#“it's a trap!”

[tildeathiwillwrite]

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.

-----

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

[writingphoenix]

WoW Birthday Whump Day 11

So, a month later and I'm finally getting back to this. I've been reading a lot, mostly All for the Game fanfics, and haven't really been in a writing mood but the bug bit again so I'm back! I should have the next part up tomorrow but after that no promises.

The WoW Birthday Whump event took place in April but I'm not leaving my story unfinished. Here's the masterlist and here's the previous part!

Used as bait / "It's a trap!"

Alex came for him soon after the men who had recaptured him left. Nathan hadn’t moved from where they had dumped him on the ground. He was too sick, exhausted, and defeated to bother. 

“Up,” Alex ordered with a kick to Nathan’s side. He stifled a groan as he forced himself to stand. He was noticeably unsteady and he nearly fell over. Alex undid the chain and half-dragged him back up the stairs and outside.

The sun was fully up now and both four wheelers were gone. The morning air was cold and a breeze had picked up. It made Nathan shiver uncontrollably. Alex led him to the center of the yard and Nathan realized that there was a post driven deep into the ground. Alex gave it a few wiggles and tugs to make sure it was secure, then attached Nathan’s chain to the post.

“Better hope that kid tries to take you away from me again if you want to go back inside,” Alex said. “You get to sit here until Josh comes to get you. Then the two of you can share your room.” He smiled, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a blindfold. Alex tied it around Nathan’s eyes and walked away, to where Nathan didn’t know.

He curled in on himself as best as he could against the cold. Part of him wanted Josh to come so that he could go back inside but part of him hoped he got away. He was so cold, so hungry, so tired. His body ached from the four wheeler ride and his fever. The darkness at least was nice but he couldn’t fall asleep again.

Hours passed as he shivered against the cold. The sun was a blessing to him as it rose and the wind lessened a bit. 

Footsteps crunched and he tensed up, ready for pain. Instead, he felt a gentle hand and Josh whispering in his ear.

“Nathan, are you ok? I’m going to try to get you out of here again.”

“No, no,” he said. His voice was hoarse and his throat felt like it was tearing with every word. “It’s a trap! You have to get out of here, Josh. Run!”

Josh removed the blindfold from Nathan’s head and Nathan blinked at the sudden light in his face. As he finally got his vision back, he realized with horror that Alex was coming up behind Josh and he had a gun. Josh saw his face and spun around to look. Alex aimed the gun right at Nathan.

“Stand up and step away, Josh, or I’ll shoot the kid.” 

Nathan closed his eyes as Josh complied. He was sure that Alex was going to shoot him regardless. He braced for the shot, for the inevitable pain. There was nothing but the sound of footsteps crunching leaves. Nathan realized that Josh was leaving with Alex and, although he was worried about what would happen to Josh, he let himself relax.

[foolfortune]

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]

[whydidisavethistomyphone]

[odinsblog]

[feelmyroarrrr]

Link

What a thirst trap!!!

[bigdickmenace]

So bouncy!😋

DMs open to submissions📥

[babybluebitchface-blog]

those fuck ass animatronics would not have stood a chance against this absolute god

[mikimuun]

fanart of this fantastic au animated by @blabberoo

[fixyourwritinghabits]

I'm going to have to say this multiple times, but you do not have to use Generative AI to create background characters, locations, or plot ideas. There are hundreds of writing generators out there lovingly crafted for free by folks who want nothing more than to give you tools for writing. Please just search for them.

You do not have to use the Unethical Thieving Machine That Burns Down A Rainforest to help you write. There are so many resources out there that will strengthen your writing, not weaken it. You owe it to yourself to do better.

[dark-elf-writes]

Odysseus after ten years of suffering, picking up Poseidon’s trident: Traumatize them back :)

Poseidon: Hey… Buddy… can we talk about this?

Odysseus: No :)

[dolll-world]

[magentasnail]

I'm absolutely obsessed with the book of bill, best thing i've ever read and it no joke gave me actual nightmares !! 100/10

[noodles-and-tea]

Princess unattainabelle beckons you…