All around, darkness. The only window in the minuscule stronghold had long been covered in thick moss and ferns. In the corner, a small figure, curled up in a ball, was softly crying. The figure stood up; a flowing pelt cape, now matted and worn, wrapped around the female form for warmth. She walked over to the blocked window, and pushed against the moss. Some of it gave way, sunlight illuminating parts of the cell.
She recollected the events that led up to her being stuck here. It was a few years ago; she was the daughter of the barbarian chief. The Arach empire wanted the forests they lived in, and war broke out. We were helped by the neighboring forest factions; the ogres sent their best soldiers to fight on our behalf, the elves scouted out empirical camps and such. At first, the war seemed like it was anyone's guess as to the victor. But eventually, too many people were killed, and it became clear that the empire's army was just too large to beat, even with the help of the forest factions. A compromise was made: the chief's daughter was to be taken as a prisoner of war.
Now, she was here. Stuck in a cage, little light, no hope. She remembered the last thing her mother had told her as she was taken away; be brave, don't forget about us. We'll return someday.
The painful memory was too much, and she simply sat in the rays of light, and hoped. She hoped that maybe, someone was out there, fighting on her behalf, serving vengeance.
First, a horn. Then, an explosion. The sounds of royal guards being slaughtered by some foreseen force. It gave her hope, but she began to worry. If they were searching for her, would they just take her elsewhere? Was it the barbarians? Who was it? The questions flooded her mind; she remembered a jagged piece of iron that was what remained of one of the door bars. Wielding it like a knife, she laid in wait for someone to draw near. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallways, coming ever closer to her cell. Keys clinked in unison. The thought of who was there... She couldn't be scared now. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Either she goes with them, or she fights to the death.
The figure arrived at the door. She couldn't make out their features, but she could smell blood on them. The tumblers in the lock spun; they were unlocking the door. In the doorway, stood a massive, bloody green beast. Oh, wait, scratch that. It's an ogre soldier. He had a Mohawk, his broad shoulders concealed beneath elk pelts. He had two dirks at his sides, both considerably spattered with gore.
"Madam? I believe we're here to return you to your people."
