You rest for a moment, taking the time to stretch your shoulders. The leather armour you wear 
seems unusually tight and creaks and groans as you move. You close your eyes, stretching your 
arms up and then to your side, the protesting sounds of the leather all you can hear. Ready to 
move on you go to lower your arms once more, but to your surprise something holds them in place. 
Opening your eyes, you look across at your outstretched palm and try once more to pull against 
your bonds. The leather of the straps is old and thick, but too strong for you to break. Across 
the room is a corpse, long dead, but still bound as you have been, a testament to the importance 
of escape. The room itself is moderately dark, lit by a single magical light in the ceiling which 
casts hard shadows from the wooden angled benches on to the thick grey stone walls and heavy iron 
door.

The door opens and in walks a cowled person with a familiar scent; that of a necromancer whose 
demon servant you once fought and killed. A necromancer who'd taken a personal interest in your 
end. Once more you struggle against the bonds, and in return he speaks in a careful measured tone,

"I would not bother, those bonds have been strengthened by the powers of order you yourself follow, 
and I would not want you unduly marked. Not until you have served your usefulness."

Behind him enters a couple of skeletons, one carrying a large bag, the other some kind of leather 
harness. You try to see what is being taken out of the bag, but the second skeleton blocks your view 
as it approaches, although you can still hear the sound of glass and metal been placed against each 
other. Grabbing your head in its sharp bony fingers it proceeds to pull the harness tight over your 
face and tie it to something above you. The leather straps dig into your skin, gag your mouth, hold 
your head perfectly still. As the skeleton moves away in your now limited view you see can another 
figure behind the Necromancer, one dressed in expensive finery. It moves revealing itself to be a 
lich, holding something carefully in it's grasp. It bows in subservience to the cowled figure as it 
hands over the object, and you get the slightest hint of smug satisfaction from him in return before 
he turns to face you.

"It is possible to kill a creatures' mind while the body yet appears to live and function as if alive. 
All it takes the merest of cuts inside your brain," he says lifting a long, thin, sharp and complicated 
metal tool into your line of sight, "With your mind dead, it is mine to animate and control while your 
body appears hale and normal to anyone who meets you, making you the perfect spy for my plans. Those of 
orcish decent are uniquely suited to this procedure. So your race, your position and your unwise continued 
efforts to interfere with me have all played nicely into my hands."

Flashing you a wicked smile from beneath his cowled hood, he moves around and out of your sight. You close 
your eyes as you feel a stabbing pain inside your ear and strain against the harnesses one more. You think 
it strange how loud the leather still sounds; opening eyes you see yourself back where you had been 
stretching before.