He managed to get his torso under the water, almost pulling his tentacles free from the youngling's grasp as something - the large female, presumably - grabbed the ropes holding his legs tight and yanked him out of the water like he weighed nothing to her. And possibly, he didn't, not if her exposed arms were any indication. He was dropped hard onto a bed of spongy, water-filled moss, and the female... this was definitely a Myrian... planted a foot on the back of his legs, putting her weight down on his already injured and pinioned limbs. The effect was immediate - not only did the rope cut in more tightly, but he now had to bear a portion of his assailant's weight, too. The Myrian lectured the young one - her child? Her sibling? - in that strange language they used, harsh and sharp, as the child replied in an answering tone. She caught his hands, then, wrenching them behind his back as more of the rain-slick rope cut into his flesh as she started at his wrists, tying them tightly and securely before proceeding to actually tie the rest of his forearms together, right up to his elbows. With his flexibility, it wasn't a problem, but it was massively uncomfortable, wrenching and terribly tight. The more he pulled, the more the ropes tightened on him, and the more the ropes dug into his flesh. He knew without any doubt that deep welts and cuts were rising from the Myrian's handiwork.
She took her foot off of him now that he was well and truly trussed, and the child let go of his tentacles as the female crouched down beside the little one, taking out a nasty-looking blade that had once been white, but was now stained, likely from many drenchings, of old blood. She held it out to the child, making a quick motion as she explained what she wanted. The gist of it, as Sers could see from the gestures, was that she wanted the child - it was hard to tell if it was male or female, but Sers thought it might well be male - to strike him with the hilt of the weapon. Not the bladed part, oddly enough, but the other end.
He might remember a strange occurrence some years back in Charbosi. A Charodaen ghost had said that they had been caught by some Myrians, and transported away from the water, to a place of dryness concealed within the trees. They had died there while the savages feasted on their flesh. This was going to be his fate, wasn't it? The female said something to the boy, and ruffled the wet hair on his head before looking down at him. She spoke in Common, then - when he had spoken in it before, she had paid no heed, or given any indication that she could even understand him.
"Your flesh will be honored. Your sacrifice will not be in vain," she told him, even as the pommel struck him in his forehead, sending his mind reeling and into blackness.
He had no idea how long he was unconscious, no idea of where he was when he managed to open his eyes and stare at trees. He was being packed easily by the female as she carried a weapon in one hand. The child walked in front of them, also carrying a weapon of his own - a large knife, by the looks of it. The rain was all around them, above and below, and off to the side, he could see a truly massive body of water. Was that the Gulf? Surely it... it wasn't. Even though his vision was fuzzy, he could see large walls now as they left the trees. Was this the place of 'dryness'? This was where it all ended, wasn't it? They hadn't killed him before, as much as he might have wished they had, because his limbs were still contorted, still bearing his weight with those horrible, cutting ropes. His tentacles had been knotted while he was unconscious, tied with each other and tied with vines into a tangled mess to the point where they were rendered uselessly immobile.
Shouts rose up even as they approached the gates, and the child ran ahead, calling out with excitement. He was hoisted and displayed in the streets of the city of wood and stone and water and bone. In no time at all, he was surrounded by tawny-skinned bodies. The child of the pair of his captors came running back, then, grabbing the knotted mess on the back of his head, moving him every which way as he shouted at the others. He had already been dizzy, and now, well, things were getting worse. The best the Charoda could tell, the child was being possessive, as if claiming Sers as his. He was carried into a large building, then, out of the rain, and dropped rather unceremoniously on the floor as the child hung onto his tentacles. A discussion seemed to be going on, then, and he could have sworn he heard a few words in common.
Raw. Roast. Stew. He was going to die. Not in the warm embrace of Charbosi, where his body would feed the coral, but here, where he would be devoured by the bloodthirsty Myrians. Ringed by the cluster of Myrians who watched, the pair that had caught him crouched beside him as the female spoke to the boy again, and then she grasped Sers's head with both hands, one on his chin and one on the top, forcing his mouth shut, as if to ensure he couldn't bite down. The boy put his hands on the Charoda's face, then, covering his nose and lips to create a seal. He couldn't breathe! Before too long, he began to feel a warm, tingling sensation up and down his body, from his head to his toes, Myrian cheering in his ears as his vision blurred and it all went black, and before too long, he stopped breathing entirely.
This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
He was young. It wasn't his time yet.
The Myrians would feast tonight... and Sers Yisa would be the main course.
OOCAnd you're dead. 
Permission to make a new character granted. 
