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Better the Devil You Know	By : Meowshi Category: +A through F > Dungeons & Dragons Views: 1523 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dungeons and Dragons, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. This story contains original characters, but many names of places, spells, monsters, etc are from D&D.

Chapter List
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Chapter 4: The Incestous Inclinations of Infernals

Macabre statues lined the entrance of the Château de Moreau; men, women, and children posed with horrified expressions on their faces, most with their hands held up in a defensive posture. As she snuck past the grisly tokens, Lilouette's opalescent eyes fixed on the frozen agony of fear etched into their stone faces. Despite her best efforts to maintain composure, her frown deepened with each passing step. She could appreciate her father’s flair for the dramatic, but she often questioned the logic of keeping so many enemies nestled inside of their family fortress. All it would take is one cunning wizard to cast a greater restoration or a stone-to-flesh spell, and they would suddenly have dozens of enemies roaming the halls.
On one of her more impulsive days, she had snuck out of her quarters at night and chiseled the hands off of a few of the statues. Her dainty black hand reached back to rub at her peachy buttocks, the memory of the severe spanking she had received that morning from her father still fresh in her mind. She had not been able to sit properly without wincing for a week, but that was well worth making sure that a few of those petrified stone figures would never again be able to raise weapons against her family.
The young tiefling approached the door to her room with caution, wary of running into any house guards; instead, she was met with the familiar sight of her loyal warforged guardian standing watch. The metallic construct stood tall with broad shoulders and a muscular frame, its body covered in intricate designs and patterns etched into the metal to resemble the dark contours of some infernal chapel. As she advanced toward the towering figure, she couldn't help but be struck by the similarities between them.
The darksteel plating that covered the construct's form was almost identical to the girl's deep black skin. The metallic ebony shell, much like her own flesh, seemed to absorb and reflect the surrounding light, creating a subtle sheen that added to both of their otherworldly appearances. And there was another similarity: the glimmering cracks on the construct's hands and parts of its chest were reminiscent of the blood-red freckles that peppered her black skin like stars in the night sky. From these fractures, vibrant red-orange energy pulsated and seeped. The family had made several attempts to repair the cracks on the construct's chassis, enlisting the help of various skilled artificers. However, each attempt ended in failure, as even brief exposure to the infernal energy had driven the artificers to madness.
The metallic construct felt like a member of the family, not by blood, but by its unwavering loyalty and the way its dark metallic exterior mirrored the black features of the people it faithfully guarded.
"Good morning, Vigil," she nodded politely, even managing to ignore her shaky legs and do a little curtsey.
A faint red glow swept over her little body as the construct scanned her with its unblinking eyes. Vigil didn’t run up to her with a hug or express a greeting of any kind as she drew near, but she could tell by the brief twinkle in his crystal eyes that her guardian was relieved to see her safe and sound.
“Your father has requested your presence this morning. Your cousin, the Comte Lucien Infernoth has requested to spend the afternoon with you. You are expected to be dressed and ready to meet him in the Welcoming Hall,” Vigil thundered, the words emanating in a deep monotone voice, devoid of any discernible emotion or inflection
The little tiefling groaned and pouted in an unladylike manner; she would rather clean out the stables than spend the afternoon with her lecherous and capricious cousin. “So be it," she replied icily, realizing that her guardian would not succumb to her grouchiness.
"Be a dear and call a couple of maids to come fill my soaking tub and bathe me,” she said while raising her armpit and twisting her nose at the sour smell of dried saliva. The smell was unpleasant but also reminded her of the night she spent with Gruumshra…

Dust particles danced in the air, illuminated by a narrow beam of sunlight sneaking its way through a small crevice in the tavern walls. Most of the patrons in the unnamed swillhouse were too drunk to notice the sign that dawn was approaching, but Lilouette’s perception was sharper than most.
The tavern was still mostly empty. The sour-faced hobgoblin she had met earlier had apparently spent every coin she had given him on ale and was now resting in a pool of his own vomit at the next table over. In the back of the room, the bearded dwarf from downstairs was flashing her tits to a group of inebriated goblins after convincing them to bet on whether she was actually female. They all lost.
Amidst all these riveting diversions, Lilouette managed to tear her gaze away and remain completely fixated on Gruumshra.
The young tiefling had been bewildered when Gruumshra offered to buy her tankard after they had both gotten dressed and stumbled out of the fighting pit. She had assumed the barbarian would want nothing more to do with her after what happened, but the woman had seemed to have moved past her humiliating defeat with an admirable quickness. In fact, after defeating her in combat, Lilouette had apparently earned the woman’s respect, and after only a few hours of drinking, they were blabbering about their insecurities like old friends.
“Amongst the orcs...I was the weakest," Gruumshra said sadly, "No matter how much I train or how many enemies I cleave, I only Snaga. That what orcs call pinkskins like you and me.”
The young tiefling looked down at her soot-black skin in a moment of brief confusion before concluding that orcs likely classified everyone as either “orc” or “pinkskin”. To them, there was no meaningful difference between a tiefling and a human. Both were just weaklings to be trampled.
“I know what it’s like to be hated because you look different,” Lilouette confided, the bitter drink in her tankard allowing her to be more vulnerable, "Due to his religious beliefs, the Duc is passing more and more decrees that label beings like me, born of infernal blood, as untrustworthy. Vile, inbred bigot!"
“It not like that,” Gruumshra corrected her after a thunderous burp, “Tribe love me! They call me Gruumsh'kara! It mean Pink Sister. I raised by den of orc-mothers just like the rest. I war with the tribe and wear the tribe's scars, just like the rest. But ... I never be as strong, no matter what I do. You see, they not hate me. They pity me. It feel worse than hate."
“Still it must have been hard living amongst non-humans,” the tiefling asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager, “It must have been…lonely?”
“Oh no, me considered very pretty to orcs! Me sleep with many tribe-brothers. Two or three a night, if lucky!!" The barbarian slammed her chest in pride before winking at the young girl teasingly, “You ever see Orc cock? Big and green, like cucumber! Methinks it taste better too, though never had cucumber.”
Lilouette felt the heat rushing to her face, though she couldn’t tell if it was from the bitter amber liquid she was sipping or from the woman’s openness about her sexual history.
“But I had to leave," the sadness returned to the savage woman's voice, "Have to prove I can be just as strong before go back.”
The young girl stared at the barbarian’s chiseled muscles and couldn’t imagine anyone doubting her strength. She had never met an orc but immediately decided that they must be massive if they considered Grummshra weak.
The barbarian reached over to grab another tankard from the bar, but suddenly winced and drew her arm back in pain. Lilouette noticed the deep marks her taloned fingers had clawed into the woman’s tits, and she frowned apologetically.
“Ha! You got me good, little one,” the woman grinned, pulling down the neck of her chain shirt so Lilouette could see marks even closer.
“I’m sorry if they scar,” Lilouette murmured, eyeing the woman's pretty nipples.
"Ha!" the barbarian repeated and slammed the table with a heavy fist, causing it to jump. "Orcs love scars! I'm even more pretty now!"
Somehow despite the woman’s crooked teeth, extensive scarring, and brutish way of speaking; Lilouette was starting to agree that she was very pretty.
Seven hells, I must be drunker than I thought; she quickly reasoned away the thought.
“It’s morning, I should be getting back now…” the tiefling sighed wistfully into her tankard, realizing that her excursion outside the confines of the estate was coming to an end.
“Oh, back to fancy castle?” Grummshra replied teasingly.
The tiefling’s eyes shot open like saucers and she spun around to ensure no one was listening.
“H-how did you know? I never told you…” she whispered, panicking.
“Gruumshra not stupid just because she big,” the barbarian grinned, eager to prove her cleverness, “You dress like beggar, but you too clean. Like you take bath every day. And you talk clean too. Lots of pretty words." To emphasize her point, the barbarian raised her chin haughtily, before giggling and burping again.
“You can’t tell anyone, Gruumshra!” the young girl pleaded, "You must swear!"
“Not worry, little one. I not tell. Maybe you come back to the pits one day, come see your big friend Gruumshra? We fight again! Maybe next time, you taste me, eh?”
Lilouette didn’t want the woman to see the blush rapidly spreading across her face, so she spun around and darted out of the bar, heart fluttering.

Smelling of rosewater and lavender, Lilouette stood in the Welcoming Hall of the estate, prepared to greet her cousin. She wore a gown that was a masterpiece of elegant design and exquisite craftsmanship, made from sumptuous midnight blue velvet that hugged and accentuated the minimal curves of her lithe frame. The gown’s high neck was embroidered with silver thread in an intricate pattern of thorns and flames, a common decoration for nobles of tiefling heritage. Her delicate hands were tucked away in the long, bell-shaped sleeves of the gown, which were lined with soft ermine fur, a symbol of her family’s elevated status. She nervously adjusted the bodice of her gown, which was adorned with an ornate silver brooch, encrusted with sapphires in the shape of infernal sigils. The Moreau family crest was embroidered proudly onto a wide, silver sash on her waist, as if to remind everyone of her noble lineage. And, of course, the glistening black gemstones that adorned her hair and horns were impossible to miss, as they seemed to sparkle and shine with a self-important glow.
Although it was a little inappropriate to greet a family member while armed, she also decided to wear her gem-encrusted rapier on her hip, encased in its slick black scabbard. Her cousin had been off to war and she thought he might appreciate it.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the estate’s herald cried, “May I present to you Lucien Infernoth, the Comte of Ville des Ombres, the esteemed firstborn son of Marquis Infernoth! And his two companions, Lords Crirr Scuttlefeather and Ethelbert Breowan!”
Her cousin entered the hall with a proud stride, standing tall with his muscular body. He towered over his two companions, a scrawny human boy and an even scrawnier aarakocra, who slunk behind him like loyal dogs rather than minor nobles in their own right. She noticed that his skin, tinted a deep crimson, seemed to draw in the faint light of the morning candles. His pants were of a tight fit, crafted from black leather and adorned with intricate buckles and fastenings. Despite her better judgment, Lily found her gaze drawn to the large protrusion hanging loosely down the right side of his leg. Her eyes snapped up almost immediately, but she could tell by his smug grin that he had noticed her interest. The male tiefling, rather obnoxious in nature, did not wear boots, preferring the sound of his goat hooves scrapping against polished floors. His tail was thick and muscular, like that of a crocodile, and looked as if it could easily bludgeon someone to death should he wish it. Intricate gold embroidery adorned his black silk cape, and underneath that, he wore a tailored doublet that showed off his sculpted chest. His fingers glistened with black diamonds and bloodstones, but his most striking feature, besides the coiled monster he was hiding in his tight leather pants, were the forward-facing horns that rose from his head like a steer, thrusting outwards in a menacing manner.
While the Moreau family could trace their infernal heritage back to Dispater, the Iron Lord of Hell; Lucien’s blood-red skin, caprine hoofs, and front-facing horns were all a testament to his ancestry belonging to that of Asmodeus, Supreme Master of the Nine Hells. The air crackled with hellish energy as he approached Lilouette, the faintest hint of a sinister smirk playing across his lips, revealing his sharp, bloody teeth. The handsome tiefling ran a hand carelessly through his thick hair, black as a crow’s feathers, and cartilage rings chimed in his ears. He openly adjusted himself in his pants, deliberately drawing her eyes back to the massive imprint jostling in his trousers. She scowled at his brazenness, and adjusted her own pants, flashing her scabbard at him as if to imply that her sword was undoubtedly bigger than his.
“We’re going to have so much fun today, dear cousin,” he said seemingly unfazed, excitedly licking his lips.
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Better the Devil You Know