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Time was impossible to mark within the dark, musky dungeon. You had been handed over as a condition of Lord Azenon's surrender, a condition your Lord had happily obliged. Despite your exceptional service in the war, Lord Azenon was more than eager to hand you over to your former enemies in hopes of maintaining some autonomy in his surrender negotiations. You were lowborn afterall, ultimately inconsequential in the grand scheme of the Kingdom's history and politics. And so, you were condemned to sit in a cold, dank dungeon cell, devoid of daylight, as you waited to find out your fate.

Your surrender as a hostage made little sense, but you had little to do other than contemplate your fate. However, just as anticipation and dread were beginning to overwhelm your calm, the sound of approaching footsteps caused your fur to stand on end. Your heart raced as they approached your cell, at least four armored men if you trusted your sensitive ears, and you with your paws chained and bound. Adrenaline flooded your senses as four of the castle's guards stopped and opened your cell. With little choice but to obey, you are led from the dungeon.

The sunlight blinds you as you are led up the cold, stone dungeon steps, your bare footpaws rattling the chains with each step. Soon, however, you found wood beneath your paws. You were unfamiliar with the castle that had been "hosting" you during your captivity, but your first impressions of the proper grounds indicated a wealthy and powerful family. Servants bustled about the halls as you admired your surroundings. From your humble estimation, this castle was as grand as Lord Azenon's own, which would suggest you had landed in the hands of the war's victors.

You had little time to contemplate this before finding yourself in a particularly grand wing of the estate. Soft carpet gently caressed your toes as you stepped between particularly well dressed servants and guards. At the end of the hall stood a bright red door. Each step brought you closer and closer to discovering exactly why you had been surrendered, the reason for the mysterious demand.

Your heart raced. Your palms sweat as they clutched at the chains binding you. You stare nervously at the bright red door as a gryphon soldier, one of your escorts, knocks. After a muffled response, the door is opened and you are escorted in.

"Unbind him and leave us."

The order is firm and obeyed after a couple of nervous glances between your escorts. You rub your wrists as your cuffs are removed, straightening out the fur with a soft sigh. The room is vast and pleasantly fragrant. But, before you have a chance to get your bearings, you find yourself alone in the room with your captor, the reason you had been handed over, and your heart skips a beat.

Before you stands a familiar young wolf with jet black fur and sharp orange eyes. He stares at you with a superior grin, his pearly white teeth creating an imposing contrast to his dark fur.

"Vynn..." you gasp. The eldest son of Lord Helmm, Vynnarian as he was properly known, had a reputation both as a young prodigy in military tactics and as a ferocious expert with a longsword. You had discovered his reputation to be well-earned during the war when your unit had met with his in a direct confrontation. His defeat, needless to say, had been utterly humiliating, and to a common-born commander no-less. The damage to his reputation was irreparable, and suddenly your captivity was beginning to make more sense. You are given little time to thing before Vynn approaches you and delivers a swift slap across your muzzle, hard enough to sting but not a serious blow.

"I will give you *one* chance to make this easy on yourself. Get down on your knees and call me *Master.*" Vynn smirks at you, clearly reveling in the humiliating order he's given you.

Continue your adventure, for free, here: https://operationcatastrophe.itch.io/from-the-dungeon