#scofti

Hello and welcome to the School of Tieflings blog! There you can read the story of one particular tiefling teen lute player, and how he made his way to the School of Tieflings!

You can adress me anyway you wish, but for now let's say my name is just Author ^^ English isn't my first, nor is my second language, so help me god if I write something wrong XD

In this blog, other than the story itself, I will try to do stuff like asks, Q&A about the worldbuilding, arts, and many other on the thematic! :D

Chapters list:

Prologue

I, Fiery Music

II, Past and Future

III, Going to School

IV, Long Road Short

Additional Materials

I will return to writing when September starts, so

MAYONAISE

ON AN ESCALATOR-

i t ' s g o i n g u p s t a i r s

The @schooloftieflings

The School is my latest project, I believe it will go well! It is on pause for now until I get some more people interested in it.

Tief didn’t have dreams. He didn't have a stroll through his memories this night, as well.

But now, he woke up with a long gasp, panting in fear remembering what happened to him that night. Was he dead? Was he-

It was early morning, sunrise. And around him, the room was painted red and black in letters he didn’t know. Many, many letters written in blood were inscribed on the walls of the room, and on the ceiling there were two pure white skeletons with their mouths opened wide, as if in their last moments they cried loudly in fear and pain..

`Tayem’hosekem webhoht dohteser vekem iya’tayem gethe’tayem iya’tayem...`

He could read it, this was written all over the place. Whispers, dark voices that made him shiver.

The whole room was the result of what he’ve done. Of his nature. To save himself he killed two others. And now Tief was pale, almost colourless in face. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to run away.

Trying to ignore the whispers in his head which he believed was his subconscious, he packed his things and dressed up, with his hands trembling and breath shaky. Tears in his eyes. His lute wasn’t damaged anyhow, not a scratch, and the money was intact. Tief then looked outside (his room was on the second floor of the Duglew Tavern), and thought to crawl through the window to avoid meeting anyone.

Opening the window and trying not to look at the walls painted with blood and unholy symbols, he exhaled, and with a wicked maneuver jumped down, rolling and standing up on his feet without anything damaged.

— Curse you, curse you, curse you… — He mumbled under his breath, walking as far as possible from the tavern. His heart was rushing again, but to his surprise, his back didn’t hurt anymore. At all.

Tief walked to some alley between two gardens and leaned on a wall.

— Think, think you poor bastard… — He spoke to himself, thus motivating himself to think.

This letter was suspicious, but how would he know it was true other than go and check himself? Tieflings are known for their chaotic raw magic and fiendish nature. What if it’s a cult where they will force him to learn bad things? What if it’s a trap made up by some… Inquisition of sorts? At least three churches didn’t like any demonic creatures

But what if it is a school for tieflings, just like him? He thought a little.

Dark skinned people with glowing eyes and claws, feral long feet… He never saw anyone of his kind before, only on an illustration from some book written in Revenlandish. He thought most of them should be red, as depicted in the manuscripts, but him? What if he wasn’t even a tiefling but some… Other kind of fiend, or something?

What if he wouldn’t be allowed there? He checked the letter twice. Tief knew, at least he thought he knew, that he is the only street bard tiefling child who played songs on the streets of Serreip Sed district.

If it’s a real school, then he could walk there and meet others of his kind, have friends, maybe a family… He could play songs with them, he could play games, he could have food and a comfortable bed…

Then, Tief remembered this night and thought about his powers. He didn’t know how he casted this strange spell that deformed the two men so much, and didn’t want to cast it, at least consciously. Potentially it was very powerful, and though he knew nothing about magic, Tief accepted the fact he could use it in a defensive manner.

Now, he has decided.

— I am going to school, Seth.

…

After walking to the other end of the town, he found out it’s name was Regagne. And also he felt that he wasn’t welcome here. He knew it by looking at the behaviour of street cats. Any place must be judged by cats. If they are angry and anxious, then the place is bad, and if they are not afraid of you and come near to let you pet them, then it is obvious the neighbourhood was friendly.

There, cats were easy to be scared off, and mostly were sitting away from everyone and even each other.

Tief was looking at the singboards while wandering through the marketplace. He hid his money in several places, the golden galleons he had in a small pocket on the inside of his pants, half the others he had in his pouch and the rest was wrapped in the letter.

There was a weaponsmith, some old woman was selling metallic jewelry, a shoemaker, a butcher… In the distance Tief saw a familiar face…

It was the old man with the cart of hay! It was all empty now, and he was talking to some good dressed man. Tief decided not to bother them.

The young tiefling bard walked to the shoemaker and into his little shop. It smelled of leather, dust, and a little bit of oils and iron. All aroung the place, on the floor, on the walls, hanging from the ceiling there were boots, shoes, low shoes, snow-boots, riding-boots, farmer-boots, sandals…

An elderly man with no hair on his head was sitting in the corner by the window, working on some nice pair of boots: black leather, colorful laces… His back facing the entrance of the shop, he spoke in a gentle and tired voice:

— Rodrick, are you there? Go see who just came…

Tief looked around the shoemaker’s shop once more. It was comfortable. Several chairs were around, every shoe was clean and smelled of oils. His head felt dizzy from so much freshness. He inhaled the air and sighed in surprising relaxation.

From behind the corner, from another room there came a curly headed peasant boy. He looked at Tief and suddenly shouted, scared. Tief covered his ears.

— I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

— Rodrick, what in the hell are you- oh… — The man was now looking towards Tief. He had no eyebrows, a very wrinkly face and deep blue eyes. Rodrick already hid in the other room which seemed to be a storage.

— I’m sorry sir, I didn’t want to scare anyone I’m just-

— You should never, ever, ever apologise for being what you are, young man. — He spoke in a solid Brotteonian accent, saying words whole and having a strong note of something in his voice. This was something very difficult to explain in words… As if this man has seen a lot in his life, as if he had some discipline in him.

— I-

— Pardon Rodrick, he never saw someone like you but I did. My name is Ayaan Cempbill, how can I help you young man? Are you looking forward to buy some shoes?

— Yes mister Cempbill, I am. But I am now uncertain you will have any that will fit me…

— Why so? Take a seat young man, let’s see what’s the case. How can I address you?

— You… You can call me Tief.

— Tief? Do you know how degrading it is? Is this a nickname you got from your locals?

— I… Yeah, it is.

— Well, let’s see then, Tief. Sit there, please, — He took a chair and offered it to Tief, who was fairly shocked and confused on how to behave. Mister Cempbill was walking as if he was bent in half, and now was coming to see Tief’s bare feet.

— Ooh, wow, that’s new for me… Don’t mind me Tief, can I? — He sat on a small little chair and looked at Tief’s right foot which he held in his hands right now. Tief was a little startled and somewhat awkward.

Tief’s feet were a little elongated, his toes were a little bit like those of a feline, with claws and pretty agile, his pinky toe was on the side of the foot, not on the front. He could grab small things with his feet, he sometimes used that to his advantage.

— Well, Tief, I see. I rarely worked with anything like that. Your feet probably won't fit into any of my shoes, hmm… From your point of view, how do you feel walking barefoot?

— Pebbles. They hurt a lot if you step on them while runnin’. And nettle, and any other prickly plants…

— I see, I see… How much time do you have? I have something that might fit you, it will take an hour to adjust but it will then be yours. Come on, — He patted Tief’s knee and stood slowly with a grunt.

— Stay here… I hope you have some time, I just need to measure you, you know, — He walked to the room in which Rodrick was still hiding, and came back with some strange ribbon.

— Alright, give me your right foot, — Tief didn’t quite like being examined like that, but couldn’t do much against it. Mister Cempbill then placed it on his own knee and wrapped the ribbon around it.

— What is this?

— This? It’s a measuring tape, want to have a look? Just one moment… Half a dozen aprox and then… — Mister Cempbill mumbled some numbers and stuff. Tief suddenly realised he didn’t know how to count right. He knew many numbers, yes, theoretically speaking he could count to 999 999 (because he didn’t know what a million is). But he couldn’t do anything other than simple addition and subtraction. — Alright, this and that… — Mister Cempbill’s face went illuminated as some idea came to his mind.

— What is it, mister Cempbill?

— I know exactly what to give you, one minute Tief, — He hurried to go somewhere and looked among the materials he had. — Here, let me check…

Mister Cempbill sat by him once again and put something on his right foot. It was something like a leather shin guard, but the point was that Mister Cempbill placed it on Tief’s foot, not the shin. Now he looked for something else, asking Tief to hold the thing on him. He returned with a pair of sandals.

— Alright, put your foot in the sandal and tell me how you like it, — He gave Tief the footwear and looked down thinking. Tief put it on and… It was rather nice, but a little stiff for the arch of his foot…

— Don’t worry about anything but the toes: how do they feel? Comfortable?

— Pretty good, yes…

— Excellent. — Tief didn’t know that word. But he assumed it was some kind of exclamation.

In a matter of half an hour, Mister Cempbill had a strange pair of something that wasn’t exactly boots, but not sandals either. These shoes covered the toes from above, but not from below, they were comfortable to walk on tippy-toes with and with the full foot. This was some…

— Magical…

— Oh don’t you say. About the cost, let me think…

Money. Tief froze in place. These shoes were custom made, and surely cost his whole fortune… Should he run with them on his feet? Then he wouldn’t get to buy anything else before heading to Amperholm…

— Let’s see, what is your money in count, fairly? I can hear the clinking of the coins, you have a lot, but the question is… Hm… Alright, four silvers will be fine?

— F-four silvers!? S-sir that’s fairly too… This price is too low for such good shoes…

— The leather cost me half a silver. The sandals were a donation from a woman I know, other than that working with this gave me some more experience on the subject of unusual feet and it only took me three quarters of an hour. This is a good deal for me, so don’t you worry…

— Sir… — This was like a blessing. Never have been someone so nice to Tief. He was feeling emotional, and Cempbill was smiling nicely at him.

— Come on Tief, you have places to be. You will thank me some other time.

…

Tief walked out of the town completely different. With mister Cempbill’s help he got to buy himself some nice clothing, and near the high-noon, he headed south-east where the Amperholm lands were, and where was as well a lake where he could bathe. With some sheer luck, he didn’t encounter anyone who would say anything about the mysterious murder last night.

He walked the road, feeling this light emotion on his soul, dressed like a well-to-do person: a white clean shirt, a leather jerking on it, breeches of brown colour, mister Cempbill’s tiefling-boots (that’s how they decided to call them, together), a small rucksack on his back. together with the lute. He even bought a little knife for self-defence, and some foods he placed in a linen wrap. He also bought three cheap expense notebooks from yellowish paper from the local stuff store. Several pages were torn out, it seemed like someone bought them, used them for some time, and then found them useless.

And he still had almost a whole golden coin on him!

Tief felt so happy he wanted to sing. He needed to do it.

Taking out his lute from behind his back, tuned it a little, and walked like that for a minute or two, thinking about what song to sing.

He decided.

— A, bee, cee, bee...

`Way o’the road

So damn long and dusty,

When there’ll be a route

To the only right way?

Mountains

And the fields

Wind and rainy weather

Will we ever stop ‘ere

To look up at the sky?

To look up at the sky-

Roads of dirt and

Bloody rain

Roads of dust

And wind - insane

Where’s that mountain

Where’s that hill?

Where we will learn

How to feel?

Roads of dirt and

Bloody rain

Roads of dust

And wind - insane

Where’s that mountain

Where’s that hill?

Where we will learn

How to feel?

Maybe all this is wrong

Maybe if we all are together

Maybe the day will come

So we could look up the skies

Till forever…`

…

Tief made his way to the lake he heard about in the village. Looking around and checking if no one was looking, he found a private place between two willow trees and sat there to take a break and a little snack: one and a half round buns, some dried plums, and a strip of sun-dried bacon. He felt good, it was a nice time. Tief assumed he would be around the School after a day or two of walking. He checked the letter once more. Cargealdor village… It must be some thorp or something.

Tief looked around once more to see if anyone was around.

The lake was big, set between two steep hills, and had a crescent shape. In the high noon the sunlight was playing in the water, reflecting in all kinds of ways. The water was not so transparent, but seemed clean. Tief thought twice, and decided to have a bath since no one was around.

Undressing and hiding his clothes under a bush together with everything else, he walked to the water and stepped in. It was surprisingly warm: it seems like the summer heated it up a lot. It was so nice…

The tiefling teen washed himself all over, cleaned his hair clean. Finally it had it’s whitish colour back… In the Serreip Sed district he needed to look miserable to get more attention from the crowd when he played the lute. Now he thought:

— I will be clean, beautiful and nice…

He washed his face, his armpits, his legs, his hair and neck…

From the water, to the lakeshore, there walked a handsome young tiefling with skin of bluish black, glowing amber eyes and white, grizzled wet hair. His skin shone on the light, clean and smooth, his tail with a little spade on the end swayed behind. He was slim and had almost no fat on him.

Dressing up in his underclothes, he laid back and ate some more of the dried fruits he bought. Looking at his reflection in the water, he was surprised to see how well he looked.

He wasn’t religious, but prayed for anyone who could hear him. He thanked the lute, he thanked Seth, he was thankful for all the good people he ever met. Tief was slowly moving towards the light, and was so happy about it.

In Serreip Sed there were two churches: of Ueid, the Revenlandic saint god, and of Ael, god of angels. In neither of these buildings he wished to find himself, for ueidians sometimes were rather cruel, and aelians proclaimed that everything they do is holy because it’s them who are doing that. Many old women and men, and other fanatics of all ages were always following Tief, shouting bad words at him. Some believed that Tief himself chose to become a tiefling and that he was a sprout of evil no matter what he did.

Once there was a story, that a local son of a baker bought a guitar and sang on the Square of Doctor Ernest Giraud (a local hero who almost single handedly stopped a plague outbreak but sacrificed his life). The baker’s son played not so well, but soon he left the square with so many coins in his hat it probably weighed around four pounds, as Tief thought.

On the next day Tief came to the same square and sang his own songs. He was almost beaten up, just because of his race., but managed to run away.

Tief knew he played better than the baker’s son. He knew it, he believed in it.

The high noon was falling and it was around half past one when Tief continued his journey. He found a straight good stick which he used to ease the walking (and if needed, he would use it as a weapon).

He walked forward on the road paved with dirt and ancient rocks that eroded long ago. He walked and stopped for a break every horizon. Horizon was an old measure of distance, it was also called ophelde, which in some old language meant “rest”. He could walk a horizon in around an hour, take a quarter-hour rest, and then continue. Towards the end of the day he was so far in the fields he didn’t know where to head. Tief tried to count how much he walked. Around 7 horizons. Now his legs hurt as he was making a little camp by the road, behind a little hill. The sun was setting, and he had to hurry. He needed a fire, so he gathered some sticks from the several trees not so far away. The grass there was high to the knee, so he could see if someone was coming close.

— Fire’s needed, but I don’t have a flint… — He said with a sigh, looking away and around.

Then he thought a little. What if he tried to sing in his secret language and maybe the fire would spark?

He took his instrument and tried to think of any word in that language. It was so strangely difficult… It was as if describing something extremely simple, like, the colour green, without using the word “green” or any comparison.

— R… Rohtedoht? What is this even, I don’t know… — Tief mumbled trying to pick up a tune for it on the lute.

`Rohtedoht, rohtedoht

Lyrikekem bedtloodoht`

Nothing happened. The bunch of sticks Tief placed on the ground and surrounded with rocks (so the fire wouldn’t spread) didn’t do anything. Tief decided to repeat this little… Song he made up, eventually not knowing what it meant.

It was as if his mouth spoke by itself, as if his voice pronounced things he didn’t know, as if the language he talked lived a life separate from him.

— Rohtedoht… Rohtedoht…

`Rohtedoht, rohtedoht

Hefhed’rekem bedtudoht-`

That didn’t work either. Tief huffed annoyed.

— Boy, where ar’cha? — The old man asked, looking around the warehouse in the docks. This memory was vivid in Tief’s mind. Still vivid.

— Bo-o-oy? C’mon, I know ye are 'ere… ‘got a new chord for ye! C’mon, quit hidin’.

Tief was hiding behind a large box of something. He couldn’t read back then. But he memorized many melodies, many songs, so much…

Tief wasn’t showing himself. Seth chuckled, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room.

— Aight pal, ol’ papa Seth will try to entertain ye’musical thirst. Now, tell papa, what’s this a’chord? — He said, tuning the lute. His lute. The lute that now was in the corner of Tief’s room, on which he played magic.

Geth, Cess and Doht. Three most useful chords. He didn’t know what they were called in reality, in fact, Seth didn’t know either. But Tief knew how they were labeled in his mind.. These three were the most common, simple, useful. But after using them so many times, they became dull.

But this chord… Seth played some new tone, something interesting. Major. Bright. Warm. In the light of the cracked oil lantern on the table he played.

He didn’t memorise it well back then, but now he could play it with ease without thinking. The Ayem-meht Nehtiya chord. Tief didn’t know what this language was, he knew it, but couldn’t speak in it, he could sing it, but didn’t understand what he was singing. Seth was saying that this language is “spooky”, and always said he liked it. It was fiery. Fiendish. Of his tiefling nature. And Tief didn’t quite like it. He was curious about what it was, but was afraid of it, as it was something completely unknown for him.

He remembered Seth’s melodies. The Duckling Song, In Tabernia, Ol’ My Rucksack, Black Cape Mystery… But he couldn’t remember the exact look of Seth’s face. Tief was always afraid to look into people's eyes, because once he scared some lady on the street. It was his most early memory.

Tief remembered Seth having white hair, long to the shoulders, and a moustache looking like a lowercase-N. He remembered him being tall and skinny, with a breathy voice, as if he was a castaway in a desert and didn’t drink water in months. But when he sang… His voice became soft, like silk, like the fur of a kitten. Everytime Seth sang Tief lullabies, Tief felt like he was a kitten, and Seth’s song was a petting hand.

It was all around six years ago. In spring, Seth was visited by some men. Tief could hear them talking. He heard their words. “Tax”, “Payment”, “Owe”, “Credit”, “Fucking Fiend Bastard You Keep In Here”. Tief was hiding in the dark behind the boxes and barrels.

Then he heard no words, but a sound. A sound of a dagger piercing into flesh. A gulping sound of Seth as he fell on the floor.

They left.

Seth was sitting on the chair, his hand red, his stomach stabbed and bleeding.

— Sunny, dear… — He called him. — I can see yer’ eyes, boy, c’mere… — Seth was weakening. Tief was crying, a small child, walking to him slowly with tears in his eyes, sobbing with the most bitter sorrow.

— Sunny, it’s fine, I’m okay, see? Tis’ jus’a scratch… — Seth was pale. His eyes were full of fear. But not of death. He was afraid of what would happen to Tief.

— Yer’a good boy, sunny, don’t be afraid. I’m sleepy, okay? ’member my lute? I ‘ive it to ye. Ye deserve it. Yer a good boy sunny. You play very well, with those claws, yes… — Seth petted Tief’s cheek with the clean hand.

— Good boy… Take it, it’s yours. Now ye’ll b’free to wander, run ‘way from ‘ere… This place’s bad. Play music and don’t let go of the lute. ‘member me, sunny… ‘member my words: Yer a good p’rson, a good boy of papa… Good… Boy…

Tief was crying the whole day over Seth’s lifeless body. He was still warm, his hand on his shoulder, a slight sad smile on his elderly lips, a trail of salt from a dried tear.

— ‘tis bastard’s dead already, go look for the fiend spawn… — Tief heard in the dark of the night, as two people walked into the warehouse. He took the lute, and fled.

...

So the night passed, in the morning Tief still felt pain in his back. He woke up slowly, with grunts, with little gasps of pain.

— Ouch… — He held the hit place, on his lower back right under the ribs, on the left. Tief was struggling to fight the pain when he reached to check his goods. In place. Two golden coins among 6 silver ones and 43 coppers. It was such a big lot…

But the paper… What was it? In the morning light coming from between the planks, he looked at the paper. It was… A letter. His hair went on end. He could read, but… It was hard. He would try…

To: The tiefling bard child playing in the Serreip Sed district of Revenland.

From: SoT

If you can read, then read carefully. If not, then to the one reading this message: please speak the letter the way it’s written without skipping anything.

We from the School of Tieflings are giving you an invitation to our school. The given two galleons might be enough for you to buy suiting clothing and everything listed below, it will be useful if you wish to study at us:

A suitcase full of comfortable semi-formal clothing. Preferably a good amount of spare socks

An empty book or diary (x5)

A cape with a hood, comfortable and weatherproof to some degree

It is allowed to take any possessions, such as jewelry, musical instruments, talismans and so on with you. We are waiting for you in the village of Cargealdor, in the Amperholm territories. Look for a tall male tiefling with red skin, or let yourself be seen by him.

Everything best, Prof. Aiv Avlis

Tief was confused. He did understand most of the message. But why? Why was he invited there? It made no sense. And why was it so important? Was this… Prof Aiv Avlis the man who gave him those two golden coins? It must be, right?

His back hurt, and his head ached. He needed to do something…

— Here mister officer, he’s under the stairs. Yes he lives ‘ere, go take ‘im.

Tief’s eyes went wide as he heard the voice of John Billiehorn, one of the brothers who owned this building. Officer? A guard was there to take him to jail, or worse, execution. He was trapped, framed, with no way out. His claws were the only thing he had to fight back.

...grabbing the lute, the hat, the fortune of coins (which he put in the little pouch-pocket on his raggy clothing), and the blood-stained letter tucked into her top clothing, he limped a little while the guard was coming.

— Right here officer, here’s the door yes. He’s still sleeping, yes, a lazy freak he is… — John Billyhorn spoke in his grumpy manner.

— Turn around, sir, leave us. He’s needed to be… — The guard, probably a huge man, judging by his deep voice, didn’t finish the phrase, but Tief knew what he meant. Through the planks he saw the great pike that the guard had…

The guardian of peace opened the door in one great swing move and looked inside.

Inside, there was no one.

— Huh? — He grunted confused. Tief was there, on the ceiling of the room, flat, his tail between his legs. Now.

Tief dropped on the floor holding the pike by the shaft, sticking it into the ground and rushing past the guard and John Billiehorn. The guard shouted in shock. Tief’s lower back still hurt sharply, but he ran. To the fence and over it, onto the street…

There were two more guards. One of them got time to blow in the whistle, and thus alerted the other. Tief hesitated before running away with all the stamina he had, hungry, wounded. He was running for his life.

The morning lights were shining bright, the sun rising, people were waking up. It was around 10 o’clock in the morning, and the city was already sprouting with life.

Tief knew a route. On the bazaar he rushed to one specific place in the backstreet, and there easily and fastly climbed a wall. One of the guards almost hit him with his halberd. Now, on the roofs, he could get anywhere he wanted.

Running on the red roofs of Revenland, he soon got the chase off his tail, leaving the guards alone in the streets, tricked.

`Iya rohtuneht

Iya hefhed-le-ekem

Roht-e oameht

Iya’llyr bedtekem`

He instinctively sang, feeling his ancestry's magic flow. His pain got numbed, and stamina somehow reloaded.

And he ran, ran fast, until he reached the highway. There were many carts and coaches going in and out of the city. He sneaked down on the ground and sat by the way. He was hoping to get out of the district, and then to some better place. Blood rushing, heart thumping in his chest loudly, Tief let himself relax a bit.

Here is a good cart. With hay, and that was all. Quickly, he stood and rushed to walk by it’s side. No one was looking at him, which was strange, considering his looks. He felt it was magic, but didn’t have time to think about it. He jumped in the hay, and hid there. Breathing through the hat to have some better air, he laid there, relaxing.

Hay in the district. Maybe it was coming from the Emirpal district? There were mostly farms, perhaps this cart was just passing by…

It was pure luck to find a cart like this. A single horse, the rider, and a lot of hay to hide in.

— Didn’t even… break… a sweat… — He spoke, at first feeling fresh but suddenly feeling tired, and the pain in his back coming in a great wave, strong enough to knock him out completely…

...he woke up after some time. His first thought was “I am a wanted man”, before he looked around in the hay scared. Memories came back and he tried not to whine from the pain in his back. This was no good, he needed rest. But where? He felt paranoid. Anywhere he would go he would be met with dangers. And there…

Where was he now?

He carefully looked out of the hay, towards the cart’s direction of movement. Other than horse arse and the tired looking farmer, he saw only one thing.

Golden plains of wheat. As far as the eye could see, and a little town in the far.

— Holy name of Ueid! Fiend! — The farmer shouted scared, startling the horse. Tief backed away, showing himself.

— Please, have mercy! — Tief shouted instinctively, covering himself. — I just needed a lift, I’m sorry sir! I-I can pay!

The farmer had a pitchfork by him, and now had it in his hands. He stopped the horse.

— Ayh? Pay? Who's ya fiendling!? Tella name!

— I-I’m…

— Now!

— Ex! — He said. It wasn’t his true name, but it was close to it. He didn’t trust anyone to give them his true name.

— Ex? Aight aight, — The farmer said putting the pitchfork away. — Ex! How much do you have, in coins?

— T-thirteen coppers… — Tief lied bluntly.

— Nghrh… Give me five of ‘em ‘n ye’ll be fine. Just sit in ‘ere, c’mon! Give the coins!

— Y-yes sir… — He tried not to tinkle his fortune, and tried to act sad to give such a big part of his already small balance. He pulled out not five but six, giving them to him.

— P-please, I need to see my dad…

— Shoo! Shutcha and sit still, bunny- — He said taking the coins and putting them in a little linen pouch.

Tief gulped nervously, sitting by the man, who now was looking nervious.

— Knew’t, Ueid… Knew’t there’s s’one in’e cart ay… Is that a cithara?

— N-no sir, this is a lute.

— You stole it.

— No! It’s a gift…

— ‘en play somethin’. — Was the dry answer of the man. Tief uncomfortably took the lute and cleared his throat. Tuning it, he put the hat with the letter on his own head, and played the first chord. The man raised a brow of interest.

`When you ridin’

Past fields of rye

Shining gold

That pleases’ the eye-

When you ride

Your way back home

Know there’s someone

Awaits you to come-`

— What’s that song?

— I-I made it up just now sir-

— Are you reading my mind? How do you know about my wife?

— I-I- sir, forgive me, but I am not gifted with the quirk to read minds. It was just a poking guess… — Tief said, still playing the tune.

— ...aye like it. — The man said, looking a little thoughtful. — Ya know ‘at song, “Raise yer cup, an’ bottoms up, bottoms up!”, aye?

— I know it yes!

— Oi matey! Play it, let’s sing together-

Tief asked for a moment to tune the lute, and then nodded. The man started singing, very out of tune:

`Aye who’s coming with me to walk long way’t’e’sky?

I love boozey, let’s jus’ drink that thing dry

Whatta place, whatta place ‘ere to be-

Have a cup fromme bottle, hava’drink ‘ere with me!

Raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Raise yo cup, bottoms up - drink it up!

Aye who’s comin’ with me to a quest?

Whoza comin’ with me, oh with me an’e rest?

Whoza comin’ with me, whoza comes is the best

Whoza coming with me, raise yo cup - take a rest!

Raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Aye raise yer cup, bottoms up - bottoms up!

Raise yo cup, bottoms up - drink it up!

It sounded awful, truly, but Tief managed to fit the bad rhythm and the horrible accent of the man with a suitable melody. The man demanded to sing again, and thus the song was sung thrice.

— Phew, ‘ery nice...

— Actually the song’s different lyrics sir, it goes…

— Do aye look ‘ike I care? Tis’ my cart, I sing the way I want.

This… Was a good point, truly. Tief thought about it. “My cart, my songway” - that was the idea he got solid.

— Aight, here’s your coppy matey, ‘atas nice. — He threw Tief one of the coins he gave him, and laughed a little madly.

They soon arrived at that town Tief saw from a distance. Tief thanked him, and walked off. The sun was setting, and he needed to find a safe place for tonight.

Tief walked through the streets, and finally had some time to think.

— I’m in another town… Where do I go next? — He didn’t quite believe the letter he still had in his hat, nor did he trust that Profaiv Avlis person.

School of Tieflings… What was that? He didn’t know at all, he didn’t even dream of going into a school for he knew he wouldn’t have the money for that. He learnt to read Common by walking through the city with Seth, as he showed him the signboards of different merchants. “Butcher”, “Smith”, “Locksmith”, “Clothing”, these words he learnt to read first. Then Seth teached him how to read and write whatever he pleased. Many walls in the docks were covered in meaningless word-experiments, “oongooloostoo”, “biblidygook”, “vararansque”...

Tief stopped.

There were several town people looking at him, but it wasn’t bothering him much right now. What catched his interest was a large sign by a three-story building.

Tavern Duglew

Was written on a wooden sign with pyrography. Tief easily read the word “tavern”, but “Duglew” was a little odd for him. He thought a little bit.

It was getting dark, late evening, and inside the tavern there was some light. Tief inhaled and with courage walked in.

The insides of the house were pretty poor: several square tables placed in rows, chaotic placement of chairs made it look like they were dancing around each other. There were some people - all humans, a mature woman and two men, all smoking cheap weeds and looking at Tief confused. The woman spoke first.

— Bar’s closed kid. Shoo-

— I need a room. — Tief said confidently. He knew he had the money, and could afford the luxury. He never slept in a real bed before, but saw those through the windows and in Billiehorn’s house.

— A room?

— Yes. For two nights paying in advance. — As Tief said this, the faces of all three went long.

— Y’see lil’ pal, it ain’t for free y’know…

— How much?

— Half a stag for a’nite’n’day. — One silver coin for two days? Tief couldn’t believe his pointy ears.

— Here I have one, show me a free room, — Tief said, pulling out the coin. — Servin’ food?

— Offerin’ ‘eakfast’n’lunche deal. — The man with darker and longer hair said.

— Good then.

After a quarter of an hour, Tief was in his room alone. Hungry and his stomach growling, he thought about what to eat. There must’ve been leftovers in the kitchen which he could have bought, perhaps… Not leaving anything in the room, he walked out of it and downstairs. There were several new patrons, four men drinking and talking with each other quietly.

Walking to the dark haired man of the staff, Tief spoke.

— So is there anything to eat, sir?

— We have some bread and cold stew. Want me to heat’t up a bit, chum?

— Sure, how much will it be?

— Seven coppers.

The said coins were already being placed on the counter as Tief nodded and walked to take a seat at one of the tables. Everyone here seemed pretty friendly, though he still kept his ears sharp and eyes peeled.

He ate the pork stew, and the bread, now feeling so sleepy and tired… Tief slowly made his way to his bed and found himself sleeping tight.

Tief didn’t have dreams, he had memories. Some were pretty distant, some current, but now he was thinking about the Billiehorn Roost. He remembered petting the peepers several times when nobody watched, these fluffy little chicks…

Then, unexpectedly for himself, he woke up covered in cold sweat. He found it difficult to breathe, laying on his stomach. Confusion grew into fair fear, because Tief couldn’t move. Outside it was late night, but he could see in the dark as if it was nothing but slight dusk.

— ‘s he asleep? Y’sure?

— Shutcha, let’s-a see… — Behind the door of his room the familiar voices talked among themselves. Tief made a crippled sound, trying his best to move a muscle.

— The dreamnut must’ve got ‘im ‘lready, ‘ike a log he’s… — One of the men said, opening the door with an audible creak.

Tief made a scared squeak, looking at the silhouettes of the two.

— Ueid of all saints!

— Easy, it’s only his glowin’ eyes, focking fiend’s a liver huh. Take his cithara, — One of the male silhouettes said. Tief wanted to scream, trapped in his body and unable to move at all. His head felt dizzy, he had trouble telling where’s the ground and where’s the ceiling.

— Look in’e chest, ‘s goods mus’be ‘ere… — Said one while the other tried to walk past Tief, who was laying helpless on the bed. Tief teared up huffing into his pillow as the men looked for his money.

— Look a’dat! — He raised the pouch with the tiefling kid’s money. — He’s a thief-ling oaye mate?

— Shall’e kill ‘im?

— Aye-

`Dohtiekem hefhed ilthyahkem bedtast ardoht’seht-`

— Whot was’at? Y’said something?

— A-nope-

Tief was feeling fear and hate, raw magic flowing in his mind and forming in subconscious thoughts in the ancient language he knew from very birth:

`Cesshokekem oht’neht yahkemou’roht bedt-lackoht hekheme’art’seht-`

One of the two men coughed a little into his fist. Tief was hearing thunder in his mind. The other man stepped to him and pulled the pillow from under Tief’s head-

`Dohtiekem hefhed ilthyahkem bedtast ardoht’seht

Cesshokekem oht’neht yahkemou’roht bedt-lackoht hekheme’art’seht

Hefhede’elyr tayem’hekem webrathekhem ohthefhed mehtekem-`

The man pushed Tief to lay on his back and placed the pillow on his face, smothering him.

— D’ya hear ‘at?

— Prolly ‘e wind- — The second one answered coughing once more, now uncontrollably while smothering Tief.

Tief tried to hold his breath. He was afraid to die. He was betrayed, he was poisoned with paralytics, he was helpless and robbed, but in his mind was still reading the darkest curses known, even when slowly drifting asleep, unconscious:

`Hefhede’elyr tayem’hekem webrathekhem ohthefhed mehtekem

Sehtwall’oweb yahkemo’uroht bedtraineht’seht ayemn’doht dohtiekem

Dohtiekem, dohtiekem, dohtiekem-hefhedoroht’ekemveroht-`

In Revenland, on the streets there was a poor little boy, singing a song and accompanying himself with a lute he was gifted, the thing he valued over everything in his life.

`See the sun set

In the skies

As a tiefling

“Mercy!” cries-

Gods do see ye

Doing a’right

Will they help me

Feel the light?

Will the crowd be

Mercy-less?

Or do will be

Helpin’ god bless-`

The child singing this hid his face under a hood of old fabric, perhaps it was once a potato sack. He looked poor, hands appeared to be all painted black. But what was really giving him away was his tail. The kid was a tiefling, a teen somewhere in his fifteenth year alive. In a leather hat he set before him he had at least half a galleon. Not everyone wished to throw their coin at a poor hell spawn, but some did, and even smiled at him.

Some called him Tief Bardling, playing with words, and he accepted that rather silly naming. But his true name was different, and he was hiding it well.

Singing his song and playing the tune, he was startled when someone appeared before him and threw a shiny golden coin into the hat.

Tief’s heart pounded fast. He was afraid to look up, but managed to sing a little shaky melody, improvised to thank the stranger-

`Gods do see ye

Doin’ a’right

You jus’ help’d me

Step t’wards the light-`

— You play pretty good melodies, son, — Said the stranger whose face Tief was too afraid to see, looking down at the hat, at the golden coin in it. Shiny, among dozens of copper ones and two or three silver ones. Golden, yellow, shiny, with a lion on it. — But I’ve heard you’re a particular master of rushing music. I’ve also heard you were causing little miracles on the streets. If you play some of that, I will give you another shiny…

The stranger seemed to have very good boots, real leather. To buy those it would cost more than Tief could get for a year of playing the lute, and they would last a long time before getting worn out.

Tief felt a lump in his throat. Fear. He didn’t trust no one, even dogs, even street cats who sometimes were stealing his food. And now a man in some stylish trench coat, expensive boots… It was just smelling like a trap. He learned how to see a trap on the streets, when anyone comes at you with friendly faces, looking you all over, trying to see where you hide your coins…

Tief cleared his throat. But two golden coins! He already had one, and now could get another… When the stranger will give one to him he will grab the hat and run, and now…

The kid tuned his lute with jerky movements, trying not to show that he is trembling.

He hit a note. Two, three, and now he was just doing magic. The lute was singing, not him. This sound... It was like the wind was flowing through the trees, the sound of leaves in the storm, the sound of a mountain rivulet rolling downhill…

Tief sang. The passerby people on the street looked over their shoulders to see what’s going on. What is this beauty on the edge of cacophony?

`Iya web a sehtt-a

Lyrre ivin geth o’lyr

Ayem lyr-ivekem

Hefhed ullyr oht’e zyr-

Iya web a sehtt-a

Lyrre ivin geth o’lyr

Ayem lyr-ivekem

Oht’hekhem oneht o’lyr-`

It wasn’t Common, no. It was something way, way more ancient and extramundane.

The street was slowly getting filled with people, everyone was enjoying the new “concert” the little tiefling just started. And then something new appeared…

Tief’s eyes were glowing bright, and claws on his fingers almost sparkling up raw magic. The quick, devilish melody was filled with joy and swift tones, it was emitting a glow around Tief, warm, as if radiating this urge to dance. Tief tapped his paw foot on the stone pavement of the street rocking the beat. Soon several people were already dancing a little bit, trying to sing the same lyrics as the tiefling kid sang. The crowd grew. The stranger who donated Tief his golden coin looked around, spinning and laughing in the tone of the melody. It was raw magic, a talent, and it was filling him with joy.

Soon there was almost a rain of money being given to Tief, silvers, coppers, he was singing with his eyes closed not even counting his new fortune.

And then, climax, lyrics grew tension and he finally ended the song with a last riff.

Ovations. The many humans of the town who knew him in this neighbourhood were cheering and shouting.

— Damn if he could do ‘at ‘verydaye!

— Should’ey go to’e Bard College aye! — People in the crowd were shouting and nodding. No one much cared for him being a tiefling, the neighbourhood people knew him.

The Stranger was gone. There was another golden coin in the hat, and a little sheet of yellowish paper…

In a blink of an eye, someone ran past the hat and grabbed it, stealing all of Tief’s fortune.

— NO! — He protested, looking at the back of the filthy thief who dared to steal from him. Tief saw the thief’s back in the crowd, two or three people tried to catch him, resulting only in spilled coins.

Tief rushed to him, but the snatcher was already running away, so he had to raise the tempo. Almost shrieking from anger, real fury, Tief chased his fortune.

— Piss off, fiend sucker! — The male prowler shouted, trying to get away with the money.

Tief was running behind almost on all fours, agile like a mountain lion, almost choking on tears, a lump in his throat from anger.

The prowler turned left to the alley leading to another neighbourhood, across the grand road. Little coins were falling from the hat as he ran, and this metallic tinkling of his money hitting the pavement was enraging him even more. Tief almost collided with someone, past everywhere where he ran now there was chaos and rantling.

There he was, so close… But the prowler escaped again. With his lute on his back, Tief was slightly imbalanced. But to leave the lute would mean to leave Seth. This was his gift. To leave Seth’s lute would mean to betray him, his memory.

Rushing one more time, his heart pounding and panting heavily, Tief finally succeeded to catch and tackle the prowler on the ground. The coins all fell around, the two golden ones still there and several silver ones.

— Argh! Guards! Call the guards, this tiefling tries to steal my money!

A total lie. But it wasn’t his territory, Tief wasn’t a commoner here. He wasn’t welcome, and from all around him there was already shoutings of rage and hatred.

— Hang the fiend! Get ‘im!

— Throw a brick at ‘im Jamie! — Tief clawed into the prowlers neck, leaving a bloody wound, and rushed to grab the two golden coins - they were enough to live a month or two without working, and the sheet of paper, where was it, where-

It was so light the wind was tumbling it in the air, downstreet, deeper into the enemy’s territory. Tief was already choking on tears, rushing to catch the mysterious paper before someone hit him from behind with something heavy. The said brick some Jamie threw hit Tief in the spine badly, making him arch his back and shout from pain. Miraculously, it didn’t hit the lute.

— They are brawlin’ Bardling! Get ‘em! — A familiar voice from behind came: it was one of the commoners who just witnessed Teif’s concert. And from behind there was coming a raging crowd of people who were ready to defend him. He, limping, tried to catch the paper. He did, and stained it in the blood of the prowler, who now was holding his neck and bleeding, shouting for help.

Tief didn’t have his hood on anymore, and was revealing his face to everyone now. Black, bluish skin, glowing eyes of amber, and short messy hair, covered in ash and dirt so much its colour was unrecognizable as it appeared just as black as his skin.

— Get ‘e freak! — Some man tried to catch Tief, but he managed to swiftly get away. He was running towards the crowd of his people, with the two golden coins, the hat, and the paper.

As he ran to his shelter, behind him was left a real brawl between the two neighborhoods.

…

Gasping for air, panting from the long run, sobbing from the pain in his back from the rock thrown at him, Tief leaned on the wall, holding all that he managed to retrieve to his chest. He was crying out of all the emotions.

It was the local chicken coop, “Billiehorn Roost”, where he managed to get himself a little place he could stay at. It was under the main porch, in a little room right under the stairs. From all sides except one this room was surrounded by hen houses, every day and night he was surrounded by the smell of dirt, chicken shit, and the sounds of clucking.

He laid on his little bed, just a rafter with hay by the wall. Hiding his goods in the corner, he rubbed his back, crying silently not to break the deal: he could stay in this place only if he didn't make a sound.

Sometimes, in fact, he was paid to play some songs advertising the chicken coop and it’s products. Billiehorn brothers, the owners of the place, were grumpy sturdy men with beards, they were selling everything from chickens: live chickens, chicken meat, chicken assortiment meat, nuggets, legs, wings, whole, stuffed, chicken bones, chicken heads, chicken feathers, chicks, roosters, even chicken shit which some alchemists used for who knows what. Tief could get a silver coin from that, but he was mostly being paid in nothing but this room.

He laid on the raft in a fetal position, crying quietly, in pain both physical and emotional. Poor teen, with nothing in life and no future. Tief only trusted himself, and Seth, when he was still alive.

Just so you know, there is the list of tags my posts and related content are tagged with:

GENERAL: #scofti #school of tieflings

SPECIFIC: #scofti chapter #scofti ref #scofti fanart #scofti art #scofti character ref #scofti oc #sscofti loredump #scofti headcanon #scofti fan theory #scofti author notes

From afar you might think this building is a ruined temple of some old forgotten god. But the closer you come, the more it sprouts with life. The shattered windows grow whole, the trees by the outer wall become a little garden, the destroyed tower restores itself like a mirage.

And then you will remember the gag many people were sharing, that in the hills of Amperland, on a rocky little mount, stands a school, The School of Tieflings.

It is simple, in this bulky style of carved rock bricks, as if the bottom of everything was based on a square and the top was a triangle. Not exactly Revenlandic, but very alike…

Three towers and one clocktower are casted in the corners of the rectangle building. There was also another little garden on the roof of the building, on a section of the fourth floor. The five leveled towers seemed to be just for decoration, but in fact were the last safe places if the school was attacked. In the clocktower, behind the mechanism that spinned the clock arms, was the lair of the old tiefling-lich, the principle of the school - Professor Septimus Avlac.

In this school there were mostly tiefling spawns, children left by their parents, or those who lost them. Prof. Avlac saved them, by different means, may it be by sending one of the teachers, or sending a letter to the poor child with one of the many ravens who lived in the Third Tower.

The children there were learning how to control their raw magical potential, they were learning the ways of wisdom and peace, as well as the ways of self-defence.