When Eben decides to rob the isolated town nestled deep in the woods, he could never have predicted that he would be forced to atone by serving Adder, the powerful and terrifying gorgon charged with protecting the town of Nǣdre Tor.
However, as Eben...
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Eben doesn't come to awareness easily. His mind clings to his hazy, dreamless, unconsciousness as if to protect him from the harsh realities of the waking world. Unfortunately, there's only so long the bliss can last before his aches and pains brutally rip him from his solace.
The bandit awakens to a dimly lit room. He's lying prone on a worn woven mat, the resounding ache in his temples only rivaled by the burning pain of the slash on his belly. A fumbling hand reaches down to check the damage, only to find the wound obscured under layers of bandages.
"Now now, don't go pulling your stitches out."
Eben flinches, turning his head to locate the source of the voice.
It's a man dressed in a dark forest-green cassock. Eben's eyes catch on the intricate, vibrant red stole that hangs off the man's neck. Stitched delicately into the fabric are scales, fangs, and slit eyes.
Great. More snakes. Eben realizes that snakes are slowly replacing the mosquito as his least favorite creature.
"Please don't be alarmed. I mean you no harm, Eben. You can call me Father Sheppard, I am the high priest of Nǣdre Tor."
Eben grips the threadbare mat with white knuckles. "What—what happened?"
The man smiles. It's not a kind expression. "You don't remember your crimes? Did our little Adder administer a dose so high your mind has forgotten all your sins?"
"I'm sorry, please, if you'd just let me go—"
"Let you go?" The man laughs cruelly. "No, my little sheep. You must atone."
"Atone?"
"Yes, atone."
The man strokes his stole lovingly, fingers tracing the stitched scales. "The kind Gods and Goddesses of the pantheon allow for all beings born with sin in their hearts an opportunity to atone."
Eben clenches his jaw. Thatcould mean indentured servitude at best, hanging from a tree at worst.
"You see, Nǣdre Tor is a remarkable place that provides redemption for not only wayward souls like yourself, but salvation even for hellish creatures of the inhuman persuasion."
Eben traces the puncture wounds on his neck. Like his torso, they are wrapped securely in bandages. "Inhuman? You mean like the thing that attacked me?"
Father Sheppard's malachite eyes narrow, as the man's grin grows. "Precisely. You are a quick one, aren't you? Do you get it from your elven side?"
Eben flushes, hands flying to cover his ears with the hood which was no longer on his person.
The action amuses Sheppard, causing the gray-haired man to chuckle. "Why, how lucky are we to receive a creature like you? You'll get along wonderfully with Adder."
