily compassionate, she did know when a mortal creature was close to death, and Torgo dying before her curiosity could be sated did not suit her plans. Now all that remained was for the Witch Queen to verify or dispel the information Torgo had provided in order to determine his fate.
It wasn’t good news for Torgo or anyone else when the Witch Queen returned from her visit with the Patriarch of Fate. She was clearly angrier than she had been when she left, so the natural assumption among the inquisitors in the dungeon was that Torgo had lied to her and attempted to lead her astray. She did not speak to any of them, though, and made her way with speed and determination to Torgo’s cell.
Upon arrival in this awful corner of the dungeon the Witch Queen rapped on the bars with her long, hideous claw-like fingernails. “I sense that you haven’t died yet, you vile little worm. Pay heed to me, for I am the Witch Queen, and I alone determine your fate.”
Torgo didn’t even roll over to look at the fuming lich, but answered feebly, “Speak, mistress, for your servant listens.”
The Witch Queen paused, and in a few moments seemed to soften her tone to a degree. “Will you serve me all of your remaining days, faithfully and with unswerving loyalty?”
“If this be your will, then so be it.” said Torgo, exhausted and wracked with agony.
Motioning for the nearby inquisitors to come and open the cell, the Witch Queen said in a cruel tone, “You and I have both been made to look fools. In return for your blood oath to serve me I will bestow upon you new powers to enable you to carry out our wrath. A pirate should after all be able to seek out his own, and end their wickedness.”
Torgo, aided by the undead inquisitors that had entered the cell to sit him up, looked at the Witch Queen in all of her undead horror and said with a grimace, “I cannot serve you well in this condition. Am I to crawl if I be a worm?”
Cackling with an angry note the Witch Queen said, “I will replace your legs, you wretch. And will do so in a way that reminds you forever why you found yourself in this dire predicament.” She laughed again, so harsh that even the inquisitors were taken aback. “The statue that was stolen was of our own Prince of Deceit. It is fitting then that you be given legs such as he has.” Turning to one of the inquisitors outside the cell the Witch Queen barked out an order.
“Fetch me a black billy goat! The largest you can find! This wretched creature will need new legs!”
Torgo fell back on the floor of his cell. “I am Torgo.” he said weakly. “I serve the mistress.”