Lilian

	Lilian woke up shaking with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold draft of her little hovel. She had had the nightmare again. It was always the same. The violet eyed succubus berating the brutish purple half demon. The half demon losing his temper and attacking her. Then Lilian found herself as a child running. Running endlessly through a nightmarish landscape. If only it were just a bad dream.
She sat up shakily, looking around as though to make sure her nightmare hadn't come back to life and her eyes fell upon the book on her table. It was blank of course, with some writing supplies sitting next to it. A journal she had bought weeks ago but hadn't touched since. It was silly of her to have bought it. She had made surreptitious inquiries about ways to stop the nightmares. A common suggested solution involved talking with some one about the painful memories that surrounded them. But she wasn't close enough to any one for that. She didn't want to be. So instead she bought the journal so she could write into as though speaking to some one. And then burn it. But she never had. It was a ridiculous plan. She had realized that as soon as she had gotten home with it. It would never have worked. But still...
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	I don't know why I decide to write this now. Maybe I feel I need say something about where I came from before I can move on with my life. I was born among the slaves kept to serve the fiends and cultists in a small stronghold near the edge of the Worldwound. My mother, Miriam, was kept by the commander of the stronghold as a personal "servant". I don't know what exactly happened but I can only recall her from my earliest of memories. After she was gone I was put to work with some of the other slaves; we cleaned mostly since we weren't fit for much else. Those who couldn't even do that any more disappeared. I'd rather not think of what might have became of them. For years I lived being ordered around and yelled at while I was forced to work into exhaustion and beaten if my work wasn't satisfactory. I should note that while everyone in the hold knew my origins no one really cared, seemingly least of all the commander himself.
	Growing like I did I learned to be a shadow. I think you would be surprised how sneaky a vibrant purple child with glowing eyes and horns can be if they have to be. I did my duties quickly and quietly in a way that as few people as possible ever saw me. Few people other than those I tormented by being a flash of purple in the corner of the eyes of those I heard saying things that would anger the commander. I was always long gone before they knew how to react. This probably would have gotten me in a very bad situation eventually if not for the fact the first time some one thought they caught me doing it ran after me weapon drawn, screaming insults and profanities only to rounded the corner to come face to face with the commander and me being nowhere to be found. I didn't really feel sorry for that ones flayed corpse the next day. I don't know if the commander was just in a bad mood at the time or if that the death threats the cultist was making some how sparked some small sense of protectiveness in him. Nor was any one else sure, and he was not the sort to answer personal questions with anything but violence, so I went mostly ignored or unseen after that as long as I worked hard. One day that just changed.
	It all started with Commander Durhaust being even more ill tempered than normal. Whisper held that he was expecting a visit from some one and it had him on edge. No one seemed sure who or why. It was rather anticlimactic, which was a relief to most, when a single succubus arrived. I didn't see her myself when she first came to the compound as she went directly to meet with the commander before she retired to the room prepared for her. Still talked buzzed around the hold (well out of earshot of the commander of course) about her; how aloof she seemed having not spoken to anyone other than the commander, how she hardly left her room, how familiar the shade of her eyes was to every one who had seen the commander. Or me.
	It wasn't until several days after her arrival did our paths cross. I was scrubbing the floor in the dining area at a time when no one else would be around when she came in, I presume looking for a snack. I didn't pay her any mind at first, just keeping my head down and scrubbing, but she had just stopped in the door way. For several long moments she had been just standing there before curiosity got the better of me and a glanced up in her direction. She was just looking right at me with a surprised expression on her face. I immediately looked back down and redoubled my scrubbing but it was too late and my meeting her gaze seemed to wake her from her stupor. She bid me to come over to her; I was mortified but I didn't dare refuse. After what felt like an eternity of her examining me she started questioning me.
She asked me if the commander was my father; I haltingly answered my mother used to serve him. Annoyed with my unsteady response she commanded me to speak up. I responded with something I had learned long ago, "Slaves don't speak, they take orders." She just looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment before she went livid. I couldn't help but to quail but she quickly regained her composure. She bid me to return to my task and told me we would speak again soon before leaving.
	It was only a few hours later that she found me again, despite my best efforts to hide my self in my work. This time she introduced her self as Scyncilia Briarheart. She told me that I was no slave and though I would still have chores to earn my keep those were now secondary to my education which she would be be seeing to herself; I'm not sure if she intended for me to hear her mutter that she wouldn't stand to see her grandchild be nothing but a lowly slave. Looking back I'm not certain if she was motivated by actual concern for me or her own ego but I can't deny that I can attribute much of who I've become to her. She was often a harsh teacher but she did honestly seem to do her best to make sure I succeeded and learned.
	Scyncilia made good on her promise to see me educated. My earliest lessons revolved around learning to read and write as well as talking to some one steadily while looking them in the eye. Once that was mostly done she started to broaden my curriculum; how to dance, how to sing, how to manipulate people and other things. Thankfully she never made me participate but she often made me watch her and her partners. I don't think she ever did it with out me watching since she considered every one at the fort beneath her personal interests and only did it for my "benefit". She also taught me to fight.
	I'll never forget when she presented the weapon to me. Deathblossom she called it, though she noted with despair some simply called it a razorwhip. An apt name. She noted that it was made of coldiron, a very unusual choice for a demon's weapon, but one that served a purpose. Since demons were so resistant to harm from mundane implements discipline and motivating underlings could be a challenge, particularly the slothful dretches, she explained. Coldiron was the most readily accessible means to get around that though carrying a weapon made of one of the few things that could hurt you was a risky move. She stated that she spent a great deal of time developing a singular weapon; one that was as elegant and painful as it was difficult to master, one that I was now going to learn to use.
	Thing were going well for me, at least better than they had before Scyncilia. With her around I was treated with some degree of respect and I didn't feel quite so helpless thanks to her teachings. Yet my life was going to be turned on its head once again. Commander Durhaust always seemed to resent Scyncilia's presences. For a time she had tried to act as counsel but was solidly rebuffed. Instead she redoubled her focus on me. This only seemed to slowly fuel his ire over time though it took years to reach the breaking point.
	When that point was reached it all happened so fast. I was going to meet with Scyncilia to practice with Deathblossom when I heard yelling coming from the training room. As I got close I could hear the commander raving to Scyncilia about how he was sick of her trying to undermine his authority and her coddling of me and how it was going to stop. She retorted that he had never had in interest in how I turned out so he should keep his nose out of our doings. At this point he snapped; drawing his weapons and striking her a grievous blow before shout that he was in control here and she couldn't tell him what to do any more. She staggered back her face contorted in shock, pain and anger for a moment before she teleported away. I was immediately in a panic. The commander had seemingly lost his mind and Scyncilia was gone. I didn't know what was going to happen next. Where things going to go back to being as bad as they used to be or worse? I didn't want to find out so a fled the hold right then and there with nothing but what I was carrying. After that I just remember running away as fast as I could from that place in the vague direction that was suppose to lead to safety and freedom that the slaves had whispered of or looked longingly too when no one was paying attention, or so they thought.
	I ran and ran until my legs gave out and I collapsed in exhaustion. I probably would have died in that spot, slaughtered by one horror that roamed those lands, or worse if She hadn't found me. I never learned her name but I will never forget her face, that beautiful guardian angel that saved me, or the symbol of Desna she clung to. It saddens me how she disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared once she had lead me to safety. Though if I recall the shouting and arguing well then safety was a somewhat relative thing since how I look made sure I wasn't well received by many of the crusaders in the patrol she left me to be found by; but I'm sure I caught a glimpse of her sneaking off from a hidden spot after things had settled down and the patrol had decided to bring me back to Kenabres. I never saw nor heard of her after that, despite my best efforts to find her again so I might thank her for saving me.
	Leaving the Worldwound was so strange. Every thing was so alien; blue skies, green lands that were vibrant instead of sickly, it was a completely different world. Once in Kenabres life was hardly easy but I had survived worse as a child. I ended up living on the street more often than not at first. Some tried to get me to stay in an orphanage but it was over full and the caretaker was so suspicious of me that they never really bother trying to find me when I ran away. I've done this and that to get by since; petty theft, begging, performing on the street, etc. Lately I've been able to get some semi-regular work. I guess that's all for now.
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	Perhaps I was too hasty in ending my previous entry. I find my self reluctant to pick at things that are still more scab than scar. Things got off to a rough start to say the least. Things started going down hill when the patrol that found me reach the perimeter of Kenabres. They had very reluctantly let me hold onto my weapon which I had desperately clung to thus far, albeit under constant watch, but they simply wouldn't allow me to carry it into the city. Nor were they willing to let me go roaming the country side which I had set my self on doing after being told I couldn't enter the city armed. What followed was a rather unfortunate incident where a pair of crusaders had to try and wrestle a whip covered in razor sharp blades from a struggling child, who was determined to hold onto it as though her life depended on it, with out any one getting hurt. They mostly succeeded, though one of the crusaders was wearing leather gauntlets and nearly lost a finger. After being disarmed they practically had to drag me into the city while I cursed at them, though I doubt they took it to heart as the stress of all that had happened starting at the fight between Durhaust and Scyncilia had finally caught up to me and I was more sobbing the insults than screaming them.
	By the time we reached the orphanage I had exhausted my venom and my self more than I already was. It had been a long march to the city and the crusader patrol was not want to tarry in the Worldwound for any reason, my weary young legs included. I was in no mood or condition to fight or argue any more at that point so I took the small meal offered to me before collapsing into the bed that they deemed would be mine. I say bed but it was really just a large sack stuffed with straw, though I wasn't the only one to receive such accommodations as there were many more orphans than beds there. The next few days after that were uneventful for the most part. I avoided every one and most every one avoided me. There were some attempts at bullying with words but those largely fell upon deaf ears. I found their insults and mockeries rather childish and uninspired and I was all too glad to tell them so while showing them how to really say something hurtful. Most backed off pretty quickly but one clique persisted.
	Once they realized they couldn't get to me with words they decided to take a more physical route. Their resolve on this last all of half an attempt; once they surrounded me and tried to start pushing me around I pulled a knife I had stolen from the kitchen. They scattered immediately upon the sight of it so I thought the matter was closed but I got an earful from Matron Laylinn later. She wouldn't hear a word said about how I was just defending myself and I wouldn't listen to a single word about how I shouldn't even carry a weapon much less threaten the other children with one. It was deemed the others had done nothing wrong while I made a grievous error in brandishing a weapon, such as it was, and I alone would suffer consequences. Needless to say this didn't sit well with me so instead of going to the sleeping area with out dinner as I was told to wait while they though up a proper punishment I snuck out and left the orphanage all together, though not before stealing another knife.
	I spent months after that living on the streets, when I wasn't being dragged back to the orphanage by increasingly irritated guards when I got caught stealing. I never stayed long though. At night slept in alleys or abandoned and poorly guarded buildings when I could do so undisturbed and my days I spent begging by sitting on some street corner looking hungry and miserable, which was usually not much an act, and stealing when that wasn't enough. Admittedly I might have stolen more than was needed at first but the guards patience for that behavior was quick to begin wearing thin. In retrospect I'm sure things were going down hill for me, I'm not sure what would have happened if not for Aevo.
	While some others had tried to help me, not that I would have believed it at the time, they simply couldn't because they didn't know how to get through to me. Aevo was the first person I met who understood the challenge it would be to get me to listen because he understood the challenges I faced being a tiefling newly arrived in Kenabres trying to survive, having gone through a similar experience himself. He once told me our first encounter went better than he expected despite me being even more vehemently distrustful and angry towards crusaders than he anticipated. He hadn't been forewarned of the incident involving my weapon being confiscated upon my arrival to the city; or really told anything else about me other than I had been found wondering out in the Worldwound alone by a patrol and had been getting into trouble ever since they brought me back with them. Once he coaxed me into explaining my reason for disliking the crusaders and guard he was clever and quick to capitalize on it.
	At first he tried to get me exchange promises; he'd see my weapon returned and I'd stay at the orphanage and stop getting into trouble, though I'd have to leave Deathblossom in the matron's care till I was ready to move out and care for my self properly. I was quick to shoot this down by bitterly explaining the circumstance that led me to leaving there in the first place. I recall the sigh he gave in response to that being some where between frustration and resignation. Instead of pressing that particular issue he suggested instead I tell him about my past and how I came to Kenabres, something I had refused to speak of, so that he might find a more suitable place for me to stay. Of course I had to promise I would try getting along there. I was reluctant but agreed to the deal as I desperately wanted Deathblossom back and I was starting to sense the increasing insecurity of my circumstance. I did insist that he fulfilled his end first, to which he acquiesced. Aevo was able to reunite me with Deathblossom but not with out issue.
	While the crusaders had set aside my weapon so that I might eventually reclaim it when they deemed me responsible enough to be trusted with it, not all agreed with this. One particularly brash recruit had deemed it a waste of a finely made coldiron weapon and decided to prove this by demonstrating his skill with it. He promptly got it tangled around his neck. In the effort to remove it and save the fools life Deathblossom was damage. Fortunately it remains largely functional; unfortunately due to it's complex design there are few smiths capable of fully mending it. All that could would charge a small fortune to do so. While upset by its state I was very glad to at least have it back.
	As Aevo had fulfilled his end of the deal it was my turn to keep up my end. It was difficult at first and I wasn't really sure where to start but Aevo was a patient and attentive listener. Once I had started going he would occasionally interject some of his own related experiences growing up in the Worldwound to help me loosen up and show he really did know how I felt. It was nice to have some one to talk to that could relate to what I had been through. He seemed particularly interested on the stranger who had found me in the wilds and led me to safety. When I asked if he knew anything of her he replied that I would know more having actually met her as he had only heard rumors. After I had finished my tale he seemed deep in thought, though he was quick to reach a decision. He declared that the church of Desna seemed a good place to start. I was immediately filled with apprehension. I told him how the churches and priests made me uncomfortable as I often felt like people looked down on me even more any time I was around them; some in half hidden fear, some in anger, some with pity and many in judgement. He did his best to reassure me, insisting that they were good people and would be willing to help me as I was in need, if I was willing to try to better my self. I resigned my self to try figuring it could go any worse than the orphanage. Despite his reassurance it took some convincing on his part to get them to let me stay, but ultimately it was the beginning of a new chapter for my life. One for another time to tell.