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~°☀°~
Escaping the Szarr Palace
Astarion pulled the hood up as far as he could and braced himself for the few moments of scorching sunlight. The distraction would be almost welcome from the spikes digging into the roof of his mouth, and the bone deep hurt of his body.
Running for the shaded alcove of the rampart, struggling to shove the key into the door, slipping inside once it clicked. He looked around letting his sensitive eyes adjust once again to its muted light.
He was in the gated entrance of the palace. He'd been in here a scant few times before, memories though were not so pleasant.
It had been just a room then. Four stone walls of misery.
No windows of frosted glass catching the dangerous light like a kaleidoscope. Just complete darkness that stretched for eons.
Not sense of time. No escape.
Just hunger, regret and desolation.
Time can erase many things but fear still gripped his heart like it lie imprisoned in Cazador's fist.
Astarion could feel a flame of hysteria flickering at his heels.
He took a breath, reminding himself he was not locked inside. He could see the door.
He took a step down and breathed again.
He held the key.
He wavered, almost hesitating to take another step.
He was granted permission. He could leave.
Pouncing down the steps, his bare feet making an audible slap, taking in the revisions of the chamber a noise of distress caught in his throat.
The place had since been swept sterile, no dust, no cobwebs. No scratches on the door. Not a single echo of forlorn melancholy. Yet still nothing to distract from the tomb like room with its tall cielings and cobblestone floor.
The glass windows and other entrance were a later addition as more devout followers had accumulated with the eager promise of Cazador's 'gift'. This was the bulwark of the mansion after all.
Astarion closed his eyes, listening in on his overwhelming surroundings, pointed ears twitching at the different frequencies of sounds.
A plethora of beating hearts just a few feet away in the busy streets of Baldur's Gate. Deep thunderous claps of feet marching out of sync. The sharp timbre of crashing waves along the shoreline.
The scratching claws of the rats nearby as they scurried behind crates and burlap sacks of moulding produce. The chirping of a cluster of bats above and the soft fluttering of wings as they took in the curious intruder.
There were whispers of broken screaming. He vaguely wondered which of his siblings had taken his place in the kennels. He hoped it was Petras, the smug bastard.
His first task was to find a suitable source of defense, since he'd been deprived of one of his only sources. He numbly poked at the roof of his mouth, cursing as the razor sharp metal drew blood.
Humiliated at being rendered useless as a nocturnal predator.
He set his sights at the shelves of contraband and locked chests, surprised at the resting person at the queue.
This was where the staff confiscated the paraphernalia from the guests. Chains and weapons, drugs and liquor. Masques of different flavours.
Different beasts of pleasure, but always the same measures of pain.
The shelves were decorated like a treasure horde. On display like an exhibit of the opulent perversion inflicted upon them by those deemed worthy by his Master. It made his skin crawl.
He clutched the soft cloak like a lifeline.
Astarion's raiments were barely going to shelter him from the blaze of the sun besides the heavy wool cloth Cazador granted him. Even still it was moth bitten around the edges, threadbare and loose. Underneath, a ruffled blood stained chemise and pair of trousers with several rips in the thighs.
He'd need at least a set of decent armour if he were to survive the journey.
He spun to discern the figure at the desk taking in their odd posture. Slumped to the side with an unnatural bend to their neck. This was someone Astarion couldn't even attempt to recognise through the grisly state of their face. He did not sense a pulse from them either, so dead they must be.
Later he'd understand why there was a staged corpse in the secluded chamber. For now though, he wondered just what kind of game Cazador was playing.
Was this a test?
To see if he'd betray him and drink from a thinking creature?
Astarion wanted to scream and laugh. How cruel his master could be.
Ignoring the vibrant need of thirst, he instead focused on looting a bounty and donning leather garments and boots for extra protection.
Among the possessions was a worn dagger, a measly handful of gold coins, and a half drunken potion of healing.
At least he now had a small means of protection.
He turned to search a dank corner, staring at the rats with disgust. He had no choice if he wanted to survive. He'd have to stab and somehow suck the blood from his prey without his fangs.
How humiliating.
He rushed forward and grabbed with deadly precision bringing the twisting creature up to watch it squirm. Normally he'd already have bit the damn thing and be on his way but something was preventing him from letting the blade fall.
There it was, again, that funny feeling.
Many names to give it, yet none seemed profound enough to capture its nature. Pity, mercy, grace...Weakness it was called.
Guess he didn't learn his lesson yet. Master wouldn't be pleased to hear that.
He sighed, sheathing his dagger.
He let the rat scamper back off into the corner joining its brood and held a hand out to show he meant no harm. He was used to foregoing meals anyways.
The potion slipped deeper into his system, rendering him sick from hunger. From the turbulent nausea he doubled over dry heaving, bile sticking to his throat thickly. He desperately needed sustenance. He just refused to let his Master win.
Stubborn and prideful.
He willed himself to his feet to stagger towards the exit.
Only to find that the key did not turn the lock when he made to leave. Running a hand through messy sticky curls he huffed.
Thankfully he was adept with lockpicking, and had seen a set among the shiny objects along the shelves. Tucked between a bottle of vintage Ithbank and an undisturbed heap of chainmail.
With a few strokes and a click the door unlocked with a chime.
It was with a whine of growing despondence he found himself pacing in front of the door until dusk hit the city.
~°🕸°~
The sun had just gone down and the vivid colors of sunset had vanished leaving a smoky hue to veil in the clouds. Twilight leaving the city a kenopsia in its early slumber. Those lingering at the taverns were its only residents, besides the scum of the gutters and those with a penchant for violence.
Astarion had made his peace long ago that his view of the sky would be mediocre at best. Darkvision blotting out most of nature's colouring leaving everything bland and grey.
Keeping his face hidden he stalked the roofs of several buildings until he came before the docks. He wrinkled his nose at the awful smell in the air. Brine and rotting fish, and something just absolutely foul. Not that he should complain. He'd give anything to get a decent bath right about now.
He leaps with feline grace, landing softly on the ground below him. The blighted smell is potent here like a 'Cloudkill' and it settles obnoxiously in his lungs. It's all he can taste when he licks his lips to calm his anxiety.
A callous shove knocks him to the side, shifting his hood and he notices a figure turning to reprimand him. A drow woman. She's about to say something but then stares at him with a sudden keen interest. She tucks a strand of silver hair behind an ear.
"Hmm, it's a bit rude to not offer an apology to almost knocking someone off their feet." She said scoffing dryly behind a hand, rolling her red eyes.
"Really? Is it considered rude if it were intentional? Perhaps I meant to catch you, darling." The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself. He hadn't the energy to pretend like he cared that he was being accused of shit he didn't do.
"Unless it wasn't. I mean of course you wouldn't fall unless I meant it." He winces. How suave, to have him fumbling his words. He feels flustered all of a sudden like he doesn't know what he's saying and why. Yesterday's eve of failure must've clung to him along with that pesky luck of his. She lifts a discerning eyebrow then smiles.
"Aren't you just adorable. I'll accept that as an apology since you're so...cute. If you'd come inside, we could discuss something far more exciting than this conversation." She points to a set of stairs leading to a deck overlooking the pier.
"Oh, no that's quite alright. I've places to be and..." Astarion really needs to find a way to Waterdeep, and he can't afford anything distracting him like this.
"Oh, I'm afraid I must insist! It's my fault anyways for not paying attention earlier. I'm just in the path of such a marvelous discovery." She says it with such unrestrained enthusiasm that he tries to back away.
She grabs his wrist before he can slink away and he has the intrusive urge to just kill her and run. But then she's inviting him into her home, sitting him on a sofa and running a finger down his cheek.
"What's you're name?" She asked, fingernails too blunt, too soft. Voice eerily calm. It left him uneasy. He was accustomed to sharp things and even sharper words.
"It's Astarion, but..."
"Well, I couldn't help but notice earlier. I didn't think vampires still used such...archaic methods of discipline." She turned his face towards her and Astarion felt paralyzed. She was too close for comfort. Too much. Just who the hell was this woman.
"What in the hells do you mean by that!?" He yanked backwards landing on his elbows.
He looks at her with a glare. How dare she drag him in here with all intents and purposes of exposing him. Of course, how could he be so gods damned blind!
"Oh, don't look so shocked. I just know what signs to look for. Pale skin, blood red eyes, sharp fangs. You see, It's been been my dream since I was a little girl to meet a vampire and...well be bitten."
This utterly foolish woman.
Yet to invite a vampire spawn into their home and flaunt themselves like a sacrificial offering? It was a dereliction against the unspoken code of vampire hunters and the holy. By the gods she would've been such an easy target had he met her yesterday night.
Perhaps he can still send his Master an apology gift.
"I'm sorry...you actually want to be bitten? Just who the hell are you? Is this another test?" He edged to the end of the couch suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. It was like all he could sense was her and what he now recognized as her rank blood. Even his own decay and filth smelled sweeter in comparison.
"Manners, spawn. I am Araj of House Oblodra. Now if you wouldn't mind, I've been dying to fulfill this desire of mine for so long." She pulled her dark spindly armour to the side to reveal her neck. She stared at him with impatience, the veins in her throat pulsing with...
Was that Arousal?!
Gods he couldn't catch a break.
"So sorry, darling. I...can not, I am forbidden, and I really should get going." He'd never been happy about that particular tenet until this moment. He moved to stand but found her weight in his lap, unable to move.
He hadn't noticed he was being straddled by her at all. He closed his senses off with what little self control he had. His nostrils flared at the promise of satiated hunger albeit poison but alas his Master was cruel with his denial. His eyes squeezed tight just waiting for her to stab him for refusing. It would not have been the first time though with a different intention.
"Another lousy apology. What did I expect from a man? Well no matter, you can still make it up to me. I've always wondered what it would be like to be taken by a creature of the night. I wonder if you'll be able to satisfy my cravings." She moaned in his pointed ears as she guided his hands to her breasts and rubbed herself on him with no qualms.
His whole body went paralyzed under her violating touch. How is it that everyone just automatically demands to use his body? That he is a piece of furniture to be sat upon.
He wanted to tear at her throat and rip out her vocal chords.
Astarion couldn't think. What was he doing here? In this house with this...succubus. He didn't understand how the situation got so out of pocket.
He didn't want this.
He just didn't know how to get her off of him.
He wanted to be sick from all the rot in the air. From the persistent touching without so much as asking if he wanted it.
If she even could.
Sometimes he just wanted the simplicity of being able to say 'No'.
Just this once.
"Hold on...what are you...?"
He stared down where Araj had guided his hand into her smallclothes. Her grip was tight on his wrist and it made him think of careless nights hung from the cieling of the kennels as Godey tore flesh from bone, nails from fingers and toes.
There was too much pressure on his throat from the tightening of his leash.
He'd been loose for not even a night and yet he'd been cornered by a rabid dog.
He wondered what the repercussions would be if he were to kill this woman.
"Pleasure me spawn, or I'll tell the council there is vampires among them. How would your Master feel if you were to squander this and cause civil unrest, hmm? I know you're stupid but do try to use your head."
Rage filled him and he twisted until she was underneath him, his hands around her throat. Her answering acceptance threw him off. What a depraved soul, Master would've ripped her apart and she'd have been begging for it.
"You think you're words hold any weight to them? I should kill you now and throw your body into the harbor!" He squeezed until she was choking for air.
Panic set in. She could be an important person of society. With ties to the Council. He couldn't afford to trust her, nor could he kill her without notice.
He was between a rock and a hard place, and couldn't afford to say no.
"Can you feel death's cold grip?!" Astarion brandished his frustration and strangled her until she thrashed with wanton cries.
"Yes! Let me feel the edge of life and death. I want it!" She moaned and grasped around to find Astarion's pants to unlace them.
"Tsk...if you think I'll be fucking you to death, it's delightful I'm able to say that I'm thoroughly off limits." He slapped her hands away and brought one of his own down to thrust his fingers into her heat roughly. Stilling just as soon, when he started to hear gurgling did he look down as her wide frantic eyes rolled into the back of her head.
How frighteningly quick.
Had he brought her as a mark, he'd have been doomed to the same events as yesterday's midnight menagerie.
His mouth set in a tight line.
He was hit with a familiar wave of disgust and let her go, bruising dotting her neck like a tattoo.
He licked the blunted tips of his fangs, letting the metal sting pull him down into his shame. He (pulled) himself off of her and sank to the floor.
Astarion curled himself around his knees, letting his head drop between them. He didn't need to breathe but could feel himself hyperventilating anyways.
It was strange to feel anything but guilt and fear at a time like this. His marks would be a notch on the bedpost and a splatter on the floor at this point. Still.
He couldn't believe it. She was still alive. Even after all of that.
She gasped for breath and stared at the cieling with a strange smile. "Mm, that was...fascinating."
Astarion could only determine how much it would take to chop her into little tiny pieces and spread her along the Chionthar riverbank.
"Well, as fascinating as that was, I'm afraid I don't have the energy nor the time to care. I'd be more than thrilled to spread your innards in another, less pleasant way, if you do try and stop me from leaving." He bared his teeth, forced himself to his feet and went to walk through the door only for Araj to grab ahold of his cloak. He turned his icy gaze at her, claws at the ready.
She must want to die as well.
"Hold on a moment, how could I just let you leave empty handed with that lovely experience I just had?" She pulled her clothes around her with faux innocence, and quickly left the room, returning with a couple small jars of clotted red liquid.
This woman was clearly insane.
"Is that what I think it is? Where...? What in the nine hells!?" Astarion looked bewildered at her as she handed over the bottles. He inspected them with guarded suspicion.
Always one to look a gift with doubt, he could not afford to trust her. Even if he was starving blind.
"Oh, did I not mention? I am the owner and extraordinaire of Crimson Draughts, a laboratory for every sanguine need. Well I will be once I complete the final touches of my experiments. That is blood from a spectator, this one is from a bear. And if I'm not mistaken..." She took one of the bottles and lightly sipped from it before nodding. Astarion could only stare with piqued interest.
"This one is from my late familiar, one of the giant spiders from Menzoberranzan. Such a fine specimen but couldn't withstand the pressure of my more intense tests." She said with no remorse.
Reminded him of someone he knew.
"I see. At what cost? Seeing as it's your line of work I'd imagine you aren't giving it for free. You've already gotten your sick deluded fantasy from me. So what more could you possibly want?"
Araj frowned, shrugging her shoulders with disappointment or was it shame? "Think nothing of it, it's a small token compared to what you've given me already. Although if you're offering I'd like a small sample of your blood to replace them. It must be exquisite compared to that of these beasts."
There it was. What a manipulative psychopath.
Why couldn't things be easy? It's as if she were some sort of mirrored caricature of his Master. Always taking what they want with little to no reward for it.
Though Cazador's tendency to quell any whim with a snap of his fingers and the tapping of his staff Woe, was more likely to end in less savoury ways than this.
Was it worth it in the grand scheme of things?
Perhaps it would be, at the expense of his own comfort. Though it's not like he knew much of it these days. Considering more often than not, his days started with clandestine trysts and ended in several forms of torture. Recently Godey's favorite was the iron maiden or the rack.
If only he could swindle something more out of this to relieve a touch of the misery.
"I might be persuaded to let you have some, if you'd allow me a quick wash. I'm sure you'd rather it not be tainted with dirt or sweat."
Among other things best not be repeated aloud.
"A bath? Hmm, how very gauche of you, my charming friend. Still a deal is a deal and I wouldn't lie that the prospect certainly makes me quiver. Soap and towels are there on the shelf. You'll find I'll just be downstairs. Come find me before you leave and I'll make it worth your while." She said walking away with a skip, presumably to go amuse herself with her tinctures.
~°🕸°~
Astarion stared at the spot he'd just been violated in. He was so confused. He hugged himself trying to keep himself from feeling these dreadful emotions.
Perhaps he should've just killed her and then raided the damn place. Too late now he suspected, he would be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit intrigued at what she had in store for him after her gift of blood.
Though that didn't change how the exchange made him feel.
Dirty and used. Like a slave.
Like he was still chained to the palace, only mere minutes from his Master's firm hand.
He would never amount to anything more than a tool for everyone else's base desires.
Cazador was right. He always was. Astarion hated it.
He was hoping to spite him.
He opened one of the jars carefully and stuck his tongue in to see if it were poisoned or worse. When nothing happened he determined it safe for consumption, quaffing the whole thing, immediately feeling bloated. It looked like it was more than he'd eaten in a whole year.
The texture was similiar to a goblet of come, one of the many many things he'd been forced to do on occasion. The taste though was bitter and not dissimilar to the rot riddled rats Cazador gave them for 'dinner'. The contrasting images overlapped and he found himself gagging in protest at the pungent taste. But he wasn't sure when he'd be able to eat again, so he ignored the heavy weight like lead in his stomach and tucked the other bottles into his bag.
He'd save the other two for the travel to Waterdeep. Just in case.
Turning to the wooden tub he saw there was already murky water filled to the brim. A film of bubbles drifted about and he found the water tepid. Feeling grateful for the small comfort even at the expense of his dignity.
It wasn't unusual for him to share baths with his siblings' after a night of hedonistic revelry.
However back at the palace he'd be afforded the punishment of waterboarding with holy water if he were caught acting as unhinged as earlier.
Cazador's preferred method of discipline was the cradle. He'd been losing count of the times he'd been suspended in the kennels more than he'd like to admit.
He swallowed the thought down as he undressed, a twinge of pain as wrinkled and threadbare cloth stuck to his ruined body.
Now without anything to hinder him from enjoying this moment, except the cage he'd neglected to remove from himself and his self-deprecating thoughts, he slipped into the cool water. Taking a few sips to rinse the rancid taste from his mouth.
He picked at the flakes of the dried numerous body fluids on his body. Scratching and scrubbing hard until his skin felt raw. Being delicate he washed whatever damage had been done between his legs.
He did not linger on how the jagged flesh of his rim and taint were marred, vividly remembering the tearing and vicious bleeding. While it should've mended completely by this point, still felt destroyed, scarred much like the rest of himself.
The puncture wounds on his neck still felt swollen and painful as well. Seems his body reacted like this because they were not the typical wounds of late, but from his sire. Cazador kindly offered him a reminder of his ownership.
How generous of him. The cruel bastard.
The soap offered a calming scent of patchouli and musk. Given the circumstances he appreciated it nonetheless, despite how the situation came into being. While it was not his usual notes of flavour it would have to do. Though he'd have to linger upstairs to rummage around to see if he can find some perfume to mask his smell of undeath once he was done.
Deeming himself purged of any remnants of blood and seed and whatever else they did to him. He redressed and descended the stairs regretfully against his better knowledge.
At least of a better mind knowing he could distinguish himself from the death cloud enveloping this strange drow woman and her misbegotten superstitions and selfish ideas.
~°🕸°~
Araj was grinding something herbal and sickly sweet in a gilded cup and smiling like a maniac, like she didn't just assault him a few moments prior. Or perhaps her deranged nonsensical brain was giving her a delightful review of earlier.
It set his teeth on edge. Pausing him in his steps.
She was a monster in the making.
He watched her from the stairs like a ghost. Motionless, waiting for her to notice him.
He was about to turn around to leave, yet the wood under his well-worn boots creaked, betraying him.
"Was the blood to you're liking? It was all I had on hand." She motioned him down and he stood in front of her looking at his nails anxiously.
Making sure they did not collect fragments of his Master's desk. Or the caked blood and semen from his inner thighs.
A whisper in his throat.
'I'm not fine.' It says like a wraith.
"It was fine." He lied, clearing his throat as a reminder, the sour odious taste still lingering.
"Hmm, well now that you're here we can begin." She held up a couple vials and a scalpel motioning for him to hold out his hands. She pricked a finger and filled one of them, only letting a few droplets fall into the other glass.
She corked the bottles, swirling them around and placing them to the side.
Turning his hands around tracing the veins in each of his palms down to the fingertips. "How much blood do you need exactly?" Astarion questioned, he was having a hard time fighting the urge to just stab and run.
'Stop it...don't touch me!'
"Nothing more, I was just fascinated by how beautiful these hands were. Knowing that they were the first to touch me so...intimately." He ripped his hands away from her, a hiss escaping his lips.
Gods he hated this woman. If she touched him one more fucking time he promised to introduce her to his blade.
"Thanks to you my curiosity has finally been sated. Some of it at least. My thanks." She handed him one of the vials.
"What exactly am I expected to do with this...?" He stared down at the unreadable script of the label. He lifted an eyebrow, unconvinced of his form of payment.
"My brilliant work, it is an elixir that enhances the one who drinks it. It's components are fairly simple but I won't bore you with the finer details. For you I'd imagine heightened senses, improved agility, perhaps even greater speed? I couldn't say for sure since everyone's blood is different." She nodded at the potion.
"Really? And what exactly are you planning on doing with the rest? Drink it? You do know that's not how vampires work right? No matter what books you think you've read. Though I won't stop you if you do try to kill yourself. In fact if you insist on it, I rather think I'd like to help."
Astarion went to where the dagger on his hip was sheathed dragging a finger up the hilt.
She shook her head with the intention of denying the idea but her smile was mischievous, like she had a secret to keep. He did not like what muse she had kept in her head yet...
Yet he knew someone who would be pleased to see exactly what her brain looked like. Smothered under his bespoke boot like a lurking spider.
"You should come to the palace tonight." He'd use the riddle meant for their marks so she wouldn't alert the fist patrols of the tower.
So she wouldn't alert the Council.
So she wouldn't turn tail at the sight of death waiting for her.
"Yes, perhaps I'll take you up on that offer." She sighed wistfully, lovesick with her grandiose fantasies.
'Seek the horizon where the dead doth lie.
Above the hells is our disguise.
Leap of faith, you decide.
Among our tenets you must abide.
Knock upon our iron door only once.
Dusk shall show you through the stone.
Thus you shall be forever home.'
This woman was way out of her depth. Had not a single shred of self preservation.
"Tell the staff at the door that Astarion sends his Master his regards in the form of a gift, he'd be thrilled to meet you."
He could feel the barest twinge of guilt for sending her off to her own demise, but ignored it.
She was the one with a death wish, he was only delivering a promise to her paradise.