Sympathy - origins 1 (+ updates)

Author's Note: Hey all! Got a, uh, thing for ya. Not something anyone wants or asked for. But a thing nonetheless.

Some people were working on backstory for their characters in a live D&D game I'm a part of, and I ended up going a bit outside what was necessary by scrawling up a few pages of first-person backstory for my Neutral Good tiefling warlock, Sympathy. It's non-erotic and not even very long, but I figure it can double as an UPDATE POST for what else is happening on the page in the coming days.

I'm currently in the middle of working on the Pillars of Eternity story and I think it's coming along quite nicely. That will be what comes out next -- then probably another short installment of the Moonlyte story (because I have to finish it omg why is it taking so long AGGGHHH) before moving on to the next D&D installment. Due to financial constraints, there will not be another Home Beneath this month, but the Skyrim mini should be getting released on schedule. So... yup! All that stuff! 

[story] [non-erotic] [sad] [pls do not lewd the tiefu loli]

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“‬Wretch‭!”

I’m startled awake by the sound of a loud crash against the door to my room.‭ ‬Fear flutters in my heart,‭ but soon settles‬ when I remember that I’ve heard it many times before‭ ‬--‭ ‬the hard-soled riding boot of my mother,‭ ‬beating into the squat,‭ ‬flimsy entrance to the attic loft I call my home.‭ ‬It means she’s angry,‭ ‬or upset.‭ ‬I’m never certain which.‭ ‬After a moment,‭ ‬I hear the‭ familiar ‬scrape of an old bronze key being slid into the door,‭ ‬unlocking it so that I can get out.

The heap of leftover clothes that make up my bedding scatter as I attempt to clamber to an upright position.‭ ‬The ceiling of my bedroom crawlspace,‭ ‬though,‭ ‬is a bit too short for me to stand fully‭ ‬--‭ ‬the splintering wood scarred by the scrapes of my short,‭ ‬stubby horns from repeated attempts to do so.‭ “‬Mother‭?” ‬I swallow hard before I speak that single word of acknowledgement,‭ ‬not knowing what the reply will be.‭ ‬Already I’m tugging one of my simple,‭ ‬brown linen dresses over my horned head,‭ ‬leftovers from my big sister.‭ ‬Father says I shouldn’t be allowed to wear them,‭ ‬but I’m not completely sure why.

‭“‬I need...‭” ‬her voice is hard,‭ ‬then abruptly softens,‭ ‬trailing off.‭ ‬She struggles with something,‭ ‬but not something I understand.‭ “‬I need you to dress and come down.‭ ‬Now.‭ ‬Bring your other things,‭ ‬as well.‭”

On the other side of the door,‭ ‬I nod,‭ ‬though I understand that she can’t see me.‭ “‬I’m coming,‭ ‬mother‭!” ‬I call back gently,‭ ‬hoping she can hear the smile I pretend to feel.‭ ‬She has a harder time being angry with me when I try to be happy.‭ ‬I hear her sigh,‭ ‬then the loud,‭ ‬clicking footsteps of those boots against the wooden stairway as she descends down into the living room.‭ ‬I wonder why I have to bring my things.‭ ‬Maybe we’re going on a trip‭?

I hope she isn’t too mad.‭ ‬I don’t know if father’s awake yet,‭ ‬or if he wants me downstairs too.‭ ‬I hope he doesn’t.

Rummaging through my things,‭ ‬I tighten my rope sash in place around my waist and then reach for my boots.‭ ‬These cause a wince of hesitation,‭ ‬though‭ ‬--‭ ‬after yesterday’s work pulling out the thorny weeds around the house,‭ ‬the blisters on the sides of my feet are worse than normal,‭ ‬and the boots have never fit well.‭ ‬I bite down hard on my lower lip for a moment as I start to pull them onto my feet,‭ ‬but then pause,‭ ‬sealing my lips shut.‭ ‬Mother said to never let anyone see my teeth.‭ ‬Can’t get into bad habits.

Lips pursed,‭ ‬then,‭ ‬I grit my pointed teeth against each other as I draw my boots on,‭ ‬stifling the pained squeal they incite as I rake the beaten leather across my blistered feet.‭ ‬I lace them up tightly and bundle up my other few bits of clothing and one special possession‭ ‬--‭ ‬a crystal I found on the beach,‭ ‬made of sharp,‭ ‬rough edges and clear green in color.‭ ‬My parents don’t know I have it.‭ ‬I don’t want them to take it away.

I crawl toward the doorway,‭ ‬opening it and dragging myself into the upper hallway of my parents‭’ ‬home.‭ ‬The Astavei Manor,‭ ‬it’s called,‭ ‬because it’s belonged to my parents‭’ ‬family for so many generations.‭ ‬I’ve asked why I’m not an Astavei,‭ ‬too.‭ ‬The first time,‭ ‬I didn’t get an answer.‭ ‬I asked again a second time,‭ ‬a few months later,‭ ‬asking if it was because I looked so different from my parents.‭ ‬If it was my horns,‭ ‬or the tail I have to hide under my dress.‭ ‬Father got upset and left the house for a while,‭ ‬and mother told me to go to my room in the attic.‭ ‬That time,‭ ‬the door didn’t get unlocked for two days.

Still,‭ ‬it doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about the name being mine,‭ ‬their fortune someday going to me.‭ ‬Miss Wretch Astavei,‭ ‬heiress to the manor.

Shaking such distant thoughts from my head,‭ ‬I find my way to the spiral staircase leading downwards and follow it to the ground floor,‭ ‬to the dining room where both my parents are sitting.‭ ‬They look upset about something‭ ‬--‭ ‬I’m good at knowing when they’re upset.‭ ‬Sometimes I can cheer them up,‭ ‬if I try.‭ ‬I don’t think now is going to be one of those times.

‭“‬Did you bring your things,‭ ‬creature‭?” ‬my father says.‭ ‬He’s staring into his coffee cup,‭ ‬like he doesn’t want to look at me or see me.‭ ‬His great brown mustache wilts atop his stern upper lip,‭ ‬draping over both corners of his mouth so as to disguise any risk of a smile.‭ ‬I’ve never seen father smile,‭ ‬except when he doesn’t know I’m watching.‭ ‬Sometimes I like to look at him from far away,‭ ‬just to see how happy he can be.

‭“‬I...‭” ‬I pause,‭ ‬swallowing and only now realizing how thirsty I am.‭ “‬Yeah I did‭! ‬I have it all here,‭ ‬see‭?”

“Good,‭” ‬he inhales through his nose,‭ ‬taking a long gulp from his silver‭ ‬cup.‭ ‬His steel-gray eyes turn upward to one of the monster-heads mounted on the lofty,‭ ‬cherry-wood walls of Astavei Manor,‭ ‬specifically to that of a wyvern‭; ‬a creature I’m told is like a dragon,‭ ‬but not as smart.‭ ‬I’m a creature too,‭ ‬according to my father.‭ ‬I’m not sure how we’re alike,‭ ‬though.‭ “‬Do you see that thing,‭ ‬Wretch‭?”

I nod slowly,‭ ‬trying to think of something that will make him happy.‭ “‬Yes‭! ‬The wyvern‭! ‬The one you slew with your hammer,‭ ‬before you met mother‭!” ‬I smile brightly,‭ ‬looking up at the mounted head.‭ “‬Can you tell me again about when you beat it‭? ‬When you withstood its poison sting and saved your teammates from its‭ ‬fearsome jaws‭?” ‬He loves to tell that story.‭ ‬That will make him happy,‭ ‬I know it.

Instead of smiling,‭ ‬father turns his head to me,‭ ‬his eyes locking with mine.‭ ‬Behind him at the table,‭ ‬I see mother look away,‭ ‬her face obscured by her curtain of dark,‭ ‬wavy hair.‭ ‬Her shoulders shake.‭ ‬I don’t know why.‭ “‬Do you know what that creature was,‭ ‬before it was struck down‭?” ‬Father asks,‭ ‬ignoring my request.

‭“‬Ehmmm...‭ ‬alive,‭ ‬right‭?” ‬I try to smile even more widely,‭ ‬as wide as I can without letting my lips part.‭ ‬Father likes to see my fangs even less than mother does.‭ “‬And it had the rest of its body‭?”

“It was free,‭ ‬as beasts should be.‭ ‬It was in the wild,‭ ‬with its own kind.‭” ‬His voice is firm,‭ ‬firmer than usual,‭ ‬which...‭ ‬is saying something.‭ ‬His eyes have stayed on mine longer than they ever have been.‭ ‬Something’s wrong.

‭“‬Well...‭ ‬that’s good,‭ ‬right‭?” ‬I say hesitantly.

‭“‬Ten years have passed since misfortune birthed you into this world,‭” ‬he says.‭ ‬My heart sinks.‭ ‬Behind him,‭ ‬I can see my mother’s shoulders shaking harder.‭ ‬Maybe she’s laughing.‭ ‬Maybe she’s sobbing.‭ “‬I tried to give you a home here.‭ ‬I think I’ve done you a disservice.‭”

He stands,‭ ‬finally,‭ ‬taking another gulp from his cup before setting it on the huge,‭ ‬low table and walking over towards me.‭ “‬Hold out your hand,‭” ‬he commands.

I don’t want to.‭ ‬I don’t want to know what comes next.‭ ‬I don’t want to know why,‭ ‬or what.‭ ‬Suddenly I want to go back to the attic.‭ ‬But against every instinct,‭ ‬I slowly extend my arm,‭ ‬turning my wrist to hold my palm upward.‭ ‬Father is careful not to touch my skin with his own as he pours a handful of silver coins into my hand.‭ “‬I...‭ ‬but...‭ ‬why...‭?”

“It’s time for you to be free.‭ ‬Be among your kind,‭” ‬he says.‭ “‬Be among other monsters.‭ ‬Ten silver should last you long enough to find your way,‭ ‬if you’re smart.‭”

“Father...‭?"

“Go.‭ ‬Be free.‭ ‬Be free like that beast was.‭”

I clutch the coins tightly in my hand,‭ ‬blinking away a wet,‭ ‬burning sensation in my eyes.‭ ‬I open my mouth to question him again,‭ ‬but then turn my attention to my mother at the far side of the dining room table.‭ ‬I feel a lump in my throat,‭ ‬swallowing it away and calling out to her.‭ “‬Mothe--‭?”

“Go.‭”

One word.‭ ‬That was it.‭ ‬Go.

‭“‬Too long,‭ ‬we’ve raised Hell’s daughter,‭” ‬father says.‭ “‬Go find someone who wants you.‭”

I blink repeatedly,‭ ‬the wetness in my eyes blurring my vision,‭ ‬and I take a step back.‭ ‬My dress has no pockets,‭ ‬so I continue to cling to the handful of coins.‭ “‬But,‭ ‬I...‭ ‬I can do better,‭ ‬I can be...‭ ‬I c-can--‭!”

“Now.‭”

I feel numb as I turn away from my parents and out to the lobby of the manor.‭ ‬The double-doors leading to the city are already opened for me,‭ ‬the light from the world beyond stinging the yellow eyes I’ve always been told were the windows to the wickedness in me.‭ ‬I wait a long time,‭ ‬then take one step forward.‭ ‬One step becomes another,‭ ‬then another.‭ ‬The light of the world beyond grows comfortable.

Then,‭ ‬I’m outside.‭ ‬I don’t look back at the manor.‭ ‬And I never return.