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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 5: Tieflings in the Training Yard

“Do you even know how to use that toothpick?” Lucien asked while sinking his sharp teeth into a steak of roasted venison. Though he made no indication of what he was referring to, it was obvious he was talking about the rapier she had placed neatly into the seat next to her.
Lilouette glowered at him from across the table, ignoring the obsequious laughter of his two companions. “I’m being trained by a Grandmaster Bard from the College of Blades,” she stuck her chin up haughtily, “The best instruction money can buy.”
“You’re learning how to fight from a poet?” her cousin laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be wearing a quill about your waist? The enemies of House Moreau must be quaking in their boots at the sonnets you shall write about them!”
Lilouette jumped up from her seat, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “Why don’t you accompany me to the training yard, so that I can show you just how much my penmanship has improved?” she hissed, her pretty pearlescent eyes narrowing and glinting like blades.
Her cousin paused, placing his finger on his chin as though he was considering the offer. He then flashed her a toothy grin and held out his hands in feigned contrition. “While the thought of beating you into submission and snapping that twig of a sword over my knee is tempting, I am supposed to be relaxing. I have spent the past few months shitting in trench latrines and eating nothing but camp rations. I am here to rejuvenate from the war. Perhaps you haven’t heard of it tucked away inside this stone prison?”
“You keep insisting that you are some sort of weary veteran, but in truth, you are an uncouth…foulmouthed…coward!” Lilouette was now consumed by fury, her little body trembling with intensity as she completely forgot about maintaining decorum.
The condescending smile didn’t leave her cousin’s lips, but his eyes noticeably darkened at this accusation, “Watch your tone, child. After a year of wading through blood and corpses on the frontlines, my control over the demon within me has weakened."
Despite his warning, Lilouette was far too hurt to bother trying to mind her manners now. She and Lucien used to be extremely close, but as he got older, his grip on his infernal rage had waned and he had become cruel and distant. Now, he seemed to only enjoy her company when he was belittling her, as if her very existence was an inconvenience to him.
“You have never had any control!” she shouted, searching for some way to hurt him as much as he hurt her. “You have always been an impulsive, reckless rake! Perhaps that's why your father allows you to fight on the frontlines; he's secretly hoping you are killed so that one of your younger and more responsible brothers can become heir!”
Lucien smile faltered and he responded by throwing his plate with a snarl, splattering its uneaten contents against the wall. His top lip quivered as his rage overcame him; Lilouette had finally managed to pierce through his facade of detachment. His two companions, the lords Crirr Scuttlefeather and Ethelbert Breowan, shrunk into their seats, desperately wishing they had stayed home.
“Fine, cousin,” his voice crackled with barely contained rage, “If you so desire to be humbled, then I shall oblige you. And when I have bested you, I shall enjoy my hard-earned rest — but not without your assistance. When you lose, you will serve as my attendant for the rest of the evening, and do as I command."

The training yard, usually alive with the clanging of swords and the Moreau Master-At-Arms barking orders at guards doing drills, now lay silent save for the rustle of leaves carried on the wind. Lilouette and her cousin glared at one another, their infernal tempers bubbling just beneath the surface.
At the far end of the yard, atop a raised dais, stood the lords Crirr Scuttlefeather and Ethelbert Breowan, shrinking before the towering figure of Vigil, who loomed over them. The warforged had been ordered not to interfere in the contest, and so it did the only thing it could: watch.
Blademistress Tescelina sat on her haunches amongst the wooden training dummies, delicately chewing a peach. She had warned Lilouette that this was a bad idea, but the impudent girl had refused to listen. Some lessons needed to be learned through blood.
The two tieflings had been too lost in their rage to change into clothes more suitable for midday sparring, so they still wore the fine vestments that had worn for breakfast. Lilouette was dressed prettily in her high-necked, midnight blue gown; and Lucien was still wearing his open-chested doublet and black silk cape. The cape swished around him as he executed a few practice swings with a crude iron sword he had borrowed from the guard armory. In answer to this, Lilouette drew out Wailing Ecstasy, the gems on the guard and pommel glittering brilliantly.
“How pretty,” her cousin teased, though there was little mirth in his voice, “Have you thought about adding some ribbons to it?”
“A coward japes when confronted with their betters,” she spat back at him and began to advance.
“We'll see how much of a coward I am when I shove that sword up your black cunt!” he roared, as the time for cleverness was over.
The two clashed in the center of the training yard, the sharp clang of their swords reverberating through the air with each strike.
Lilouette immediately realized that something was wrong as her cousin spun out of the way of her thrusts. Her cousin was not only tall and broad-shouldered, but he was also enraged; so she had expected him to attack her with slow, reckless swings in a way similar to Gruumshra. But instead, his moves seemed calculated and controlled. There we no holes in his defenses for her to exploit and despite his anger, he maintained the precision of his swings.
She tried to use her speed to her advantage but found that her cousin’s caprine hoofs seemed naturally suited to the packed dirt of the training yard. He not only kept up with her pace but seemed to do so with ease. He didn’t fight like someone with something to prove, but rather like someone who was well-versed in the art of killing. She tried to kick up a spray of sand into his eyes, but he danced around the amateur maneuver. He used his superior size and strength to slam his sword into Lilouette’s rapier, causing the thin weapon to reverberate painfully in her hands.
Nine Hells, when did he get so strong?!
Perspiration burned in her eyes but when she glanced at her cousin, it barely seemed like he was breaking a sweat. None of her tricks were working. She tried to cast a defensive spell to buy her some breathing room, but watched it fizzle into nothing as her cousin smashed the flat side of his sword into her knee. She cried out in pain and panic as she collapsed to the ground. Blademistress Tescelina shook her head disapprovingly, noting that the girl's shaken confidence was undermining her ability to wield bardic magic effectively, as it was primarily sustained by self-assurance. The young tiefling slowly realized that she wasn’t going to win, that she couldn’t win. She grit her teeth and threw her rapier to the ground, signaling defeat.
Lucien, either not noticing the concession or simply not caring, continued to advance toward her. He grabbed the back of her head roughly and slammed her face into the dirt, causing her to yelp in surprise and indignation. From atop the training yard dais, something deep and malevolent rumbled within Vigil’s metal form. Suppressed by its orders not to interfere, the warforged restrained itself from leaping from the dais and making red slaughter of the older tiefling assaulting his charge. The two minor nobles cowering next to it could feel waves of infernal hatred radiating off its metallic body.
“Fucking monster!” she wailed at her cousin as brilliant motes of light blinked in her vision. She could feel the sticky feeling of blood dripping from her burning nose. She wrapped her fingers around it and glared up at her cousin, a person she had once cared deeply about.
The face that looked back down at her was that of a stranger.

Heart pounding in her chest, Lilouette approached her cousin's quarters with trepidation, unsure of what she would find inside. She absent-mindedly rubbed at the bloody bandage on her nose, unconsciously reminding herself of her cousin’s startling potential for violence. Lucien and his companions had been given lodging in a secluded wing of the estate, and she couldn’t help but feel unease at the meager number of guards that she saw as she passed.
She knocked timidly on the door, feeling foolish at how skittish she felt in her own home; but her cousin scared her. Deep in the pit of her stomach she recognized that there was some wrongness in him that the war had exacerbated.
The door to the chamber swung open, and she was met with the inhuman, penetrating gaze of Crirr Scuttlefeather. The young aarakocra noble had a lean build and stood only a few inches taller than Lilouette, though she suspected that his wingspan was closer to ten feet. His plumage was a muted brown color, with darker feathers toward his wings and tail. As he was fresh into the throes of puberty, he was experiencing the molting of his feathers, and his skin looked red and irritated where they had fallen out. He stared at her unblinkingly from behind a pair of wire-framed reading lenses perched on his beak, which he adjusted as he motioned for her to enter.
The second of her cousin’s companions, Ethelbert Breowan, had been playing something sweet and melodic on the lute, but stopped and looked up expectantly as she entered the room. The thirteen-year-old nobleman had a mop of vibrant red hair and smooth delicate features that made him look quite feminine in Lilouette’s opinion. He might have even made for a pretty girl if it weren’t for his persistent sniff and a pallid pallor suggesting that he was a sickly lad. He looked so slight that Lilouette thought she could blow him over with a deep breath.
Her cousin lay on his stomach on the bed in the corner of the room, not bothering to look up as she entered. One of the serving girls from the kitchens was giving him a back massage but stopped when she saw Lilouette’s cold, pearlescent stare fix on her. “You don’t work in this part of the manor,” she said, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“She was just leaving,” Lucien said as he rose from the bed and stretched his back. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and Lilouette’s eyes widened as she saw the trail of scars darting across his muscular torso.
Her eyes traced across the wounds. How many men have tried to kill you?
Not nearly enough, she thought as her eyes hardened.
Lucien smacked the ass of the serving girl as she leaped from the bed and darted out of the room, clutching her simple linen dress to her naked body. Lilouette’s lip twisted up into a sneer at her cousin’s abuse of the staff. She felt sick just being in a room with him.
She waited expectedly for her cousin to say something, but he simply stared at her with those moody, dark eyes of his. She sighed, realizing he was going to force her to make the first move. “So what do you want…me to do?”
Lucien motioned disinterestedly towards a flagon on the table, “You can begin by serving me and my friends some wine.” Lilouette tried to hide how angry his nonchalant attitude was making her, but she has never been very good at masking her emotions. "And you can do it without that angry little pout on your face."
She stomped over to the flagon, pouring three cups of wine and handing one to each of Lucien's companions. She then held out a cup to him. “Here,” she said acidly. He tsked at her rather than take the cup. “Is that the proper way for a serving girl to offer her lord a drink?” A flash of rage crossed Lilouette’s eyes but she buried it as soon as it emerged. She had foolishly agreed to the wager, and she was determined to carry it out. She adopted a more servile, friendly tone.
“Your wine, Sir.”
“Milord,” her cousin corrected her, still refusing to take the cup. His companions giggled off in the corner.
“You can’t be serious,” Lilouette gasped, indignation brightening her cheeks.
Her cousin grinned, his bright white teeth ending in sharp points. “You agreed to serve me if whatever fashion I deemed. Are you a deceiver on top of being a poor fighter?”
Although it took all of her control she managed to let the slight go without launching herself at him and clawing his eyes out.
“Your wine…milord.”
Lucien’s smile broadened and he took the cup with a nod of false gratitude. “Now that wasn’t so hard was it?”
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Better the Devil You Know