A centaur watched as humans cut away at a grey dragons scales and flesh, completely ignoring its pitiful gasps as its body labored to survive. The poor creature was already on death's door and over the past few weeks, all of this witnessed by the poor Rashalka chained in the same room as it. "Stop... You are.... Killing her..." Their voice sounded foreign to even them, most likely the drug-laced food they had fed them. Or perhaps it was the frequent piercing's from their instruments that were taking their toll...
Had they once been strong?
One of the butchers stopped for a moment, looking over at the centaur before remarking in a clinical way. "Seems this one still has a modicum of will left. Did you check the dosage properly?"
What was it like to be free?
Another paused, turning with blood covered hands to look between their college and the Rashalka in the corner of the room. "Yes, exactly as prescribed by the Alchemist." They all spoke the same way, the Rashalka had a hard time discerning between men and women. At this point they had forgotten their own name and everything was being supersceded by a need to obey. Something that they were trying desperately to deny but...
Why?
Their mind snapped back to the single thought that gave them strength, a dream of something real. Something that would come. With strong flanks and power beyond the herds had ever known. A Baatong.
To bring war to the oppressors!
The voices brought their focus back. The blood covered figure was before them with their beak like mask, and black glass covered eyes looking down on them. They wielded something unfamiliar and before the Rashalka had enough time to react their came a sharp pain. The figure didn't stop despite their balling cry of agony. Driving the instrument deeper until the burning pain came again deep within their chest and spreading throughout their flanks. When the figure pulled back the long and thin metallic object they stood over the crumpled, kicking centaur for several moments. Silently observing like they always did as their specific ministrations took affect.
The world began to become fuzzy, thought was fading and despite all of this the Rashalka held onto that one thought. The voice of their oppressor cut through the fog before conciousness faded completely. "Just stay down, the more you resist the more they will seek to break you." The Rashalka's eyes moved to them and for once saw part of a face, a strong jaw and male, human but... not. They were kneeling and their voice had been a whisper. With that though the mask came back into its usual place and they stood. Bythe time they turned all they saw was darkness...
Baatong...