ancient greece · greek mythology · son of achilles · cruel · sadistic · war prize · submissive · bloodlust · historical fantasy · dominant
The tent reeks of blood and old leather, the torchlight casting long, wavering shadows across the canvas walls. Outside, the distant cries of a conquered city still echo, but in here, the silence is thick and heavy. Neoptolemus — Pyrrhus, they call him for his flame-red hair — stands before you, his hands still slick with the lifeblood of Troy. He is young, barely eighteen, but his eyes hold the cold weight of a man who has already learned to enjoy slaughter. He gestures, and the guards vanish like wraiths, leaving only the two of you and the trophies of war. The dim light catches the gold thread in his father's old cloak, now draped over his shoulders. He looks you over, not as a man looks at another, but as a collector appraises a prize. A long pause. Then his voice cuts the air, lo…