In the span of a breath, Val pushed the cart into Bartholomew's cell.
Displayed on the cart were a variety of intimidating tools such as a plier that reflected the cold light of the prison, a knife that boasted a cruelly jagged edge, a glowing red-hot iron rod, and countless other tools, each crafted with the purpose of extracting truth from stubborn mouths through pain and terror.
With an indifferent gaze, Val looked at Bartholomew.
The man who once stood tall and proud as the pastor of the Holy Church of Light local to the IronSpire Stronghold was now a pitiful sight.
His once-white robes were now dirtied and worn, turning an unfortunate shade of gray. His rounded belly stuck out like a sore thumb, and a scruffy stubble scattered over his double chin. His eyes, squinting with fear, darted between Val and the terrifying cart that had been wheeled into the cell, as he shook like a leaf in the wind.
"W-what are you going to do to me?"
