A being that HATES tieflings, and goes out of their way to hurt them, ends up in a temple. The magi (the cleric who is the scion of the god of that temple) sees the being harm a tiefling child, one of the many orphans there. And does the one thing that, to the hateful person, is the ultimate nightmare. The person wakes up having the form of the being they hate most. -- Anon Guest
Beware the hand of Justice. It strikes those who think they do not deserve it. Brook Stronginthearm did not think she deserved justice, but she got it anyway. With both edges honed to a deadly sharpness.
She first learned about it in the gutters of Distanbu[1]. Waking up with a splitting headache and a member of the City Watch locking shackles on her wrists. Didn't they know who she was? She rallied, ready to fight, with an indignant, "You dare lay your hands on me?"
She got a stun-wand to the face, and woke up in even more pain in a warded cell. The lit runes eliminated all use of magic, and even dulled physical strength or dexterity. A bored Watchman noticed her and smirked. "Don't try anything, devilborn. You're under a full investigation before you hang."
What?
"Don't you know who I am?" The runes dulled her mind enough to make her words, slur. No trickery was available to her either. Lovely.
"Yeah you're a stupid Tief who walked into the wrong city. You stole the wrong papers from the wrong person, and you're going to hang for it. Can't imagine why you would think that you'd pass for Brook the Mighty." He laughed. "Enjoy your stay while it lasts."
Brook could at least wash her face, so she did that... and found horns on her brow. Fangs in her mouth. Points to her ears. There were claws on her fingers. Hooves instead of toes, and a tail lashing behind her. Her skin was blood red. Her hair pitch black.
"What? What happened?"
"Shut up," was the only information she got out of the guard.
After most of the day waiting in misery (they spit in her stew. Right in front of her!) the Cleric turned up. Their divine aura... stung now.
"I believe this Tiefling innocent," ze said. "She is, indeed, Brook the Mighty, or Brook Stronginthearm. She is cursed by the gods."
"Cursed by you," sneered Brook. "Undo what you've done, you damn knife-eared fraud!"
The half-Elf deigned to notice her. "I would watch my words far more carefully, if I were you. Your life is dependent on the mercy and grace of others. You will find it very much rarer now."
The guard boggled. "You did that to a hero?"
"She abused and threatened the life of a charge of my temple," said the Cleric. "One I had invested significant months in therapy to assist. They've run off to the streets again. A cold an inhospitable place to their kind."
Brook remembered. A dirty little Tiefling brat, too long already in this world of the living. "I punished a thief and a villain for desecrating your temple, and this is how you repay me?"
"It is more than you deserve," said the Cleric. "Were it up to only me, the divine power would have erased you from life and memory... but my god says you must learn. In order to learn, you must live."
At hir prompting, the guard let Brook out and removed the shackles.
The Cleric gestured towards the door. Towards the street. "Go. Live."
Live as a monster. Live as an outcast. Live under a cloud of disgust, distrust, and dishonesty aimed at her because one look was all they needed to know she deserved it.
If there was any kindness of strangers, this body would be its acid test.
For the first time, Brook felt fear.
Out in the streets of Distanbu, there were hundreds of people just like her. Hundreds who would judge her because she was now marked as evil. Hundreds who would not treat her fairly. Or treat her at all.
She knew how cruel they would be.
"I don't deserve this," she repeated.
"No Tiefling does," said the Cleric.
[1] Once named Fanstantinople.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / prometeus]
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