"Please... tell me the story of one of the most difficult guests who had found this place to rest?"
~"Oh that would be Kormwind Arachis Felbourne Whitekeep, ninth of his name. Poor paranoid soul. Justifiably so. He'd been poisoned in a place he believed himself safe and did not handle the betrayal very well..." Rezzie furnished Wraithvine with a tankard of light cider and settled one of herselves nearby to relay the story of taking in a storm-bedraggled Hellkin with the disposition of a feral cat that had lost all their trust in the existence of kindness.~
@internutter/challenge-04629-l245-fated-rest -- Anon Guest
The Respite Rest - Rezzie to those who knew them well - had seen their fair share of difficult customers. This is the story of the Hellkin who came out of the rain. The first issue being that he was a being who had not known much in the way of welcome. He barely remembered his mother being close, and the only kind touch he had known since his exile in Teutonn had been one with a trap lain behind it.
Freshly betrayed, barely recovered from a truly nasty poison that should have killed him, and soaked to the skin, he was not inclined to trust anyone or anything. Except, perhaps, another Hellkin.
Even then, he was on his guard when Respite Rest appeared to him. He had fled from all civilisation, in that initial flight from his former place of safety. Rezzie had to stretch themselves to find a form that he would trust. Too many of his familiar faces were ones out to get him.
Except one from his childhood.
So she chose the face of a false Prince in exile, with different horns and a different hue. And, most importantly, a different gender and age.
"Enter and be welcome," they said, trying to sound warm and comforting.
Unfortunately for Rezzie, this Hellkin had an eidetic memory. He boggled at her, drawing the cheap sword he'd been able to acquire with the thin coin he possessed and dropping into a defensive stance in an instant. His yellow eyes instantly spotted the knot of Shai instead of the wheel of Freja. "What horseshit is this?" he asked. "What did you do to Tyrion Jacaranda?"
"We are the Respite Rest, a being both singular and plural. We were created by the Goddess of Fate and Destiny to protect and give shelter to those in dire need. This form is but one avatar for the comfort of our guests. Be not afraid, Shai has a great need of you and your influence on her threads." Rezzie gestured towards the inside, where others of all kinds were enjoying that which was on offer. "Enter and be welcome, take all the rest you need. No time passes beyond the front door."
"Then I'll wait out the storm in your stables," he said, still on guard. "My first lesson in defence was that only a fool or a novice goes in by the front door. I am neither... 'madam'."
"If that is your comfort," Rezzie allowed, "We will meet you there, too."
The Rezzie who met him in the stable looked a lot younger than the maternal/grandparent, and had a more generic face. Though for his comfort, Rezzie appeared as a Hellkin. Again, more generic than the greeter form. They were brushing down one of the horses as the dripping wet Hellkin dragged himself in. His Martialist uniform plastered against to him, highlighting his relatively emaciated form. All lean and wiry muscle, and almost no fat.
"Ah! Sir! The people entrance is in front. This is for the animals."
Unfortunately for Rezzie, the Hellkin was as perceptive and insightful as -well- hell. "You're the same thing as whatever it was in front. What kind of fae fuckery is going on?"
Rezzie-the-child sighed at him. "If we were fae, you'd be cursed for refusing our hospitality."
"I'm cursed anyway. I doubt I'd know the difference." He found a pile of uninhabited hay and flopped down and wrung out his hair. If he knew that the hay had been created for him, he gave no sign. He swiped water off his arms before he dug in his pack for a rag.
"I could fetch you some stew," offered Rezzie.
"I know better than to take fae food," he said, "or to trust anyone who's too welcoming to a Hellkin." He was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that was a mask for a lifetime of screaming and tears. "There's always a catch to kindness."
Rezzie took up a seat on a crate. "You want a trade, then. Questions and answers. I ask, you answer. You ask, I answer. Truth for truth."
"Fair exchange?" He nodded. "Ask."
"What's your deal? Why are you so edgy?"
"One question at a time, I think."
"Fine. What's got you on edge?"
He glanced left and right, seeking extra ears. "I was poisoned in a place of safety. There's a limited number of options why, and infinite options for whom." He considered Rezzie with a guarded expression in his eyes. "Why is it so important for me to go inside?"
"Sai needs your weight on her threads, your destiny is important. You will change the world. But only if you're rested and healthy tomorrow morn."
He scoffed. "T'cha... And I'm the Thrice Sworn King." A common expression of doubt. That entity had been foretold since the Age of Elves and the beginnings of slavery. How little did he know that he spoke his own future. "Your turn," he said.
Given what he'd just said... "Do you have the gift of prophecy?"
Again with that mask of a grin. "If knew my future, I would not let myself be poisoned." Now his eyes were calculating, "Why do you ask?"
"Our goddess plays games with folk who say certain things. We thought this might be one such trick." And because their job was hospitality, they asked, "What food would you trust?"
"Anything made by mortals who don't know I'm eating it," he said. "What must I pay for it?"
"The answers are payment enough, but we think you would not trust that much as payment. Am I correct?"
"Fair pay for fair work, ja," he said. "No god has ever done me any favours in my life. Not even when I prayed for them. Why Sai, now?"
"Lives are in the balance," said Rezzie. "One thread cut short could spoil the will of all gods. Your life is more important than you think."
"I'd have expected more blessings if I were that important."
"Your experiences have shaped why you're important. Sai needs a virtuous man, even if he is in the skin of a devil."
"Sai would know who poisoned me."
"You learn that on your wedding day. I can't tell you more."
Finally, the Lord Viscount Kormwind Arachis Felbourne Whitekeep, ninth of his name, said. "If you have rations, I will buy them."
"At discount?" offered Rezzie.
"Fair pay for fair work," repeated his lordship. A virtuous man indeed.
[Photo by Haim Charbit on Unsplash]
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