Image credit: Razor-Senei https://razor-sensei.deviantart.com/art/Numen-Aureum-662264606
Part 1: From the Deepest Abyss
A forbidden ritual.
A dark deal.
The corrupted seed was planted and a monstrosity sprouted, neither girl nor demon.
Worshipped in twisted, torturous rites, by a sinister cult. Used for its bloodline, a mere component to be used and discarded, locked away until the next solstice. Her innocence stripped away upon the altar, ritual after ritual, seeds of darkness torn from her body, corrupted, twisted and evil. For twelve years that pitch darkness was all she knew; there was no way out.
Hope did not exist.
And then, one day deep in her chasm of despair, as the evil chanted all around her in another invidious blood rite, the blackness was suddenly shattered by a fierce light so intense it burned her eyes. Chained upon the altar she squirmed and whimpered as the bright light and echoing sounds of clattering metal and pain-filled cries rebounded off the stone walls of her tiny despair-filled world, overloading all her senses.
Silence. A silence that filled the room like a vacuum, drawing the breath from her body forcefully, engulfing everything she ever knew in stillness as it smothered her. The emptiness roared in her ears like an immense torrent, filling her ears with a cacophonous rushing sound, but soon that sensation faded away gently, leaving only faint drips and drops, at first dull, then slowly taking on an echoing cadence in her stone dungeon.
From beyond her tightly shut eyelids, the sharp smell of blood weaved its way to her nostrils from still pools left behind by the receding flood of sound. As she waited in the silence, she could taste the gamy leather of her gag again, feel the cold serpentine embrace of her the chains coiled around her body.
She hoped that this searing force that ate her eyes would burn her away too, that the darkness would swallow her whole, so she didn’t have to feel ever again. Even if her end was painful, she knew deeply of pain, pain that cut to the bone, that filled one to the brim with despair and misery, and she did not care, she would accept it gratefully. All she wished for was an end to her suffering.
Then, a hand, ever so warm and soft, upon her cheek, comforting. She squinted against the bright aura of light, peered deep into the face of a man—for a moment the most beautiful man she had ever seen, but only for a fleeting instant.
Fiery gold radiance fluttering around him, burning away all inky traces of evil seeping from the motionless bodies scattered around the onyx alter. There was no hatred in his old eyes. No trace of disgust at her evil form could be seen about the stubbled face beneath mid-length salt and pepper fringe—only compassion and love greeted her dirty face. She cried at that moment, not out of fear and pain as she usually did, but for the first time of an emotion she would learn to call joy.
Sir Johann Baptiste, shining Paladin, Knight of the Order of the Aster, led her from her dark world of suffering, the only world she had ever known, and led her up the stairway to the heavens, to a land of light and hope.
He told her that he was not her saviour, but that the Morninglord Himself had sent him on a Divine Quest to purge the lands of darkness and evil; that Lathander’s Light had guided his way to her, that His Light had freed her and rebirthed her. He indicated the impossibly bright fiery ball hovering in the sky and told her that Lathander was always watching, filling the world with His Light and Love, that even when the darkness comes, the Sun will always rise again.
Then, Sir Johann Baptiste gave her a name. A name to remember her journey from the depths of darkness and rebirth into the Light of the Morninglord: Nadira Lichtønn. And when the little demon-girl heard him utter those words, she felt safe for the first time. She felt the unknown comfort of unconditional love filling her with a strange comforting warmth, spreading through her skinny frame like a tepid breeze, as she learned to associate the distinct tingle with a feeling called Happiness.
Over the next two years Sir Johann and Nadira travelled the lands from town to city to hamlet to town, never staying too long, constantly on the move. Sir Johann would spread the Light of the Morninglord wherever he went, while the redeemed daughter of darkness walked beside him every step, her small, dark hand nestled within his.
As they walked in the Radiant Day, his shield slung over his back gleaming like a portable sun, he sang with her the sacred hymns, counting them off on the rosary Sir Johann had given her. He would use his golden pike as staff, at once a tool of pilgrimage and a sacred weapon used to burn away the darkness and purify the dark dens of demons that infested towns, distorting the weak-willed and turning them towards vice.
During the nights, as the sat around the fire that kept the darkness at bay, he taught her how to read and write from his tattered prayer book. He taught her of the Light that Vanquishes the darkness, preaching the words of Lathander. He told her of His cleansing Fire, His divine Light of Love and Justice standing firm and fearless against evilness and hate.
With him, bathed in the Light of Lathander, she learned of peace and happiness. Everywhere he went Sir Johann was greeted with a welcoming smile and a cry of delight from the children and faithful.
Yet, for all the warmth Sir Johann was shown by the townsfolk, Nadira was only ever treated with a cold distance. None would ever look her in the eye; they would speak to Sir Johann in hushed tones about the demon-child, talking as if she was never there, despite Sir Johann’s constant reprimands.
Wherever she went, as her black serpentine tail passed by, dragging against the dirt, there would be those townsfolk that would shield their children behind their legs while uttering words of warding.
There were always those young children that would point to the swept-back curve of her jet-black horns, whispering to their parents with a quiver of fear in their eyes, as their stubby fingers followed the upturned bony points on either side of her charcoal countenance.
Others would spit at her feet while muttering barely audible murmurs of “monster” and “demon” under their breaths. Those actions were always met with the piercing grey-blue eyes of Sir Johann, her teacher and protector. More often than not the townsfolk would catch his gaze, raging like an unbridled storm across the ocean, and quickly caste their own downwards as they turned their backs and walked away silently.
During the long nights, by the warm glow of the campfire, she would lament to Sir Johann, crying upon his broad shoulder, complaining bitterly of her loneliness. Sir Johann would always comfort her, stroke her black hair and whisper platitudes that people often feared what they did not know, that Lathander and he himself will always love her.
For a while those soothing words worked, but after a time they faltered, for no matter how Nadira tried, others refused to get to know her.
No matter how often and piously she prayed to Lathander for the townsfolk to, if not be nice to her, at least acknowledge her existence with a smile instead of a frown, she never felt more than dirty speck.
Eventually, Nadira realised that despite how fervently she wished to be like the others, to be human or like any of the other creatures in the world of light, it was not her decision to make.
In the face of this revelation, she and Sir Johann soon decided that it would be best if she remained hooded as they passed through towns and cities on their journeys, her cloak obscuring from view, as far as possible, her obsidian horns and tail. Even then, Nadira would feel the gaze of townsfolk pinned to her back like daggers, as if accusing her of some crime she could not remember committing.
On the occasion that Johann needed to stay the night to rid the town of festering evil, they decided it would be wise for her to remain at a camp on the outskirts of town, for her presence would generally further ignite unneeded uneasiness and tensions from an already afflicted settlement plagued by darkness. As time went on, despite Nadira’s persistent love and belief in the Light of Lathander, she could not help but become wary and guarded around people.
Slowly, Sir Johann watched as Nadira’s new-found innocence and Light became dimmer with every step towards town, as if she shielded the light to avoid notice. He could feel her guardedness like a pervasive, nebulous fog cloud that clung to her. He knew she felt it too, worried that she thought her presence somehow infected the closed-off hearts of men.
Once they left the oppressive atmosphere of cities and towns, however, and tread the quiet and peaceful trails amongst undulating hills and golden fields, her Light would be rekindled and shine brighter as ever, and Sir Johann, filled with worry and empathy for her, would look on upon the girl with unbridled pride and happiness for his young charge.
At these moments, he would praise Lathander for his continued sympathy and Light that guided her way.
This is part of the backstory I wrote for my Tiefling Paladin, Nadira. It turned out pretty long, so I will post it in stages.
I was really interested in making a character to deal with themes of Nature vs Nurture and Trauma, of striving to do Good with a past that knew nothing of it.