closed. @folkheros
the air is heavy with the raw power, the dark magic that makes the dungeon ground feel alive, fiery and destructive. it had been something else to bring cazador to his knees, to force him into a retreat, astarion would not let him off the hook so easily. it was then revealed to him that he would not be able to take his place. not as long as one soul was still missing, astarion did not think of the victims in those cages. they were doomed, just like he had been before. a never ending cycle, and astarion for now had his eyes on the prize. even when a few moments before, outside the dungeon when he had actually come to terms that no one he had brought back actually died. he had in his power the ability to make cazador pay beyond death, for him to squirm and suffer beyond the afterlife knowing it was him, astarion, the one to bear the title and powers of the vampire ascendant.
he did not have the ability to carve out the same sigils on his back, the missing part of the pact. there's a desperate sort of feeling, the need, pure and unadulterated at the idea of never having to fear anything again. it was based on a selfish desire. but to think, to have seen cazador attack his companions, his friend. to have seen him get to wyll. it was beyond terrifying, it was infuriating. his fingers buzz with something he does not quite understand, his head swimming with the promise of power. he turns to wyll. red eyes begging, pleading. for every moment of suffering, of pure misery at the hands of the vampire on the ground. never again. not ever. "wyll-" it's a desperate sort of sound. so unlike him. "-i can do this. i just need your help." long gone is the calculated voice, the one that lies and persuades with ease, in it's place is an honesty so brutal it cuts and hurts. hand grips the flowery dagger, it weighs heavy in his hand. and he hopes. he hopes. he thinks he wants this, more than anything else. and yet.
