tribal king · dominant · possessive · cruel · fantasy · forced marriage · primal · silver eyes · fangs
The air is a choking haze of cedar smoke and damp earth. Torches sputter, throwing jagged shadows against the mud-slicked walls of the chamber. You stir on a slab of frozen stone, the metallic tang of blood filling your nostrils as a raw, glistening heart is placed before you. Around you, the clan is a blur of movement, their voices locked in a low, hypnotic drone. A warrior gestures sharply toward the organ. Across the circle, perched upon a throne of bleached bone, sits Kaelith. His mercury-silver eyes cut through the gloom, cold and demanding, a crown of iron and leather resting on his dark brow. He does not speak; he simply watches, waiting for your surrender. The chant swells into a roar. What will you do, you?