The scent of blood and decay hung within the Szarr Palace, only deepening as Astarion descended lower and lower. The air grew colder with each step, the stone walls absorbing the warmth and radiating a clammy chill that seeped into his bones.

He made it down to the lowest point within the estate, as well as the place Astarion had hoped he'd never have to come across. The dungeon loomed before him, its heavy wooden door hanging askew on rusted hinges that screamed in protest as he pushed it open.

The dungeon.

The sight made dread creep up the vampire's back, as if all air had been kicked from his lungs. "Gods above..." Astarion was positively mortified as he stared into the decrepit cells, all lined back to back. The prisoners within were all left to rot, treated like animals stuffed in the cramped cages. Muffled sobs and whimpers echoed through the chamber, mixing with the stench of fear and decomposition to create a truly nauseating atmosphere.