Actions

Work Header

Born to Hell

Summary:

Kal'Tashani is a young tiefling trying to find her way in the world. As the adoptive daughter of one of the lords of hell, she has high expectations for her path in life. However, the material plane is very different to how the textbooks described it, and a far cry from the orderly (if ferocious) Nine Hells of Baator. Follow her journey from hell into the prime material plane in this ongoing work...

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

1466 DR

The sky was dark and rain lashed down in dense streams occasionally brought to shimmering brightness by the lightning that flashed intermittent silhouettes of the ramshackle and tumbledown buildings of the River District of Athkatla. Rivulets poured down the mud-streets carrying sewage and other refuse towards the Alandor River from the wealthier districts above. The poor wretches who inhabited the haphazard slums could only be thankful for the reprieve that the rains gave them from the pervasive smell of filth that they suffered on drier days.

Up one narrow street, working slowly against the ankle-deep flow, struggled a pair of figures, themselves only occasionally highlighted by the bursts of light that flashed through the skies above their cloak-wreathed bodies huddled against the storm. One moved slowly with a wide gait, placing one foot before the other and stopping for breath every few, slow, paces. The other hovered, one arm supporting the back of the first, the other pointing, guiding, and encouraging. Its steps were more assured as it helped lend strength and balance to its companion.

Step by careful step they moved, pushing against the forces of nature to their destination, which the second figure gestured to with increasing frequency and urgency as the first stooped further and further beneath their cloak, as they fought the tides of effluent, and their steps became wearier and wearier.

Finally, they came to a low building, its walls made of dilapidated and ill-put-together planks and boards which clattered and banged against each other in the gusting winds. Its walls leant upon each other like a group of old drunkards, dependent on each other to remain upright and uncertain which was more likely to lose their footing first, bringing the whole sorry pile down to the ground. The roof was partly tiled in wooden shales, and partly in scavenged and rusted metal sheets. Where these were absent, hastily strung up sheets of canvas strained and billowed against the fraying ropes which held them to a structure that seemed likely to collapse at any moment, yet somehow never did.

The second figure banged heavily against a door that seemed to be made from a fragment of a barge hull, the wood thumping softly and wetly under the fist that hit against its rotten substance, the sound barely audible through the turbulence of the night. The first figure leant forwards against the rhomboid door frame, their shoulders heaving deep breaths.

After several minutes of trying to be heard, the ramshackle door finally opened a sliver, showing a thin crack of dim flickering light. The second figure shared words with the occupant, who, after a short moment, pulled the door fully open, allowing the pair inside before rapidly pushing it shut against the elements.

*

“Come, dear, quickly. Lie yourself down over here on the cot. The fire will soon take the chill off.”

The resident of the building was a human woman, her curly mass of dark hair shot through by steaks of grey and held back by a frayed and faded cloth band. Her tanned skin was weathered by years of sun and wind, but her hazel eyes were as warm and inviting as her voice, even if her manner was brusque, after waking at such an unsocial hour in such inclement weather. She wore flowing clothes made from a material whose woven patterns had once been bright and colourful, but whose colours had, like her headband, faded with age. Her arms were bared and as the two visitors moved over towards the cot, she pulled on a pinafore, tying the stained but clean garment at the waist before moving to pour water from a steaming kettle into a large basin in which she began to methodically wash her hands.

The two visitors removed their cloaks before one lay down promptly on the low cot next to the fireplace, letting out an uncomfortable grunt as she did, trying to keep her breathing steady and controlled. She clutched at her swollen belly with both of her scarred and calloused hands as another contraction gripped her, a soft moan escaping her thin lips, a pained expression broke across her narrow face as she looked across at the midwife, hoping for prompt attention. Her skin was dark brown, and her eyes were dark with barely discernible irises. Strands of black hair escaped from beneath a plain head tie, slick against her forehead from the rain.

Her companion knelt beside her, removing his cloak only once she was settled, a look of concern in his deep furrowed brow above a pair of deep-set green eyes. He was a pale man, his skin a faintly pink hue and showing much of the same abuse of manual work as his partners’. His face was dotted with the thickened scars of sun exposure and his hands showed several healing injuries atop many old. He wore a loose cap that covered his hair, but a thin knotted beard showed its black colouring. Once his partner was settled, he took one of her hands in his, holding it tightly as the latest wave of pain passed.

“The other side, if you please, Kesh.” The midwife requested as she sidled over from the basin, drying her hands on a threadbare towel, her tone firm but warm. “I’m sure Inira is thankful for your being here, but I imagine she’s rather I can get to work, wouldn’t you dear?” She asked as she came into eyeline with the labouring woman, Kesh swiftly shuffling out of the way in the crowded space.

Inira managed a strained smile before her eyes widened in response to the onset of another contraction and she sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth, a number of which were absent.

“Well done, dear. Just breathe deeply for me. You’re doing very well.” She looked across to Kesh, who was now settling himself on a stool on the other side of the cot “When did it start? They’re coming close together.”

He looked sheepishly back at the midwife. “I don’t know. I only returned from the dock an hour ago and she was like this. I brought her straight here.”

She sighed and turned back to Inira. “Has your water broken?” A small nod was her only response as Inira’s gaze seemed focused elsewhere, her breathing deep and fast as she tried to cope with the pain. “Very well. I need to examine you, is that ok?” And again she received only a slight nod in response.

The midwife assessed Inira briefly with the practised ease of someone with great experience, though paused briefly in the process, her brow furrowed briefly in thought. “You’re well along. I can feel the babes head and I’d say you probably reached the point where you should have started pushing a little time ago.” Next time you feel the pain come on, take a deep breath, then breathe out slowly, pushing down like you’re using the dunny. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Mathis.” Inira replied, her reedy voice already bearing the tones of exhaustion as the tightness eased once more, offering her a brief reprieve. Mathis, the midwife, aided her to change her position, moving her to kneel on the floor with her arms braced on the bed, staring straight across at Kesh who looked anxiously back, his hands gripped tightly around her forearms.

It wasn’t long before a further contraction came, and Inira bore down with what little strength she had.

“That’s it, dear! Keep going. Here they come. They’ve got lovely black hair just like their parents. Just one more should do it” Mathis said encouragingly as she prepared to receive the child.

Minutes passed in a flurry echoed by the raging storm outside and another round of contraction was soon upon Inira who followed the instructions closely, her whole body straining with a final effort until finally the pressure abated and she felt a release of the tension that had been building within her for so many hours.

The wailing of a babe cut through the room as the thunder continued to rumble outside and the ramshackle walls of the dwelling continued to shake. Mathis silently passed a swaddled mass onto the bed before returning to her work.

“Are they ok, Mathis?” Inira asked breathlessly as she pulled the squirming and crying bundle towards her, but the midwife remained silent. “Mathis?” a touch of anxiety now creeping into her voice. Kesh looked across the bed to try and make eye contact with the midwife remained kneeling, busy completing her tasks. The new parents looked at each other nervously before turning their attention to their new arrival who continued to demand attention.

Inira pulled back the rough blanket to reveal her child. The babe was skinny and long-limbed, its spindly arms flailing as they were released from the confines of the blanket. Its scalp was covered in an already thick layer of midnight black hair, and the underlying skin was a deep blood-red. Two hard prominences at its temples signified budding horns, and its tiny crumpled ears ended in fine pointed tips. A thin, whip-like tail was curled up between its legs.

As Inira drew it close to her breast it opened its eyes for the first time as its howling ceased, revealing black pupilless pits. Iniras’ head bowed and her shoulders drooped as she drew it close, allowing it to find its first feed. Kesh let his face drop into his hands as tears began to well from his eyes.

“You need to leave, devilspawn.”

Mathis’ voice no longer had the warmth of concern and friendliness it had held earlier, but was hard and cold as she stood up. Her face was a stern mask as she looked down at the family.

“Leave here and take your cursed daughter with you. Leave no part of your evil blood in my home.” She held out a cloth-wrapped parcel containing the afterbirth, dropping it before them on the bed.

Inira and Kesh looked up at the woman, fearful. “But you said you’d help us.”

Mathis's eyes narrowed. “I’ve already helped more than I should and only the gods know what misfortune I’ve brought on myself. You two are clearly fortunate that you’re so lightly marked by your blood, but your daughter is not. Now leave and do not return.” She moved to the door and threw it open, the wind outside snapping the door back so it crashed against the outside frame, the wind sweeping into the room and taking the warmth out of it, the candles and fire dimming in the gust.

Inira and Kesh looked at each other and Kesh quickly scrambled around the cot to help Inira up as she clutched their daughter. Inira was pale and the exertion of the evening had clearly taken a toll on her. She stumbled and hung onto Kesh as they shuffled out of the door and back into the howling night, their child’s cries carried into the whistling wind.

Mathis shut the door behind them and collapsed to her knees, pulling a chain from around her neck and clutching at a circular symbol depicting a road travelling into a sunrise, and began muttering a prayer, her words growing in volume as her fervour rose, until her voice finally broke into anxious sobs.

“Lord Lathander, hear my prayer. Protect me from those who bring evil into this world. Let your dawn wash away their darkness and send their souls back to the hell from which they came. Let your light burn away the stains they have left on those around them and cleanse this world of their presence.”

*

Inira and Kesh struggled their way back through the streets of the River District in silence, broken only by the still-raging storm around them and the cries of the infant. Eventually, they found their way back to their lodgings, barely describable as a shack made of scavenged timber leant against the rear wall of a warehouse on the docks, covered with a moth-eaten tarpaulin.

Cramped inside, Inira settled the little one as best she could as the child began to feed once more, finally quiet now it was otherwise occupied. She looked across at Kesh who was staring blankly into the space between them.

“What are we going to do? She’s so heavily touched. We barely manage to hide ourselves as it is.”

Kesh continued to stare silently for a time before lifting his gaze and releasing a heavy sigh. He lifted a hand to his forehead and pushed the cap off his head, revealing the remnants of two horns that had been broken off and filed down. Tears ran from the corners of his eyes.

“I don’t know. We’ll be cast out for sure. You saw the fear that Mathis had. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t tell anyone else about us. We can’t afford to leave the city – we can barely afford to survive as it is. Even if we did leave, how are we going to hide her?”

Inira looked down at the child once more, the little thing had tired herself out feeding and was now asleep, its breathing shallow and soft. She closed her eyes as she considered a possibility that filled her with fear and self-loathing. She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“Perhaps… we can spare our daughter the suffering we have had to endure and claim a better life for ourselves as well...”

*

The following night, the air was still and dry, the normal humidity of the coastal city eased by the passage of the storm.

Inira and Kesh sat hunched in their mean and squalid shelter, facing each other, their faces lit dimly by a single flickering candle. Kesh was winding a tattered strip of cloth around his arm, which gradually stained red as fresh blood oozed through from the fresh cut beneath. He layered the bandage until the seeping was controlled then tied it off. Before him was a small bowl in which had pooled some of the blood that had flown from the self-inflicted wound. He took it and, using his fingers, began to inscribe a circle on the ground between Inira and himself, before beginning to connect the outside with a number of lines, and to fill the central space with an array of glyphs and symbols. Inira watched him silently, cradling her daughter who slept soundly following a feed.

Finally, Kesh seemed satisfied with his creation and sat back, his skin even paler than normal in the flickering candlelight. He heaved a heavy sigh and looked across the small space at his partner, his jaw clenched.

“It’s time.”

Inira looked up, tears trailing silently down her cheeks and along her jawline to the fine point of her chin where it pooled into droplets before falling onto the blanket that swaddled her infant. She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded softly, before lifting the child away from her chest, and placing the swaddle in the centre of the inscribed circle. The infant, for her part, stirred a little, letting out a faint wail of protest at being placed on the chill ground, but remained asleep.

Inira and Kesh held hands, forming a ring over the child and mirroring that drawn on the floor, before Inira began to speak hesitantly in her native infernal tongue.

“Baalzebul, Lord of Maladomini, Archduke of the seventh circle of Baator, and great ancestor of my family, I beseech you to hear my plea. We offer you this new soul in the hope that you may grant us favour. We ask for your aid in raising us from our lowly station. We are but humble flies in your great swarm, take pity on us.”

She continued to repeat her plea to the dark lord, the guttural and sharp accent of the infernal tongue punctuating the silence in their small shelter. As the repetitions went on, she seemed to gain confidence and gradually developed a rhythm to the words, the repeated syllables almost seeming to shift and change over time, the pace of her chanting increasing with each cycle. Eventually, the percussive speech seemed almost to devolve into a rapid buzz that swelled and grew like a swarm of flies.

As Kesh watched, his hands gripping Inira’s tightly, he witnessed a gradual incursion into their small shelter. First, one small black fly settled on the sleeping babe, its fine carapace glimmering a dark metallic blue-green in the candlelight, but it was soon joined by others. More and more of the tiny insects flowed into the space and seemed to gather on the child until Inira’s voice was swallowed amongst the buzzing pests.

The sound of the buzzing seemed to continue to increase in volume. It ebbed and swelled until in his mind Kesh was sure that he heard words forming from it in that same infernal tongue that his ancestors had also taught him.

“You desire ease of life in exchange for this pitiful soul you offer me?” Spoke the voice. “You value her highly, yet give her away so easily.”

Inira continued her chant, entreating the great being to take their offer.

The buzzing voice filled the space and rumbled, as if considering.

“My blood deserves more than you can offer. I will accept your child, and in exchange I offer you escape from your current wretched existences. Take this offer or do not. There will be no other.”

Inira’s chanting ceased and the buzzing subsided as the flies settled on the ground. A silence filled the air that was almost palpably expectant. Kesh and Inira met each others' eyes, desperation plain on both of their faces and the hope of finding a better life for themselves too tempting to deny. Kesh gave a nod, and Inira returned it.

“We accept your offer, oh great one.” She stated.

“We accept your offer, oh great one.” Kesh repeated.

As soon as the words were complete the flies swarmed once more, a black mass swirling around the tight confines of the shelter, seeming to fill every inch of the space.

Inira and Kesh both began to gasp for breath in the claustrophobic confines bus as they did so could not help but inhale some of the insects. Fear filled them as they tried to cry out but the breath was taken from them by the crawling seething mass.

In a brief moment, the noise abated, and silence took the night once more.

The next morning, two tieflings were found dead in an alley behind one of the dock warehouses, huddled together within a rude shelter. Little comment was made – they had been poor creatures and their kind deserved whatever befell them before they brought ill-luck on the good folk of the city. They were disposed of quickly and the shelter cleared. Nothing of value was found in that place. The rags of spare clothes and blankets were burned. They were not missed or mourned, and nothing was spoken of them again.