Medieval Whump III - The Strappado
Interrogate your whumpee with the strappado.
Drag him from his cell in the middle of the night, strip him bare and bind his wrists behind him. Tell him that all you need is a confession.
Pull his arms up slowly. Let him feel the tension build in his shoulders, each creeping inch echoed by his soft gasps as discomfort slowly creeps towards pain. Tell him that you don't want him to suffer, that he could make it all stop with just a few words.
When he grits his teeth and says nothing, tell him that his silence will not save him, that pain will rend the truth from him no matter how deep he has buried it.
Wait as the hours tick by, as the ache in his shoulders grows to an acute, shrieking agony. When he starts to tremble from exhaustion, when he can no longer hide the reedy whimper in the back of his throat, when he can't help but beg for mercy, ask if he has sufficiently contemplated the cost of his silence.
Let the scrape of metal drown out his pleas as the relentless mechanism guides his bound wrists higher and higher. Force him to double over to keep his shoulders from being wrenched from their sockets.
Savor the pained, choking cry when his feet finally leave the ground and the immediate silence that follows as every muscle strains, desperate to save his grotesquely twisted shoulders, to shift the weight straining them to their limit.
Pull him higher and higher. Wait for his body to give in, muscles tearing, tendons breaking from bone, each joint slipping from its socket. Tell him that if the first fall isn't enough to loosen his tongue, that you have plenty of stones to assist in his next descent.
