The redneck sat, perched on the roof of the building that housed the Tiefling's Den. A restaurant and hotel that catered to families on one side, and the darker, literal appetites of Others on the other, the Den had been bought and paid for, over a decade ago by the first man in Rhy'din she'd called brother.
"It was coming winter, October time, and the chill was already heavy and thick. Heavier and thicker than I was used to. It was worse for him." Without realizing it she'd fallen into the pattern and cadence of story telling. Her eyes stared off into the far distance and went unfocused. Below them people came and went, couples and families for an elegant, gourmet meal with flavors from across the Multiverse, demons and devils and fae and all manner in between for a taste of home that may, or may not still be alive and screaming when they started cutting.
"He was a tiefling, plane touched some call them. Distilled, bred down and thinned out Marilith, greater Tanar'ri, many armed women with the lower body of snakes. They're the generals, the tacticians in the Blood War." The belled rings tinked against each other with the 'nevermind' gesture, that path led to tangents and distractions.
"Cold blooded, literally. He was freezing to death and wouldn't have made it through the night if I hadn't helped him. Got him picked up and warmed up, found a place for him to settle in. A friend of mine, even then I knew the Vhenguirs, warned me off. Tried to at any rate. Told me Krist was a tiefling, and all tieflings were dangerous, rabid dogs that'd turn around and rip off the arm of the hand that fed them at the drop of a hat." The irony wasn't lost on her. Nor was the fact that even then she'd been drawn to the lost and broken. An attraction that had only strengthened and grown in the intervening years.
She still had a tendency to offer comfort to the rabid dogs, friendship to the murderers and worse.
"I was his first, and for a long time, his only friend. He'd never been allowed to have a friend before you see. He'd been, basically a slave the majority of his life. Bound in service to a being who used him as an assassin, and a source of terror. A punisher for any slight, no matter how small, real or imagined. Krist was, for a very large portion of his life, the Wind. The personal enforcer for the Lady of Pain, the god-ruler in Sigil." This might make no sense to the crow who was currently grooming herself, and listening intently.
The bird kept her head cocked to always have one glittering black eye staring at the woman she'd been charged with. Even when the pack of dogs, five Akitas and one Shadow Mastiff bled out of the shadows around them, the bird listened and watched, filing away the tale for later retelling. Later relaying.
"He was, less than stable emotionally. Nothing like Dave," the welder whose arc in the tale of the redneck's life in Rhy'din had yet to be shared. "Not at first anyway. Later on, yes. His grip started slipping more and more. Let loose altogether when I, hells at the time I was screwed up in my head and heart and just didn't do much right with the people who loved me, who needed me. I was careless, negligent. I saved his life again when the Eldarin took him, meant to execute him for the torture-murder of their king." Again she stared off into the distance, the hands that had been petting, stroking the heads and backs of the dogs in rotation stilling.
"I can't help but wonder if he'd have been better off if I hadn't fought so hard. He'd been resigned, accepting even, of the death sentence they meant to pass down. But I fought, and fought tooth and nail to save him.
"We had falling outs, friends do that from time to time. And I'd apologize when I was wrong, he'd apologize when he was wrong, and we'd go back to the way it had been."
"It was coming winter, October time, and the chill was already heavy and thick. Heavier and thicker than I was used to. It was worse for him." Without realizing it she'd fallen into the pattern and cadence of story telling. Her eyes stared off into the far distance and went unfocused. Below them people came and went, couples and families for an elegant, gourmet meal with flavors from across the Multiverse, demons and devils and fae and all manner in between for a taste of home that may, or may not still be alive and screaming when they started cutting.
"He was a tiefling, plane touched some call them. Distilled, bred down and thinned out Marilith, greater Tanar'ri, many armed women with the lower body of snakes. They're the generals, the tacticians in the Blood War." The belled rings tinked against each other with the 'nevermind' gesture, that path led to tangents and distractions.
"Cold blooded, literally. He was freezing to death and wouldn't have made it through the night if I hadn't helped him. Got him picked up and warmed up, found a place for him to settle in. A friend of mine, even then I knew the Vhenguirs, warned me off. Tried to at any rate. Told me Krist was a tiefling, and all tieflings were dangerous, rabid dogs that'd turn around and rip off the arm of the hand that fed them at the drop of a hat." The irony wasn't lost on her. Nor was the fact that even then she'd been drawn to the lost and broken. An attraction that had only strengthened and grown in the intervening years.
She still had a tendency to offer comfort to the rabid dogs, friendship to the murderers and worse.
"I was his first, and for a long time, his only friend. He'd never been allowed to have a friend before you see. He'd been, basically a slave the majority of his life. Bound in service to a being who used him as an assassin, and a source of terror. A punisher for any slight, no matter how small, real or imagined. Krist was, for a very large portion of his life, the Wind. The personal enforcer for the Lady of Pain, the god-ruler in Sigil." This might make no sense to the crow who was currently grooming herself, and listening intently.
The bird kept her head cocked to always have one glittering black eye staring at the woman she'd been charged with. Even when the pack of dogs, five Akitas and one Shadow Mastiff bled out of the shadows around them, the bird listened and watched, filing away the tale for later retelling. Later relaying.
"He was, less than stable emotionally. Nothing like Dave," the welder whose arc in the tale of the redneck's life in Rhy'din had yet to be shared. "Not at first anyway. Later on, yes. His grip started slipping more and more. Let loose altogether when I, hells at the time I was screwed up in my head and heart and just didn't do much right with the people who loved me, who needed me. I was careless, negligent. I saved his life again when the Eldarin took him, meant to execute him for the torture-murder of their king." Again she stared off into the distance, the hands that had been petting, stroking the heads and backs of the dogs in rotation stilling.
"I can't help but wonder if he'd have been better off if I hadn't fought so hard. He'd been resigned, accepting even, of the death sentence they meant to pass down. But I fought, and fought tooth and nail to save him.
"We had falling outs, friends do that from time to time. And I'd apologize when I was wrong, he'd apologize when he was wrong, and we'd go back to the way it had been."