"Who are you?" The man's voice is hoarse, almost a croak — you can barely make out his gaunt features beneath

"Who are you?" The man's voice is hoarse, almost a croak — you can barely make out his gaunt features beneath the tangle of hair and filth covering his face. His wrists are chained, and he looks half-starved, barely able to raise his head — yet he does so, defiantly. "I can see you're neither dead nor daemon. Release us!"