Cursed

Cursed? That actually sounds like a good name for a novel series. Too bad it's probably already been taken. Oh well, I'm sure I'll think of something. Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons? Yes, well I think some of the things in it are pretty cool. It's almost like a collaborative effort to make a story.

The following story is inspired by Dungeons and Dragons a bit, but it doesn't have anything to do with any personal experience in D&D. I don't think I or anyone I've played with has ever played as a tiefling, but that's what this story is about. Tieflings are fiendish humanoids that can be born to either human parents or to other tieflings. I'll probably write more stories with these characters.

These Tieflings are normal Teenagers.

Aqalyre (He; Blind). Red-purple straight reptile tail with barbed hide, cloven hooves for feet and hands; single horn protruding from center of face, sort of like a rhinoceros.

Sompiah (He; Crippled). Gray-blue forked tail and bat-like wings; normal humanoid feet and hands; two devilish horns on forehead.

Nos-latté (She; Deaf). Yellow-orange with four arms, each arm has two elbows; bird-like talons for feet and hands; over the normal humanoid mouth is a pair of mandibles lined with teeth.

Myapariah (She; Mute). Dark green and black marbled skin with a lion’s mane and a live serpent for a tail; lion paws for feet and hands; the only teeth in its mouth are jutting fangs, the jaw can detach for the mouth to open horribly agape.

Sompiah opened his eyes. The lichen beneath him, wet and soft against his skin. He glances around in the darkness, barely making out the gray shadowy surroundings. Stone and moss as far as he can see, which isn’t very far. For someone else, it might have felt cold, but Sompiah is right at home in the damp moss-ridden caverns of the Underdark. He feels around in the darkness, grasping at the silhouettes of lumps on the ground surrounding him. But the lump he touches is merely a rock. He shakes his head and reaches for the human-sized lump on his side. This time, his hands are pricked by spikes. He pulls his hand back in pain and muffles his own cry. After breathing deeply, he reaches for another lump. He feels a smooth rope coiled up against it. But as his hands grip around the rope, it begins to writhe and hiss. The man-sized lump rises to its two furry hind legs, which end in paws.

A flickering flame ignites, hovering in the front paws of the bipedal creature that has a snake for a tail. Sompiah can now make out the squinting eyes of the inhuman creature in front of him. With fire in its right arm, it lays its left arm like a plank across its chest then lowers its right hand with the flame beneath the left arm, extinguishing the flame. It’s still night. Sompiah nods, he feels embarrassed for waking Myapariah in the middle of the night. It’s just… he woke up because he could have sworn he had heard something. But he’s never heard anything like it before. The deep thump of something massive crashing and causing the whole cavern to shake. Surely, that was just a dream or everyone else would have woken. Sompiah settles back down on the lichen. Even before he closes his eyes, he can hear the hissing snore of Myapariah already sound asleep.

As he lies there on the ground, a thought twitches in his mind. Why was Myapariah the only one awake? He couldn’t shake the feeling that there is supposed to be someone else awake. Then realization hits like a painful sting and he sits up straight. And looks around apprehensively. The only sound he can hear is the soft hissing of Myapariah’s snake tail. But Nos-latté is supposed to be on watch. Where is she?

He grabs and vigorously shakes the man-sized lumps on the ground. He draws blood as his hand is scratched by the spikes of Aqalyre, he really should be more careful when trying to wake Aqalyre. He shakes the stone that is right next to Aqalyre, but then he realizes it’s a stone and moves on to Myapariah. However, Myapariah wakes up and stands up on her own. She taps both of her forearms twice, and her face expresses fear. Forearms. Four arms. Nos-latté. She notices it too. Sompiah stares down at the rock that he kept reaching for when he was searching for his friends. Myapariah ignites fire in her paw and she leans down towards the stone. In the flickering light of the flame, Sompiah can now make out the shape of the stone.

The man-sized stone under closer inspection and brighter illumination, is indeed their four-armed friend, Nos-latté. Two of her talons are covering her face. There is only a slight sliver open where you can see her terrified eyes wide open. Her other two talons are reaching to her sides where Sompiah and Aqalyre were sleeping. “If she’s a stone…” Sompiah says, lips quivering, “Then we need to keep our eyes closed or we’ll end up like her.” Myapariah nods and Aqalyre grins. Aqalyre’s voice crumbles out like he’s gargling gravel. “I’ll carry Nos-latté and lead us to safety.” He says, “Just follow the sound of my voice.”

Sompiah puts an arm around Myapariah and leans on her for her support as he limps after the sound of Aqalyre’s voice. Aqalyre makes sure to stay close to his companions as he leads the group. Sompiah is still recovering from his injury. It might be another week or two before he is fully recovered. He barely even notices his broken bones anymore, as he squeezes his eyes shut, stumbling after Aqalyre’s voice. They just need to find a basilisk, kill it, and pour the contents of its stomach out upon Nos-latté.

Sompiah can’t stop thinking about his dream. Such a thunderous sound, so loud that his ears hurt. Sompiah is pondering this dream as he walks, but then his foot hits a rock and trips, sending Myapariah crashing down as well. They open their eyes to get their bearings and rise to their feet, but then they see the rock they tripped over. Sompiah quivers and Myapariah covers her face with her paws. It’s a petrified giant fire beetle. It no longer gives off light, being made purely of stone. It’s head is missing, a bite mark remains where its head once was.

Sompiah and Myapariah squeeze their eyes closed again. “Are you two alright?” Aqalyre asks from in front of them. Sompiah answers on behalf of Myapariah, “We’re fine. We just tripped.” Aqalyre continues forward, speaking as he travels so they can follow the sound of his voice. Growl of a monster echoing through the cavern. They must be close. Aqalyre stops speaking, making him difficult to follow. He wants to warn Aqalyre that he doesn’t know where he is, but he doesn’t want to speak because then the basilisk will surely hear him.

So Sompiah follows the sound of Aqalyre’s hooves against the stoney ground. Sompiah follows the echoing sounds in the cavern. He can barely keep his eyes shut as he almost tumbles over another stony lump on the ground. “We’re almost there.” Aqalyre’s voice grumbles from in front of them, “This wall is smooth and flat. The cracks are straight and evenly spaced.” Sompiah sighs in relief. It sounds like Aqalyre has found the basilisk den. Those sick monsters live in the homes of those they’ve petrified. You know it’s a den when it appears to be an abandoned house. Everything is just as they left them. Stone statues of the family members stuck in the middle of their activity. Cooking over a long dead fire, playing with a child that is no longer present, clapping with laughter at a show that has long been forgotten. And the worst part, chunks have been bitten out of these statues. It is always the same. It is part of why Sompiah always keeps his eyes closed while he explores basilisk dens.

“Put your hand up against this wall and follow it.” Aqalyre says, “There is an entrance here, a doorway.” Sompiah transitions to the wall, leaning on that instead of Myapariah. She must be sore after helping him limp along for so long. Myapariah follows behind him. Aqalyre’s hoofsteps are comforting. But stomping deeper down the hallway, that sound is not comforting. They’re close now. Grains of gravel crumble off the wall as Sompiah’s hand slides along the surface. Aqalyre’s stops in front of Sompiah. “We’re here. I hear movement up ahead.” Aqalyre whispers, “Ugh, those growls. It almost sounds like it’s speaking.”

Sompiah can hear the gargling voice echoing through the doorway to the room in front of them. Having his eyes closed for so long now, he can almost tell by the resonance that it’s coming from a spacious area. But it doesn’t sound like the slithering growls that he associates with basilisks. Could it be a medusa instead? Aqalyre whispers in Sompiah’s ear. “It’s right there.” He whispers, “Are you all ready?” Sompiah and Myapariah whisper approval and Aqalyre counts them down.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

Aqalyre gallops forwards at full speed, barreling towards the gargling voice. Sompiah ignores the pain and sprints forward, causing his muscles to scream out in agony. Myapariah’s paws ignite with flame as she prowls along the wall, leaving a trail of embers in her wake. Nos-latté lies motionless on the ground, as still as a statue. Sompiah hears a thud as Aqalyre tackles the monster to the ground. Sompiah unsheathes his handsaw and begins to push it back and forth on the body of the beast. But something isn’t right. He’s cutting through it so easily. He expected basilisk scales to be tougher. Myapariah catches up and sparks it alight. The flames are so hot. It’s burning. The basilisk is burning. The gurgling sounds it makes are becoming more coherent. “Stop. Stop!” It screams.

“Is it a medusa?” Sompiah asks, tempted to open his eyes to see what they are attacking. Aqalyre pulls back. “Oh dear.” He says, “Stop it! This didn’t petrify Nos-latté!” Sompiah lets go of the handsaw and moves back. If this didn’t petrify Nos-latté, then it must be safe to open his eyes. But Sompiah doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t want to see who they attacked by mistake. He doesn’t want to see what innocent blood was shed because they attacked with their eyes closed.

“Agh! It burns!” The voice screeches. Sompiah can smell burning flesh. It’s still on fire. “Quickly, put out the fire!” Sompiah shouts. He finally snaps his eyes open to see the terribly charred corpse doesn’t look like it should be alive as it writhes on the ground. Boils and bandages. No skin to speak of, barely any muscle, the cloth scraps immolating the creature alive. The handsaw sticking into its thigh. The being appears to be in utter agony, and Sompiah is wracked with guilt. Sompiah hears a shriek as Myapariah opens her eyes and sees who they’re hurting. The fire goes out in an instant as she releases her infernal inferno.

With the fire gone, the room goes dark. In the few seconds of light when his eyes were open and the person was burning, Sompiah could see basilisks in the room. There must have been at least seven of them. He’s never seen so many in one place. They’re solitary hunters and incredibly territorial. He’s surprised that there is anybody even alive here with so many basilisks around. Myapariah ignites a small flame in her hand, barely any light at all. He probably would have seen just as well in pitch darkness. Myapariah approaches the humanoid body to see if it’s still alive. Sompiah keeps his eyes on the ground, searching for movement in his peripherals. “I thought I saw basilisks here.” Sompiah says, “Keep your eyes low.”

Myapariah nods, and touches the flayed corpse. “I think it’s dead.” She says sadly, “It’s terribly mutilated. Did we do that?” Sompiah considers. He may have sawed into its thigh and Aqalyre might have knocked it to the ground, and even with fire, it shouldn’t be so horribly disfigured as it appears in the firelight. “It must have been harmed by the basilisks.” Sompiah says, “We need to be careful, I saw so many basilisks.” He hears hoofsteps approaching and flinches until he sees Aqalyre’s silhouette.

“Sompiah, there’s no movement. I’d notice.” Aqalyre says. Sompiah can’t help but agree that nothing is moving. Maybe he had been wrong. Or maybe the basilisks turned each other to stone? He moves towards where he had seen one of the basilisks. He keeps his eyes closed. He puts his hand out… nothing bites him. His arm is unharmed. He keeps reaching forward until he hits a scaly surface. Not stone, it’s still flesh and scale. But it’s cold. It’s stiff. It’s dead. “Are the basilisks all dead?” Sompiah wonders aloud. Myapariah makes a bonfire, lighting up the room and Sompiah risks opening his eyes. Sure enough, the basilisks are all lifelessly stiff.

“Well, this makes things a lot easier.” Aqalyre says, “This person we accidentally killed must have cleared this basilisk nest for us.” Sompiah feels even more guilty. But there is nothing to be done about it now. He works with Myapariah and Aqalyre to harvest the stomach from the basilisks. They’re stomach acid reverses the petrification process. Slowly, Nos-latté returns to living flesh. The four armed tiefling stretches as she awakens.

Nos-latté cries tears of joy, streaming dwn her mandibles as she pats her chest and gestures towards her friends. Sompiah translates for Aqalyre, who can’t see Nos-latté’s arm movements. “Nos-latté thanks us for saving her.” Sompiah says. His voice cracks as he says that, and he is once again glad that Nos-latté can’t hear his voice. Sompiah fears that if Nos-latté had ears, she would surely make fun of his voice. Nos-latté taps her mandible with the middle claw of her talon and points between Sompiah and herself.

Sompiah sighs. Myapariah giggles, a coarse, guttural sound due to her lack of tongue and teeth. Sompiah translates for Aqalyre, though his voice is dull and monotone. “Nos-latté says that my luck must be rubbing off on her.” Aqalyre laughs. “Yeah, that type of stuff usually only happens to you.” Sompiah rolls his eyes, knowing that Aqalyre can’t see his eye roll.  Sompiah hears shuffling from behind him. He turns around to see the grotesque corpse rising to its feet, its thigh is halfway sawed through. Sompiah says, waves his arms and points at the creature and says, “It’s not dead! It’s not dead!”

“No. I’m not dead.” The gargling voice comes from through a hole where its broken jaw moves up and down out of sync with its voice, “But you disrespectful invaders will be dead.” Sompiah cries out. “Wait, we’re so sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt you. We were trying to hunt the basilisks to save our friend, but it was dark and our eyes were closed and we got you instead.” Sompiah soon finds himself stumbling over his words as he practically grovels to this creature. This creature who clearly killed these basilisks all by itself. This creature who they clearly have no power to kill. This creature who holds their very lives in its hands.

“Very well, dross of the dump.” The corpse-like creature says, “I shall spare your lives, but you shall not be unpunished! For I am Tassoteff, Mummy Lord from before the Ordning. I remember when primoridals walked the land, and dragons and giants were at peace with each other. I have seen the fall of the Netheril, I have cast spells beyond 9th level. I was present when the gods forsook the land and all magic was cast out. I have survived countless cataclysms and world-threatening events. I will not allow my sanctum to be tarnished by children without correction.” Myapariah trembles with fear. Aqalyre has fallen to his knees. Sompiah no longer has the power to stand. Nos-latté huffs at how boastful this creature is.

“Please, don’t hurt us. It was an accident.” Sompiah says, “It’s just my luck for something like this to happen to me.” The mummy lord stares at him, and Sompiah can feel the blood drain from his face as he is paralyzed with fear. “You do not have bad luck, you merely lack good luck.” The mummy lord says, “I bestow upon you an abundance of luck, dreadful luck. Your every action shall bring about misfortune.” Sompiah doesn’t feel any different but now that he has been cursed, the mummy lord seems to be losing his patience, as the situation goes from bad to worse.

Aqalyre growls in anger but catches himself. The glowing red eyes of the mummy lord turn upon him. “As for you, spiky fiend, I didn’t appreciate how physical you got with me back there.” The mummy lord says, “For your tendency to tackle, your very touch will betray you. You will destroy all that you touch. Nothing but magic will withstand contact.”

Myapariah hides behind Nos-latté. Nos-latté on the other hand, steps forwards. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing!” She says, “It’s not their fault that this happened. It’s those basilisks! They looked me in the eyes and turned me to stone.” A horrifying smile widens on the charred face of the mummy lord. Wicked tiny teeth, few and spaced out, dot the gums of its mouth. “Don’t worry, loud one.” The mummy lord says, “You won’t ever have to worry about a basilisk looking you in the eyes. For no one will ever look you in the eyes again! You will be overlooked, passed by, ignored, left behind. You will be forgotten.” Nos-latté goes red with rage. “What? No! You can’t-”

The mummy lord ignores Nos-latté and stares down Myapariah who is peeking from behind the screaming tiefling. Myapariah shrinks back even further, uncomfortable under his gaze. “What’s wrong, young one? Are you shy?” The mummy lord asks with mock tenderness, the snake-tailed tiefling simply squeaks incoherently in response, unable to form words due to her lack of tongue and teeth, “Well, in that case, you’ll be the center of attention no matter where you go! All who look upon you will wish to meet you, speak with you. Crowds will mob you, follow you, and you will never be left alone!” Everyone turns to face Myapariah and she goes pale, covering her face with her paws. “Mwahaha! Now be gone!” The mummy lord demands, “My mercy is draining.”

They all charge through the hallways with Myapariah’s fire lighting the way. They sprint with all their might as Sompiah begins to hear something skittering behind them. He would ask Myapariah or Aqalyre about it, but he’s too out of breath. Myapariah fires a bolt down to the right and it trails out the doorway to the outside. They exit and then finally turn to face whatever is following them. Myapariah squeals with terror, Aqalyre looks confused, and Sompiah blames his cursed luck as a four-armed tiefling stops right in front of them. She looks like she might cry when she sees their faces.

She moves her arms to speak. She waves an imaginary magic wand and then points her hits her hand against her head. Is the curse real? She asks, Are people going to forget about me? Sompiah is about to ask the stranger who she is. The curse. He remembers. This tiefling was cursed to be ignored, forgotten, left behind. Now what was her name again? Oh, that’s right. “Don’t worry, Nos-latté, we’ll never forget you.” Sompiah says. He sees a spark of realization streak across the faces of the others as they recall the name.

Nos-latté frowns. “Oh, that’s right!” Sompiah says and then he signs his assurances to Nos-latté. That makes her smile, until his gaze slides away from her again. A thunderblast shocks them to awareness again. No need for that, Nos-latté! Myapariah signs with frustration, We know that you’re here. Sompiah wonders how they will be able to stick together and stay friends with these curses plaguing them. Looking back at the doorway they came from, he can now see that the structure is a grand pyramid sunken into the Underdark. If they had kept their eyes open, it would have been obvious that they never should have entered. Sompiah can’t help but feel that this is all his fault. If his luck was bad enough for this to happen, what will happen now that his luck has been cursed?

Curses.

Sompiah cursed with bad luck so terrible that it’s Wild Magic. Bad things always seem to happen around him. The probabilities are against him. If something can go wrong, it almost definitely will.

Nos-latté cursed to be unnoticed, ignored, and forgotten. People can’t stare at her for long as they get a headache trying to concentrate on recognizing her existence.

Myapariah cursed to be the center of attention. It seems that nearly everybody wants to meet her, talk to her, get to know her. They just can’t seem to take their eyes off her.

Aqalyre cursed to be a leech that harms all he touches. Not just creatures, but objects too deteriorate under his touch. It seems no matter how tight he holds, he can’t hold on to anything for long.