Summary: Douxie says something he shouldn’t have to his captors. He’s made to regret it. Merlin is made powerless to stop it.
(Or, to my server buddies… :# )
Words: 4.8k
A/N: Heyo! This was originally going to be my day 12 piece for whumptober, but… it’s been over a month and I’ve worked more on it outside of october than during it, so this is just a run o’ the mill whump. Also, I did NOT realize this would end up complete on douxie’s birthday… a cruel irony! but not as cruel as this lol. enjoy! <3
Merlin didn’t have a clue who these magic hunters were.
This in itself was something of a surprise. Being a wizard of his caliber, it wasn’t simply a habit, but a means of survival - not just his own, but that of his apprentices - to be aware of any anti-magic factions. But somehow, he’d missed one; he hadn’t known of these ones until they ambushed himself and Hisirdoux.
And maybe he’d spare a bit more surprise at that, had he not been so angry that he couldn’t protect his apprentice. It didn’t take long for them to be surrounded and subdued.
When they’d ended up in some cell underground, Merlin figured it wouldn’t take a search party very long to find them, especially not one led by the Knights of the Round Table. He’d figured it would be a few days at the most, but that didn’t make this any more pleasant. It didn’t make this cell any warmer. It didn’t make the cuffs on his wrists any more comfortable, nor did it make the magic nullifier infused in them any weaker. Indeed, they’d used not only one he hadn’t built up an immunity against, but a particularly strong one that left even him, the most powerful wizard in Camelot, exhausted and aching.
Not taking any chances, they’d used the same kind of suppressant in the cuffs on his apprentice’s wrists, throwing the moppet into a state of fatigued discomfort. Not only that, but they’d struck the back of the moppet’s head to properly knock him out, and Merlin figured that certainly didn’t do him any favors.
Perhaps that was why Hisirdoux acted so out of character.
Perhaps that was why he cast aside being meek and timid in favor of contempt and bitterness.
Perhaps that was why, when the hunters had said some offhand insult about Merlin that the old man himself couldn’t be bothered about, Hisirdoux mumbled something under his breath.
“Cowards…”
The leader of the hunters, whose name was lost on the old man, glanced down at the moppet-y apprentice, as if he hadn’t believed he’d actually heard that. Sharing the same confusion, Merlin looked at his apprentice with a raised brow.
“Thefuck did you say?”
“Hisirdoux…”
Snapping his head up, Hisirdoux himself snapped as well.
“YOU’RE ALL COWARDS!” he screamed, “YOU WOULD NEVER SAY THOSE THINGS IF HE COULD USE HIS MAGIC! YOU ACT LIKE YOU’RE BRAVE, BUT YOU’RE TOO SCARED TO SAY ANYTHING WITHOUT USING POISON TO DEFEND YOURSELF. YOU HAVE TO USE A NULLIFIER JUST TO KEEP YOUR NERVE - PATHETIC! ALL OF YOU-”
His words cut off with a pained cry as the leader grabbed the bun of hair bundled at the back of Hisirdoux’s head and slammed his forehead into the wall. Merlin lunged forward, but another one of the hunters forced him back.
When the lead hunter let go of his head, the poor moppet fell straight to the ground. He was still conscious, for Merlin could tell as such by the pained groan he let out as he put his cuffed hands to his head.
“Owwww…fuzzbuckets, that hu-”
“Shutup!” the leader ordered with a kick to his side.
“He still kept talkin’ even after that.” One of the lackeys next to that bastard said, “Someone’s got to learn how to shut up. A gag migh’ be ‘n order.”
Merlin’s anger spiked at the thought. Little did he know how much worse reality would get; how much he’d prefer if they’d gagged him instead of… instead of…
The leader of the hunters seemed to get an idea.
“I can do ya better.”
With that, he left the cell, leaving a handful of hunters in the cell with the wizards. Merlin knew neither of them were lucky enough that he’d be out for good. No, he was coming back, and the old wizard didn’t want to even think about what he’d do, no matter how soon it would be.
Instead, Merlin looked down at his apprentice that curled up on the ground. Groggily, his apprentice lifted his now-bruising head and looked at Merlin with an apology in his eyes.
…Why did he dothat?
It was only a minute or two until that damned hunter came back, And Merlin could’ve sworn he saw something glint in his hand. Something small, but long. And thin. Very thin. A nee-
No.
No.
NO!
Merlin’s eyes widened as reality gut-punched him; as he realized his worst nightmare in all of this, the worst possible way they could silence his apprentice, wasn’t just a nightmare. It was right in front of him.
Hisirdoux, despite the blow to his head, was absolutely cognizant enough to recognize the threat before him. With wide eyes like his master’s, he clamped his hands over his mouth and shook his head.
“Heh,” the leader leered down at Hisirdoux, “too fucking late for that, you little brat.”
“You can’t do this!” Merlin begged. What an odd sight, it must have been - Merlin Ambrosius, the greatest wizard in the world, pleading for his apprentice to be shown mercy.
But this man wasn’t so kind.
“I can, and I will. Unless you’ve got a spell you can use to stop me.” he said, as if - because he knew exactly how powerless Merlin was.
“It’s the cuffs! The nullifier’s clouding his thoughts!” Merlin thought up excuse after excuse to account for his foolish apprentice’s outburst. “You… you hit him so hard on the head when you knocked him out, he’s not thinkingclearly!”
“Come on,” the hunter laughed, “is it the nullifier, or did I whack him too hard? Pick one, old man. Not that it matters - the kid needs a lesson.”
“You already taught him enough of a lesson when you smashed his head against the wall! He won’t speak out of turn anymore!”
“I won’t, I won’t.” the boy mumbled, his slurred speech, muffled by his own hands, still carrying the weight of fear, “I promise, I won’t.”
But the leader only grinned.
“I know…”
He turned his attention fully to the moppet.
“…I’ll make sure of it.”
Hisirdoux scrambled away, but two of the four hunters in the cell other than the leader ran the short distance and grabbed him, keeping a firm, brutal hold on the poor boy. The last straggler of the four, likewise, joined the one already forcing Merlin back to prevent him from running to his apprentice, who was now being forced down to the ground. With one guard on either side of him, holding one cuffed arm each in a cruel grip, he kicked wildly in front of him as he thrashed relentlessly.
“NO! DON’T! I’M SORRY!” he screamed, as his cuffed hands ended up getting pulled off his mouth, “I’M SORRY! IT WAS STUPID. I’LL BE QUIET! I DON’T WANTTHIS!”
“Hisirdoux!”
“MASTER!”
Tears already streamed down the boy’s face as he looked at Merlin, gasping between sobs.
“M-master,” he hiccuped, “Master,help.”
What in the world did he think Merlin was trying to do?
“YOUBARBARIANS,” Merlin screamed, “HE’S A CHILD.”
“A child that’s gonna learn when it’s time to shut the fuck up.”
“I CAN! I DID!” Hisirdoux screamed, “JUST LET ME G-”
The leader grabbed his bun again and yanked his head back, cutting his words off. Hisirdoux kept fighting the hold on his head, just like the rest of his body.
“Keep fucking still,” the man ordered through gritted teeth, “Or I kill the old wizard.”
Andthat made Hisirdoux’s struggling end in a godforsaken instant. In desperation, Merlin thrashed against the hold keeping him still as well. With one good thrash, he nearly got the lackeys off of him, and another probably would have done it, if it weren’t for being presented with the same “choice” as his apprentice.
“And if you keep fighting,” the bastard glanced at Merlin, “I kill the boy.”
…Damn it all.
Merlin kept still, even when Hisirdoux sobbed desperately again.
“Better keep your nose clear, kid.” The leader took his hand off the back of Hisirdoux’s head and grabbed the underside of his jaw. “‘cause ‘s gonna get real fuckin’ hard to breathe through that mouth o’ yours.”
“Mh-” he looked straight at Merlin, basically ignoring the hunter’s terrifying statement, “M-master…”
Gods, he hoped the boy wouldn’t plead anymore. There was nothing he could do. It was obvious what was going to happen, and there was nothing Merlin Ambrosius could do to stop it. So why was he pleading? What could he ask - beg for, that Merlin could provide him?
But that’s when he looked at the boy’s eyes; that’s when he saw how the boy shook his head as much as the hand grabbing his chin would allow; that’s when he saw how he kept glancing in another direction, shooting his gaze back to Merlin with that same pleading look in his eyes.
And that’s when it hit the Master Wizard like a brick to the head.
Hisirdoux wasn’t begging Merlin to help him. He was begging Merlin not to look.
…And how could he deny him that? How could he deprive his apprentice of that one decency in this hellhole? He already couldn’t stop the boy from getting captured in the first place. He couldn’t stop the boy from lashing out so foolishly to the point where these bastards got this godforsaken idea. And he couldn’t… he couldn’t save him from this. All Merlin could give him was this one sliver of dignity.
Merlin looked to the ground, locking his gaze onto a speck of dirt on the ground, a foot or two away from Hisirdoux’s leg that lay sprawled out while the other was bent underneath him. No matter the agonized sounds he heard from his apprentice, he would not look at what was being done to him.
No matter what happened, he would not be made to watch.
But when Merlin saw the boy’s leg twitch and bend from the pain… when he heard him whimper…
He knew it had started.
And he never wanted to lay waste to anyone more in all his centuries of life.
Merlin Ambrosius had mastered nearly every spell a wizard of his caliber could, and some of those spells were so exhausting that they’d leave him drained of energy for hours, even days…
But he’d never faced a harder task than keeping his gaze on the ground as he heard the boy’s sobs and whines and sounds of pure pain get worse as they… as they got quieter. Weaker. More muffled.
Until it was done.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bastard wipe off the bloodied needle and pocket it. Merlin hoped he’d prick his finger on it later, trying to retrieve it - at least, it was the leastbrutal,least vengeful thought running through his head right now.
The leader brought his hand up again. Merlin still wasn’t looking directly at the sight, but he could tell that he’d grabbed Hisirdoux’s chin.
“You’re going to shut the fuck up now, yeah?” he snarled, “Know how to keep your fucking mouth shut now?”
Merlin watched as the hunter’s arm moved up and down, most likely moving Hisirdoux’s head up and down in a mocking nod. He’d never wanted to burn another human being alive more than right now. He couldn’t even be sure he was a human - what kind of human being could be so sadistic to a child? - but he was sure he didn’t care about that fact.
Merlin watched his hand come away and he thought - hoped, begged, prayed - that would be the end of it, but Hisirdoux’s head didn’t even get to lull forward for a second before the leader pinched his nose shut.
Hisirdoux didn’t even struggle at first - Gods, he must have been so tired - and it wasn’t until some fifteen seconds later that he started struggling, and it wasn’t until another five seconds later that he started bucking and writhing against the holds - both the hand on his nose and the hunters still holding him “still”.
And it wasn’t -
Gods, Merlin Ambrosius had never known such anger.
- It wasn’t until five more seconds later that he’d finally fucking let go.
Not only that, but as the leader took his hand off Hisirdoux’s nose, the others released their hold on him. As he’d been in the middle of struggling, the sudden lack of restraint came too with a lack of steadiness, and he fell forward so he had to put out his cuffed hands to stop his face from hitting the ground. Even then, it was a short lived protection; Hisirdoux fell onto his side and stayed still, save for his trembling.
And judging by the laughter from those bastards, it was probably intentional.
As the leader headed to the cell door, the ones holding Merlin still finally let up. Perhaps it was the shock that kept Merlin from garroting one of the bastards now that he had the chance, or maybe it was the fear that his apprentice would suffer even more. Either way, it didn’t matter much. He kept staring at the ground until the last of the monsters left, and the cell door shut with a slam that Merlin could tell made the poor boy flinch.
Finally, he laid eyes directly on the boy.
Still keeping his head down and his face out of Merlin’s sight, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, just barely keeping himself that way with shaking arms.
Merlin brought himself closer to Hisirdoux, but with a long chain connecting his cuffs to the wall - a restraint that the boy had been spared - there was only so far the old man could go.
There still lay a few damning feet between him and his boy.
It seemed like for Hisirdoux, the need to be close to Merlin overruled his exhaustion, because, shakily - so, so shakily - he crawled the remaining distance before more or less falling on his knees. Merlin could hear him whimper as bone met stone. With one arm - one trembling, trembling arm, he held himself up while his other hand hovered over his mouth, hiding what Merlin already knew he’d see - that he’d have to see.
“Put your hand down.” Merlin said, “Let me see.”
Hisirdoux shook his head, drawing a sigh from the master wizard.
“Hisirdoux.” he said as if he was ordering the boy around, as if this was his workshop in the castle and not some cell in who-knew-where, “Making sure not to look during the… process was doable, but I must see what they’ve done.”
The moppet shook his head again, a motion so little it could’ve been mistaken for a tremble.
“Please,” Merlin asked, so tired, so drained, “Don’t make me pull your hand away.”
Reluctantly, Hisirdoux put his hand down.
That’s when he finally saw them.
If it weren’t for the little composure Merlin still had… the old wizard didn’t know how he would’ve reacted.
Seven sutures wove up and down Hisirdoux’s lips, sewing them together.
Seven sutures… two punctures for each…
Fourteen punctures.
Fourteen times.
That bastard stabbed a needle through his son’s mouth and pulled a fucking thread through those godforsaken gashes fourteen times.
Through the blood that smeared around his lips and dripped down his chin and beaded in the gashes, he could see that the sutures were crooked as they went up and down Hisirdoux’s lips like the bars of a cage. No doubt, their crookedness was a result of the moppet’s struggling, no matter how much he kept still under duress. But how could he have been to blame for that?
Merlin drew his gaze up to Hisirdoux’s wide, wide eyes, which looked at Merlin like a thousand wordless pleas lay in them. They were like a child’s - a terrified child’s, for that’s exactly what he was. A terrified child that didn’t know when to be quiet and focus on keeping his well being intact because he wanted to mouth off to-
“Why would you do that, Hisirdoux!?” Merlin snapped, “You have no access to your magic or any way to defend yourself! How could you possiblythink that was a good-”
“MMMMMNNNHH!”
Hisirdouxscreamed through the stitches as his torso curled forward, and Merlin had never regretted his words more.
The boy was hurt, he was terrified, and, all the gods be damned, his bloody mouth was sewn shut. And when he looked up at him with those wide, wide eyes, he obviously wanted reassurance, wanted grounding, wanted something to feel alright. And all Merlin had done was shout at him and only render him even more shaken. That wasn’t right. None of this was right.
“Hisirdoux…”
Merlin brought his cuffed hands down to his apprentice’s face and slowly, gingerly lifted his chin up, guiding him so he wasn’t curled up so tightly anymore. When Hisirdoux’s face was at Merlin’s eye level, the moppet’s own eyes weren’t wide anymore; they were squinted as if it took a great deal of effort to keep them from squeezing shut and letting more tears out.
Merlin moved his hands to either side of Hisirdoux’s face, cupping his silenced apprentice’s face as gently as he possibly could. He was only more gentle when he stroked his calloused thumbs along the boys’ cheeks, wiping the tears that made his apprentice’s eyebags their home.
…And Hisirdoux fell apart.
Sobbing again, he pulled away from Merlin’s touch and, while the old man’s arms were still outstretched, dove underneath the chain between the Master Wizard’s wrist shackles and practically fell against his chest.
The force knocked Merlin back against the cell wall, but that being said, it wasn’t much force at all. Hisirdoux was light - so gangly - and it wasn’t so much an actual push so much as the boy just collapsed against the only source of stability he had.
And as he felt the poor moppet tremble in his arms, wracked by stifled sobs that bubbled up from his throat, only to be stifled by sewn-shut lips, Merlin didn’t have it in him to be surprised or taken aback by this. Only devastated - only sickened - only furious at what led to all of this.
But he put it aside so he could be the beacon of comfort that Hisirdoux needed.
“You poor, poor child…”
Hisirdoux couldn’t hug him because of his own shackles that, while not connected to the wall like Merlin’s, kept his hands shackled in front of him just like the old man’s, but Merlin could hear the quiet shriek of fingernails against metal as Hisirdoux nonetheless clawed against the his armor for some sort of stability. Merlin cradled the back of the moppet’s head in hopes that it would soothe him at least a little.
…This was not his fault.
There were many things that the boy was to blame for - spilled Slorr juice, haywire brooms, the occasional setting-on-fire of one of Merlin’s books - but, blast it all, this was not Hisirdoux’s damned fault.
Was it stupid to taunt these bastards like that? Was it foolish to scream at them like they didn’t hold his well-being in their hands, like they couldn’t crush it on a whim? Yes. Merlin didn’t deny that. His apprentice must have checked his sense of self-preservation at the cell door, but this wasn’t his fault, there was no way in hell he would allow anyone to convince this child that he’d brought this upon himself.
…Least of all Hisirdoux himself.
“This wasn’t your doing.” he told Hisirdoux, hoping it would be of some reassurance, “You brought none of this upon yourself. Know that.”
But it only made the poor teenager wail against the stitches as much as he could without tearing the piercings. Maybe it hurt even more, knowing there was nothing he did that warranted this, just as there was nothing he could do to stop it.
In any case, Merlin wished he could cast a sleep spell to take the pain of consciousness and awareness away from the poor, poor boy.
“Youmust calm down, Hisirdoux…” he said, though he knew that choice was hardly up to the boy in this state, “If you cry too hard, it will get harder to breathe.”
Hisirdoux sobbed harder at that, but still, Merlin could tell when he’d started trying to level his breathing. Good. That was good.
“Yes, right, like that…” he mumbled. Merlin started to rock the poor moppet with a steady, slow rhythm that he hoped Hisirdoux’s breathing would match. And… and he did start to match it, with the exception of a few hiccups and sharp breaths here and there.
It felt like an impossible circumstance, like something from a nightmare; his usually bright-eyed, naive, innocent ignoramus of an apprentice having to slow his breathing and force himself to calm down so he didn’t suffocate.
How horrendous, Merlin thought, how wretched.
These bastards hadn’t taken his physical armor, but they’d done something worse; they got through his emotional armor. They found it’s only weak point, and they pierced it when they pierced that damned needle through Hisirdoux’s flesh.
And now, the only weak point in his emotional armor still trembled in his arms, his breathing thankfully leveling out. It was a little nasally, but thankfully, Hisirdoux’s nose hadn’t been congested by his crying. Merlin couldn’t imagine what would’ve had to be done if he couldn’t breathe through his nose.
No, Hisirdoux took deep, long breaths, and save for the slight tremor, both from the horror what just happened and the cell’s coldness, he’d relaxed.
No, not just relaxed.
He’d… fallen asleep.
Merlin adjusted his head so he could see his apprentice’s face.
Despite the dirt and dried tears on his cheeks, the still-not-dried tears that shined under his eyelashes and along his eye bags as they reflected one of the few rays of light in this blasted cell, and the blood still beading from the threaded punctures around his mouth, he was actually asleep. It wasn’t an utterly peaceful rest, he knew, but for now, the boy had managed to at least slip away from merciless consciousness.
Oh, thank the stars.
…But for what?
What had the stars done to help them? To save his son from this… this torture? No, the stars were apathetic. They did nothing. They were as cruel as these hunters.
No, the stars deserved no gratitude, but what else was there to thank?
…It didn’t matter. Gratitude had no place here, and neither did either of them. The only thing in its rightful place was his son asleep in his arms. And none of these bastards would take his boy from that rightful place. Not while he drew breath. Hunters or not, he would protect his greatest good even if it killed him.
He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Hisirdoux had gone through enough.
The boy whimpered in his arms, still asleep, and Merlin held him tighter.
Hisirdoux had gone through enough.
–
Douxie stirred at the sound of clanging and shouting outside the cell. His head still swimming with disorientation, the pain in his lips assaulted his senses the moment he was awake enough to recognize it. It hurt. It felt so wrong, and the smell under his nose - of metal, of blood - was almost nauseating, but not as much as the feeling of the thread against his teeth and… and his tongue when he ran it across the front of his mouth.
Confusion and disoriented terror hit him hard, but barely a moment later, recollecting what happened hit him even harder. He remembered the struggling. The fear. The begging - first with his mouth, screaming for this not to happen to him, then with his eyes, pleading for his master not to look at him.
He was so glad he was too weak, too exhausted to actually feel nauseous enough to need to throw up.
Master…
Wait.
The metal he smelled. It wasn’t all the same. Not like the metallic scent of blood on and inhis mouth. There was another one too. It wasn’t just blood or chains, but of refined, polished armor. Beyond that, he picked up the scent of old books, always with a layer of dust on them no matter how long they’d gone without being read. Of the sliver of safety he had here.
Armor. Old books. Safety.
Merlin.
He heard a boisterous CLANG as the door burst open - or got busted down? - and someone came in. A moment later, he felt Merlin’s arms come off from around him, and he could hear a few words. In his disoriented state, half of them were lost on him - he couldn’t tell if they sounded more like they were far away or if they were underwater - but he could still make out…
“Get… out… here. Now.”
No, no, Master. Please. He thought. I wanna stay. With you. Safe.
But it was like whoever this was could read his mind and knew what he’d hate the most right now, because not even seconds after his master’s arms came up, he felt hands around him lifting him up - pulling him away.
No. No no no. It had to be one of those guards - maybe the one that did this to him - here to take him away. No.
If Douxie had any more tears to spare, they’d be rolling down his cheeks right now.
“Mh.” He shook his head and tried to stay close, to cling to the one comfort he still had until he was scooped up with what was probably a minimal effort. “Mmh!”
The hold was rather… gentle for the captors, but Douxie didn’t care. He needed Merlin. He needed his father.
“Mmmmh!” He whined more pitifully - more desperately and thrashed as much as his weakened body allowed, moving his arms so he could grasp at the air over his holder’s shoulder, desperate for the chance to hold onto Merlin, “Mh!”
“Hisirdoux, it’s me!” A familiar voice broke through the poor lad’s hysterics, “It’s Lancelot!”
Now… he could tell the arm hooked under his legs, which he’d finally stopped kicking when he recognized that voice, was Lancelot’s prosthetic.
“…Mmh?”
He opened his eyes, too dry for more tears, and, sure enough, he saw the worried expression of the knight.
He… he was safe.
Oh, sweet Heart of Avalon, he was safe.
But…
Desperately hoping he’d be understood, Douxie stroked an invisible beard on his chin. He was very careful not to touch his mouth, or any of the threaded piercings around it.
“Merlin is fine.” Lancelot assured, “His shackles just need to be broken. He said you needed to get out of here foremost.”
Now, Douxie realized what Merlin must have said.
“Get Hisirdoux out of here! Now!”
Oh… that’s right… Douxie thought, His chains were attached to the wall… or the floor. I can’t remember. It’s fuzzy… My head hurts. And my mouth hurts. It all hurts. I want my dad.
Douxie leaned his head against Lancelot’s armored shoulder.
“Your captors have all been dealt with, but we still must get out of here posthaste.” Lancelot said.
Douxie lifted his hands, still shackled as they rested on his tummy. He hated the cuffs. Not as much as the stitches, but he hated them. He hated how tired and empty and drained they made him feel. He wanted them off.
“Once we’re out of here.” Lancelot said. “Your cat’s-”
Douxie felt four paws land on his torso. He could make out Archie’s form, but his eyes were so dry that his face was blurred. Maybe that was a good thing - it meant he wouldn’t have to see the horror on his familiar’s face.
“We’re not far from Camelot. Morgana’s waiting at the castle. She’s been worried sick. I’m sure she can fix…”
He looked at Douxie’s lips.
“…What’s been done to you.”
Yes… Morgana. Good. He liked that. Morgana was nice. Sometimes she was angry, but only when people didn’t listen to her, like Arthur. Mean Arthur. No… she was nice to him. She even called him cute things, like Little Douxie. She was gentle, and her hands were always steady. Maybe if he couldn’t go to sleep while she took out the stitches, she’d put a spell on to make it not hurt so much, or hum or sing to distract him. Her voice was so pretty… like a lullaby…
“You don’t have to stay up, Douxie.” Lancelot said, though his voice sounded so far away, “You’re stable. You can sleep.”
But his body was already well on its way to unconsciousness, and, just as what would’ve happened without the knight’s permission, his eyes fell shut.
[One of the main purposes of me doing a World Tour block is to incorporate a bunch of monsters that I’ve learned about in the years since I’ve had a dedicated folklore block. Lots of new monsters from books I’ve read, and from A Book of Creatures, which is still one of the best monster sites on the internet. This particular nightmare comes from Yupik folklore.]
Itqiirpak CR 16 CN Outsider (extraplanar) This giant floating hand is about as far across as a human is tall. It has a mouth set at the tip of each finger and a larger mouth set in the palm, all of which have gnashing, disturbingly human, teeth.
An itqiirpak, or living fireball, is a chaotic outsider that represents destruction by natural forces. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and meteorite impacts are their favorite, but they also preside over droughts, floods and tsunami. Even though they have a fiery aspect and use fire as a weapon, they are not sensitive to cold, and may even be found swimming in the depths of the sea or in the icy vacuum of space.
Combat with an itqiirpak often begins seemingly at random, with the monster plunging from the sky or rising from the depths, screaming all the while. Each of their mouths is capable of inflicting a deadly bite, the center maw most of all. They can also shoot bolts of fire from their fingers, which they use to blow holes in structures or attack from a distance. They prefer to split their attacks up among as many individuals as possible, but if they are sorely pressed by a single foe, they will grab them in their fist like body and chew them to death.
Although the natural disasters that itqiirpaks preside over appear to be random, they are often engineered by these outsiders. Itqiirpaks control the weather, heat up magma chambers, cause earthquakes, even steer the course of asteroids to send them spiraling towards a planet. Their precise goals are difficult for mortals to comprehend, but they frequently target populations with large numbers of chaotic individuals. Proteans often work with itqiirpaks and defend them. It is possible that the protean choirs use itqiirpaks to create metaphysical raw materials—more chaotic souls entering the afterlife, leading to more quintessence feeding into the chaotic planes.
Itqiirpak CR 16 XP 76,800 CN Large outsider (chaotic, extraplanar) Init+7;Sensesblindsight 120 ft., blindsense 240 ft., blind, detect chaos, Perception +26 Auracloak of chaos (DC 24) Defense AC31, touch 19, flat-footed 25 (-1 size, +6 Dex, +4 deflection, +12 natural) hp237 (19d10+133) Fort+17,Ref+24,Will+21 DR10/stone and lawful; Immunefire, gaze attacks, visual spells and effects; Resistcold 10, electricity 10; SR27 Offense Speed15 ft., fly 60 ft. (perfect) Melee5 bites +25 (1d8+7/19-20), great bite +25 (2d8+10/19-20 plus grab) Ranged5 fire bolts +25 touch (4d6) Space10 ft.; Reach5 ft. Special Attacks chew (2d8+10), cumulative fire, powerful blows (great bite) Spell-like Abilities CL 16th, concentration +22 Constant—cloak of chaos (self only), detect chaos At will—dispel magic, fireball (DC 19), wall of fire 3/day—control weather, empoweredflame shield, quickened fireball(DC 19) 1/day—earthquake, fire storm (DC 24), meteor swarm (DC 25) Statistics Str24,Dex25,Con24,Int18,Wis19,Cha23 Base Atk +19;CMB+31 (+35 grapple); CMD43 (cannot be tripped) FeatsCritical Focus,Empower SLA (fire shield), Flyby Attack, Hover, Improved Critical (bite, great bite), Power Attack, Quicken SLA (fireball), Staggering Critical, Stunning Critical SkillsFly +35, Intimidate +28, Knowledge (geography, nature) +23, Knowledge (planes, religion) +26, Perception +26, Sense Motive +26, Stealth +25, Swim +28 LanguagesAbyssal, Celestial, Ignan, Protean SQflight, no breath Ecology Environmentany (Maelstrom) Organizationsolitary, shower (2-4) or storm (5-8) Treasureincidental Special Abilities Chew (Ex) This functions as the constrict special attack, except that the itqiirpak deals bludgeoning, slashing and piercing damage. Cumulative Fire (Su) All fire damage dealt by an itqiirpak’s abilities in the same round is counted as a single attack for the purposes of interacting with fire resistance and hardness. Fire damage dealt by an itqiirpak’s abilities is not halved for any object or creature with hardness. Damage Reduction (Ex) Stone weapons, including weapons made of flint or obsidian, overcome the damage reduction of an itqiirpak (as long as they are also lawful). Fire Bolt (Su) An itqiirpak can shoot a single ray of fire as an attack action and five rays of fire as a full attack action. Treat this as a ranged touch attack with a range of 120 feet and no range increment. A creature struck by one of these rays takes 4d6 points of fire damage. An itqiirpak may fire all of its rays at the same target or at different targets.
One of my 100$ sketchpage commissions for @suolainensilakkart of their reluctant vampire lad! HAD A BLAST, as you can tell, all vampire-havers please get in my commission slots so I can lavish affection on your monstery weirdos (no, for real, my slots are open again)
Always a treat to work on a monster design with unique fang/mouth design! Happy first day of Halloween, yall
