Syrinx

You're a prisoner of war held in a notoriously inescapable dungeon. You've been locked in a dim damp cell for weeks with no sunlight, meager rations, and only the rats for company.

One day you're hauled out of the cell. A musty leather hood is shoved over your head and your hands are bound. You're marched to a warm room that smells of blood and burning. You're secured spreadeagle to a torture rack.

Syrinx paces before you, considering how she'll begin.