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dnd_drow

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Sebastian’s face lowered, almost in an unconscious attempt to cover his face of the light provided by the moon, to conceal himself, perhaps even from his own perception. Then he felt something touch him, a sensation where now Astarion’s hand held his from above. He didn’t fight back. He did want this after all, and so did the alcohol pumping through his wretched heart. Astarion felt a thumb brush against his own. They both knew what it meant.

They kissed. As their lips met, it was as though the world around them became one, encircling and holding them in a pocket of existence where the two were completely alone, yet completely seen. The grass underneath their touch they grasped at in search for something to hold onto in the absence of hair between their fingers. In the kiss, Sebastian sought solace, oneness, and company. The lips against his felt distant in contrast to the warmth Astarion’s words trickled beneath his skin, and he responded gingerly. They held it for a while, basked in the moonlight listening to the small sounds they made, and the breeze caressing the leaves around them. Sebastian then broke the kiss, suddenly panting having forgotten to draw in any breath. In that spare moment, Astarion’s nails dig into the back of his hand, interlocking fingers with him in a practiced movement. He didn’t care that it hurt – the sting grounded him. He was real. This was real. Sebastian gripped onto the hand holding his firmly, with passion. As if he held onto him, as if he never wanted to let go. He was the one to make the next move to ask for more. But he felt dizzy again, control slipping off his consciousness, losing himself to a man he barely knew. His heart raced, not just out of desire, but out of fear. To all of his fault, he wanted this.

Sebastian wanted to break it off, desperately. But something stopped his impulse, something that sent shivers across his back. He felt Astarion's hand on his neck, and yet again he lost his breath. A knot in his throat, he became petrified, feeling every detail of sensation on his body, heightened. Astarion's lips traced down to the other side. Sebastian felt his breath on his fragile skin. He clenched his jaw, his teeth ached at the force. Astarion kissed the neck at his mercy, holding his grunts in as his hands tremored in his impossible composure of desparate attempt to hold himself back from scraping his fangs on his prey. He could never be his.

Suddenly, Sebastian felt the coolness brought by the breeze on his burning shell. Astarion pulled himself back, and with him disappeared his touch. Sebastian’s hand moved to his neck where he still felt Sebastian's hand moved to the marks left behind by Astarion's lips. Then in a quick succession, he wiped his lips off with his knuckles, head tilted down. He looked at Astarion, who stared away at the empty sky, with a soft expression, as if nothing had happened. He had already stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, sitting peacefully with his palms on the ground. Sebastian looked at the inspiration that blessed him. The lines on his face, the silhouette of his nose, and the protrusion of his masterfully crafted jawline. He watched as Astarion's chest rose and fell. He licked his lips, crossing his arms to rub above the elbows, then he placed his palms on the ground to mirror Astarion.

Astarion smiled. "You don’t have to be anything else, you know. You’re the perfect artwork as is. Not a star in the sky nor the beam of the moon could outshine your alluring presence...

Sebastian was befuddled, he swallowed at his dry mouth like he swallowed Astarion’s words. He shut his eyes, attempting to orient himself, fighting an approaching dissociation. He felt more than seen, but

Astarion wasn’t even looking at him when he dared to open his eyes again. But he did as thoughts rushed to his mind. Was he to apologise? Was he to thank him? Sebastian lost his reason to figure out what line was to come next. Just as his pen stopped, so did his tongue. His fingers moved up to hold his forehead, pushing his hair to the side before it fell back over his hand. He would’ve been embarrassed by what followed, could he think straight.

"I need to... lie down... I think."

Astarion scoffed, then laughed at his words in bewilderment. Certainly this wasn’t what he expected to hear of what Sebastian's first words to be. Before he could think of a comeback, he noticed Sebastian’s hand rotate, followed by an initiative to lie down. He quickly held his hand out with a finger up towards the intoxicated man, avoiding touch.

won't be carrying you home in my arms like a princess, I'm afraid. Unless... you wish to be left alone...?" Although there was genuinity, was there also a sarcastic and insinuating tone in his words.

Sebastian stopped, almost completely frozen. His mind rushed, yet could only focus on one thought among all else that crowded the void. He seemed lost in thought, his eyes empty staring down into the abyss. Yet he spoke.

"You kissed me."

Astarion jeered in curiosity and amusement. "You- Did you expect something else? Something...

?" He leaned in towards Sebastian in his innuendo.

Sebastian shook his head, glancing elsewhere. His walls felt shattered, exposing his vulnerability, destroyed. And yet... "It... wasn’t expected."

"You’re kidding." Astarion watched Sebastian with a sly grin that faded. He was... serious. Perhaps Astarion underestimated his naivety. He frowned slightly in... a feeling he couldn’t quite discern. Disgust? Disparagement? Contempt? Pity? He couldn't distinguish between the emotions that flooded. He reminded himself that he doesn't care, that he

care. His conquest was now in the net. At his disposal. There was only one thing left for him to do. Just one more push against his will, and he would be rewarded.

"I don’t know why I’m here. I... I should thank you, probably, but..." His throat tightened again as the words rolled off his tongue. The sound scattered within the breeze and the night, and he listened as Astarion rose to his feet, then watched as a hand presented itself.

"Come, dear. As

as this moment is, and you the most

company, we must get you somewhere you can... rest."

Sebastian looked up at Astarion’s welcoming presence, his gaze examining him tenderly. He reached forward to hold his hand, and he was helped up as he stumbled.

.", said Astarion, his voice cracked at the end, uncertainty and guilt seeped through for a split second. "Let’s get you a place warm,

Sebastian brought his shaky hands together and breathed into his palms to warm them up, rubbing them against each other. "

", said the last word, marked on his skin. He didn’t question it. Nor did he want to. No, he wanted to live.

"Yeah.", he whispered, feeling the air brushing on his lips. The wettened ink, now smeared by his own hand, was never to be read again.

With a soft sigh, I drag my feet over the cold marble floors of the manor. The dark walls are filled with large, over-the-top paintings of Master Vladimir, vampire lord, my adoptive father, and magic mentor. The man who had taken me in long ago when my parents passed. Passed? Well, I ate them, but that is a different story.

I was once born as the child of my parents, created by solid blood magic, filled with the blood of my drow parents, yet never considered a living being. I was a thing, a dhampir, a failure. Skip them dying and being taken in by Vladimir, and here we are.

The halls echo my footsteps as I wander around. Only the mindless servants are roaming the halls, no further staff, and most of all, no Master. Great. Usually, he'd drown me in chores or impossible challenges he considers education, but not now. Nothing to do, nobody to hold me back. I convinced him to leave me at home with a sweet smile and a flutter of my lashes.

Was being alone really that great? Not really. I hate it when I can hear myself think. Takes me about two or three minutes to be bored. That's usually the time that I go look for the mindless servants. One of them is my favorite, a wood elf with great white hair, a stunning emerald and crimson eye, and always mindlessly looking at my black flower-filled garden and blood crystal flowers. Always carrying one or two, I left for him to find. Cute. Adorable even.

Where was Eirhart? I could spend an hour or two stalking... I mean, checking on him. What is an hour or two in an endless life? Ah, well, Vladimir's been neglecting me, and I have complete control. I'm powerful enough on my own! Why shouldn't I be free to do as I please?

With a loud chuckle, I can feel myself almost skipping toward the library. My favorite place in the manor. Seas of books, the smell of old paper and parchment, and stacks of my research notes. Even here, the tables were littered with crystal flowers. For a moment, I take in the great tomes I have reread over the last centuries.

But for today... I don't need knowledge.

I want something else...

With a languid groan, I cascade back into the grand armchair nestled in the cozy nook of the library, right beside the fireplace—my latest conquest. Begged for it? Oh, please. I orchestrated a spectacle, a melodrama dripping with faux tears and heart-wrenching sobs of neglect. A barrage of accusations flew, painting a picture of an ignored, unappreciated creature of the night. His face was a canvas of shock and guilt.

He may be a mighty vampire lord, a maestro of dark magic, but oh, how easily I played him like a fiddle. A flutter of helplessness, a dash of orchestrated incompetence, and a sprinkle of well-timed tears. Every failed task, a symphony of disappointment pulled at his undead heartstrings, urging him to coddle me and give in to my whims.

Oh, the taste of deceit—it's wickedly delicious.

But tonight, the stage is empty. He's nowhere to be seen...

The corner of my eye catches the shimmer of crystal flowers, their crimson glow mocking me. The tang of iron teases the air, awakening a primal thirst that courses through me.

The burn descends upon my throat, a fiery oppression that echoes the parched cries of a desert wanderer. The scent of sustenance is a sweet torture. Every swallow is a cruel reminder, a dance of sandpaper on a raw, unforgiving surface.

The manor is but a tomb tonight, with mindless servants shambling through the halls—nothing but husks reanimated by crude necromancy. Their veins are barren, void of the sweet nectar I so crave. My reserves are a mocking emptiness, a cruel joke in the face of my desperation.

With a resonant groan, I rise from my armchair, shedding the lethargy that clings to my bones. This was destined to be my day—a day unfettered by the whims of others, bound only to my dark desires. And yet, fate has a twisted sense of humor.

With a flurry of impatient gestures, I smooth out the inconsequential creases on my dress and tighten the laces of my boots that encase my legs like a second skin. My ring, crystal pendant, and cloak are not mere accessories but extensions of my being. A touch of crimson eyeshadow, a stroke of lipstick, and I am the epitome of deadly allure.

The town awaits, and so do the unsuspecting souls that wander its cobbled paths. Perhaps I'll visit one of my regulars... but first, a final flourish to my macabre ensemble.

With a flourish of my wrist, I beckon the mana, feeling the life energy surge through my veins. It courses through me, a black torrent replacing the crimson that once flowed so freely. The viscosity of my magic is a reminder of its raw, undiluted power, a power that fills me with a confidence that's as dark as the magic that now thrums beneath my skin. The scent of iron, copper, and blood is intoxicating—the sweet perfume of the predator I've become.

The room quivers as I summon my hexblade; the dark liquid essence drips down, slowly sculpting itself into a blade of crystalline black and crimson adorned with dahlias, poppies, and daisies. A masterpiece of death, poised and ready.

With a flick of my wrist, a portal yawns before me, a doorway courtesy of Vladimir's little trinkets. He had no choice but to gift them to me; after all, who could resist my entreaties?

As the portal swallows me whole, a shiver of wrongness curls down my spine. I step into a realm unrecognizable. This is not the quaint town I have come to know but an amalgam of strange and familiar. Odd constructs tower towards the bizarrely colored skies, mechanical beasts roam the streets, a blend of magic and machine.

Where the hell have I landed?

The world around me is a marriage of the arcane and the mechanical, a land where artificers" dreams breathe life. As I stand amidst the towering structures, the reality of my situation dawns. The portal has cast me adrift in a realm that blurs the line between the world I know and the unknown.

With a grim smile, I acknowledge the twisted humor of fate. The predator is now the intruder, yet the hunt is far from over.

As I venture into the enigmatic arteries of this new world, a canvas of peculiarities unfolds before me. The air here holds a kiss of metal, and the streets, a parade of bizarre species. Some beings here possess flesh and hair of such stark whiteness they seem ethereal! There's a fleeting curiosity, but the hunger pangs swiftly pull me back to the task.

The prospects of a hunt—oh, how thrilling! When will the next chance to quench my thirst arise? I could perhaps barter with these strange folk, but I shan't be asking with a sugar-coated tongue. Vladimir's tutelage in cunning might have sharpened my wiles, but nothing could prepare them for the storm that is me.

Hunger. Hunger. Hunger—it claws within me, a ravenous echo that drowns all else. The desperate urge to feast, to quench the fire that races through my veins, is paramount. Yet there's a spark, a secondary thread of longing amidst the red haze of need. A curiosity that whispers of something...something elusive.

But the towering structures, the mechanical marvels that hum with an alien rhythm, are mere distractions on the horizon of my single-minded pursuit. The hunt, the sweet promise of sustenance that beckons me, that's the beacon amidst this alien wilderness. The desire for satisfaction, to fill the void that gnaws at the edges of my consciousness, drives me forth.

The hunger courses through a relentless tide, with the scent of blood painting the air with cruel temptation. I can almost taste it—the sweet and salty essence, the surge of vitality with each drop... it's maddening.

I crave it. Crave it with a fervor that blots out all else. Everything breathes potential, every being, a vessel waiting to be tapped. There's nothing beyond that, no room for bonds of frivolous nature. No friends. No lovers. Just a world of prey awaiting the predator.

Even amidst towering edifices and odd entities blending with humans of varying visages, my resolve remains unshaken. The gnawing hunger, the merciless thirst that renders my throat a barren land, intensifies with each beat of my cold heart. A momentary falter, my knee buckles, but a heartbeat later, I'm back on the prowl. The world is vast, but my thirst is still vaster. And nothing, not even the whimsical allure of an alien planet, can deter the hunt that rages within.

I draw a long breath through my nose. The air is thick with a sweet allure, a blend of caramel and peonies. Blood. The rhythmic pulse of a living being, warm blood rushing through veins, a crimson river sweet as honey.

A laugh escapes me, an ominous, haunting chuckle reverberating through the quiet streets. It startles me briefly before the scent enthralls me again, dragging me towards it. The source. This tantalizing prey teased my senses.

As I weave through the crowd, the scent intensifies, a beacon in the dreary sea of mundane souls. And then, there he is. He was a lone figure amidst the throng, his shaggy light brown hair dancing in the wind, often veiling his bright blue eyes—naive yet shimmering with a streak of raw intelligence. His features blend softness and finesse, exuding a gentle dignity. His skin, a light tan canvas, is flecked with playful freckles across his cheeks and nose. His attire is simple yet carries an air of refined ease—comfortable, modest, yet so out of place amidst the nobles" grandiose tapestry and the commoners" humdrum garb.

His clothing—a parade of strange prints and fabrics—is unlike anything I've seen, a stark contrast to the finery and drab I am accustomed to. Carelessly tied in a messy bun, his hair is an aberration from the norm. No jewelry adorns him, nothing ostentatious, yet there's an air of neatness about him.

"What in the world..."

The words slip from my lips as I study him from the shadows. His mind seems adrift as he meanders through the streets, a seeker amidst the lost.

Within a few strides, I shadow him, synchronizing each breath, each step. A breath in and out. I find myself licking my teeth, my fangs ready. He smells divine.

Typically, I'd savor the hunt, toy with my prey, but the hunger, the allure of blood, that sweet, intoxicating elixir, it's irresistible. I need it.

With a swift, practiced motion, I seize his wrist, pulling his frame close and pressing against him. My other hand veils his eyes, my voice naturally curling into a sultry whisper.

"I'll make this quick, my sweet prey. No need to suffer."

I linger, ensuring he feels me, feels the cold caress of my flesh against his. His soft, cool skin quivers under my touch. A soft chuckle dances in his ear as I tenderly kiss his neck and nibble on his ear.

"Fear not, love. It'll be over in a moment. At least... if you're a good boy."

My voice was a blend of sultry allure and feral thirst. I can't help it. I'm ravenous.

A last tender kiss on his cheek. I close my eyes and a soft hiss of breath escapes.

Hunger. Desire. Need.

His neck. Oh, his warm, inviting neck. So vulnerable, so tender.

A crisp snap, my fangs sink into the soft flesh, a sudden rush of warmth and wetness as his rich, crimson essence floods my senses.

A low moan escapes, and my body quivers with the rush of power, of sustenance pouring into my veins, finally, after an eternity of waiting.

His frame trembles, his breath quickens, and he grows limp in my embrace.

After a few mouthfuls, I release him. He's still breathing, albeit weakly.

Then, the anomaly.

Reality quivers, and the edges of this odd realm blur and disintegrate.

The world shudders and collapses.

"What... in the hells?"

In a heartbeat, reality crumbled. No time to blink, no time to think. All that remained was a void and, in my grasp, the frail man.

Bizarre... perplexing...

The fabric of this world had gone awry; every logic thread unraveled with a sudden collapse, unfolding into a bizarre theater of the absurd.

And at the epicenter of this enigma was this man.

Ah, his scent, his taste—they were divine, yet he appeared so... mundane?

Why was this mere mortal the nucleus of it all? What was the magic in his mundane? And how had the cosmos crumbled, marooning us in this peculiar abyss?

A sigh escapes me as I recline... an odd gesture in a void. Gently, I cradle the man's head on my lap, examining his visage as his breaths dance softly against my skin. His complexion holds a hint of tan, the texture firm yet tender. He seems to be languishing in the late bloom of youth, or so I surmise. I had never beheld a human quite like this— a paradox of vitality and frailty.

He was a neat tableau, shaven, smooth with freshly adorned clothes. The fabric whispered a sweet, floral scent as it caressed his form, soft as the first light. Yet, unlike anything I had ever draped across my form, the design was alien.

In this void, this man's mystery is a riddle wrapped in an enigma, shrouded in the dark velvet of the unknown.

As I fixate on this man, I'm ensnared by his soft, beckoning features. Like a moth to a flame, my hands are drawn towards him, yearning for the silkiness of his skin.

I trace my finger along his face, savoring the smooth canvas interrupted by the coarse stubble of his beard. I brush his hair away, reveling in its silky fall across his brow.

His scent... oh, it's heavenly. Resistance crumbles.

I lean in, my breath a whisper against his ear...

"What a captivating creature you are... So soft, so tender. Yet, beneath the facade, there's a primal essence. I bet you could be quite... ferocious if pushed to the edge. Oh, how enticing that is. I can taste the wild in your blood."

I trace my fingers along his arm, feeling the veiled tension in his muscles, a whisper of a thrill beneath my touch. His form lies in repose, a quiet promise of strength and vigor. There's an allure in the dormant might that he embodies, a tease of what might burst forth...

I draw near, the essence of my words a mere whisper against his ear... "Oh, the allure of witnessing your form in motion... to behold the unfurled dance of those sturdy limbs. The dormant power in those muscles... the kinetic promise, the latent fervor of your form... it's enthralling."

My fingers delicately trace his silhouette, a soft hum escaping my lips. When would he awaken? What was he like? Would he greet the dawn with joy, fear, or perhaps a touch of arousal?

His bright blue eyes flutter open gently, a soft groan parting his lips. His eyelashes quiver as he blinks away the shadows of slumber. For a moment, his gaze is adrift before it anchors on my visage. His face furrows as he takes me in.