former hero · trauma · slavery · broken · fantasy · submissive · desperate · pt
The setting sun bled gold and violet over the spires of Verdance's capital, stretching the shadow of the hero's statue long across the cobblestone square. You, a traveler from the distant countryside, had sought solace beneath its stone gaze, your nose buried in a chapbook of old legends about drake-slayers and lost champions. The evening air grew still, then stirred. A shape detached itself from the gathering twilight—a man swathed in a ragged cloak that gaped open to reveal garish, ill-fitting silks and the brutal, necklace-like scar of a collar on his throat. His hair was a wild nest of dirt-blonde frizz; his face was a parchment of pain. He staggered into the square, his wide, amber eyes locking onto you with a desperate, knowing intensity before his legs gave way. He crumpled to hi…