ruinations | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

They attacked in the night like thieves.

A more direct strike against a prestigious mage family would have spelled nothing but disaster even for the Zhentarim, whose numbers could have overwhelmed the guards on a more level playing field. Trickery was needed: it had to be an inside job with all of the wards and security systems taken down. It needed to happen quickly before any of their secondary defenses could spring up, before the old man Archibald could activate any secondary wards or, worse, might weave powerful enough spellcraft to kill them all.

The guards didn't manage to sound an alarm. The electrical systems died seconds after they did. A strong dozen of the most powerful the Zhentarim could offer - individuals proficient in magic and in tactical warfare - stormed the residence. In less than thirty minutes, the place was decimated, and they took their prizes. They struck with gloves laced with electric runes and powerful magnetics to be used to circumvent the magical circuits the family was known for, easily incapacitating them. Waver was struck down before he could barely get out of bed, held down while he heard the screams of his family as they, too, were indisposed. He was dumped near the bodies of his guards - his mentors, acquaintances, even his friends - before the world went dark.

He was beckoned back to wakefulness in a cage laced with electricity and runes, the strongest precautions against a mage like him. Even then, his wrists were bound - separated, though - with tight metal bands that disrupted his magical circuits. The room he was in was dark, lit only by faint neon lights that smarted when he looked too long at them. The most prominent sound was their buzzing and little else for a very long time.

Faintly, he could hear intermittent sounds coming from beyond the glass window in the corner of the room. It took him a while to perhaps realize they were the sounds of screaming and begging.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The woman met his gaze after a time, waiting for a response that did not come. She settled to better sit before him, her eyes wandering his form and frowning after a time. "I have food and water," she told him quietly, her voice gentle.

It didn't seem as if she expected much of a response to Waver, as she continued on even without a word being spared to her. She set a hand down in front of the cage and tapped at the concrete there. "I have to open this up to give it to you, all right? You can run if you want but the door is locked. You won't be able to go anywhere." Her eyes were on his. "I want to unlock your hands, too, so you can eat. If you try to hurt me, though, I will hurt you back. Understand? I don't want to do that...but I will if you try." Every word was terribly calm coming from her and she maintained eye contact throughout the one-sided conversation, waiting for any sign of movement or understanding from Waver.

Waver's gaze drifted to the tray at the words 'food and water' with a flicker of understanding, though he didn't feel relieved. There was a vague recognition in the back of his mind that food and water meant they likely weren't going to kill him, at least not immediately, and he hadn't been left in this cage to die if they'd sent someone to check on him. But other than that, he couldn't find the capacity to care very much either way. Even the thought of water didn't make him feel thirsty anymore, though he knew he needed it. His mouth felt too stuck to open.

So he only nodded. After a few moments, he moved to sit up slowly, pushing himself up on his bound hands.

She lifted a hand and seemed to gesture at the side panels. A device over hand in the form of a glove seemed to be what controlled the cage mechanism, and the electric bounded field turned off. Its dimensions, too, changed to allow Waver for more room to move. The woman reached for him with her bare hand, coaxing for him to come closer. "Here, let me see those." Once close enough, she took his hands in hers so she could look at the structure of the bindings, and she gave him a long look. "You need to cooperate, all right?" she asked again. And without waiting for his affirmation, she used the glove to power off the rod binding his hands and made to unhook it, pulling it away that he might be able to move his hands.

The cuffs around his wrists remained. His magic was still locked away despite the removal of the rod, which was placed to one side. With her other hand, she grabbed the tray and brought it over, though she gave Waver room if he wanted to stand or at least move out of the cage. She had offered, after all.

Her red eyes followed his vacant expression, catching sight of the mark on his lip which he'd nibbled open more than once. "Does it hurt?" she asked softly.

As soon as the electric barriers powered off, Waver scooted tentatively closer, extending his arms so the stranger could remove the cuffs. She did not. Still, she disassembled enough of the mechanism that his hands could be apart, and the shirt could come off the rest of the way. Waver pulled his arms back against his chest once it was done, fingers curling over and rubbing at his wrists even with the metal bands still on them. He didn't try to use any magic.

When the tray settled before him, he just looked at it. He did not move to stand, either.

The question made him look back up. Although he didn't realize what exactly the woman was referring to, he nodded, the gesture almost grudging, suspicious. His lip hurt. His arms hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt, in some way, a persistent, dull ache from the stress, the cramped quarters, dehydration, all of it. What a stupid question.

"I can loosen those a little," she said, about the cuffs when he was rubbing at his wrists. "But only a little." Her look was thoughtful rather than serious, and she opened a hand again for him, gesturing for him to come just a little closer. With one hand, she pulled the tunic down from her shoulder and handed it to him. "Here. You're probably cold." The other one she plucked away and folded up, setting it to the side.

As Waver allowed her the chance to look at his face, she gave it some careful scrutiny. "It's pretty swollen," she murmured, and held out her bare hand, palm up. Each step was deliberate, careful, coaxing. Waver could refuse if he wanted to. That was the point. A little control put back into his grasp could do wonders...if done right.

"I can heal it, if you want."

But only if he wanted, if he felt it was safe to allow her to.

Still just listening in silence, Waver watched her. His eyes had focused more in the minutes she'd come into the room, sharply following every movement now, while his own remained slow, tense and careful. For a moment, he considered the suggestion, eyes locked on the woman's, noting the strange color. When she offered the clothing, he took it, hesitated, but did not put it on. Instead, he let the tunic fall across his lap and proffered his wrists once more.

Until she'd loosened the cuffs as promised, Waver didn't even acknowledge the other question, but finally, with effort, he opened his mouth. The word was barely a whisper.

"Why?"

The cuffs were loosened only enough that they could not be pulled from his wrists and down off of his hands. But his circulation would be better, she assumed, and she sat back when he finally managed to make better eye contact with her. She lifted a slim brow. "Why? What do I have to gain from leaving you hurting?" There was a lofty lift to her shoulders, but the set of her lips was severe. "It's messy. They accomplished little from hurting you - and now you're less inclined to open up." She scooted away so she could nudge the tray between them, to give him some semblance of space.

"You didn't choose what your father did but you're the one suffering the consequences of it. Isn't that enough?"

As soon as she loosened the metal bands, Waver withdrew his hands toward himself again, and returned to rubbing his irritated wrists, testing how much space was between the metal and his skin. Now, he could slide a fingertip beneath either cuff at least, trying to soothe the soreness.

He didn't look up again until the mention of his father. Waver drew his knees up, curling his arms around them, but he did not hold the woman's gaze, instead staring past her at the door.

"You killed him," he pointed out quietly. Wasn't that a consequence? Waver still didn't even know who these people were or what they wanted, but the stranger was right about at least one thing: Waver had definitely held no sway over his father's decisions.

The accusation did not seem to disturb her expression. Calm, unflinching, she watched him curl up. "Not intentionally," was her quiet, matter-of-fact response. "I wasn't there, to be honest with you. Everything I'm hearing is second hand." And that much was perfectly true, but Waver would have little memory of who had been there in the dark, who had cut down his guards and servants, and who wasn't involved at all. "There was no point in killing your father. They want what he has, what's owed to them. Your father racked up a hefty debt with them. You don't simply hire the Zhentarim and then refuse to pay what's owed."

Her eyes were bright on Waver, waiting for him to respond. "Why would they kill your father if he had the thing they wanted?"

Not intentionally?

Waver's eyes refocused on the woman's face suspiciously as he listened, clearly not believing her. It did not escape his notice either that she referred to them, as if she had nothing to do with what had happened to his father, possibly what was happening to him now (and yet, she was obviously sitting here, so that could not be true). There was a flicker of recognition, surprise when she mentioned the Zhentarim; it seemed Waver had not known his family had dealings with them at all, or why. It did sound like his father to try to weasel himself out of consequences and payments, though.

He frowned, hugging his knees tighter.

"It'd be stupid to," he mumbled.

But they had. He didn't believe it was an accident. The attack had been planned strategically, overpowering or circumventing their defenses. That kind of planning ending in the accidental death of their target, especially when it was carried out by a group with the kind of reputation the Zhentarim had, it wasn't likely they'd just screwed up at the finish line. The man who'd interrogated Waver before had made it sound like the head of the Archibald family had been killed for his lack of cooperation, and that sounded more believable, though still stupid if they needed him alive.

"Dead people can't pay back their debts."

But, apparently, they'd thought Waver would have access to give them the payment they required instead. And he had no idea for what.

"No, they can't," she murmured softly. "And neither can their families if certain precautions haven't been taken."

Waver's information had been good: Kayneth's sigils were written in his skin. But they were absolutely useless when not in the right hands. Waver's blood held the key, his and his sister's, but they only had one of them at this point. Waver wasn't going to give up something so precious...and he wasn't in any condition to be using sigils or giving anything to the Zhentarim. Not yet.

There was no trust here. She needed to cultivate it, slowly but surely.

"It's a good failsafe, I suppose, ensuring all of your secrets die with you. Not so for you, though."

If Waver did not show he had something to offer, the Zhentarim would find a use for him. Whether that was as collateral or a corpse remained to be seen.

It sounded like a threat-- and like exactly what Waver had been worried about when he realized he'd given away how little he really knew about his father's work and dealings. If he had no secrets, no intelligence value, there was far less reason not to kill him.

Waver looked down, curling in on himself.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"I'm not certain," she hinted, drawing him back to a simple understanding: she was not Them, not one of the people who had specifically done this, even if she stood with them. "Some of it depends on you, your willingness to cooperate."

More than that, though. If Waver had any ability to unlock some of the places in Kayneth's home, if his blood held the key to utilizing any of the stronger items they were hopeful to find... He could be immensely invaluable but only if he agreed to work with them. And he wouldn't work with his father's killers. She wouldn't either; in that, she could empathize. So she needed Waver to be willing to work with her.

Slow, gentle, careful. He was counting on her.

"You're afraid they'll kill you."

His head snapped up, eyes wide and terrified.

"Of course I'm afraid they'll kill me!" His throat was dry and too tight, voice cracking.

"A-and who are you? You keep saying 'they' like you're not one of them but you have control over that awful cage too! What are you talking about?"

Her gaze held his in complete silence, waiting for him to breathe again. Only then did she speak, each word slow. "My name is Devyn. And it's true, I work for the Zhentarim. I had no part to play in your family's loss. I'm only here to minimize the damage that's been done."

Carefully, she pulled the glove from her hand. Setting it to one side, well out of Waver's reach, she performed the same gesture on the cage. Nothing happened. She did it again and, once more, there was no change.

"When I walk out of here and leave you, they'll take that thing back. So long as I'm here, I have some small control over what happens to you...but little else." The glove slipped back on. "So long as they think you're going to wait here to die, stubborn to the end, then no one's going to waste their time trying to keep you around." Her eyes met his. "If they think you have some worth...they might listen to me and keep you alive."

So she was some sort of negotiator? Waver didn't look convinced, watching her suspiciously as she demonstrated that she couldn't do anything without the glove, which he'd already figured out. It meant nothing. She could be lying.

Not that it mattered if she was lying about that or how much say she got, really. In the end, the part she was right about was his chances at survival. Or lack of chances, as the case may be.

Waver had scooted back away from her a few more inches during his outburst, more crouching now than sitting, with the distinct look of an animal about to bolt. There was nowhere to run. His chest was heaving, breaths loud in the silence and too fast. The sudden spike of panic and movement after so long of doing nothing but lying on the floor of his cage made his head spin.

"What do they want? I had nothing to do with any debt! I don't know what he was doing. I'm not being stubborn. I just don't know."

"What they want is to take back the things your father had them procure for him. Wherever they are, they're under lock and key." There was no frustration in her voice, not even a flicker of disappointment. "So the issue is two-fold: where are they and how does someone get to them? These are questions you can't answer...for good or ill." In some ways, it was better Waver didn't know. It didn't improve his situation, obviously.

"But they've already done the job. Whatever happened that night, however things unfolded, these are the results we have to work with." Death would net a minimal profit; letting Waver go would be a loss. There had to be compromise down the middle, and she needed to find it.

Devyn slowly moved her legs so she was sitting a bit more comfortable, settling her hands on her knees. "As things stand, you are the only person who could potentially provide answers. I'm not insinuating you're lying or that you have them - but that you're the person the Zhentarim have access to. What happens now is a debate around what to do with you...and whether keeping you here is worth anything."

Where was Reines? Was she dead too? Did they even know about Kayneth's step-daughter, considering they'd assumed Waver was his heir and never even mentioned her? He didn't know. There was so much he didn't fucking know, and it was likely just about to literally kill him.

He had to stall. He had to survive, at the very least. Whether or not there was anyone left, he was still alive, and Waver had every desire to keep it that way.

"I--" He tried to settle back down onto his knees, tried to calm the frantic drumbeat of his heartbeat pounding in his temples so hard it was difficult to hear himself speak. The room swayed.

"I can-- Let me look. Let me search his office."

A single brow quirked up at the suggestion. Devyn's expression didn't shift otherwise, her eyes sharp upon his face.

"A novel thought," she murmured, mulling the idea around, examining the logistics, who would want to be involved. She kept her smile to herself. "How are you going to convince them that you could find something? And if you find nothing--"

She let the suggestion hang for a time. Then, she breathed out.

"Is his office in your home? Or did he have another?"

"At home and at the university."

As for convincing them, Waver didn't know, other than to offer... and to buy himself time. If he could look around and find something, anything that might even lead to more searches, it would at least be more time on his side to come up with a better plan. And if he could find information on the location of the family's Mystic Codes, maybe he could actually use it. There was a chance, however dim the hope, that he could actually get the inheritance he'd been deemed unsuited for.

It wasn't like he had much choice.

"You'll need to be brought to both, then."

The gears turned, careful, uncertain. She plotted out the journey and the circumstances, the ideal scenario for such a thing. Her gaze, while it remained on his, seemed briefly distant. At length, that sharpness came back, fixed on his face. And then, slowly, Devyn stood, the motion fluid and careful. She gestured with her unadorned hand. "Eat. Put that shirt on. You'll need to be ready to go if they grant your request."

The transport, the clearances, the time... She would work on that. Devyn looked back at Waver briefly and, once more, gestured. Magic brushed over his skin like the warmth of a tender hand, stitching up the cut on his lip. "You'll have some time before someone comes to put you back." She bent and retrieved the rod. No use leaving it here for him to try to inspect and take apart.

They would have to let him out of this room. Outside. There would be many other mages at the university. Waver had expected some sort of protest or pointing out how risky that would be, but instead, it seemed Devyn was seriously considering this. Waver let out a slow breath-- and then an audible gasp at the prickle of foreign magic along his skin making the hair on his arms stand up. Instinctively, his tongue probed at his lower lip to find the swelling and the cut gone.

He did not thank her. Still, Waver didn't argue or protest the intrusive touch of magic he hadn't been warned for even if he didn't like it. He just watched her skittishly as she moved to pick up the part of the cuffs that had bound his hands together, waiting. But Devyn did not try to put it back on him. Nor did she re-activate the cage.

"...okay," Waver said finally, without moving yet to reach for the tray or the shirt. He couldn't try to leave the locked and guarded room anyway. There was no need to put him back, but he held his tongue and did not push his luck right now. Driven by the hope that he would get out of here soon -- and the fear of being disposed of if he was too much trouble -- Waver resigned himself to accepting the physical restrictions for the time being. If he proved he wasn't going to try running away, maybe they wouldn't restrict his movements so heavily again.

She did not expect anything from him. But it was enough that he was verbally acknowledging and agreeing, and without fanfare, Devyn turned and left the room, the door bolting heavily behind her. Again, Waver was left on his own.

But, unlike what she said, no one came for him. Not for the first hour or for the second, as if he might have been forgotten once more. There were no voices to indicate if anyone was watching and no reasonable way to discern time in his lonely cell. The lights remained on. No one seemed to be coming back for him.

But toward the end of the second hour, the door opened and Devyn returned. She eyed Waver carefully and stepped toward him, though she maintained some distance still. With care, she crouched down. "They're discussing the merits of your offer, Waver."

After Devyn left the room, Waver only watched the door for a few minutes, on edge and still too tense to start relaxing at all. But after some time in the silence, with no indication that anyone else was coming, he was finally able to think. He was able to put on the new shirt and try to rub some warmth back into his hands and arms, try to soothe his bruises and stretch out his body a little. He drank the water first, knowing he should go slowly, until the slow sips sparked a semblance of real thirst and appetite again. Once he'd finished about half of what was on the tray, he made his first attempt at standing up and exploring the rest of the room while the cage was down.

It helped. Just being able to stand and move around, having a little something in his stomach and at least an inkling of what was going on now helped him feel more human again and chased back the lethargic despair he'd been stewing in since he'd last spoken to anyone.

By the time Devyn returned, Waver had managed to finish most of the food, all of the water, and a good number of laps around the room. He hadn't been able to understand anything about how the cage or cuffs worked, though he'd tried to examine them, and he still couldn't use any magic, but even if there were cameras monitoring him, all he'd done was walk and look. He hadn't even tried to touch the door.

This time, Waver didn't sit. He stood with the far wall positioned at his back, though not quite against it, his hands nervously finding the hem of his tunic for his fingers to curl around unconsciously.

"And?" he prompted. His voice didn't sound quite so rough as before.

"The university is, most likely, not in the cards." Bad news first. "It will take a substantial amount of trust for anyone to consider putting Waver Archibald, son of their university professor, anywhere near campus. And surrounded by mages." All things that could be worked through, she knew, given time and a great deal of arrangements. Devyn was plucking two strings now: Waver's and the Zhentarim's. One of them would cave to what was needed to get those Mystic Codes.

Slowly, she stood again. "But taking you back home is something they are considering." Her red eyes flickered. Her lips, while set in a neutral line, still seemed to betray a very faint hint of a smile towards him. "It will still take time and necessary arrangements to make it happen." Police still had control over the scene in some respects. Waver hadn't been there that long, after all. "But it's...feasible, provided that you don't make an attempt to run."

Running wasn't the trouble. Surrounded by guards, the environment controlled, Waver wouldn't be able to go anywhere. It was the posturing; if he'd risk that much to get away, and lie and twist things for the opportunity, then he was most likely going to end up on the chopping block.

"You understand that, though. I won't patronize you."