[Astarion was asleep soundly when the Reveal Glass came into the picture.
It was a dank room one would find themselves in. The room seemed to be hidden behind a gaudy yet ornate wall. Like a portion of that wall was a part of something meant to be grand, like a palace.
The room was anything but.
It was dirty, the walls and stone floor adorned with cobwebs and dried blood. Chains were littered as well. On the ground, the ceilings, and the walls. Meant to hold persons in many positions for various deeds that were clear. Various tables and racks were seen, along with surgical equipment and knives meant to obviously carve flesh. They were rusted, oxidized by years of use with blood. Dusty coffins lined the walls, some made to resemble iron maidens. Dirty and worn cots with thin, disintegrating blankets were scattered on the floor. On one was a certain pale elf, seeming to be wearing nothing under the thin sheet. His ankles were chained and his back was bare and showing a bloodied scar. They looked like writings, a mark adorning his entire back, and it looked fresh.
In this palace, this was a torture chamber. Or a kennel, for disobedient little worthless rats.
But latched into his hand in a death grip was a dagger. Covered in viscera. And a dead rat in his other. Astarion laid there, lost and in thought.
A disembodied voice would ring as Astarion would turn with a glare to see any guests. His eyes glowed red, redder than his natural eyes.
First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.
Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.
Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.
Astarion Ancunin - OTA (tw: slavery, noncon, gore, abuse, probably more)
It was a dank room one would find themselves in. The room seemed to be hidden behind a gaudy yet ornate wall. Like a portion of that wall was a part of something meant to be grand, like a palace.
The room was anything but.
It was dirty, the walls and stone floor adorned with cobwebs and dried blood. Chains were littered as well. On the ground, the ceilings, and the walls. Meant to hold persons in many positions for various deeds that were clear. Various tables and racks were seen, along with surgical equipment and knives meant to obviously carve flesh. They were rusted, oxidized by years of use with blood. Dusty coffins lined the walls, some made to resemble iron maidens. Dirty and worn cots with thin, disintegrating blankets were scattered on the floor. On one was a certain pale elf, seeming to be wearing nothing under the thin sheet. His ankles were chained and his back was bare and showing a bloodied scar. They looked like writings, a mark adorning his entire back, and it looked fresh.
In this palace, this was a torture chamber. Or a kennel, for disobedient little worthless rats.
But latched into his hand in a death grip was a dagger. Covered in viscera. And a dead rat in his other. Astarion laid there, lost and in thought.
A disembodied voice would ring as Astarion would turn with a glare to see any guests. His eyes glowed red, redder than his natural eyes.
First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.
Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.
Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.
Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.]