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tildeathiwillwrite · 28 days

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Experimentation Begins (Magician's Bait, Part 2)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 2: Starvation / Thirst / "Please…"

Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- previous part | next part ->

TW: tied up, starvation, thirst, headache, creepily intimate whumper

Context: Damian has been trapped for a few days now, probably. His captor hasn't given anything to eat or drink. But he thinks he's figured out who she's after.

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How long has it been?

Time was immeasurable in Damian’s prison of darkness. The only indication that he was still alive at all was his heart beating in his chest, the aching in his wrists and ankles, and the steady gnawing of hunger.

His captor rarely visited. When she did, it was only to undo his bonds for short bursts at a time so he could walk around the cell and relieve himself. The room he’d been imprisoned in was small, only a couple paces across. The walls and floor were cool, rough stone, acting like sandpaper whenever he ran his fingers over them.

But she hadn’t fed him.

Was this one of those “tests” she’d mentioned?

Starving him was a cruel form of torture.

The lack of water, however, would probably kill him first.

Currently, Damian was back in the chair, the rough ropes continuously wearing away at the skin of his wrists as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep. The muscles in his shoulders burned from the strain, and his neck and upper back were no better. The cut on the back of his head from the fall on his first day was slowly healing, and it was probably responsible for the dull ache in his head.

The Stalker wanted him alive, didn’t she?

That’s what she said, at least.

Damian ran his tongue over his cracked lips. It was surprisingly dry in the cell, considering he’d been abducted during the peak of the humid season. Or maybe it was another symptom of thirst. That was more likely.

He sighed heavily through his nose, anxiously curling and uncurling his fingers. Being bound in one spot for so long was strange. He’d never considered himself restless, but he'd never been forced to stay still in such a brutal way.

Despite the headache, Damian had been doing a lot of thinking.

And he was pretty sure he’d figured out who the Stalker was after.

The resident magician in the Torrent Territories wasn’t a private woman. Her name was Caiya Ebony, and she was well-known for flashy performances and daring escapades. It was an open secret that the king paid her well to limit her excursions to Torrent and occasionally around Zariya.

It made perfect sense. Stalkers were once magicians, after all. Magicians who chased after the promise of power at the cost of the lives of those who were once their colleagues. They’d been named such because of the way they tended to track their targets, like a hunter stalking prey. Once a Stalker caught her target, she would consume the magician’s power… somehow… and become stronger.

And unlike magicians, Stalkers didn’t need to draw the runes to cast spells. They only needed to speak. Damian didn’t know how it worked, and it really didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was bait. Bait for Caiya.

His father would have sent his best soldiers and detectives on the case, but when it became clear the abduction was supernatural, he would turn to his magician. And that was what the Stalker wanted. And after that? Damian couldn’t guess. Certainly not a Draigo. The entire species had vanished almost overnight.

Whatever she wanted, Damian was smart enough to realize that he didn’t want her to get it. And if that meant he had to die here? Then so be it. Roland could have the throne.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the cell door opened. “Hello?” he whispered, the words scraping against his dry throat.

No response, only the gentle stirring of the air around him, disturbed by the open door and the Stalker’s movement. The only noise in the cell was her breathing.

“How long do you plan to starve me?” Damian demanded, voice raspy. He’d given up on screaming for help when it became glaringly obvious no one was around to hear him.

His captor still hadn’t closed the cell door. Instead, she moved from one side of the cell to the other. Despite the magical blindness, Damian’s eyes followed where he estimated her path to be, judging from the movement of the air and the sound of her footsteps and breathing.

“Please…” he murmured, “at least give me some water.”

The spell was jarring, the runes spoken with harsh tones. Damian flinched, expecting pain.

Nothing happened.

Without warning, something touched his head. “There,” the Stalker said softly, running her fingers through his hair, “was that so hard?”

He tensed, waiting for her to tug and yank him back until she let him fall.

“You know,” she continued, “for an heir, you’re not a polite guest.”

“I’m not your guest,” he hissed.

The Stalker’s hand paused mid-stroke. Damian gritted his teeth in anticipation. Knowing what was about to happen still didn’t prepare him enough for when her fingers curled, the nails digging into his scalp. “Call it what you like,” she snarled, “guest, prisoner, whatever. It doesn’t change your situation. It doesn’t change how helpless I’ve made you.”

Damian wanted to respond, to shoot back a cutting remark. But it wouldn’t make matters better. And she was right.

He was helpless.

And he hated the feeling more than anything.

As quickly as she’d appeared, the Stalker withdrew, slamming the cell door closed with such force the floor shook. Damian listened to her retreating footsteps as he fought to control his racing heart, the fear curling in his stomach like a parasite.

She was long gone when he realized he was no longer thirsty.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

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tildeathiwillwrite · 5 days

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Getting Stabbed Hurts, Who'd have thought? (Magician's Bait, Part 6)

Whumpril Day 22 (Stoicism Breaks), Day 27 ("Please don't go")

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

first part | <- previous part

TW: stab wounds, stitches mention, disorientation, death mention, burns mention, dizziness

Context: Reese wakes up after passing out to find Luc binding her wounds. Damian is okay (for now).

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Reese’s head pounded like her skull was being used as a child’s drum set. Everything else was numb, but her head spun even before she opened her eyes. She lay face down, head resting against something hard and cold. Her arms were limp at her sides, and her left side throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

She lethargically turned her head and stared blankly ahead, prodding her tired mind to focus on her surroundings. The catacomb entrance… I’m at the catacomb entrance. We made it out… but how…?

Two people were seated on the ground opposite her, a woman with curly red hair pulled back into a braid and a man with wavy black hair. Both were facing away from her, and the woman was… painting the man’s arm?

Caiya… that’s Caiya Ebony. She must be painting healing runes of some sort. And he’s the prince. Why had it taken her so long to realize—?

“Reese?”

She blinked, eyes flicking to her left, where she found Luc. He knelt at her side, pressing something onto her back. Bandages?

Luc’s smile looked forced. “How… how are you feeling?”

She groaned softly. “Remind me… never get into a knife fight with a magician. Never again.”

“The wound looks worse than it is,” he said softly, “I had to give you emergency stitches. We would’ve gotten you some healing runes too, but, y’know….”

“How’d you spin that to Caiya?”

Luc scowled. “She hasn’t stopped fussing over His Highness since he dragged you out of the tunnel. You were both in pretty bad shape, he’s malnourished and weakened, but you were the one who was unconscious. He tried to get her to help you first, if it helps.”

Reese made to push herself upright, but Luc stopped her. “Hold on, let me help you.” He slowly lifted her from the ground and propped her against a nearby wall. “I need to finish tying your bandages, and then we can get you something to prevent infection.”

She hissed through her teeth at a sudden spike of pain from the wound in her back. “Do you have anything that can stop the pain?”

“Nothing that I haven’t already given you.”

Silence presided between them for a few minutes while Luc wound the bandages around Reese’s torso. She listened idly to snatches of the conversation between Damian and Caiya while ignoring the throbbing in her head and the twinging in her back.

“I told you, Caiya,” Damian said patiently, “she said her name was Natali Tallis.”

“And need I tell you,” Caiya snapped, “that ‘Natali Tallis’ died nearly a decade ago? Her body was burned and mangled almost beyond recognition due to a backfire in her rune structure.”

Damian sighed and took a cautious sip of water. “But can you deny that the description matches? Is it possible that she faked her death somehow?”

Caiya froze mid-stroke, her brush dripping ink onto the ground. She flicked her wrist, finishing the rune with a quick and precise stroke before putting the brush away with a huff. “I was there, Your Highness. I was the one who had to check her pulse to declare if she was dead.”

She exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Now can you see why I find it so hard to believe she had lived?”

Damian stared at her for a long moment. He took a deep breath and glanced at the rune she’d drawn on his forearm. The cuts left on his wrist from the rough ropes had closed, leaving only faint scars. “Who’s to say she died from the knife to the heart, then?”

Impossible.

Luc glanced over at the pair. “Should we go and check, if you’re not certain?”

“I don’t know,” Damian said softly, “you never really know with Stalkers, do you—?”

“It’s not possible,” Reese stated.

“But—”

“It’s not!” she snapped, wincing. “I stabbed her through the heart, yes. But any healing runes she might have used, written or spoken, would not have worked. She wounded me with the knife first. I then pierced her heart using the same knife. That knife was dripping with my own blood. It would have weakened, if not completely nullified her magic. She didn’t survive.”

Damian nodded in understanding, but Caiya frowned in confusion.

“Was that why you got stabbed?!” Luc hissed under his breath as he tied the loose ends of the bandages together, securing the binding.

“You think I meant to get stabbed?”

“I seem to recall our first lesson being ‘Don’t Get Stabbed, Reese’.”

Reese snorted and immediately regretted it. “Ow….”

Luc slowly rose to his feet, the concern evident on his face. “Do you think you can stand? We should get you home.”

She stared at him for a long moment before seizing his arm and hauling herself up, ignoring the way the wound in her back throbbed as she moved the damaged muscles. Her head spun, and Reese tightened her grip on Luc’s arm even as he grabbed her shoulder to stabilize her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, “I’ve been through worse.”

He sighed. “If you really think you’re alright, I should escort the prince home before anything else happens.”

Reese blinked. “I….”

Luc started to step away, but she stopped him. “Please… please don’t go and leave me alone.”

“You sure? Because if you’re not feeling up to it I can—”

“I’m sure.” She took a step forward, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. “I just… I don’t know. I just don’t want to be left alone.”

Luc nodded in understanding. “Of course. I can have an experienced doctor reevaluate your stitches at the palace.” He smiled reassuringly. “Not that I don’t trust my own work… but I have to admit my hands were shaky.”

Damian rose to his feet, Caiya quickly following suit. He joined them near the wall, absently rubbing at the scars on his wrists. The ink on his arm was fading as the magic did its work. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I can take on a sang with nothing but my bare hands,” Reese said sarcastically.

He grinned. “I’d like to see that fight.”

Luc made a face. “I wouldn’t. But my money’s on the sang.”

“It’s your money,” Damian said, chuckling. “Your apprentice fought well against Natali, despite the injury. You should be very proud.”

Reese held up a hand. “Uh… I’m not his apprentice.” She glanced at Luc. “Right?”

The Watcher raised his eyebrows in an expression of reluctant agreement. “Well… he’s not wrong… and I might’ve slipped a few of Hector’s lessons into our training sessions… wasn’t on purpose, I swear!”

She punched him in the shoulder. “I’m sure Father’ll be thrilled to hear that.”

“Celestials, he’s gonna kill me when he finds out about what I asked you to do.”

Reese shrugged. “Hey, I agreed to do it. Just tell him I volunteered so he blames me rather than you. But the Watcher’s apprentice thing? Dunno.”

Luc sighed through his nose. “Let’s burn that bridge when it comes to it, okay? Right now we need to be getting somewhere safer than just outside the catacombs.”

Damian nodded. “Of course, Watcher.”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @whumpril

Thank you for reading this whump ficlet! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :3

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tildeathiwillwrite · 1 month

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Tag Game: Incorrect Quotes

Thanks for the tag @spitefulbull!!!

I've already done a couple for The Legend of Orian Goldeneye, so I think I'll do some from Tales from Valaria instead.

Damian: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held. Reese: *in the middle of rescuing him* Are you okay.

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Draven: I never understood why people cared so much about kids until Octavian randomly came home with one. Draven: *Picks up Reese* Draven: I’ve only known Reese for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

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Luc: Reese… Reese: Oh no, 'Reese' in B flat. Reese: You're disappointed.

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Octavian: What's the most illegal thing you can do with one dollar? Luc: Exchange it for a hundred pennies, put them all in a sock, and then beat someone to death with it. Octavian: Luc: What? I'm a Watcher, not a cop.

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Damian: Ok so, apparently the "bad vibes" I've been feeling are actually severe psychological distress.

This was fun!

Tagging @fourwingedsnake @gamerkats @late-to-the-fandom @faytelumos @thewritingautisticat @writer-of-worlds @chronicallydragons and open tag!

#tag game #writeblr tag game #writeblr tag games #incorrect quotes #my ocs #tales from valaria #tfv #damian caenum #reese takari #draven cozenson #octavian de silv #luc epsilona #open tag #writeblr open tag #writeblr

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tildeathiwillwrite · 24 days

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My OC's in the Knights Radiant Quiz

@illarian-rambling did this thing recently where she took the Knights Radiant Quiz for her ocs. Thought it was cool so I'm doing it too lol.

The Legend of Orian Goldeneye:

Jas: Willshaper (81%). Considering what her motives are in the story, this tracks nicely. Killian: Skybreaker (78%). I feel he'd be more of an ancient order Skybreaker, operating within his own moral code with an understanding of how rules are imperfect. Orian: Edgedancer (77%). It kind of fits his personality, and he would love to slide around. Henrik: Skybreaker (74%) and Stoneward (74%). Man was born to be a Skybreaker, he's a garrison captain after all. Stoneward also fits him, as a soldier. Diana: Lightweaver (74%). She is a musician, her morals can be questionable, and she disagrees with Henrik about many things. Azura: Lightweaver (57%) and Elsecaller (57%). She is very much into the subterfuge aspect of the Lightweavers. She's also decent at tactics, a theme of the Elsecallers, and dreamshaping is somewhat similar to moving through Shadesmar. Morpheus: Elsecaller (63%). Very similar to Azura, but he's much more on the cautious side.

Tales from Valaria:

Octavian: Windrunner (77%). Like me! And it also fits his role in The Watcher and the Thief, though by the time The Hunter the Myth and the Cure comes around it's changed drastically. Draven: Willshaper (73%). He does what he wants, doesn't really care for rules but he does have his own moral code. Reese: Lightweaver (62%). I'm not too sure about this one, mostly because her morals align closer to a Willshaper or Edgedancer in my opinion. But she does tend to hide her true self from others. Luc: Windrunner (78%). Fits his morals and his job, he's quite protective. Hector: Windrunner (79%). Same as Luc, makes sense since he's Luc's mentor, but I'd say Luc has a little bit more Skybreaker in him than Hector. Damian: Edgedancer (70%). Bodes well for Caenum to have a heir that cares for his people. He was also willing to give up his freedom if it meant his captor didn't get what she wants, so he's fairly selfless. Kaira: Lightweaver (57%) (Also -20% for Bondsmith apparantly???). She's very good at deception, but that's the only thing that would be Lightweaver about her. Personally I think she'd be a better Elsecaller, due to her search for power. Rift: Elsecaller (54%). I don't know how he got this one, he has average wisdom and intelligence is his dump stat. But he would definitely make good use of Shadesmar (for "borrowing" purposes).

(Superhero Story):

Rowan: Elsecaller (74%). Makes sense, he's fairly cautious, he's the leader of the group (not very good at it), and he's willing to do anything to get what he wants. Victoria: Windrunner (63%). She definitely likes working in a team, and is really attached to and protective of those she cares about, to the point where she'd do anything to save them. Ollie: Truthwatcher (81%). Considering their powers make them a great spy, fueled by their natural curiosity, this fits. Sam: Stoneward (61%). She's the group's tank, the most reliable out of all of them, and fairly optimistic. Whisper: Elsecaller (70%). What is with my villains and getting Elsecaller? Is it because they all seem to be selfish bastards who do anything for what they want? (Nevertheless this does fit him).

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tildeathiwillwrite · 16 hours

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Tag Game: Character Voice (Round π)

(I lost count lol)

Thank you to @willtheweaver for the tag!

I'll be doing this with the Magician's Bait cast.

My line: "Bring it on!"

Damian: "Get on with it!" Reese: *cracks knuckles* "Show me what you've got!" Luc: "Bring it!" Caiya: "Well?" Natali: "Ha! Let's see what you can do!"

Gently tagging @thethistlegirlwrites @phoenixradiant @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife @pluppsauthor @diabolical-blue

@faytelumos @spitefulbull @overdecorated-furniture and open tag! :D

Your line: "You don't sound very sorry."

#character voice #my ocs #tag game #tag games #writeblr tag games #writeblr #tales from valaria #tfv #damian caenum #reese takari #luc epsilona #caiya ebony #natali tallis #open tag #character voice tag #magician's bait

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tildeathiwillwrite · 26 days

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Tag Game: Character Voice (Round 3!)

Thank you to @somethingclevermahogony for the tag!

My line: "Can you pass that over here?"

Gently tagging @annakayy @fourwingedwriter @overdecorated-furniture @thewritingautisticat @phoenixradiant @writingphoenix @faytelumos @spitefulbull @gamerkats and open tag!

Your line: "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I'll use my characters from Tales from Valaria this time:

Draven: *points* "Could you hand me that?" Octavian: "Pass me the [object]." Reese: "Can you get me the thing?" *points* "The thing." Luc: "Can I please have the [object]?" Damian: "Could you hand me the [object], please?" Hector: "Please pass over the [object]." Rift: "Hey, can you get me that?" *is gone the moment you turn around*

#tales from valaria #tvf #my ocs #my wips #draven cozenson #octavian de silv #reese takari #luc epsilona #damian of caenum #hector epsilona #rift twatt #writeblr #writeblr tag game #tag game #writing tag game #open tag #writeblr open tag

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tildeathiwillwrite · 18 days

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Reese vs Natali: Duel to the Death (Magican's Bait, Part 5)

WoW Birthday Whump Day 12: Magic Exhaustion / Collapsed / "So tired..."

Whumpril Day 4 (Swaying) Day 9 (Self-doubt), Day 26 (“How could you?”)

WoW Birthday Event Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

first part | <- previous part | next part (coming soon) ->

TW: duel, knife wounds, magic whump, death, blood, blood loss, dizziness, collapse, fainting

Context: Reese duels Natali. The Stalker may have runes on her side, but Reese has a hidden ace up her sleeve that might win her the day. But at what cost?

Reese didn’t give Natali time to react to the—admittedly very shocking—news that she was not, in fact, Caiya Ebony. She closed the distance between them in three leaping strides and went on the offensive, going for the Stalker’s throat.

Natali ducked backward, her self-satisfied expression wiped from her face. She fumbled with her knives and barely managed to draw one before Reese drove her own blade into Natali’s shoulder.

She screamed in pain and fury, weapon falling from numb fingers as the injured arm went limp. Her other hand went for the second knife, and she swung out, trying to catch Reese in the side.

Reese yanked out her knife and twisted away. Natali’s blade sliced through the fabric of her jacket and left a shallow scratch, but it was better than the alternative. Reese hissed out through her teeth and retreated, allowing the Stalker to make the next move.

Blood streamed down Natali’s arm, and her eyes burned with rage. “You’ll regret that, child,” she hissed. Before Reese could react, the Stalker spoke a rune.

The wind stirred around Reese, lightly toying with her hair, but nothing else happened. Reese grinned at Natali’s shocked expression. “Was that supposed to impress me? You’re gonna have to try harder than that!”

“How?!” The Stalker screeched, repeating the rune as Reese charged at her again. She retreated, going on the defensive as Reese chased her around the room.

Reese didn’t have the energy to spare for an answer. She lunged, knife point intent on Natali’s heart, but Natali knocked aside the blade. Natali tried to counterattack, but Reese blocked the thrust and used her free hand to grab Natali’s wrist.

The Stalker’s eyes were filled with pain, fear, and desperation. She spoke another rune, one Reese recognized all too well. The familiar weight settled on Reese’s chest, and she faltered, struggling to breathe. Natali seized the opportunity and kicked Reese in the stomach with rune-enhanced strength.

The force of the kick threw Reese halfway across the room. Time seemed to briefly slow as the ground came up to meet her. The impact sent fireworks through Reese’s shoulder and back, and she rolled another few meters before stopping. Her knife clattered to the ground, out of reach.

Natali staggered across the room, swaying from blood loss or rune exhaustion. Possibly both. Reese pulled herself to her feet and raised her fists. The closeness of the pit where she’d accidentally tossed Caiya’s cowl unnerved her, and the hairs on her neck prickled.

Natali still had her dagger, but she was wounded. Even hand-to-hand, Reese had the upper hand. Didn’t she?

“I don’t know the extent of your protection, little magician,” Natali hissed, knife raised. She was only a few steps away now. “You may have put up a good fight. But you’re finished, now. Yield, and I’ll let the prince go.”

“Liar,” Reese spat, “and you’re right. You don’t know the extent of my protection. But you’re also wrong. I’m no magician.”

With those words, Reese lunged, ducking under Natali’s swing and diving for her legs, tackling the Stalker to the ground. Pain erupted in her lower back, causing her to cry out, but Reese pressed on, punching Natali in the throat.

Natali gagged and let go of the knife. Reese didn’t hesitate, yanking the weapon out of her back and driving it in between the Stalker’s ribs into her heart. Natali’s eyes widened in shock, and she sagged. Reese didn’t release her hold on the knife until her breathing slowed… slowed… stopped.

Reese exhaled shakily and rose to her feet, retrieving her own knife from the ground. She left Natali’s knife where it was. Head swimming, she staggered across the room to the prince, who stared mutely at the Stalker’s corpse. Reese sliced through his bonds, a simple matter with the rune-engraved knife, and pulled him to his feet. He wobbled on legs weakened during his imprisonment, and they supported each other as they crossed the room to the tunnel where she’d entered.

“How…” Damian whispered when they entered the tunnel, “how could you? How could you resist her runes?”

“It’s simple, really,” Reese muttered, trying to ignore how the floor pitched and heaved beneath their unsteady feet. “I’m a Draigo.”

Damian froze midstep, and Reese nearly tripped over his feet. “A Draigo?! But I thought they were all—”

“Not all of them, your Highness. Just most of them.” She tugged his arm, and he started walking—or, more accurately, lurching—down the tunnel again.

“...so that’s why you’re here,” he mused, “instead of Caiya Ebony.”

“Caiya Ebony is a coward. I’m here because a friend asked me to.” Each step was like another knife in the wound in her back. Was she supporting Damian, or was Damian supporting her? They needed to get out of here.

“Ah.” Silence stretched between them for several steps before the prince spoke again. “Was it the Watcher?”

Reese nodded wordlessly. Was the tunnel getting darker?

“You said your name was Reese Takari, right? Like the diplomat?”

“I’m…” Reese mumbled, “I’m his daughter…. We should be… getting… close….”

Damian paused, concern evident. “Are you alright? Reese?”

The tunnel seemed to blur, and a strange numbness settled over her, like when her limbs fell asleep after sitting on them for too long. She didn’t have time to respond before her legs buckled under her weight.

But she didn’t hit the floor. “Reese? Reese!”

Damian’s voice sounded far away like he was at the other end of the tunnel. Reese wanted to respond, but darkness flooded over her, sending her into the depths of oblivion.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @whumpril

(if you want to be tagged in my writing please lmk!)

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tildeathiwillwrite · 3 months

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Abduction (Magician's Bait, Part 1)

Whumpuary 2024 No. 9

"Make it stop" | Restrained | Hair grabbing

Whumpuary Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

next part ->

Context: Damian has been abducted by a dark-magic user who plans to use him as bait for her real prize. Unfortunately for him, she doesn't plan on letting him go once she's gotten what she wants.

TW: Abduction, restrained, head injury/mild concussion, darkness, hostage, used as bait, experiment mention, dark magic-type

Damian awoke in darkness, bound to a hard chair by rough ropes, his back and neck aching. He blinked rapidly, heart pounding, as he tried to remember how he’d gotten there. He'd been at home... and then... here. Wherever the deeps ‘here’ was.

He tugged at the ropes but only succeeded in bruising his wrists. Whoever had tied him here used strong knots, and they’d positioned his hands so he couldn’t reach the small knife strapped to his right thigh. As the thought crossed his mind, Damian was forced to consider the distinct lack of familiar weight on that leg and concluded the knife had been confiscated.

Shame.

Somewhere nearby, a door creaked, and cool air washed over Damian’s face. “Oh, you’re awake,” someone said softly. The door clicked shut behind them. Damian squinted, expecting the room to be flooded with light at any moment.

The light never came.

The person who’d entered—his captor, no doubt—chuckled softly. “No need for that, esteemed guest. I can see you just fine.”

Damian blinked in confusion. “What? What did you do to me?”

“Oh… nothing permanent… yet.”

A shiver ran down his spine at the emphasis on the word ‘yet’. “You’re a magician, then.”

Another laugh. “Oh, good guess princeling! A very good guess, but not quite.”

Damian sensed the displacement of air a split second before she seized his hair and yanked him backward, tipping back the chair so it was on the verge of toppling over. Damian yelped and instinctively stiffened as if that alone would prevent him from falling.

“Perhaps you need to be re-educated on the various disciplines of magicians,” she hissed in his ear. “But I’ll give you another shot. A magician would need to mark you with ink to do away with your sight. I, however, am not bound by such limits.”

Damian’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re… you’re a Stalker, aren’t you?”

He could almost feel the self-satisfied smirk on her face. “You’re a clever one! Very clever indeed.”

“What do you want with me?” Damian couldn’t hide how his voice shook. It was bad enough when he’d briefly thought she was a magician. To know his captor was a Stalker… that was worse. Far worse. “I’m no magician.”

“Darling,” the Stalker drawled, “that’s need-to-know information!”

Damian clenched his jaw. His scalp was beginning to ache. “I would argue that I do need to know, considering you kidnapped me from my own home!”

The Stalker seemed to consider this. As the seconds ticked by, Damian grew more and more tense. She could kill him with a single word. But, logically, if the Stalker wanted him dead, it would've happened before now. But all it would take is one word, and she could make him wish he was dead. So he’d been told, anyway. But from what he’d observed of his captor, it seemed that the stories weren’t as far-fetched as he'd once assumed.

Which was why he was desperate to know why she’d abducted him, since, to his knowledge, all Stalkers desire is more power. And they can get that from magicians, other Stalkers, and Draigo, not regular humans.

The Stalker hummed softly. “Let’s just say I have a far… more… valuable target in mind. You were just easier to get to. And when she comes for you, I’ll set you free.”

Damian’s head throbbed, protesting the amount of weight placed upon it. “Why,” he said through gritted teeth, “do I get the sense you’re lying?”

“About what, princeling?” Her voice was sickeningly sweet, and he shuddered.

“About letting me go.”

She laughed, an abrupt, harsh sound that startled Damian. He instinctively tried to flinch away, only to be forcefully reminded of the hold she had on his hair and the ropes binding him to the chair.

“You really are a clever one!” The Stalker cackled, “Impressive!”

Damian waited, fear setting his nerves on edge, until her laughter finally died down. “...Are you going to kill me?” He asked softly, afraid to hear her answer.

“Oh, princeling…” She murmured in an almost gentle tone. Her grip on his hair loosened slightly, and the chair tilted back another inch. Damian’s heart jumped into his throat. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With those final words, she let go of him. Damian experienced a fleeting hope that he could tip the chair back the right way, but to no avail. His wrists, bound to the back of the chair, hit the ground first. The back of his head immediately followed. Pain flared up his arms and throughout his skull.

Just as quickly as he had fallen, the Stalker pulled the chair upright. Something warm, wet, and sticky ran down the back of Damian’s neck; his head pounded with every heartbeat. The floor underneath him seemed to tilt and sway like they were on the deck of a ship.

“You might be a valuable hostage,” the Stalker stated, “but you are even more valuable as a test subject. Those are very hard to come by. So no, I won’t kill you. Not until you beg me for death.”

The door creaked, and Damian briefly enjoyed the slight relief provided by the cool air from outside before she slammed the door behind her. He listened to her receding footsteps until he was sure she was out of earshot. He let out a ragged breath and began to shake, tears dripping down his face. What did I do to deserve this?

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tildeathiwillwrite · 19 days

Text

Confrontation (Magician's Bait, Part 4)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 11: Used as bait / Held for ransom / "It's a trap!"

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

Happy birthday to @writer-of-worlds! 🎉🎉🎉

TW: kidnapping, magic whump, referenced past whump, blindness, deception, trouble breathing

first part | <- previous part | next part ->

Context: Damian's rescuer approaches, and his captor brings him out of his cell to witness her defeat of Caiya Ebony. But something's... off about the whole thing.

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The whispering was beginning to grow unbearable.

Damian didn’t know what the Stalker had in mind with this particular spell. It didn’t seem to do anything useful besides incessant noise. Perhaps that was the point.

The words were familiar yet strange, like someone mumbling in his secondary language, using unknown rhetoric. No matter how hard he tried, Damian could not recognize any words. They were not human, not elvish. Draigo, perhaps?

He knew that he did not know the exact dialect of the whispering, but that did not stop his mind from grasping at vowels and grammar for a translation.

This was possibly worse than when she’d starved him.

After the day Damian had pleaded with her for water, the Stalker had come in daily as always. But along with temporarily freeing him from his bonds, she also muttered two runes in quick succession. And his hunger and thirst would evaporate like mist in the sunlight.

At least the dehydration had been natural, a normal process of his bodily functions from lack of water. This was not.

Damian wished, not for the first time, that his hands were free so he could cover his ears and block out the unbearable noise. The hissed “s” sounds, the sharp “t” and “p” and “c”, it all drilled into his skull like a sharp, thick needle. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, ignoring the pain as his skin, bruised from many performances of the same exercise, protested yet another assault.

But it was the only thing he could do to distract himself.

The door abruptly opened, slamming into the wall. Damian flinched, his body straining against the ropes binding him to the chair. He’d been so focused on tuning out the whispering that he hadn’t noticed the approaching footsteps of his captor.

The Stalker’s first words were a rune, spoken with the same harsh tone as everything else. Damian exhaled in relief when the voices were immediately silenced.

His relief was short-lived.

“My outer wards have finally been disabled,” the Stalker said, not bothering to disguise her glee. “Your rescuer approaches, princeling.”

Damian closed his eyes, trying to hide the despair washing over him, threatening to drown him.

She cackled at his resignation. “Oh, princeling,” the Stalker teased, “did you really think a savior would never arrive? Do you really place so little value upon yourself?”

“I suppose… it was too much to hope they’d never find me.”

His captor’s laughter was strangely beautiful for someone with such ill intentions. “I can’t believe,” she said, gasping for air, “you are still so naive! So naive! This is the heir to the throne of Caenum!”

She spoke a rune, and the ropes binding Damian to the chair vanished, leaving only the ones tying his wrists together. The Stalker yanked him to his feet by the shoulder and dragged him out of the cell. He stumbled over the uneven ground, trying to keep his footing despite her cruel pace.

They walked along a corridor, he guessed, judging by the straightness of the path and the way their footsteps echoed off the nearby walls. The air was colder here than in the cell, and Damian thought he detected the faintest scent of rain. Long ago, he had assumed they were underground, but they mustn't be too far from the surface.

His first indication that they had entered a large room was how the sound of their footsteps changed. The second was the abrupt right turn the Stalker made. The sudden change in movement caught him off-guard, and he stumbled.

Hands bound behind his back, Damian couldn’t catch himself, and the Stalker didn’t bother to keep her grip on him as he fell past her. His knees stung from the impact, and shockwaves of pain traveled up and down his body when his shoulder hit the ground.

The Stalker didn’t help him back to his feet. Instead, another spoken rune reached his ears, and a rope wound itself around the bonds on his wrists, tethering him to what he assumed was the wall.

Air displaced around him as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. He ignored it. When he finally maneuvered his body the right way, the touch of the Stalker’s hand on his face startled him.

She placed both her hands over his unseeing eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” she said softly in his ear, “about how you won’t be able to properly witness the defeat of the magician who’s come to save you.” He didn’t need to see her face to know she was grinning maniacally. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

Damian had gotten used to the runes having very mild effects. Ropes appeared, hunger and thirst banished, incessant whispering voices, all of them were simple and had one purpose.

So he had thought, anyway.

For one thing, the Stalker spoke multiple runes in quick succession. Three or four, perhaps? Damian lost track as a headache appeared in the form of pressure behind his eyes. Her hands on his face became cold, as if they had changed into ice. He gasped as the pressure intensified, almost like his eyes were about to burst from their sockets.

Just when he feared it would never end, the Stalker pulled away, and the pressure abruptly vanished. His sight returned slowly, similar to how his eyes would adjust from light to darkness or darkness to light. The Stalker retreated, leaving him to his own devices as he examined his surroundings.

He was attached to the wall of a large circular room, almost like an arena. The ceiling was higher than he expected for an underground room, tall enough that Damian doubted he could touch it even if he jumped. The floor was broken stone, and an entire portion had collapsed completely, leaving a pit halfway across the room.

The room was well-lit despite the absence of a light source. Runes again, no doubt. Several openings in the walls lead into corridors, all identical. Damian considered the state of the room, the corridors, and what he recalled of his cell. “We’re in the catacombs, aren’t we?”

The Stalker smirked. “Well done, princeling.” She couldn’t have been much older than Damian, with long black hair tied back into an elegant braid so complex it had to have been done with magic. She wore practical but expensive clothing: black trousers and a deep blue blouse, with a dark brown duster overtop. All had numerous pockets, and she had a pair of knives strapped at her sides.

Those knives probably had dozens of runes inscribed upon the blades. Damian vaguely recalled Caiya mentioning that designing the runes for her knife was considered a ‘final exam’ for a magician. And that it was to be used as a tool for carving runes or preparing food, not as a weapon.

Damian suspected the Stalker didn’t ascribe to such moral teachings.

As if in response to his thoughts, the Stalker casually drew one of the knives, flipping it between her fingers with the sort of ease that comes from experience. She noticed him staring, her smirk widening into a maniacal grin. “Soon enough, princeling, you’ll be begging for me to drive this into your throat.”

Damian swallowed uneasily at the thought. “You…” he stammered, “you’ll be waiting a long time for that.”

She barked a harsh laugh. “We’ll see about—” she cut herself off and sheathed the knife. “My last ward’s been tripped. Your savior has arrived.”

Damian stiffened, glancing around hurriedly, searching each tunnel and corridor. Perhaps if he could warn Caiya before she got there—

Movement in the corridor directly across from where he was seated caught his eye. It couldn’t be the Stalker, for she was beside him, enjoying his fear.

“Stop!” Damian shouted. His words bounced off the stone walls. “It’s a trap! She won’t—!”

The Stalker spoke a sharp rune. The air abruptly left his lungs, halting his pleas. Damian gasped for breath, panicking as his lungs refused to expand. She tsked softly. “None of that, princeling.”

He finally managed to inhale, but the air escaped as quickly as he drew it in, bringing barely enough oxygen to stay conscious. The Stalker shook her head at his predicament, her smile vanishing as she turned away.

Damian watched as Caiya stepped out of the corridor. Her head was covered by a gray cowl, hiding her face. From this distance, he couldn’t make out much detail, but he thought the markings on the cowl were runes painted onto the cloth in red ink. Or blood. Her knife was strapped to her right thigh, and she wore brown trousers and a green, mottled jacket beneath the cowl.

A spoken rune broke the tense silence. Immediately, the entrance to every corridor shimmered, a magical barrier blocking all paths in and out. No escape. They were trapped.

“Took you long enough!” The Stalker called, her hands on her hips. “Are you really so incompetent that you do not know a simple tracking spell?”

Caiya cocked her head but said nothing in reply. Something’s off, Damian realized as he struggled for air. She never resists a chance to have the last word.

The Stalker stepped forward, waving her hand at Damian behind her. “Well, Miss Ebony, no matter what means you used to get here, the ends still remain the same. I challenge you to a duel. To the death. Winner gets to keep the princeling and her life.” She stuck out her hand mockingly despite the magician being several meters away.

The magician regarded her in silence. Slowly, she raised her hand and removed the cowl, casting it to the side. The rune-marked cloth slid across the floor and fell into the pit. “I accept your terms,” the girl—who was very much not Caiya Ebony—said in a soft voice that carried across the room.

“Swear on it,” the Stalker insisted. She must not have known what Caiya looked like. Or she didn’t care.

“You challenged me. Swear it first.”

“I, Natali Tallis—” Damian flinched at the name, that of a famous long-deceased magician— “swear on my life that the victor of this duel will walk away with her life and the life of the prince.”

The ghost of a smile touched the edges of the girl’s lips. “I, Reese Takari, accept these terms.” With those words, she drew the knife at her side. “Allez!”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

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