Hello and welcome,

This is following the tragic story of Astarions complicated life. Many chapters will cover his slavery under Cazador describing torture, manipulation, sex, rape and other possible triggering events that led to his trauma. Please be aware that the rating is M for good reasons, including language, gore and sexual content. This is loosely based off of the game, but if there any specific details or events youd like added into the story, please let me know in the comments.

Chapter 1

Reborn

Astarion woke suddenly and violently all at once.

His eyes shot open wide, his body lurching upwards. Desperately he gasped for air, as if he hadn't taken a breath in days. It stung, like acid in his chest.

It was pitch black. Eyes wide, he tried to look around, but a sharp, deep sting coursed through his neck. He hissed. Dear sweet gods did his neck hurt. It made his head spin like he had the worst hangover of his life, he grunted against the nausea.

Panting, he quickly realized he was laying on his back against something rather cold and uncomfortably hard.

The air was stale and still, but smelled of dirt and moist wood.

Astarion attempted to move his arms, his legs, but they were restricted, obstructed by something that encased him. Pressing his hands against his dark surroundings, he felt around in the void. It was indeed rough like wood, but it was also smoothed out, like a plank. His eyes began to adjust to the darkness.

A moment of stillness, a sense of panic rising within him.

He was in a coffin.

The realization tossed him into a blind frenzy of fear.He banged his fists against the wood.

"Help!" He screamed."Help me!"His voice was weak and raspy, the sudden strain on his vocal chords forced him to choke and cough.

Astarion looked desperately around. He didn't know what for... just something! Anything!

Bending his knees as far as he could, he tried pushing against the coffins lid. He pushed with his elbows, he tried slamming his body into the sides... nothing was working.

"Ughhh!!" he yelled in frustration. Why was he body so sore. How long had he been in here?

He paused, distressed from the exertion. He couldn't fucking move. A new plan was needed.

He gritted his teeth and began punching the wood with his fist. The coffin didn't allow him much room, so it felt like a feable attempt but it was all he had right now.

He punched over and over and over. The wood barely budging.

"Ahhhhhhh!" He yelled angrily into the dark. Clenching his jaw against the stinging pain growing in his knuckles. The grinding of his teeth rattled in his aching head.He was hurting, he was getting exhausted, his neck throbbed, and his body wanted him to give up. But he kept punching, gritted teeth.

A warm liquid begin to run down the back of his hand and to his wrist. His knuckles had split open from the force and were bleeding. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that the blood had a distinct smell to it, a smell he could almoat taste, a tingling sensation on the tip of his tongue...

He punched again, an unpleasant crunch crippled his hand. Astarion cried out in agony, shooting pain rippled through his hand, shooting up his arm. Something had broken.

He jerked back his wounded hand and cradled it with the other, holding it against his chest.

"Ah fuck fuck fuck" he hissed through his teeth.He paused, panting, his eyes darted frantically around, but there was nothing to see but the boards of the coffin.Would he die like this? Was this the end for him?

"Please..." the words slipped past his lips like an anguished whisper. "Please let me get out if here." He closed his eyes, pressing his broken hand close to his chest. Breath hitching, body trembling. In the moment he whimpered into the darkness.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, preparing himself mentally.

Bunching his other hand into a fist he began punching again, trying to break through the coffin lid. His broken hand throbbed and ached, but he tried to ignore the pain.

Squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his jaw, he put everything he had into it, despite the constriction of the coffin.Suddenly, he felt the wood flex slightly with a snap, and a few pieces of dirt fell through onto his chest.A burst of hope engulfed him, and he vigorously hit the spot over again. Each punch, it gave way a little more.

Dirt began to drop onto Astarions face, shaking his head to keep the dirt from falling his his eyes and spitting out the pieces that fell into his mouth. Yet, the more he broke through, the more dirt poured down on him.He quickly understood the new problem.

Even if he got out, he might suffocate in dirt.

Using his good hand, he reached over to his wounded arm, resting on his chest and ripped some fabric off his sleeve. It took a few good yanks, but it did tear. Taking the fabric, he slid it over his mouth and nose. Maybe not the best, but it was better than nothing.

He pressed his elbows against the lid, and with great force, he pushed on the weak spot. It buckled, letting a floodgate of cool, fresh dirt pour into the coffin. It smelled mossy, earthy. And if it wasn't for his current circumstances, he might have even relished in the fragrance.

Astarion wasted no time. With his good hand, he grasped the edge of the opening and yanked down, hoping to break away enough of the lid around his head that he could sit up. It snapped off. He tossed it aside, grabbing the new edge of the lid. Splinters of wood piercing his skin, droplets of blood mixing with dirt. He pushed. Another piece of the lid snapping off with a crack. This time, a chunk large enough Astarion thought he could squeeze through with some effort.The loose dirt poured through the gap and covered Astarions face. He squeezed his eyes shut. The fabric successfully stopped any soil from entering his nose or mouth. It was working at least... for now.

It was now or never.

With his wounded side, he anchored his elbow down and pushed his upper body up. His good hand blindly attempted to create a path where he could move through, but the dirt was so loose it poured like water into the gaps.With his upper body free of the coffin, Astarion quickly shifted his legs under him the best he could and pushed hard. As he extended upward, the cloth slipped from his mouth, and Astarion was forced to hold his breath.

He grunted painfully against the dirt that was determined to keep him buried. Earth pushed down against him with such force he couldn't help but take it a little personally.Desperately, he clawed against the soil, trying to pull himself upwards. His broken hand stung like hell, but he didn't care. Astarion kicked his legs, hoping to be able to push against something. His body was in such a blind panic. He wasn't even really aware of what he was doing.

Astarion lungs burned, and instinctively, he opened his mouth to breath. Choking on the invasion of soil filling his mouth and nostrils. Fuck, he was going to die.Abruptly, he shot his hand upwards through the soft dirt. Arm pierced through the earth, cool air brushing agaisnt the skin of his hand.

He was falling weak from choking, the excertion, but the realization he was so close gave him new found strength.

The elf pulled away at the surface with his hand until there was earth hard enough for him to hold without it crumbling. Gripping it, he tried to pull himself further up while shoving away the dirt with his broken hand.

Pushing with his legs again, he felt the earth shift around him, and his arms became free above him. Reaching out along the ground, he dug his fingers of his good hand into the hard soil, using it as leverage to pull.The moment his head broke through the surface he gasped for air. But instead of breathing, he coughed, choked, gagged.

With weak arms he pulled himself from the grave until he fully emerged. Curling his legs under himself and sat on his knees. His body hunched over, his arms extended out infront of him, supporting himself up.

His body heaved, he gagged.

He felt a lurch in his stomach, rise up like fire through his core and spew from his mouth.What came from his body disgusted him. Over and over he threw up what looked like mud and chunks of blood. It poured from his mouth, out through his notrils. His body shook violently under the pressure. Between each spasm, he took what air he could before throwing up again.When it was finally over, he leaned back onto his knees. Exhausted from the strain.

He closed his eyes against the night and breathed deeply in relief. The ripped shirt stuck to his lean, musular frame like a dirty second skin. His once beautiful curly locks were matted with mud. Gently rolling his head from side to side, he made a failed attempt to release some of the throbbing ache in his neck. Taste of metallic blood and earth mixed in his mouth, he noted that he didnt necessarily dislike the taste and for some reason that thought made him uncomfortable in his own skin.

His broken hand was a mangled mess of blood and torn flesh, and fuck did it hurt... but he didnt care, he was alive.

Astarion had no idea how long he sat there, unmoving, just breathing. It was long enough for the blood from his nostrils and mouth to have dried. Long enough for the chill of the night to settle in his bones. Long enough for his body to cease shaking and feel the tingling presence of someone else there, hidden in the dark.

He opened his eyes and looked across at the figure in the night.

"I see you have awoken, child" the strangers voice dripped like smooth venom from his lips. The man stepped closer until Astarion could see him clearly in the full moon light. His clothing was ornate, something made for royalty. He had an angular face, framed by slicked long dark hair and his eyes glowed a eerie red. A slithering snake in disguise.

Astarion felt a deep uneasiness settle over him, the air thick and tense. He recognized this person. In his weakened state, the elf slowly stood up on unsteady legs and faced the man. It was a natural instinct, to want to appear larger in the presence of a threat.

This was Cazador, the one who offered him eternal life.

Astarions blood ran cold with horrific confusion... slowly, he turned his gaze back to the hole he had just escaped. There, just on the other side of the now open grave was a headstone. Rather new looking.

Astarion swallowed hard.

In the soft glow of the moon he could see his name carved across the top in beautiful elegant fashion. Someone had taken time and care to do it. Under his name, to indicate the beginning of his life was his birthyear. A small dash followed, representing the entirety of his short lived life. After that, the current year was carved deeply into the stone, almost like to insult him, indicating the end. Astarion didn't fully comprehend at the time how much he was going to wish that were true.

A mixture of fear, confusion and a strange hurt swirled inside of Astarions head. Was he... dead? He felt the deep ache in his body, his bones... his neck.Slowly the shadowy pieces the puzzle in his mind were falling to place. Astarion lifted his hand to his aching neck, tenderly with his fingertips, feeling two small wounds that had broken through the soft skin there. The tip of his tongue curled around the top teeth, sliding across until it felt the invasion of the elongated sharp fang protruding from his gums.

What had happened? What had he become?

With deep horror he looked back at Cazador, Astarions eyes glistened like beautiful fresh pools of blood in the moonlight.

Cazador extended his pale hand out to the young, undead elf. His lips stretched over white fangs, curling into an cruel grin "Welcome home, my boy."