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Victimized in the Azure Vault
🕑 Added 2023-01-08 23:37:29 +0000 UTCStory by Spyduhmaan
Writing Contest Participant #5
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As the rest of his party vacates from the Azure Vaults, Gramdevon waves farewell to them. “I’ll be meetin’ all of ya at th’Roasted Ram later. Drinks’re on me!,” he says as they leave. He opts to stay behind and speak with the simulacra of Sindragosa just a little. The Worgen walks across the stone floor, his dark blue armor adorned with runes and skulls creaking and clattering with each step he takes as he approaches the simulacra.
The magical image of the dark-skinned, blue-armored woman has resumed tending to the vault, purple runes engulfing her hands as she uses arcane magics to shift aside some of the rubble from years of neglect, and the remains of the crystalline constructs that protected the insides of the vault, only to go haywire.
“Sorry about th’mess,” Gramdevon says, looking at the fallen defenders. “They ah… weren’t exactly in a talkin’ mood.”
Sindragosa turns around, her narrow face framed by her spiked crown, and smiles. “Oh, do not fret, adventurer. Rebuilding a few guardians is hardly a bother compared to what would have happened if the Sundered Flame got their hands on the secrets buried here.”
“Aye, s’pose that’s true,” he says. “But, strange as this may sound given that I’m talkin’ to… not you, but also you’re…” he pauses, trying to find the correct words.
Sindragosa chuckles, “I understand what you mean. Please, continue.”
Gramdevon offers a smile. “Aye, well. Meant t’say that I don’t think we could’a done it without ya.”
“Oh, I just guided you through the vault,” she replies. “You and your friends did the heavy lifting.”
“Well, about that. An’ this is where I think things may get just a tad awkward,” he says. “Y’see, I’ve been callin’ upon your power to help me get out o’ sticky situations for, well, a good few years, now.”
The simulacrum quirks a brow and turns to fully face the death knight. “I’m not quite sure I understand,” she says. “You are magically inclined, of this, there is no doubt. But you hardly seem like one to call upon the arcane. And, well, I have been dead for a long, long time.”
“Ah, well, perhaps it’d be easier if I just showed ya,” Gramdevon says. He takes a few steps back and turns away from her. He rests his right hand on the sword sheathed at his hip and the runes adorning the blade begin to glow an icy blue, much like his eyes. The Worgen takes a deep breath in and makes a sign with his left hand. With a roar, he swings his mouth open and the spectral skull of a dragon appears in front of him, facing away from him. It’s a brief appearance, it roars alongside him and vanishes. Once it’s gone, a cone of icy wind is expelled from his mouth, coating the ground in front of him with frost cold enough to chill one’s bones.
After a few moments of casting, the Worgen closes his mouth, ceasing the breath and turning around to look at the now scowling Sindragosa.
“So… let me see if I understand this correctly,” she starts. “I know all about the fate of my true body; I was slain and resurrected as an abomination spewing ice and frost from my maw, and then I was slain permanently,” she says.
The Worgen nods before she continues, “And you have taken it upon yourself to take the power from my desecrated corpse and use it within my halls?”
Gramdevon remains silent for a second before responding, “Well… when y’put it like that, it does seem a tad disrespectful.”
“‘A tad,’ you say?” she asks. “After puppeteering a ghastly rendition of my very head before me?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, none!” he replies, trying to defend himself. “I was just tryin’ to say I’ve always respected your strength-”
“I do not think you fully understand the meaning of respect,” she objects. “I believe you are in need of a lesson.” She raises one hand up as it’s engulfed in arcane light again. Seconds later, there is a similar glow beneath Gramdevon’s paws.
He looks down and sees an arcane rune appear on the ground beneath him. His eyes widen as he leaps to the side, avoiding the purple light and the magic that comes with it. “That’s a bit much, don’t y’think!?” he asks as he starts turning his eyes towards the exit.
“Hardly,” Sindragosa replies. She casts another spell and now a pair of tendril-like lights appear from above, shooting toward the Worgen.
Gramdevon makes another hand sign and summons a bright, green shell of runes around him. An anti-magic shell. It only lasts a few seconds, but if he can run fast enough, that may be all he needs. With all haste, he begins running towards the exit, trying to escape the blue dragon’s wrath.
Unfortunately, another bright light appears, and the doors of the vault begin to shut, the trio of stone slabs closing in on one another.
“No, no, no!” the death knight shouts, feeling the force of the arcane chains against the shield around him. He casts another spell and is briefly lifted off the ground, with his body becoming transparent. His speed nearly doubles without the hindrance of friction, getting closer and closer to the door. But unfortunately, it’s not enough.
As he’s a mere ten feet from the door, it shuts entirely, leaving him locked in the vault with a very displeased, and apparently, vengeful Sindragosa.
As the second spell ends, setting him back on the ground, his anti-magic shell dissipates, leaving him exposed to the arcane chains. They coil around Gramdevon’s ankles and suddenly pull, causing him to fall forward. “Shite!” he screams out, his armored chest landing on the stone floor with a metallic thud.
The tendrils continue to pull upwards, leaving him dangling upside down. Before he can even attempt to cast another spell, another set of arcane chains wraps around each of his wrists, pulling his arms apart and leaving him exposed.
“C’mon now,” he starts, trying to hide the worry in his voice with a little bit of sarcasm. “Surely you’re not goin’ t’kill me just for my choice in spells, are ya? Even if they are a tad… macabre.”
“Kill you?” she asks, slowly walking towards the bound Worgen. “Of course not. Do you truly think me as barbaric as the perversion of my being that you saw raised from the dead?”
Just shut up, Gram, he thinks to himself.
“Still, I do believe there is a little bit of discipline needed,” she says. Right behind her, there is a small, purple, ethereal feather that floats up, coming around behind her and moving towards Gramdevon. As it approaches him, it slides through the tiniest gap between his breastplate and his chest, slithering down and brushing against his furred torso.
“Hrrf!” the Worgen grunts out. “Mmh!” He starts to pull a little bit on the chains, turning his head to the side as he fights back the urge to smile. No. She can’t really be thinking of this, can she?
“So it seems that you can still feel despite being dead,” she says aloud. “Intriguing.”
“Aye, r-real interestin’...!” he says, feeling the magical feather brush against his belly, forcing a few snickers out of him. “Haharrrdly worth writin’ home about, th-though!” he says, trying to dissuade her from exploring further.
“I disagree,” the simulacrum says, raising her hand up and summoning a trio of new feathers in front of her, all of them slowly advancing toward the Worgen. “I think something like this calls for further studies.”
The death knight’s bright, icy eyes go wide as he sees the new feathers approaching him, shaking his head and pulling at his chains. “I really don’t think it dohoes!” he protests. “Really I think y’can j-juhuha! Juhuhuhust cahahall it hehere!” His opposition is interrupted as the feathers find their way underneath his armor, now assaulting several points of his furry torso.
One of them runs along his chest, going between his pecs and sliding in between. Another experiments with his belly, teasing over his well-toned abs and occasionally dipping into his bellybutton. The other two stroke along his sides, sliding up and down from his hips to his ribs.
“Now what kind of experiment would that be?” Sindragosa chastises. “We’ve hardly begun to see any results.” It’s hard to tell from the upside-down angle, but he’s sure that he can see a smirk on her face. That doesn’t bode well. “Now, while I can tell that you are feeling something, why don’t you tell me what it feels like? So we can be sure?”
She can’t be serious. “You knohohow dahahamn well what it feels l-lihike!” he shouts, feeling the magical feathers stroke against his body. They seem far, far more ticklish than normal feathers. Normally he isn’t this sensitive.
“How can I know? I am not in your position,” she says. As if on queue, two more feathers slither their way underneath his armor, now using the pointed quills to poke and prod at the Worgen’s underarms, causing him to throw his head back with a guffaw.
“GAHAHA! Shihihihihite! Get thehem out!” he shouts, trying to bring his arms down to protect his underarms from the arcane assault.
“You first need to tell me what it feels like,” Sindragosa says. “Please, I know you’re a professional fighter, but try to be a professional… research assistant.”
“It fuhuhuhuckin’ tickles!” he says through his cackling, thrashing in his bindings as he tries his best to break free of the shackles. He tries to cast the anti-magic shell again, but he can’t focus enough. He’s too distracted by the feeling of the feathers wiggling and poking around beneath his armor. Even if he was free, he wouldn’t be able to fight back against them, considering they’re underneath his breastplate. Ironic that his armor, which was meant to protect him, was now working against him.
“I see,” she replies with faux intrigue, tapping her chin. “Most interesting…” she trails off, watching Worgen throw himself in his bindings.
“Alright, ahahahahalright!” he laughs. “You’ve mahahahade your point! Lehehet me go nohohow!” he demands, continuing his struggle as the tickling becomes more unbearable with every second of continuous torture.
“Now why would I do that?” she asks. “I still have more to discover. Surely, you aren’t sensitive on just your torso.”
Right as she finishes speaking, Gramdevon feels something stroke over his right paw. He looks at his feet and finds another pair of arcane tools, this time they look like brushes. They feel like them, too, with bristles pressing into his paw pads, and scraping against them.
“WAHAHAHAHAIT! STOHOHOHOP!” he cries out, cackling with the addition of far more intense tickling to his paws. He curls his toes and tries to bat the brushes away. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if he managed to find any boots that fit his paws.
“Mhmm, very interesting,” Sindragosa says casually as the Worgen suffers and screams.
“ALRIGHT ALRIGHT AHAHAHALRIGHT!” he shouts through his laughter, struggling in his bindings with more vigor than ever. “I’M SOHOHOHORRY ABOUT TH’SPEHEHEHELL! Juhuhust mahahake it stohohohop!” he pleads, his laughter echoing through the hall of the vault.
“Oh do not be so impatient,” she chides. “You came to these isles to discover, correct?” she asks, trying to turn his own exploratory nature against him. “Well, I would like to do a little bit of discovery myself.”
Before he can even get used to the new feeling of the brushes assaulting his feet, things get worse for the Worgen. Four feathers slip under his leg armor, two for each side, and start stroking over his thighs. Another three invade his breastplate. Two of them target his ribs, sliding against the muscle-covered bones while the other joins in with the feather already toying with his belly, focusing on his navel with its pointed quill while the other uses its plume to trace his abs.
Gramdevon is completely overwhelmed by this point. Completely engulfed by tickling that he absolutely no chance of escaping. The hope of pulling himself free is completely out of the question, and he’s more likely to brute force his way out than he is to have enough focus to cast a spell to escape.
He’s been reduced to fully pleading for release. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” he cries out, feeling tears welling in his eyes from laughing so hard. “I WOHOHON’T USE IT AGAHAHAHAHAIN!”
“Oh, I know you won’t,” she teases, slowly walking towards the laughing adventurer. “But I am still curious about one thing.” She pauses, her smile growing before she continues, “How long can you last like this?”
Gramdevon’s blood would run cold if it wasn’t already cold. “WHAHAHAHAT!?” he asks. Surely, she can’t hope to just keep him like this?
“Your endurance,” she says. “You are undead, yes? And yet, you can still feel. I am curious to see what your limitations are.” She doesn’t elaborate further, turning around and starting to walk away from the cackling canine.
“WAHAHAHAIT! Y’CAHAHAHAN’T JUST LEAVE MEHEHEHE HERE!” he cries out, desperately hoping for some crumb of mercy from her.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, flicking her wrist. “There is a rune on the door that, when broken, will undo all of the spells. You’ll be let go when someone comes around.” She turns around, wearing a rather mean-spirited smile on her face. “Whenever that may be. But don’t worry, I will keep my eye on you. If I think your body is failing, I will intervene.”
Within another second, the simulacrum dissipates, leaving Gramdevon alone with the arcane tickle tools. “NOHOHOHO! WAHAHAHAIT!” he screams into the empty vault. “TITAHAHAHANS MAKE IT STOHOHOHOP!” he screams out, rattling the magical chains as the feathers dance underneath his armor and the brushes ruthlessly scrub at his feet.
The worst thing on his mind is knowing that his body won’t fail. Given that he’s undead, his stamina is nearly endless. Worse still, he has no need for food or water, so theoretically, she can keep him like this for as long as she wants, and he’ll have no choice but to suffer through it. Still, the fact that the door is rigged to let him go when it opens does fill him with some hope. Surely, his friends will come looking for him.
Eventually.
