"My name is Weranda, Guild scum,” Drex declared. “I really can't tell what I ever saw in you. Mother Lizaveta has shown me how you tried to enslave me. All I feel now for you is utter contempt, you damned rapist!"

She spat at him, and Grimm, feeling confused and weak, shook his head in disbelief as the spittle ran down his face.

"Oh, and don't hold out too much hope for that bunch of misfits you call friends,” she said. “They'll soon have their own problems to deal with. They'll be much too busy to worry about you."

Lizaveta said, “Sisters, you may begin.” The two nuns stepped forward and acted in unison, slamming their staves into his stomach. As Grimm groaned and collapsed onto his knees, the true beating began, each blow causing pain beyond his imagining. He held on for as long as he could, trying to protect his head, his entrails and his manhood, but the blows came in quick succession, too quickly for him to react.

At last, a solid blow contacted his right temple and he fell into the welcoming arms of Morpheus.

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Chapter 2: Despair

Grimm awoke to the cold shock of a jet of water in his face. He gasped at the icy impact and forced his crusted eyelids open. Drexelica stood before him, holding an empty bucket. In place of her grubby street clothes, she wore a simple, white habit and a wimple.

Prioress Lizaveta stood behind her, and Grimm tried to leap to his feet, but he could not. Looking down, he saw the strong ropes binding him to a sturdy chair bolted to the stone floor. He tested his bonds and found them quite unyielding. His injuries were painful, but none seemed incapacitating.

"Now, you may imagine that a simple Questor spell will have those ropes off you in a trice,” Lizaveta said. “However, while you have been lounging there at your ease, Sister Weranda has used her link with you to impose a few little ground rules for you to follow during your stay here.