Dakor
The dungeon air was cold. This wasn't the kind of chill that merely kissed the skin; it was a damp, penetrating cold that rooted itself deep in the marrow of your bones.
I welcomed it. Let it seep in, let it freeze the turmoil in my blood.
The guards that were previously slumped in bored postures, snapped to attention as my boots echoed on the stone floor. Of all the places in my fortress, this was by far, my favorite.
There were indeed five prisoners all locked up in different cells. These were men who dealt in the currency of flesh and fear.
My beast, the feral heart of me that I kept chained and starved, stirred in its cage. It stretched, snarling in approval.
Finally.
Something I could tear into without a shred of guilt.
I stopped before the first cell, the stench of
