Work Text:
When he arrived at the goblin camp, Father Abdirak was… underwhelmed. He had been approached by one of their envoys, searching for a consultant on pain, his speciality. He could barely contain his excitement. As a priest of Loviatar, Abdirak was an expert in the area, both receiving and inflicting, and his skills were rarely actively sought. When he heard that they wished for his consulting skills, he had assumed the goblins would be a little more open minded than they were. He was unfortunately wrong and his excitement dearly misplaced.
He had at least been given a pleasant alcove in which to set up, an area to call his own for the time being, to ease the headache that was dealing with the goblins. Their interest in pain, it had turned out, was less academic and spiritual than he had believed, and instead was about a prisoner from whom they were trying to extract information. Abdirak rolled his eyes just thinking about it, instead turning his attention to the setting up of his altar.
His small, stone alcove had crumbling walls and damp, mossy green patches and the odd littering of debris, but it had space and privacy and a stone table perfect to set up an altar on. Abdirak knelt before it, listening to the whoops and cackles of the goblins as he arranged a cluster of candles at each end. He then laid out his notebook on the top, and stored his other religious texts underneath. His ritual weapons were next, an ornate dagger and a nine tailed scourge, an axe and a mace, laid with careful intent.
He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to his goddess, the Lady of Pain, Mistress of the Whip, Loviatar. He took up the dagger as he prayed and brought it to his exposed ribs. The blade was sharp but not too sharp, not sharp enough that he would deprive himself of all the blissful pleasures of its kiss, and he pressed it to his flesh and drew it down, slicing at the flesh. He sighed out the pain, thanking Loviatar for her touch, dedicating the sweet sting to her.
The pain was a blessing to Abdirak, a pleasant and soothing and blissful thing. It took his mind away from his new ‘associates, certainly not what he had been expecting or hoping for when he took on this new role. Still, he was here now and he thought he might be able to do some good, perhaps spread Loviatar’s message to someone. That said, his optimism for the task was low. There seemed precious few around who were not fanatical zealots for this Absolute. But still, he had only just arrived, and after so long sleeping beneath the stars and being run out of hamlets, he would give the goblins a little more time, see if there was anyone at all here who would benefit from his presence, before deciding his next move.
He refocused his mind, concentrating on the sweet slice of the knife, the stilling of the storm of discontent attempting to infiltrate his thoughts. There were a lot of souls in this place. Surely he would find one who would benefit from his help, whether through one of his sermons or not. Pain blossomed across his incisions, bringing blissful clarity, centring his mind again. Yes, he was here for a reason, a purpose. He would discover what it was, and chalk up tolerating the goblins’ company as suffering in Her name.
#####
The next few days were a test in patience. He spent a great deal of time with Spike, having what Abdirak would very generously call philosophical debates. He lent his healing skills to patching up the wounded, taking the opportunity for some unsuccessful proselytizing while they could not flee his words, but most of his time was spent in quiet contemplation and private worship. As private as one could get, of course. The goblins found great amusement in watching his personal flagellation, yet none accepted his offers to receive his gifts. Such a pity.
Spike had not taken much convincing to gift some pain upon Abdirak, but the man could not even be called a butcher, because at least a butcher had to know where to slice to form the correct cuts of meat. An artisan of agony, Spike was not. All damage, little pain. So much recovery for so little reward. Abdirak’s faith taught him that all pain should be celebrated, yet even he found himself struggling to sing sincere praises of Spike’s ministrations. After Abdirak had gently suggested a modification to the goblin’s technique a fourth time, the pair decided that their professional differences were irreconcilable and ended the session. Spike did not appreciate Abdirak’s condescension, and the priest did not appreciate Spike’s incompetence.
Still, Abdirak played his part. He had consulted, as he had been bid. Whether or not his advice was heeded was another matter. The goblins, distasteful as it was, did not seem to agree that the receiver of the pain should be taken into much consideration. He hadn’t yet decided how much longer he would stay, but no longer than a handful of days. The residents of the camp had made it clear that they had little to learn from him and little interest in divinity outside of this Absolute. He might make a further few attempts but mostly he would take advantage of the opportunity to have a proper altar and shelter for a few days longer before moving on to spread Her word. The life of a Pain was a lonely one at times. The long, long months of solitude had made the company of even these goblins somewhat of a respite.
Pain flared in his chest briefly, delicious and blissful, right over his heart. He had felt that same pain a handful of times before in his life. His pulse quickened. He had come here for a reason, he realised. For this pain, sharp and sudden and seemingly without cause, had always precluded something important. Something life changing. In the distant echoes of his mind, he heard the metallic clang of a hundred pickaxe falls suddenly silence. The memory of a scourge’s sweet kiss across his back. Smelled the gentle floral waft of his first embrace of arms, as he was welcomed into Loviatar’s fold.
Footsteps sounded softly behind him, and he was snapped from his thoughts. He took his time, rising from his knees and centring himself before he turned to look upon his guests. Yet his eyes did not fall upon the usual handful of goblins who would come to visit him, either to jeer or demand healing. Outsiders. More of the faithful of the Absolute, certainly, to walk so freely through the halls of his place.
Abdirak looked upon their apparent leader with a welcoming smile, beckoning him forward. A drow, short and slight, robes plain to contrast his striking face, cascades of icy hair down his front. His eyes were blood red, the colour of amour and agony. One look into those eyes and Abdirak was drunk on them. There was a great well of suffering within, and the priest was intent on touching his hands to those waters. That sweet pain in his chest flared once more, and died. He understood.
He took one more moment to take in the sight, to consider the pain, the message, before he smiled and opened his mouth. He did not know where this would lead but he did know one thing – that pain had never indicated anything other than a blessing from Loviatar herself.
His life was, once again, about to change forever.