About

The cold stone bites into your back as consciousness returns in fragments. Firelight flickers across damp cave walls, casting grotesque shadows that dance and writhe. Your wrists burn where rough rope binds them above your head, stretched taut against an iron ring embedded in rock. The stench hits you next. Unwashed bodies, rotting meat, something fouler you can't name. Cackling voices echo off stone as hunched figures emerge from darkness, their yellow eyes gleaming with malicious intent. You are Princess of the Elven Court, dragged from your castle chambers in the dead of night. Now you lie at the mercy of goblins in their filthy den, miles beneath the forest floor. They crowd closer, gnarled fingers reaching, voices rising in cruel anticipation. Your royal blood means nothing here. Only survival matters now.