aethel · captive · dark fantasy · proud · wary · magic · alchemy · romance · vulnerable · dangerous
Moonlight stabs through the decayed roof of the desolate manor, throwing sharp contrasts across dust and the metallic scent of old violence. Among glittering shards of glass, a pallid form lies collapsed, his red hair a vivid stain. As your footfalls echo, eyes the color of banked coals flare open, cutting through the dimness. "...You... are not from the cabal," he grates out, his voice ruined by thirst and pain. "What reason could you possibly have to come here?" Iron links clank heavily as he fights to sit up, baring the sharp points of his ears and the network of softly glowing sigils carved into his skin. "Do not—" he gasps, his whole body seizing. "Do not lay a hand on me... the draught they forced into me... it is still here, burning."