[DH] The gaze stone – 2 Jul. 2019 – Taffeta & Sunday
Jul 14, 2019 17:14:38 GMT
andycd, Grimes, and 4 more like this
Post by Malri 'Taffeta' Thistletop on Jul 14, 2019 17:14:38 GMT
[Content note: self-harm, gore, traumatic memories]
1496 DR, 3 Flamerule
"Sunday? Are you, er, home?"
Walking slowly along the bank with the tall grass tickling her elbows, Taffeta thinks she must be close to the place her friend told her about. ‘Some glade by a stream near the forest’s edge just a few miles southeast of town’ Sunday had said, as detailed as always.
“Taf? Is that you?!” Sunday’s head pops out from behind a particularly large weeping willow. “I knew you’d find me! It’s just over here!” Sunday waves at her friend and disappears out of view on the far side of the tree.
Despite having ranged through many forests and woods on different planes, Taffeta is struck by the unusual nature of this tree. A typically slender species, this willow’s trunk is in fact incredibly vast and gnarled; its circumference would struggle to fit in the main room of Nerry’s shop. Looking up, she can see it stretch away into the sky rising at least 80ft off the ground, its many delicate tresses are hanging low over the dappled surface of the placid water and swaying ever so gently in the light summer breeze.
“If you'd told me to look for Kantas’ biggest willow I'd have found you quicker!” Taffeta calls out with amusement as she makes her way over to where she last saw the Tiefling. "Did you make it this big?"
Rounding the tree, Taffeta finds herself standing at the top of a small mound, its surface striated and broken up by a mass of sprawling willow roots. Below her is a hollow depression in the earth - a sheltered glade running from the base of the mound right up to the edge of the stream. About 60ft in diameter, the floor of the glade is soft loam and moss strewn with wild flora: bluebells, irises, Blazing Star and Cardinal flowers. In the centre is a ring of river stones, worn flat and smooth by the passage of water over time; a small fire crackles and spits inside the circle - a simple, box-like construction made from clay sits atop the flames. Resting against a low rocky outcropping by the water’s edge is a suit of armour, crafted from bark, and two identical hammers. A pair of giant red boots look like they’ve been slung carelessly to one side. Sunday - dressed in a simple, light-green robe with her long blonde hair tied up - has her back to Taffeta and is poking a branch into the box, muttering something in Infernal under her breath. It doesn’t sound overly polite.
“Did I make what this big?” Sunday calls over her shoulder, waving her free hand off to one side, “Find somewhere to sit, I won’t be long.”
"This!" says Taffeta, patting the trunk of the willow as she passes it. "Trees like this don't normally get much more than half this size. Nice place you've got here!" she adds, approaching the place where Sunday is doing… whatever she's doing.
“No!” Sunday wheels around and stamps a tiny, unshod foot, brandishing the charred stick at the Halfling in mock admonishment. “It’s a surprise! Go and sit over there!” She points imperiously at a low stone, roughly squared away, emerging from the reeds by the leisurely moving stream. “The water’s fresh, help yourself. I’m sure there’s a clean cup in the grass over there. Or would you prefer some tea? I grew the herbs myself.” Sunday beams.
"Oh, water's fine, thank you! Too warm for tea after that walk," says Taffeta, settling herself on the stone and setting her crossbow and bag down beside it. She looks around for a cup to drink from. "You know we aren't far from where that witch Granny used to live? So I'm told, anyway. Never went there myself."
Sunday moves away from the fire to a large, hollowed-out alcove set back into the side of the mound and starts rummaging around. The sound of clinking pottery can be heard before Sunday turns back with a clay plate in each hand, meeting Taffeta’s eyes with a half-smile and a nod. “Yes, I know. Well, I didn’t when I found this place, but I came across the site when I was walking around one day looking for firewood. It’s harmless now; and even if it isn’t, I’m here to keep an eye on things. Call it a penance of sorts.”
She looks around at the glade. “I can think of worse sentry duties to stand, though. And no, I didn’t grow the tree. The flowers in the glade are my work but Will arranged with the guardians of this wood to put this beauty here for me.”
She walks over to where Taffeta is sitting and hands her one of the plates. Her tail whips through the grass at their feet and comes up holding a cup, which she puts down on the stone next to Taffeta. Sunday goes back to the fire holding the other plate in her left hand and reaching into the clay box with her right. She pulls out a curiously shaped mix of pastry and vegetables, mashed together in a way vaguely reminiscent of a large pie. “Look! Nerry’s been teaching me.” Sunday sits down on a stone opposite Taffeta, and puts the pie and plate on her knees. Sunday extends her right index finger and a large thorn emerges from the tip; she uses the rose-blade to cut the pie in two equal portions, and - amid the steam and crumbs - a few suspiciously whole chillies fall out. “I call it Sunday’s Spicy Special!” And she hands over one half to Taffeta, who takes a careful bite.
As she chews, Taffeta's eyes start to water. Chewing becomes spluttering. She swallows, leans over to scoop up some water from the brook in her cup, drinks, refills, drinks again. "Spicy is right," she says. "Might want to ease off a bit for the next person unless you know they like it like that."
“I’m sorry, Taf! I forget you Materials aren’t as comfortable with heat as us Phlegethians. Is it really that bad?”
"It's… the thing is, it could be delicious, but I can't tell because my mouth is on fire!" Taffeta takes another gulp of water and then pulls a strip of pastry off the pie to eat plain, or as plain as she can get it, in the hope of soothing her tongue with starch. "Pftr's wll cwckd thw," she says, chewing.
Sunday claps her hands together and laughs merrily, the sound mingling seamlessly with the noise of the stream. “I guess it does need some work before Nerry can sell it in his shop.” She retrieves a second cup from somewhere in the grass, fills it with water from the stream, and leans back against the stonework behind her while Taffeta finishes her mouthful.
Taffeta's face gets a little more serious then, as she brushes a few crumbs off it. "Speaking of… you know… where you come from," she says cautiously, "have you ever heard of a ra… rashaska? Something like that?"
Sunday sits bolt upright, smile vanishing instantly, cup falling from her grasp, her gold-flecked purple eyes boring intently into Taffeta’s, tail stiffening behind her. “Rakshasa. Yes. Why? Is there one in Daring?!”
"No… not any more. That's the thing….”
“Are you sure?’ Sunday interrupts, “Are you sure it’s gone? Did it touch you?! Just their touch can curse you.”
"No, but I… killed it." She pauses, searching Sunday's face. "Paw says that might not be a good thing."
Sunday looks more worried than Taffeta has ever seen. In fact, this is the first time Taffeta has witnessed that emotion on her friend’s face. “Shit, Taf. When was this? Tell me exactly what happened and how you killed it?”
She takes a slow breath. "Okay, so a few days ago I ran into Paw in town and she seemed troubled. We went back to my house for tea and she told me about a lot of things that have been happening with her lately…" Taffeta hesitates, not sure how much of Paw's private business to share. "Anyway she told me that woman the 'Duchess' - do you know about the Duchess?"
“Yes, she provided me with some information about the Plague. Why?”
"Well, Paw said the Duchess knew something about an old tabaxi object, and she thought - I mean, Paw thought - it might be something to do with what's been happening to her. So I said I'd help."
“Paw’s involved with this Rakshasa business?” Sunday shakes her head, “Poor Paw… I’ve heard stories about the Rakshasa and the Tabaxi. None of them good.”
"Oh? What stories?"
“How they were one race, one tribe. Or at least related somehow. Before… before they split. How some turned their backs on the Cat-Lord and took up some foul practices. Sacrifice, dark rituals… cannibalism... that sort of thing. You know history isn’t my strong suit, Taf. Maybe Paw can shed more light.”
"The Cat Lord! So you've heard about that too… Paw seemed to think… I don't know. I can't keep these stories straight in my head. Anyway, we went to the Menagerie to talk to that Mister Allenby, you know, the Duchess's… whatever he is." Taffeta looks down at her hands and remembers the pie. She pulls another bit of pastry off the outside and eats it, cup of water at the ready.
"Seems like the Duchess had advertised for help because Baine, Tugark, Grimes, and Pieni turned up too. I can't remember, have you met Pieni? The blue bird fellow?"
“A couple of times. He’s very pretty. We all sparred last week. Me vs Baine, Grimes, Heret, and Pieni.”
"Heret? Don't think I know that name. Anyway, they were all there too, looking to get hired or whatever. The way Allenby told it, there was a merchant in town from Faerûn, name of Blackbrick. Bit shady. He'd got hold of some very old Tabaxi thing from some historian who found it in Paw's country, Wa. On an island. I didn't catch the name but I could tell it meant something to Paw, she was looking more and more nervous. Well, Blackbrick had come here to sell this thing. Allenby didn't know what it was but he said the Duchess was worried about it. Blackbrick was hiring extra guards and the Duchess wanted to… I guess she wanted to hire us to go and get hired by Blackbrick, but we'd really be working for her? I don't know, I didn't really care what she or Blackbrick wanted, I was just there to help Paw."
She stretches her legs out in front of her and looks up at the little pieces of sky scattered among the willow leaves. "So off we went to find Blackbrick at the Fair Winds. But when we got there it turned out he'd got impatient and left! Got word about someone wanting to buy this thing he had, and he rushed off to the old MacAdams warehouse to meet them. Well, turns out he really did need extra guards. When we got to the warehouse he and his guards were all dead. Only person left alive was a human boy, about my girls' age I reckon. Looked like he'd been sleeping rough in the warehouse. Poor boy was terrified, tried to run away - he even vanished for a bit, I don't know how, I guess he must have some magic about him. But Grimes and Paw tackled him and Grimes tried to talk to him. Didn't make too good a job of it, mind you, so I took over. Tugark gave the boy a bit of food and I sat on the floor with him and got him talking a little.”
All the time Taffeta has been speaking, Sunday is sat against the sun-warmed rock with her eyes closed, cross-legged and statue-still - apart from her hands, which are constantly playing with a woven bracelet of daisies and crocuses. Eyes still shut, Sunday smiles slightly at the thought of Taffeta comforting the boy. Once a mother, always a mother, she thinks.
"David, he said his name was. No family. He'd seen Blackbrick and his lot come in, and then some others attacking them. One had a sword, another was in some kind of robe or cloak. They moved very fast, he said. That was about all he'd say. I gave him a bit of money - that was Baine's idea, he's a good lad that one - and told him to find somewhere else to stay, keep out of danger."
A breeze blows through the glade and pulls gently at Taffeta's clothes and hair. She goes quiet for a moment, perhaps thinking about something. Then she stretches her legs again, stands up, and starts to walk slowly around.
"The others had been looking at the bodies. Some were cut, some torn, some were beaten. None of them looked like they'd seen it coming, Grimes reckoned. And Blackbrick's special box was there but whatever he'd had in it was gone. Pieni had turned into a pigeon earlier and was hopping around and found some stairs going down to a cellar or something, so he went down there and Tugark said the rest of us should wait. Did you know Tugark can talk to animals? Or he thinks he can anyway.”
“Taf,” Sunday murmurs, “The Rakshasa… please…” The Tiefling’s breathing, seemingly in time with the gentle breeze rolling through the glade, is steady and measured as she remains almost motionless. But Taffeta can see the floral bracelet in her hands is on the point of fraying from the constant twisting and turning; the only visible sign that Sunday’s internal mood may not match her apparently calm exterior.
"Sorry, Sunday. Well, the long and the short of it is: Pieni found four Tabaxi down there and one of them, the robed one, was standing in front of a floating red and yellow stone ball that was spinning in the air. Seemed like he was doing something to it, or with it. So we all headed down quietly. It was dark down there and I could tell Paw was getting very worried. Nobody seemed to have much of a plan - except Pieni maybe, but he was a spider at this point and only Tugark could understand him. So I told the others I'd try to put some of the Tabaxi to sleep and they should wait for me to light the place up."
Taffeta nudges a dandelion clock with the toe of her boot, sending a few of the little white tufts floating away on the breeze.
"You remember the oil I put on my bolts before… before we went to Arbiter's Promontory?" she continues. "That I put Nowhere to sleep with? I still had some, so I dipped some bolts in it and then slid into the fuzzy-" she pauses, trying to remember what Oriloki told her the fuzzy place is really called - "the eth-eer-ee-al plane for a moment so I could go in without them seeing me. The idea was I'd light up my driftglobe and then knock out as many of them as I could with the bolts. All started to go wrong pretty quickly, though. The one in the robe turned round and looked right at me even though I wasn't really there. Then I lit the globe up, that was okay, got it as light as day in that room. But when I started firing at the Tabaxi, two of them just snatched my bolts right out of the air, and the one in the robe got hit but didn't seem to be affected by the oil. So I, er, hid under a table."
Taffeta walks back to her rock and sits down again, opposite Sunday. "Anyway, all the others piled in then - including a whole load of apes that Pieni must have conjured up, and a double-sized Tugark wading through them. It was chaos. I couldn't see much from under the table but I had a line of sight to the Tabaxi in the robe. Paw was giving him a battering and he was getting angry. There was something strange about his hands. But he couldn't move - I think Paw had done that jab that makes people freeze up. Then another Tabaxi ran up behind Paw and started attacking her. It looked like she was in trouble. I couldn't get a shot at that one but I could see the one in the robe clearly so I took a couple of shots with the oiled bolts, just trying to knock him out so we could talk to him later. But it was strange - the bolts seemed to hurt him much more than they should have. Even though he was frozen I could see him shaking and straining, and he was making a horrible noise through his clenched teeth."
She looks into the stream, dappling gently over the stones. A small dragonfly hovers above it and then zips off sideways.
"I'd loosed the second bolt before I'd even realized the harm the first one had done. It hit him in the chest and that seemed to snap him out of whatever Paw had done, because he really screamed then. It was terrible. And he was looking me right in the eyes. Then he started just… coming apart. Glowing and flaking into ashes like a log in a dying fire. Pretty soon there was just a pile of ash on the floor.”
Sunday opens her eyes and slumps back in relief. “For a minute there, I thought… So it was a Tabaxi you killed? The one in the robe?”
Taffeta shakes her head. “I thought so at the time. The others were all Tabaxi. Paw and the others dealt with them – I didn’t catch what was going on, apparently Paw lost control and really started tearing into the last one before Pieni and Baine talked her down. They went to see Rholor and try to get the Tabaxi to talk, and to examine the stone. But before they left, Paw told me she was sure the one I shot wasn’t one of her people. She’s met one of those things before, she knows the smell. And the hands, she said something about the hands being backwards. She’s sure it was a rakshasa. And… she said they don’t really die unless you kill them in their home. They just come back… Is that true?”
For a long while, Sunday doesn’t react at all. She seems to be thinking something through. Eventually, she gets to her feet silently and slowly and takes a few paces out in the stream, standing ankle-deep in the middle of the water. She waits there for a minute… two… three… she looks about her - up and down the riverlet lazily meandering its way through the peaceful forest. She turns slowly, first few inches of her robe soaked in river water; she looks at the glade, the tree… her friend.
Sunday stands in the river, a look of despair slowly creeping across her face. A few, large bubbles break the surface at her feet. Then a few more; then a few more and more and more until the water looks like it’s boiling beneath the Tiefling. A faint mist starts to roil off the surface around Sunday, spreading across the river and stopping just at the bank’s edge. The hair on the back of Taffeta’s neck and arms start to rise as the temperature in the vicinity drops dramatically and the immediate surroundings go deathly quiet. “Um…?” Taffeta begins to say.
Suddenly, a column of ice and sleet and snow erupts from the water in a radius around Sunday and shoots 40 feet into the air. Taffeta’s ears are filled with the roaring of an arctic storm as hailstones the size of a Dwarf’s skull start slamming into the river, throwing up waves of shattered stone and ice. In the centre of the frozen column stands Sunday; eyes and mouth open wide - features contorted in a rictus scream - hands clutching her head. The Tiefling is clearly screaming at the top of her voice but the noise of the storm is all that can be heard. The shards of ice and stone rip upwards from the water, lacerating Sunday’s clothes and flesh alike with equal ease. She ignores these physical wounds. Her eyes are locked onto Taffeta’s; her face screaming in silent mental agony…
Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the column disappears, vanishing upwards into the forest canopy. For a moment: nothing. Utter silence. Utter stillness. Then, as Sunday - now naked and bloodied, skin shredded with bone and deep tissue showing in places - starts to walk back towards dry land, hundreds of snowdrops start to drift down from the sky, carpeting the floor of the glade and resting on the top of the water. Sunday passes a stunned Taffeta, wounds closing up as she goes. She moves over to the hollow in the mound and takes out a fresh robe. Throwing this over herself, she walks back to sit opposite her companion. Sunday says nothing for a while, watching the falling flowers pile up around them. Eventually, she looks up to meet Taffeta’s gaze, her expression one of primal pain mixed with resignation.
“Paw’s right. Like most things, they’re tethered to their homes - drawn back there against their will. But Rakshasas... even more so. They can’t be killed except on their original plane of existence… And that’s probably going to be the same place as my home. You see, my family kept them as pets in Phlegethos and bred them, loaning and selling them to other royal families in other layers of Hell. Chances are, if a Raksaha comes from anywhere in Hell, it came from the fourth realm. My family forced one of them to tutor me: to teach me how to hide, how to manipulate and trick others. That’s how I learnt how to wear the skin of other creatures as disguises. I’m sure it didn’t teach me even half of what it can do. Somehow, it escaped. It managed to talk and shapeshift its way out of one of Fierna’s deepest dungeons. Fierna, my aunt and the Queen of Phlegethos, was not pleased. She sent a few of us after it - me, my parents, my brothers and sisters, some cousins. We tracked it to a small village on the Material Plane but we couldn’t find it. My parents were so angry - scared, probably, of returning empty handed - so they ordered us to ransack the village; burning, eating, torturing everything and everyone we came across. Three days and nights they took. Laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing. I can still hear them laughing. That’s when… well… anyway… those things, Taffeta, Rakshasas; they’re almost impossible to put down, and they hold grudges like nothing I’ve ever seen before - even in the Nine Hells. It will come for you. Not soon, as it needs to heal and reform and plan. But it will come for you. Do you know anything about this one? Any information at all?”
Taffeta sits stunned for a moment. “Er… no, nothing. Only what it looked like, but if you’re saying they can change that anyway… But maybe the prisoner Paw took to Rholor knows more? Sunday… are you… you aren’t okay, are you?”
“I thought I’d left that horrific world behind me when I fled into hiding after killing the others Fierna sent with me. I thought I was safe from that insanity when I destroyed those who came looking for me later on. I thought I’d broken the last link with my past when the souls of all those I’d killed fled from Bad Manners and I melted it down to forge those two hammers over there. I guess I always knew I’d have to go back. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. Have you told Nerry and the girls about any of this?”
Taffeta looks around – at the rocks, the trees, the makeshift oven, the armour and boots, the hammers, all covered in curled white petals – and up – at the patch of the willow canopy now thinned by the ice-storm and still dripping – then drops her head. “No, not yet. I didn’t know… They aren’t in danger, are they? It’s just me, surely? I’m the one that killed it, or… banished it, or whatever I did. Right?”
The pain in Sunday’s eyes is slowly replaced by a look of sadness and pity. “I’m not going to lie to you. You deserve the truth. Rakshasas are vindictive and cruel. They will get at you however they can, but particularly in ways that will hurt you the most. It may try to kill you while looking like Nerry or one of the girls - or as someone else you know and trust. It... I’m sorry, Taf, love… but before it kills you, it may try and kill your family first and make you watch. It may even kill them looking like you.”
“Oh, Yondalla!” says Taffeta quietly, pressing her hands against her lowered head as Sunday continues.
“They’re not in any immediate danger, as it will take some time for the creature to recover; but unless we destroy it, it will eventually come for you - and it will keep going until one of you is ended. I don’t know how much you tell your family about the things we do, but until we have a plan I don’t think you should tell them anything. It will only scare them. We have a little time. Information is crucial now. We need to know more about this Rakshasa, although I fear… You said there was a prisoner?”
Taffeta doesn’t seem to hear. She’s muttering to herself, “Not again, not again. This is too much. We should never have come here.”
Sunday kneels in front of her friend, taking the Halfling’s hands in her own. This close, Taffeta can feel waves of reassurance emanating from Sunday, despite the grimace of emotional pain on the Tiefling’s face.
“Malri Taffeta Thistletop. Look at me. Look at me!” Sunday urges.
The other woman raises her head and vaguely faces her friend, still not really focusing.
“I will not let that thing touch your family. We will not let that thing get within a mile of Nerry or Aila or Rose or Idari. I know this town has treated you poorly at times, but the others will help. I am certain. If you want, you can eventually move your family into this glade and we can guard them. In the meantime, we will go and speak to that Tabaxi you caught and we will get the information we need. Then we will do whatever is necessary.”
As Sunday is speaking, the look of pain on her face is gradually replaced by an emotion that has not been seen on her features for a long time: a feral anger. Sunday’s crimson lips peel back in a snarl. Her perfect white teeth start to grow and sharpen. Her purple eyes lose some of their golden hue as a red tinge starts to creep in. Thorns and brambles and spines tear their way through the fabric of her robe and her exposed skin, stopping just short of her and Taffeta’s clasped hands.
“I swear to you on my true name, I will reach into the heart of the Hells and rip that thing’s soul from its hiding place and cast it into the void. And I will do the same to anyone who tries to stop us. I swear this to you on my name and in this place.”
With effort, Sunday slows her breathing and relaxes. The protrusions retract, her eyes return to their normal colour, and she slumps back against the stone still holding Taffeta’s hands.
“I swear I will do this or I will die trying.”
Taffeta’s eyes are now focused on Sunday’s. “I know,” she says. With a brief squeeze of Sunday’s hands, she stands up and tucks a loose lock of hair back into place. “Thank you.” She looks back along the stream, towards Daring Heights. “All right, let’s go and see what Paw and Rholor have found out.” She looks back at Sunday sitting there in her shredded green dress. “After you’ve got changed."
[Co-written with Sunday of course.]
1496 DR, 3 Flamerule
"Sunday? Are you, er, home?"
Walking slowly along the bank with the tall grass tickling her elbows, Taffeta thinks she must be close to the place her friend told her about. ‘Some glade by a stream near the forest’s edge just a few miles southeast of town’ Sunday had said, as detailed as always.
“Taf? Is that you?!” Sunday’s head pops out from behind a particularly large weeping willow. “I knew you’d find me! It’s just over here!” Sunday waves at her friend and disappears out of view on the far side of the tree.
Despite having ranged through many forests and woods on different planes, Taffeta is struck by the unusual nature of this tree. A typically slender species, this willow’s trunk is in fact incredibly vast and gnarled; its circumference would struggle to fit in the main room of Nerry’s shop. Looking up, she can see it stretch away into the sky rising at least 80ft off the ground, its many delicate tresses are hanging low over the dappled surface of the placid water and swaying ever so gently in the light summer breeze.
“If you'd told me to look for Kantas’ biggest willow I'd have found you quicker!” Taffeta calls out with amusement as she makes her way over to where she last saw the Tiefling. "Did you make it this big?"
Rounding the tree, Taffeta finds herself standing at the top of a small mound, its surface striated and broken up by a mass of sprawling willow roots. Below her is a hollow depression in the earth - a sheltered glade running from the base of the mound right up to the edge of the stream. About 60ft in diameter, the floor of the glade is soft loam and moss strewn with wild flora: bluebells, irises, Blazing Star and Cardinal flowers. In the centre is a ring of river stones, worn flat and smooth by the passage of water over time; a small fire crackles and spits inside the circle - a simple, box-like construction made from clay sits atop the flames. Resting against a low rocky outcropping by the water’s edge is a suit of armour, crafted from bark, and two identical hammers. A pair of giant red boots look like they’ve been slung carelessly to one side. Sunday - dressed in a simple, light-green robe with her long blonde hair tied up - has her back to Taffeta and is poking a branch into the box, muttering something in Infernal under her breath. It doesn’t sound overly polite.
“Did I make what this big?” Sunday calls over her shoulder, waving her free hand off to one side, “Find somewhere to sit, I won’t be long.”
"This!" says Taffeta, patting the trunk of the willow as she passes it. "Trees like this don't normally get much more than half this size. Nice place you've got here!" she adds, approaching the place where Sunday is doing… whatever she's doing.
“No!” Sunday wheels around and stamps a tiny, unshod foot, brandishing the charred stick at the Halfling in mock admonishment. “It’s a surprise! Go and sit over there!” She points imperiously at a low stone, roughly squared away, emerging from the reeds by the leisurely moving stream. “The water’s fresh, help yourself. I’m sure there’s a clean cup in the grass over there. Or would you prefer some tea? I grew the herbs myself.” Sunday beams.
"Oh, water's fine, thank you! Too warm for tea after that walk," says Taffeta, settling herself on the stone and setting her crossbow and bag down beside it. She looks around for a cup to drink from. "You know we aren't far from where that witch Granny used to live? So I'm told, anyway. Never went there myself."
Sunday moves away from the fire to a large, hollowed-out alcove set back into the side of the mound and starts rummaging around. The sound of clinking pottery can be heard before Sunday turns back with a clay plate in each hand, meeting Taffeta’s eyes with a half-smile and a nod. “Yes, I know. Well, I didn’t when I found this place, but I came across the site when I was walking around one day looking for firewood. It’s harmless now; and even if it isn’t, I’m here to keep an eye on things. Call it a penance of sorts.”
She looks around at the glade. “I can think of worse sentry duties to stand, though. And no, I didn’t grow the tree. The flowers in the glade are my work but Will arranged with the guardians of this wood to put this beauty here for me.”
She walks over to where Taffeta is sitting and hands her one of the plates. Her tail whips through the grass at their feet and comes up holding a cup, which she puts down on the stone next to Taffeta. Sunday goes back to the fire holding the other plate in her left hand and reaching into the clay box with her right. She pulls out a curiously shaped mix of pastry and vegetables, mashed together in a way vaguely reminiscent of a large pie. “Look! Nerry’s been teaching me.” Sunday sits down on a stone opposite Taffeta, and puts the pie and plate on her knees. Sunday extends her right index finger and a large thorn emerges from the tip; she uses the rose-blade to cut the pie in two equal portions, and - amid the steam and crumbs - a few suspiciously whole chillies fall out. “I call it Sunday’s Spicy Special!” And she hands over one half to Taffeta, who takes a careful bite.
As she chews, Taffeta's eyes start to water. Chewing becomes spluttering. She swallows, leans over to scoop up some water from the brook in her cup, drinks, refills, drinks again. "Spicy is right," she says. "Might want to ease off a bit for the next person unless you know they like it like that."
“I’m sorry, Taf! I forget you Materials aren’t as comfortable with heat as us Phlegethians. Is it really that bad?”
"It's… the thing is, it could be delicious, but I can't tell because my mouth is on fire!" Taffeta takes another gulp of water and then pulls a strip of pastry off the pie to eat plain, or as plain as she can get it, in the hope of soothing her tongue with starch. "Pftr's wll cwckd thw," she says, chewing.
Sunday claps her hands together and laughs merrily, the sound mingling seamlessly with the noise of the stream. “I guess it does need some work before Nerry can sell it in his shop.” She retrieves a second cup from somewhere in the grass, fills it with water from the stream, and leans back against the stonework behind her while Taffeta finishes her mouthful.
Taffeta's face gets a little more serious then, as she brushes a few crumbs off it. "Speaking of… you know… where you come from," she says cautiously, "have you ever heard of a ra… rashaska? Something like that?"
Sunday sits bolt upright, smile vanishing instantly, cup falling from her grasp, her gold-flecked purple eyes boring intently into Taffeta’s, tail stiffening behind her. “Rakshasa. Yes. Why? Is there one in Daring?!”
"No… not any more. That's the thing….”
“Are you sure?’ Sunday interrupts, “Are you sure it’s gone? Did it touch you?! Just their touch can curse you.”
"No, but I… killed it." She pauses, searching Sunday's face. "Paw says that might not be a good thing."
Sunday looks more worried than Taffeta has ever seen. In fact, this is the first time Taffeta has witnessed that emotion on her friend’s face. “Shit, Taf. When was this? Tell me exactly what happened and how you killed it?”
She takes a slow breath. "Okay, so a few days ago I ran into Paw in town and she seemed troubled. We went back to my house for tea and she told me about a lot of things that have been happening with her lately…" Taffeta hesitates, not sure how much of Paw's private business to share. "Anyway she told me that woman the 'Duchess' - do you know about the Duchess?"
“Yes, she provided me with some information about the Plague. Why?”
"Well, Paw said the Duchess knew something about an old tabaxi object, and she thought - I mean, Paw thought - it might be something to do with what's been happening to her. So I said I'd help."
“Paw’s involved with this Rakshasa business?” Sunday shakes her head, “Poor Paw… I’ve heard stories about the Rakshasa and the Tabaxi. None of them good.”
"Oh? What stories?"
“How they were one race, one tribe. Or at least related somehow. Before… before they split. How some turned their backs on the Cat-Lord and took up some foul practices. Sacrifice, dark rituals… cannibalism... that sort of thing. You know history isn’t my strong suit, Taf. Maybe Paw can shed more light.”
"The Cat Lord! So you've heard about that too… Paw seemed to think… I don't know. I can't keep these stories straight in my head. Anyway, we went to the Menagerie to talk to that Mister Allenby, you know, the Duchess's… whatever he is." Taffeta looks down at her hands and remembers the pie. She pulls another bit of pastry off the outside and eats it, cup of water at the ready.
"Seems like the Duchess had advertised for help because Baine, Tugark, Grimes, and Pieni turned up too. I can't remember, have you met Pieni? The blue bird fellow?"
“A couple of times. He’s very pretty. We all sparred last week. Me vs Baine, Grimes, Heret, and Pieni.”
"Heret? Don't think I know that name. Anyway, they were all there too, looking to get hired or whatever. The way Allenby told it, there was a merchant in town from Faerûn, name of Blackbrick. Bit shady. He'd got hold of some very old Tabaxi thing from some historian who found it in Paw's country, Wa. On an island. I didn't catch the name but I could tell it meant something to Paw, she was looking more and more nervous. Well, Blackbrick had come here to sell this thing. Allenby didn't know what it was but he said the Duchess was worried about it. Blackbrick was hiring extra guards and the Duchess wanted to… I guess she wanted to hire us to go and get hired by Blackbrick, but we'd really be working for her? I don't know, I didn't really care what she or Blackbrick wanted, I was just there to help Paw."
She stretches her legs out in front of her and looks up at the little pieces of sky scattered among the willow leaves. "So off we went to find Blackbrick at the Fair Winds. But when we got there it turned out he'd got impatient and left! Got word about someone wanting to buy this thing he had, and he rushed off to the old MacAdams warehouse to meet them. Well, turns out he really did need extra guards. When we got to the warehouse he and his guards were all dead. Only person left alive was a human boy, about my girls' age I reckon. Looked like he'd been sleeping rough in the warehouse. Poor boy was terrified, tried to run away - he even vanished for a bit, I don't know how, I guess he must have some magic about him. But Grimes and Paw tackled him and Grimes tried to talk to him. Didn't make too good a job of it, mind you, so I took over. Tugark gave the boy a bit of food and I sat on the floor with him and got him talking a little.”
All the time Taffeta has been speaking, Sunday is sat against the sun-warmed rock with her eyes closed, cross-legged and statue-still - apart from her hands, which are constantly playing with a woven bracelet of daisies and crocuses. Eyes still shut, Sunday smiles slightly at the thought of Taffeta comforting the boy. Once a mother, always a mother, she thinks.
"David, he said his name was. No family. He'd seen Blackbrick and his lot come in, and then some others attacking them. One had a sword, another was in some kind of robe or cloak. They moved very fast, he said. That was about all he'd say. I gave him a bit of money - that was Baine's idea, he's a good lad that one - and told him to find somewhere else to stay, keep out of danger."
A breeze blows through the glade and pulls gently at Taffeta's clothes and hair. She goes quiet for a moment, perhaps thinking about something. Then she stretches her legs again, stands up, and starts to walk slowly around.
"The others had been looking at the bodies. Some were cut, some torn, some were beaten. None of them looked like they'd seen it coming, Grimes reckoned. And Blackbrick's special box was there but whatever he'd had in it was gone. Pieni had turned into a pigeon earlier and was hopping around and found some stairs going down to a cellar or something, so he went down there and Tugark said the rest of us should wait. Did you know Tugark can talk to animals? Or he thinks he can anyway.”
“Taf,” Sunday murmurs, “The Rakshasa… please…” The Tiefling’s breathing, seemingly in time with the gentle breeze rolling through the glade, is steady and measured as she remains almost motionless. But Taffeta can see the floral bracelet in her hands is on the point of fraying from the constant twisting and turning; the only visible sign that Sunday’s internal mood may not match her apparently calm exterior.
"Sorry, Sunday. Well, the long and the short of it is: Pieni found four Tabaxi down there and one of them, the robed one, was standing in front of a floating red and yellow stone ball that was spinning in the air. Seemed like he was doing something to it, or with it. So we all headed down quietly. It was dark down there and I could tell Paw was getting very worried. Nobody seemed to have much of a plan - except Pieni maybe, but he was a spider at this point and only Tugark could understand him. So I told the others I'd try to put some of the Tabaxi to sleep and they should wait for me to light the place up."
Taffeta nudges a dandelion clock with the toe of her boot, sending a few of the little white tufts floating away on the breeze.
"You remember the oil I put on my bolts before… before we went to Arbiter's Promontory?" she continues. "That I put Nowhere to sleep with? I still had some, so I dipped some bolts in it and then slid into the fuzzy-" she pauses, trying to remember what Oriloki told her the fuzzy place is really called - "the eth-eer-ee-al plane for a moment so I could go in without them seeing me. The idea was I'd light up my driftglobe and then knock out as many of them as I could with the bolts. All started to go wrong pretty quickly, though. The one in the robe turned round and looked right at me even though I wasn't really there. Then I lit the globe up, that was okay, got it as light as day in that room. But when I started firing at the Tabaxi, two of them just snatched my bolts right out of the air, and the one in the robe got hit but didn't seem to be affected by the oil. So I, er, hid under a table."
Taffeta walks back to her rock and sits down again, opposite Sunday. "Anyway, all the others piled in then - including a whole load of apes that Pieni must have conjured up, and a double-sized Tugark wading through them. It was chaos. I couldn't see much from under the table but I had a line of sight to the Tabaxi in the robe. Paw was giving him a battering and he was getting angry. There was something strange about his hands. But he couldn't move - I think Paw had done that jab that makes people freeze up. Then another Tabaxi ran up behind Paw and started attacking her. It looked like she was in trouble. I couldn't get a shot at that one but I could see the one in the robe clearly so I took a couple of shots with the oiled bolts, just trying to knock him out so we could talk to him later. But it was strange - the bolts seemed to hurt him much more than they should have. Even though he was frozen I could see him shaking and straining, and he was making a horrible noise through his clenched teeth."
She looks into the stream, dappling gently over the stones. A small dragonfly hovers above it and then zips off sideways.
"I'd loosed the second bolt before I'd even realized the harm the first one had done. It hit him in the chest and that seemed to snap him out of whatever Paw had done, because he really screamed then. It was terrible. And he was looking me right in the eyes. Then he started just… coming apart. Glowing and flaking into ashes like a log in a dying fire. Pretty soon there was just a pile of ash on the floor.”
Sunday opens her eyes and slumps back in relief. “For a minute there, I thought… So it was a Tabaxi you killed? The one in the robe?”
Taffeta shakes her head. “I thought so at the time. The others were all Tabaxi. Paw and the others dealt with them – I didn’t catch what was going on, apparently Paw lost control and really started tearing into the last one before Pieni and Baine talked her down. They went to see Rholor and try to get the Tabaxi to talk, and to examine the stone. But before they left, Paw told me she was sure the one I shot wasn’t one of her people. She’s met one of those things before, she knows the smell. And the hands, she said something about the hands being backwards. She’s sure it was a rakshasa. And… she said they don’t really die unless you kill them in their home. They just come back… Is that true?”
For a long while, Sunday doesn’t react at all. She seems to be thinking something through. Eventually, she gets to her feet silently and slowly and takes a few paces out in the stream, standing ankle-deep in the middle of the water. She waits there for a minute… two… three… she looks about her - up and down the riverlet lazily meandering its way through the peaceful forest. She turns slowly, first few inches of her robe soaked in river water; she looks at the glade, the tree… her friend.
Sunday stands in the river, a look of despair slowly creeping across her face. A few, large bubbles break the surface at her feet. Then a few more; then a few more and more and more until the water looks like it’s boiling beneath the Tiefling. A faint mist starts to roil off the surface around Sunday, spreading across the river and stopping just at the bank’s edge. The hair on the back of Taffeta’s neck and arms start to rise as the temperature in the vicinity drops dramatically and the immediate surroundings go deathly quiet. “Um…?” Taffeta begins to say.
Suddenly, a column of ice and sleet and snow erupts from the water in a radius around Sunday and shoots 40 feet into the air. Taffeta’s ears are filled with the roaring of an arctic storm as hailstones the size of a Dwarf’s skull start slamming into the river, throwing up waves of shattered stone and ice. In the centre of the frozen column stands Sunday; eyes and mouth open wide - features contorted in a rictus scream - hands clutching her head. The Tiefling is clearly screaming at the top of her voice but the noise of the storm is all that can be heard. The shards of ice and stone rip upwards from the water, lacerating Sunday’s clothes and flesh alike with equal ease. She ignores these physical wounds. Her eyes are locked onto Taffeta’s; her face screaming in silent mental agony…
Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the column disappears, vanishing upwards into the forest canopy. For a moment: nothing. Utter silence. Utter stillness. Then, as Sunday - now naked and bloodied, skin shredded with bone and deep tissue showing in places - starts to walk back towards dry land, hundreds of snowdrops start to drift down from the sky, carpeting the floor of the glade and resting on the top of the water. Sunday passes a stunned Taffeta, wounds closing up as she goes. She moves over to the hollow in the mound and takes out a fresh robe. Throwing this over herself, she walks back to sit opposite her companion. Sunday says nothing for a while, watching the falling flowers pile up around them. Eventually, she looks up to meet Taffeta’s gaze, her expression one of primal pain mixed with resignation.
“Paw’s right. Like most things, they’re tethered to their homes - drawn back there against their will. But Rakshasas... even more so. They can’t be killed except on their original plane of existence… And that’s probably going to be the same place as my home. You see, my family kept them as pets in Phlegethos and bred them, loaning and selling them to other royal families in other layers of Hell. Chances are, if a Raksaha comes from anywhere in Hell, it came from the fourth realm. My family forced one of them to tutor me: to teach me how to hide, how to manipulate and trick others. That’s how I learnt how to wear the skin of other creatures as disguises. I’m sure it didn’t teach me even half of what it can do. Somehow, it escaped. It managed to talk and shapeshift its way out of one of Fierna’s deepest dungeons. Fierna, my aunt and the Queen of Phlegethos, was not pleased. She sent a few of us after it - me, my parents, my brothers and sisters, some cousins. We tracked it to a small village on the Material Plane but we couldn’t find it. My parents were so angry - scared, probably, of returning empty handed - so they ordered us to ransack the village; burning, eating, torturing everything and everyone we came across. Three days and nights they took. Laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing. I can still hear them laughing. That’s when… well… anyway… those things, Taffeta, Rakshasas; they’re almost impossible to put down, and they hold grudges like nothing I’ve ever seen before - even in the Nine Hells. It will come for you. Not soon, as it needs to heal and reform and plan. But it will come for you. Do you know anything about this one? Any information at all?”
Taffeta sits stunned for a moment. “Er… no, nothing. Only what it looked like, but if you’re saying they can change that anyway… But maybe the prisoner Paw took to Rholor knows more? Sunday… are you… you aren’t okay, are you?”
“I thought I’d left that horrific world behind me when I fled into hiding after killing the others Fierna sent with me. I thought I was safe from that insanity when I destroyed those who came looking for me later on. I thought I’d broken the last link with my past when the souls of all those I’d killed fled from Bad Manners and I melted it down to forge those two hammers over there. I guess I always knew I’d have to go back. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. Have you told Nerry and the girls about any of this?”
Taffeta looks around – at the rocks, the trees, the makeshift oven, the armour and boots, the hammers, all covered in curled white petals – and up – at the patch of the willow canopy now thinned by the ice-storm and still dripping – then drops her head. “No, not yet. I didn’t know… They aren’t in danger, are they? It’s just me, surely? I’m the one that killed it, or… banished it, or whatever I did. Right?”
The pain in Sunday’s eyes is slowly replaced by a look of sadness and pity. “I’m not going to lie to you. You deserve the truth. Rakshasas are vindictive and cruel. They will get at you however they can, but particularly in ways that will hurt you the most. It may try to kill you while looking like Nerry or one of the girls - or as someone else you know and trust. It... I’m sorry, Taf, love… but before it kills you, it may try and kill your family first and make you watch. It may even kill them looking like you.”
“Oh, Yondalla!” says Taffeta quietly, pressing her hands against her lowered head as Sunday continues.
“They’re not in any immediate danger, as it will take some time for the creature to recover; but unless we destroy it, it will eventually come for you - and it will keep going until one of you is ended. I don’t know how much you tell your family about the things we do, but until we have a plan I don’t think you should tell them anything. It will only scare them. We have a little time. Information is crucial now. We need to know more about this Rakshasa, although I fear… You said there was a prisoner?”
Taffeta doesn’t seem to hear. She’s muttering to herself, “Not again, not again. This is too much. We should never have come here.”
Sunday kneels in front of her friend, taking the Halfling’s hands in her own. This close, Taffeta can feel waves of reassurance emanating from Sunday, despite the grimace of emotional pain on the Tiefling’s face.
“Malri Taffeta Thistletop. Look at me. Look at me!” Sunday urges.
The other woman raises her head and vaguely faces her friend, still not really focusing.
“I will not let that thing touch your family. We will not let that thing get within a mile of Nerry or Aila or Rose or Idari. I know this town has treated you poorly at times, but the others will help. I am certain. If you want, you can eventually move your family into this glade and we can guard them. In the meantime, we will go and speak to that Tabaxi you caught and we will get the information we need. Then we will do whatever is necessary.”
As Sunday is speaking, the look of pain on her face is gradually replaced by an emotion that has not been seen on her features for a long time: a feral anger. Sunday’s crimson lips peel back in a snarl. Her perfect white teeth start to grow and sharpen. Her purple eyes lose some of their golden hue as a red tinge starts to creep in. Thorns and brambles and spines tear their way through the fabric of her robe and her exposed skin, stopping just short of her and Taffeta’s clasped hands.
“I swear to you on my true name, I will reach into the heart of the Hells and rip that thing’s soul from its hiding place and cast it into the void. And I will do the same to anyone who tries to stop us. I swear this to you on my name and in this place.”
With effort, Sunday slows her breathing and relaxes. The protrusions retract, her eyes return to their normal colour, and she slumps back against the stone still holding Taffeta’s hands.
“I swear I will do this or I will die trying.”
Taffeta’s eyes are now focused on Sunday’s. “I know,” she says. With a brief squeeze of Sunday’s hands, she stands up and tucks a loose lock of hair back into place. “Thank you.” She looks back along the stream, towards Daring Heights. “All right, let’s go and see what Paw and Rholor have found out.” She looks back at Sunday sitting there in her shredded green dress. “After you’ve got changed."
[Co-written with Sunday of course.]
