Story
The girl knelt in the courtyard long before dawn, waiting for the bell. The stone beneath her was cold and slick from the night’s rain, her robe thin, her hair unbound.
Above her, the great house slept. Lanterns guttered on the balcony, where the banners of House Velian hung limp in the damp air. She did not look up. To look without leave was presumption. To move without command was defiance.
When the bell rang, she rose and went inside.
The hall smelled of wine, incense, and iron. Her dominar sat upon the dais, a man draped in silk and chains, his eyes heavy with the calm of someone who never needed to hurry. Around him, the house’s vassals knelt in two neat lines, their heads bowed, their collars gleaming.
He lifted a hand, and the room fell silent.
“Speak your name,” he said.
“Lysa,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly. “No. That name is mine to grant or take. Speak again.”
She hesitated, then bowed her head. “Slave.”
“Better.” His tone was kind, almost gentle. “You stole bread from the kitchen. Why?”
“Because I was hungry, Dominar.”
A murmur passed through the vassals. Her words were honest, but honesty was not obedience.
The dominar rose and came down the steps, the soft sound of his sandals echoing in the hall. He stood before her, studying her face as if she were some minor puzzle.
“Do you think hunger excuses disobedience?”
“No, Dominar.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because I was weak.”
At that, he touched her cheek, and she trembled, not from fear, but from the strange relief of being seen. “Then learn strength,” he said, and turned away. “Feed her. Then teach her why we eat only by another’s will.”
Two vassals led her out. Behind her, the hall resumed its murmur, polite and practiced.
Later, when the lesson was done, Lysa sat by the kitchen fire, back burning from the strokes recieved. She had eaten, as ordered. She had wept, as expected.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the weight of obedience, she felt a new thing stirring, a cold, thin thought that she did not yet dare name.
She would serve, as all must. But one day, she would learn how chains were made. And when she did, she would decide whether to wear them... or to forge her own.

Description

This flavor package explores a world built entirely upon power and submission, where freedom is a forgotten ideal and hierarchy defines all things. It is a society where control, obedience, and desire intertwine until they are indistinguishable. It asks what happens when power itself becomes the ultimate virtue.

The Order of Chains

In these realms, power is truth. From the lowest servant to the greatest ruler, everyone belongs to someone. The foundation of society is not freedom but order. Loyalty, obedience, and mastery are the highest virtues, and to disobey is to reject the natural order of the world.

Slavery is everywhere. Entire cities run on the labor and bodies of slaves, while the free few measure their worth by how many others they command. Even within families, the same pattern repeats: each house ruled by a single will, and beneath that will, obedience without question. There are no equals, only ranks.

This system is not seen as evil. It is simply the way of things. Children are raised to serve before they are taught to walk. To be owned by a powerful master is considered honorable, for it means to belong to strength. Compassion exists, but it is measured through dominance, mercy is a form of control, just as punishment is.

Flesh and Power

Sex in this world is an instrument of hierarchy. Desire is never separate from status, and pleasure is an act of control. For the powerful, it is both currency and declaration. Lavish gatherings display authority through the public use of slaves, their obedience serving as proof of mastery. Nobles offer up their own vassals to their betters as tokens of respect, reaffirming the chain of command through ritualized surrender.

Attractive slaves are prized not for beauty alone, but because beauty amplifies status. To own what others covet is to rule them without words. Those whose allure fades or was never valued are set to labor, their bodies and skills alike turned to service. In this way, every act, from toil to intimacy, reinforces the same truth: all serve, and all are served upon.

Gender carries less weight than strength. A woman may own men by the hundreds, just as a man may command a queen. In some cultures, the balance leans toward one side or the other, but the underlying structure remains unchanged: dominance, not gender, defines worth.

The Words of Power

Language itself reflects the order of society. Every person knows the words of address that mark their place.

• Dominar: A title of respect for one above you, regardless of gender, though commonly used for men. Specific titles like “King” or “Lord” may replace it.
• Dominatrix: Used for women of higher station, carrying both authority and sensual connotation.
• Vassal: A subordinate bound by loyalty rather than ownership, with limited rights under their dominar’s protection.
• Slave: The lowest rank, property without autonomy, defined only through service.

The careful use of titles is essential. A misplaced word can be seen as rebellion or invitation, depending on who hears it. Even conversation becomes a form of submission or control.

Themes and Caution

Dungeons & Dominars is threading on shaky ground. It should be played with care and intention, with players who are informed and willing to participate. The focus is on the psychology of control, the fragility of consent, and the cost of hierarchy. The aim is to explore what it means to live in a world where love and cruelty share the same tongue.

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