☆ Event Log: Snatched, Part One

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Snatched - Part One

I. The Fires (14th) Though it began this month with petty vandalism, before long, things escalate. On the evening of the 14th, when many are settling down for the night, fires blaze to life simultaneously all over the city, though they seem to cluster in places that Mirrorbound and refugees frequent. Homes, businesses, market stalls, the Barracks, the Residential Districts, they could pop up anywhere, but the worst of them seem to hit different locations within the Haven. The refugees stand to lose a lot in the fires, everything they've built up since arriving here at the end of September, and Mirrorbound stand to suffer damage to the homes or businesses they've built in Aefenglom. No doubt everyone is quick to catch on, but with so many locations burning at once, help is thin on the ground. As soon as they're alerted, the Coven sends out a call to all Witches, Merrow, water-based Dragons, anyone who can manipulate water or ice to help put out the fires across town before they can spread. With the city plan so tight and buildings so close together, it's a real worry. They'll accept all hands, even those with no particular water-based talents - anybody can carry buckets, after all. Bucket brigades made up of mostly Monsters form from the River Temese out to pass water to where it's needed most. Others with fire magic or resistances are asked to search the buildings still on fire for anyone still trapped inside. On the streets, more set up stations to treat burns and smoke inhalation, and to check people over for worse injuries. It takes a couple of hours to put out the last of the flames, but thanks to quick action, no lives are confirmed lost. The City Guard is present at the sites of the fires in the hours afterward, questioning witnesses and determining the sources with both magical and Monster-ability-based methods, but as the chaos calms down, it quickly becomes clear that 1. this is a case of purposeful arson, and 2. not all witnesses are present. Maybe it's your friend, or family member, or just an acquaintance you know you saw go into their house at the end of the day, but they're conspicuously absent from the crowds gathered on the streets. Those who are Bonded to a missing person feel it first, though - a horrible sensation like a pillow over the face or a tightening in the chest, smothering their Bond to barely anything, except the very rare flicker of something, a tiny spark lost to the darkness as soon as it's felt. The sudden absence of them is like a case of phantom limb, something that should be there suddenly isn't, but yet it isn't quite an annullment or breaking of the Bond. It's still there, just muted and tamped down. It feels a little different for everyone, maybe painful or maybe just uncomfortable, or maybe, in the cases of new or less-close Bonds, it simply feels as if it never existed. Regardless, those Bonded can't be found through Bonds. It's like those loved ones have vanished, without a trace. The City Guard and Coven representatives alike will seek to make a comprehensive list of all who have gone missing, but Mirrorbound cooperation will be needed for that; they would know better than anyone, because the missing ones are all Mirrorbound or refugees.

II. The Lost Souls (14th - 20th) CW: Torture, captivity, restraints. You were spirited away in the middle of the night. Maybe you were out, or maybe you were safe in your own home, but either way, someone managed to get the drop on you. Upon waking, everything is fuzzy, until clarity returns suddenly and violently. It's possible to remember a struggle, an enchanted darkness that might have enveloped you, maybe even a glimpse of the face of the human or Witch who grabbed you, but now you're stuck in a small, stone cell, the only entrance covered in shiny new bars thick enough to hold back a rampaging Dragon. The hall beyond is also stone and dimly lit by sparse magitech lights and the soft, runic glow of spells drawn on the walls and floors. There are more cells like yours, filled with more Monsters and Witches like you. What's worse, maybe you're alone, or maybe another poor soul is trapped with you - the space isn't exactly large enough for two, but the comfort might be nice. Witches will find their magic restrained, tamped down with a spell similar to the Coven's punishment for lawbreaking. Monsters' restraints are more traditional - muzzles, chains, manacles, and particular weaknesses that differ from Monster type to Monster type, such as silver or iron, water, or the lack of water. Even if, by some small mercy, a person finds themselves with their hands free, all of the captives' Watches have been taken, along with most other belongings on them. The uncertainty of your new location doesn't last for long. It's only a matter of time before people pass through the cellblock in pairs or trios, talking to each other and ignoring the captives behind bars, checking up on the spells that line the room. Those with keen memories will realize - these are not the same people who took them in the first place. All are human, and they all share a familial resemblance - black hair, violet eyes, pointed noses, and unpleasant sneers. Over time, with observation (and what else are you going to do, while you wait for the worst?), maybe frequenters of the Coven will pick out a familiar face, a haughty, unpopular Witch named Constance Rathmore who refuses to associate with Mirrorbound in classes, or those familiar with the law might pick out a mid-ranked member of the City Guard named Godfrey Rathmore, who perhaps looks the other way when refugees are harassed. As the hours tick by, it becomes obvious that there are maybe 22 of the Rathmore family, the only ones with access to this corridor. Other voices, maybe familiar from the kidnapping, can be heard outside the main doors at times, but they never enter, and seem none the wiser as to what is actually happening. a. The Torments And what is happening? Something sinister. It's usually a different set of family members, a pair of cousins, the daughter or the son, occasionally even the matriarch and her son and daughter-in-law (who may be recognized as long-time members of Parliament). Their methods and motivations may be a bit different, but they share one thing - innate cruelty, and a hatred for those they see as a plague on Aefenglom, those harbingers of unwanted change. Sometimes they inflict pain on captives right there through the bars of the cells, with nasty spells or physical instruments, but more often, they choose a victim or two to remove from their cell, still in restraints, to take down the hall, through the heavy door at the opposite end from the entrance. The wide room at the end is a place of horrors: instruments of torture lining tables, heavy restraints, and glass jars to receive any bits or blood they might separate from the original owners, to sell on the black market. The runes on the walls and floor in this room are different as well - this is advanced, forbidden magic, practiced by the daughter Constance on brand new test subjects. When the family members have grown bored or tired themselves out, they return their current playthings to a cell - not always the same cell with the same cellmate, not always with the same restraints, but every time they ensure that it will be difficult to escape or fight back. b. The Whispers While the Rathmores do not often speak directly to captives, they speak to each other quite a bit, as do the others who occasionally pass outside the heavy door at the entrance and simply seem to serve as watchmen outside the corridor. It's easy to get snippets of conversation between the horrors. What else are you going to do, besides wait, and listen, and plot your escape? "Shame about Uncle Rodolphus. Scarred by the mist, his Black Market business raided." "None of it would have happened if they hadn't provoked Dorchacht. It was Drummond's Witch in our city who unleashed that awful gas, as retribution for what they did over there..." "...-Destabilizing a whole city like that, and there are only a hundred of them give or take. Imagine what they'll do to Aefenglom if we don't stop it." "They'll all want to leave after this, surely. We'll go for another batch in a couple of weeks, once Godfrey convinces the Guard to stop looking." "Good. Maybe Dorchacht will take them. Them and their brutal revolutionaries..." "...-Father thinks we can control them if he manages to get in touch with his contact in Dorchacht. They had that spell, you know? Like the collars, but better. Maybe then we can sell them off, make some money back to cover our losses..." "...-All this pushing for equality. The whole economy will collapse. Everyone has their place in a functioning society, right, sister?"... "...-heard from Mr. Rathmore himself they're doing magic in there. A spell to send the Mirrorbound home, and the refugees along with them." "Then why did we have to grab them like that? You'd think they'd want to leave." "The Coven wants them here, obviously. It's a power-play, there's no way they'd allow Mr. Rathmore to do this..." "...-I don't know about this, the Rathmores always seemed a little extreme-..." As a reminder: while this prompt contains a general content warning for torture, please make sure to leave decently specific content warnings in your headers for anything that may be uncomfortable for other players to stumble across. The level of torture experienced by each character is up to the individual players - please respect each other's limits!

III. The Ones Left Behind (14th - 20th) Meanwhile, out in the city, the atmosphere is a new kind of tense. The papers pick up the story pretty quickly, so before long, it seems that everyone knows about it. In the days since the fires, repairs seem to be on the backburner; the remaining refugees especially worry for their missing friends and loved ones, and the missing Mirrorbound. The graffiti stops entirely, as do nasty comments in the streets. The upper-class, when they come into contact with the remaining Mirrorbound, cannot meet their eyes, or even react with genuine sympathy, a rare few even saying in hushed murmurs that they hope they find their people. Vandalizing their property is one thing, it seems, but people simply vanishing, Bonds being smothered... that's another. Even if they don't worry for the Mirrorbound, they worry for their own safety in Aefenglom now. On the other hand, residents of the Western Residential District, primarily Monsters but including a fair few humans as well, stop by the Haven more often, bringing food and kind words, and asking after the disappearances with real concern. The City Guard is an increased presence on the streets, trying to track down witnesses who may have information, but without warrants, their hands are tied in a lot of cases. Some Mirrorbound are asked quietly by the Lead Investigator if they wouldn't mind looking into some of the sources of the fires, and trying to track down anyone who might have seen something - they can operate a little more loosely, not being bound by the same bureaucracy as the Guard. They're promised Guard and Coven cooperation and support in this. The demand for artists increases in the days after the abduction. Many of the refugees especially will seek out anyone who can draw to help them create fliers about the missing people to post around town, to raise awareness. Maybe they want to make posters of another refugee, or maybe they want posters made of particular Mirrorbound faces who helped them in the past. They're distressed, but they're pulling together as a community - and it's clear they consider all the Mirrorbound a part of it, judging from how they'll try to pull anyone in to their efforts to put the 'missing' posters up around the city. The Coven, too, is in a flurry of worry, second only to the refugees, who are missing some of their own as well. Many of the regular classes are disrupted and become impromptu Divining sessions, circles of Witches holding hands and chanting in rooms filled with incense smoke, making concentrated efforts to determine the location of their missing fellows. After all, many Mirrorbound are their classmates, and they want to see them returned safely. Anyone passing through the Coven may get pulled into one of these sessions - Witches to lend their magic to the circle, Monsters who know any of the missing to act as foci. Unfortunately, nothing concrete turns up in the fleeting visions they do get, and the backlash is immense, resulting in splitting migraines. It's magical interference for sure. Luckily, Miss Aerianna, the middle-aged Arachne caretaker to the Dreamers (who, she'll say, are currently unreachable - they're trying to suss out the missing Mirrorbound as well), is well-versed with Divination headaches, and is around distributing her supposed cure-all, which smells like swamp-water and tastes twice as bad. At least it works on the headaches. While the part of the city who wanted to see the Mirrorbound gone have quieted down some, the part of the city that welcomes them has grown louder, providing what support they can to try to find those lost souls who have vanished. The investigation briefs will be posted under location-specific headers down below! Feel free to thread underneath them with others investigating the same area, or collaborate with other teams to share information. We decided to go ahead and allow for everyone who signed up to investigate whichever area they're interested in rather than splitting characters into mod-decided teams, but we encourage working together!

Welcome to Part One of January's event, Snatched! The sign-ups thread is here - it's not too late to get involved. Only the kidnapped characters who will escape on the evening of the 20th is closed out to new sign-ups. Headers for the investigations are here. Part Two of this event will be posted on the 21st and will include the escape, rescue and bringing the perpetrators to justice.

And a note for all! If your character does anything significant during Part 1 or Part 2, we want to hear about it on the city tracker! Make sure your submissions are in by Feb. 3rd, because a special aftermath post will go up on the 4th.

Comments

QUESTIONS

[moustre]

GENERAL

[moustre]

INVESTIGATION BRIEFS

[faileas]

Feel free to use the below location headers to thread underneath with your fellow detectives! Collaboration with other teams is encouraged as well. We decided to go ahead and allow for everyone who signed up to investigate whichever area they're interested in rather than splitting characters into mod-decided teams.

THE BARRACKS / THE PHOENIX TEAR

[faileas]

The hardest hit location in the Barracks is The Phoenix Tear, the Mirrorbound-run clinic for Monsters, which has sustained significant damage. Several Monsters, some refugees, were present when the fire started - in the common room, from the looks of it, as that room is almost completely charred. The damage done in the clinic area is a mix of charring from the fire, but also bears the signs of a significant struggle. Any remaining Monsters that managed to escape or didn’t get captured will explain that a fight occurred, between a handful of them and a group of men and women in dark clothes. Some hid their appearance with clothes or enchantments, while others didn’t, but all bore the signs of being high-born: jewelry, fine clothes, a haughty air. They may remember a few of the kidnappers' features, but it all happened very quickly. It felt like things weren't very organized (many find it odd that not everyone hid their identities), but there was intention behind what they did.

The rest of the Phoenix Tear is in disarray, though nothing as bad as the damage the common room and clinic area suffered. The door to the Scamanders' residence area is blown off the hinges - there has definitely been some action.

Searching the rest of the Barracks will turn up damages here and there, more fires started, but since this section is less populated than the Haven, those empty areas were not hit by the arsonists. Eventually, the search will yield Newt's niffler - the little creature had suffered some burns and scurried off to hide, taking with it an assortment of shiny trinkets - expensive rings bearing family crests, fine necklaces, and a particular pocketwatch.

The pocketwatch can eventually be traced back to a small, high-end clockmaker's shop in the Aristocratic District, and the owner can perhaps be convinced to identify the person who bought the watch originally - a Mr. Antone Barclay, assistant to Thomas Rathmore, a long-standing member of Parliament.

daenerys targaryen | dragon | KIDNAPPED

[freeing]

  SNATCHED I – OPEN TO KIDNAPPED  

[ Daenerys awakens alone with the smell of metal and the feeling of it digging into her wrists. It was hazy at first, she figures it was a nightmare of Qarth — of seeing her children bound by the throat like little monsters. It takes some time for her to notice what feels different — it was the lack of feeling her Bonded, of their confidence and concern. Part of her feels hollow and it makes her finally come to her wits after what feels like an hour of going in and out of lucidness.

When she finally snaps too, she really snaps to. Chains bind her hands and her body jerks from the cold floor, her teeth chattering and the embers that raise from the flamesac deep in her chest don't dare even produce a puff of smoke past her lips. Daenerys is in a panic — screaming out and crawling pitifully towards the bars that keep her caged and alone. She can't pinpoint anyone else in the cells across from her in the dim-lighting, but her voice carries to anyone can hear: ]

Hello!? Who — where are we?! Answer me! [ The humans who walk by without a second thought ignore her, it was left to the poor captives to deal with the brunt of Daenerys' anger. ] Drogon — where is Drogon?!

[ If they touched one scale... she'll burn them alive. ]

  SNATCHED II – OPEN TO KIDNAPPED | tw: torture  

[ Despite the ice spell their captors bind to the walls of her cell, Daenerys still had proven to be a problem. She played along for the first day, didn't dare make her presence known but... a dragon grows restless easily. As much as she would like to bite her tongue until the right moment to strike, she's cold — she's tired. Her hours mix with days by now and her threats grow more serious to any captor that walks by. It garners her attention, far more than the claim of a conquerors would — no, she's a threat.

Daenerys is kept uncomfortable and in pain with frozen walls, her temperature dropping far lower than a normal dragon would need to survive. She feels each slow, lagging heartbeat in her chest and even with her hands bound in front of her, she leans against the bars of her cell with chattering teeth and soft growls past her lips.

She will not forget this feeling — not of the cold or the confusion, but knowing... she was right about Aefenglom. ]

  SNATCHED III – OPEN TO KIDNAPPED | tw: mention of miscarriages, torture  

[ It happens all too late for her to fight back. In this state, how could she? When she's pulled from her cell, dragged to an unknown room — she has no strength to fight them. Daenerys was a shell of her usual spitfire self, her braids undone and knotted with ice and chunks of frozen sweat.

"She's a lively one, watch her teeth."
"Don't pull all of them off, we just need enough to catch buyer's attentions."

The voices are in and out, bu the first incision against her scales rips through her. Scale by scale, she would feel her flesh pulled away until the resounding clink of silver-blue in a medical tray only burns Dany's insides more. They will pay. They will burn. Your pain with subside, but theirs will live on. Do not cry. Do not cry. Daenerys Stormborn, the last Targaryen, do not allow them to snuff your flame out. It was her own words that keep her going — even when images of Jorah, Eren, Ozymandias, Everett, and Percy fade from her mind ... it was her own strength that keeps her going. It always was.

This was unlike the pain she had during her miscarriage, during the wandering of the Red Wastes, during the heartbreak of betrayal. Daenerys was helpless for now, bound by the changes of her body and its weaknesses — victim to the chains she swore to break for so many others. It stings in a hot rush, part of her peeled off, this body that had been grafted into a literal dragon upon arriving... There was a cruel irony in that, she thinks.

The first procedure plucked two scales from her. The second, hours later, would yield six more. Three total procedures leaves Daenerys' hips, bicep, and neck torn up and patched up weakly. Unfortunately, Daenerys has been tossed into three different cells during the day. Maybe she's fortunate to have company this time? ]

  OOC  

[ OOC: hi guys!! have some tortured Dany. i'm okay with wildcards but pretty limited, as you can see. For now, I have some plans for part 2 with Dany casting Dracarys on the entire building but I'm finalizing that to include others and get more insight from the mods. :c ]

III

[callmeven]

[her company this time is ven, a young turnskin teen with blonde fur matted with blood and dirt. he was already awake when they had tossed her in with him, unable to stop himself from growling at the captor. although it probably wasn't as menacing as it should have been with a few of the canines missing, the spaces left behind bloody and swollen from being pulled so harshly.

ears perking up as they walk away ven focuses on the new woman in their cell and shifts closer, hesitantly. his left arm hangs limply at his side, still failing to heal from the shoddy incisions made with silver earlier.]

It's darker in the corner, if you wanted to rest there for awhile. Sometimes they don't notice you if you're hidden in the shadows.

ventus | turnskin | kidnapped

[callmeven]

[ a - putting out the fires | open ]

[ventus had followed after aqua when the call went out needing help in putting out the fires. he didn't have magic like her or kairi, but he couldn't just sit back and hope for the best either. no, it just wasn't in his nature to do that.

the fires were hot when he got to the worst of them. he could feel the tips of his fur singe from the heat and his palms sweating in the face of it all. still, he started carrying buckets of water where they were needed, sweat and ash sticking to his face. he stops here and there when he spots someone looking in need of assistance and holds out a waterskin as an offering.]

Are you okay?

[ b - cell block tango | closed to enkidu | cw for torture ]

[he wakes up first to the feeling of his skin burning. his face, his jaw, his neck, and wrists - all burning hot under the silver restrictions put on him during his time unconscious. there's still a taste of ash and fire from before he was knocked out and when he opens his eyes it's to a cramped and dark cell.

there's someone else with him inside her and already his heart is racing, shifting his posture and trying to shake the chains digging into his skin like it might alleviate the worst of the burning. when he speaks his voice cracks and he tries to clear it with a dry swallow.]

H-... Hello?

[ c - attention | open to other kidnap victims | cw for mention of tooth pulling, forced blood donation, and general violence ]

[ven tries not to let his tongue brush over the gaps in his teeth where he once had canines, the meat of his gums still bloody and extremely tender. everything tasted and smelled like blood and it was hard to decide on which pain to focus on. the slash in his arm had been made with a silver knife and was slow to heal even as he pressed a ripped piece of his sweater over the wound. he had watched them gather the blood in jars, some talk of selling it on the black market along with his teeth.

his foot hits the cell door, the second one that day and yet they all looked the same to him, on impulse as he tries to shift himself closer to press against the bars. at least like this he could see what was happening and when the next guard would show up. maybe he could save someone else from suffering if he kept the captors' attention on him.]

[ wild card option ]

[for option c if anyone would like to have their character be temporarily saved from the attention of a kidnapper by ven's intervening (aka throwing a giant attention grabbing fit) then here you go. also open to other cellmates through the days.

otherwise if you have a prompt you'd like to do then hmu here or on plurk.]

c.

[rightfoot]

[ Louis - had been doing the same. It wasn't necessarily intentional, had been constantly throwing himself in front of others when they come. Sometimes he would scowl when making eye contact with the captors. The looks he would give are probably very similar to the looks his captors would get years ago. But his new cellmate? He seems to be wanting the attention to be on him.

Louis stands, approaching him, and without thinking he grabs the back of his shirt. There's a tug, he doesn't want any more attention called to them by starting a fuss in this cell. He just wants to let them both have a bit of a break. As much as he hates it, one can't be expected to ensure every bit of torture. ]

Are you trying to get tortured again? If you keep that up you might break a toe first.

Emet-Selch | kidnapped

[unsundered]

i.

[To be honest, Emet-Selch had expected something like this to happen for some time.

The city was not at ease. Not with monsters, not with refugees, not with the Mirrorbound themselves. It was only a matter of who the first targets would be, and when. The brief and intermittent displays of good will during the recent holiday had done little to shift this belief, had only led to additional scorn. What was there to celebrate, what good was this pretense of fellowship while resentment festered just below the surface?

While he suspected this was the work of extremists, the passive majority had allowed it. Would anyone even search them out, perform more than the most token of inquiries? Perhaps their fellow Mirrorbound would cause some degree of clamor, but would anything come of it?

And now here he was, captured, a bit disheveled but otherwise intact. How long that would remain, he wasn't sure; the sounds coming from nearby cells were not, exactly, reassuring. But, for good or ill, he was not alone.]

So... how long do you think it will be until they tire of this and kill us?

[What a friendly tone. The Ascian certainly seems unbothered, more exasperated than upset. What a hassle this all was. What an... insult, though he's determinedly trying not to think about that part.]

You do realize we're not getting out of this alive.

[An optimist to his core.]


ii. cw: torture, general injury

[He would've liked to say the worst part of being imprisoned was the boredom. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

Torture was not new. On occasion, it had been worth maintaining whatever mortal persona he was currently using, even if it meant enduring considerable discomfort. But what was physical pain in comparison to the task? The awareness that his suffering was for a greater purpose made it tolerable, the knowledge that he remained in complete control of it made it acceptable. There was no humiliation, no sense of being degraded; it was torment of a mortal shell he had no attachment to, that he could put a stop to at the slightest whim.

Reason and control; he had neither of those things now.

What did this suffering achieve? There was no character he was maintaining, this brought him no closer to reviving Zodiark or his people. This was satisfying the petty cruelties of an unrelated group, to no end, and there was nothing he could do about it.

No ability, no strength; his years of knowledge were useless. All he had was defiance and spite. An attitude of superiority that did little to endear him to their captors. How often had he been dragged from one cell to another, to and from the room with all of their lovely toys? It was... becoming harder to keep track.

He doesn't think they'd actually meant to shatter his wrist. Cowards. The torn shoulder felt more deliberate. The inconsistency was its own frustration; not only was this not serving his goals, it wasn't even serving their own. Whatever nonsense those were. All he had was a useless arm to show for it. And a growing number of cuts and bruises. One gash on his leg had even been hastily sutured up soon after it had been inflicted; apparently bleeding to death wasn't the goal either. At least, not yet.

When he's shoved into an occupied cell, there's no chance of him keeping his balance, so whoever is unfortunate enough to be in there with him now has a very tall Ascian collapsing in their direction. Disorientation isn't enough to keep him from trying to scramble free- nearly lashing out at whoever he's with in the process- as though they were to blame for jostling his arm, disturbing his wounds.

He'll quiet momentarily. Probably.]


iii. cw: torture, eye-related injuries

[...How long had it been? There was no way of telling the passage of hours, of days. There was only each moment, each breath, and an unceasing hurt between them. But that was only appropriate, wasn't it? The outside reflecting the inside--

How long had it been? He hadn't slept in- years, perhaps. Sometimes, he blacked out from the pain, and was just as quickly roused by it. Or was it quickly? Was he missing hours or moments? Days or weeks? Time itself was distorted; by spell, by drug, by injury itself, by some combination of them all. The city was burning around him still, and there was nothing he could do for it--

Anger remained. Anger was a focal point that drove back the panic, the stray thoughts that told him it was useless, that it had always been useless, and what was this but an expression of that unvarnished truth? Stripped of ability and will, of purpose and meaning, what was even left underneath? Was he even himself any longer, and if not- at what point had he lost even that--

What curiosity these captors had; was a Garlean's third eye so new to them? Was cutting it open not intriguing enough, was his reaction not sufficiently entertaining? Was it necessary to turn to one of his normal eyes instead--

How long had it been? The Final Days were only hours past. It was still ongoing, sometimes. And then it was gone. A lapse in consciousness or a lapse in time; he flickered equally between the two. He was caged; the world was burning; the scent of blood pervaded both. Was it his own, or another's; most of what covered him was probably his--

Pain remained. Pain was a focal point that served the anger that drove back the fear. Half the world was dark now and no worse for it. The only way he knew his eye remained was that it hurt; if they had removed it, surely the pain would be less? Perhaps he should remove it himself- yet even touching the area caused him to black out; the jolt of agony that passed through his head too much for this pathetic shell. Perhaps he should leave it alone- his fingers were too slick to dig it out anyway--

Awareness was a temperamental thing, even moreso than consciousness. There are times when he's reasonably coherent, if not necessarily temporally aligned (How long had it been?). There are times when he is not, curled protectively in the corner of a cell, regarding any passing sound with a low, defensive hiss.

To anyone placed there with him, there's not much he can do about it in either case. But that was the whole problem, wasn't it?]

iii; shb spoilers; cw: torture, general injury, degradation, burns, bone-related injury

[krihnnges]

[K'rihnn has lost all sense of time since his kidnapping. The only time he can keep track of anymore is when he's being tortured and when he's not. He's never felt so dehumanized, especially when they insist on keeping him muzzled.

It all started small, but then gradually got worse and worse. When the pleasure of simply hurting him with words and bodily injuries outstayed its welcome, his tormentors decided to experiment. They quickly find out that electricity doesn't work on him, but that protection doesn't extend to fire and heat. Their favorite is using heated metal to either his skin or scales, see which of them burns faster.

As it turns out, they also find that his draconic blood also heals minor injuries. So, they start harvesting a bit of blood here and there, more careful in their torture to not spill such a valuable commodity. Given that his blood is obviously valuable, his tormentors decide that it might be worth their while to start harvesting some of his scales and claws. They cut to the quick, yet are careful to not make him bleed when they cut away his scales.

The most consistent thing they do to him, though, is always calling him an 'it,' or 'beast,' or 'animal' if they're feeling nice.

This session goes too far. One of them starts on his scales while the other takes off his muzzle to see if Dragon teeth are at all sellable. K'rihnn lashes out given the chance to bite his captor's hand, and he pays dearly for it.

By the time they throw him into his next cell, he's a mess. The old scar over his eye is torn open; the membrane of his wings are ragged and torn; one of his horns is cracked while the other looks to have been hacked off at the halfway point; and one of his legs has been broken. K'rihnn hisses in pain as he's thrown into Emet-Selch's cell, though he doesn't realize that one of his Bonded is here. It's hard to think straight through all the pain.]

Connor | Merrow | Kidnapped

[plasticasshole]

The Lost Souls;

[Waking up is always a novelty to Connor. He doesn't do it often. He never sleeps willingly, so if he suddenly regains consciousness it usually means something is wrong. As soon as he's able he tugs on the shackles binding his hands to the back wall of his cell, LED lit up in a panicked red. The last thing he recalls is helping with the fires. And then... nothing? It's not that easy to get the drop on him, but he guesses he was pretty distracted.

He looks around his cell. He can feel himself starting to dry out, so he must have been out for a few hours with nobody bothering to keep him damp. He tries to contact Hank through their Bond, but he can feel that it isn't working. At a loss, he looks to the person sharing the cell with him.]

Are you okay?

[Besides being kidnapped and confused, he means.]

The Torments;
cw: robot blood/gore, flaying

[It soon becomes apparent to his captors that Connor doesn't feel pain like a normal human... but he does dry out, and it makes him weak. Weak enough to be dragged off without much protest. He's easily strapped to a table, where he's opened up and prodded around. They're not gentle. Wires are tugged on, biocomponents are taken out and reinserted, and by the time they're done there's blue blood staining the table and the floor around it. Between the blood loss and the dehydration, Connor can barely keep his eyes open... until his feet are unshackled and a bucket of water is dumped on him, and he gasps as some of the life comes back to him.

His tail is quickly bound to the table before he can start kicking it, and one of the men takes a sharp instrument and approaches. He squints at the scales of Connor's tail, before digging the tool in under the skin and starting to strip away the scales. Pretty Merrow scales like these can be sold for a fair price. He obviously wasn't expecting Connor to writhe under him and gasp in pain, but that's just a bonus. By the time he's done Connor's tail is left raw and bleeding, the skin peeled away in rough patches and set aside.

Having never experienced real pain before, Connor is understandably a mess afterwards. He's shivering, tears streaming into his hair as he lays there, wide-eyed and honestly afraid of more. He'd tried to ask them to stop, but gave up on that pretty quickly. He'd tried to contact Hank again, but it was useless. He doesn't even feel relieved when they finally unshackle him, still too shocked by the pain he'd endured.]

Back In The Cells;

[He's dragged back to a cell and dumped inside, still in Merrow form. There's shallow water in this cell, but Connor knows it's just to prolong his misery. He won't be able to dry out. He's stuck with the pain for now. His battered tail flops miserably in the water, blue blood still oozing out of a few odd wounds. He doesn't have the energy to look up at the person who happens to be sharing the cell with him, but he doesn't need to say anything. It's already obvious what happened to him.]

Wildcard;

[Feel free to assume Connor has been moved into another cell with your character if you like! You can also contact me at novicecity or novicecity#8049 on discord if you want to plot something specific! Dry cells = human form Connor, cells with water in them will obviously mean he's back in Merrow form.]

cell time

[callmeven]

[while the shallow water may have been a curse to connor, at least for ven it meant having something to get the taste of blood from his mouth. admittedly it was extremely difficult to drink anything with the muzzle over his face, never mind the aching sting of dirty water hitting the silver-caused burns covering his skin or the bloody gaps in his mouth from where they pulled teeth.

despite their conditions ven can't help but see connor in his merrow form and think he's actually very pretty. this was his first time meeting a merrow monster and he wishes it was under different circumstances.

he moves closer, flinching as the movement aggravates some of his other wounds and hesitantly reaches a hand out to settle on connor's shoulder.]

Is there... is there anything I can do?

Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) | kidnapped

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ I. When does enough become enough? (cw: assault) ]

[ Anyone witness to Berserker's torture will notice that his captors are particularly cruel to him due to his lack of response to pain. No matter how he's struck or how much he's struck, he doesn't cry out nor does he flinch. He feels it, of course he feels it, but he's so used to it that it does nothing to draw a reaction out of him. Instruments dug into open wounds on his shoulders get no reaction and it only seems to make his torturer more angry. His scales are torn out one by one and still he doesn't respond at all.

A hard strike to his temple makes him see stars and jars his head. Beyond the reactions he can't help, nothing else comes. ]

You were so ready to bite and spit poison before, where's that now?

[ Another strike and, again, Berserker doesn't respond. He's subject to the beating for a bit longer before his assailant gets bored. They leave the room and the dragon lowers his head against the chain and collar. His cold, red eyes focus on the other unfortunate person in the room with him. ]

...Even if you cooperate, you'll get treated this way. [ He spits blood through the metal muzzle on his his face. ] They're trying to cow you into cooperating by making you watch this. Don't fall for it.

[ II. When does "no" have meaning? (cw: general torture aftermath) ]

Back the cell, Berserker hangs loosely in his restraints. A collar with a heavy chain tethers him to the wall, his wrists are bound together, and there's a muzzle on his face (his captors put on one him the moment he badly poisoned someone). The full extent of the cruelty of the ones who tortured him is evident. He wears little clothing, just loose, light (bloodstained) trousers. His healing injuries from the Doracht Wilde were a target, the deep bite wounds on his thigh and shoulder reopened and festering now. His body is badly bruised, his ribs likely broken from the force used on him. His face didn't escape injury, either, his left eye blackened so badly that the tattoo beneath it is swallowed by the sea of red and purple. They'd taken his poisoned blood and tried to taunt him into spitting his venom at them to no avail. The patches of glittering black scales on his body are now just patches of bloody, swollen skin; a dragon's scales are hardy and valuable, why let them languish on such a worthless beast?

The most egregious injury are his wings: each bone is broken, the delicate membranes torn to shreds. He can't sit or lie comfortably between his restraints and mangled wings; the only relief he can get is laying on his stomach or kneeling down and hunching over his knees. Everything aches and he's in so much pain, but he just looks apathetic. Backsliding back into that protective apathy once again now that the comfort of his Bonds are gone. Geralt's presence was wrenched from him, though he can still feel Flat and Diarmuid, they're too far away for him to sense at all.

The cell door opens and he barely acknowledges the newcomer shoved inside. He lifts and turns his head only slightly to look at them. ]

...Why are you looking at me like that? [ As if he doesn't know. ] Don't pity me...Focus on your own survival.

[ III. Wildcard ]

[ Got an idea? Did we plot something out? Drop me a starter, PM this account, or hit me up on discord glitzkrieg#0673 and we can work something out! ]

hello roommate (cw: restraints, torture, blood)

[tryhard]

[ The cell door creaks open, and someone is shoved inside to join Waver in the cramped, damp space-- a large and imposing form, but familiar.

They don't fit easily, but maybe they're not meant to: as soon as the rough hands holding Berserker up release him into his new prison, they reach out again, fingers wrapping tightly around a fistful of Waver's long hair to drag him forward.

He yelps, legs scrambling beneath him to try to find balance and support his weight on more than just his scalp. With his wrists trapped in the collar-and-cuffs contraption at his throat, there's nothing else Waver can do, except shoot a wide-eyed, terrified glance sideways at Berserker. The scent of blood is thick and cloying.

The strap of thick leather tied between Waver's teeth prevents him from calling his name. ]

Rose | Kidnapped (CW: Broken Bones, Psychological Torture, Mention of Blood)

[poisontippedcure]

[A]

[Rose had felt the rising tension in the city for weeks. She had a feeling that it would come to blows, one way or another, but she hadn't expected this, and especially not this fast.]

[They take her when she's in her garden, working. She's thrown into a cell rather unceremoniously, and it takes her several hours to wake up. When she does, she's not in a very good mood. They haven't restrained her, per se, but they have shackled her with iron shackles.]

Are you crazy!? Let us go!

[She's loud, but only because she's scared. She can't hide her shivering from her cellmate.]

[B]

[Rose's voice gets her attention pretty fast, and not in the way that she likes. She's grabbed before her cellmate, and foisted unceremoniously out of the holding cell. She tries her best to resist, but there's little she can do, and she's dragged down the hallway.]

[It's several hours before she returns. When she does, she's beaten and bloody. Rose's clothes are fairly conservative, but what skin is showing is covered in bruises. Her arm hangs limply from her side, and it doesn't take a medic to realize that her arm is broken.]

[She winces in pain as she hits the ground, not paying any attention to her cellmate. She doesn't even bother to check if it's the same person it was before. Instead, she's focusing on her energy on trying to heal her wounds, using what magic she has from home.]

[Except, it doesn't work, and she starts to panic.]

It's not working! Why isn't it working?

[C]

[Rose doesn't know how much time has passed. It could've been hours, days, or even weeks. Each moment feels like an eternity. This isn't the first cell she's been in, or the second.]

[All she knows is that they'll come back again. They'll come back again, and they'll take her again.]

[She stays huddled in the corner of her cell, curled up into a ball. Listening closely, it's clear that she's crying.]

Please, let me go. I just want to go home.

c

[fordola]

[ It was like before.

It was like before, except she could feel another with her. She kept getting shuffled around - a chimera, one who had quite the interesting magic within her. If only they could figure out why it was blocked. She had been moved again, after they'd taken more clippings from her.

But Fordola seemed far too casual, sitting in her cell, as she looked to the tired Rose. Her voice was low, tired - a whisper, darker then the night. (She had never screamed. She had never given in to temptation to fight and scream.) ]

...home?

cú chulainn (caster) | witch | kidnapped (cw: violence)

[futhark]

1. The Lost

[ The first mistake they made was to feel safe within the walls. A small mistake, such big ramifications. Vague recollections of something happening near the parlor— Cú recalls he wasn't alone there, Waver was also with him and later... just darkness. Then pain. Then— everything else

And now they are here. Him, cellmate, and who else? The rooms change after each session, each session is more vicious than the previous. There's still bark in him, still a will to fight. Bruises, cuts and even a muzzle once despite not being a monster. He can still force a laugh about that, but it's harder to coax a description of what happened. ]

Rathmores, huh. Swear heard that name before.

[ Should any new guest be tossed into the cell, he approaches with concern ] Hey, careful— there's a bed here. I can help you get on it.


2. The Whispers [cw: mentions of injury]

[ There are times when there is just enough strength, and just enough will in him to inspect the walls, the bars, even the drainage on the floor ]

They could have killed us, but they didn't. So maybe there is reason for that, or maybe they're just sick fucks— [ A strained chuckle and a repeat ] "maybe" [ Like there was any doubt about that now. He can feel his ear still bleeding where they tore and cut at it. ] —but as long as you breathe, don't give up.

[ If there is a way in, there must be a way out. If they are somewhere within the city walls someone had to see or hear... right? This situation is by all accounts, rather hopeless. And it truly might be that they will rot down here. But if so, they should fight until the very end. It's a principle.]

—

[ Alternatively, after the search for a weak point, for a way out, for something they must have missed and cut give them an edge, brings nothing but despair, in quiet moments of uncertainty and anxiety over what's next, Cú just asks ]

Are you Bonded? [ This might sound like a question of comfort, or maybe an inquiry whether they can contact outside. Or just something to make a conversation of. ]


3. The Torments [cw: mentions of torture (flaying)]

[ It gets worse. New session, new wounds- cell, new people. Just how many of them are here? How many refugees how many of Mirrorbounds? Cu feels he entirely lost track of time, lost count of familiar faces. What he knows for sure is that; all his Bonded are here. A most terrifying possibility made true.

And that while he might be just a Witch, and not have too many uses, aside for blood— he does have something that is of interest. And that lady Gertrude still holds hell of a grudge after that party that ended in arrests. Or that maybe, just maybe, advertising on the network soon after that was a bad idea.

When he's tossed into another cell, he's missing small and large chunks of skin— on his forearm, on his shoulder, on his thigh. Wherever he placed a tattoo on himself, they're being slowly taken away, cut out one at a time. ]

W-water... is there any water here? [ It sounds feverish, going from barely audible to frantic. As if he was desperately trying to stay coherent. As if it was the only thing that mattered. ]


4. Wildcard
｢ ooc: have any other idea? go mad here! ｣

3

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker barely lifts his head as he hears Caster's plea. He's terribly injured himself, beaten badly, his wounds from his ill-fated fight in Dorchacht reopened, and his wings a mangled mess of broken bones and cut membranes. Wrists bound together, a heavy collar and chain tether him to the wall, and a metal muzzle on his face all make it difficult for him to stand up or move very far beyond the corner. ]

...Here. [ He motions to a metal bowl on the floor. The water in it doesn't look clean at all and it smells terrible, but it is water. He nudges it across the cell with his tail, closer to Caster. ] Drink it. I can't.

[ The restraints make it impossible for him to eat or drink normally. The intent of the bowl was likely to make him drink out of it like an animal, but even that isn't possible. Berserker's terribly weak because of this. ]

Caren Ortensia | Chimera | KIDNAPPED

[showsnopiety]

The Lost CW: restraints, overstimulation

[The funny thing is, she could have avoided all of this if she hadn't gone back home. She had been working hard in Dorch, teaching, making pastries, working...but she wanted to check in on those she liked, to make sure that they were all right.

Instead, she found herself restrained. Her wrists were cuffed, her ankles, her wings- her tail was the only thing free, if only due to the fact it couldn't be used for much.

But the worst part was the burst of sound. They had taken her ear cuffs, the ones that made sure she could tolerate normal noise.

Caren woke up with a whimper, her ears pressing back against her skull as she tried to press her hands against her head.]

Too loud...it's so loud...


Attempting to help

[They liked making rounds. Gossiping, trying to find someone for one thing or another-and she watched them. Sometimes they had an eye on her cellmate, other times on cells that were nearby.

And when they started to turn that way...that's when she lunged with a snarl and jerking at her restraints.]

You don't want that one. You want me.

The Return from torture CW: masochism, electric torment, shaving and feather plucking

[Whenever they had Caren, they held her for a long, long time. It was difficult to say why-maybe because she tended to be more feisty if there were other people being tormented with her. Or maybe because of how she tended to react from the pain.

But eventually, she would be tossed back in the cell-sometimes literally-restrained, and at times, muzzled differently. Sometimes she'd even have a bit of blood on her that wasn't hers, and some grim satisfaction.

And each time, she would have less fur, less feathers, as she was harvested for the black market. And she'd end up shivering, trying to curl up on herself- more successful in some parts then others.]

They're going to slip up. Eventually...

Whissssspers

Ssh.

[She could hear her cellmate moving around or trying to say something-maybe to stop the boredom or note her shivering-but she tried to stop them with a motion of her shoulder. It might have made her plop over but. It's fine.]

I need to listen. They're talking about something important.

[Or it seemed so. She was getting better with the selective hearing, though too much was still overwhelming.]

Wildcard

Any other ideas, whichever, let me know! You can find me at nammah or on disco!

return from torture

[quickwhip]

[ Despite their past encounters with one another, this isn't anything he would wish on her and so to see her in the current state that she is... ]

Shit.

[ He mutters the word under her breath, a shackled hand coming up to cover his face for a moment. So much for protecting others... so much for getting them out... so much for being a Belmont in this situation, huh? ]

Yeah... they will.

[ He tries to reassure with his head knocking back against the wall. ]

louis | witch | kidnapped

[rightfoot]

i. taken & early on

[ Louis woke up here. He doesn't know how he got here, but when he did there's an initial wave of irritation and he goes to reach for his device. It's gone. The night before is a tiny bit fuzzy. Faces, flashes, but not enough to actually help him figure out every detail of where he was or what had happened.

And then, he's in a cage. He's quiet, he doesn't ask - his mind trips over itself when he tries to figure out what to do with this. He worries for his Bonds because he doesn't want them to worry. He doesn't want his cellmate to worry, either. He doesn't want to be seen as weak or unable to handle even a situation like this. His expression is serious, focused, as if he's running scenarios in his head. But he's otherwise pretty quiet in the cell. It's almost eerie to be this close to someone and he's barely reacting to the situation because he's not sure how to react or manage it. If he's with someone that he's known before getting here, they may notice there's no huge, distinct difference between his self inside and outside.

Been there, done that.

He's found a place to sit still. However, as the early first days progress, he'll become progressively more stir-crazy. The small, physical signs more apparent because of what he is. His ears twitch at every sound, often laying nearly flat against his head when it's quiet. His tail is unflinching.

If he notices his cellmate start to get a little too stir-crazy or uneasy, he'll finally speak up asking them to settle down. Or - he'll offer: ]

They won't feasibly be able to keep us here forever.

ii. cellmates; later on
[ CW: mentions of child trafficking/being sold as food]

[ How long has he been here? He tries to count the days but they start bleeding together. Between being poked and prodded when he was inside the cage, to when he would see people one by one get dragged away. But, unlike his last experience in a cage - they were being brought back. He has backed himself into a corner of the cell. His prosthetic foot is tapping, a dull - even pace of sound that helps him focus his attention on it rather than the world around him.

He feels like he's four years old again. He remembers, standing there with his friends. He has no words for them, but they know what he is thinking by his actions. The bold way that he would shove himself in front of them if they were to be taken away. One-by-one, he watched as those kids he cared about - his family, were pulled away never to return. Being brought out of the cages at home meant death. A death he had once so easily welcomed and had convinced himself he was ready for. A death he was willing to throw himself in front of for others. He wasn't afraid of it then, and he's not afraid of it now.

The past thirteen years have been borrowed time. Bought by a man who chose to raise him rather than treat him as dinner. If it happens here, he's lived well longer than any other piece of livestock he lived with in his early years in the Back Alley. Then, he remembers Ibuki, offering up parts of himself just to live, and fighting through that.

The torture isn't nearly as bad to him as the cells. He knows what to expect in the torture: pain. He expects to hurt, he expects every bit of him to ache. But, staying in the cells was surprises. Who would be taken next, who would he be sharing a cell with next? Nothing was certain anymore. He's not able to relax, he's not able to sleep. He's tired, but he doesn't even hurt anymore.

At least once or twice, when those footsteps come by to take someone in a nearby cell, his body moves on it's own, escaping his corner and shifting in front of someone in his cell.

It's instinct. ]


i. torture;
[ CW: vague torture, child trafficking, mentions of being eaten, needles/blood ]

[ The torture? He can handle it. At least better than he can handle the confinement and the memories that the cells bring back to him. Nothing that they can do or say to him will scare him anymore. Louis, age three, fully expecting to be eaten. Watching small herbivores dragged away and never returned. Age four, bought by Oguma and given a home. Even with all of the things he'd been given, that feeling never left him. That neverending knowledge that as an herbivore, as prey, he would end up as someone's dinner.

So, as he got older, he embraced it. He drew his strength from it. He got stronger because he knew that he wasn't that. He got stronger because he knew that he had to be in order to get successful here.

Physical pain? It hurt, it wasn't that it didn't. But from the day that Oguma ha bought him - he had been raised to not express his feelings. It hurt, every cut of the knife, every needle in his arm. Witch blood can fetch a pretty penny, after all.

But, for all that they did to him, Louis didn't cry. His body would respond, physical twitches, his ears, his tail, his fingers and toes on his left foot would react to the sensations of pain. But he wouldn't let them have his tears. He would run himself through that night with Legosi when they would remove that prosthetic leg and see what it was made of.

See how his body responded to every bit of pain where the prosthetic attached. He remembered, he knew, the Coven usually fixed people like this. But, his didn't debilitate him. It was a conscious choice. He chose to be this way when he sacrificed his foot to Legosi on New Year's Eve. He wanted to stay this way. It was a reminder of the sacrifice he made to his friend, who removed his curse.

His curse that seemed to be reunited with him. At the end of it all, they would reattach his leg, and return him to a cell. Whichever was open, really. Your new cellmate is now an unflinching deer with blood dried into his fur. He acknowledges the new cellmate with a look. ]

wildcard
[ hmu here, agalio & disc: Undercuts#6759 ]

1

[beautyisthebeast]

I don't think they intend to...

[Her voice is quiet and apologetic. Both because she's pretty sure their captors don't intend for them to live too much longer and because it seems that her nervous twitching and wringing her hands has caught his attention. She hadn't meant to disturb him. Even in a place like this, a situation like this, she can still find ways to cause trouble for others.]

trevor belmont | vampire | kidnapped

[quickwhip]

a) i scream, you scream ( cw: torture, injury, blood, etc. )

[ Today Trevor is one of the "lucky ones" pulled into that chamber at the end of the hall where anything and everything happens to those who enter it... and none of it fun or pleasant. Wrists are shackled in a silver which feels warm and unpleasant against his paling skin, strung up against a cold wall and held there as he's doused in holy water. At first? He just laughs it off because surprise, motherfuckers, his transformations haven't fully come in yet and so thanks for the bath he might actually retort. But it gets worse and worse and becomes more holy or some shit because it slowly begins to burn his skin the more he's doused in it and Trevor bites back every last groan and scream that threatens to spill from his lips.

He's not about to give them that satisfaction... for as long as he can.

He's stabbed and sliced, a means to maybe see what sort of healing factor he has and they're all either silver or holy objects. The garlic just smells and is spit out when it's shoved in his mouth, Trevor claiming he's not hungry, sorry. It's the sort of banter he gives despite the pain that's inflicted upon him and when it seems they've stopped with him (for now), he hangs there against the cold wall, looking up to catch sight of someone else who's in here with him. Someone else who more than likely is next in going through this personal hell. ]

(( PLEASE NOTE!! this prompt is for anyone who wishes to have trevor witness your character being tortured and/or vice versa. feel free to shoot me a PM or PP at escaflownes if you want to hash anything out prior otherwise, have at it! ))

b) dear cellmate, ( cw: mention of blood )

[ Shackles locked around wrists clink against each other as fingers once again try to remove the muzzle that has been placed around his mouth. No dice, just like always. It's been... oh, hell. He has no fucking clue how many days it's been since he's found himself whisked away to this shithole of a place. Worst place he's ever been? Pretty up there, honestly, since it's not like he can recall the last time he's ever had a fucking muzzle of all things on him. So with another struggle of an attempt to pull the fucking thing off his mouth, he gives up, muscles weak, nails broken and chipped from the amount of times he's tried to pry it off. ]

You try and tear someone's throat out and this is how they treat you.

[ It's muttered more to himself before he tosses a glance over to his cellmate he has (for the moment) and, back pressed against the cold stone wall, he stretches a leg out, shackled hands dropping down to his lap, fingers bloody from the attempts to pry his muzzle off. ]

You get that long pointy thing, too? Thought it was going to get shoved up my ass. Turns out, just the side of my neck. [ And there's a large bloodied bandage fixed to his neck to show that. ] Not sure if I prefer it though.

[ Might as well make conversation, right? ]

c) musical cells ( cw: mention of torture, injury, blood, thoughts of death )

[ His screams this time are the loudest they've been since arriving here in this hell. The days he's spent throwing sass at those who hold him and everyone else here captive begin to dwindle the longer he's kept here and today... today is just Not A Good Day for Trevor Belmont in that chamber of torture.

When he's tossed into whatever cell he happens to find himself in this time, he hits the ground hard. So hard, in fact, that he grunts as bloodied fingers scratch at the cold floor and he struggles to push himself up. No muzzle today, blood wet around his mouth and chin, shackles still snapped tight around bloodied wrists that seem worse this time around. On his hands, shaky as they are, he spits out a considerable amount of blood and, from the looks of it, it's not his own which had been forced down his throat. ]

Shit.

[ A single word he mutters as he struggles to push himself up. Skin pale and marked with slashes and burns, eyes sunken in and mouth covered with blood that is only some of his. He feels... tired. Tired and weak and like none of this will come to end and so rather than try to get himself up as he first thought to do, he lets himself collapse against the cold ground, laying there on his back as he just... stares to the ceiling. ]

If you killed me now, I wouldn't hold it against you. Might actually be doing me a favor.

wildcard??
(( if you'd like to do something different, please feel free to shoot me a PM or PP at escaflownes on plurk. o/ ))

c

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker's in the cell with him now. He's in just as bad shape as Trevor is, possibly worse with his broken, mangled wings. He'd learned to recognize the vampire's screams and he could only imagine what he'd been subjected to. Fully restrained, chained to the wall with a muzzle on his face, he can't move far.

His eyes settle on Trevor and he simply shakes his head. It's a weak motion, so very weak. His body, bruised, battered, and bloody with his broken, torn wings, is on the verge of giving out on him. ]

I can barely move from where I am...You think I can kill you like this?

[ The only thing not restrained is his tail. ]

Survive...It's the best way you can spit in their faces.

Mettaton | Puca | kidnapped

[glitzandglamour]

I. The Fires; (open to all)

A. the knight in metal armor

[Smoke swallows the buildings in the Haven. Few people should be this close, close enough for the buildings to collapse and the fires to flash from one building to the street itself. And really, there's a good reason most people aren't this close. It's close enough for fires to lick skin, for smoke to smother any hopes of breathing, for people to perish in the flames. But Mettaton's glowing screen burns brightly alongside the fire, a screen of red and yellow to add to the hellish orange.

There are two types of people who would be in this far: people who have been trapped here, and people too heroic for their own good. Once Mettaton spots someone, he rushes them. No matter what your reasons are for being so deep in the fire, the robot considers this somebody in need of a rescue. Whether they need rescuing or are here to put out the fires, Mettaton's a man who prides himself on making snappy decisions.

And this is too close for anybody with lungs to be, to him.]

AH-AH-AH! THAT'S THE WRONG WAY FOR SOMEONE LIKE YOU, DARLING! YOU'LL BE ENGULFED BY THE FLAMES IF YOU WANDER ANY DEEPER INTO THE MAZE OF BURNING RUBBLE!! UNLESS YOU'RE ON A MISSION TO BE BURNT TO A CRISP, I'LL BE TAKING CARE OF YOU FROM HERE!

[He places his boxy body between the Mirrorbound and the source of the fire and smoke before reaching for them, grabbing them with force and attempting to lift them into his arms. And unless there's good reason not to, Mettaton will do just that. Bridal style.]

II. The Lost Souls; (open to kidnapped)

A. just wait your turn (cw: captivity, restraints.)

[Mettaton knows somebody tried to "shut him off." How else would he have gone from his classic body to his EX one? So many people mistaken his switch for an off-switch, much to his amusement. Even so, they managed to get him. Of course they'd want him. He'd be offended if they didn't capture him!

It's not long into their entrapment, and Mettaton hasn't endured much. Not yet. But others are being shuffled in and out, in and out, until one of the Mirrorbound is tossed into his cell. Wrapped in iron chain, Mettaton doesn't have much liberty to move, but he regards the jailer with a cocky grin.]

Is it my turn to be taken into your dungeon of thrills...? Or are you saving the best for last?

[The jailer doesn't like Mettaton's tone, nor does she like that he's being so easygoing... despite being wrapped in iron and everything! She marches off, a complaint on her lips. Mettaton turns toward his new cellmate, his smile dissolved and his tone demanding.]

What did they do to you in there.

B. look at me now (cw: restraints, torture, DOUBLE torture, give it to me)

[You're grabbed roughly by the back of the neck, dragged down the short hall before being tossed through heavy doors, which thud coldly behind. One of the nameless family members drags two Mirrorbound onto parallel tables. "A two-for," the young man titters excitedly. His aunt, as it would seem, is a stoic sort: her eyes read bottomless, drinking in the sight of the Mirrorbound as if they're mere cadavers for her investigation. She towers above, taking care to cover her skin where she doesn't want any direct contact with these "filthy things." The young man is accompanied by another, and both take care of strapping the two Mirrorbound with practiced hands: chains, leathers, braces, muzzles, anything they need, rough, too-tight, too-secure. It's a performance, with her as the director.]

Oooh... White gloves this time. You know I'd prefer red. They'd compliment the tinge of your cheeks.

[As your character turns, at their side is Mettaton, who is already well along his way to being bound to the tabletop. Torture, for these two, will happen concurrently. Mettaton smiles with his teeth, his golden eye flashing with excitement. But for a split second, he was looking at you.]

You just can't have enough of my brilliant metal body, can you? I'm not surprised... Well, then, feast your eyes! Don't blink, because this is a VIP show just for you, darlings! What a treat, having the opportunity to focus your attentions so wholly upon me. [But he wiggles his legs, strains against the iron chains.] Oh, but. Make sure you really bind my shapely legs this time, okay? We wouldn't want a repeat of... last time. That ruins the mood...

[Mettaton's eye narrows, and he bites his lower lip in plesaure when one of the men yanks painfully at the restraints. The Rathmores wrinkle their noses at his flirtatious tongue, but try not to gratify him with a reply. What is up with him?! Mettaton exudes the aura of enjoyment, actually, and doesn't seem to be taking this seriously at all!]

C. whispers between teeth (cw: restraints, captivity.)

[It's a few days in, and there's a lot more discussion among the Rathmores within earshot. Just as you think you can tune in, Mettaton is heaved into your cell by two jailers, who grumble about how heavy and sharp he is. It seems like they've solved their earlier problems with his salacious tongue by snaking an iron chain between his teeth, in addition to the rest of his restraints.

(Yes, that's correct: Mettaton was restrained from speaking because he was flirting too much.)

Chains also span the entire length of his arms and legs. It seems like they're extra cautious about Mettaton's ability to escape, for some reason. The glass over his heart container bears a hearty crack across its surface, and Mettaton's head rolls on his shoulders when he's tossed onto the floor with a THUD! that resounds across the whole jail.

Entirely unable to move, Mettaton's eye flutters open. He's not facing the jailers when they depart this time, so he has no reason to give them challenging glowers or beckoning looks. He stares steadily at his new cellmate, a rabbit caught in a trap. Despite everything, Mettaton tries to smile past the chains. The synthetic skin of his lips burn horribly with the iron contact, somehow.]

Do you nind, dahling?

[Do you even have the willpower, much less a hand, to pull that iron chain out of his mouth? It seems like it's wrapped around the back of his neck. It could probably give, just a little...]

D. all for love (cw: restraints, torture, cyborg dismemberment, a myriad of possible body horror elements.)

[When your character's brought into the back room this time, Mettaton's already there, strung up vertically. The woman is determined to take him apart, piece by piece, and she does so roughly. One of Mettaton's blistering hands lays in a tray, oozing with a viscous, pink-tinged fluid. So too does Mettaton's entire upper torso, which is in the process of being surgically separated from his legs, which dangle a few inches from his body.

Surgically, because he's connected to his lower body with fine, fibrous threads. They resemble cords and cables, but these are organic fibers, nerves and weird pseudo-vessels developing thanks to his Monstrous transformation. The floor is lousy with glistening fluid, and it smells so offensively like nothing else: chemical, unreal, ozone, but not quite any of those things. Mettaton can barely focus on the newcomer beyond his pain, but he tries to smile at them. His hair has been slicked away from his face, revealing a mess of exposed wiring and an optical lens where the right side of his face should be.]

Hey there... gorgeous.

[The tall woman impassively reaches for the chamber at his waist, trying to chisel the glass into pieces now that it's already broken. (The amount of effort it took, too! She'd go on about that in her investigative abstract.) She speaks only to her family member, the one who dragged a second Mirrorbound in: "I think I've figured it out. It's a controller." And by controller, she could only be referring to the pink heart encapsulated in his waist. Mettaton loses focus again, but struggles. It seems like this is an action he's not as pleased about.]

Going... for my heart? Now, now. You've barely... spoken, all these days. Don't you think it would be nice if we talked instead...?

[Mettaton's resistance causes her to look coldly toward the other Mirrorbound, who she takes a new fascination with. What she has learned is that Mettaton's pliant when she tortures others instead of him. She marches toward them, her scalpel gleaming, much to Mettaton's horror.]

Wait! Wait... [It's too late to save them. Mettaton's the reason she's shifting gears, changing focus. She's ready to perform her art on the new Mirrorbound, almost in retaliation. Mettaton becomes the audience, a chance to witness somebody else's pain. How could humans, humans like the Rathmores, be so cruel...? It's fathomless to Mettaton.]

0. Wildcard;

[Give me a scenario and I'll work with it. Alternatively, reply with an idea and I'll write a custom starter for you! You can also message me or reply to me on the CR meme for ideas. I do have MTT signed up for escape, but that's not here or now.

When it comes to content, give it all to me. Warnings appreciated, but I'm down to write anything.]

C

[unsundered]

[Huddled up in one end of the cell, as one large, dark, lump, Emet-Selch was not particularly keen on having visitors. He could suffer quite sufficiently on his own, thank you, he did not require any help in that regard. Alas, it was not meant to be.

A stranger, this time, with perhaps an emphasis on the 'strange'. Something that may have elicited a moment's curiosity, were circumstances otherwise- but instead he regards him instead with a certain degree of wariness. Many minds had been tampered with, bestial natures invoked; everyone, until proven otherwise, was a potential threat.

...Not that there's much Emet-Selch could've done if that were to be the case, which was an awareness that he was still desperately avoiding having to accept. But fortunately enough, he was simply addressed and- was very much tempted to just leave him there. Not for any particular reason other than sheer indifference.

But finally he sighs, low and exasperated, shuffling forward to set himself next to this... individual. Emet-Selch was not known for his mercy, but whatever this person had done had clearly annoyed their captors, and if he could annoy them in turn by helping, even this small bit- well, perhaps it would be worth it.]

How soon will I regret this, I wonder....

[Though one arm hangs uncomfortably loosely, its wrist broken, the Ascian's other hand is more-or-less intact, and he begins tugging at that iron chain, trying to work some small slack into its length...]

Fie Claussell | unkidnapped? loose? liam neeson doesn't have to bother?

[sylphid]

( a. - this girl['s house] is on fiyaaa )

[Late afternoon rolls around, and Fie decides to do what she does best: sleep. Well, more like nap. Her work is done, the light will fade soon, and it's cold out. While all of this is perfectly fine separately, the three in combination make for optimal sleep conditions. Tucked under the covers, the light in her room is put out as she settles in for a nice nap.

Until sometime later when she wakes up to a sudden surge of heat and light. Her eyes snap open, and she shoots bolt upright. A sharp sense of panic takes her, emanating through her bonds faster than most emotions from her. Years of training and exercises allow her to automatically move and do what she needs to. Fie rushes to her window and throws it open, thankful it's not a windy evening. Her two gunswords are tossed outside into the snow, followed by some in-progress weaponry, not entirely inflammable. Next, she all but dives under her bed to pull out a smallish locked chest. A blanket gets tightly wrapped around that before it, too, is hurled from her window. Lastly, the closet, which is closer to the source of the fire. Probably. She reaches inside, and a small yell escapes her. Fire's found her arm from her shoulder to her mid-forearm, but that doesn't stop her until she finds what she's searching for. Bingo. A belt with various grenades and smoke bombs safely attached. That thing is definitely getting a place outside. That done, Fie grabs an untouched cloak and makes her way to the window herself, leaping out without a second thought. She lands easily with a roll, where she stays, burnt arm in the snow to lessen the feeling.

So there she lays, breathing heavily (and coughing occasionally), tired, saddened, but relieved she got the explosive items out in time. Probably one of the worse naps she's had.]

( b. - loosely is used loosely )

[The fires are out, residents are missing, and Fie is irritated. Not only is her room full of belongings a good level of trashed, but more importantly, one of her bonded is missing. She's patched up enough for her burn to not bother her, so it's time to get to work. Once she hears the city guard not-so-subtly offering them support to go a little off the books, Fie is there before anyone can suggest it to her.

Her time back home as a bracer is priceless. She knows how to get information through conversation, bribery, bargains, and several other methods. Once strategy they avoid is strongarming, since their duty is the protection of the people. And there's a guild branch in this place now, too. This time, however, Fie isn't acting as a bracer. Whether on her own or with another, or even running into someone during her hunts, she's something different now. Shoving someone against a wall in a bar, threatening another with a blade, or not moving until she gets answers, she's going to get something.

They attacked her home and took her friend. This is personal.]

( c. - wildcard )

[Only planned two, please give me more!! retort]

a

[fiddlestick]

[Elliot had been starting on making dinner when he smelled smoke, an on smell considering he hadn't even turned on the stove yet. But then he saw smoke coming into the kitchen, he quickly wasn't a cooking mishap. Nope. It was something far worse.

He makes a scared yelp, but then springs into action. He was a water mage after all, even if his instincts were telling him no, you run the other way- he knew their house would burn down if he didn't do something. So he rushes into the next room, throwing small water spells to douse anything that's on fire. Much to his horror, part of his room caught fire as well, so he gets distracted trying to put that out and saving what he could.

But as he is getting that under control, he feels the panic coming from Fie's side of the bond. Horror dawns on him: Fie was up in her room napping...and her room is full of explosives..

Oh sweet Aidios no.

As fast as his legs could carry him, he bolts up to Fie's room. By the time he gets up there, the room has already been abandoned. Elliot doesn't have time to check if the explosives are gone. He doesn't even know where she keeps ALL the explosives. Instead he throws the largest water spell he can on the room, dousing the whole place in a giant wave of water that'd surely kill any chance for things to explode. Maybe cause some water damage but in the mean time but hey- better than exploding.

After that though, he knows his own limits to know he can't do much more safely. He's logical enough to know pushing himself to the point of passing out would be a bad idea in a situation like this. So he covers his nose and mouth and makes a break for it to the front door. Once he's out, he collapses into a snow drift coughing from all the smoke and exhaustion. It's then he spots his bonded out in the snow.]

F-Fie!

Marianne von Edmund | witch | kidnapped

[beautyisthebeast]

Waiting in the Dark


[The last thin Marianne remembers, she was at work, trying to keep the horses calm despite the chaos of the fires raging through the city. There was only the briefest glimpse of the man who grabbed her before everything went dark and Marianne found herself alone in small, dark cell. She isn't shackled, but with bars that thick and her magic not responding such details hardly matter.

What is this place? What could they want with her? And what are those awful noises? Her thoughts swirl in her head as she settles into a corner of the tiny room to wait. And pray.

It's hard to say how long she's sitting there alone, huddled in the darkness, when suddenly footsteps approach her cell. The door is wrenched open by a pair of guards, but by the time Marianne has even scrambled to her feet, another unfortunate victim has been tossed in and the door locked again. The guards leave without so much as a second glance but when they leave she is no longer alone. She puts a gentle but hesitant hand on her new cellmate.]

Are... are you alright?


The Whispers


[They probably shouldn't talk so freely near the cells, but they clearly aren't thinking of their captives as any real threat. ]

Rathmore...

[It sounds as if they're the family behind all this. But something else catches Marianne's interest. She turns to the the person currently sharing a cell with her and whispers quietly.]

Did you hear that? They said something about a spell to send us home...



Aftermath (While this is the aftermath, there will probably be descriptions of torture in this thread, including blood, gore, etc.)


[They're finally done with Marianne and it's not as if they're going to carry her all the way back to whatever cell she was in before. Especially not when there's plenty of room in your cell. Marianne is tossed onto the stone floor roughly, and the guards lock the door and leave without a word. The poor girl is a mess. Her clothes are torn and stained with blood, and the several cuts that can be seen are still bleeding sluggishly. Sharp noses might detect the scent of charred flesh and an ugly swollen bruise on one ankle means that it's probably broken.

She lies there on the ground quietly, either unconscious or unwilling to rise. ]

whispers;

[lonewanderer]

[ Ever the optimist, Lex can't help her little snort. ]

Doubt it. Wouldn't need to kidnap us for that, plenty of people would volunteer, Coven be damned.

[ She's bloodied and has wires hanging out of some of the incisions, exposed, metallic bone winking out of some of the others. It hasn't helped her mood, but it hasn't hurt her mind, at least. One of her bound wings twitches, which makes her grimace, but at least it's better than shrugging and reopening anything. ]

If the spell sends us anywhere, they probably don't know and don't care where. Otherwise, we might be guinea pigs to see if we explode when they try.

Waver Velvet | Monster | Kidnapped

[tryhard]

lost (closed to Caster Cu).

The glass shatters with an ear-splitting crash, shards bursting across the room, clattering over tables and chairs in a rain of debris. The torch follows close behind.

And just like that, the small tattoo parlor Caster and Waver had been stocking today bursts into flames.

taken.

[ Waver wakes in stages some time later -- maybe immediately after being taken, maybe days into captivity. Slowly, he comes to in a small space, cramped, musty and mostly dark. He's lying on his side, shirtless, barefoot, curled up. His shoulders ache, and his throat and wrists and back are burning.

The reason becomes clear immediately: he's been fettered, hands behind the small of his back, and between the cuffs a sturdy chain leads up to the back of a metal collar that digs into the front of Waver's throat whenever he tries to move. He can't see them, but he can guess. They're silver. They hurt.

With effort, Waver tries to leverage himself up against the wall to his side so he can try to sit up. The exertion leaves him panting, hot breath misting the metal bars of the muzzle strapped tightly around his head. The motion makes him lightheaded.

Waver groans, leaning his forehead against the wall as well as he can.

Movement alerts him soon enough to the fact that he is not alone. His head snaps up, and instinctively, Waver bares his teeth in an audible snarl, shrinking back against the wall. ]

D-don't come closer!

claws & teeth.

The cage is large, nearly the size of the whole room, sturdy metal bars reinforced with magic. Several of their captors -- Witches and humans alike -- stand around it chatting, laughing, joking about placing bets. Some of them actually do.

Inside, a petite young Turnskin crouches, dark hair falling in messy, dirty strands over his face, green eyes flashing reflectively in the low light. He's wearing threadbare trousers that have seen far better days, a thin metal collar inscribed with sharp runes, and a long-fanged snarl.

The door to the cage opens, and someone else is unceremoniously shoved in before the bars slam shut again. The bets start up.

The small Turnskin doesn't look that dangerous.

(( ooc: this is basically a cage match for other monsters or even witches if the kidnappers are feeling up to it, go wild. violence, blood and gore likely. I'm also fine with going a smutty fight-for-dominance direction with this one, or something of the sort -- just let me know. ))

hungry for the kill.

Nightshade can be used to stun, incapacitate, even poison Turnskins in higher doses. Mixed with certain other herbs and alchemical ingredients, it supposedly can even control them.

The cell door opens to another captive -- maybe someone Waver knows, maybe a complete stranger -- and one of the humans who are keeping them captive here push Waver into the small room with his new 'roommate.' He stumbles at first, perhaps even falls, limbs weak and jaw slack; his eyes are dull, glassy, unfocused.

Oddly, he's completely unrestrained this time.

"...w-water," he pleads, voice like sandpaper, reaching out for the person sharing his cell. His mouth and throat are burning. The world spins.

As the door closes and locks, the person who shoved him in here lingers outside the bars, watching with a cruel glint in their eyes.


(( ooc: in this one, Waver can be ordered to attack your character or whatever you want, etc. in the case of another Turnskin cellmate, feel free to assume they're also being controlled if you want!

if anyone wants to play any npc captors (or trade off playing them), let me know. also! if you have other ideas or want to hash out details, PM this journal or PP me @ gunsandchocolate

prose or brackets are both fine; I'll match you! ❤ ))

claws and teeth.

[trouvaille]

Gwenaëlle, likewise, looks no more intimidating now than when they'd met at a festival; less. Then she had been well-groomed, well-heeled, followed by an equally well-kept guard dog and all briskness and a bit of wounded pride friendliness—yes, she was friends with Geralt (“I mean, sort of,”) and yes, he was just a dog (“people keep mistaking him for a turnskin, though,”), and the slow unfolding of warmth in the face of a level of inebriation it was genuinely hard not to be sort of endeared to.

(Which in itself says a lot about her that should be unpacked with a licensed professional, but even if she makes it out of here alive probably won't be.)

Now—

they have denied her water. The discovery that cold iron influences her similarly to the fae had been accidental, and she wishes she'd covered the reaction better; her wrists are raw and ache where the manacles had been used as both restraint and torment, and it's hard to think. She thinks, blearily, that it might have been easier if she hadn't been teetering on this edge before she was taken. If she'd tried harder, if she'd been better, if she'd had some connection that could have steadied her so that she didn't already come to them snappish and confused, prone to drifting in a way that feels...different, and dangerous.

She's under no illusions about the purpose of having been shoved in here. Or that there's any real likelihood she'll come out of it without giving in; she keeps close to the door that's clanged shut behind her, tracks the edges of the cage, the bars at the top of it, the relative size of Waver. How her muscles already ache, and how much she wouldn't have planned to find out how well she can keep herself alive like this.

“Fuck you,” she mutters, in response to something low uttered before something hard is shoved into her back and she stumbles forward whether she likes it or not.

Oerba Yun Fang | Turnskin | Kidnapped

[belligerentwarrior]

i — 14th/15th — Kidnapped cw: restraints, burns

[They get her when she breaks off from the bucket brigade. Fang's very restraints did the work for them; her manacles contain silver, as does the collar that chains the Turnskin to the wall.]

[Anger and pain quickly forces her into a half-feral shift, snarling and thrashing for hours in the cell too small for two occupants; she doesn't have enough presence of mind to cognizant of her cellmate, and her back claws might catch her cellmate during her wild struggling. The jaguar finally stills in the early hours of the 15th, shifting back to her humanoid form and collapsing, biting back pained noises as the silver at her wrists and neck endlessly sears now-burned flesh.]


ii — 16th-onward cw: more restraints, more burns, hunger

[From then on, the usually belligerent Turnskin goes uncharacteristically still, laying bonelessly prone on the cell floor, shallowly breathing and no longer trying to twitch away from her silver restraints; her fur's matted with blood, and the skin under and adjacent to the silver's blacked and cracked, and that horrible acrid burnt odor fills the cell. The only time Fang stirs is when their captors come by to toss in a meager scrap of food—just enough to keep them from starving, and realistically only enough for one of them.]

[Fang lifts her head when the food hits the ground, but can do little more than that; she trembles awfully when she tries to push herself up from the floor, and barely moves a few inches toward it.]


iii — 19th/20th — Prisoner's Dilemma cw: torture in threads

[After nearly a week of this hell, after endurance and spirit have been pushed to or beyond the limit, one of their tormentors grows bored. Two of the Mirrorbound—Fang and another—are dragged from their cells into the room of horrors and restrained, facing opposite directions.]

Let's play a little game to break the monotony, mm? I'm going to ask each of you to make a decision: nod to punish your opponent, or shake your head to be the sacrificial little hero your lot plays at being. Be the only one to nod, and I'll get you a treat—food, clean water... maybe I'll even make one of your pains go away.

Two nods, you both get punished. Two shakes... I'll get creative. Pass out first, you lose—and the loser gets to stay here for the next round.

((For this one, please feel free to write your own torments! I want everyone to stay with what they're comfortable with.))


Wildcard
[Spin any of these in a different way. Waking her from nightmares and mind-controlled Turnskin are also options. Pre-kidnapping prompts at request! Shoot me a message if you want to work anything out or a different prompt.]

ii

[gehennawind]

[ The awful fact of the matter, the whole reason Paloma's chains have so much length to them, is because the Rathmore guards want to see how long it will be until a vampire frenzies from hunger.

Her gashes, burns, flayed strips, every remaining open wound does not bleed, or suffer infection, scab, or heal. They stay as they are: ugly, visible through the rips in her once-lovely, once-gold sundress. And it's good they're not vulnerable to the cell's filth because dragging herself across it to get to Fang exposes her injuries to the worst of it. ]

I don't need the food. [ The cleanest parts of her face are tear tracks. ] Can you get it... or I'll, okay. Okay.

[ Her hands will have to do for scooping it up, unclean as they are. ]

Irhya Pendhula | Vampire | not-kidnapped

[omnicrafter]

[It seemed like as good a time as any to practice with her built-in, extremely compact stealth form.

If you're prowling the city for clues, as many are, you may encounter a very tiny bat, not even the size of one's forefinger, clinging to a nearby wall, or perhaps darting about your head frantically in an effort to get her bearings. It's a little suspect, considering bats aren't usually this... social, but here's one that apparently can't get enough of being a fly on the wall. Unfortunately, she seems to be doing a less-than-stellar job of it, failing to camouflage and just otherwise being blatantly obvious in her presence.

Or perhaps you were just about to step on her as she lands on the ground, and she has to squeal to make her presence known before she gets crushed. Watch your step!]

[inlikethebrume]

[Just like most of them, Mira is out trying to gather clues. The fact that many people vanished including those she personally knew worries her.

But she does notice the bat darting around her head. Odd little thing when it comes to flight that she mistakes it for an injured creature.]

Easy there, little one. Might you be hurt?

[She has not seen Irhya's bat form before so how awkward will this be?]

the lone wanderer "lex" | fallout 3 | chimera | kidnapped

[lonewanderer]

the beginning | cw: upset animal

[ As the chaos settles, a noise begins to go up from the haven. It sounds- awful, like an animal in pain. And it is, in a way. Not physical pain, but emotional. Dogmeat is howling, the absence of his best friend from home upon his awakening from his magically-induced sleep and the fact that he can't quite pick up her scent in all the smoke and chaos upsetting the hound.

It doesn't get better. If anything, when Lex doesn't reappear soon after, it gets worse. Hiccup takes the dog under his wing soon, but the haunting howl and the frantic whining and pacing of the dog are not likely to be sounds or images any will forget soon. ]

((ooc: Hiccup will be taking care of Dogmeat, but characters are free to notice that the dog that otherwise never leaves Lex's side is alone and/or with Hiccup and Very Upset. I won't really be replying to this prompt, but wanted to include it for flavor.))

the torments | cw: torture, experimentation, talk of possible dismemberment, electrocution, description of injuries, language

[ They start by trying to get rid of anything that might make Lex a threat.

The Pip-Boy on her arm is a concern; they can't get it off, because it's bio-metrically sealed. There's plenty of talk about trying to cut through it or magic it off, but they can't seem to figure out how. They talk about trying to cut off her arm, but decide against it. They do start to cut into her, though; Lex grits her teeth through the pain and stares at them, when she can, with cold eyes, hard eyes, eyes that are memorizing their faces for later. They don't care. They don't think there will be a 'later' - and maybe they're right, but it makes her feel better. They only shave away through part of the flesh before they decide that the Pip-Boy isn't enough of a threat to bother trying to shave the flesh under it, as time-consuming and annoying as it will be, though they don't bother to bandage her up, either.

After that, it's her hands. Her eagles talons are clear weapons, and they've taken her guns. It's these and her fox teeth, and she's collared and chained back to the wall so that she can't bite; gagged, if they have to get close to her face. Her talons, though, have a bit of reach - so they try to break her hands. That's when they discover that they won't break, not with the amount of force that they should. Come to think of it, those talons are awfully shiny, aren't they? They make their incisions and peel back her skin and lo and behold: her bones are plated, at the very least, with metal. Is it only in her hands? they whisper among themselves; they could ask her, but they wouldn't trust an answer that comes out of her mouth anyway. And so the experiments continue, and they find that the metal is all over; every bone in her body is, at least when the blood is washed off enough, shiny and silver. It doesn't necessarily make it hurt less when they try and crush them, but it means it doesn't work out so well.

They aren't expecting the nuts and bolts and wires. Not all of Lex was human even before she changed into a monster, and now that the cyborg fittings are exposed, that much is very obvious. Some of the wires and fittings are pulled loose, hanging out from the incisions they've made and not sutured up - which, admittedly, is most of them. What sutures they have made are loose, meant to keep her alive but also meant to be easily undone so that they can go poking around some more. They're easy targets back in the cells, too, when someone comes by and wants to cast a spell - electricity magic targets the loose wires and makes her shake and twitch, and sparks jump between the wires and the metal of her skeleton.

Back in the cells, Lex lets on the pain that she has tried to hide from their captors. Whoever her cellmate is at any given moment might see her curl up, trying to instinctively hide behind wings that they've clipped and bound, grimacing each time one of her open or barely-sutured wounds hits the ground. She sleeps in fits, and only when she has managed a quiet ] Keep watch? [ from a raw throat to her cellmate and gotten some sort of affirmative response.

When the pain fades to manageable levels, though, Lex is alert - the one keeping watch, the one trying to protect her cellmate even though she is bound and bloodied. ]

Nice of them to make it a family affair, [ she'll comment at one point, head leaning back on the wall, a blue wire curling down from an incision behind her cheekbone. ] Bastards.

the whispers | cw: description of injuries, language

[ The movements of the guards, both in with the captives and outside the door, have Lex alert every time. Sometimes it comes with pain, sometimes it doesn't, but she's always watching and listening. Their words are just snippets, pieces of a whole, but that doesn't stop Lex from taking them and hoarding them close.

(It makes her think of Eren, and the muted feeling of the bond hurts, each time.)

When the footsteps fade and they are left alone, Lex will (carefully, so as not to re-open any incisions trying to heal) tilt her head toward whoever her cellmate is currently. She looks a bit of a mess, with metallic bones exposed and wires curling out from under her skin, some spots on her body loosely sutured and some not, but she's at least stable. And she's still a fighter, if the scorn in her voice is any indication. ]

Rich people sound like a fucking cult.

the whispers

[futhark]

I'm sure they also burn as brightly as one— [ Cú doesn't even hide a hatred in his voice. How many of the Mirrorbounds have they got here? Every time he feels sure that "this person isn't here" they throw him in a cell with them, proving him wrong.

Lex is here, they took everyone. ]

Rathmore... Rodolphus... Father... [ Names, names to remember. But also trying to stir a memory because one of the first two, one sounds familiar. ] They've hurt you—

Soren | Dragon | Kidnapped

[silentsavant]

[a] misery and company (cw: restraints, shock, torture aftermath (piercing, flaying, etc.))

[ The shrieking. The metallic reek of blood, the stench of potions and entrails, the tide of anguish crashing into him from all sides. None of it has to be his own, but the chaos of frantic Mirrorbound making their chains sing, howling in pain and anger as their bodies are rendered meat to be punished, as their companions are wrenched away to have yet worse done to them, boils deep within him. It clouds his mind, washes his world in pulsing red. Some moments, he even forgets who he is. And when he comes to some semblance of senses, he finds his legs bound tighter, more shackles, less scales, less clothes, less dignity.

It is like thrashing through a sequence of vivid nightmares, each one leaving the threads of his sanity a little more frayed than before.

Combined with the enervation of blood loss, he eventually slips into grateful unconsciousness. But he wakes up again soon enough.

He's much calmer than before by virtue of his blackout. He raises the curtain of heavy eyelids to greet a dark and blurry stone world. Immediately upon coming to, the misery of his surroundings strikes his head like thunder. Soren winces with a gurgling moan. ]

Uuugh...

[ ...and finds himself in a crowded cell with another victim. How long has he been here? His wrists and the fins that protrude from them are bound up tight with specially reinforced manacles, the chain of them connecting to a collar and restricting his movement to an uncomfortable degree; he is bunched up in a fetal position against the wall because of this. His wings were cruelly bolted together by puncturing the membrane in various places, his horns sawed off. Moreover, his clothes had been stripped of him for better scale extraction, and his body is pocked with sections of his skin where the scales had been flayed clean off, his long tail having suffered the worst of it. The dragon blinks the blurriness from his glassy red eyes to try and make sense of where he is, his cellmate: who they are, what sort of damage they sustained, their mental state. His voice is woefully hoarse. ]

What... happened? Nn!

[ He winces as he reels from a fresh bout of overstimulation. ]

[b] pain of another (cw: experimentation, restraints, blood, blood-drinking, general torture, psychological torture, etc.)

[ The captors discover quite soon that the reason this dragon is so unstable is from the excesses of his environment. They've brought him into a torture chamber where he will be restrained in place via magic and chains, a number of witches on standby should he get too unruly. Soon, they haul in another unlucky soul through the heavy doors, guiding them to the table where they will be strapped down in whatever way is deemed necessary for the next test subject. A distinguished woman with fanciful harpy plumage decorating her hat that casts her aquiline profile into an even more vulture-like effect prods the glass cabinet with a gloved finger, a glint of brutal cordiality flashing in her amethyst eyes as she analyzes the new subject with a smile empty of kindness, then weighs which instrument to use. It is very likely that she intends to take parts or drain vital fluids to make this exercise in cruelty a little more profitable in addition to entertaining. ]

I wonder what gets under its scales most... Is it the screaming? The writhing? Or the smell of carnage? [ She chuckles to herself, popping the cabinet door open. ] Certainly not pity. If these interloping freaks of nature had the capacity for that, they would have felt bad about trampling all over our good city in the first place.

[ Soren grits his teeth and braces himself for whatever suffering comes next. Her remark makes him scoff. It's too ridiculous in this light. He's tired of people like her. ] Whining about pity... looks unsightly on y—ghhh!

[ He's yanked by the collar and electrocuted by one of her lackey's spells. They've discovered via tests that a good shock clams him up pretty nicely. ]

[ Speaking of tests, they might be trying something else: taking a vial of the dragon's blood, tipping it to your character's lips. Make remarks about how the earlier incident with Uncle Rathmore was... weird, definitely disturbing, but they'd rather repeat the test on one of their captives, not family. Everyone is careful to wear gloves, some of them masks. Soren looks on in pallid, disgusted horror, bracing himself for yet another unpleasant and unpredictable experience, but it's harder for him to look any sicker than he already is due to everything else already going on. ]

((ooc: Left this open-ended so that you could decide what happens to your character. The degree of your character's suffering will affect Soren's mental health. If his blood is imbibed or injected, a mental connection will be formed between them and Soren, but because Soren is currently of unsound mind, they will be bombarded by the same empathetic distress he is enduring. These are some blood properties that Soren does not know of yet, but he is currently capable of, within a limited scope, transmit thoughts, feelings, and memories to another character so long as his blood is within them. This condition eventually wears off. ))

[c] stadium love (cw: violence, blood, slight body horror)

[ At his worst, Soren is no longer really Soren. Goaded and harassed by his captors, he's a monster in the purest sense, driven to a point of madness that seeks wanton destruction of any living thing in his path.

A few of the Rathsmores reckon they're going to have a bit of fun with this.

They corral their snapping, frothing humanoid dragon over to a more expansive cell, one a suitable enough size to serve as a quick-and-dirty arena: places to run, but nowhere really to hide. Here, they throw his opponent into the ring with a rough shove and close the barred door behind them. Once it's shut, the magic binding your character is dispelled. But so is the dragon's.

He bares his all-sharp teeth, his mouth larger than before, eyes a monochromatic red that have absorbed the whites and erased the pupil. His proportions are shifted and skewed at the limbs, an inclination to crawl on all fours rather than stand on two legs, which have morphed into something digitigrade. New horns have miraculously sprouted on his head. His claws have sharpened, scales hardened, thorny protrusions jutting from his collarbones. Limbs free to move, he scurries up the side of the rough wall and fans his torn and punctured wings out like a threat. The onlookers whoop and holler as they await the carnage they're sure will ensue.]

I don't think he's been fed at all since he's been here, either.

Nothing but the drugs, then, eh? Hoo! No wonder he's a feral nightmare!

He'd be even more of a nightmare if he would turn into a dragon for us...

((ooc: If your character stands no chance, he won't be able to kill them. The captors have enchanted his collar with a spell that will knock him out upon their command. As the prompt suggests, I've been wanting to have him shift into his dragon form, but for canon reasons him doing that will open a whole can of worms for him, so I've been waiting for a better moment (like when he has more developed CR to make it actually fun to play). This way, he will barely remember any of it.))

[d] custom

((Want something different? A little tamer, a little heavier, something more specific to our two characters? Feel free to contact me (PM; paingel#4140; wingything) and I can write you up a custom starter!))

b. (cw: burning, drugs, restraints, torture, probably blood drinking eventually)

[tryhard]

It's mere happenstance that they chose someone Soren knows for this particular experiment in cruelty; it'll be considered a lucky break if any of them realize it, soon.

But now, they're strapping Waver down, making offhand comments (Scrawny for a Turnskin, isn't he? Couldn't you find something better or more useful? Nobody will pay for mutt blood, idiots!) while the restraints are magically modified and secured to fit his smaller stature. The chains and reinforced straps clip onto the silver manacles and collar Waver's been adorned with since his arrival here, where the constant burn has seared his skin and left it ripped and raw.

He can't remember the last time he wasn't drugged. But even now, more clear-headed than he's been in god-knows how long, it doesn't count for much when all Waver can do is snarl and snap and yank at his restraints, panting with the exertion and the pain. They hold. One of his captors snickers openly.

It's only the scent of seared flesh suddenly hitting his nose that draws Waver's attention, the crackle of electricity that makes his head twist to the side as much as the bonds allow.

He barely recognizes Soren.

Enkidu | FGO | Kidnapped - tw: torture, tw: psychological torture

[enkidoh]

II.The lost Souls

The Torments - I
[Enkidu doesn’t have a particular bond with their magic. It isn’t essential to their being so losing it is something they can get over. After all, it is the connection with earth and nature that they miss. The strength that can put fear in the hearts of gods and humans alike. No, those heavy bars that keeps them locked inside this small cell worries them, in fact, it fills them with a heavy sort of dread.

This is some sort of punishment, not? Something related to the fires outside in the city, the general unrest among the people. Was that why they dragged them from their bed?

As they sit up they groan softly, rubbing their forehead a little. Their body aches and whatever connection they had through their temporarily bond seems to be lost. Or gone. Perhaps they found a way to undo the potion. Finally they move to wobble to look through the bars of their cell, hands closing around the cold iron they are made of. There are others too. Familiar faces but also beings they have never seen. All locked away.

They open their mouth to speak and suddenly a sharp pain spreads through the fingers that are curled around the bars. Apparently this dark haired human found it necessary to hit something against them.]

Ah!

[Slowly they let go and curl their hands to fists. It hurts, but pain has never really been an issue for them.

Still, when they turn to look they notice they are not alone.]

Hello.

[Enkidu moves to sit back against the wall, examining their hands first before focusing their gaze on the other.]

Why are we being locked away like this?


The Torments - II
[These humans seem to be quite curious. One tells the other about how they are made of clay but that they bled when they took two fingers. They are making bets and jokes that sound cruel but Enkidu isn’t someone who cares for mockery or bets. And it isn’t strange to miss two fingers. What is strange is that they cannot restore those fingers.

But it is this room that is frightening. It smells of blood and death. The tools are horrifying and obviously meant for torture.

Enkidu blinks when one of them steps forward and asks something about how they’d like it to be a witness of their ‘work’.]

I want to go back to the cell you put me in. I do not care for the pain you inflict on me.

[Even to their own ears their voice sounds weak and somewhat distant. And their remark is met with something getting jammed inside of them. A knife, perhaps. Something sharp. Enkidu gazes at the man’s face and the object that is stuck inside their stomach.

Oh they, feel it. A dull ache that spreads out from the point of impact to the rest of their body. But the thing that makes their eyes widen is when they bring someone new in. A familiar face. The face of someone they would probably call a platonic friend. Or someone that could become one in the future. It isn’t difficult to realize what they were up to.

They had to witness.]


The Whispers
[Enkidu hears the voices but most of the time they never really make it through to their head. Normally they would’ve leveled this entire dreadful place within no time but at this point they are faced with the harsh truth that such a thing isn’t going to happen. Not now, not later, not ever.

They finally have reached a state where they feel frustrated, where these humans have managed to damage their trust. This entire city is a dreadful place.]

Hmm… [Slowly they roll over to their side.] …Let me help you. [Because, truly, their cellmate looks worse than they do.] …I can patch up your wounds. [They move closer and sit on their knees and start to take off their shirt.]

The torments - II

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker already looks like he's been through a lot as he's dragged in on a leash. His wrists are restrained behind him at a terrible angle and put pressure on his wounded shoulder (from the Dorchacht Wilde, though it had been reopened by his captors putting him in this position). A metal muzzle is padlocked over his face (and removed on occasion so he could be struck in the face more effectively). One of his eyes is blackened so badly that the crimson tattoo beneath it is lost in the bruising. Terrible bruising litters his bare torso. The some of the patches of scales have been removed, too, leaving swollen, bloody skin in their place.

His captor shoves him off-balance onto his injured leg, making the dragon crumple to the floor. He sits down heavily to take the pressure off of his leg, the wound oozing blood through the light-colored, thin pants he wears. His head droops against the leash, at least until his captor yanks on it to force him to look up. ]

Don't look away or you'll end up like that, too.

[ Like he hadn't already. Berserker's expression is painfully apathetic as he looks up at Enkidu. Unfortunate, but...he's sure they can withstand it. He doesn't call out, doesn't try to look way, just sits and stares straight ahead. ]

Mira Chambers | Witch | Not Kidnapped

[inlikethebrume]

Those Left Behind: Investigating

[The fires were only the beginning. The next day, Mira could feel one of her Bonds smothered, making her nervous and after learning about who had vanished, naturally not happy. Not the right words but she decides to try and help instead of letting her anger and fury stew for now.

For her friends lost, she will try. For the innocents, she will do this. After all, it's been hammered into her very being to help and protect.

Clad in her armor and Shadowbringer slung on her back, Mira heads towards where refugees were staying to take a look around. She can use a hand.]

The Coven: Attempts in Divining

[Someone in Mira's position is used to pain. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger after all. She is also a witch and she immediately volunteers to help trying to divine seeing where the missing folks are held. However, no one told her of the massive migraines that would come with failures. And every time, there is one.

As a result, Mira screams feeling not only the pain from the backlash but also from her missing Bondmate. Pain upon pain and yet she still continues. Once, twice, three times, ten times until some of the Coven members tell her to go rest for a time.]

You spoke of needing others to help! I can still try!

[Let her make the headache potions or something! Don't make her sit out and do nothing when she can still move!]

Please, let me help!

investigating

[integrous]

[ That is exactly where Asahi is already investigating. Although she doesn't have any Bond to feel the loss of, news has obviously traveled fast about Mirrorbound disappearing all over. And that immediately put her on edge enough to go out and look around for any clue.

Except she's already been looking here for a while now, and she can't seem to find anything. More agitated than usually, the signs of her monster side are increasing - more and more feathers appearing on her, her fingers elongated until they're almost talons.

She's busy looking through a pile of rubble, but the sound of someone walking up (that armor can't exactly be super quiet, can it) makes her look up from it and turn towards the source of the noise with a frown.

She doesn't recognize Mira right away in that get up, and so Asahi looks incredibly on guard, as if she's ready to fight if she has to. ]

fordola | chimera | kidnapped

[fordola]

i

[ It all came back to the cell.

Fordola had thought she could fly free when she first arrived. That she could escape prison, make a new life. But she had been captured, and seemed oddly still as she was tossed in a cell. Chained up, muzzled, treated like a beast. (At least the Alliance didn't treat her like this. At least they didn't chain her. Just gave her painful headaches.)

...at least it was Quiet. She couldn't see the visions, she couldn't feel the visions of her previous prison. Her voice dropped to a whisper. Her voice was near-silent, as she spoke. ]

Never trusted natives.

---

ii: cw: oviposition, torture

[ It was the middle of the month - of course it was. Fordola could feel it. Fordola knew it was going to happen, they knew it was going to happen, probably. What else would a bird do? Especially one like her.

It hurt. It hurt, as they pushed on her, squeezing her eggs out. She only had a few, but they still pushed. Why? They sold for a lot. Maybe they'll keep her, one voice said. Maybe they'll breed her, another said. But they had brought in another as they squeezed her dry - to watch? (Their eyes were focused, or perhaps not.)

As they took to cleaning and checking out the eggs, Fordola was dumped next to you. Her body exhausted, her thoughts turning to murder. Even if she hated it - those were hers. ]

---

iii

[ They didn't have a particular cell for any of them. That made Fordola a little disorientated - but she could handle it. She had to. As she was tossed in another, she couldn't help but slightly curl around herself. Wings messy, tail shedding scales. Whispers reached her... but her own whispers were harsh. To herself, but also to her current cellmate. She claimed she hadn't broken.

She hadn't broken. Had she? Her eyes were dark. Her mouth was dry. The only food she'd been given? Bird seed. She was weakened, but she was whole. (Fordola had to be.) While they had taken her eggs, they had also poked at her. Especially at her red eyes - whispers of a spell being on her, of a spell being in her.

(The Resonant. Would they act this way to one of those heroes? Probably.) ]

...we escape. Then what? It happens again. Savages.

Asura | Kidnapped | Open + Closed Prompts

[mirshikar]

( want a tailor-made starter? feel free to hmu on the CR meme or @ masalachai! )

Open to Kidnapped | A Game of Telephone

[mirshikar]

[ The cell which you are delivered into by the hands of the Rathmores has housed another. Within its stone confines, the smell of Witch blood is heady and pungent, filling the nose and lingering like a phantom taste upon the tongue.

Were you benumbed to the scent of blood before (by all that you have weathered and endured at the hands of your captors), you will find that this is different. This metallic tang is impossible to shake, demanding that it be traced to its source: the far wall of the cell, slick with blood that has yet to crust over to brown. It's fresh, by all means, leaving you to wonder just how close you were to glimpsing the cell's former occupant as they were shepherded away, into the dungeon behind the heavy door, no sooner than you were freed from it. One thing is clear: a struggle occurred here. Not to protect oneself, but to conceal something more important.

What that 'something' is becomes clear upon a second, perhaps third, survey of the stone wall. Beneath the wash of red, there are grooves (present, but not eye-catching, likely to be missed by anyone without the time to look) , letters lightly etched into the porous surface by way of talon. And though the words are staggered and segmented further by phrase, once the simplicity of the cipher is recognized, all is easily revealed: ]

You are strong, but let them believe otherwise. Lull them. Reserve your wrath for the fight. The time is coming, spread the word.

[ But what to do with a message like that? You could add more letters, make the text impossible to read by both captors and fellow prisoners alike. Doing so would surely prevent more punishment from being doled out upon you for resisting, or...

You could leave a reply behind in the cell. You could pass the message along, whatever the means. But the fact of the matter is: it's your move, and whatever decision you make will affect the lives of others. ]


( ooc; I'd like to encourage players to have their characters respond to this top-level by writing their own messages of resistance/solidarity/bad jokes/proposed violence and what-have-you for OTHER characters to find and reply to! Like a game of telephone, but one that ultimately leads to prison riot occurring on the 21st. Feel free to note where your character's message might be found, or leave it more general – it's up to you! Happy plotting against the oppressors. Please mention in your response if you'd like for your note to be found by one or by multiple characters! ♪

Note: Asura's message can be found by multiple people! )

Lorenz | Faun | In Town

[bergamotrose]

Those Left Behind

[He should have noticed when the blaze of the fires finally died down after hours of fighting, passing buckets hand-to-hand down the streets to douse the flames while the witches and those skilled at water magic worked their craft. He should have noticed when the cats were mewling restlessly, throwing poisoned daggers at him with their eyes when he passed out on the plush couch in the living room after an exhausing night of helping the town be destroyed.

He should have noticed, but he didn't.

Marianne was missing, and he had promised to protect her.

Lorenz quickly took to town after he had cleaned himself up and fed the agitated cats, his own surging with an unbridled anger at such a feat. This was Marianne, he rationalized. Fearsome in her own right-- delicate as a flower, but strong enough to withstand the frigid winters and bloom in the spring. Such a crime as abducting her was unfathomable to him-- but it was a reality.

He knew he needed to talk to someone, or go somewhere to cool his head. Although his clothes were as pristine as ever, his step was more hurried than usual and he bore a new addition to his ensemble; delicate sprays of bell-like white blossoms adorned his antlers, slowly blooming as the hours ticked on and afternoon became evening.

They were Lily of the Valley. Marianne's favorite.]

Investigation

[Having cooled his head, Lorenz took to the streets with an open ear. He traversed throughout the city, spending considerable time in the Entertainment District, Harbor District, and the Refugee Housing district as he repurposed the intelligence-gathering skills he had used in his Academy days for continued use. The skills he gained in trying to divine Claude's multiple secrets were useful, and he intended to leave as little to chance as possible.

Results could only be had through proper planning-- and he intended to get results.]

Wildcard

[Don't like a prompt? Make one up. Hit me up at woodrift if you want to plot.]

those left behind

[bloodypath]

So you've notice, have you? The gaping voids in the silence that follows that grand distraction.

[The changes in the other noble were subtle, but the quiet, restrained anger coursing beneath Lorenz' skin was something Hubert noticed in seconds. How couldn't he? The dark mage had lived well over half his life in that state, that smoldering fury never far. Tonight's events were far softer, far quieter, far subtler than the coup of the Insurrection, but he couldn't not notice the shadow of similarity.]

[Hubert inclines his head a fraction in curiosity, studying the other nobleman for a moment more. His familiar, that black and white cobra, hangs lazily around Hubert's neck as the Witch dismisses something glowing that had been hovering over his palm.]

Who was it?

[Lorenz was passionate about his moral duties of a noble. This... seemed far more personal.]