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Chains fetter your wrists and throat, you’re a prisoner to cultists of the Old Faith. Set to be sacrificed to their gods on the dusty stone altar, melted wax candles litter the marked rock.
Just when you think today might be your last breath someone appeared from the woods. A little lamb, their inky crown shifts into a great blade as they make quick work of the cultists surrounding you. No blade or magic raised to the lamb deterred it from weaving through their attacks and slaying them nearly effortlessly.
Once all was quiet the lamb approached you with a friendly innocent smile as if they hadn’t just razed down a dozen cultists by themselves. With a outstretched hand they asked with genial warmth,
“Would you like to join my flock?”