“Tell me, Miss Lemont. Do you know much about runes?”
Cygnet swallowed, and shook her head as the strange man circled her slowly.
“N-no, sir,” she said quietly.
The man stopped in front of her, and when she glanced up at him his expression was cold and unyielding.
“I am not your employer, Miss Lemont. No agreement has been struck between us. When I purchased your bond from the city prisons, you did not become my servant. You became my property.”
Cygnet flinched, more tears spilling over her eyes.
“P-please,” she stammered, but a glare from the man silenced her.
“You will speak when you are spoken to, and when you do, you will address me as Master. Is that understood?”
“I…” Cygnet hung her head, her face growing hot with shame. “Yes, Master,” she whispered.
The word left a fowl taste on her tongue, a bitter reminder of how far she had fallen.
“Now, back to the subject of runes,” said the man, his tone suddenly light and conversational again. “I admit, they’re a subject of special interest to me. So much power, contained in such deceptively simple symbols. Most practitioners merely use them to enchant objects…”
The man’s hands began to glow with a sickly yellow light, and Cygnet looked up just in time to see his expression twist into a wicked grin.
“...but to me that is such a terrible waste of their potential.”
The man reached for her so suddenly she didn’t have time to jerk away, his glowing hands encircling her neck. His fingertips burned where they pressed into her skin, and the searing pain tore a scream from her throat, raw and desperate and terrified.
After what felt like eternity, he released her and she slumped forward, trembling with pain and fear alike.
“A binding rune, to start with,” said her tormentor in a pleasant voice. “To tether you to me, and to this house. As long as you bear it, you will not be able to set foot outside these walls.”
Cygnet brought her hands to her neck, feeling the tender skin for injury, but there was no wound that she could find.
“Don’t be shy,” the man said, his tone mocking. He gestured to an ornately framed mirror that stood in the corner. “Have a look.”
Cygnet looked into the glass, realizing with a start that this was the first time in weeks that she’d seen her own reflection. Her pale blond hair was dirty and tangled, the once pristine uniform she’d worn as a lady-in-waiting was torn and stained, and the skin beneath the shackles on her wrists was rubbed a raw, angry red.
Yet she barely spared a thought for her disheveled appearance, instead staring in horror at the strange symbols that circled her throat like a collar.
“Well, now.” The man placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down, his lips mere inches from her ear as he whispered, “Don’t you make a lovely canvas?”
Cygnet tried to cringe away from him, but his grip on her tightened, forcing her to stay still. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks and he tutted, reaching out and brushing them away with his thumb . She shuddered, and he let out a low chuckle, clearly amused by her discomfort.
“I must admit, Miss Lemont, I had my doubts when I was told about you. But I think we’re going to get along just fine together.”
Cygnet frowned, and for the first time she met the man’s eyes head on.
“Told? Who would tell you about me?”
“Ah ah ah,” the man said, shaking his head. “That doesn’t concern you. From now on, you only need to concern yourself with one thing.”
There was a tense moment of silence, then Cygnet finally spoke.
“And…what is that?”
The man’s unnerving smile returned, and he gripped her chin, his nails digging into the skin making her wince.
“Obeying your Master.”
Suddenly, the man reached down and grabbed the chains around her wrists.
Cygnet let out a yelp, but the man ignored her,
simply pulling the key from his pocket and unlocking her chains. "Get up."
simply yanking her up by her bound wrists and dragging her towards the door.
simply muttering a spell under his breath that made everything go dark.
Necromancer Whumper who makes sure to piece Whumpee back together after going a little too hard on them. Not needing to worry about avoiding Whumpee dying really lets Whumper go off the rails in their whumping.
In this Interactive whump fic, vote in polls to determine the fate of two whumpees who have found themselves caught up in a conspiracy to overthrow the king:
Cygnet Lemont, a former lady in waiting accused of a crime she didn't commit, forced into servitude in the home of a wizard who has an unnerving fondness for runes...
Robin Lemont, a Captain in the King's Guard who, following his capture and release at the hands of an unknown enemy, has no choice but to feed royal secrets to his torturers to keep his sister safe.
Part of Robin was ashamed that he did not struggle as the guards forced him down on his back. At the start he had fought them every step of the way, needing to be beaten into submission before he could even be properly restrained. Now his body stayed limp as the guards wrenched his arms up over his head, securing his wrists and ankles with the cuffs that were built into the table.
Once, being spread eagle like this with only the tattered remains of his uniform pants covering him would have made terror course through his veins, and he would have thrashed against the restraints with every ounce of his strength. But as the guards retreated and the nobleman approached, looking down at his battered body with a critical eye, he didn’t even cringe beneath the attention.
What kind of man had he become, after being trapped in this place for so long?
The runes on his torso suddenly flashed bright, and pain radiated through his body. His fists clenched and he strained against his bonds, a scream escaping from him despite his best efforts to hold it back. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the pain stopped and Robin fell back against the table with a gasp.
“Are you quite finished?”
Robin glared up at the nobleman, who had watched the entire display with a cool detachment.
“What do you want?” he spat out, and the nobleman raised an eyebrow.
“I should have thought that would be obvious. Unless Kavenor has lied to me and he never asked you any of the questions I instructed him to.”
Robin snorted, letting his head fall back against the table.
“So you’re the mad wizard’s handler. I wondered why a lunatic like him would care about things like palace security.”
“Indeed. I don’t suppose you’ve had a change of heart since my colleague was here last, and would like to tell me about said security?”
“In your dreams,” Robin replied.
“I see. I had a feeling you might say that, Captain Lemont.”
Robin blinked.
The use of his rank wasn’t surprising, he’d been captured wearing his guardsman uniform with the captain’s insignia on the shoulders, after all. The use of his name however, that was unnerving. Never once, in all his weeks of torture, had the wizard called him by his name; Robin assumed that the maniac hadn’t known it. His surprise did not go unnoticed by the nobleman, who smiled the way one might at a child who had tried and failed to sneak a sweet before supper.
“Yes, Captain, I know who you are. Captain Robin Lemont, the only Captain in the King’s guard under thirty years of age. Orphaned at age fifteen, enlisted that very year by lying about your age to the recruiting officer. You’ve risen through the ranks quickly, and are respected both by your superiors and the men under your command, if reports are to be believed.”
Robin closed his eyes at the mention of his men, their screams as they died around him in the forest echoing in his mind.
“Your resilience does you credit, Captain,” the nobleman continued. “Both in your drive to succeed and your refusal to break beneath Kavenor’s torture. However, I no longer have time for these games. You will tell me what I need to know, or you will find yourself wishing that you were still at the wizard’s mercy.”
As if punctuating his words, the runes on Robin’s body flashed again, and he let out another scream as the pain coursed through him. The nobleman watched with that same quiet detachment as Robin writhed on the table, then finally went limp, his breath coming in strained gasps.
“Well?” the man asked, and Robin grit his teeth.
“Go…to…hell,” he panted.
The nobleman looked down at him, and Robin waited for him to frown, to shout, to threaten, to do something other than regard him with that simple calm, but instead, the man just smiled.
“Well done, Captain. It seems that I chose my target well.”
“Your…target?” Robin asked, but the man had turned away from him.
“Bring it in,” he said to the guards standing at the door. “And raise the head of the table so he can see.”
One of the guards left the room, while the other approached Robin and bent down, turning a crank that pushed the table’s surface up so that it stood up at an angle from the ground. Robin’s heart beat faster in his chest; this was the position that the wizard would use to carve new runes into him. But this man was no wizard, so what could he possibly be planning?
As if in answer to his question, the second guard returned to the room, pushing a small hand held cart that held…something. Whatever the object was, it was about the height of a man, and it was covered by a dirty linen sheet. The guards left it standing in front of Robin, then retreated to stand in their place by the door.
“Some might wonder why you’ve been so resistant to our attempts at…persuasion,” the nobleman said, walking up to stand next to the object. “Some might simply think you stubborn. Kavenor believed you to have a deeply intrinsic loyalty to the crown. But you and I both know better, don’t we, Captain?”
“We do?” Robin asked, and the man smiled.
“You fight us not for the crown, not for the kingdom, not even for yourself. You fight us for the same reason you have always fought. You fight for her.”
The nobleman pulled the sheet down, revealing an ornate floor length mirror beneath. Robin saw his own battered reflection in the glass for a moment, before the mirror’s surface wavered like a ripple in a pond and the image changed.
The mirror showed a young woman dressed in servants' clothing, kneeling on the floor of what looked like a small parlor. Her wrists were shackled in front of her, and her hair hung around her face in a loose, disheveled mess.
There were tears in her eyes.
“Cygnet!” Robin shouted, straining towards the mirror. The girl did not react.
“Oh dear,” the nobleman said as he looked at the enchanted image. “It seems your sister has gotten herself into some trouble.”
“What have you done to her?” Robin demanded. “Where is she?”
“How old would she have been when your parents died?” the nobleman asked, ignoring Robin entirely. “Eight? Nine? Certainly not old enough to take care of herself, and too young for an apprenticeship. What’s an older brother to do in that situation?”
“I’ll kill you,” Robin growled. “I swear, if you hurt a hair on her head I will hunt you down and—”
“Ah, but it’s not me that she has to worry about, is it?”
As if on cue, an all too familiar form stepped into view, and Robin’s blood ran cold.
“Miss Lemont, I believe,” said Kavenor. “A pleasure to meet you at last.”
“Please,” Cygnet said, looking up at the wizard. Her voice shook as she spoke, and Robin clenched his hands into fists. “Please, there’s been some mistake—”
“There’s been no mistake, my dear,” Kavenor interrupted. He glanced over, and seemed to be looking straight through the mirror and into Robin’s eyes. “You had the opportunity to make things right, but you squandered it. Now, this is where you’ve found yourself.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Cygnet pleaded. “I’m innocent, I swear it. Please, you have to believe me!”
“Let her go!” Robin cried. “Cygnet, can you hear me? Cygnet!”
“Your whole life, everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve sacrificed, it’s all been for her, hasn’t it?” the nobleman said, in a tone one might use to comment on the weather. “I wonder, then, how far you’ll really go to ensure your sister’s safety?”
“I’ll talk!” Robin exclaimed as the wizard circled his sister like an animal stalking prey. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you, please!”
“How many guards patrol the palace walls at a time?” the nobleman asked.
“Fifty-three,” Robin answered immediately. “Four platoons of twelve foot soldiers, each commanded by one sergeant and with one additional captain on duty who’s in command of those sergeants.”
“How often do the guards change shifts?”
“Every six hours.”
Distantly, Robin was aware that he was betraying his country, betraying his king, betraying himself, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror, even as he rattled off answers to each of the nobleman’s questions. He could no longer hear what she and the wizard were saying, but tears were falling down Cygnet’s cheeks.
“And finally, what would become of you, if your superiors found out what you’ve told me?” the nobleman asked.
“Fuck you,” Robin hissed, and his tormentor raised an eyebrow.
“That wasn’t the question, Captain.”
Robin hung his head.
“I’d be court-martialed. Charged with treason, probably found guilty. Executed publicly so that I’d be an example to soldiers and citizens alike.”
“But you’d do it again in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you? Because of her.”
Robin didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The nobleman clapped his hands together in mock applause.
“Well done, Captain. You’ve done excellently on this final test.”
“Test?” Robin asked, lifting his head with a frown.
“Kavenor, you may proceed,” the nobleman said, and Robin’s eyes widened.
“NO!” he screamed, but it was no use.
In the mirror, the wizard had stepped forward suddenly and placed his hands around Cygnet’s neck.
“You bastard!” Robin shrieked as Cygnet’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened in a silent scream. “You lying bastard! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you!”
“Do calm down, Captain,” the nobleman said, rolling his eyes as Robin thrashed against his bonds. “The young miss will be perfectly fine. Observe.”
Robin could do nothing but watch in horror as the wizard released his sister and stepped back, revealing a glowing collar of runes running around her neck.
“A binding rune, to start with,” Kavenor’s voice floated through the mirror once more. “To tether you to me, and to this house. As long as you bear it, you will not be able to set foot outside these walls.”
Cygnet just sobbed, her chained hands trembling as they reached up to feel where the magic had been pressed into her skin.
Robin knew from experience that the sensation was agonizing, almost like being branded with a hot iron, and he could do nothing but watch, tears of his own trailing down his cheeks as his baby sister suffered.
“You bastards,” he said again, but the nobleman paid him no mind. “So Captain. Now that you have a thorough understanding of your circumstance, let’s talk about what I really want from you.”
— — —
You have the opportunity to see through the Swan's eyes.
Do you....
Peer into her past, to learn how she came to be here?
Ponder her present, to gain the full picture of what she endures?
Face her future, to see how she moves forward in her new life?
Voting ended onOct 5, 2024
(I use a random number generator to vote so I can keep track of poll progress and for this one my vote is cast on option 1, so to break the tie I’ll disregard that vote, giving the win to “Face Her Future”)
— — —
(AKA: do you want part 4 to be the scene showing how Cygnet was captured, the scene we just saw from Cygnet's point of view, or to start her pov one scene after the binding rune is placed)
Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing, this format is really fun to experiment with!
Once, their love protected them. Now, it has doomed them both.
— — —
“Has he broken yet?”
“No, my lord. He has remained remarkably resistant to both physical and magical methods.”
“I see. I expected that might be the case.”
“Worry not my lord, I have been developing some new runes that I plan to try at our next session, and I believe they will–”
“That won’t be necessary, Kavenor. Your sessions with young Captain Lemont have finished.”
“I– my lord, you cannot be serious. No man is impenetrable; if only you give me more time to–”
“If his mind had broken by now, I would have considered this mission a failure. He has proven his resilience to me, and now I intend to make use of him.”
“My lord?”
“Don’t give me that look, Kavenor. You are employed because of your arcane power and your lack of scruples, not because of your strategic thinking. To break a man and then simply discard him would be a terrible waste, don’t you agree?”
“Pardon me my lord, but how do you expect him to break at all without further torture?”
“I said that your sessions with him were at an end, Kavenor. Not that he would endure no more torture. There is more than one way to break a man. Now listen carefully, I have a new assignment for you.”
— — —
The men go their separate ways, and you must follow one of them.
You...
Follow the Lord to the Songbird
Follow the Wizard to the Swan
Voting ended onSep 29, 2024
Next
Author's Notes: This is an interactive story, where you the readers will at times control the point of view, the character's actions, and even major plot points. You do not control a single character throughout the entire story, so it's not quite "choose your own adventure" per say, it's more like you're the embodiment of the narrator, choosing where the focus of the story lies. I hope you enjoy!
Robin didn’t know how long it’d been since he’d seen daylight.
Chains chafed against his wrists and ankles, his body was littered in welts and bruises, and hunger gnawed at his empty stomach like a rat, but the lack of daylight, the complete inability to tell how much time had passed since his life had become a living hell, that was almost the worst thing about his captivity.
Almost.
The runes that had been etched into his skin by his tormentor glowed with a sickly yellow light, and random spasms of pain flashed across his body. They varied in intensity, sometimes a mere drop in the bucket of his overall discomfort and other times so intense that he was sure that the magic coursing through his veins would simply kill him.
So many times, he’d been close to giving in, if only it would grant him a single moment of relief. Every moment was spent either in pain or in anticipation of pain, and he was exhausted. Even if the wizard simply killed him once he talked, at least death would provide its own release.
“The sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner this all ends.”
It would be so easy. Just answer the questions, and all the pain would stop.
But no.
He’d accepted long ago that he would meet his end here, that he’d never see the sun again. He wouldn’t give his captor the satisfaction of watching him break before he met his death.
Footsteps echoed in the darkness, and Robin let out a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation. He let his body stay limp as rough hands grabbed him by the arms and hauled him upright, dragging him out of his cell and towards his fate.
What would it be today? The whip? The knife? Or more of the twisted runes that the wizard took such delight in etching into his skin? It was no use speculating. He’d be subjected to it soon enough.
“My lord?” one of the guards holding him asked.
Something in the back of his mind pricked up at that. Didn’t the guards usually call the wizard “Master?”
Slowly, he opened his eyes. The torchlight flickering on the walls was dim, but compared to the total darkness he was used to it was eye searingly bright, and he blinked several times, trying to adjust his vision.
The man standing in the center of the torture room was not the wizard. He was tall, his dark brown hair and beard meticulously groomed, his clothing fine and of the latest fashion. He carried himself with a particular air, one that Robin recognized from the men who frequented the royal palace.
It was the air of someone who knew that they were above others. The air of a nobleman.
