Devotion (Thorin/OC)

Chapter 1: Blood

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I awoke to the usual sound of screaming as the orcs tortured their latest victim. I peeled open my eyes, just to be greeted by the sight of my dark, dirty cell. The only light came from a tiny cut out in the rusty steel door, only just big enough to fit a small bowl of food through. If you can call the rotting substance they fed us food. But in this hell hold, you ate when you could, as much as you could.

I lay on a few pieces of shredded cloth that didn't offer my body any warmth or comfort, but it was more then some of the others got. After being here for a few years, I'd learnt not to complain or speak on the matter of comfort. To speak unless spoken to was a crime punished with 40 lashes of the whip. Trust me, I knew, I had many scars on my back as proof. I had once had my arm broken as punishment for punching an Orc to death; my arm hadn't been right since. Punishments here were severe, and I had seen a lot of it.

I winced as the screaming cut off suddenly. Another dead. These orcs were relentless in their demand for blood. Each day they would pick a 'lucky' prisoner and torture them the whole day. They saw it as a game, as sport, but so did we. A sick, twisted game. Outlast the pain, get fed. Possibly.

It was simple really. I had outlasted Galzac, the 'master' of the prison, many times, and had the scars to show for it.

It was safe to say that every shifter here loathed Galzac. Galzac was a huge brute of an Orc, with a distorted face which always held a sick grin. Especially when he was torturing one of us.

I looked down at my hands, taking in how pale and frail they looked. They shook, even though I tried my hardest to still the unwanted movement. I was covered head to toe in dirt and dried blood, not to mention the silvery scars plastering my whole body. I had lost count of how long it been since I bathed, since I'd seen the sun, since I'd felt the wind in my fur as I ran in my other form.

Granted I spent most of my time shifted, but I felt like a caged animal. Which, technically...I was. A thick, rusty iron collar hung heavily around my neck, and shackles painfully clung to my boney wrists, chaining me to the back wall of my cage. You see, I'd killed quite a few orcs here, earning myself a reputation. A reputation that earned me extra beatings, more time in the pit and...the blood room. The very thought of it made me shudder.

The blood room was what we skin changers called the torture room. The scent of past shifters was enough to drive you insane, along with all the blood staining the walls, floors and 'equipment'.

We all dreaded when it would be our turn again.

Now the pit was what the orcs loved. They took sick pleasure in putting two of us together, to fight to the death. At first I had refused, but eventually I'd realised I would do anything to live. It's a terrible thing to say, but as I would rip open the flesh of my opponent, all I could think about was the prospect of living another day.

If you could call this living.

My eyes glowed in the dim light. My animalistic features were due to too much time shifted, and that had saved my life countless times. Being here had seemed to merge both sides of myself together, animal and human. A deadly concoction, that could lead to many possible endings...most with death.

Yet I refused to feel sorry for myself. In this hell-hole, it was every man for them-self. Become weak and you die, it was as simple as that. I had lost count of how many of my kin I'd killed in the pit, but even one was a number far too high. The chains clanked and swung as I moved my body slightly, making me flinch from the harsh contact of the cold metal against my bruised skin. My whole body was covered in bruises and cuts, my bones protruding every where. All due to the intensive activities and 'diet' we all suffered here.