#temerity blogs

[tiefling-temerity]

Juno is an...... interesting person, that's for sure. (Juno belongs to @sarcasticskeptic!!)

[tiefling-temerity]

The four of us, together. (But for how long? For what reason?) (Characters belong to myself, @mushygreens, @dennibun, and @sarcasticskeptic!!)

[tiefling-temerity]

@sarcasticskeptic has been drawing me lately. I don't know if I'm really this grumpy, but... Well, it's art and all that. Whatever. ((E, lemme know if you're not okay with these being posted and I can take them down! -Mod))

[tiefling-temerity]

Memories

My oldest memory is of my mother. I do not cherish it.

She was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way. It was the way that she entranced my father. He was in love with her power, and he believed he could change her for the better. When she left him, she left a shell of a bitter, empty man who devoted himself entirely to his god and not to me.

Never to me.

Father takes precedence in my next memories. He was a cold, callous man, with short, stubby fingers and a temperament to match them. I was only four years old when he burned the mark of his god into me, thinking foolishly that it could save me. I would not be saved. Instead, it would cause pain and grief and sorrow, and it would be one of the things to lead to me leaving him for a life that I hoped would be better.

It was not better, but it was more.

Acid seared my skin, because fire would not do the trick. I liked fire. Fire was as warm and comforting as the mother’s embrace that I had never experienced. The symbol of the accursed Helm stands shamelessly on my hip, and shall for all eternity, because I can do nothing to be rid of it.

I will never forget that pain.

As soon as I was old enough to run, I did. I was thirteen at the time, but I had stolen money from my father, little bits at a time, for years before. With pouches I had purchased to keep my supplies in, I ran, as far and as fast as I possibly could. I changed my name, and I changed myself.

The days blurred together, but everything I did only made me stronger. I had a companion for a short time. I do not remember his name. He was an old man, and he was the first to call me by my chosen name. Though I do not remember his, I was glad that he knew mine.

He died in front of me. I left him where he laid, and moved on.

Trust found me in a haystack, a little more than a year after I had left my childhood home far behind. She curled up against my warm skin, and when I left, she stayed with me. Eventually, we became companions. She has been the only creature I have ever been able to give my trust to, hence her fitting name.

The city of Granthius was new and exciting, though I did not expect anyone to be excited by me. I was correct. I was greeted with stares and whispers, and in the more unfortunate circumstances, the same vitriol that I had received at my father’s hands. I was only there a short time before I heard of the agency, the place that claimed they could find jobs for anyone, regardless of race.

If I were to make something of myself, something more, Gearbox Staffing was going to be my ticket to it.

[tiefling-temerity]

[tiefling-temerity]

As we make our way back out of the strange series of caverns, I take one last look around at the skeleton of the dragon, the shelves where I had found the drawn picture, the bed now mussed from our searching. It was all so strange.

I glance once more at the decaying body-in-arms near the shelves. I still cannot place the crest on his armour.

Coming back into the cavern filled with lava, I come to notice a slashed tapestry hanging on the wall. There seems to be one on either side of the entrance, which I neglected to glance towards before in my haste to see what was inside.

Peering at the tapestry fills me with nothing but hatred, dread, and fear, something that I have refused to feel for a long time. The symbol of Helm adorns both of these tapestries. It was the symbol of my father, and the symbol that he passed on to me against my will.

I can only take slight pleasure in noticing that these tapestries have been slashed, presumably by those who had come through before or by the allip in its sorrow-filled release.

Ignoring the rest of my companions (which was not a new feat), I make my way to one of the tapestries and reach for the torn fabric. Grabbing ahold, I manage to rip the tapestry with a loud, pleasing sound. A small smirk finds its way over my features.

It does not last long.

The fabric of the tapestry is clutched in my hand as Kava whirls on me, though I am more than past allowing a creature’s height or species intimidate me.

“What are you doing?” she demands, and I glare at her in return.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I shoot back. This only seems to antagonise her further, and I notice belatedly that she is standing in front of the other tapestry, her body angled so that it was very nearly all hidden behind her.

“It’s already been defiled,” she states, and it might have been a cry if not for the fact that this dragonborn is very good at keeping herself calm in the face of strange situations. It might have been impressive; indeed, it had been, on different parts of our strange quest. Or… series of quests. Now, though, I only feel annoyed.

“Why do you care?” My tone is sour, bitter. I do not hide what I’m feeling.

Kava seems to straighten up further, and something like wounded pride enters her voice. “I am a Paladin of Helm,” she tells me, and suddenly, I feel nothing and everything all at once.

Kava is a Paladin of Helm.

The fabric falls from my hand, flutters and twists its way down to the ground.

By the time it hits, I am gone.

I keep running.

I hear Kava’s voice. She is calling my name, first softer, then louder, as she seems to realise that I have no intention of returning to her or the rest of the party.

I keep running.

My voice has left me. I have nothing more to say to her. I have nothing to say to any of them. They may have been willing to work with someone so treacherous, but I am not prepared to sacrifice myself for such a wretched purpose. Not again.

I keep running.

---

Running.

My feet slap against the stone of the cave floor as I blindly make my way back through the tunnels, but I can hear nothing but the pounding of my heart in my ears. I can hear nothing but my father’s voice, loud and angry and rough, telling me all my faults, how my mother abandoned me, how he would never love me because of what I was.

I didn’t care then, about my mother. Why should I care now?

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

I whisper the words as I race through the caves, my breath coming in short bursts and my mind recoiling entirely from the possibility that someone I had been growing to trust could betray me just as he had.

Everyone will betray you. They will all leave you behind.

My breathing is no longer coming, and I’m forced to slow, and then to stop as everything becomes too much. I place a hand on the stone wall to steady myself. It is cool beneath my touch. I already miss the warmth of the fire in the cavern. I still can’t breathe.

I wondered if Kava could be like my father. Now I guess I know.

[tiefling-temerity]

On Family

People who cannot appreciate the families who want them will never be good enough. Once upon a time, I wanted a father. I never had the chance to have --or even want-- a mother.

But I wanted a father. I looked up to the man who had a say in my life. Or at least, I attempted to.

And then he branded me. He marked me in the most unforgivable way I could possibly imagine. I lost my father that day, although I suppose it’s questionable to assume that I ever even had a father at all.

It’s too late for me. I recognise that; I’ve known it for a long time. I will never have a father. I will never have a mother. Maybe I don’t deserve a family.

But there are other children that still have a chance. If my entire life is wasted, I won’t care. I don’t care much for adults. Parents aren’t worth it. But if a child has not been disillusioned to their parents’ faults… don’t be the parent who changes that. Reality is cruel and cold and bitter. It may be what I deserve, but other children…

They don’t deserve that. They aren’t like me.

[tiefling-temerity]

I didn't know I could dance.

I'm really glad that I can dance.