Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Apr 28, 2024 10:35:41 GMT
Content warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts
She doesn’t want to say that she’s desperate. But her situation — her mothers’ situation — has turned out to be more dire than anyone thought. She needs to find a way to secure that contract. She needs to find a way to outsmart him.
So there Zola is, sitting at a table in Gossamer Threads, opposite the self-proclaimed “master wizard” and “occult specialist” Horace Banphuirmen. The human retiree carries with him a large briefcase that is filled with odd baubles: vials of water labelled “DEVIL REPELLENT”, booklets titled Summoning Your Personal Demons, garish waxwork dolls he calls “Nightmare Catchers”, and a pack of collectible cards that are clearly regular playing cards with drawings over them depicting the “denizens of the multiverse”. Each trinket has a significant price tag attached to it.
Yet, despite the dodginess of his wares, Horace does have a genuine history in studying the Outer Planes, including the Nine Hells and the convoluted laws that govern it.
“Well, you see, my dear,” he says, “contracts of an infernal nature generally transfer to another devil should anything happen to the original devil, whether it’s death, defeat, or — in some extremely rare cases — ceasing to be a devil.” He lets out a small scoff, as though he finds the notion ludicrous. “If the devil was subservient to another, the contract would default to the superior devil. If the devil was challenged for ownership and defeated, the contract would transfer as spoils to the victor. That bit is quite simple.”
That must be what Tebrin intends to do to Zarzuul, Zola realises. With my help.
“Given how detailed infernal contracts usually are, it is quite rare for one to lack a clause which instructs how the contract is to be managed in the event of the devil’s demise or defeat or retirement, et cetera.” Horace leans forward across the table. “But here’s the thing: some very powerful and very arrogant devils have been known to overlook this tiny little detail. In which case, a few things could happen, depending on the nature of the deal… The other party could be released from the contract, or the contract could continue in perpetuity with no way of undoing it.”
He tells tales of souls that remain trapped in a demiplane despite the devil who sent them there being long gone; curses plaguing families for generations because the conditions for breaking the curse were known only to the deceased devil.
“All that said. If there is suspicion that an infernal contract wouldn’t operate in the normal, expected way, one would need to know the finer details of that contract to determine if those other things would happen instead. Without that, my dear, your only real chance of knowing is by, well…” Horace shrugs his thin shoulders. “Killing the devil and seeing what happens.”
And there’s the rub. Zola hasn’t the faintest idea what lies within the hags’ contract with Zarzuul. If Tebrin knows, he sure as Hells isn’t telling her. Perhaps it’d simply be safer to let the contract transfer to Tebrin than to trigger some unknown clause. But if Tebrin gets his hands on it, who knows what amendments he would make to its clauses?
She feels stuck. But a voice of hope in her head reminds her that, whilst Horace is very knowledgeable, he speaks only in general terms. There is someone else she can interview about this, someone who was much closer to this subject than the human wizard — the horse’s mouth, so to speak.
As thanks for Horace’s help, she purchases a gallon of his devil repellent water. Who knows, it might just work on Tebrin.
Somewhere outside Daring Heights.
A large shadow passes over An’Ahkrim as he is tending to the lavender bushes outside his cottage. It makes a wide circle above him before landing on the grass in front of him: a winged white stag with many-pronged horns, and Zola in a dress riding sideways on him.
An’Ahkrim glances up as she lands and quirks a smile before finishing up with the plant he’s working on. He pats the soil around it with rough, worn hands and then straightens, reaching for a handkerchief to wipe his palms.
He’s much changed since last they met: a neat but full beard adorns his face, he’s wearing a grey short-sleeved linen tunic and dark trousers, both simple and unadorned. His hair and horns are the same, as well as his bright violet eyes, but there are wrinkles on his face that softens it. Most prominent is the small symbol on his forehead — a white crescent moon surrounded by a purple ring.
“Sword dancer,” he greets her, calmly. “It’s been a while.”
“Rare to see you fully clothed.” Zola smiles. “Have you got time for a chat?”
“The downside of not being fueled by the infernal, I’m afraid - so much easier to catch a chill. Come inside, I’ll make tea.”
An’Ahkrim leads her inside the small cottage. It’s humble and homely, comfortable and surprisingly inviting. Zola notices some of Velania’s belongings around the place, as well as a striking number of books of poetry. She smiles approvingly.
He takes a kettle and prepares tea with practised ease. He’d look utterly mundane if it wasn’t for the glowing symbol on his forehead.
“I was never good at small talk before, and I’m afraid to say I haven’t much improved in that regard since. What’s on your mind, Zola? It must be something specific since you’re here for me and not Velania.”
He sets a simple clay mug on the kitchen table, inviting Zola to sit across from him.
“Well…” she says, settling into a chair and warming her hands on the mug. “This is a rather odd question, but you’ve had infernal contracts in your name, right?”
An’Ahkrim wraps his hands around his own mug, breathing in the steam. He looks distant for a moment, as if he’s letting a feeling ebb and then flow inside him before answering.
“I did, yes. A few. It wasn’t something I did often. Not out of some sort of pity for mortals — I was arrogant beyond words. I looked upon mortals with distaste and contempt and didn’t wish to sully myself with their involvement in my affairs. I rarely interacted with beings from this plane. But yes, I had a few. How come?”
“What happened to them after you became…mortal?”
“Nothing. They were still bound to… Well, I didn’t have a soul at first, that came later, but to my very essence.” He takes a sip and looks faintly pained for a moment, as if recalling a dark memory. “When I had grown my soul enough I became aware of them again, and terminated them, freeing those bound by them.”
Zola gives him a sympathetic look. “Oh, I’m sorry for bringing this up. I didn’t… I should’ve known it’d be painful for you.”
He shakes his head a little, reassuring her. “It was a hard time, but only because I had done horrific things. It’s no one’s burden but mine.”
She nods in understanding and continues with her line of questioning. “So in that sort of intermediary period, if someone were to violate the terms of a contract with you, you’d have no power to enact a punishment?”
“The period between my rising and growing a soul?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d have had power to act on should I have wanted to. The contracts didn’t disappear, I simply forgot about them. Had the contracts been violated that would have reminded me of their existence as well, I’d assume. I was, and still am, an arcanist. My contracts were detailed and intricate, and very hard to break. They remained with my essence because of that.”
“Did you just forget about the contracts, or was it a consequence of…soul-growing? Ensoulification?”
An’Ahkrim smiles a small, very wry smile. “Growing a soul was the single most excruciating experience I’ve ever felt. It was unspeakably painful to the point where I considered ending my existence several times. I would not have made it through without Je’Sathriel and Velania. It was impossible to think of anything else during the process. The contracts didn’t disappear or get put on hold or anything of that nature. They were simply very far from my mind.”
“Oh…” Zola deflates a little.
“Zola. Why are you asking me this?” His gaze is direct, if not overtly concerned. “Have you entered into a contract?”
“Er…” She rubs the back of her neck, unsure of why she’s reluctant to tell him. “I don’t know if Velania’s told you. But. I’ve gotten a biiit entangled with a devil.”
“She has not disclosed the exact details, but I know she’s concerned for you. If you are willing to share, I’m willing to listen. Perhaps I can be of some assistance or advice.”
Zola lets out a sigh. “Look, I’ve only had a verbal agreement with this guy. Nothing signed in blood or anything. It’s my adoptive mothers who entered into a contract with a separate devil a long time ago, Zarzuul, and now he’s imprisoned them. But this devil I’m, um, with — he stands to inherit Zarzuul’s contracts should Zarzuul die.”
An’Ahkrim nods. “That is the practice of many devils — in the event of their death, another inherits the contracts. He whom you have entered into an agreement with, is he willing to dissolve the contract? Or amend it? Is he cooperative?”
“He wants to keep it, as a guarantee against me turning on him. Holding my mothers hostage.”
“And is that an acceptable outcome for you? Or do you wish to be free of it entirely? There are degrees of evil in the Hells, as I’m certain you are aware. Different flavours and styles, if you will. Could you live with him holding that insurance against you?”
Zola turns her gaze away and takes a long, noisy sip of the tea as she thinks of how to respond. She blinks in surprise. “Oh wow, this is really good.”
“Thank you. It’s my own blend.”
She takes a deep breath. “My mother Lillian saw a future that…if I stay with him, he will drag me into an all-out war. That’s not how I want to do things. But…if I turn against him, he will hurt my mothers. In truth…” She looks down, a guilty shadow cast over her features. “I’d rather be in a war than lose any of them. Or hurt him.” She shakes her head. “It’s so stupid. He’s the most irritating arsehole of a man.”
An’Ahkrim’s eyebrows raise slightly in understanding. “Ah. I see. The situation is of a certain complexity.”
Zola blushes furiously and turns her face away from him.
A very small grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu.”
“Wait, what do you mean déjà vu?”
The grin remains, like a shadow of the devil still lives in the man. “You have a type, Zola. Do you not? I cannot say I blame you,” he adds. “Ophanim was unusually charismatic, even for one of my kind.”
“Ophanim?” She knits her brows together in confusion. “One of the Heralds of Blades and Ash? Your old mate?”
An’Ahkrim meets her gaze, equally confused for a moment before it clears in understanding. “Ah. Ignore me. I sometimes get my mortals confused. It was nothing.”
She looks at him totally baffled. “Um, anyway. Yeah. I guess you can say I like bad boys? Dunno how you guessed that!”
“Bad boy intuition.” He shrugs. “But on the matter of contracts,” he continues quickly, “There are always ways out of them. Killing the fiend in question. Finding a loophole to fulfil the terms without personal consequences, if the fiend who wrote the contract was sloppy in their wording. Getting another fiend who might renegotiate the deal to purchase the contract. It will be for you to decide what you can and cannot accept, what your soul can stand.”
“He won’t give it up, he knows my strength. And he’s very, very smart — he can run rings around me intellectually, that’s for sure.” Zola pauses, staring down at her distorted reflection in the mug. “But my mothers… Hags are just as adept as deals as devils. If they can trick him somehow…”
An’Ahkrim nods. “That seems to be your best course of action. You have many at your back, Zola. Those who fought beside you against me and the Heralds. Surely, many others among the adventuring community. Velania would do anything for you. If it’s not too personal, might I ask… Zola, do you still serve the moon? Are you still one of Eilistraee’s chosen?”
Zola visibly tenses up. “I… She… No.”
There is no judgement or blame in his eyes, only mild sorrow as he nods. “I’m sorry to hear that. Nonetheless you have formidable forces around you, all willing to help.”
She gives him a small, sad smile. “Thanks, An’Ahkrim. If it’s not too painful for you…could I ask more about ensoulification? How did you know how to do it?”
He laughs, genuine if a little sardonic. “That was not something I chose to do. It happened to me. A gift from the sisters, when I ended the Word.” He rolls his now empty tea mug in his hands. “It was a purgatory I had to pass through to redeem myself. Had I known what it would entail, I cannot say for certain that I would have taken Je’Sathriel’s hand when he came to us in the Hells. If I had known…would I have had the strength to do it? I honestly don’t know. But now I’m glad I did.”
He looks around the cottage, taking in the home he’s built, thinking of the life he’s built and the woman he shares it with.
“A gift…” Zola mutters to herself.
The devil cannot be tamed, unless he is unmade…
An’Ahkrim cocks his head, giving Zola a moment to let the gears turn in her usually gearless head. He gets up quietly and refills both their mugs with more tea, before sitting back down again and waiting.
Finally, Zola takes a sip from the newly refilled cup and flashes him a grin. “Thank you. You’ve given me stuff to think about. Okay, now this is the part where we do the small talk.”
He laughs again, but warmer this time. There are crows feet around his eyes, Zola notices. He looks so alive.
“Fine. If we must.”
With Lykksie as An’Ahkrim
She doesn’t want to say that she’s desperate. But her situation — her mothers’ situation — has turned out to be more dire than anyone thought. She needs to find a way to secure that contract. She needs to find a way to outsmart him.
So there Zola is, sitting at a table in Gossamer Threads, opposite the self-proclaimed “master wizard” and “occult specialist” Horace Banphuirmen. The human retiree carries with him a large briefcase that is filled with odd baubles: vials of water labelled “DEVIL REPELLENT”, booklets titled Summoning Your Personal Demons, garish waxwork dolls he calls “Nightmare Catchers”, and a pack of collectible cards that are clearly regular playing cards with drawings over them depicting the “denizens of the multiverse”. Each trinket has a significant price tag attached to it.
Yet, despite the dodginess of his wares, Horace does have a genuine history in studying the Outer Planes, including the Nine Hells and the convoluted laws that govern it.
“Well, you see, my dear,” he says, “contracts of an infernal nature generally transfer to another devil should anything happen to the original devil, whether it’s death, defeat, or — in some extremely rare cases — ceasing to be a devil.” He lets out a small scoff, as though he finds the notion ludicrous. “If the devil was subservient to another, the contract would default to the superior devil. If the devil was challenged for ownership and defeated, the contract would transfer as spoils to the victor. That bit is quite simple.”
That must be what Tebrin intends to do to Zarzuul, Zola realises. With my help.
“Given how detailed infernal contracts usually are, it is quite rare for one to lack a clause which instructs how the contract is to be managed in the event of the devil’s demise or defeat or retirement, et cetera.” Horace leans forward across the table. “But here’s the thing: some very powerful and very arrogant devils have been known to overlook this tiny little detail. In which case, a few things could happen, depending on the nature of the deal… The other party could be released from the contract, or the contract could continue in perpetuity with no way of undoing it.”
He tells tales of souls that remain trapped in a demiplane despite the devil who sent them there being long gone; curses plaguing families for generations because the conditions for breaking the curse were known only to the deceased devil.
“All that said. If there is suspicion that an infernal contract wouldn’t operate in the normal, expected way, one would need to know the finer details of that contract to determine if those other things would happen instead. Without that, my dear, your only real chance of knowing is by, well…” Horace shrugs his thin shoulders. “Killing the devil and seeing what happens.”
And there’s the rub. Zola hasn’t the faintest idea what lies within the hags’ contract with Zarzuul. If Tebrin knows, he sure as Hells isn’t telling her. Perhaps it’d simply be safer to let the contract transfer to Tebrin than to trigger some unknown clause. But if Tebrin gets his hands on it, who knows what amendments he would make to its clauses?
She feels stuck. But a voice of hope in her head reminds her that, whilst Horace is very knowledgeable, he speaks only in general terms. There is someone else she can interview about this, someone who was much closer to this subject than the human wizard — the horse’s mouth, so to speak.
As thanks for Horace’s help, she purchases a gallon of his devil repellent water. Who knows, it might just work on Tebrin.
Somewhere outside Daring Heights.
A large shadow passes over An’Ahkrim as he is tending to the lavender bushes outside his cottage. It makes a wide circle above him before landing on the grass in front of him: a winged white stag with many-pronged horns, and Zola in a dress riding sideways on him.
An’Ahkrim glances up as she lands and quirks a smile before finishing up with the plant he’s working on. He pats the soil around it with rough, worn hands and then straightens, reaching for a handkerchief to wipe his palms.
He’s much changed since last they met: a neat but full beard adorns his face, he’s wearing a grey short-sleeved linen tunic and dark trousers, both simple and unadorned. His hair and horns are the same, as well as his bright violet eyes, but there are wrinkles on his face that softens it. Most prominent is the small symbol on his forehead — a white crescent moon surrounded by a purple ring.
“Sword dancer,” he greets her, calmly. “It’s been a while.”
“Rare to see you fully clothed.” Zola smiles. “Have you got time for a chat?”
“The downside of not being fueled by the infernal, I’m afraid - so much easier to catch a chill. Come inside, I’ll make tea.”
An’Ahkrim leads her inside the small cottage. It’s humble and homely, comfortable and surprisingly inviting. Zola notices some of Velania’s belongings around the place, as well as a striking number of books of poetry. She smiles approvingly.
He takes a kettle and prepares tea with practised ease. He’d look utterly mundane if it wasn’t for the glowing symbol on his forehead.
“I was never good at small talk before, and I’m afraid to say I haven’t much improved in that regard since. What’s on your mind, Zola? It must be something specific since you’re here for me and not Velania.”
He sets a simple clay mug on the kitchen table, inviting Zola to sit across from him.
“Well…” she says, settling into a chair and warming her hands on the mug. “This is a rather odd question, but you’ve had infernal contracts in your name, right?”
An’Ahkrim wraps his hands around his own mug, breathing in the steam. He looks distant for a moment, as if he’s letting a feeling ebb and then flow inside him before answering.
“I did, yes. A few. It wasn’t something I did often. Not out of some sort of pity for mortals — I was arrogant beyond words. I looked upon mortals with distaste and contempt and didn’t wish to sully myself with their involvement in my affairs. I rarely interacted with beings from this plane. But yes, I had a few. How come?”
“What happened to them after you became…mortal?”
“Nothing. They were still bound to… Well, I didn’t have a soul at first, that came later, but to my very essence.” He takes a sip and looks faintly pained for a moment, as if recalling a dark memory. “When I had grown my soul enough I became aware of them again, and terminated them, freeing those bound by them.”
Zola gives him a sympathetic look. “Oh, I’m sorry for bringing this up. I didn’t… I should’ve known it’d be painful for you.”
He shakes his head a little, reassuring her. “It was a hard time, but only because I had done horrific things. It’s no one’s burden but mine.”
She nods in understanding and continues with her line of questioning. “So in that sort of intermediary period, if someone were to violate the terms of a contract with you, you’d have no power to enact a punishment?”
“The period between my rising and growing a soul?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d have had power to act on should I have wanted to. The contracts didn’t disappear, I simply forgot about them. Had the contracts been violated that would have reminded me of their existence as well, I’d assume. I was, and still am, an arcanist. My contracts were detailed and intricate, and very hard to break. They remained with my essence because of that.”
“Did you just forget about the contracts, or was it a consequence of…soul-growing? Ensoulification?”
An’Ahkrim smiles a small, very wry smile. “Growing a soul was the single most excruciating experience I’ve ever felt. It was unspeakably painful to the point where I considered ending my existence several times. I would not have made it through without Je’Sathriel and Velania. It was impossible to think of anything else during the process. The contracts didn’t disappear or get put on hold or anything of that nature. They were simply very far from my mind.”
“Oh…” Zola deflates a little.
“Zola. Why are you asking me this?” His gaze is direct, if not overtly concerned. “Have you entered into a contract?”
“Er…” She rubs the back of her neck, unsure of why she’s reluctant to tell him. “I don’t know if Velania’s told you. But. I’ve gotten a biiit entangled with a devil.”
“She has not disclosed the exact details, but I know she’s concerned for you. If you are willing to share, I’m willing to listen. Perhaps I can be of some assistance or advice.”
Zola lets out a sigh. “Look, I’ve only had a verbal agreement with this guy. Nothing signed in blood or anything. It’s my adoptive mothers who entered into a contract with a separate devil a long time ago, Zarzuul, and now he’s imprisoned them. But this devil I’m, um, with — he stands to inherit Zarzuul’s contracts should Zarzuul die.”
An’Ahkrim nods. “That is the practice of many devils — in the event of their death, another inherits the contracts. He whom you have entered into an agreement with, is he willing to dissolve the contract? Or amend it? Is he cooperative?”
“He wants to keep it, as a guarantee against me turning on him. Holding my mothers hostage.”
“And is that an acceptable outcome for you? Or do you wish to be free of it entirely? There are degrees of evil in the Hells, as I’m certain you are aware. Different flavours and styles, if you will. Could you live with him holding that insurance against you?”
Zola turns her gaze away and takes a long, noisy sip of the tea as she thinks of how to respond. She blinks in surprise. “Oh wow, this is really good.”
“Thank you. It’s my own blend.”
She takes a deep breath. “My mother Lillian saw a future that…if I stay with him, he will drag me into an all-out war. That’s not how I want to do things. But…if I turn against him, he will hurt my mothers. In truth…” She looks down, a guilty shadow cast over her features. “I’d rather be in a war than lose any of them. Or hurt him.” She shakes her head. “It’s so stupid. He’s the most irritating arsehole of a man.”
An’Ahkrim’s eyebrows raise slightly in understanding. “Ah. I see. The situation is of a certain complexity.”
Zola blushes furiously and turns her face away from him.
A very small grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu.”
“Wait, what do you mean déjà vu?”
The grin remains, like a shadow of the devil still lives in the man. “You have a type, Zola. Do you not? I cannot say I blame you,” he adds. “Ophanim was unusually charismatic, even for one of my kind.”
“Ophanim?” She knits her brows together in confusion. “One of the Heralds of Blades and Ash? Your old mate?”
An’Ahkrim meets her gaze, equally confused for a moment before it clears in understanding. “Ah. Ignore me. I sometimes get my mortals confused. It was nothing.”
She looks at him totally baffled. “Um, anyway. Yeah. I guess you can say I like bad boys? Dunno how you guessed that!”
“Bad boy intuition.” He shrugs. “But on the matter of contracts,” he continues quickly, “There are always ways out of them. Killing the fiend in question. Finding a loophole to fulfil the terms without personal consequences, if the fiend who wrote the contract was sloppy in their wording. Getting another fiend who might renegotiate the deal to purchase the contract. It will be for you to decide what you can and cannot accept, what your soul can stand.”
“He won’t give it up, he knows my strength. And he’s very, very smart — he can run rings around me intellectually, that’s for sure.” Zola pauses, staring down at her distorted reflection in the mug. “But my mothers… Hags are just as adept as deals as devils. If they can trick him somehow…”
An’Ahkrim nods. “That seems to be your best course of action. You have many at your back, Zola. Those who fought beside you against me and the Heralds. Surely, many others among the adventuring community. Velania would do anything for you. If it’s not too personal, might I ask… Zola, do you still serve the moon? Are you still one of Eilistraee’s chosen?”
Zola visibly tenses up. “I… She… No.”
There is no judgement or blame in his eyes, only mild sorrow as he nods. “I’m sorry to hear that. Nonetheless you have formidable forces around you, all willing to help.”
She gives him a small, sad smile. “Thanks, An’Ahkrim. If it’s not too painful for you…could I ask more about ensoulification? How did you know how to do it?”
He laughs, genuine if a little sardonic. “That was not something I chose to do. It happened to me. A gift from the sisters, when I ended the Word.” He rolls his now empty tea mug in his hands. “It was a purgatory I had to pass through to redeem myself. Had I known what it would entail, I cannot say for certain that I would have taken Je’Sathriel’s hand when he came to us in the Hells. If I had known…would I have had the strength to do it? I honestly don’t know. But now I’m glad I did.”
He looks around the cottage, taking in the home he’s built, thinking of the life he’s built and the woman he shares it with.
“A gift…” Zola mutters to herself.
The devil cannot be tamed, unless he is unmade…
An’Ahkrim cocks his head, giving Zola a moment to let the gears turn in her usually gearless head. He gets up quietly and refills both their mugs with more tea, before sitting back down again and waiting.
Finally, Zola takes a sip from the newly refilled cup and flashes him a grin. “Thank you. You’ve given me stuff to think about. Okay, now this is the part where we do the small talk.”
He laughs again, but warmer this time. There are crows feet around his eyes, Zola notices. He looks so alive.
“Fine. If we must.”
With Lykksie as An’Ahkrim