The Horned Prisoner of Trastamara
Xjell above, my skull freakin’ hurts
Well, didn’t expect that. So here I am. Again. Waking up in the same cell, with my arms in the same damned position they were when I went to sleep, wondering why the hell I was born.
Sure, life has had its perks, but given the whole “you have grey skin, horns that belong on a bull, and the fangs of a basilisk” thing, I’d say that the whole trade-off of having the ability to use magic hasn’t exactly been equal. Really should’ve have gone into this stupid city, even if it was part of the route to Dirkeport. Is that how it’s spelled? Well, either way, it seemed that my captors had some sort of reason to stop me and be absolutely horrible people at the same time. Typical Trastamarans.
I have been here, by myself, in this forsaken room for way too long, am I going to get some sort of visitor?
Oh?
A knock on the door. Great. At least they are polite enough to let me know that they are coming in, for all they know I might be pissing on the floor like an animal.
“Come in, come in, let me get the tea ready for you…oh wait, I’m in prison and there’s no tea. Delightful. Well, it’s not like I can say no, can I?” I said, laughing a little to myself as the door opened. Oh. Great. An inquisitor, just what I needed.
“Do you really need to prattle on about that?” he spat, slapping me across the face. Ow. Geeze, did these jerks know how to slap with anything else but the back of their hands? Talk about priests smacking their helpless victims, sheesh. “Do you know why you’re here, vermin? I do think you know and until you reveal to us exactly why you are here, you shall remain here for eternity. Or at least long enough for the paperwork to go through. You know how things like this are, don’t you, courier?”
Okay, he thinks I was carrying an important package. Crud. Or was it a message I was bringing? Well, either way, the way that this white-haired ninny was looking at me, he seemed pretty sure I was carrying something of importance. Because they TOTALLY wouldn’t have arrested me if I wasn’t, gods, it’s like I’m in a bad story where there isn’t any passable characters except myself.
Dad always said that something like this would happen. “Son, don’t trust them inquisitorial human types. They hate people like you more than elves hate everyone else”. Wish I’d listened to him and purposely gone around the city of screwy humans, but I suppose that it’s my fault for not wanting to be late with whatever the heck I was delivering. The man who’d given it to me, or was it a woman…? Anyways, they handed me a slip of paper and told me to securely transport it south to the port of Garr-Est-Thrad, where I would find someone at a dock who would bring it further to whoever was going supposed to get it next.
Feeling the slap across my face again, I realized that I had - during my thoughts -I’d said nothing, “I’m here because your people are paranoid and that you single out my kind. Obviously”, I said shaking my head as I was slapped again, this time with the front of his hand, twice. “I’m not freakin’ lying, why the heck would I lie to you now, when violence is the literal result of me saying the wrong thing?” Honestly, I was telling the truth about the paranoia and the racism, but of course, avoiding the answer is why I would never be a good politician. Or rather, a morally good one. I’m too prone to getting what I need to get done, done, at any cost. That’s why I was hired, I guess.
The ugly, sickly looking questioner continued to look at me, as if I was meat. Well, technically I AM meat, but not the sort that any self-respecting Luftrenierian would eat. Of course, Luftreiner’s followers only eat the finest demon meat, as they must gorge upon it to justify their stance of the world’s eternal sinfulness. Is that what they do? Well, it doesn’t really matter, that guy was looking like he needed to eat, either way. Maybe he was some sort of bookworm or scholar, or maybe he was just a phallus come to life with white hair.
“Obviously, demon-spawn, you were carrying something of great import. The moment we plucked it from the pack, it disappeared. Now tell me, where did you hide it and what does it read?” the crowing buzzard of a man leered, obviously not having a clue as to whether or not I could, you know, actually answer it. Or did he? Gods above, the adherents of Luftreiner were all so…uptight. Like someone, a long time ago decided to stick something so far up their butts that they still haven’t figured a way to claw it out with their bony, pointy fingers.
“Quite simply, sir, I have no idea what you are talking about. As far as I know, all of my belongings are in some sort of holding facility around here, and I have access to absolutely nothing”, I say, mostly because that is true. My package, or whatever he’s referring to, is not mine, was never mine, and therefore I have not lied. His zone of truth, or whatever spell I’m feeling tingle up my spine, is not going to help him out here.
“You know how to disguise the truth”, the sickly glowing man stated, pointing at me with the hand of his god, or something, “But the light of Luftreiner cannot be deceived. Tell me now what you were transporting and you might live.” Oh, good, an offer of life. Like he’s going to NOT kill me if it’s something criminal against his state, or some sort of blasphemous document. Maybe it’s about that Shiin guy I’ve been hearing about who created a cozy little empire to the west of here a year or so back. Lots of people went sort of crazy during the Shattering, but the rumors I’d heard about the Emperor of Shiin -who names an Empire after themselves?- was undaunted by the insanity of the times and created something oddly stable. A GROWING sort of oddly stable, at the expense of everyone else, but something stable. Maybe it has to do with THAT worrying event. Maybe I can use that.
“Look, I don’t know what I was carrying,” I began, staring back at the inquisitor, “but I can describe the man that gave it to me. He had bloodshot eyes, a square jaw, red hair, and-“
“You are lying” he said, cutting me off. Well, that was rude. “I see that you have already forgotten that I can tell when people are lying. It is my job. Now, child of the demon seed, I will see to it that you remember. Tell me. Everything.”
Feeling a great tremor within the center of my being, the whole of my body starts to shake, as if I have little choice but to fear what is to come. Stirring beneath my body, no, inside it, a bright light grow as the hand of the damned inquisitor disappeared into it. Light becomes my only sight, the brightness the only defining characteristic of the world around me. No words are spoken, none are heard. Nothing but light. The light of a God. I try to think, but only the light is in my thoughts.
I remember everything. A tall man. Smooth face, red eyes. Elf? No, not quite. His skin is blue, but his eyes are red, why are they red, how can they possibly be red if he is one of the chosen of Xa’alesh? Half-breed, twice over I think as I accept the package. An important man. Descended from followers of the creator and his twisted brother, the man says that I must not forget, cannot forget, but will forget everything about the package. His god is dead, why is he still alive? Ascending, aimless, yet aimed at his new aegis. No matter what I am not to tell them, I am to forget to remember and- no, I must-
Again he repeats that I must remember to forget, stirring, striking, stilling the deepness of my soul, his hand reaches deeper, what else can I tell the inquisitor that he hasn’t already-no, fight it, must fight it, I am a practitioner, I am not a mindless-
A child of three worlds, speaking of one. He said something, something outrageous as he approached me, “Are you worthy?” he asked, my mind reeling, rioting in the indignation of such of a question, “Of course, that’s why I’m a courier” I reply, unsure, unslaken of my thirst for gratification grating gaining as I tell him that I am the man for the job.
Horns bristling as I feel the light get brighter, the memories strengthen, starving and strumming, my soul heating up as more and more of his arm gets lost in my being, make it stop make it stop. I cannot bear this, the eternal light is nothing but itself, yearning, yet youthfully hungry. Luftreiner sees all, but why would he need me to tell his people what they already known? Fighting, fatigued, falling, faster, faster and-
“These are orders,” the tall man says, his height increasing, it seems, as we speak, “for a very important mission. You are to go to Garr-Est-Thrad and hand them off to a Half-Elf woman named Shivala. She will be waiting for you by the docks. If you do not arrive by sundown in three days’ time, she will leave without them. That is fine. After all, if you can’t make it, you aren’t worthy of Our Lord, He Who Shall Claim the Empty Throne of Ba-“
“I have heard enough,” the evil, heinous, soul-rending monster whose hand was being removed from his stomach, “thank you for your cooperation. You’ll be pleased to hear we captured Shivala before she left, thanks to the first time we came in.”
First time? But…I’d been left in here, alone, for a whole day before- oh no. No, no, no, no. He…had to be joking right?
“I believe it is time to let you go. However, given the validity of the information we’ve gathered, and the contents of the letter, we no longer have any reason to doubt its origins. You are much more durable than I thought. Most collapse into themselves after one treatment, yet here you are, time number two, and still sane. We could use you…but perhaps later. For now…its best that you remember to forget.”
A job, my job. Right, on the road again, got to get to Garr-Est-Thrad to…wait, where’s the damn package? It was on my hip a moment ago, where the hell did it go? How wasted did I get in Trastamara that I forgot where it went? Well, either way, guess I- wait, why is Great North Star already in that part of the sky? My readings the night before, before I went to the tavern were much further to the right. The whole sky is…moved?
What…is going on?
Where…am I?
This isn’t the road. This is wilderness.
Dear gods, what do I do now?
