“Thou who art poor, who art hungry, who art alone, come to Siradorn. For we accept all of strong backs, of untapped talent, and of righteous conviction.”
-Earl Julius, on the topic of refugees.
The sounds of the thick oak door creaking open are amplified tenfold by the stone brick construction of the dungeon. Ancient hinges, unoiled and time-worn, protest with a symphony of squeaks and squeals that border on being a long and tired groan. Flickering orange torchlight cuts through the darkness, illuminating a pair of yellow, bloodshot eyes that linger behind a set of rusted iron bars.
A heavy grunt reverberates throughout the room as a guard forces the door the remainder of the way open, cursing as he jams his torch in a nearby sconce. His well-polished steel chestplate and helmet reflect the dim light, creating strange shadows in the prison’s lone cell. His eyes are shadowed, but the look of disgust is plain as he unsuccessfully tries to ignore the stench of sweat and excrement while approaching the bars.
“Supper,” says the guard, raising a large piece of hastily-butchered meat up to the cell door. It’s fresh; drippings of red juices splatter on the soiled bricks of the dungeon, while the yellow fat clinging to its edges betray its equine origins. He steps back slightly as the occupant of the cell crawls forward on all fours. If only for the dim light of the torch and the haunched figure of the prisoner, one could not be faulted for thinking that they stood before a normal man.
As he slowly shifts from crawling to standing while approaching the bars, betraying the inhuman-ness of his form. His legs are bent at strange angles, more dog-like than man, though his feet still retain some semblance of humanity. His arms hang too low at his sides, so that the tips of his fingers brush against his knobbed knees. He stands hunched, yet even so, his bald head nearly brushes against the ceiling of his cell.
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The guard has to crane his neck slightly to meet the eyes of the beast, which are far too wide for a normal man’s. His mouth is too large, with thin red lips that seem to stretch beyond the lobes of his long ears.
”By the Maker, I think you must be even uglier than when I saw you last, wretch.” The guard chuckles, barely covering his fear with a thin layer of bravado. “Goodness me, look at you–I can see straight to your ribs. You must be starving!” He says with his best impression of a caring, if not masculine, grandmother. “It’s only been, what, a week? But worry not, I have your dinner right here, freak.”
He tosses the chunk of meat through the bars so that it lands at the creature’s feet, careful to not get any closer than he needs to be, before turning to leave.
”Oh, and I almost forgot!” He begins to snort heavily, nearly retching as he works to form a thick ball of mucus and phlegm before spitting it onto the prisoner’s meal with a practiced aim.
The wretch looks at it briefly before turning his attention back to the guard, its bloodshot eyes betraying neither disgust nor anger–only the cold, calculating look of an intelligent predator.
Not yet. Says a soft, beguiling voice, resonating within the creature’s skull, compelling it to remain still. Though its eyes still remained locked with that of the guards’, who holds its gaze for a moment before a combination of fear and revulsion forces him to turn away.
”I hate this bloody job,” he mumbles and he snatches his torch from its sconce and drags the heavy door shut behind him. The sound of several bolts being slid into position echo off the stone as the wretch’s eyes re-adjust to the darkness.
The creature rests on it’s haunches as he pinches the soiled meat between it’s and thumb and forefinger, examining it for a moment before tossing it onto the pile with the rest of rotting horseflesh. The gnawing hunger in his stomach grows a little stronger with each passing moment.
Soon, Child.
The voice, belonging to neither man nor woman, comforted him as it had done since his imprisonment, though he could not remember if it had always been with him. It guided him through the waking nightmares of being once-human, all the while promising him freedom and power, but only once he was ready.