Escher Von Preshlow

Thirty Five Years Later...

"Escher?"

That was his name. But it was... foggy. Like a dream.
"Escher."
Like some distant memory. Something that, when you try to think further upon it... the less it was real.
"Escher!"

He was jolted awake. Not from a dream, no, he never had those anymore. His eyes focused slowly, on a woman standing above him. He narrowed his eyes, squinting. Being unconscious, in nothingness was unpleasant, but he knew that waking up now would be worse. He longed for sleep.
"The Master wants to see you." The woman said, matter of factly.
Escher grabbed the pillow beneath his head and brought it down on his face to muffle a growl. Ludmilla rolled her eyes. "It's an honor, Escher."
"Yeah." He said, slowly rolling towards the edge of his canopy bed until his legs dangled over the edge. "I can't wait to know what our Lord has in store for me today." Ludmilla nodded, folding her arms across her back and with her nose in the air, exit the room. She was the eldest of Strahd's wives. The most obedient, and the one that got under his skin the least. That was Escher's guess at least, she must have been to have lasted so long.
Escher grabbed his boots from the floor, groggily pulling them on. He debated whether to fetch his shirt too... whether he'd be needing it or whether he'd just be required to clean it later. He opted to take it. It would be optimistic.
...

Strahd's long, cold fingers traced up the flesh on Escher's neck, crawling around towards his spine, finding the two tiny spots that marked his otherwise perfect frame. They were hidden by Escher's long hair most of the time, and if Escher's long hair wasn't something that Strahd had liked about him, he would have demanded he cut it to show them off proudly.

Escher did his best not to shudder beneath his touch. He was used to this, by now. Used to Strahd, used to the things Strahd did. But Strahd's insistence upon reminding him that he owned him, was desperately starting to wear Escher's patience thin. For thirty-five years, he had taken this. Suppressed every terrified tremble, swallowed bile, and thanked his husband for the torture he put him through. Once, it wasn't so difficult. Once perhaps, Escher thought this deal wasn't so bad, that Strahd could be charming, that he could get through this experience in one piece. But Escher had long passed doubt, and giving up had been on the tarokka cards far longer than he'd even admit to himself.

Strahd took a handful of Escher's hair and pulled it back, forcing the man's neck uncomfortably across the back of his seat. He tensed his jaw as the chain wrapped around his wrists refused to give.

He could show pain. Strahd liked pain. He just couldn't show Strahd that he didn't like it too.

Because then he'd know. And it would all be over.

But maybe that would be a mercy.
"What are you thinking about, my love?" Strahd asked, his voice carried the illusion of softness. Underwhich, Escher knew all too well was a precursor to rage if he didn't choose his words carefully enough. "You're not here with me. What's on your mind?"
Escher closed his eyes. "I just thought..." He started, but had to pause as his head was bent back so harshly that the words struggled to make it up his throat. "It's been a long time since we had guests-"
Strahd smiled, satisfied. His free hand, he slid down Escher's torso until he reached his hip, and he leant in, burying his face in the crook of the blonde's neck. The vampire kissed Escher's flesh there, almost tenderly. This wouldn't be so bad, if Escher didn't absolutely detest the man on top of him. It never, ever stayed this gentle though.

"The mist will provide more fun for us soon my love. Perhaps among them we'll even find more friends. New... partners." Strahd really only meant, for him.
Anyone Strahd chose to join his consorts, Escher knew he was extremely unlikely to get along with. Strahd liked difficult women. Women he could take joy in reigning over, ones that would prove especially feisty or strong-willed, ones that would finally submit to him for the sake of his riches or a comfortable castle life... not that Strahd ever kept those promises. In men however, Strahd's tastes differed.

Strahd liked pathetic men. He liked to feel superior. He liked to gaze upon their physical beauty and their flawed personalities. It was not Escher's dramatics, intellect or charm, nor talent with poetry, nor skill with a musical instrument that caught Strahd's attention during that fateful dinner at Ravenloft. It was Escher's dreaming. And what, Strahd considered, was possibly more pitiful than that. Especially in a land such as this. The fact that Escher was incredibly pleasant to look at was just the cherry on top. That and his sexual prowess were perhaps the only reasons he kept him around so long.
A clawed hand dug itself into Escher's side and he grimaced against the pain. Strahd's fingers reached deep into the injury, watching Escher's face carefully, eating up every microexpression that portrayed the agony at his brutality.
Strahd kept going, finding the pelvic bone between two of his fingers. Escher finally opened his mouth to cry out but his stretched throat still refused to let the sounds pass beyond those of a croaked groan.
"Scream." Strahd ordered, digging his hand into the gash even further, and finally letting go of Escher's hair. A scream ripped through Escher's vocal chords and Strahd savored the sound, closing his eyes and smiling with a cruel glee.

Suddenly his smile dropped. Escher felt small relief as Strahd withdrew his hand, which left him gasping, but the wound swiftly set about closing itself up. Strahd looked to the window, as if he had heard something, felt something. After a moment, Strahd turned his attention back to Escher, placing his fingers slick with black-blood on the bard's face, gripping it tightly.
"You always did have the best timing... I have some guests to welcome."
Strahd let go and allowed Escher to bow his head forward. Shoulders heaving, despite the non-necessity to breathe. "It's a shame, I was having so much fun." Strahd waved a hand in the air, dismissively towards the blonde, turning instead to another figure, out of Escher's line of sight. "Would you... like to take over where I left off? Then set him free once you're done with him."

"It would be my pleasure, my Lord."

Anastrasya's footsteps approached behind Escher as Strahd swiftly left to find the newcomers to Barovia. No doubt he'd play the Vasili Von Holtz card again, that was always a winner.

The woman crouched behind Escher, reaching her arms over his shoulders and placing the palms of her hands on his chest. She settled her face into a spot on Escher's right before whispering, "You're at my mercy now, Escher," and then biting the top of his ear. The bard tried to pull away, but again, Strahd had ensured he was utterly trapped. He squirmed, as Anastrasya circled him, eventually coming to stop in front of him and perching herself seductively on his lap.

"Please," Escher said, straining against the taut metal links snaked over his arms, "Please Ana-"
She leant in, interrupting his words with a kiss he did not return. Finally, she released it and whispered, "let's see... ah yes... where Strahd left off."

Escher's seemingly unending cries for mercy carried on the wind.

A wind that travelled over woodland, across the village and down the Old Svalich road. The distance warped the sound, diluted it. Until it could easily be mistaken for an empty breeze. One that surrounded the newcomers, Strahd's newest guests.
Those who would eventually call themselves The Misty Four.