POWER GRABBED

despite all his calm demeanor, godefrius could feel the back of his neck heating up from the unwavering attention. "awfully sure," godefrius repeated, voice low, almost a purr, as his gaze swept lightning quick on the lord's appearance. "i hope the rest of you matches your confidence. i would hate to be disappointed." he would have said more if only his majesty didn't demand for godefrius, a sign that he was about to retire to his chamber. with a last lingering glance to the lord, godefrius inclined his head in a slight bow, all respectful gesture but none of it reflected in his dark eyes, full of hunger. "if you'll excuse me," murmured godefrius as he straightened up, "and please expect me in your chamber before midnight." and with that, he made his way to his king without sparing another glance at oisín. there would be plenty of time for that.

alas, the time came for them to part ways, with the promise of more later. the fire simmering in his loins at the thought. "please, by all means, perform your sacred duty. i am not more important than your king." but his tone had a brand of mischief towards it. did the sorcerer believe the words he was saying? probably not completely. his swirled the liquid in his goblet and then placed the rim to his lips again, all but finishing his wine this time. the last few drops a symbolic gesture of leaving them for godefrius. as he too, returned to the banquet table after a lingering gaze at the bulky man walking away, eyeing his armour-clad rear. he stayed with the festivities a while longer after the chasque king and his lord commander departed, picking away at desserts and more wine before retiring to his chambers.

the buzz of alcohol followed him to his room, along with a jug for him and godefrius to share later. there was only one cup however, entirely by design — the method of sharing was to be more provocative than the other would probably come to expect.

oisín had not have to wait long for his door to be knocked on. he had barely begun to disrobe, having unclasped the upper half of his robe, leaving it open to the elements and revealing his muscled chest before his promised guard and bedmate arrived. the sorcerer took slow steps towards the door before pulling it open towards him. there godefrius stood, this time without all his armour pieces. it took him a second to reconcile the image with the one he had of the other just an hour or so prior. just as he was awfully sure that godefrius would be moaning his name just moments later he had also been awfully sure that the guard commander would find himself here. with the way they flirted, the outcome had all been assured. "ah, sir godefrius, i trust that his majesty is well and secure?"

"lord oisín," godefrius said, testing the name, the way his tongue wrapped around it. he ignored the jolt of heat at the brazen statement and opted for a short chuckle. if he thought the man was lying, that answer erased any doubt he had. no one else but a lord could have such confidence that it was almost amusing, if only godefrius wasn't affected by the lecherous words. even he found it hard to feign nonchalance in front of the lord. all the wanted was to preen under the attention. "you seem to be awfully sure that i would be moaning your name when the night ends, my lord," godefrius murmured, voice a little hoarse, a little rough.

he succeeded somewhat at having the knight reveal himself, the minute actions that signalled that oisín had him flustered. "i am the only one giving you attention. much deserved i might add, sir godefrius. a person of your stature." one he would like to see brought low, put in his place to serve his betters. the sorcerer was sure of himself, a trait drilled into him since he was old enough to understand how to carry himself with confidence, as was befitting of a slatiascairis and a descendant of myrthrael. "if not my name, then who else's?" that is, if he didn't keep the man's mouth occupied.

a pause.

the corner of his lips quirked upwards into a small smirk, "but you need a name to moan later... oisín ought to suffice." his attention was well received so oisín knew he could be a lot more direct. oisín was sure enough of himself that he did not need alcohol to bolster courage. the vague mental impressions he got from the other was positive — he did not have to go prodding for it, his magic allowed him naturally capture glimpses (if not words then just feelings) without exerting his will against others — and left him feeling smug.

with all his armour, the sorcerer had to put a little more work into undressing the other with his eyes; that he made no show of hiding. the metal was framing the bulk that the other had and oisín would very much enjoy stripping all that away to reveal it all.

bright  blue  hues  followed  the  stranger's  every  movement,  his  thoughts  raced,  tumbling  over  each  other  in  a  frantic  rush  trying  to  decipher  what  he'd  do  next,  what  he  wanted,  why  malik  was  even  here.  he  wasn't  made  for  this  kind  of  environment,  the  sheer  thought  of  a  spider  sharing  this  space  with  him  alone  ...making  him  uncomfortable  enough  to  stay  up  at  night,  even  though  he  couldn't  see  a  spider  ....if  it  did  a  little  dance  in  front  of  him.

the  more  he  spoke,  the  more  it  bothered  malik  that  he  couldn't  ....ah.  one  moment  he  was  lost  in  the  fog  of  terror  &  anxiety,  the  next  it  all  came  back  to  him.  well,  it  wasn't  much.  but  they  met  before.  in  fact,  it  hadn't  been  too  long  yet.  did  they  ever  exchange  more  than  pleasantries?  he  couldn't  ...remember  the  man's  name,  but  he  remembered  the  intensity  of  his  gaze,  eyes  that  seemingly  saw  through  him  with  only  little  effort.  was  this  ...  vengeance  for  lost  opportunities?  was  this  because  he  hadn't  greeted  him  proper?  what  if  this  wasn't  about  a  ransom  after  all?  he'd  been  so  convinced  that  his  blood  could  be  the  only  possible  reason  for  his  abduction,  he  hadn't  even  thought  about  him  having  been  the  target.  why  would  he?  he  ...  tried  to  live  a  good  life.  an  honest,  free  life.

even  though  he  knew  that  freedom  was  no  longer  in  the  cards  for  him  even  if  he  escaped  this  place  alive.  he  would  either  have  to  hide  for  the  rest  of  his  life  ...  or  accept  defeat  &  offer  himself  to  a  man  he  never  met  before  ..  for  the  sole  reason  of  political  advantage.  he  loved  his  kingdom,  he  did....  but...  didn't  he  deserve  happiness,  too?  he  wouldn't  find  that  in  a  loveless  life.  in  a  life  that  wasn't  his.  all  this  time  he  tried  to  avoid  piquing  interest.  he  attended  festivities,  he  dressed  his  very  best  &  only  ever  showed  himself  from  his  brightest  side,  danced  &  conversed  if  needed,  but  he  didn't  connect.

he  never  wanted  to  draw  attention  to  himself  so  that  suitors  ...  were  sparse  &  to  chase  the  foolish  dream  that  maybe  if  he  just  managed  to  fall  in  love  with  someone,  his  father  would  ...  agree.  foolish  indeed.

what  i  want  he  has  decided  to  give  away  to  someone  else.

but  what  was  that?  was  it  ...treasure?  cattle?  had  his  father  upset  a  wealthy  man?  a  noble  of  his  own  kingdom?  was  malik  paying  the  price  with  his  life?  brows  pulled  together  when  it  seemed  like  he  was  inspected,  his  head  moved  left  &  right,  neck  craned  &  the  long  chain  rustling  whenever  he  moved,  the  collar  shifting  every  time  he  swallowed  hard  around  the  dry  lump  in  his  throat.

you're  what  i  want  and  he's  certainly  intending  on  not  giving  you  to  me.

"me?"  this  ...was  about  him?  just  him?  someone  would  go  this  far  ...for  him?  but  why?  his  father  had  just  announced  he  was  eager  to  sell  him  for  a  shake  of  hands  &  some  crops,  or  cattle  -  he  hadn't  exactly  listened  to  the  proposition  after  hearing  it  was  an  arranged  marriage  &  he  had  no  choice  in  the  matter.  maybe  he  should've  asked  for  him.  not  the  point,  though.  he  didn't  want  to  marry  any  stranger  whatsoever.  not  this  one,  not  the  one  his  father  chose.

thoughts  were  racing  once  more,  as  was  his  heart,  eyes  glossed  over  while  the  prince  tried  to  make  sense  of  it  all  without  losing  himself  to  panic.  fingers  trembled  against  the  arm  rests  of  the  ...chair,  thighs  quivered  &  the  cuffs  around  his  ankles  almost  jingled  with  the  movement.  eyes  always  on  the  other's,  watching  for  ....something.  searching  for  mercy.  for  laughter,  a  pat  on  the  back  &  the  promise  that  it  had  all  just  been  a  jest.  but  ...it  wasn't,  was  it?  he  was  so  gentle  in  his  touch,  so  kind  malik  almost  forgot  that  he  was  a  prisoner.

his  lips  felt  better  almost  instantly,  the  little  ..demonstration  not  lost  to  him  even  in  his  current  state,  neither  was  the....was...  when  he...  he  tasted  his  blood?  please,  lord  of  the  flames...  protect  me.  but  malik  had  been  raised  proper.  "thank  y-you."  voice  still  raw  &  softer  than  usual  due  to  lack  of  use,  but  with  his  ...abductor  so  close,  it  didn't  need  to  be  louder,  did  it?  the  flask  almost  had  his  eyes  glow,  heart  fluttering  in  relief  when  the  first  drops  of  water  hit  the  back  of  his  throat,  greedily  devouring  as  much  as  it  would  give.  the  flamed  beast  smiled  down  upon  him  after  all.  "thank  you."  out  of  breath  from  vigorous  drinking,  refreshed  &  relieved,  a  little  tear  rolled  down  his  cheek,  though  he  paid  it  no  mind,  lips  tugged  into  the  softest  of  smiles.

"i...  i  don't  remember  your  name.  i-i  apologize.  but  we  met,  didn't  we?  i-in...  ritrinc.  the...  the  festival.  my name is  malik,  b-but  i  think  you  know  that."

seeing malik at the festival was something else all together, draped in the finest opal and sapphire blue silks and glowing, sparkling like a jewel, as if an enchantment had been placed on him. if it hadn’t been him, someone else would have done the same eventually. oisín was the only one that was bold enough and had the resources for a successful kidnap job for someone as important as the varlinnis prince. but more importantly, he was the first to do so.

as with the blood before, the older man reached out to wipe at the other's tear, cupping the man's face, cradling it and using a thumb to rid malik of the salty liquid staining his profile. "you look so beautiful..." especially when he was crying. oisín knew then that he'd strive to let that happen more often... anything for another glimpse of this side of his prince.

at the very least, malik remembered of him, if not his name, then his presence, his face. in time, malik would come to know him a great deal, and maybe that would even the gap of how much more oisín knew of the varlinnis' second eldest when compared to the other way around. "and before that. yes. my prince." though his words weren't said with the respect and awe one typically used when saying 'my prince' but rather something akin to quantifying said prince before him as his property. "i am lord oisín slatiascairis, but you can refer to me as master... for now." perhaps mailk will be granted the privilege of something more later; husband eventually, once oisín was through moulding him to his tastes.

"i know a great deal about you, malik niamh of house feinhalnaar. your parents chose your name wisely." one day the radiant man (even looking like this) would be king, oisín would see to it — or rather mailk would be his queen, and him the king. the sorcerer had stalked his prey, years of monitoring the man, if not through his own eyes then through the eyes of spies and other contacts. he would have been perfect in the small council of lysain, gifted in the mental arcane arts and an excellent manipulator — he would have easily amassed power as the master of spies. but that was too conspicuous for him, too much attention and he had no desire to assert too much pressure on the lysain throne; at least not while he wasn't on a throne himself — he had his fingers in many pies for when the time would be right. "more than your father, radiant one. no, he could never understand that an arranged marriage wasn't for you." men like malik wanted to be wanted, to be loved. something he was very capable of providing.

the way the collar moved every time the prince made the smallest twitch. it fit him perfectly, and he didn't just meant in the sense that it was a good and tight fit, snug around the neck, but malik looked magnificent like this, like he should always have been collared; perhaps oisín would gift him one made from gold, to match the gold chains and jewellery the other was so fond of wearing. the lord of qaixoneus stepped back to get a thorough look of malik in his chair. giving him the full once over. appreciating the prince shirtless. fingers slid down malik’s bare chest, getting caught in his rough hairs as he briefly twirled them, enjoying how they felt against his fingertips. imagining how it would feel when they would lay in bed together...

oisín shook his head. he was getting ahead of himself. he still had work to do. malik's mind was exploitable in this state. vulnerable and terrified, confused and lost. it was easy for a sorcerer of his calibre to push and prod at it. a barely perceptible frown ceased his eyebrows as he stared down at the other while he expanded his own mind. oisín began rummaging through the man’s mind, digging deep subtly trying to find something for himself work with.

then, in for what seemed like minutes but was in actuality mere seconds, the sorcerer encountered on the perfect thread. and he pulled.

for some it was like pottery, pressing down against the mind like one would clay. for oisín it was akin to spinning fabric, something he’d actually picked up on once he made the connection. it helped him to hone his skills, visualise each thread in a person's mind. at the same time, it helped him to be like the people, helped to understand them. it was every little thing combined that allowed him to perform his magic with such ease now and without the need to move his fingers.

the magic wielder inserted a thought, weaving it in the man's subconscious. that malik would begin to think about him, miss his presence, crave his touch. the effect ought to be immediate but imperceptible, especially to another person that wasn't well-versed in mental magic.

a thrill ran down his spine and to his groin when he felt the thought nestle neatly into place. have some restraint, oisín. sure he could have just taken him now, the restrains would have made it all too easy, but the malik was special. the noble wanted his prince to at least desire him a little bit before he made his move, even if that desire was induced upon him.

he'd  had  a  many  thought  while  trapped  in  this  place  with  information  scarce  &  escape  routes  not  yet  willed  into  existence.  was  this  ..for  coin?  had  he  been  kidnapped  for  a  ransom?  would  his  father  -  in  this  moment,  procure  golden  coin  to  save  his  son?  though  that  raised  the  question  malik  was  afraid  to  ask  himself:

would  he?

out  of  all  the  princes,  malik  felt  he  was  the  least  ...  impactful.  he  had  been  blessed  with  the  magic  of  their  ancestors,  but  so  had  their  youngest  brother  &  ryker  was  a  gifted  fighter  on  top,  who  swung  magic  as  well  as  he  did  his  sword  &  had  single-handedly  befriended  the  vissaian  crown  prince.  he'd  inherited  the  feinhalnaar's  beauty  as  well  &  stood  up  to  par  with  malik  in  every  sense,  if  not  higher.  malik  was  also  not  the  crown  prince,  but  merely  the  second  born.  did  ...  his  father  even  consider  freeing  him?  would  he?

the  more  he'd  thought  about  it,  the  less  sure  he  became,  so  eventually  he  forced  himself  to  stop.  but  if  not  for  his  name,  why  else  would  someone  catch  &  chain  him?  for  his  magic?  surely,  there  were  others  around  who  were  more  viable  targets  than  him.  after  the  first  few  days,  he  tried  to  stop  finding  a  reason  for  he  wouldn't  know  the  truth  until  it  was  presented  to  him  anyway,  but  one  thing  seemed  clear.  he  was  wanted  alive.

when  the  thirst  became  too  much  to  bear,  he'd  tried  producing  water,  which  was  when  a  thought  struck.  what  if  he  used  it  to....  but  it  was  to  no  avail  for  his  magic  didn't  work  in  this  place.  he  could  summon  a  few  drops  at  best  &  while  even  those  were  a  blessing  to  a  parched  man,  it  took  a  lot  of  strength  to  do  so  &  he  wasn't  sure  the  effort  was  rewarded  profoundly.  if  it  cost  him  more  strength  to  call  forth  drops  of  water  than  the  water  gave  him...  he'd  cut  his  own  flesh  that  way.

after  days  in  the  dark,  the  door  swinging  open  to  reveal  a  ..light  just  floating  inside  so  bright  malik  had  to  squeeze  his  eyes  shut  &  avert  his  gaze  even  when  he  squinted  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  man  stepping  inside  with  it.  it  took  his  eyes  a  little  while  to  get  used  to  light  again,  but  even  then  -  when  his  gaze  fell  on  the  man  addressing  him  so  formally,  he  ...  came  up  short.  sure,  it  was  familiar  in  a  way  &  he  had  no  doubt  they  spoke  before,  but  malik  met  a  lot  of  people  ...every  day,  every  time  his  father  hosted  festivities  &  every  time  he  invited  suitors  into  the  castle  to  meet  him.

malik  was  famished  &  afraid,  the  reality  of  his  situation  way  too  heavy  a  weight  on  his  shoulders.  he  knows  who  you  are.  so  this  was  indeed  a  pointed  attack,  was  it  not?  lips  were  dry  when  they  parted,  droplets  of  blood  forming  in  the  little  cracks  that  tore  when  he  swallowed  hard  or  tried  to  speak.  words  fell  short  at  first,  but  he  cleared  his  throat,  a  little  wince  followed  &  quiet  whispers  grew  into  soft  tones.  "w-who....  why?"  he  just  wanted  to  go  home.

at  the  mention  of  precautions,  his  eyes  followed  the  other's  down  to  the  chair  he  was  strapped  into.  teeth  clattered  when  he  didn't  pay  attention  &  he  sucked  in  a  little  breath  when  touched,  his  neck  giving  in  to  the  nudging  to  lift  to  bear  not  only  the  collar  around  his  neck,  but  his  bright  blue  eyes  filled  with  fear,  too.  what...  was  this  about?  why  was  he  here?  what  was...  what  was  happening?

beautiful.

he  couldn't  move,  he  couldn't  even  pull  away,  although  the  soft  nature  of  the  touch  had  him  lean  into  it.  almost.  "please,  m-my  father,  i'm  sure  he'll  give  you  what  you  ask."  fingers  &  thighs  trembled  against  the  sturdy  chair,  unsure  of  what  would  happen  next.  terrified  of  what  was  yet  to  come.  again,  reminded  of  his  short  comings,  for  he  was  sure  his  brothers  would  be  spitting  insults  &  threads,  ryker  would  never  have  ended  in  this  chair  in  the  first  place,  but  malik  ...  soft,  naive  malik...  was  not  born  with  the  bravery  of  a  soldier.  "please."

the prince either didn't remember him at all or failed to recollect who he was in the state he was in. confusion clouding is mind while deprived of light and basic necessities. oisín wasn't aggrieved at that. disappointed perhaps he didn't make a big enough impression on the prince in the fleeting times they've crossed paths. still, he didn't reveal himself just yet... maybe give the other chance to sieve through memories in his brain for an answer.

at the mention of the varlinnis king, the noble resisted a cruel laugh. he cared not for the royal other than his plans to depose of him eventually, just like the crown prince. malik seemed far more interested in what his father would and could do than what he might do himself to bargain his way out of the chair he found himself. "what i want he has decided to give away to someone else." he'd been driven to anger when rumours of an arranged marriage between his beloved and some undeserving lord. he'd have that man killed sooner or later. but never did he expect for the prince to run away, giving him the perfect opportunity to enact his plans.

oisín stalked closer to his captured prey, leaning down so he was closer to the other than he had ever been before. up close the lord couldn't help but admire malik's delicate features. he tilted the man's face to the side, heart racing at the allure of the feinhalnaar, before releasing his grip. if it wasn't clear to malik by now, he was exactly what oisín wanted and he decided for the prince's sake to clarify. "you're what i want and he's certainly intending on not giving you to me. no matter, i do not require him or his approval. i have you now." the arrangement imposed on malik by his father was a minor inconvenience to the mental sorcerer at worse, a boon at best. especially considering how it all played out for him. oisín did not just mention that he wanted malik to be his because in his eyes, the prince already was.

curling his fingers up, oisín caressed the captive's scruffy face with the back of hand. "a most exquisite creature. the beauty of varlinnis." in awe of the other's elegance, even stained and marred as it was. finger against the other's bottom lip, wiping away at the droplets of blood. a soft iridescent glow behind his fingertips, healing the man's cracked lips. the light faded and oisín lifted his fingers up before pressing it to his own lips, tasting malik on his tongue. the first taste of his future spouse.

@powergrabbed location: oisin's secret sex torture dungeon inspo: *grabbity grab* i swear i can be serious lmao triggers: kidnapping

several  days  had  passed  since  malik  woke  up  in  a  dim-lit  room  with  a  heavy  metal  chain  around  his  neck,  cuffs  with  little  hoops  clasped  around  his  ankles  &  no  clue  how  he  got  there.  what  he  remembered  after  the  initial  throbbing  headache  subsided  was  ...  the  road.  he  remembered  the  last  conversation  he  had;  with  his  father.  it  was  been  a  futile  discussion,  because  his  father's  opinion  on  the  matter  had  long-since  been  made.  malik  may  not  be  the  oldest  prince,  but  his  heart  was  still  not  meant  to  be  his  own  to  give  away.

safe  to  say,  the  soft-spoken  romantic  had  disagreed.  again.  but  with  a  suitor's  name  thrown  in  the  fray,  malik  had  felt  cornered,  the  pressure  becoming  unbearable  &  so  he  packed  essentials  (  &  more  )  to  sneak  out  of  the  castle  in  the  safety  of  the  night.  by  the  time  the  sun  kissed  the  horizon  good  morning,  he  passed  the  kingdom's  borders.  he  didn't  want  to  leave,  but  he'd  seen  no  other  option  at  the  time  -  no  way  out,  no  light  at  the  end  of  the  tunnel.

horse  neighing  as  he  slowed  the  steed  for  a  barricade  in  the  dirt  road  down  to  a  halt,  his  robes  flowing  elegantly  &  chains  rustling  comfortably  as  he  leaped  off  the  horse  to  observe  the  issue.  someone  had  felled  a  tree  to  block  the  road.  it  was  fresh,  he  could  smell  the  scent  of  wood  in  the  air.  what  happened  after  that?  he  didn't  know.  that  was  as  far  as  his  memories  would  let  him  go.  the  next  thing,  he  woke  up  in  this  strange  place.

he  could  move  around  for  as  long  as  the  chain's  range  would  let  him,  which  ...  well,  was  enough  to  explore  the  enclosure,  but  that  didn't  help.  the  door  wouldn't  budge,  the  lock  on  the  outside  unreachable,  calling  out  for  help  had  bore  no  results  &  pacing  frantically  had  brought  him  nothing  but  his  nerves  running  amuck.  his  armor  had  been  taken,  but  he  was  left  in  his  trousers,  which  looked  worse  for  wear,  finest  silks  tattered  &  torn  -  a  sad  sight,  really.

he'd  been  here  for  days.

lips  chaffed  &  dry,  his  head  was  swimming  &  his  stomach  churning,  fingers  pushed  in-between  his  throat  &  the  collar  in  an  attempt  to  keep  it  from  grinding  against  previously  unblemished  skin.  when  rustling  on  the  door  broke  the  everlasting  silence,  he  pushed  himself  up  to  sit  on  the  makeshift  bed  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  pale  blue  eyes  observing  the  door  with  tight  grip  winding  around  his  heart  &  squeezing.

a  pair  of  men  he'd  never  seen  before  stepped  inside,  their  faces  ...held  nothing  for  him  to  go  on,  not  even  when  they  surrounded  him,  pulling  on  the  chain  &  maneuvering  him  into  ...a  chair  of  sorts  he'd  been  trying  his  damndest  to  ignore.  feet  chained  in  place,  arms  fastened  to  the  arm  rests...  no  amount  of  fight  his  tired  body  could  put  up  was  enough  to  stop  this,  no  pleading  loud  enough  to  stop  them,  no  whispered  prayers  enough  to  reach  the  outside.

then  they,  too,  left.

the noble had planned and schemed and murdered and brainwashed and manipulated people just so he could have the man firmly in his dungeon. and this was no ordinary man. no, this was the esteemed malik feinhalnaar, second in line to the varlinnis throne. and if oisín had his way. his future wife. and one step closer to sitting on the royal seat. there had been multiple setbacks to get to this point but oisín, ever persistent, was nothing if not determined.

no, this was something he wanted for years, at least decades if he was being honest. power he craved, bringing glory to his house, coveting a very specific throne. all his desires nurtured from a young age. but when he'd first set eyes on malik, he wanted him, lusted over him. and he knew he had to have him. whatever it took.

oisín still had a lot of work to do to get there however. and it all starts with mentally manipulating and training the man. sure he could pose as malik's rescuer from this horrid place — no doubt what he'd planned to implant into the man's brain later when all this was said and done, and the story that they'd both (when the prince was resolutely in his clutches) sell to the king of varlinnis. but oh he did so enjoy breaking in men and women. not just physically, but mentally too. that sick thrill lit up a fire in him every time he did so. make them his.

but nothing and no one did he ever want to be his more than the pretty man trapped in his dungeon.

he let the prince stew in relative darkness, days with minimal food and water. the cunning man kept his fellow sorcerer weak so that malik couldn't use his magic against him when oisín would reveal himself. it would also have made the man more susceptible to mental conditioning and commands. just little things first before he'd make the prince obey his every word eventually. he wanted malik's devotion towards him to be absolute.

not to mention: the air was dry — he did his research. knew whatever there was to know about his prince, or at least what he could have gleamed from his interactions with the other and people who had been in contact with his obsession; listened to every oral story about the royal. every little tidbit gained just made him love him more, proved to himself that what he needed to do was right. and oisín knew the lack of moisture would be hard for the other to manipulate, kingly blood or no.

the noble descended into the basement and unlocked the prison door. he walked in, illuminating the place with a magically powered glow light floating just above him. the light at first dim before growing and turning harsh as it cast its light on the man in the room, chained and locked tight into the chair.