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eddysocs · 1 year

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Sensual Soothing - Part One (Tissaia de Vries x OC)

Summary: While Emerysia is tasked with keeping the water warm, she has a better idea in how to make things hot and Tissaia just needs to relax.

Word Count: 1,029

Warnings: Smut, bathtub sex, a hint of angst at the end

Emerysia sits on the edge of the tub, her only job being to keep the water from getting too cold. Tissaia reaches back and squeezes the sponge over her shoulder, letting the suds glide down her back. Emerysia couldn’t help but sneak a glance, figuring it would be so much easier if she just let her join her. "Another round of water," Tissaia softly ordered. Emerysia went to fetch it and poured the steaming liquid into the empty space behind Tissaia.

Setting the pitcher down nearby, Emerysia silently moved to disrobe in the spot just outside of Tissaia's vision. Seizing her opportunity when Tissaia leant forward, Emerysia filled the space behind her, displacing the water an inch or so as she settled in. "Emerysia," Tissaia gently scolded.

"I just want to help. You can’t reach your back properly," Emerysia defended before Tissaia had the chance to say more. There would be no dissuading her.

"You could have assisted from outside of the bath," Tissaia reasoned.

"I know," came Emerysia's cheeky reply. She may not have been able to see the annoyed smile on Tissaia's face, but she knew it was there. "The sponge," Emerysia prompted. "Please."

With an irritated mumble of defeat, Tissaia handed it back to her. She let the sponge trail over her back in soft, soothing motions and smiled when Tissaia let out a contented sigh. It wasn’t often Tissaia had a chance to relax, so Emerysia had it in mind to make the most of this moment.

Once she’d completed her self appointed task, Emerysia squeezed out the sponge and set it aside, out of the way, while she implemented the next phase of her plan. Her left hand disappeared beneath the surface of the water, fingertips brushing against Tissaia's side as she snaked her arm around the older woman's waist. With her other hand, she brushes Tissaia's long, cool brown hair to one side in order to place a kiss on her neck.

"Rys, we can’t," Tissaia protested, though she made no effort to move away from her touch nor her kiss. Overtired and overburdened, her will was weak and Emerysia knew it would not take much to persuade her.

"We can, if you’ll just allow it. A few extra minutes away from your duties won’t burn Aretuza to the ground." A pause followed as she awaited Tissaia’s answer, but perhaps further prompting was in order. The hand she now rested on Tissaia's stomach pushed gently in and Tissaia let herself be pulled back to lie against her frustratingly intuitive pupil. She needed what she knew Emerysia was offering, so why was she so intent on fighting it?

With Tissaia's body now pressed against her own, Emerysia made one last move to ease Tissaia into not denying herself of her desires. Her hand traveled up Tissaia’s body slowly enough that Tissaia had ample opportunity to bat it away, to say no, to refuse her and let it end there. Yet, she did not.

At last, she feels the weight of Tissaia's breast in her palm and glides her thumb across the soft skin, feeling the way Tissaia's body reacted to the simple touch. Tissaia's head falls back until it’s resting on Emerysia's shoulder. "I can stop if you want me to," Emerysia whispers low, her lips ghosting over the shell of her ear.

"Don’t," Tissaia utters.

With explicit permission finally granted to her, Emerysia let her dominant hand dip below the water's surface, only to find that Tissaia’s legs were already parting for her. Once she’d reached down between her legs, she began to rub slow, languid strokes and Tissaia fought the urge not to press against Emerysia's hand and betray just how desperate she’d become for her touch. She couldn’t. Tissaia de Vries did not beg. Not for anything.

Emerysia kept up the teasingly slow pace for what Tissaia considered far too long, and when the tip of the girl's finger so much as grazed against the most sensitive part of her, she could not fight off the audible gasp that escaped her lips. The sharp intake of her breath told Emerysia that she shouldn’t prolong things, not this time at least. She had, after all, meant to relax Tissaia, which is something that added anticipation would not achieve. She needed the release.

Quickening her pace and focusing solely on the tightly wound bundle of nerves aching between Tissaia’s legs, she brought the woman the thing she sought most. A wave of endorphins rushed over Tissaia as she cried out, entirely letting go of her inhibitions. Emerysia only removed her hand when it seemed that the height of her orgasm had passed.

Despite the temperature of the water having cooled during their tryst, both Tissaia and Emerysia did not seem to notice, content to stay in and soak just a bit longer. Tissaia's heaving breaths slowed as her body came down from the flood of the pleasure that had so overwhelmed her, and the water eventually stilled. "Thank you," Tissaia said, her soft voice filling the now peaceful quiet of the room.

"My pleasure," Emerysia replied. "Well, technically yours, but I digress. You deny yourself life’s pleasures too often. I was happy to be party to remedying that."

"You are too good to me." The words, said with such rare and clear affection, brought an unwavering smile to Emerysia's lips. It was then that Tissaia turned back to face her, meeting her eyes and giving her own fond smile in return. She raised her arm up out of the water and placed her hand on Emerysia's cheek, bringing her in for a tender kiss. Emerysia only wished she could see this side of Tissaia more often.

"The water's grown cold," Tissaia said after she pulled away. Her words didn’t require a response. She knew full well what they meant. This moment between them was at its end. Bracing herself on the sides of the bathtub, Tissaia pulled her body away from Emerysia's and got out of the bath, sending a chill through the girl that she now left alone to watch the woman she loved step out and away from her once more.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

-> Part Two

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @baubeautyandthegeek, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @fawera, @themaradaniels, @that-demigirl, @iloveocs, @bossyladies, @b1rvt4, @getawaycardotmp3, @misshiraethsworld, @kmc1989

Emerysia Of Temeria: @dollvi3e, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @theuniverseofsg, @thepotatoislost

#oc: emerysia of temeria #fc: adelaide kane #fd: the witcher #emerysia x tissaia #tissaia de vries #tissaia de vries x oc #tissaia x oc

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khaleesidracarys · 1 year

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HELLFURY : Chapter 1

Cahir knelt with his head bowed to the polished marble floor. He never really liked the castle, mainly because he heard his footsteps wherever he went and it drove him insane. He hated the constant chatter and the never-ending squawking of the seagulls near the coast. He hated it so much he was pleased to leave, he had been so unbelievably content leaving Cintra behind to hunt the little Princess. He had been chasing her through most of the continent, desperate to finally bring her home to her rightful place by her father's side.

When Tissaia de Vries entered his head a year ago, all he thought about was the polished marble floors, how they shone when droplets of blood ran in streams from wounded bodies. He thought about how the blood dampened the sound of his footfalls when he made his way through the castle searching for the Princess. Back then he had found himself longing for Cintra. He would do whatever it took to get back to the dreaded castle, he would do anything to return to the White Flame. He had not expected a warm welcome at all, he had expected to be put to death the moment he walked through the gates, but the Emperor had not yet arrived.

Cahir had breathed easier back then, knowing that Fringilla kept the order, that the elves were streaming in daily and that the elf queen would finally rally her forces and join the White Flame in the battle for the continent. He, who would save the world from the White Frost. Cahir had the utmost respect for the Emperor, and he had thought himself to be more than a pawn. He had been a Commander General, he had had power, position and a purpose- 'Cahir!' Cahir lifted his head to meet the harsh eyes of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. The Emperor extended a hand and bid him rise. 'Yes, my Lord?' Cahir kept his eyes firmly placed on the Emperor's neck. The last time he had kept eye contact he had ended up on the outskirts of Cintra, digging graves and spending his nights tending to reeking corpses. Even Gallatin knew he'd fucked up. Cahir had betrayed his Emperor, he had failed to do the one thing that was expected of him and he had paid for it. Dearly. 'Know that it gave me no pleasure to punish you for your mistakes,' the Emperor began, and Cahir almost believed him. 'However, I have need of you now.' Cahir looked at him then, trying to keep his shock concealed. He'd expected to be punished even more, not to be given an assignment so soon. 'An assignment my Lord?' He questioned and moved his eyes back to the Emperor's neck. The Emperor didn't answer, he just walked down from the dais where he had received him and began walking back and forth in front of the tall, stained-glass windows. The sun shining through them sent cascades of rippling lights washing over the marbled floors, and the Nilfgaardian emblem of the Great Sun was bathed in soft, shimmering light. 'There is a rogue mage,' he began, balling one hand into a fist and placing it behind his back. 'She has been slaughtering and burning scouts I've been sending to Temeria. I had finally managed to convince King Foltest to think about my proposal, but my scouts never returned. Later, I was told most of them ended up in shallow graves in Aedirn, burnt to death.' 'Did some of them reach Temeria, my Lord?' Cahir asked. 'One or two, they were wounded and died within days, as of now, King Foltest is more likely to continue to support Aretuza and the elves than to ally with Nilfgaard. I need you to deal with this mage. I need you to find her, kill her and bring me her head.' The Emperor said, staring out of the window down into the courtyard. 'Anything you need will be at your disposal. I would prefer you to go alone and use your considerable tracking skills better this time. Should you need men I will send them.' Cahir noticed the stress on the word and dropped his gaze. He had failed him. If he failed him again- 'Yes, my Lord.' Cahir said and bowed his head. He was about to turn when the Emperor's hand locked around his elbow. He turned to meet the disappointed, furious gaze. 'Do not fail me again. Come back without her head and I will take yours instead,' he said softly and let go of his arm. 'Yes, my Lord.'

People had threatened to take his head so many times over the past two years he no longer thought of it as a genuine threat. The mages had tried to decapitate him, the mage he'd fought at Sodden had thrown a sword at his face, Yennefer had threatened to acquaint his severed head with the ground if he betrayed her- Cahir steeled himself, straightened his back and walked out of the throne room. 'Cahir, you leave tonight.' The Emperor's voice rang after him, clanging off of the stone walls and reverberating through his head.

He'd expected more digging, fresh corpses or perhaps guard duty. He had not expected to be needed. Definitely not to hunt a mage, and a rogue one at that. Cahir walked down the levels of the castle until he reached the second to last. The Emperor had graciously provided him with quarters above the dungeons. He had spent three weeks getting used to the never ending screaming of the tortured prisoners below. He knew he was meant to be one of them. He had been one of them at Aretuza.

He was leaving tonight, he'd rather sleep in the woods than here. Everything would be provided for him.. If he was to search through the entirety of Aedirn heavy armor was out of the question, even with a horse. Leather would do. If the mage tried to burn him too he'd at least die quickly. He thought of Sodden Hill, the screams hadn't left him for months. The sounds of his men cooking inside their armor before they were reduced to nothing but ash- the smell of charred flesh and burning horses would never leave him. A year later the entire field was barren and refused to grow even a single straw. The poets called it 'the field of fury and fire', Cahir knew better. He called it what it was; slaughter. He'd lost more men that day than in his entire tenure as commander general. He supposed he still was one, his rank had not been taken from him, only his dignity and his sense of purpose. He would not fail this time.

He walked over to the worn desk by one of the grimy windows that provided the room with the scarcest light imaginable. He shuffled away parchments, quills and books until he stared at the map of the Continent. He placed a finger on Aedirn and hummed as he sank down in a cushioned chair and dragged a hand through his hair. If the mage was in Aedirn, which he couldn't be sure of when he thought about it, how could he be sure she hadn't fled into the mountains or crossed the Yaruga river and gone south, for all he knew she could be living lavishly in Toussaint.

If the Emperor had stopped sending soldiers to die she'd stop burning them. What was she even doing? Was she keeping them from entering Temeria? Was she working for Foltest or was she doing something completely different?

Cahir's finger followed the Yaruga west. If she only burnt whoever crossed the river it would eventually lead her to Cintra. If she burnt any Nilfgaardian regardless of reason, he was fucked. She'd be able to tell in a second. If he was to kill her he needed the upper hand, she needed to believe him long enough for him to get close to her. He needed a plan. The skies outside his window darkened, the sun sank lower on the horizon with each passing hour and he had still not figured out a plan. He went over everything he knew about mages over and over in his head. Bits and pieces of information he had pried from Fringilla and Yennefer. Fire magic consumed the wielder, it fed on rage and hate. Crackling away at any lingering piece of humanity. The one who tortured the bard had said as much. If his intended target was anything like him- Cahir shuddered. Yet, she only killed Nilfgaardians, as far as he knew. Either, she had been at Sodden and watched as Yennefer decimated his armies and continued her own little path of revenge to the east, or she was just a regular mage tired of invading soldiers and employed by the King of Temeria to further foil the Emperor's plans of conquest.

The latter was most likely he decided. The King of Temeria had the biggest reason to keep a rogue mage at his side, if he had decided against the Emperor's advances. Either way, he needed to get close to her, but first he needed to find her. Cahir stood from the chair, massaged his sore neck and folded the map. He kicked open the small chest by the foot of his bed and grabbed his weapons. It was time to hunt a mage, it was time for him to finally redeem himself, time to finally prove to the Emperor that he could be trusted, and that he wouldn't fail him again.

Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach rode out through the Cintran gates as the night descended upon the Continent. He was clad in his training-leathers instead of the heavy bronze armor he usually preferred, his sword swung lazily at his side as he kicked his horse into a gallop. The road to Aedirn would take a few days, he had enough provisions until he got there, then he needed to spend coins if he needed more. The Emperor would send men if he needed them, he had said, but Cahir scoffed to himself. He was perfectly capable of dealing with a mage by himself. He had figured it out, he needed to leave his titles behind when he crossed the Aedirnian border. He needed to seem like any other wandering warrior if he found her, a bounty hunter perhaps? To raise her suspicions too soon would end his life. Whatever she was doing and whoever she was, she needed to trust him. Luckily for him, Aedirn and the neighboring Kingdoms were all crawling with monsters. He could pretend to hunt monsters for coins long enough for her to turn her back on him, if that didn't work he'd figure something else out.

Cahir rode past Hochebuz hours later. He could already smell the scorched fields of Sodden Hill despite being leagues away from the castle. The smell made his horse uneasy and when he cleared the hill his horse panicked. He clamped his legs hard into the stallions' sides and tried to keep him steady as they made their way through the browning fields, he kept the reins tight as he led the horse over charred bones and littered pieces of armor melted and twisted. It astounded him how far the fire had spread. This wasn't as bad as the Hill itself. The fields here were somewhat healthy, his horse nibbled at tiny blades of growing grass when he felt like it. Cahir knew that if the horse tired out so would he, there was no way in hell he'd walk all the way to Aedirn so he took his time. He realized when he neared Dol Angra that the fields weren't a battlefield at all, the fields were a graveyard. The rotting, burnt and mangled corpses of Nilfgaardian soldiers soiled the very earth.

He'd only seen the burning from afar. He had felt the heat and heard the screams, but he had left with his life. Only to be captured by the rectoress of Aretuza mere hours later. She was looking for Yennefer, he had understood that much. He kept his mouth shut and only screamed when she promised him deep, unending pain. He never said a thing-

Cahir was wrenched from his reminiscing when he finally saw the mountains overlooking the Yaruga, the sun was rising when his horse whinnied at the sight of the running water. Cahir just patted the black beast and slid from the saddle. He had wine, plenty of it in skins tucked into his bedroll. He assumed water would be better given the distance he still had to go. The Commander General had just bent down to drink beside his mount when an ear-splitting scream followed by a growl made him stop. He whipped his head toward the sound and saw a woman running for him, eyes filled with terror as three growling, reeking ghouls scurried out of the copse of trees and straight for him. Cahir unsheathed his sword and reached for the girl. She turned away from him the second she reached him and snapped her fingers. Cahir was bathed in light from the ball of fire flickering in her open palm. His eyes darkened and his fist clenched around the hilt of his sword. The mage..

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#the witcher #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #cahir fanfiction #enemies to lovers #its 30k words and thats alot #it has everything you want #fanfiction #archive of our own #cahir needs a break #read my fic #also on wattpad #also on ff.net #eamon farren #the witcher season 3 #the witcher netflix #twn #jaskier is protective

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ofthespheres · 2 years

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❝ When you know about something it stops being a nightmare. When you know how to fight something, it stops being so threatening. ❞

Ofthespheres, Witcher focused multi-muse, Fet. Geralt of Rivia, Tissaia de Vries, Villentretenmerth, Dettlaff van der Eretein & others Mutuals only, 18+, Triggering content, Penned by André

#witcher rp #the witcher rp #blood Origin rp #fantasy rp

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limerental · 2 years

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ficletober 2022 day 24 (but late)

In the wake of the events on Thanned, Triss receives a final letter from someone dear to her.

content warning for a canonical character death involving suicide, big spoilers for time of contempt. also i fudged some sorceress details in ways that may minorly contradict canon but frankly I dont think canon even knows. I'm cutting this very early in case who dies is too spoilery for anyone

The note arrived in Tretogor tied to the leg of a soft, white pigeon with a plume of feathers along its crown.

Triss knew at once who had sent the bird, as a girl had cared for ones of the same breeding in the personal rookery of the former Rectoress of Aretuza.

She unrolled the note from the bird's offered foreleg and stared at the neat scrawl. Wave by wave, a chill sank through her, as though she were slowly being lowered into a vat of icy water.

If you are reading these words, Triss Merigold, I have been successful in my last act.

Her hands began to tremble as she read on, and as she reached its conclusion, she dropped it to the desk as though it had scalded her, wounded fingers pressed against her mouth.

"Oh," she moaned, shaking her head, and the bird watching her from the sill echoed the movement, plumage rustling. "Oh no, no."

I send this to note to you, so that you may be the one to tell her. So that you may be there for her. You are gentle and kind at heart, Triss, for all your mistakes. I hope you will rethink your associations before it is too late. As it is for me.

Triss felt ill. She pressed her fingers harder against her mouth to still the impulse to hurl. It couldn't be true, what she had read. If it were true, then she…

Be brave, Triss. Be gentle. Do not blame yourself. Do not forget yourself.

It had been not yet a week since the dreadful events on Thanned, and Triss had had little time to reflect on them.

After fleeing to Brokilon with a mortally wounded Geralt, all her thoughts had been occupied by fretting for him, desperately fearful that he would die of shock or else be permanently crippled, horribly grateful when at last he stabilized and Eithne demanded that she go. She had found herself expelled from King Foltest's service and barred from entering Temeria and had had no choice but to join Philippa and the others in Tretogor.

She was sharing Philippa's accommodations within the Redanian royal palace with Keira Metz, who had been ousted from Temeria along with Triss, and Margarita Laux-Antille, who had sent all those living at Aretuza, novices and instructors, to the remote stronghold of Ban Ard while repairs and investigations were underway on Thanned Island.

Thankfully Tor Lara seemed to have stabilized, and the integrity of the island had not been irreparably damaged by its combustion. Whether other damages could be repaired, it was yet to be seen.

Especially now, the words of the note fallen to the desk echoing in the silence.

"Oh," sighed Triss, holding back a sob. "Oh, how am I to tell her? How can I… oh."

If Triss had not stood in collusion with Philippa… if she had remained neutral… if she had spoken out, told someone, done something different…

Perhaps Tissaia de Vries would still be alive.

Her face crumpled as she held her head in her hands. She felt like wailing with grief, tearing at her hair, slumping to sob against the cold tile floor, but she restrained herself.

She could hear Margarita and Keira having a light-hearted argument in the main room of Philippa's apartments. Keira had eaten one of the pears that Margarita bought at the market yesterday but swore with less and less credibility that she hadn't. Margarita's voice sounded fondly exasperated.

She and Keira had graduated the same year, Philippa a few years before them, Triss a good decade after. For all the strain and weight of the past week, the three of them got along well, Philippa getting on with all of them as well as she did anyone. Their stay had been somewhat reminiscent of a girlhood dormitory, at least late in the evenings when they tired of political conversation and discussing harrowing current events.

The three of them talked late into the night, expressing their fears and doubts and hopes. The little tragedies and triumphs of their lives and worry over what would happen next.

"We had planned to vacation in Cidaris this week," Margarita had said. "Tissaia and I. I'll have to get a refund for the house. It was a beautiful place. Right on the water."

"Is it serious between you?" Keira had asked. It had been a surprise to all of them to learn that the two women shared a much closer bond than they allowed the world to see.

"Yes. We see other people, of course. Our lives are too busy and too long to be everything to one another. But when I am with her… she is all I see. When I am away from her, she is the home I long to return to."

Triss had sighed and cooed at the romantic words, and Keira had made kissy faces and laughed away Margarita's embarrassed swats with a pillow.

She felt sickeningly cold as she recalled those words now.

Tissaia was dead. Triss had to be the one to…

It was too much. If only she had...

But it was too late now.

She sniffed once and rubbed away an escaped tear. Dropped her hands from her face and clasped them before her to quell their shaking. Straightened her shoulders and forced her facial expression stony and controlled, only a small wobble of her lower lip betraying her grief.

Just as Tissaia had taught her, long ago.

With a last long look at the tufted feathers of the bird settling down to nap on her windowsill, Triss turned on her heel and went to break the news.

#:)))#my fic #i think a lot about the little missing moments like this #the witcher #ficletober 2022

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astaldis · 1 year

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Nauseous - Long Story

@whumpers-monthly

Fandom: The Witcher TV, The Witcher novels

Whumpee: Cahir

Published: 2021-10-11; Completed: 2021-10-20; Words: 17,043

Summary: After the Battle of Sodden Hill Cahir is captured by the enemy who wants information. Which the young Nilfgaardian commander is not willing to give away easily. The Emperor of Nilfgaard is not in a forgiving mood, either. (Written before S2 of The Witcher Netflix)

Rating: Mature; Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Gen

Relationship: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Triss Merigold

Characters: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach; Tissaia de Vries; King Foltest of Temeria; Vernon Roche; Vilgefortz of Roggeveen; Blue Stripes special forces; Triss Merigold; Emhyr var Emreis; Rience (The Witcher); Ceallach aep Gruffyd

Additional Tags: Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Cahir whump; caretaker Triss Merigold; Torture; Aftermath of Torture; Waterboarding; magical torture; white-hot poker Execution; Whipping

Excerpt from Chapter 2 - Water:

"Well done, Roche, as always." King Foltest patted his protege on the shoulder. "Wake the bastard up and interrogate him. I want to know exactly how many Nilfgaardians are hiding in the forest. And what they are planning."

"Your Majesty." Vernon Roche bowed at his king as the monarch was leaving the tent. Then he gave his men some quick orders. Soon one of them reappeared, a bucket filled with water in his hand. With one sweep he splashed the cold content over the black-clad figure lying on the ground face down, hands tied behind his back, his light brown hair matted with blood that was still seeping sluggishly from an ugly gash in the back of his head.

With a start, the prisoner came to. He groaned when rough hands manhandled him into a sitting position against a sturdy tent pole. His head was throbbing with pain, as was his left side. The heavy blow to his head had left him dizzy, nauseous, his vision swimming, and had he eaten anything recently, he would surely have thrown up into the face of the man that was slowly coming into more focus. He swallowed, trying to suppress another groan of pain, not very successfully though.

"You are hurting. That is good. You killed two of my men, Nilfgaardian, and shot at my king. You deserve it," the man said, sneering scornfully at his injured prisoner. "And I promise you'll hurt even more before the night is over. The degree of pain depending on your willingness to cooperate." The man made a meaningful pause to let his words sink in. "Let's start with an easy question," he then continued, venom in his voice. "What is your name, freak?"

Excerpt from Chapter 6 - A Flicker of Hope:

The mysterious hooded stranger who had totally unexpectedly appeared out of nowhere and had, for yet unknown reasons, saved him from the scaffold, pushed him through the brightly shining portal he had created outside the castle grounds only to open another portal. And another after that, and another. When the sorcerer that he doubtlessly was finally stopped hauling him through yet another portal, Cahir felt so dizzy, disoriented and nauseous that his shaking legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground. If he had eaten anything that day, he would surely have thrown up all over his rescuer's black leather boots. Fortunately, with his stomach empty, he only dry-retched a few times. Then he had a harrowing cough attack.

"Not used to portalling much, are you?" Cahir looked up, his lungs burning and eyes watering. In the dimly lit room they had landed in all he could make out of his still hooded rescuer were some strands of black hair and a pair of equally dark eyes. His voice was grating and not very pleasant. However, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? The mage had gotten him out of a strongly guarded castle in one piece, certainly at high risk to his own life. This, of course, left the uneasy question of why exactly. Cahir could not think of even one plausible explanation. But, no doubt, he would be informed of it sooner or later. No use bothering his spinning head about it yet.

"This was necessary, you see, to keep other mages off our track. You would not want to be captured and dragged to the scaffold again now, would you?" The sorcerer's voice was not only unpleasant but had a mocking tone to it. However, he bent down behind Cahir and tapped the iron manacles with his ring. Which made them open with a metallic click. Relief flooded through the young Vicovarian. Obviously he was not the man's prisoner. If he was, why would he free him from his shackles?

"Clean yourself up, you stink." The sorcerer screwed up his nose demonstratively. "And make yourself comfortable. My master will want to speak with you first thing tomorrow morning." Sneering through thin lips the mage magically lit some candles and a fireplace in the small room. Then he left, locking the door behind him.

Read the complete story on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34428718

#whumpers-monthly #issue no 19 #nauseous #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #cahir #Cahir Whump #rience #Triss Merigold #emhyr var emreis #vilgefortz of roggeveen #tissaia de vries #torture #Aftermath of Torture #the witcher netflix #the witcher netflix season 1 #the witcher fanfiction #vernon roche #king foltest

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