The Halfling, whose mohawk had been combed and styled into three brilliant dyed red spikes this day, opened his freshly-bandaged arms widely, grinning like a child proud of a sand castle.
"Welcome, Ivan," he proclaimed. "to the Axis of Afflux."
Seyashen, who knew very well what he meant by addressing him that way, did not correct him. He merely stood quietly, golden eyes staring into the unending darkness of an old fear.
"You have given me many questions," the Halfling continued, "and it's time I traded you a few. Don't worry about the answers, just yet. Will you hear my questions?"
And Seyashen, who had begun to learn his game even before he really wanted to, now easily replied, "What is it you wish to ask?"
The Halfling scrunched his shoulders with glee, smiling at what he knew would be one of his greater challenges. "I ask you two things- What is it we mean when we say we must find ourselves? When did we lose this most important self, that we must now painstakingly seek it out?"
Seyashen chuckled to himself bitterly for a moment, having every idea of where the Halfling was going with these questions. Having read many treatises on the meaning of existence, he felt well prepared for the Master Inquisitor. "Were our selves ever known to begin with? Who is born with a perfect sense of what they are to be?"
Although he knew the movement would be lost on his student for the moment, the Halfling nodded, his dark brown eyes flashing with genuine joy. "Excellent- most wisely turned. I give you now an answer- the discovery of one's self is not a brilliant flash of inspiration. It is not an event, one single shock of knowledge, but instead a pathway, a journey, that we may either choose to take or to refuse. Yet, if we refuse the journey to our selves, we wither and die, never tapping our true potential- living daily on the surface of life, like insects, resting ignorantly atop the surface of a deep and powerful river."
"But those insects," Seyashen countered with a weathered smirk, "do not question their purpose. They are born with instincts. These instincts do not lead them to delve to the river's depths, but instead to exist naturally, as their forefathers existed, until they bear offspring and die. These gods-given instructions are in the fiber of their beings, and they do not deviate from them to satisfy foolish dreams or flights of fantasy."
"Ah, I give you now a question, traveler- would you say that there are instincts in each of us who were born of the Eladrin and of the Humans? Instincts that would instruct us to live naturally, as we ought to live? For if this is so, why were we given minds to conceive of principles, ideas and problems outside of these natural patterns? Why, in addition to the gods-given instructions imprinted in our flesh, were we cursed with the ability to ponder what is beyond them?"
Seyashen snorted disgustedly and shrugged. "What god does not enjoy spitting in the face of their creatures, who must of force exist beneath them? What god, like an ignorant child, does not enjoy smashing and breaking his toys?"
The Halfling reached over and patted Seyashen on the back, shaking his head although he still had the remnants of a smirk on his face. "Surprise, gracious Lord Torturer, I brought you a living oxymoron. Such bitterness, traveler, belongs behind eyes that have seen at least a century pass. While open."
"What I do, I do for the good of all," Seyashen stated coldly. "It... is the best way. I admit, it may not be the only one, but I do what I can."
"And are you so sure of your abilities? Your capabilities? Your boundaries?" the Halfling instantly goaded, stepping very close to Seyashen and circling him as though he might eat him. "You are positive you have touched the bottom of your strengths and weaknesses?"
"What is one's greatest strength but their greatest weakness?" Seyashen breathed, instantly deflated.
"Open your eyes, Ivan. Cast off the cloak of pseudo-religious narrow-mindedness that could only serve its purpose for so long. You are- beyond it."
The Halfling's voice sounded suddenly extremely distant, echoing in various places back to Seyashen's stunned ears. Concerned that he'd somehow cast some other spell without wanting to, the Tiefling removed his blindness.
And found himself in a small stone room. Just five paces long and wide, there was barely enough room for him to lie down flat.
The ground was hard-packed dirt, as though he were in a pen, and aside from a thin trickle of liquid that seemed to sink down into the dirt at Seyashen's left hoof, there was absolutely nothing inside the four stone walls but him. The silence- the complete absence of sound both in the physical realm and in the metaphysical realm was amazing to him- and welcome. Not once since childhood had there been a moment's peace from the weighty presence of the departed. Ghosts that walked with him to the well to draw water. Wraiths that tore at the edges of his dreams until they were nightmares. Liches that revealed themselves at dinner to warn him of impending danger- but at least their messages were normally useful. The wights and shades that screeched at him merely to enjoy his agony were not even tolerable.
Seyashen sat down on the packed earth, laid his head on the stone wall behind him, and drifted back to a time when his mother and father were standing on a hill crest that overlooked a far-flung Tiefling outpost. They had brought the family along since they had received news from a friend that the Turathi elite strike guards were somehow intending to find their shelter. And as Imei'ishi and Vashen surveyed the land, a death knight stood before the terrified eyes of their six year old male.
"Do not let Vashen strike this outpost," the knight thought- he was unable to speak, but Seyashen heard him all the same. "There is a sorcerer there who is scrying for your location, and Imei'ishi will not be able to withstand his wrath should she allow her defenses to drop for even the shortest of moments."
And when he had gotten over the shock of seeing this tower of black-armored terror, let alone being so close to him that the frigid grip of death gleefully prickled up his slender arms, all the small child could manage was, "But why are you talking to me?!"
He had since learned that the death knight had little choice in the matter. Imei'ishi's gifts did not extend across the icy divide between the living and the unliving. While many of his brothers, sisters, half-brothers and half-sisters were magically inclined, he alone of the family was heavily blessed and cursed with the ability to reach through the veil and touch those who had gone beyond it. And for most of his life since that first horrible visitation, he'd begged every magic worker and deity to answer just one question- why him? Necromancy, as natural to him as breathing, had cost him almost everything, and had made life seem like a furious god's gruesome punishment for a sin committed in some other forgotten lifetime.
Seyashen put these thoughts aside as best he could, figuring that if he had at last found the mental and spiritual silence that most living males and females blithely took for granted, he ought to at least enjoy it. In just a few short minutes, the Tiefling that hadn't had a single nightmare-free rest in over thirty years was asleep.
When he awoke, he discovered two things- first, that he'd somehow gone from leaning on one stone wall to lying on his side on the floor, and second, that his father was sitting, his arm resting on one knee, looking down at him. For a male who had been able to summon images of his sorely-missed father for years, Seyashen found himself unreasonably afraid. He bolted upright at once, squinting into Vashen's piercing golden eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he asked the almost flesh-and-blood image of his father.
Vashen scoffed, turning his head and gesturing to the four stone walls, which had somehow sprung back a little farther than Seyashen remembered them. "Why aren't you more grateful to see someone you call back again and again, night after night? And further, what are you doing here?"
"Ah," the Tiefling breathed. "You're a conjuration of the Inquisitor."
"I most certainly am not," Vashen replied, sounding somehow insulted. "If I harden my will against my own son, who hasn't given me a second's peace since I died, why would I heed the conjuration of some pint sized buffoon?"
"If you- if you're not-" Seyashen stammered, inching backward toward a wall, "What is this place?"
"The Axis of Afflux, Yasha- listen when people talk to you; you know I raised you better than that."
Seyashen blinked at him, wondering if he'd finally managed to trip over the edge of madness. He felt quite sane, but didn't take that as a sign that he actually still was. Most madmen, he reasoned with himself, have at least a few points in which they have better sense than the wisest court adviser.
"Now here's a question for you," Vashen continued, looking back over to his son and reaching out to touch the severed stumps of horn at his temples. "What did you let that batshit Dragonborn do this for?"
Seyashen nodded, figuring that if he were going to go mad, he should at least be at peace with the images that took part in his delusion. Scooting closer to his father, he took his hand away from the maimed nubs. "He said I was demon possessed, and I- believed him. I knew better, but I let myself believe him. There were no better explanations- and for a time, there was some fragment of peace. Perhaps he was partially right, I mean, what child, what creature anywhere, kills with a glance? Or with only a thought?"
"I loved you- and I love you now better than ever." Vashen took his hand away from his son, stood up and turned away. "But while alive? Not long enough. Had I lived to do so, I would have whipped the flesh off your bones. With anything I could have laid hands on. Would have tattooed my name in scar tissue on your back. I suppose I get a second chance, now- and then you must decide to let me go."
Seyashen blinked at him, utterly confused. "You're going to spank me in the effort to get me to forget you?"
"No," Vashen said, letting a lazy chuckle sigh its way out of him. "And I don't expect you to just forget me. But I will gladly have my part in your spanking the almighty shit out of yourself. Get out of here. You're rested now. Time to get up, get moving- let your balls drop. Go on, you heard me, go!"
"Go where?" Seyashen hollered, bewildered and insulted. "Or didn't you notice the solid stone? No one is here to cast teleportation- I can't do that."
"If you do not get up off your ass right this minute and get out of this room, I swear by Baator that there will be an arrow through your skull, now git!" And miraculously, when Vashen held out his right hand, his famous winged ebony bow simply appeared in it. "No estoy jugando; no me provoques."
Seyashen, who had only vaguely remembered such temper, recalled with sudden clarity that Vashen certainly had been quick to use the side of his bow to slap his children. He got up and, seeing that the thin streak of dark water had somehow become more like a creek that sunk down into the ground instead of springing out from it, decided to follow the strange flow back to its source. He paused before the wall under which the creek disappeared, and apparently took too long to figure out how to get past it- sure enough, the side of Vashen's bow connected with his son's back. When Seyashen inadvertently jumped forward, with closed eyes and the expectation of breaking his nose, he was greeted by the sight of green, rolling hills, majestic trees and the smell of ripening fruit.
"Madness," he whispered to himself, looking behind him to see what the stone room looked like from the outside. But it was not there at all, and the greenery stretched on into a horizon that Seyashen could not see. Where the dark stream ran, there was a strip of bare ground on either side, parched, that sliced through the grass like the scar of a burn. "The Axis of Afflux: god of torture, inquiry and experimentation. So I suppose I need to figure this out- no matter how great the pain."
And by figuring it out, he meant that he would simply follow the dark stream, and look around himself. The trees, somehow knowing who was passing between them, pulled their branches up and away from him as though they had minds of their own. Where he walked, the grass died, withered and faded into the ground, making it look just like the strip of wasted ground where the dark stream ran. When he was finally too concerned and guilty about it to continue walking on the grass, Seyashen stepped into the stream. It felt good, but not in the way that natural water ought to feel good- refreshing, cleansing or gentle. Seyashen at once began to note magic-like properties: he did not feel as though he was walking in liquid at all, but instead as though he were stepping into a vein of exposed arcane energy. Just as he truly began to give his mind to what exactly was going on, he heard something-
"Vuela, hechizo, ya con prisa; haga lo que mando yo. Súbete al pico alto, húndete en el río. Vuela por la noche santa, de los brazos y corazón. Tráigame-"
"Mia?" Seyashen called, stepping out of the unnatural flow instantly. "Mia'alhim? Donde 'stas?"
"Eh? Yasha?" came the bouncy, energy-filled girlish voice. "Yasha!" Like the child-master of illusion who had always won at hide-and-seek in life, the small Tiefling girl threw off her invisibility and ran to Seyashen, arms open and without concern. Such fearless love had only ever been afforded him by this, his smallest half-sister. He had always echoed her adoration back to her in waves, and this time was no different. It was strange that she'd stayed the same age while he had grown so many years older, but he did not question what he believed to be the images of his own insane memories. He snatched her up, twirled her in the air and hugged her to him, eyes stinging with tears that he forbade himself to shed. Mia, sensing the layers of feeling, put her arms on his shoulders and pushed herself back from him.
"No be sad, please- I love you! Now practice my Common, yes?"
"Oh- yes- sure, your Common is coming along nicely," Seyashen laughed easily, remembering that it was one of the last things he'd known the little girl had worried over. For whatever reason, her normally bouncy manner became very contained and serious when it came to her studies. He abhorred his inability to explain to his sister why Imei'ishi made her sit across the room from him on some bad days- and further, the fact that she had to sit across the room from him ever, at all.
"Put her down," a commanding voice sounded in the distance. "I don't know who you are, or why you've brought us here- and I know it's your fault- but if you don't put her down, I will make you taste your blood. Or what's passing for it."
Mia'alhim looked over her shoulder with a familiar stare, and in a few moments, a muscular, grim-faced young male Tiefling appeared out of nowhere, bastard sword drawn. He wasn't very tall, but he had to be quite strong, Seyashen noticed, since he was holding a two-handed weapon with just one hand and managing to be rather menacing looking. He was a good blow to the memory theory, since Seyashen could honestly say that he'd never met the creature before in his life.
"Practicing to be like my mother, eh?" Seyashen encouraged the little girl, backing up a single step. "I'm kin to her, warrior. I'm her brother."
"He is, he is," Mia'alhim chimed in happily. "Te prometo- parece peligroso, pero no es."
The young male stiffened for a few moments, clearly struggling to understand, but once the realization that the little girl did not feel threatened sunk in, he relaxed and put his sword back in its sheath behind him. "Then take your time," he sighed, sounding much older than his looks betrayed. "My sister was that age, when I last saw her."
"Mi'ishaen?" Seyashen asked immediately. "She's cousin to me, by Seya'ani, my mother's sister. She met me just a short time ago. Said she had a brother who would practice war games on her."
"Yes, I did that," the male said in a strange and wondering tone. "At her 'request'. Isha loved provoking me. She couldn't rest at night if I hadn't given her a few bruises. I wonder what kind of woman she... it's... been so long-"
Seyashen, unable to stand watching such a figure crumble, crossed over to him, leaving a cracked strip of dead ground behind him. "She's strong, and intelligent. Questions everything, and everyone. She doesn't allow anyone to tell her what or how to think- you'd be proud."
The male Tiefling looked beyond Seyashen at the ground behind him, then straightened up and looked from Mia'alhim to him. "You magic workers are beyond my mind," he admitted jovially, a sharp departure from the few pained moments just before. "Where she walks, grass grows. Where you walk, it dies."
Seyashen said nothing, but put Mia'alhim down behind him. Sure enough, life reclaimed the ground that Seyashen had walked upon, leaving him in a strange island of destruction.
"This is the Axis of Afflux, I'm told," Seyashen said, not sure if either of these figments of his madness would understand or know anything helpful. "I know both of you are- dead. I have no idea why you're here- especially you, sir- or even why I am."
"Call me Iaden, cousin. This your sister walked Avernus; crossed my path as I was stripping the names off our forefathers so that the likes of you could no longer summon them," the fighter sighed without a single note of bitterness. "It was clear that she didn't really belong there, although she didn't seem lost. I remembered Isha, and kept close enough to her to keep an eye on her comings and goings. When she began walking out of Avernus, I trusted my post to another, and followed her."
"Ya que estamos," Mia'alhim grinned, "vamos. Seguimos tu río."
In life, Seyashen would have demanded that she speak Common. But here, in this strange land where she had somehow bested her own death and everything else's, he simply turned and began following the stream again.
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