What started out as unbearable pain slowly dulled over time to a rhythmic thumping. Windson stopped struggling and only his whimpers were what showed anyone he was still alive. The whimpers that melded in with the whimpers of all the other dissected creatures in this twisted man's shop. An eye, all his fingers, most of the skin from his wings, and all the skin from his leg. Missing now, shaved off for random nobles seeing trinkets of luck.
Looking at him now you would not know he was once a proud and competent leader. But a leader of what. His band of men were captured long ago and sent to who knows where. Slavery he assumed or death. He knew he had let them all down and even now he could not complete the mission that was entrusted to him by his king. He knew it was a suicide mission but he was not aware of just what kind of people these humans were. Just how twisted and cruel they really were. To call them monsters was an understatement.
