Ryl’oth's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Ryl'oth pressed their dark fingers against the merchant's swollen ankle. The man flinched but didn't pull away. Purple eyes along Ryl'oth's tendrils glowed soft as they worked. They had studied healing for three years in the nameless city's lower districts. Every day brought new patients who needed help. Every day brought new stares at their writhing black form. But healing transcended appearance—Ryl'oth would prove that. The merchant's pain faded. He smiled and pressed a coin into Ryl'oth's palm. Word spread through the streets about the healer with writhing tendrils. More people came each day, but they met in alleys and doorways. Ryl'oth needed a real place to work. They walked the lower districts until they found it—a weathered coffee shop with boarded windows. The faded sign showed a chipped coffee cup. Inside, dust covered empty tables and a cracked counter. The space felt right. Ryl'oth counted the coins they'd saved. Enough for three months of rent. They would turn this forgotten place into something new. Here, they would show everyone that kindness lived in healing hands, no matter how strange those hands looked.