#survival skills pigeonwhumps

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Deals Cut, Questions Answered

Records of the Torrent Watchers: The Blood Moon Specter, Part 7

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

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Fandom: Original Work

Words: 2100

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: fantasy whump, captivity, deception, threats, stab wounds, bleeding out, hostage situation, swearing

A/N: Finally done! Took a bit longer than just October but I'm glad to say I didn't draw it out over several months like certain... other short stories *looks at Magician's Bait*

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If Damian were to rank the past day in his mental list of adventures, the investigation of the Blood Moon Specter would have to be one of the top strangest things to happen to him.

Sure, the whole business with Natali Tallis had happened a year before, where he was abducted and held in the abandoned catacombs as bait for magician Caiya Ebony. But he didn’t consider that particularly strange. Damian had at least somewhat understood what was happening then. Everything fit within the known laws of rune writing, even with Natali being one of the Stalkers, magicians who figured out how to speak runes, granting them more power.

Reese’s ability to resist the runes had confused him at first, until he’d found out about her heritage and how it negated the runes’ power. Draigo were known for their immunity to that sort of thing, and being only half-Draigo didn’t seem to dilute the ability.

But that was all logical. It all made sense to him.

What didn’t make sense to him now was the current situation.

Damian and Luc stood at the far corner of the small cell, inexplicably separated from their bodies, but not dead, either. The culprit, the woman wearing an orange, silk dress, stood at the opposite side of the unnaturally blurry cell, her frustration obvious as she tried and failed to do the same thing to Reese.

Reese, for her part, was completely oblivious as she checked Damian’s body for first a pulse, then signs of runes.

The woman cursed, her hands passing through Reese’s shoulders as if she were simply made of mist. “How?!” she demanded, batting at the younger woman as if that would accomplish anything. “How can she just… this?!”

Damian glanced at Luc, who shrugged, but didn’t provide any more explanation. In a blink, the woman stood in front of them, her hands clenched into fists as if she intended to throttle the answer out of them. Luc stepped forward slightly. “Release us,” he commanded, “and we’ll tell you what we know.”

She gritted her teeth. Behind her, Reese moved to check Luc, frown deepening. She didn’t appear overly concerned about being locked in the cell. Her knife was sheathed, but Damian had witnessed firsthand her speed and skill. Whoever opened the cell door next would be greeted with a rude welcome.

So long as they were in the physical realm, he supposed.

“You will still be trapped,” the woman finally said, composing herself. “Chained and unarmed, save for your apprentice’s knife.”

Luc tilted his head, regarding her. “I’ve been in worse binds.”

“Yes, that curse of yours Rycellus mentioned.”

“Not what I was thinking in particular, but yes. Might I know the name of my… host?”

The woman’s eyes flicked up and down, studying first him, then Damian. “I am Laiose. Tell me, how is it you survived this long? There was no record of you ever actually removing the runes.”

Luc hissed through his teeth. “What is with you people and my curse?”

Laoise smirked. “I know many things. I simply share information as I see fit. Now, how is it you survived, hmm… is it fifteen years now?”

“It’s closer to thirteen,” Luc said through gritted teeth. “And as I said before, I will only answer if you release us.”

Laoise considered this for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. “I will accept this. My answers for your return to your physical bodies. Fair trade?”

Before Luc could respond, Damian cut in. “No. We answer your question about Reese in exchange for letting us go. For the answer about Luc’s curse, you must answer a question from us.”

Luc nodded in approval as Laoise glanced back to Reese, who had settled on the ground close to the cell door, knife drawn, head tilted as if listening. The woman turned back to Luc and Damian. “These new terms are acceptable. The curse?”

Luc pulled off his jacket and undid the first button of his shirt, pulling the collar aside to reveal the bandages wrapped around his torso. “The runes are still there,” he explained, “we found a way to weaken them. I won’t bleed out. But they’ll never fully heal.”

“Fascinating. Do they affect any injuries sustained more recently?”

Luc buttoned his shirt and put his jacket back on. “Will you answer a second question for us?”

Laoise frowned, thinking. “Perhaps. But ask your first question.”

Luc looked to Damian, who already had his question ready. “How is it you are able to do this?” He gestured to himself, Luc, and the surrounding cell, blurred as if viewed through a glass fogged over from condensation. Even Reese was slightly blurred.

“Simple. I forced your spirits into the dream realm. You might call it something else here, but where I’m from, that’s what we call it.”

“Where are you from?”

She tilted her head knowingly. “A planet far from here, with different cultures, technologies, and unique abilities.” She glanced at Luc. “Do the weakened runes still affect your natural healing?”

Luc’s eyes flicked to Damian. “Somewhat. Major injuries require a magician’s intervention, but if there’s a difference with more minor ones, I can’t tell. How is it you are from another planet, and now here?”

“Secret of the trade,” Laoise answered, exuding a certain air of smugness. “Would you like to be returned now?”

Damian eyed Reese, who still had that same unbothered expression and the stance of a hunter lying in wait for her prey. Perhaps waiting on Rycellus or one of his underlings to check on their trap. “How is it we could not see you until you… forced us here… but Rycellus speaks to you?”

A mixture of emotions crossed Laoise’s face. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. Amusement. “I do not know. He is the first we have found, both here and back home. I have yet to observe your other apprentice write runes, and yet Rycellus claims her to be a magician. Is she?”

Damian didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Rune-writing is less useful in combat as it takes time to construct even the simple ones. It is common practice to apply runes to weapons, clothing or skin prior to expected combat.”

“She is not in combat now. How hasn’t she tried to escape yet?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Damian admitted, hoping his uncertainty was convincing. “Why has Rycellus been abducting and torturing people?”

Laoise cocked her head, considering this answer and his new question. “We are looking for something,” she replied, “and we have yet to find it.”

Damian opened his mouth to ask what they were looking for, but Luc spoke before he could. “How can we trust that you are telling the truth?”

The amusement was prominent. “You can’t. But I can’t trust that of you, either.”

She had avoided giving a concrete answer to certain questions. How she’d gotten to Valaria. The name and specifics about her supposed home planet. Perhaps it was information she didn’t typically give out. Or perhaps she was lying about the business of it all. Not entirely out of the question….

Damian doubted she would reveal anymore about her origins or her goals. Doing so was guaranteed to jeopardize them whether Damian and the Watchers could do anything or not. Even with Reese trapped in the cell with them, she was still armed and any attempts to bind her would be met with pain.

He glanced at Luc, who nodded once, coming to the same conclusions he had. “We’d like to be returned to our physical bodies now,” Luc stated, crossing his arms. “I cannot provide you with a concrete answer for your first question, so an educated guess will have to suffice. She has found a way to nullify magic used directly against her. I do not know exactly how it is.”

“A rune,” Laoise mused, considering this half-truth. “Perhaps you are lying. Perhaps you have this entire conversation. But a deal is a deal, after all.”

She made a shoving motion with both hands. Instantly, vertigo curled in Damian’s stomach, and the cell blurred even more before becoming completely dark. His eyes snapped open, and awareness of his body flooded back into him, with all the aches and bruises and stiffness from being held in one position for so long.

Across from him, Luc stirred, eyes opening and darting about the room, searching for Laoise. But aside from Reese, they appeared to be alone.

Reese flinched at the sudden movement at the corner of her eye, but when she saw Luc and Damian awake, she relaxed. “So it was just sedation?”

Luc shook his head. “No.”

“Then what…?”

“I…” he glanced around again, “I’m not sure. But suffice it to say we are very, very lucky to have you here.”

She raised her eyebrows, but before she could ask further questions, her head snapped towards the cell door. “Someone’s coming,” she hissed, “tell me later.”

If there was even going to be a later. Damian kept the bleak thought to himself. He had said he was going to be the optimistic one, after all. A moment later, he heard footsteps echoing down the hallway and shook his head. How does she do that? Is it another Draigo thing?

Not that any of them could know for certain.

Reese rose to her feet and drew her knife as the footsteps approached the door and stopped. The moment the lock clicked, she kicked the door open, shoving back the person behind it and darting out of the cell, knife raised. Unfortunately, the door slammed shut the moment after she cleared it. 

The surprised guards cried out, followed by one of them screaming in pain. Another grunted, and Reese shouted, “Nobody move! Move and I slit his throat!”

Silence.

“Drop your weapons.”

Metal clattered on stone.

“Free the other Watchers,” Reese commanded, voice cold, “or I will kill him, kill the rest of you, and do it myself.”

Even without seeing the look on her face, even without being on the receiving end of her words, Damian shuddered. He made eye contact with Luc, whose face was set in careful neutrality. “Too much like a hunter,” he muttered as the cell door opened, and one of the mercenaries who had brought them here entered, hands shaking slightly as he pulled out a key and began to unlock the chains binding Luc to the wall.

Luc fixed the mercenary with an unblinking stare until the chains fell away and rose to his feet, rubbing at his wrists. He didn’t take his eyes off the mercenary until Damian’s chains were unlocked and helped him to his feet. Damian staggered, the blood rushing to his head, but Luc didn’t give him time to steady himself before shoving him out of the cell.

The hallway outside was a mess. One of the mercenary guards lay on the ground, groaning in pain as a second pressed his hands to a wound in his abdomen, blood pooling on the floor beneath them. Rycellus slumped against the wall, Reese standing behind him with one hand twisting his arm behind his back and the other holding her knife at his throat. A thin trickle of blood dripped down his neck from where she’d nicked him at some point during the scuffle.

“Get in the cell,” Reese ordered as the mercenary who’d freed Damian and Luc tried to follow them into the hallway.

The mercenary staunching his fellow’s bleeding flinched. “But—!”

“Get. In. The. Cell.”

The mercenary exhaled slowly before grabbing the other mercenary’s shoulders and dragging him into the cell, leaving a smear of red on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Rycellus murmured, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, “why haven’t you… oh, bullshit.”

Reese yanked him away from the wall, forcing a cry as the edge of her blade bit into his neck again. “You too.”

She shoved him inside the cell after the other three and slammed the door shut, throwing the bolt with an air of finality. “Now that’s over with…” she muttered, sheathing her knife, “we should get out of here. I sent Nari Shaye—Rycellus’ sister—ahead with the evidence I gathered and we should meet the town authorities en route.”

Luc regarded her with that same stony expression. “You gathered evidence… and sent it ahead… with his sister…” he sighed. “I remember telling you explicitly to—”

“And y’know what it all worked out,” Reese interrupted, grinning. “Now come on, let’s go.” As she moved past him towards the stairs, she swatted her arm. “And stop acting like your uncle. It doesn’t suit you.”

Damian glanced at Luc, who shook his head, not quite shedding the neutral look. “Well, you heard her,” the Watcher agreed, gesturing ahead. “But I’m not leaving until I get my weapons back.”

And who knows how long that's going to take. But Damian had to agree. He wasn't taking any more chances on the road. And the last thing he wanted was to get himself killed before he could dig more into the mysteries he discovered today.

[pigeonwhumps]

Lost

Whumpmas in July: Day 3 + Survival Skills #1

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@whumpmasinjuly

Whumpee gets lost trying to escape.

390 words

CWs: Broken arm, non-con drugging

Whumpee trips and falls on their bruised knees, scrambling to their feet and continuing to run. They can’t hear anything above their own harsh, ragged breathing, stumbling around branches and tripping over tree roots. Finally they reach the edge of the woods and they pause, panting, to see where they are.

Grass. It’s grassland and scrub and fields as far as the eye can see, and on the distant horizon, a motorway roars. There... there must be farmhouses nearby but they can’t see them.

Where are they? They don’t recognise the place at all. They should do, shouldn’t they? They didn’t travel all that far.

Did they?

“Hello Whumpee,” drawls a voice in their ear, and they spin around, hands raised defensively.

“W– whumper.”

Whumper smirks. “Of course it is. Was someone not paying attention to their surroundings?” He tuts reproachfully. “And here I was, thinking you actually listen when I talk.”

“I– I do!” stammers Whumpee hurriedly, terrified. “I– I was just–”

“Running away?” Whumper raises an eyebrow. “You weren’t even paying attention on our journey here.”

“I was blindfolded and gagged and stuffed in a box in the boot of your car!” shouts Whumpee indignantly, anger overriding their fear for a moment. “How was I meant to?”

“There are more ways to do that than just looking.” Whumper grabs their arm and twists it, and Whumpee screams at the white-hot flare of agony as a loud crack sounds. “For example, I’m sure you remember hearing me say that I’d make you regret it if you tried to run.”

Whumpee just nods frantically, terror rising as they see the small syringe that Whumper is holding.

“Don’t! Please! I’ll come willingly, I’ll– I’ll be good, just please– please don’t–”

“Oh I’m sure you will. Eventually. For now though, stop your damn squirming.” Whumpee freezes at his tone, and the syringe pricks them as it goes in, the drug entering their bloodstream. Whumper holds them tight as they both wait, and when it starts to work, Whumpee’s legs melting, he lifts them into his arms. The last thing Whumpee hears is a gloating whisper in their ear.

“You know, if you’d gone the other way, there’s a road. You might’ve actually been successful if you weren’t so pathetically inept. But don’t worry. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

[pigeonwhumps]

Hold on

Whumpmas in July: Day 6 + Survival Skills #2

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@whumpmasinjuly

Whumper teaches Whumpee how to rely on senses other than sight and hearing.

383 words

CWs: electrocution, sensory deprivation, blindfolded

Whumpee feels Whumper’s fingers touch the back of their head as he ties the blindfold.

“Not too tight, I hope?”

“No,” mutters Whumpee mutinously from where they’re on their knees, chained to the wall. They wonder vaguely why their hands are free.

“Mmm.” He pulls the blindfold a little tighter so it digs in slightly. “Better. Now, since that little... incident revealed your inability to use your senses fully, I thought you’d better learn. After all, you can’t always rely on your sight in the wild. Or hearing, for that matter. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll bring something into the room, and you’ll have thirty seconds to work out what it is.”

“And how– how do I know when the time ends?”

“You’ll know.” Something’s inserted into Whumpee’s left ear, and then their right, and then all they can hear is the pounding of their own heart. They swallow, fingers reaching out to touch the cold concrete floor. Breathe. Just breathe. Hold on, they have to hold on. If they’re not touching anything to ground themself with they might float away.

It smells a bit like a thunderstorm now, if they concentrate, and they run a hand up their sore arm, feeling the hairs standing on end. Staticky. Electricity, then, somewhere. They reach forward cautiously, feeling something plasticky. Long, rounded plastic.

“Cattle prod,” they gasp, voice sounding oddly distorted with the earplugs, “it’s a cattle prod.”

A few seconds pass and they’re sure they’re right, they’re going to get away with this, they can–

A scream’s ripped from them as electricity pulses through their body, burning, throbbing, excruciating pain.

When it stops, aftershocks gradually diminishing, they find themself bent over, panting for breath, the stench of burnt flesh in their nostrils. They think they might throw up from the pain in their side. Combined with their still-healing arm it’s too much to take. Dimly, they’re aware of someone fiddling around in their ears. They gag.

“No, no, Whumpee, don’t vomit. You’ll only have to clean it up if you do.”

Whumpee swallows with difficulty, burning their throat, and whispers hoarsely, “I told you what it was. Why–”

“Didn’t hear you. Sorry.” Whumper sounds very insincere, but Whumpee can’t summon up the energy for proper anger. “Now. Shall we try again?”

[pigeonwhumps]

Rebellion

Whumpmas in July: Day 12 + Survival Skills #4

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Whumpee attempts to refuse further tutelage from Whumper. It doesn't go well.

842 words

CWs: Non-con drug use, buried alive, panic attack

“No.”

Whumper stops, whirling around to face Whumpee, face like thunder. “I beg your pardon?”

Whumpee swallows. They’re so close to giving in but no. No, they can’t. They can’t take this anymore. They’ve been here for months and Whumper won’t stop torturing them while insisting it’s teaching. Last time he put them in a rope trap while ’teaching’ them how to keep rubbish away from wild animals. They were stuck upside down for hours with a leg that hadn’t quite healed yet. They can’t do it anymore. Whatever the consequences, they have to refuse.

“I said no. I won’t take your hand. I’m not subjecting myself to your insane torture disguised as teaching anymore. I’m done.”

Whumper raises an eyebrow. “You are, are you? And how do you propose to leave? If I remember correctly, the last time you tried, you got lost. Do you really think I’ll let you go?”

“I know you won’t let me go. You can torture me directly if you like. But I won’t take it as part of some lesson anymore.”

Whumper crouches down in front of them, looking Whumpee directly in the eye. “Is it too much for you? You don’t think you’d survive in the wild? You’re giving up?”

“You just want to torture me! This has fuck-all to do with me surviving, stop pretending it does! I can’t take your duplicity anymore!”

“So you are giving up? Think very carefully about your answer, Whumpee.”

“Yes!” Whumpee cries. “If that will get you to just torture me straight, yes!”

Whumper sighs mock-disappointedly, pulling out a familiar syringe, and Whumpee yells, struggling against the hand holding them down.

“In that case, you’re dead.” And he depresses the syringe into Whumpee’s arm.

_

When Whumpee wakes they’re lying on hard-packed earth, twigs poking into their back.

And they’re alone.

They try to move before Whumper gets there but their arms won’t budge. It’s like something’s holding them there. They curl their fingers, trying to feel–

Canvas. Oh. A straitjacket. And their ankles are tied together, they can’t–

“Ah, you’re awake.” Whumper stops at the edge of their sight, leaning on a spade. “You know, I should keep you like this more often.”

“Fuck you,” spits Whumpee, trying not to think about what that spade could possibly be for. Whumper tuts.

“Don’t particularly fancy it, thanks. Now hold still.” Whumpee glares as Whumper lifts them over his shoulder, holding them so their face is pressed against his back, and starts to walk. “You know, when someone dies in the wild you have to bury the body so animals don’t find it. Now, you’re not actually dead, but since you refuse to let me teach you it won’t be long. Might as well save some time, hmm?”

Whumpee’s breath hitches. No. No. “Whumper, no, please! You can’t!”

“You’re the one who wanted out,” he says calmly, setting Whumpee down in an earthy hole, “so this is what you get.” Whumpee tries to move their head away but Whumper holds it down, affixing a transparent mask over their mouth and nose. As soon as Whumper releases them they shake their head, desperately trying to dislodge it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not if you want to breathe at all down there.” Whumpee stops as Whumper holds up a tank, placing it next to them in the hole, and they notice the rush of oxygen for the first time. “Better. I also don’t know how well it’ll work in loose soil so this’ll be a learning experience for both of us. I’ll come and check on you in a few hours. See if you’ve changed your mind about me teaching you.”

Whumpee closes their eyes as the first clump of soil hits them in the face. The thuds are jarring, and it gets heavier, soil covering them, pressing them down, forcing them to take shallow breaths. And then all sounds are muffled, and they’re alone.

_

In, out. In, out. Regular, steady breaths, chest pushing up against the damp earth. In, out. Ignore the tickling of the soil against their eyelids, the press against them. Just breathe. In, out. It’ll be over soon.

_

It’ll be over soon.

_

It’s too much. They can’t do this. They claw against the inside of the straitjacket, thrashing as best they can, trying to get out but they can’t move, can’t get away from the earth that just falls and falls, forcing them down, they can’t even open their eyes, they’re suffocating even though they know they’re breathing, it’s not enough air, they take short, fast breaths, unable to stop, God they’re going to die here, oh God–

_

It has to be over soon. Please, God, let it be over soon, let Whumper come back soon, don’t let him leave them to die.

_

Digging. A spade hitting earth. The weight lifts and it gets lighter behind their eyelids and they open their eyes as the mask’s pulled roughly away.

“Well?”

“Please...” they pant weakly.

“Please what?”

“Please... please teach me.”

And Whumper smiles.

[pigeonwhumps]

Falling

Whumpmas in July: Day 9 + Survival Skills #3

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@whumpmasinjuly

Whumper teaches Whumpee about falls.

431 words

CWs: Broken leg

“So I was thinking, I should teach you first aid,” says Whumper casually, squeezing Whumpee’s sprained hand a little too tightly as they stroll through the woods (the private woods, apparently. Whumper’s private woods). “After all, it’s an essential skill, especially for someone as accident-prone as you.”

“Accident– you keep torturing me!” says Whumpee indignantly. “I’m not going to trip over a cattle prod in the wild!”

Whumper hums. “You might. But that’s not the only way you could get injured.” At an unexpected shove Whumpee stumbles sideways, losing their footing. One foot slides down into empty space and they can’t find any footholds, the gravity pulling their whole body over, down, down, until they land on hard earth, not enough air to scream as their leg snaps under them. Black spots dance in front of their vision for a few seconds before clearing, revealing Whumper peering down at them from the top of a long shaft. “For example, falls are the number one most common cause of injuries.”

“You... bastard,” croaks out Whumpee. Whumper cups his ear in an exaggerated motion.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Whumpee flips two fingers in the air weakly and he chuckles. “Always the dramatist. Unfortunately for you, I can’t treat your injuries while you’re in a pit, so...” Whumper vanishes, reappearing a few seconds later to throw a rope ladder down. “Climb up.”

“You want me to climb a ladder on a broken leg?” asks Whumpee. They’re not surprised, exactly, but...

“Be thankful I’m not making you climb the walls. I’m sure you can figure out a way to do it.”

Whumpee grits their teeth and pulls themself up, balancing against the stone wall so they don’t have to put their weight on their broken leg. Everything hurts, especially their back and leg.

At least their arm’s mostly healed. Small mercies.

They grip the ladder with both hands and pull themself up on their good leg. Then they try to lift their bad leg onto the rope.

As soon as they put the slightest weight on it they scream, the pain becoming all-encompassing, vision whiting out momentarily. As soon as it returns they move on, climbing, climbing, getting themself out of here before they can think about it properly. It seems to take an eternity to reach the woods again, and when they do they collapse, lights sparking in their vision, a throbbing pain travelling up their leg.

“Finally,” says Whumper, opening a first aid kit. “You don’t look too good though. Now. What shall I teach you how to treat first?”

[pigeonwhumps]

Survival Skills

Whumpee is captured by a Whumper who wants to teach them survival skills. Painfully.

A Whumpmas in July miniseries.

Lost

Hold on

Falling

Rebellion

Numb

"Make Me"

Bleeding

Rescued

Peace

Stitches [Free choice prompt]