Challenge #03915-J263: Two Kind Hands

They HATED the damn teufs with a passion!

They were shocked when they awakened in a medic tent, bandaged heavily after thinking they had died during that rock-fall, surrounded by teuf medics who'd worked hard to save them and their entire band from dying of the injuries.

Note -- Yes I know that's a derogatory term used by those who hate hellkin. It's how the person views the individuals, sadly. -- Fighting Fit

They should be dead. The avalanche had crashed down on them and that hefty, bruising end should have been the last of it. Emryn didn't expect to wake up at all, and if they did, they expected a lot more pain than this. They expected rocks under their back and at least a Kobold gnawing on a limb.

There was a bed. Soft and comfortable and scented with herbs. Sheets that smelled of sunshine. A curtain between them and the rest of the world. A simple ceiling. The smell of healing balm and the itch of splints and bandages.

Alive. Aching and mildly uncomfortable, but a vast improvement on expectations.

Emryn tried to give voice to a prayer of thanks, and found the ability lacking. Their voice was weak and breathing deeply was painful. They fell to panting and gasping. Still better than a death by crushing and suffocation.

That's what they were wont to believe until they saw what had rescued them.

The Cleric wore the sunrise symbol of the Dawn Lord, but that was not Emryn focussed on. What gained Emryn's attention were the horns on their head, the ruddy hue of their skin, and the claws on their hand. A Hellkin! Corrupting a Cleric's sanctified robes.

"Fucking teuf," Emryn spat, and coughed so hard their ribs. "Get away from me! Don't you dare get your corruption on me!"

"My the lightbringer forgive you," said the devilborn. "I take it you have an objection to people of colour."

"I have an object--" cough cough gasp. "An objection... to filthy Hellkin stealing... air from decent people."

"I see," said the fiend. "I will find someone you will be amenable to."

Thank the gods that beast left. Emryn could relax. They could sleep. The next figure over their bed was a half-Elf with a frown on their nearly-perfect features.

"You're an idiot," said the halfbred.

"And you're a mutt," said Emryn. "At least you're miles better than the damn dirty teuf."

"Say that word again and lose an eye," threatened the mutt.

"What?"

"You're in a village full of Hellkin, dipshit. They busted their tails digging you all out of that pass and spent half of everything they had just to keep you alive. I can't heal a fucking mosquito bite, but you'd rather get treatment from me than the best healer in the entire valley."

"Devilborn only want to kill. They're not..." cough cough, "...gonna eat my blood."

The halfbred said the most insulting words that Emryn had ever heard, "They would never want your blood. Not so much as one drop."

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