Gods, when I come to my head feels like it’s pounding heavy and filled with razor sharp wire wool, only the vaguest memory of the hit I took that put me down still left, never mind whatever it is that actually wiped me out in the end. I feel stiff all over, painfully so in fact, focused in some places more than others, but everything seems to hurt to an extent. Worst of all it feels like my tongue’s too big to be able to breathe right now, enough I’m almost choking on it.

It's only once I start coming back to my senses more completely that I realise that, in fact, things are much, much worse than that. I’ve been tied up. Very tightly, and completely. For a few very long moments I just lie where I am, taking in this strange sensation, not yet ready to open my eyes because I’m suddenly terribly afraid of what I might actually see when I look at myself. Worst of all is realising that this unpleasant sensation in my mouth is not, in fact, a particularly swollen tongue, I’ve just been very effectively gagged as well.

Very slowly, I start to open my eyes, just a crack at first in case I’m blinded by sudden bright light, but ultimately I find that whatever there is around me isn’t strong enough for that. It’s not pitch dark, but it’s gloomy all the same, I can’t really make out much of the room around me anyway, just bare, worn dark brick walls and a threadbare carpet underneath me. A few open oil lamps burning in sconces high in the wall across from where I’m lying on my side, on the floor. Taking as much of a breath as I can through my nose, I start trying to shift as I now brave a look down at myself, preparing to gauge exactly how bad my situation is.

Minerva … whoever bound me clearly knows what they’re doing. My arms have been lashed painfully tight behind my back with dark, finely woven silk rope, strong, tensile stuff from the feel of it, much better quality than we’re able to get hold of most of the time. Not only have my wrists been bound together, but my arms too just above the elbows, cinched close enough that my shoulders have been dragged back hard before the ropes were then wound around my upper torso. Whoever did it relieved me of my robes and gear first so they could tie me much more effectively, leaving me in just my britches, boots and tunic. The ropes are wound uncomfortably tight, cutting into my flesh, making it hard for me to move much at all.

Worse is the way my legs have been bound. Instead of just tying them together, they bent each leg double at the knee before binding them individually into an open kneeling position, before binding my ankles together with another length of rope. This was then tethered to the bonds at my wrists, which has the effect of dragging my shoulders back further still so it causes my back to arch, meaning that while I can move my legs I still can’t really do much more than squirm.

They’ve even taken my magic into account – a length of thick twine’s been added after some small thought, wound tightly around my thumbs before tying these together too, which prevents me from weaving sigils.

As if I could do much without being able to speak anyway. A wad of crumpled cloth has been forced into my mouth before another length of fabric was forced between my teeth to firmly pin it in, the ends knotted tightly behind my head under my hair. That being said, whoever tied that wasn’t too careful, every time I move my head I feel uncomfortable yanking from a few stray locks that seem to have gotten tangled in the knot. After clearing my uncomfortably dry throat I try to speak but all that comes out is a badly muffled moan, putting paid to any lingering thoughts I might have had for trying to get out of this with just an incantation.

Well, at least whoever gagged me was careful not to shove the cloth in too deep before securing it, so I’m in no danger of choking. It’s small comfort indeed, but better than nothing. If I wasn’t already growing quietly terrified I could almost be relieved …

The pain in my head’s starting to subside a little, my mind becoming less muddled, but the trade-off is that now I’m realising how deep the shit I’m in actually is, and it just scares the holy hell out of me. Whoever has me clearly intends to keep me if they’ve gone to these kinds of lengths to prevent me even trying to escape.

After a few moments I give up on thinking my way out of the situation as the panic sets in and I just start thrashing. I yank on the ropes, rolling back and forth as much as my position will allow me to, my breathing becoming increasingly desperate since I can only suck so much air in through my nose … and then as the fear really starts to set in the waterworks start too and I feel a deep shame rising in me as I start to cry, even though there’s that tiny rational part inside telling me that this’ll only make it worse. With the gag in my mouth I can only breathe through my nose, if that gets blocked too I’m liable to suffocate. Of course this realisation just makes me cry harder.

Fuck … oh gods … Minerva, please help me, I don’t know what the fuck to do. Please … how the hell do I get out of this?

NO. This is not the end. Snap the fuck out of it, Gael. You’re the child of Darion Foxtail, and you’re a Hero of the Silver Order, you’ve proven you’re worthy of a mighty legacy. You’re better than this, stronger than this. Get a hold of yourself and think.

After a few minutes I give up squirming, finally wrestling my instincts back under control as I acknowledge the vast total of nothing I’ve actually achieved having only managed to roll over onto my other side. Now I can see that I’m in a small, bare little room that contains nothing but a stack of very dusty boxes half-covered by an even more filthy tarp, and a currently closed door. There’s the sound of dripping water somewhere nearby, but other than that it’s mostly silent.

Mostly. Once I’ve got myself back under control and I’m actually thinking again I realise I can hear something outside this room, further off in … well, wherever. Voices, very muffled, so faint I can’t really make out who it might be, never mind what’s actually being said, I can only tell that at least one of them is clearly very angry right now.

Then I hear something else, something above me, coming from the low-hanging brick ceiling, or at least through it. It sounds something like rushing water from some distance, but at the same time not, it keeps changing, flowing and them ebbing ever so slowly before finally coming to a stop. And it doesn’t repeat. I have no idea what it might actually be.

Moments later I hear someone shouting something much closer, still unable to make out the actual words but at least I can tell it’s a woman speaking, still sounding decidedly displeased. Then I hear a rattling, clinking sound before something starts scraping at the door itself, and I realise it’s a key being stuck into a lock and turned, and meeting some resistance in the attempt from the sound of it. An old, temperamental lock, then

Finally the door opens and as it swings inward a little more light filters in through the doorway as someone steps into view. I don’t recognise them at all, they’re some nondescript half-orc of unclear gender, fairly young and burly, scruffy haired and very belligerent in their expression, as if they’re not enjoying this particular errand at all. I recognise the individual with him, though. The sight of her is enough to set my heart pounding fast again as the fear returns.

Vandryss. Oh gods no …

She just stands there for a long moment while the half-orc pockets the keys, standing by with a distinct lack of patience. Those deeply odd blazing green eyes are locked on me, checking me over slowly, evaluating me, and her expression is very cold. If she seemed to have a dark sense of humour when I saw her the other night, it’s buried deep inside her at this moment. She seems deadly stern now.

“Bring her.” she finally hisses without taking her eyes away from mine. Then she turns away and starts stalking back the way she came.

Breathing a heavy, irritated sigh, the half-orc shakes their head as they step into the room and comes for me. As they reach out I shy away, doing the best I can to keep out of reach, but the way I’m tied means all I can do is flop over onto my back and then I’m completely helpless with my bound arms pinned under me and froggy legs flailing in the air. All I can do is whimper in useless protest and they clearly couldn’t care less what I think as they just grab hold of my left ankle and start dragging me roughly out of the room.

Flipping over as they start towing me so I’m face-down on the carpet with my cheek dragging across the cheap, rough fibres, I’m forced me to crane my neck up and around to keep from getting burned. Instead I try to look over my shoulder, but from the angle I can barely make out snatches of my surroundings as I’m dragged like a sack of potatoes through a narrow, lamp-lit corridor with several barred doors on either side. I can’t make head nor tail of exactly where I am, but I suspect this is some kind of makeshift prison.

Of course it is. This must be where they’re keeping the people they’ve been snatching for weeks, maybe months. And I’m just the latest captive.

We don’t turn any corners, although I see other passages branching off before I’m towed through another door and into somewhat larger room. This one’s a bit more cluttered, with stacked chairs lining one of the walls and piles of crates along the other, but when I’m finally dragged in a rough circle and dumped without ceremony in the middle of the floor I see the back wall is mostly just pipes and racking. And a figure, bound to the metalwork with a great tangle of heavy steel chains, shackled in several places around their limbs and trunk and left to slump on the floor. As I squirm about in order to get myself into a slightly more comfortable position I try to take this new person in, but they’re mostly just a mess, thick, greasy black hair hanging down to completely obscure their lolling face. They might be a man, given what’s left of their tattered robes I can’t really tell. They’re so filthy and ragged I couldn’t begin to work out what colour they’re supposed to be anyway.

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Vandryss steps up to them and kicks their thigh with particular roughness, prompting a dull grunt as they’re rudely awakened. “Up and at it, doggy. I’ve brought you some company. I think you know them.”

What does she mean … working on shifting my strained, aching shoulders, I raise my head as much as I can, craning to try and get a proper look at the face as they slowly raise their head, clearly taking a lot of effort to manage it in the first place. The first I realise they’re an elf is seeing the upward-curling pointed tips of their pronounced ears poke through their greasy black hair, then I conclude he’s a man when I see the thick, disordered scruff of dark beard covering their narrow jaw … then they open their eyes and they’re a particularly striking flash of warm hazel and I finally realise who this is. As if it could be anyone else …

“Da!” That’s what I try to shout, but all I manage to get out through the gag is another muffled squawk. I start struggling again seeing him, especially once I start taking note of just what a horrible state he’s in.

Minerva … the once mighty Darion Foxtail has been comprehensively broken, it seems. His left eye is surrounded with ugly dark bruises and bad swelling that half closes it even as he tries to blink and focus, while there are streaks of flaking dried blood run down from his scalp and under his badly broken nose, both lips severely split and puffed up. Worse, once I start to look I can see his fingers have been thoroughly mangled with severe breaks, and he’s missing half of his fingernails, nothing left now but bloody, ragged quicks. Worst of all, though, is the collar I can see around his neck – it’s a thick, heavy band of what looks like black iron, just like the rest of the actual bands binding him, and they’re all heavily etched with glowing blue glyphs.

Invocation fetters. That is some very powerful magic, he’s been more than just physically restrained, his own powers now rendered entirely inert, he couldn’t even weave a simple illusion now. No mere hedge mage would be capable of something like this – only someone with Silver Order training can create bonds this powerful. That fucking witch, Tavarrat … she’s a traitor to everything she was taught.

It takes him several moments to focus enough to even see me, but when he does there’s a slow, awful dawning recognition in his face that quickly turns into pure shock. “Guh … Gael? Gael?!” He start to thrash in his chains now, trying to get up but he seems to be pretty much locked into his kneeling position while his arms are drawn up on either side, he’s not going anywhere. “Oh fuck … Minerva, what have they done … oh you fucking bitch!” He turns his hot, baleful gaze on Vandryss now, spitting pure venom. “Let them go! You let my child go RIGHT NOW!!!”

Planting her hands on her knees, Vandryss leans close to his face, smiling now. “Indeed? And why would I do that? Have you lost your wits along with your dignity while you’ve been stuck here with us?”

“I’m going to kill you, you vicious cunt!” He’s still trying to lunge for her, and even though his fingers are completely ruined they’re still trying to grapple at the air. If he can even feel it right now he’s not really registering it. “You’re not long for this fucking world, hellspawn!”

While he harangues her I keep struggling, seeing my father still trying to fight lending me enough fire to try and work my own way out of my bonds, but it’s no more successful than my previous attempt, I’m stuck fast. So when Vandryss turns and starts towards me I can’t do anything but flop over onto my belly and squawk as she grabs hold of me.

Kesla was right, she is much stronger than she looks, we may be built similarly but I’m still a good deal taller than her and yet she still manhandles me up onto my knees with disturbing ease. Her fingers are irresistible claws while I can feel the awful banded-steel strength in her arms as she crouches down behind me, wrapping one arm around my body to pull me close while she tangles the other hand into my hair and yanks my head back. I cry out in pain, I can’t help it, she’s pulling hard enough I’m surprised she doesn’t break my neck doing it, and I see the anguished twist in my father’s face as he hears it.

“I’ve spent weeks torturing you, Foxtail, and I haven’t gotten one single lick of information out of you for my troubles. I’m genuinely offended, I thought we’d built up such great rapport. I want my answers, and you’re going to give them to me. So I’m going to try a different track.”

Da becomes very still at that, his one good eye widening while his jaw goes uncomfortably slack. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looking at me with horrible realisation before finally turning to her again. “No … oh gods please no …”

“I’m going to torture your sweet, tasty little bitch here for a while instead. I must admit, she’s so pretty it actually gives me yearnings. It’s been a long while since that’s happened. I could have so much fun with this one, and I promise I’ll do all of it right here in front of you. You’ll watch me violate your precious daughter in the worst ways and you won’t be able to do a single thing to stop me.”

“No … please … please don’t do this …”

“Can I have some more rope? Please?” Vandryss eases her grip on my body as she leans back, obviously talking to the half-orc, but holds onto my hair for now, not letting up on the pressure as she leans back in and breathes right into my ear. Her voice is low, a cat’s purr now, and her hot breath smells horrible. Like rotting meat. “We’re going to have so much fun, darling. I’m genuinely looking forward to this.”

“No … please …” I can’t get those words out, all I can manage is that same ineffectual wordless noise that’s working on my nerves as much as anything else, and as I hear the half-orc coming back my breathing starts to speed up again, anticipation of whatever might be coming getting too much. What is she even going to do with this rope? I’m already trussed up worse than a goose for roasting.

When she finally lets go of my hair my head lolls almost all on its own, and my breath is coming fast and hard through my nose now. I look at my father, seeing the fear in his eyes and the helplessness in his face and it just makes this so much worse.

“Gael … Gael, sweetheart, look at me. Just look at me, keep looking at me, everything’s going to be all right, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise you, this … this …” He’s starting to cry now, the tears pouring down his cheeks already as his voice starts to break. “Oh … you fucking bitch, you leave them alone! Stop it! GAEL!!!”

A loop of rope is passed over my head, dropping around my neck, and Vandryss gives it a simple jerk. The way it’s been cinched the loop instantly tightens, digging into my throat, and I start to strangle immediately as she pulls hard, yanking my neck and shoulders back as she forces my back to arch even more than it already has been. As she works away down below I slowly realise she’s binding the other end to the bonds at my ankles, drawing it as far back as my spine will allow without snapping before tying it off painfully tight.

The effect is instantly, devastatingly severe. My throat starts to burn pretty much at once as I begin to choke, being slowly but inexorably throttled as my body tries to pull itself back into a less strained position. My vision starts to close in very quickly, what little I can see contracting into a narrow funnel of quickly blurring vision while all I can really hear is some dread rushing sound in my ears. I can just about hear my father crying out, but it’s awfully distant and indistinct, I can barely understand what he’s even saying.

“Let them go! Release them! Oh gods … Minerva help me … NO!! LET THEM GO!!! GET THAT OFF THEM!!! GAEL!!! GAEL!!! PLEASE, FUCK …” Finally what comes out of him is just a wordless, anguished cry of rage and torment and helpless, ineffectual grief.

“I’ve done this a few times before, Foxtail.” Vandryss purrs, leaning close to him now, taunting him. “It can take hours sometimes, depending on how strong the victim is. Is she strong, Darion? Is your daughter strong like you? Really?”

“STOP CALLING THEM THAT!!!”

“Oh my gods, I really couldn’t give one single fuck about your precious propriety, your pathetic inclusiveness. All that matters to me is that she’s your blood, the one thing that I can be certain you’ll die for, that I know you’ll do anything to save. Which means the worse the pain I inflict upon her, the greater the anguish I deal upon you, the more effective this torture is going to be. Then I might finally get the results I’ve been waiting for.” She leans in that last inch and kisses him on the cheek. ”The longer you make me do this the worse it’s going to get for her.”

I start to buck, I can’t help it. As my lungs burn and my whole body screams for air I’m starting to convulse and thrash. What little sense I might have left is going away quickly now, pure survival instinct starting to take over, and even though I know I can’t escape, I can’t free myself from a single knot or bond, I’m still trying to work my fingers.

Finally I convulse a little too forcefully as I overextend myself and the next thing I know I’ve slammed back down on my stomach again. I continue to thrash, the rope around my throat clawing tighter with every jerk of my embattled form, and now I see big black spots starting to dance in what little vision I have left. It’s getting dark, I know I’m starting to go away, and even though I have no air, I can’t make a sound now, inside I am screaming.

“NO!!! NO!!! FUCK … NO NO NO … GAEL, PLEASE … GAEL!!! GAEL!!! MINERVA!!!” My father lets out another harrowed bellow, thrashing at his chains with complete impotence, then just starts panting, grunting and groaning for a few moments before finally falling still. “All right.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“All right!! You evil fucking bitch … I’ll tell you!” His voice is cracking now, broken as much from his anguish as all that screaming. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just please let them breathe …”

For a very long, painful moment nothing happens, from what little I can see now, mostly just Vandryss’ feet now, she doesn’t move, she must just be staring down at him, evaluating, making sure her message has finally sunk in. He’s right, she’s the most evil cunt I’ve ever encountered in my life. Next to her Ashsong was a saint.

Then I see her feet shift and she starts towards me, and I barely hear the subtle snick of well-oiled steel on fine leather as she must draw a knife … then there’s a forceful tug at the rope stretched agonisingly taut from the back of my neck and suddenly it just lets go. I slump as much as the bonds still trapping my limbs will allow and in the same instance I’m finally able to pull a desperately needed breath in through my nose again, and as she pulls the now slack rope away from my throat I start snorting in all the air I can. My chest is heaving as I desperately fight to fill my lungs again, and now when the tears come I just let them, I really don’t care anymore as I start to sob, loud and uncontrollable in spite of the gag.

So much for the great Hero of the Silver Order. I’m a broken wreck, she’s entirely unmade me and I couldn’t so much as lift a finger to stop her. I’m pathetic.

“Gael? Gael, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, you’re all right, please … please tell me you’re all right!”

“She’s alive, Foxtail. That’s all you get for now. I want my fucking answers, and I promise you if you withhold on a single one of my questions I will make your precious daughter regret that whatever passing whore it was that squeezed her out was even born.” Her voice takes on that purr again which tells me she’s leaning close again. “She’ll suffer for weeks. And then I promise you I will tear her throat out with my teeth and eat her flesh right in front of you.”

With that she leaves the room, and after a few more moments I hear the door close with a heavy crunch before the lock’s turned, sealing us in. I can’t stop crying, and after a moment I hear my father join in …