The Fox and the Nightingale

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Under such circumstances, Kyu couldn’t hide for long.  He slid into the room, a pale shadow kitted out in an assortment of magical items he’d had no need for in generations.  The very fabric of his long coat seemed to distract the eye away from itself, and his tall boots made no noise even on stone.  Beneath his mask he tried hard not to retch and lose control of the spells he’d woven to draw attention away from himself.  

At least Rom was still whole, not flayed open like a slaughtered animal, and he could tell his chest was still rising, but he, too, could read the story of what happened there by scent.  His heart twisted in his chest, but now was not the time for sorrow or guilt.  He sucked in a soft breath and padded forward, fingers balled into tight fists.

As Trecius advanced on Jessamine, cunning and cautious now, Kyu slipped up to the table.  He knew he had only moments.  Hyshea, dumb animals that they were, wouldn’t be fooled by his magic.  He wanted to speak to Rom - not apologize, for he knew he’d never be able to apologize fully for what he’d done to him.  He wanted to warn him of his plans, to give him the best chance possible to escape, to tell him that it would hurt to move but that it was necessary.  But words would break the illusion, and he was so close to Trecius now that he could smell the evil of him, rolling off of him in waves, the rot and stink of his empty heart.

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When a body can’t take any more pain, what happens? Rom was fairly certain he was on the verge of finding out when Trecius abruptly left him again, nails driven clean through his palms and feet, blood pooling under tortured flesh. He couldn’t tell anything, anymore, around the wash of unbridled suffering he was engulfed in, blood-slick and thick and cloying as the stench of death.

His lips were drawn back from his teeth in a silent scream that his rough throat couldn’t bear to wound itself further by producing, and his eyelids fluttered erratically as he found himself somewhere between consciousness and the kinder embrace of even temporary oblivion. He heard the words around him as though from a long way off, too badly broken to truly comprehend their meanings. Perhaps that was the gentlest thing for him.

Jessamine steeled herself for the worst; the thick scent of fresh blood reached her nose even from behind a closed door, and Fiachra’s clear terror hinted at worse messages to be read from the air. It was a good thing she was prepared to find a body in the room with the Hellmuse, because for a moment she was sure that was what she was faced with. She hesitated for a moment, but she masked the drop of her stomach as being merely startled by the scene before her.

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((TRIGGER WARNING: Rape))

Below the world of mortals, Rom didn’t have much time to think on his sudden streak of fortune—Trecius arrived nearly on Dallas’s heels to spoil it.  He entered without warning, his great wings half-unfurled.  He seemed full of good humor, which could mean nothing good for Rom, though he didn’t immediately lash out at him.  Instead, he turned the twisted shell of a benevolent smile on his captive and held out a new suit of clothes for him: a toga much like he had worn in Heaven, but slate-gray rather than white.

“It is time we dined together,” he said with what might’ve once been a kindly chuckle.  ”But first, you must change out of those soiled rags.  I see someone has tended your wounds - when I find out who, I shall have them gutted and nailed to the wall of my throne room.  But never mind that now.  I have such excellent news for you.”

He waited expectantly, clothing held out for Rom, a touch of manic danger lurking behind his easy smile.

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Carrying messages to Heaven was not an enjoyable prospect for a Messenger, but Dallas approached the task with a certain grace brought on by the personal importance of the mission he’d become a part of. He’d changed his clothes to give a slightly more favorable impression. Instead of the charcoal-colored robes that would mark him as envoy of Hell itself, he wore a crisp, clean white shirt and pinstriped slacks.

Across his eyes, for his own protection, he’d tied a dark cotton blindfold, tight and secure. He approached the Pearly Gates with a humble manner, holding the insignia of the messenger at arm’s length in his open palms. It might look foolish to the uninitiated, but for those who understood the gestures he was acting with the utmost respect.

“I come bearing a message for the Higher Saints, whomever is willing to hear me out. This word comes from Kyuubi Whitecoat, the First Fox, and is a matter of pressing and immediate concern.” he called out, facing the gate itself since he didn’tknow where its attendant might be standing. Heaven itched and sparked against his tattooed skin, but he ignored that.

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Kyu did not really expect Jessamine to heed his warning.  He’d tried, and maybe it would put a little caution in her, but he knew she was as headstrong as he and possessed a bravery that, in his opinion, made her foolish.  Better to temper stubbornness with a healthy dose of caution and stealth.  Better to match craft with the instinct to walk unseen.  Perhaps there was a little bit of the wolf in her, for neither parent possessed the sort of boldness she did.

In any case, whether she lured the Hellmuse to the surface world or went down to meet him, Kyu knew he had to be ready.  It raised the hair on the back of his neck to contemplate returning to Hell, but at least this time it’d be under his own power.  Never again would he feel the collar around his neck, the gag in his mouth.  If it came down to it, he had tricks of his own to escape, and ones the Hellmuse himself wouldn’t be expecting.

He expected no help from within.  Jessamine held one of his keys - he knew who’d stolen it and let her have it for the time being - but that was not the only way to walk between worlds.  His daughter needed it more, anyway.  Kyu had had all the ages of Man and more to learn to use Doorways and Gate Keys, and he figured he could handle the trickier ones better than his still-green offspring.

In one of Al’s warded workrooms, shields strengthened with a few stolen spells from Kyu’s considerable stash, the Fox laid out his plan for two aging mortals.  Their home was the safest place to return to, especially if it could be prepared for a Hellish onslaught - Kyu knew ways to hide it, in addition to Al’s considerable protective barriers.

“I’ll go in alone, of course,” he said.  ”In two days, more or less, Jessamine will be in Hell.  No doubt Trecius will be waiting.  Time here and there will align, but briefly - I’ll have to get in and hope I make it there as close as possible to when she makes it to the castle.”

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Once Henry left him alone again, closing the door to his room quietly, Rom curled up on the bed and tried to find it in his heart to get a little sleep. He had been so tired just a few minutes earlier, tired enough to nod off on a cold, rough stone floor, but once he was in bed he felt like tiny electric charges, some of pain and some of hope, were racing each other up and down his skin. It was an extremely uncomfortable feeling. He fidgeted, trying again and again to rearrange his limbs in the best way, but finally he gave up on sleep. He had one ally. Maybe two. Hopefully two. Henry meant well, but there clearly wasn’t much the nervous hyshea could do, even if he weren’t so damn nervous. The angel sprawled on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to nothing.

Occasionally, he felt a strange tug at his heart, a rippling echo in the back of his mind; impressions from earth, reminders of his responsibilities. For all his apparently careless ways, he had proven quite dedicated as a patron saint. He looked after the kids that fell under his jurisdiction. He listened to their prayers (rare, among rock stars) or what they ought to be praying for. He watched over them when they got themselves in too deep. He sat by their sides, unseen but not entirely unknown, when they hit rock bottom and considered making all the wrong choices.

He’d had a suicide or two, like any guardian of mankind, and it ached somewhere behind his ribcage to know those boys would be down here now, but most of the time he managed to subtly push their minds away from darker places, stop them from making such a final decision. He snuck hints of hope into them when they had none, or pushed a friend to call when they were needed most. He never shirked his duties. Sealed away from his ‘kids’ for who knows how long—it could have been minutes or months up there, from what he understood—he could feel them, knew when there were several who could use a little guarding. It hurt to know he couldn’t help them. They shouldn’t have had to stand alone.

As though drawn by the distraction of his sorrow, another soft knock rapped against Rom’s door. He started badly, and winced as he twisted too sharply to face it, pulling at the muscles of his shoulders. Gritting his teeth, he waited in silence for whoever meant to intrude to do so. He refused to hope it was anyone but Trecius, come back for more already, but he had his doubts about the Lord of Hell knocking on the door of his captive angel’s room.

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Al stirred immediately, on edge at the Hound’s uncharacteristically strained tone. He stood quickly, narrow feet on the cold floor as he pulled on a bathrobe over his pajama pants. The tracery of old scars and tattoos visible on his back, shoulders, chest, and belly made him look like the aged wizard Fiachra had come to think of him as. Surely, if anyone could find out what was going on outside, it would be this strangely powerful, ancient man, still with a spring in his step and power in his voice. He waited for Osaiah to catch up, but asked Fiachra to explain what was going on right away.

“A young man—or the shape of one, anyways—came to the door ten, fifteen minutes ago,” Fiachra said, pacing down the stairs before them on lanky legs.  “Looks like Tan. Claims to be Tan. We didn’t invite him in, because you said not to let anyone we’re not completely sure of inside, but we went out to give him a blanket and see if we could figure out if he was telling the truth. He smells like dirt. Nothing else. And he’s just… Off. But Kyu’s convinced it’s him, and we need you to look. I think it’s something else, and dangerous, but it’s hard to say…. Please, just come look.”

By the time Al and Osaiah arrived downstairs, Tan seemed almost normal again.  The initial emotional onslaught had passed, and he and Kyu were engaged in a perfectly ordinary conversation about what might be going on with Tan’s restaurant in his absence.  When they walked out onto the front porch, Kyu rose with a grin and said, chiding,

“Al, tell them there’s nothing wrong with Tan so we can get him inside and fed.  Coming back from the dead really takes it out of you - I should know.”

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Hounds are not common in the mundane world. They’re a breed of fae creature, and come to this world through the small gaps and gates that open into the greener fields of Faerie. The flow of magic is much stronger there, and that makes survival away from it hard for fae beings. They can survive, but few of them ever learn to thrive so far from home.

Hounds, originally known as Cu Sidhe in their homeland, are one of the oldest types of fae. They have a close link with the lesidhe, a race of pure shapeshifters from whom all fae are descended, and can take either a nearly human form or the shape of enormous dogs. There are several varieties of Hound, but the most common have white coats or hair and dark red ears, which remain red even in a humanoid form. Others might have dark green and brown fur, with plaited tails, or black fur and glowing white eyes, but those kinds of Hound are rarely seen in major cities or near the Gates. None have been seen outside Faerie in millenia.

A Hound is not a shapeshifter, strictly speaking. They exist as men and dogs simultaneously, but that kind of form is impossible for the eyes or mind to comprehend, so they’re perceived as only one at a time. They can change a viewer’s perception of themselves, but there are always hints—their coloring is consistent, and while they appear as humans they have dog-shaped shadows and tracks. Similarly, when they look like dogs, they cast human shadows and leave prints like human hands and feet. Generally, they prefer their canine forms for comfort, but are more accepted with human faces and end up spending more time in that look.

Changing their appearance is a very emotional process, and in times of high stress they might appear to shift back and forth without meaning to—young pups are especially prone to abrupt shape-changing. Because of this, most Hounds opt to wear some small piece of silver jewelry to make shifting more difficult for themselves—all fae are repelled by metal, as it blocks their connection with the magic in the world around them. With this limiter of sorts, they can ensure that all shifts are intentional, as it is considered very rude to shift emotionally in public.

In Faerie, Hounds are treated as something between pets and servants. Despite being fully as intelligent and emotionally aware as the other fae races, longstanding tradition treats them as less than human, owned by the dominant Daoine Sidhe race and allowed to live only in ‘camps’ on their masters’ estates. They act as guards and hunters, primarily, each one collared and commanded by the head of household, though they have their own society within the camps and a skill-based hierarchy that determines who will be allowed to enjoy special privileges or take on more difficult tasks. According to lore, a Hound would simply lay down and die if he was deprived of his pack and master, but there have been instances of runaways who carve out their own lives on earth and that assumption is being questioned.

Though they won’t necessarily die on their own, Hounds like Fiachra do have a strong sense duty and collective self. They prefer to be with others that they consider their family, even if those families are built rather than born, and are most comfortable with a commander of some kind to look up to. They make excellent soldiers, even outside the traditional pack structure, and and drawn to organized groups. Respect and honor are the highest values in their society.

While on earth and cut off from the flow of magic in Faerie, Hounds must hunt to survive. While they can get nutrients from any food, they rely on the life-energy that comes from eating the heart of their own fresh kill in order to live. Most Hounds need to hunt at least once a week to meet this requirement, but some who live in urban areas find that a daily diet of rats or other small animals works better than seeking large prey less often. However they choose to get it, all Hounds need that sustenance, and will waste away if they’re prevented from getting it. Unlike many fae, Hounds are not always careful with who knows their true names, as Name magic has very little hold on them.

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The object of Rom’s devotion was in a pretty bad place, himself.  When they’d gotten back to the house, he’d set his tragic little bundle down between the roots of one of the trees in the yard, knowing it would be uncomfortable to bring it indoors.  He’d come to think of it as an empty corpse, more an object than a former being, because that was easier for him.

He’d used as few words as possible to explain what had happened, then he’d gone back outside to sit on the back porch.  He rested his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms, staring aimlessly out at the wilderness behind the house. His silence was less an outright rejection of company and more because he hadn’t even thought about talking to the others about what’d happened.  He dealt with tragedy badly, having experienced it so infrequently.  Even in his grief-imposed inaction he seemed restless, a bundle of raw nerves and energy with no place to go and nothing useful to do.

Al took the news with stunned, sad, silence, and didn’t try to stop Kyu taking his grief outside. Being both mortal and elderly, death of those close to him had become uncomfortably familiar even though many of his allies were not in those categories. He did go out in the yard at one point, face serene and sad, to kneel by the tree in his own kind of prayer for the poor, dear, child (of sorts) lost. He didn’t let Osaiah accompany him outside, though he wasn’t gone from his faithful Guardian’s side long.

Jessamine took some time to help clean and bandage the wound on Fiachra’s leg, treating the injury with methodical care before asking for a little time to herself, as well. He let her go, but he wasn’t far away; he stayed in the kitchen, sitting in a chair and looking tired and older than he ought to. She found her way out to the back porch as well after an hour or so spent in slow, wandering consideration of the sporadically tended herb patch and the rambling lawn around the house. She took up a post at the other end of the porch, too far to intrude on her father’s thoughts but close enough to imply solidarity. Their conflict earlier appeared forgotten, and her threat to take what she knew to Heaven itself, to inform the Dominions about Kyu’s whereabouts, had died unspoken in her throat.

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In Hell, moments might have passed since Rom’s beating, or days - either way, Trecius did not return to finish him off.  The cavern was empty and silent save for the trickle of water and the occasional sounds of passing hyshea.  

Rom didn’t make any effort to cry for help. He hurt too much for that. Instead, he simply fell asleep, briefly and painfully, on the rough stone floor, waking to the sound of approaching footsteps and tensing for another attack. He knew he’d be helpless if it came to a fight, but he wasn’t going to just lay there and take another round of beatings, even as battered and bruised as he was.

When he found a curious kind of tenderness instead, he opened his eyes slowly to see who’d bothered to come to any kind of aid. His eyes were unfocused and slightly dim, like the halo that’d fallen back to encircle his throat once more. He frowned and coughed violently, choking on a little blood.  The face hovering above his own was that of the hyshea boy who’d shown him to the pools in the first place, and he looked deeply disturbed at the state the angel was in.  

He clearly meant no harm, and Rom lay back against the stone, submitting to his gentle ministrations.  Though he did his best to hold still, he couldn’t help but wince every time the boy came across a particularly tender spot. Though Trecius hadn’t actually caused him to bleed much over all, the cuts that were there seem to resist being closed, continuing to seep blood even as they start to heal.

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Once outside, Fiachra flickered back from man-shape to dog-shape, as though worried about meeting Kyu’s eyes with too expressive a face. He was quiet and reserved, like most of his kind, but it was rare for a Hound to be autonomous enough to leave the side of the one he was dedicated to protecting. That he was willing—and comfortable enough—to be out of Jessamine’s presence, even briefly, said a lot about his strong will and resolute mind. He was steady, with an intelligent mind behind those dark, seemingly slow-moving eyes. He didn’t seem like the type to stonewall a conversation attempt, but he was obviously uncertain about his standing with Kyu in the wake of the unpleasant outburst between his own lover and her sire.

Still wary of drawing attention to himself with the ‘scent’ of his own particular brand of magic, Kyu assumed a four-legged form before crossing the threshold of Al’s home.  It would be quicker to travel on four feet, and he felt safer making an escape that way if it came to that.  Partially to cut down on his own instinctive fear of Fiachra’s size and teeth he let himself stand a little taller than he usually might - though being the size of a rather small deer might not be the best comparison with such company.

I suppose you must think me a terrible bastard, he said, a few miles out from the house.  In company, it was hard for him to keep silent.  I don’t have anything against you, mind, other than - you know.  Hounds and Foxes.  He didn’t know why he felt the need to justify himself to this Hound, but he did. Kyu hated being disliked, a feeling that seemed diametrically opposed to his usual attitude towards others.

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Kyu wasn’t the only one visited with nightmares that evening.  To be fair, Jessamine’s was a physical being rather than a mental apparition, though whether that was good or bad was open to interpretation.

Trecius had been using the Fox’s help for years.  Recently he’d discovered her lineage and had let her know that he knew, less a threat than a compliment of sorts.  Even though she was the offspring of a most hated nuisance, she was too valuable to discard.

He arrived in shadow, forced to take a half-ethereal form by his earthly weakness.  It made him no less threatening, and as usual he came with a pack of hyshea at his feet.  Out of respect for Jessamine, or perhaps just to make this meeting run more smoothly, he’d brought a much smaller contingent, knowing their presence would upset her pet Hound.

Jessamine stirred immediately, sitting bolt upright with a knife in her hand that wasn’t there before as she glanced sharply around her room. She had the reflexes of an assassin—but where most would grow more tense in the presence of someone as threatening as Trecius, she relaxed slightly, setting the knife back down just under the edge of the bed. Fiachra woke as she sat up, but by the time he’d taken stock of the odd and worrisome situation, the moment of tension had past. He was still very young, for a Hound.

They were both naked, and Jessamine’s wiry, flat-chested body was sleek in the slanting moonlight from her single well-guarded window. The clan-mark of the Todd family was sharp and dark across her sternum, reinforcing the one boundary she held firm even with the Lord of Hell; she would not betray her bloodline, in any capacity. A new tattoo had been added since their last meeting to her upper arm, a classic and simple banner that states “Oportet vivere.” It behooves us to live.

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A world away from Rom’s personal Hell, Kyu woke in a cold sweat, frantic and uncertain of his surroundings.  He expected to hear the eerie wail of the hyshea pack at his heels, expected the red-hot pain from dozens of tiny mouths in his flesh, and it took him a moment to realize that he was still sitting in Al’s easy chair, and that it was far from dawn.

He heaved a disgusted sigh, forcing irritation to shield him from a yammering panic still threatening at the edges of his consciousness.  The nightmare had been horrific and vivid, but as he tried to remember it, the threads of it slipped through his fingers like eels.

Tired, sore, and slightly heartsick, he rose from the chair and stumbled towards the kitchen.  A glass of water and a moment to think might clear his head, and he wanted to get out of the dark and away from the large living room windows.  He reached the doorway and fumbled for a light switch, but as his fingers found it he was stopped short by the soft, almost imperceptible sound of someone breathing.  It was coming from the kitchen, and Kyu pricked his ears to capture the sound and pinpoint its exact location.

As he focused in on the noise he noticed something else - a rich, iron smell with the underlying stink of something rotten.  Whatever it was, he realized that he did not under any circumstance want to see it, but his feet were rooted by terror and his eyes fixed to a shape slowly resolving itself out of the gloom.

The lights flicked on suddenly, and Kyu let out a strangled moan of horror and disgust.

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((TRIGGER WARNING: Physical abuse, threat of rape))

Rom knew exactly who would be standing there and was certain he wouldn’t like it. He was right.  

Trecius stood behind the pair, pleased to have caught Rom unawares.  Henry bowed low and, without any kind of verbal command from Trecius, skulked away.  The Muse watched him go, then turned his attention back to Rom with a thin smile.

“As it turns out, I had much less to do this evening than I thought - lucky you.  I felt like such a terrible host, leaving a lackey to tend to you on your first evening in my home.”

There was nothing in Rom’s expression that could even be mistaken for a smile, no matter how thin or sardonic. He put his arms back down, one thumb hooked in his belt loop, but did it slow enough not to look nervous.

“Sure you can’t find something else to do with your time? I promise I won’t be offended by continued negligence.” He looked much better all cleaned up, and it was clear that he was making a point with the bright halo and the crucifix hung around his neck. His eyes were hard and guarded as he stood his ground, body tense and ready to fight or run if either seems useful.

“Oh, no,” Trecius said, chiding, with a slight shake of his head.  ”I haven’t had such an intriguing… project in quite some time.  You do not give yourself enough credit.  Though…”  He eyed his captive and let out a low, ominous chuckle.  ”Airs, you seem to have plenty of.”

He stepped forward and reaches out to grasp the crucifix, closing his fingers around it with no apparent discomfort.  He didn’t pull on it right away, but let his knuckles rest against Rom’s chest.  

“What on earth is this supposed to do?”

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Unlike Heaven, Hell has no strict hierarchy, nor a centralized governing body.  Power is everything, and the strongest demons command influence only as long as they are able to outfight and outmaneuver those below them.  Despite this chaos and danger, some parts of Hell can be relatively safe and liveable for the clever and canny, and for those who live long enough to attain a reasonable amount of strength, life can even be pleasant.  

Hellmuses & Archdemons
The eldest and strongest among demonkind are the archdemons and their counterparts, the Hellmuses.  Many Archdemons were born from the first Fallen angels, those who fought in the Great War against Heaven.  Warlike, prideful and cruel, they command demonic armies and rule large swathes of Hell under Trecius.  Having lived more than a thousand years on average, they amass immense supernatural strengths of their own, becoming the demons of classical mythology, able to call down hellfire and raise the dead.  Though able to leave Hell at will, they mostly remain Below, consolidating and protecting their holdings.

Hellmuses are Fallen Muses, the very oldest of Hell’s creatures.  Born before the first angels, they are a different sort of creature entirely with intellects far above the average demon.  Content to tinker and study in solitude, they are rarely seen in Hell, let alone on the mortal plane.  Trecius is unusual among his brethren in his concern for power and influence.  No other Hellmuses hold positions of power - this is primarily Trecius’s doing.

Lesser Demons
Beneath the Archdemons exist an array of lesser demons of every age and stripe, from green students to the ubiquitous Deviant, from war generals to free agents and slaves.  There is no hierarchy, and movement between castes is fluid and frequent.  Some demons are born to a purpose, much like their Archangel counterparts, but whether or not they do their job is questionable.  Most of the time these demons, along with cohorts of Deviants, pledge their allegiance to Demon Lords in return for protection and some measure of security.  Archdemons sometimes fight over particularly valuable new demons.

Cities and Towns
Several large keeps dominate the landscape of Hell, supporting a large population of demons along with the local Archdemon.  In addition, smaller cities and towns have sprung up as Hell’s population continues to grow.  Despite the disarmingly suburban nature of these cities, they are far from safe.  Indeed, most demons see unclaimed cities as mere holding pens for demons waiting to be taken into servitude.
At the center of Hell sits an enormous black castle and the seat of Trecius’s power.  Several small, outlying villages dot the surrounding slopes, their inhabitants swearing fealty to the Lord of Hell himself.  

The Academy
Demons reproduce at a prodigious rate thanks to a much higher mortality rate than most other supernaturals experience.  As such, they have instituted a school of sorts for young demons, to allow them time to grow into their power before being sent out to fend for themselves.  It’s a pragmatic move - corpses are of little use to Hell’s armies, but a demon who’s been trained is likely to survive at least a few skirmishes.  The school is organized much like a mortal college with specialized coursework and ‘graduate’ programs for especially smart or strong demons.  
Not all neophytes go through training at the Academy.  Some are Raised with enough strength and knowledge to make it on their own.  For example, Fallen angels rarely make use of the Academy, possessing enough inherent knowledge from their previous supernatural existence to survive without help.

The Ecology of Hell
Beyond Hellmuses and demons, many fiendish beings populate Hell’s startlingly diverse ecosystem.  Dante wasn’t far wrong in his geography of the Pit: Hell is laid out in a series of concentric ring-shaped ridges, depressions, and mountain ranges.  At the center sits a high mountain rather than a deep pit, with a broad valley spread out on all sides.  Though rivers of magma and acid do flow through certain regions, so to do rivers of clean water.  Though there are broad swathes of bleak desert, volcanic soil makes for rich, lush forests and grasslands as well.

Even so, Hell’s wild creatures make it a far more dangerous place than Earth.  Giant, monstrous beasts roam the wild places, picking off weaker demons and smaller creatures.  The most ubiquitous creature in Hell is the hyshea, a small, cat-shaped creature with the upper mandible of a crow and a body full of rot.  Most never grow more than twenty pounds, but in the wastelands, some claim to have seen hyshea the size of elephants.