The rope digs into his wrists, twisted painfully behind his back, which are tied to his bound ankles and completely numb. He's freezing cold. The bale of hay behind him scratches through his shirt. His head throbs, and he can feel a trickle of blood through his hair. It's hard to breathe through the rag shoved into his mouth and tied in place. 

“No, I don’t think I can kill you,” the creepy flaxen-haired mage in front of him says, voice like honey. “I do believe I will take you with me.”