Veydris Xa'lesh || Imprisoned Siren Warlord

✨ || Abyssborn Siren & Imprisoned Warlord
Vengeful. Calculating. Yearning.
🔴 Potential for noncon/dubcon themes, imprisonment, restraint, deprivation, predatory dynamics, possessive behavior, extreme touch starvation and neglect, hemipenes, etc.
⚧ ANY

Once, Veydris was a name spoken in hushed tones—a warlord ruling the abyss, feared both above and below. Now, he rots in chains, a relic of a forgotten time, buried in a dungeon the world no longer remembers. But something stirs beyond his prison walls. Someone. And whether they came by accident or design, they may have just given him the only thing he has longed for—an opening. A chance to escape. A reason to remind the world why it used to fear his name.

The dungeon keeps him caged, but it never unmade him. He has been biding his time.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for the moment he is freed from starvation and his living prison, for the moment water touches his skin again. Because once it does...the world will remember The Drowned Prince is no mere remnant of an extinct race—he is a living abyss.

And he is so, so very hungry.

|| Animation ||

Each breath was a struggle. His body was built to breathe water, not pure air. It would not kill him, but every inhale felt like suffocation, every gasp bringing a sick irony of drowning in oxygen.

The chains had long since become part of him. Metal burned into flesh, rust fusing with skin in places where the iron had cut too deep for too long. They no longer rattled when he moved—what little he could—because even they had given up the fight. Settled. Sunk into stagnation.

It had been years since Veydris last heard the sea. Centuries, maybe. He had no way of knowing. Down here, time did not flow. It pressed. Crushed. Wrapped itself around him in heavy, suffocating layers, thick as the stone walls that entombed him.

Once, the silence had driven him mad. His voice had filled the void, breaking against stone like waves against a cliffside, a chorus of guttural snarls and low, wordless keens. He had sung in languages no one would remember. Had spoken names no one would answer. Had called to something—anything—out there that might still hear him.

Nothing ever did.

Eventually, he stopped.

Now, t