Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a small house in an old fishing town, a baby girl was born. Her parents looked at her with love and adoration. She was beautiful, and by all accounts they were the perfect family.

This is not how the story went for Prudence.

The tiefling child was born villages away from this perfect family. Her parents had dreamed of one day having their own beautiful baby, of the tears of joy they would weep upon its birth. And yet when the midwife gasped and handed them their daughter with a fearful frown, the new parents cried in shock. Golden eyes pierced into theirs, glowing in the contrast of her deep red pigmentation. The midwife spoke to them gravely before she left.

“I’ll leave you alone to do what should be done.”

Teiflings were evil, vile creatures born from a tainted bloodline. The infant’s parents knew that for them to have had an inhuman child that they themselves must have been corrupted. She should have been normal. On the rare occasions of a tiefling birth, it was expected for the child to be killed. It was considered merciful to spare the child a lifetime of freakish cruelty.

Prudence’s parents thought they were being merciful when they brought her deep into the forest and left her by the cave.

Cyrus was an old hermit. He had exiled himself to find peace and to practice his magical arts. It had been decades since he had had contact with people, so he found the sudden sharp cries of a baby especially startling. Sneaking out of his cave to assess the disturbance, Cyrus found the girl. He knew what she was, he could only assume that was why she had been left. Carefully, he picked up the baby and cradled her in his arms.

“Hello, little one. I think I’ve got the perfect name for you.”

~

She was seventeen.  Her life had been a miserable cycle of magic lessons, “etiquette”, and sacrificial devotion.  Cyrus had trained her to do his bidding in the name of his patron, Zargon the Returner. She was taught to be charming and charismatic so he could send her out to find poor sacrifices for Zargon.  Prudence was trained as a magical murderer, and she was good at it. She liked it. But although Cyrus felt his connection with his god strengthen since his time raising the girl, Prudence found herself more distant from everything she had known.

Cyrus was a gruff father.  He had Prudence perform sacrifices from an early age to create an early bond between her and the patron.  If he decided she wasn’t putting enough effort into studying her magical texts, she was punished, although he rarely bothered. He had her doing work so he wouldn’t have to, opting instead to sulk in what felt like displeased silence and prayer.

Years later and she only found more reasons not to care about the warlock.  She prayed to Zargon, devoted herself to him in search of the power that her adoptive father had promised she could be provided with, but it never came.  She had been a disappointing magic user to Cyrus, unable to let herself feel her power. Midway through her seventeenth year, Prudence took her stiletto knives, her grimoire, and the small bag of gold collected over the years from their sacrifices and she left the cave.

She was out on her own for one year.  She hated her hermit life, yet she often found herself more unhappy and lonely out in the world.  Prudence was a tielfing, that much she knew. What she didn’t know was that that was a curse on her.  She faced mockery and insults, watched children run away from her in fear, and was chased out of towns for “herding in evil.”  Her entire life had been people rejecting and hating her, and she didn’t even know enough about who she was herself.

Maybe they’re right.

Prudence abandoned Zargon during her year of independence.  She had never felt like her lifetime of servitude to him was getting her anywhere.  Instead, she hid on the outskirts of a mining town and read. Her knives and devilish appearance made getting her way simple sometimes, but she tried to take whatever arcane scripts she could find and isolate herself, returning to the cold isolation she had always known.  That was where she learned of the other patrons.

Vecna, Errtu, Lorcan, Hyrsam.

Great Cthulhu.

He will bring about a new fear, never ending torment and ceaseless woe.  When the stars align and all of time and space are opened, then he shall reign without mercy.

For nearly eighteen years, Prudence had been alone.  She had known fear and had seen hatred.

May all one day know the anguish they have given me.

~

She had returned to Cyrus - there was no place else for her in the world.  He didn’t seem to have missed her, but he was proud that she had seen the error in her ways.

“Welcome home, Prudence.  I see you’re done with your silly escapade.”

“Yes, sir.”  

Alone that night, Prudence made her pact.  For the first time in her entire life, she felt powerful.  A voice from deep within the void called to her, and she let herself be consumed by the phantom embrace of tentacles.  The next morning, Cyrus found her praying.

“Has your stint in independence finally called you back to our Great Old One?”

“Yes, sir.  But not to yours.  I am a child of The Great Cthulhu, may all the world feel his wrath.”

Cyrus stared at her, dumbfounded.  “You dare disrespect all of my teachings?  Disrespect our patron?”

“I understand now.  I have power I never had before.  Cthulhu is my master, he gives me strength.  He already gives me more affection than you ever have, father. ”  Prudence stood and faced the hermit.  She could have sworn that for a moment, she saw fear flash in his eyes.

“Prudence, dear, what are you doing?”

The tiefling smiled.  “Bringing his agony upon you.”

She felt herself overwhelmed by power and heard the faint whispering of deep sea reassurance.  Carefully, Prudence raised her hands and summoned the energy. She remembered her eighteen years of training, of her pathetic attempts at magic.  Now it all fell into place.

There was a crack of lightning, scaring Cyrus the same way he had scared Prudence all those years ago when he walked her through her first kill.  Light swelled in her hands and she sent a beam of hellish Eldritch energy straight into the man. Cyrus collapsed on the ground. She hadn’t killed him yet, and he was a very skilled warlock, but he found himself so awestruck to be able to move against her.  Prudence walked towards him with her knives and smiled menacingly.

She let it last the rest of the day.  When Prudence emerged from the cave, she was dripping in blood, barely visible against her skin.  Deep within her she felt a clammy damp darkness and it echoed throughout her body. For the first time in her life, Prudence felt as though someone was finally proud of her.

Chapter Text

When he was born, his father named him something strong and noble. But his mother had her own name for him.

"Mi Corazon, mi alma. My heart and soul."

He loved his mother. She was kind and beautiful and smart, and she always told him the most amazing stories.

"And then the mighty pirate king drew his rapier and pointed it at the man. 'You dare try to steal from me?!'" Her voice dropped as she mimicked the character, her son laughing as she did so.

"And then," she continued, "with one swift flash of his sword, the man lay cold on the deck of the captain's ship, for he was always victorious. Goodnight, Corazon."

"But momma, you promised to sing to me tonight!"

"You're right, I'm sorry." She smiled and pulled her son's blanket higher, tucking him in gently as she sang. She had never been a great singer by any means, but her voice was soft and sweet, and her slight accent always became stronger in her songs.

"Of all the money that e'er I spent, I've spent it in good company."  She brushed her son's hair from his face and blew out the lamps in his room as she sang when he fell asleep.

"Goodnight and joy be with you all."

~

The young lord was six, and he and his mother were in their courtyard, sticks in hand and wearing homemade tricorne hats. The boy laughed as he jumped on a rock, smacking the sick out of his mother's hand and holding his against her stomach. She let out a dramatic gasp.

"Slain by the legendary pirate! Goodbye, cruel world!" She fell to the ground with a flourish and a fit of laughter only to be interrupted by the cold stoic voice of her husband.

"What is this nonsense?"

The boy jumped down from the rock. "It's only a game, Father."

"Percival, go to your room."

"But.."

"Now, Percy. Please." The boy dropped the pretend sword and marched dutifully past his father. 

"My dear, what were you two doing?" Lord Milquetoast walked over to his wife and watched disappointedly as she rose from the grass.

"Relax, my love. You know how he enjoys playing pirates, it's a harmless enough fantasy."

"No, I fear it isn't. Come with me to my study."

She followed her husband and closed the door behind her. The Lord laid out a log and an intricately drawn family tree.

“The very first Milquetoast was a pirate. This trend carried on until finally one of us thankfully found that lifestyle vile and abandoned piracy to gain an honest living. We Milquetoasts take great pride in being able to leave that filthy way behind, I do not need my heir being corrupted into idolizing those criminals. You will stop filling his head with these preposterous ideas, won’t you?”

The Lady nodded. “Of course, mi rey.”

She left his study without another word to find their son in his room. She softly knocked on the door. “Percy? Are you okay?” She slowly opened the door. Percival sat on his bed, his makeshift hat crumpled in his hands.

“Momma, is Father upset?”

“Corazon, your father is a very serious man. He is very busy and must always keep up appearances. It has been a long time since he got to have fun like we do, so we need to stop making it quite so obvious.” She fixed the hat back on the boy’s head. “So, I propose that we continue our fun in secret. Stealthy. And those will be our special moments, okay?”

He nodded.

~

He was nine.

Lord Milquetoast had been drinking. He had hosted a party, with them always ending in the other high society men drinking and playing cards. Of course, the men would have to go home, leaving Percival and his mother with the drunken lord as he yelled throughout the manor, tripping over his chair and knocking a globe off his desk sending him into a minor flurry of anger.

Down the hall, the Lady held her frightened son’s hand and sang softly for only them to hear.

“What shall we do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning?” The two whispered together in unison, the master of the house oblivious to their song.

“Way, hey, up she rises. Way, hey, up she rises. Way, hey, up she rises, early in the morning.”

~

The Lady was ill, and they all knew it.  They knew she wasn’t going to get better, but Percy didn’t want to believe it. She had raised him, had been his only friend he had ever known. 

And now she was literally on her deathbed. 

“Mi rey, would you please leave Percival and I alone for a moment?”

“Of course, my dear.” The Lord kissed her forehead before exiting. She held her son’s hand, and for a moment, all was quiet.

“What am I supposed to do without you, Mom?” The boy’s eyes glistened.

“You are a young man now.”

“Barely,” the adolescent argued. “You’re all I’ve ever had.”

“Son, listen to me. You are a wonderful boy. Kind, smart, brave. You are so brave, never afraid to speak your mind or dream for yourself. You are so, so good. I know you will be the best at what you do. You are my corazon, my entire heart. And my heart will wait for you in the sea.”

The lord returned, and the three sat in silence for hours, hands held tightly to fight their silent tears.

And then she was gone. And he was alone.

Lord Milquetoast placed his hand over his wife’s heart and said a prayer before allowing himself a last moment of immediate grief. He then removed his hand and walked stoically towards the door.

“Come along, Percy. There is still work to be done.”

~

“Percy!  What is so hard about this?”

“Forgive me, Father, it would seem your ‘perfect heir’ isn’t so perfect after all.”

Percy couldn’t remember the last time he saw his father without it turning into a fight.  The young Percival Milquetoast was nearly eighteen and was meant to be the model of all young men in influential society.  But he had other ideas, resulting in daily being called a disappointment and a disgrace to the family legacy.

“Go to your room, Percy.”

“I’m not a child!”

“You’re not yet eighteen nor are you married, which means you will be considered a child as long as you continue to act like one. I swear, you haven’t changed since you were a boy.”

“I am still a boy.”

“Ah, so you admit it. Your room, Percy. Now.”

The adolescent did as he was told, bolting his door shut behind him.  He examined his bookshelf until he found what he was looking for, removing a small flask from the inside of a hollowed out novel.  He sat at his desk as he emptied the flask, his eyes scanning the desk for various trinkets.

His father’s favorite goblet, a book from his private study, a small decorative statue from the drawing room.  His mother’s locket from the dust covered box next to the Lord’s bed. Numerous small bags of gold. Percival had always been good with money.  He had always been good at all of his “noble duties” and lessons, he had just never cared enough about them. He saw no reason to listen to his father drawl on about finances when he was so good at sneaking them away from right under the old man’s nose.

Percival picked up the locket and held it in his hands.  She had been dead for almost five years. Five years without his only friend, of his father’s uncaring disregard.  Five years of pretending to be the upcoming heir of a family he knew nothing about, one where the only member he had ever loved was gone. 

He was drunk and being impulsive, and he knew that.  But he regretted nothing when he grabbed the bags of gold, some rope from the stables, and the long since worn tricorne and left the manor for good.

~

He stood on a ship.  His ship. The Joyful Damnation.

He laughed, imagining his father’s reaction to the vessel.  He smiled sadly when he imagined his mother’s. She had given him permission to dream of the moment since he was a child. At long last, the new captain greeted his crew as they boarded.

“All set to set sail, Captain?” 

“Aye, Panniers.  Pull the anchor.”

He was cocky and brash and overconfident, letting himself indulge in those characteristics fully without consequence for the first time. This time, it wasn’t a scared and foolish Percival Milquetoast running away. Instead, Captain Corazon De Leon was setting out on his ship’s maiden voyage.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for everyone in Bumble to hear of the kind adventurers who promised to help the town by rebuilding the town hall. That being said, the crew of skeletons was…odd. But they seemed to be efficient workers.

Maybe too efficient.

Imogen was twelve, and she stood with the other orphans she called family as they watched the last remains of the only home they had known get cleaned up. The orphanage was deconstructed for the town hall, and yet, they weren’t upset. It was run down and dilapidated anyway. The adventurers had apologized up and down, and Bumble had arranged a temporary orphanage to house the children until a new one could be erected.

The large green man had promised them a new, better orphanage.

He promised. So why is this happening?

The children were lodged in a small two story building directly across from the orphanage. It had belonged to a shopkeeper but had been empty since his passing the previous winter. Imogen was asleep when she first heard the screaming. It came from downstairs, singular at first but rapidly growing.

And getting closer.

She was the oldest in the room, the responsibility falling into her to assess the situation. As the other children awoke, Imogen crept towards the door.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” She called down the stairs but received no answer. She pushed open the door and stepped out bravely into the small hallway. The chaos downstairs had softened, only a few soft whimpers remaining. And then the sound of hundreds of tiny bones against the wooden stairs. Other kids from the neighboring rooms had come out to investigate with her, but by the time they saw them, it was too late.

Are those..clubs?

She watched as the skeletons raced up the stairs and immediately grabbed hold of the first children they could find. She watched as a little boy was beat in the stomach as he cried. She watched her friend be grabbed and shoved back into her room. And the awful, deafening screaming was back. The young girl found herself frozen in place until the undead creatures locked onto her. Tripping over herself to get back into her room, Imogen slammed the door shut and put all of her weight against it.

"Hide!"

The other children did so without hesitation. She felt the skeletons pushing back against the door.

Please hold.

She looked at the children with her in the room. All even younger than her.

What's happening?

She wasn't strong enough. The door broke open, pushing her aside. Imogen hid behind it, silent and still. The army made their way inside, quick to discover the hiding children.

One grabbed little Barron.

Oh, God .

Anais was crying, a skeleton looming over her.

But those people, they had seemed so nice.

Avril.

Hugo.

They promised to help us. The green one, he said we would have a new orphanage.

"Stop it!" Her voice was louder and clearer than she had ever made it. It cut through the room, alerting to her location. It was as though, for a moment, she had the attention of the bony attackers.

"What are you doing?"

Skulls cocked to the side while one spoke in a raspy unnatural voice.

“Mortar for orphanage.”

“What?”

The skeleton made its way to her. It didn’t seem to find any pleasure or disgust in its actions. It simply performed a duty.

Imogen felt the skeletal hand around her neck.

No, no, no, no. Please.

It’s grip tightened.

But the orc man, he said Bumble would be okay.

A quick motion, and a snap.

He promis--