Witch Hunt//Open
She’d done it this time.
They caught her ten miles from Aedirn, and Ysmay had fought an onslaught of what most would consider to be small army; she’d held her own on a field with nothing around it, so she felt no remorse in using whatever chaos she had in her arsenal. It wasn’t until the assassins came that Ysmay was finally brought down.
Magic greater than her own, quicker, they had surrounded her and hit her at once - they stopped just shy of taking her life.
Calanthe wanted her alive.
Ysmay laid, crumpled and clasped with dimeritium shackles, her arms twisted behind her back, at the edge of a room - both hands and feet bound with the metal. Her consciousness was hazy, the world was blurred and a throbbing in her cheek told her she’d been hit with something - hard. She tasted blood and was only vaguely aware that it trickled down from her nose, which felt as if it was broken. A groan left her lips as she blinked, attempting to bring the room into greater clarity - her head rang and thundered with pain at the same time, squeezing a whimper out of her.
Sitting up to the best of her ability, she looked down - blood stained the front of her jacket and shirt a dark red, still wet against her skin and fresh in her nostrils. Moving her lips, she cracked her jaw - and the bottom lip stung as if she’d been hit with a hornet’s nest in full fury. Her tongue tasted of nothing but iron. They must’ve resorted to more physical means of apprehension after she was knocked out, she surmised.
Coughing and spitting out blood that had pooled on the inside of her cheek, she found she was in a cave - it was small, and candles lit the corners - she was shackled to a pipe driven from rocky floor to a ceiling made of wood, in the far corner was a ladder, and above she was slowly able to perceive the footfalls of her captors, celebrating as the dust from their boots rained down on her. Her head fell backwards, resting against a rock. “Melitele’s tits,” she groaned, moving her fingers, desperately attempting to break the pipe - to no avail.
Though, a moment passed and soon Ysmay heard scuffling, mostly in the form of extra dust raining down on her - but the sound of blows landing on skin and bodies hitting the floor was unmistakable, and soon, the room grew quiet above her, still. She fretted whoever fought had left. “Here!” She tried to yell, her voice half-choked off with dust and blood, she spit off to the side and called again. “I’m down here! In the cellar! Here!”
Soon after, the cellar door creaked open.
