Better Days
From the World of Tivmir
I’ve written several other stories following this character, Yarha, all available on my Substack page, so if you haven’t read those they give more context for this.
For those who don’t feel like reading other stuff first (I get it), this is a short story I wrote based on my Dungeons and Dragons campaign, which takes place in a world of my own creation. Yarha is a Tiefling (think a “demon” archetype visually, tail and all, but not evil), Beau is a man she’d dated and a roguish thief archetype, and Xænovia is essentially a humanoid lab experiment.
There are multiple realities in this world, so there are other “versions” of characters we sometimes meet.
Technically, I have a few more stories involving Yarha I like that I’ve written. However, they’re unfinished and I don’t see myself finishing them, so consider this my last.
The sound of heavy doors slamming shut echoed throughout the Temple’s hallowed halls, sending gentle reverberations through the stained glass windows from which rays of sun poured through. The pair’s path through the library was illuminated so; their forms sprinted through the dappled beams of prismatic light.
“Surrender yourselves immediately!” shouted one of Jaydis’ Blades from... she ballparked maybe 20 yards back. “The High Lord may offer you a pardon if you... argh, blast it!” His tone changed immediately when a book Catapulted from a shelf into his head, staggering him and leaving a thick dent in his helmet.
The raven-haired Aasimar woman threw a mischievous grin back at them. “Don’t forget about the late fees!” Contrary to the chuckle she expected, the Elf a few feet ahead of her sighed, which only made her laugh herself.
Armor and weaponry clanked behind them, growing louder, the two thieves slowing upon reaching the door at the far end and rushing into it. The man pulled down the wooden latch behind them to seal it, looking around. They found themselves in what seemed to be an office. Judging by the piles of sorted books and documentation, likely the librarian’s. Open enough for some movement, but clearly not meant for multiple people to use.
“Um, Beau?! I thought you said there was a corridor here?”
“The blueprints were only a year old, there should be! We musta missed somethin’.”
Her amber eyes lingered on him, his face... Unspoken stress was etched into his features, a somberness to him she’d not felt before. “Since when do you miss something like that?” she tossed back, no judgment in her voice, only confusion. Pounding and the straining of wood filled the room for a moment and the Aasimar winced. The door should hold for a bit, but...
“Fine! Find Eral, have her just Fireball the Hells-damned door.”
Right. That. After frantically scanning the room for any feasible way out, she looked back at Beau, a deep-seated fear in her eyes. “He can’t get hold of me again, Beau, he can’t...!” A tremble began to run through her, fear sinking its deep claws into her and digging in. Her pale white hand reached into her belt pouch, pulling out a locket, shadows seeping out from within. Wordlessly, she clutched it tight.
Beau’s eyes softened as he looked over her, a pang of guilt clutching at his heart. He placed his hands on her shoulders, gripping firmly but not painfully. The slight quiver in her breath as she looked up at him, searching for anything, so afraid... It killed him that he had to do it.
“Hey,” he started, voice low and soft, the Aasimar’s eyes flicking between him and the door, trembling. “Look at me... Hey, look at me!” Those terrified amber eyes find his again, conveying trauma he knew only the surface of. “We don’t have much time. I need you to trust me. You’re strong, brave, and he’s just one person.” The corner of his lip curled up into a slanted smile as he touched her cheek. “He can’t control you, alright?”
Rivulets of tears began to streak her face, the woman’s normally seamless composure crumbling. “He can!” she shouted back, touching his forearm. “Why would you even say that when you know this...? The things he made me do...” A choked sob escaped her throat as she did all she could to fight it back. Her composure collapsed, and she let herself fall forward into Beau, clinging to him as if he would vanish forever upon letting go.
He ran his fingers through her dark, wavy hair and held her there a few moments, listening to the sound outside the door beginning to grow in volume again. They were almost back.
Bearing a small smile, he lifted her chin up and looked down at her again. “Everything’ll be over before ya know it, love,” he murmured, sadness clinging to each word. She looked back into his sorrowful brown eyes, confused and seeking comfort. He brushed a lock of hair out of her face, thumb gently brushing along her nose... before pressing into her skin, gripping her head.
“Beau! Beau?!“ As her face began to contort in pain she stared back wild-eyed as he closed his own, clawing and grabbing at his arms to pull them away. “Stop!“ A heat spread from her chest to her arm, her hand, and small flames began to lick at her fingers. But before she could cast, a
torrent of mana rushed through his hands and into her, half of her face flaring up in unbearable agony.
The cry that rang out from her as she dropped to her knees was heart-rending, causing even the Temple’s protectors to fall silent a few moments. Memories rushed back to her as her mind fell into disarray, feeling as if she were there again. Her hands bound above her as she was abused, the woman screaming and begging for the white-haired man before her to just end her life, her misery. Removing a jade-colored glove, his hand pressed into her face, flames beginning to engulf it, then a flash of white and indescribable pain...
While she curled on the ground, reliving her trauma among her shudders and trembles, Beau crouched down. Poor thing... he thought, looking over her pathetic state. It was a horrible sight, to watch her react to pains that were only in her mind, her past. “I’m sorry...” Gracefully, he slipped an onyx ring off of her finger and watched as her features changed. Her skin turned purple, the white of her eyes filled in with an inky darkness, horns sprouted from her forehead and he could see the shape of a tail wrapped tightly around her waist underneath her tunic. “It’s the only way to get my life back.”
He grabbed her arm, the whimpering Tiefling recoiling in horror, likely not seeing him at all, still lost in those memories. Prying her clenched fist open, the Elf slid the locket out, dropping it into
his own pocket. “Insurance, of sorts,” he reassured her as if she were listening. “I’m sure your Beau’ll find you, mate... otherwise, well, I’ll see what I can do once I’m in good with them. Once they need me.”
With that, he stood back up; Yarha reached for his arm, desperate to cling to something in her tempest of memories and emotions, but he tugged it away. “Sorry...” There was the sound of wood sliding on wood, then the doors flew open, several Temple guards stomping in, headed by the Blade. His grizzled features showed little expression, simply giving Beau a nod, followed by two Temple guards grabbing the girl by the arms to restrain her. She cried, screamed, bucked, fought, but was useless in that state, wracked by the episode she was in the middle of. The Elf couldn’t bring himself to watch them drag her off.
Mug shaking in her hands, Yarha took another sip of Infernal Brandy, its gentle burn on her throat a panacea for her troubled mind. A gentle breeze drifted by them from the window, moonlight blanketing the two on the edge of her bed. Her story trailed off, the Tiefling’s typically confident tone given way to something more vulnerable, quiet. It was hard to tell if that was the end of the story or if she couldn’t bring herself to finish it.
After some time, Xænovia opted to speak up. “I’m sorry that happened to you. It must have hurt, thinking it was--” eschewing words, he made a gesture in the sleeping rogue’s direction. The real one, she was able to confirm after a long interrogation while the rest were on the road. “So the scar.” His slitted pupils trailed over the burn mark that covered a third of her face, from her left cheek, over her nose, to her forehead. It struck him now, from her story, it was roughly the shape of a hand... “May I ask who he was?”
“Mm.” Another swig of ale, a noticeable slur turning her normally lilting voice into a clumsy tune instead. “I don’t wanna say his name. Spare him any space in my mind,” she hissed, knuckles turning white from how tensely she gripped the ale. “I feel... I feel like... I’m my own prison these days, if that makes any sense?” she chuckled wryly. “Holdin’ the key to my own cell, locked tight in the hopes I can protect myself from feeling.” A black-nailed hand touched her horn. Nervous habit.
Reaching out tentatively but so she could see and tell him off if she wanted, he lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. He may have only had a couple years of life experience, but by the Gods did his party members cram as much social drama into their lives as they could. It was hard not to pick up cues from watching them deal with one another’s woes and strifes.
After some deliberation, the Warlock spoke. “I don’t know if it makes sense, but I think I understand. To some extent.” He watched as Yarha uttered a curse in Infernal — the brandy was almost empty — and sighed, looking at him as he spoke. The hybrid was just Perceptive enough to notice the candlelight glimmering off the corner of her eyes; she was trying to hold
back tears, hiding it. He squeezed her shoulder softly, a gesture she returned with a subtle smile in appreciation.
“I’ve only read about Tieflings and your kind’s struggles, so I don’t claim our suffering is the same, but I know what it’s like to be captive, treated as a thing, a tool.” He could feel the familiar unsettling itch inside speaking about it, the same anxiety that welled up when people asked to ‘study’ him or referred to him as an ‘experiment’. But this wasn’t about him at the moment, so he stifled it. “I’m sure it’s sort of obvious, but I wasn’t born, I was created. M-23. I was the 23rd of a line of failed experiments... and that’s all we were to him.”
Yarha’s amber eyes trailed his face while he spoke, their faint glow more obvious in the waning light. She tried to read him, but stayed out of his mind. Even she had her boundaries. “Is he...?”
“Yes. I took care of him. Burned down the mansion and lab with him inside.” He raised an eyebrow as she giggled, wiping the corner of her eye.
“Sorry. Just... wasn’t expecting that!” she said through another chuckle. “I’m sorry. I’m glad he’s gone, though.”
Xænovia exhaled through his nose in an almost-laugh. “So am I. He’s in the past.” He looked to her sincerely, as if to drive the point home. “And that is all he is, a piece of the past. I’ve survived and become who I am in spite of him, not because of him. I found a new path to follow, others to trust who cared about me. And a purpose for myself. I didn’t know who I was until I was away from him.”
It didn’t take Detect Thoughts to see he meant every word; the sincerity in his eyes, his expression, was palpable. Yarha let out a long breath and hung her head, finishing off the last sip of her drink and setting it on the endtable that was still slightly stained with grease. “Huh. I... thanks. I like that way o’ lookin’ at things.” She offered him a half-smile, tail draped off the edge of the bed, finally calmed a bit. “You’re a good guy, I hope you know that. You’ll make a great friend. Or more, maybe, for some lucky person.” He gave her an appreciative smile back.
The enchantress stood up from the edge of the bed, letting out a sustained “mmm” as she stretched, legs grateful to move again after that tale. “But, like I said, that’s all just to get back around to this bad boy.” Her hand disappeared into her tunic for a moment and she pulled out the locket, letting it dangle, shadows still emanating from its enclosure.
Xænovia’s eyes narrowed subtly, looking it over. “Is that...?”
“Mhm. Your guy’s.” Those amber eyes seemed to look through him, as if looking beyond him at Noxtum himself. “Kind of... it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“I know what y’all want, and I wanna be upfront that I’m more than willin’ to part with this... I just... I can’t. Not yet.” Xænovia held her gaze quietly, waiting to see if she continued. After what they’d shared, he didn’t want to just take it from her, but he knew the Nocturne’s Lord was certainly listening. This made the locket, or whatever was within, one of only a few artifacts still intact.
“I don’t mean to rush you, but if you know who my patron is then I’m sure you know his power, and the lengths to which he’ll go for what is his,” he iterated to her, tone serious but not threatening. Yarha just nodded.
“I know. I think I’m... meant to seek ‘im out.” That took the warlock by surprise. “Tieflings and the Shadowfell share a, er... ‘storied’ history, we’ll say? We were his First.”
“First?”
“’First Children’, he called us. When the world abandoned us, he sheltered us in the night.” Though it was clear Xænovia wanted to hear more, she shook her head. “Long before my time, though, hun. None of this matters ‘til we’re safe, anyway.” She offered him an apologetic glance. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything I know the second we’re outta Port Sarol. There’s no point in addin’ stress we can’t do anything about.”
“If you say you’ll tell me then, I’ll take you at your word.” If she truly knew Noxtum — which she seemed to — she wouldn’t renege on that. Xænovia found it easier to trust unless proven otherwise than to mistrust everyone as much of the group seemed to. That was far too stressful an existence. If he misplaced that trust at times, he would deal with it when it happened, but it had paid off far too many times for him to become that cynical.
“Thanks, mate,” she said, giving her best impression of Beau. Silence hung in the ale-scented air of the inn for a time, both sitting comfortably under quietude’s veil. “Well. I don’t wanna mope, and there ain’t nothin’ that needs immediate enchantin’.” Peeking out the window to check how high the moon was, beginning to creep up into the night sky. “What’s say we head to that magic shop, Arcane Tide, and I’ll show ya what shoppin’ looks like when you wanna practice some new enchantments? I’ve a feelin’ we can beat the nighttime crowd rush.”
Xænovia stood with a nod. Why not? He was going to need to know these things. With a few steps over, he put his hand on the knob, turning to her with a small smile before they left. “How are you, by the way? Better?”
Picking up her bag and reaching for her ring, not quite slipping it on yet. It felt nice to be herself and... not feel the other person’s eyes constantly lingering on her features. “I’ve had better days.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve said that every time I’ve asked since we met.”
He was right. “...I guess it’s the answer I’ve been givin’ most o’ my life. Just...” She shrugged. “...the truth, y’know?”
“I understand.” He thought a moment, fingers still feeling the cool chill of the metal knob. “You’ll have better days yet, Yarha. You just have to make them.” Something about that must have struck a chord with her, as her smile grew, showing her fanged canines in a wide, crooked grin.
“Well, I guess I’d better get to it!” With that, Xænovia pulled open the door and they headed out into the chilly night to forge their own better days.