Cohost writing prompt: @Making-Up-A-Villain — Villain who really wants to tell you about their backstory
Supplanter Oath, the Dwarven Secret Service's finest — the Seventh Son, Deathbringer Sanction — hung upside-down in a cruel cage of razor-pointed steel spikes. An acrid, blackened, dripping nozzle of elven naphtha compound — chymical dragon — thrust from the wall of the vertical tunnel, trained on the dwarf's face.
"Do you expect me to talk?" Oath said coolly, eyeing the skittering carpet of scorpions at the bottom of the shaft.
"No, Mr. Oath," the wizard gloated from a Juliet balcony at the side of the shaft, stroking a fat, elderly white cat. "I expect you to listen. You see, it all started in my childhood...."
Talking. Gets 'em every time, Oath thought grimly, and set about dislocating both thumbs to wriggle out of the wizardly deathtrap's restraints.