refulgentice

[refulgentice]

Day 2: Unspoken

There was a tension so thick between Urianger and herself that Y’shtola was certain that she could almost see it in the empty space between them. He had just arrived in Rak’tika with Thancred and the Warrior of Light, and with a gift to boot. To say she was suspicious would be an understatement. She decided it would be better to talk away from the curious eyes and ears of the Night’s Blessed, so she took them into her study, where Sparrow was more than anxious to fill in the blanks of what had happened so far.

“…and now we’re here, two Lightwardens slain, only three more to go,” Sparrow said, motioning towards the ancient tablet. “We were hoping this could help us locate the one that made it’s home here. And who better to do that than you?”

Y’shtola hummed, nodding her head. “I would need to study it more,” she said, tracing her fingers across the engravings carefully. “Urianger, might I keep you? Your help deciphering the runes would be invaluable, I’m sure.”

The Elezen bowed, stilted. “Of course, my lady.”

Sparrow shrugged. “We’ll not keep you then. I’m not one for books and studies anyway,” she said wistfully. She turned towards Minfilia and held out her hand with a grin. “How’s about you and I look for ways to help the village, hm? We caused quite a stir when we arrived, I’m sure we can make it up to them somehow.” Minfilia smiled, taking her hand with little hesitation as they left the cavern, closing the door behind them.

The two spent some time pouring over Y’shtola’s collection and research over candlelight; the two considered the dimly lit cavern to be a respite from the unending day, so neither complained. And though Y’shtola wouldn’t voice it, she was glad to have a second pair of eyes to look through her collection, especially one so studied in a myriad of topics. As time crept by, however, the niggling in the back of her mind became incessant.

Urianger was nose deep into a book, posturing a theory of Ronkan ingenuity, when Y’shtola couldn’t hold in her irritation anymore. “I may be blind, but I am not dense.” She wasted no time, moving towards him and pulling the book down so he could see her. “Her aether is corrupted, you know it is corrupted.”

Urianger sighed, slumping down into a nearby chair and putting the book down onto a pile of books messily stacked on the only table. “I know not what you—”

“Do not lie to me.” Y’shtola bristled, her ears twitching. “It has been three years, but ‘tis insulting for you to assume I would have forgotten the look of her soul.” She stood in front of him, arms crossed and chest puffed. “You come here with a very convenient gift from a man I do not trust. He has told us nothing about himself, at yet you treat him as a comrade.”

“Thy preclusions prevented thee from knowing the Exarch.”

“He reminds me of you, Urianger,” Y’shtola said, her head bowing. “The glancing answers and obfuscation… At least he speaks plainly.” She sighed, her face softening as she looked back at him. “You are a good man, Urianger, but you put too many burdens on your own shoulders. And I have known you long enough to know that you will not stop. You mustn’t continue on like this, lest you buckle under the weight of your own sacrifice.”

Urianger took a deep breath, staring holes into his hands. “Wouldst that I could unburden myself, but thou must trust me that I take no joy in casting shade wheresoever I walk.”

“I do trust you, but the others…” The Miqo’te placed her hand on top of his. “You risk losing them, you risk losing Sparrow.” A pulse of aether came from the man before her and she couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “Did you think I would not notice?”

“’Twas not expected, no,” he said flatly. “I had forgotten ‘tis not possible to hide from thy gaze as of late.” Urianger looked up at his friend, his face pleading. “She will understand.”

Y’shtola sighed, frustration seeping out from her breath. “There are only so many times you can scheme and plot before it backfires.” She could hear steps approaching and an overwhelming light beginning to pour through the cracks of the door. She grabbed a book, nodding towards the entrance. “Think of what I said, Urianger. ‘Tis all I ask.”

And then, just as Y’shtola knew to expect, Sparrow threw wide the door with little ceremony, laughing as she entered. “Pardon the interruption,” she said with a flourishing bow. “Runar let us know that dinner was ready and would like us to join together by the fire. I sent Minfilia to look for Thancred, so they should be there soon.”

Y’shtola closed the book and placed it gently at the table. “Then we shall join you anon.” She smiled softly at the Viera. “’Tis good to see you again. Truly.”

Sparrow slowed, returning the gesture in kind. “I missed you, too, my friend.” She turned back toward the village, making her way to the waiting fire.

------------------------------------------------------------

By the light of a redundant fire, as Thancred regaled slightly exaggerated tales of derring-do to the enthralled Night’s Blessed, Y’shtola could see the fleeting glances and hands gently touching when Sparrow was sure no one was paying attention. The mage couldn’t help but frown.

[refulgentice]

Day 1: Omen

Sparrow was not one to heed the words of the stars. She found the mysticism and prophecy talk to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Instead, she saw them as the symphony of the universe; an orchestra of the divine painting itself across the ocean of black. They were beautiful, to be sure, but there was no meaning behind their patterns.

Her sister, on the other hand, found Sparrow’s ambivalence more than frustrating.

“They speak to us, you know.” Karflata had found her laying in the grass on the outskirts of the village, staring up towards the canopy above them. The Viera sighed, tapping her sister lightly on the head with her cane. “I love you, but I wish you would take this seriously. The elders—”

“Are too stuck in their old ways.” Sparrow waived her hand, scoffing as she sat up. Her bones creaked a bit, still sore from the hunt earlier. “It’s nothing but doomspeak.” She turned her head, eying her sister with a smile. “You’re a better Viera than I am, sister. Would that I could leave Golmore without leaving everyone behind, I would. Staring at the sky, I see nothing but promise of a bigger world.”

“And I see death,” Karflata sighed, moving next to Sparrow and sitting down next to her. “You should come back, prepare. But if you won’t, I will stay here instead.” Her knuckles ran white as she continued to grip her staff.

They sat in silence for a moment, the bustle of the village a distant murmur. Sparrow leaned up against Karflata, resting her head on her shoulder. “I won’t leave, at least not without you.”

“I should hope not, you wouldn’t last a moment without me.” They laughed, and the sisters lifted themselves up, grabbing their weapons and moved to head back to the village.

  ------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the night was a blur. A few hours had passed after the sisters returned home, and they were in the middle of another petty argument when an explosion was heard in the distance. Then shouting. All of the sudden the village erupted in a frenzy, many Viera running into the jungle with weapons drawn. Sparrow and Karflata stayed together, fighting men in strange armor from the shadows. At some point that neither can remember, they were spotted by a large armored machine. When Sparrow’s arrows bounced off the monstrosity as it moved towards them with a contingent of soldiers, they ran. They couldn’t tell where they were going, as the normally familiar jungle was warped in the chaos into something unrecognizable.

It was only when they broke through the clearing into the deserts of Dalmasca that they realized just what they had done. Panting, Karflata fell to her knees, staring at the jungle that was once their home. Sparrow grabbed her wrist, pulling at her, but she didn’t move. “Death…” she whispered, looking up towards the sky.

“We can go back, they would understand.” Sparrow pulled her again, but her sister refused to move. The huntress leaned down, gently taking Karflata’s face in her hands. “Listen to me, please. It is still our home.”

Karflata laughed, a bitter thing forcing it’s way out of her mouth, pushing Sparrow’s hands away as she wiped away her tears. “Tell me, do you believe the stars now?”

Sparrow couldn’t answer, instead embracing her sister as her tears washed away in the sand and wind.

  ------------------------------------------------------------

It had been many years since that night. The Atoel sisters managed to find their way to Gridania, making a name for themselves as adventurers of repute. They met the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and made themselves into Warriors of Light. Sparrow still didn’t find herself to be spiritual, putting more stock in her abilities and help from her friends.

But when she was summoned to the First, the nightless sky felt had never felt more ominous.

[refulgentice]

Aftermath

“Are you sure you want to leave?”

This was the third time Kinsey had asked Aramaris since she decided to leave with the Mordikav family, beyond the borders of Barovia to establish trade routes. She rolled her eyes, walking out of the main hall of Argynvostholt and slinging her pack onto her back.

“I am sure. I am no use to you here in the midst of political strife and construction work.” She turned to face him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I leave this place in your more than capable hands, my friend. I must ask my order to aid in the relief effort. Given that they are also followers of Lathander, I do not think I will have to fight them much. I should be back within two months’ time.”

Kinsey huffed, turning away and snatching up her Gulthias staff and handing it to her. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Besides, Thaelyn is already gone. Losing you for gods know how long isn’t something I’m too keen on.”

“Carric is back, now. You will not be down too many bodies.”

“Oh, please, Maris.”

The monk laughed, making her way towards the entrance hall. The keep still had a very long way to go; some of the walls were all but rubble, and the southern towers had decayed to nothing. But even so, through the broken ceiling, the sun shone down on them. Barovia was free and this was to be her new home, and Aramaris needed to do something to help it.

“All I’m saying is,” Kinsey sighed, following her through the halls. It still surprised her how each of his steps echoed through the halls against her almost silent ones. “Having you here would deter a lot of people from trying to argue with our decision.”

“The more you beg, the less likely she is to stay, you know.”

The voice came from the shadows next to them, making Aramaris jump a little. Kinsey’s eyes narrowed as Avar stepped into the light, giving a small wave. He was back to his normal self—the curse being lifted seemed to have removed all of their “gifts” given by the void shards in the Amber Temple, including the more…beneficial ones. She sighed, puffing her cheeks out a bit. “Must you hide, Avar? There are no enemies here.”

His eyes flicked to Kinsey for a second, then he forced a smile. “Of course. I suppose it is simply a force of habit.”

“What do you want?” Kinsey crossed his arms, staring him down. Aramaris punched the man’s arm, frowning. He grumbled something under his breath, but relaxed his stance a bit.

“I wanted to speak to my fellow tiefling about her expedition. I wish to come along.” The friends both raised their eyebrows at the rogue. He gave a slight shrug. “I have lived here all my life. I was told that I was the only of my kind and suffered for many years because of it. Knowing that there is more out there, that I have a people? It has me curious.”

Kinsey shot Aramaris a Don’t You Dare look, and she shot back a You Can’t Tell Me What To Do. She turned to Avar and gave him a genuine smile, holding out her hand. “I would be happy to have you along, my friend.”

Avar grinned back, and took her hand graciously.

  ------------------------------------------------------------

It took an over two hours to get everything settled. Kinsey and Aramaris agreed to frequently send ravens to each other to ensure a swift return if the need arised. If the pair stayed in an area for more than two days, a letter would be sent to the group to notify where they were and where their next destination was. And with the bit of unrest that arose after Dimitri Krezkov lost the bid for ruler of Barovia, Maris wanted as much information as the group could give.

While Avar’s goodbyes were a quick, simple nod to his fellow party members, Aramaris took her time. She didn’t think leaving would put such a heavy knot in her stomach, nor that Thaelyn’s absence would be so noticeable and poignant. She took her time, even bothering to say her farewell to Carric who was brooding in the back of the group. Despite them never getting along or seeing eye-to-eye, they still shared a bond that would hopefully grow stronger with time. She doubted it, but she could hope.

“Stop sulking,” she said as she approached Kinsey. He rolled his eyes, body sagging just a bit. If Aramaris didn’t know any better, she would have accused him of pouting. She opened her arms wide, expectantly.

The man looked down at her, then wrapped her up in a quick bear hug. “You let me know if he gives you any trouble.”

“I am sure you would be able to get to me in record time,” she said dryly as Kinsey let go. She lingered for a bit, looking at the faces of her friends and the people she saved from Strahd’s curse. With only a little hesitation, she got up on her horse.

Caerius approached them as they were about to set off, benevolent and kind as always. “Mystra guide you through your travels.” He gave the riding party a small blessing, then handed an icon of Mystra to one of the Mordikavs. He then turned to his friends, smiling wide. “Remember if you get lost, a dropped sword always points north.”

Aramaris stared at him for a moment, stoned-faced, then turned her horse away with a wave. “Thank you for reminding me why I had to leave, Caerius,” she called out. The rest of the riding party began to follow her.

Avar grinned, leaning down to clap him on the back. “I will, do not worry. I’ll make sure to remind Maris, as well. I’m sure it will come in handy during our time on the road.” He then kicked the sides of the horse twice with a click, trotting up to ride beside his fellow tiefling into the unknown.

[refulgentice]

You’ll Never Get to Heaven

Glasha opened her eyes in an unfamiliar place. Her heart had dropped into her gut and everything felt weightless. Looking down, she saw only a black abyss—yet there was no panic, no desperation, just a quiet acceptance. She felt an eerie calm wash over her as a wind rushed against her body.

So. This is it, huh?

With what had been happening in the abandoned tomb in the middle of Orolunga, she wasn’t surprised that the floor beneath her had fallen as she and her companions slept. Of course the arcane hut she crafted didn’t have a floor, why should it? She figured it wouldn’t be long now before the floor would come up from behind her. A blissful end, especially since she wouldn’t see it coming.

Then, a flash of images appeared in her mind. A booming voice ran through her mind, making her cry out.

REMEMBER.

Images shrouded in shadow appeared around her. Trees huddled together in a wall of wood, a hint of light peeking through between the trunks. The sound of hooves against mud roared past her. Glasha turned her head, overwhelmed and lost, only to see a woman. Her features obscured, the only hint of color coming from her chestnut hair. She was pressing herself against a tree, head tilted to the side as if she was looking, waiting for something to pass. Her arms were close to her chest, holding something. Glasha reached out her hand, but the woman suddenly got up and ran through her.

The world around the bard began to shift in a swirl of smoke and shadow. She found herself floating above the ground in a small clearing near the mouth of a cave. Flowers bloomed all around, a family of deer were grazing just outside in the safety of the canopy. It was cartoonishly picturesque, only somewhat unsettling by a lack of any discernable color. The woman appeared again, her form becoming more and more visible as she made her way across the clearing. Glasha tried to call out but her voice caught in her throat. She winced as the voice cracked in her mind once more.

WATCH.

The woman approached the mouth of a cave. She waited. A moment passed before a massive figure appeared in front of her, covered by shadows of the cavern. It took a step forward into the soft light, it’s silhouette towering over the woman. A stocky, muscular build with giant tusks that shined in the sharp contrast to the world surrounding them. He reached out his hand, gently cupping the woman’s face. They seemed frozen in time, staring at each other, until the woman held the bundle of cloth she had been holding against her chest to the orc. He took a step back, shaking his head.

The air around Glasha began to change. It was suffocating as the figures in front of her stood, unwavering, silent. The orc finally relents. He reaches for the bundle, and a small arm reaches out towards him. The skin flashes green before slowly succumbing to the unrelenting grey. He cradles the gift in his arms, holding out a finger for the tiny hand to hold, looking down. The heat that had been surrounding the bard dissipated, leaving only a comfortable warmth that wrapped around her.

The woman took the orc’s face in her hands and pressed their foreheads together. And then, she spoke.

“I love you, Norok. Keep our baby safe”

The scene before Glasha suddenly vanished, dissolving into the ever-present void. The half-orc found herself alone once more, floating. She spun around for a sign of something, anything, that could lead her back to the living world, only to be greeted by shadow. A second voice creeped into her mind, whispering, purposeful.

Take more of my power, daughter, and I shall reveal unto you memories lost to time. Secrets kept that only we in the shadows remember…

As soon as the voice finished, Glasha felt herself falling; slow, at first, but quickly growing in speed. She screamed, hearing herself for the first time since she entered this place. “Wait!” she yelped, throwing her hand out in desperation as her words echoed in the nothingness. A surge of terror overtook her as she felt the presence of something behind her and…

…Glasha woke up, practically sitting upright as she gasped, her heart threatening to burst through her chest. She whipped her head around, searching for familiar territory. The walls surrounding her were rounded, and she slowly waved a finger, sighing when a dim light illuminated the space. She was back in the domed hut she had conjured, Mezen sleeping soundly next to her. Not five feet away, Shadamehr and Khelgar were snoring quietly. The bard snapped her fingers, throwing herself back down onto her bedroll and putting and arm across her eyes as the lights in the hut went out. She took deep, long breaths to calm her still erratic heart, when a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Nightmare?” She lifted her arm, frowning. Mezen was staring at her, unblinking.

“You should be sleeping,” she said, turning her head away.

“Hard to sleep when the person next to you is thrashing about.” He shrugged. “You are not one to succumb to nightmares. Even after Red—"

Glasha scoffed, waving a hand in the air. “Don’t be an idiot. I had nightmares after Red. I was the one who pulled her body out of the water after...” Her voice shook a bit. There was an uncomfortable silence as Glasha let her words hang in the air. She turned back around, looking at the warlock who she was sure was as still as a statue, his eyes still staring at her. “This wasn’t a nightmare. It was something…more. Do—” She bit her lip, then continued in a whisper. “Does she…send you visions?”

Mezen cocked his head, humming. “No, but...she will take something before giving you anything.” He shifted, laying on his back. “So perhaps it was just a bad dream.”

“Yeah…a bad dream…” Glasha stared at the ceiling, her brow furrowed. “This felt so real, though…”

“Nightmares often do. Better to be thankful that she is not asking you for something.”

The half-orc sighed, closing her eyes. As soon as she was about to fall back asleep, she could have sworn she saw shadowed tendrils creeping slowing in the corner of her mind’s eye…

[refulgentice]

Stay

The morning sun beat down through the dirty window of the room Glasha found herself in. She groaned softly, her head pounding from too much drink the night before. She threw her arm over her eyes, shielding them from the dim light that was beginning to grow brighter by the minute. She heard a quiet mumble next to her and cracked an eye open only to see a very naked woman lying next to her on very white sheets.

Ah. Right.

The woman was pretty; dark brown hair, bright green eyes, and bronze skin that almost glimmered in sunlight. Glasha remembered her being easily wooed by her songs and stories, though whether it was due to the mead, her charm, or the mood, she wasn’t sure. They drank through the night together, the woman expressing her curiosity at a more exotic experience than what Waterdeep had to offer.

“It’s all humans or elves,” she slurred. “Nothing interesting. But you…you’re new.” After about an hour of barely concealed flirting, she dragged the half-orc upstairs to the inn rooms, and the night blurred in memory from there.

Glasha sighed. She looked at the sleeping woman with a frown. There was no reason for her to stay. She huffed out of bed and started getting dressed, being careful to not wake her companion, though the old wood paneling made that extremely difficult as it creaked under her weight. It took a while, but eventually she had gathered all her things. She creeped toward the door of the room, opened it slowly, and a loud squeal of the hinges broke through the silence. The bard groaned internally as she heard the sheets shuffle behind her.

“Leaving so soon?” The woman was sitting up as Glasha turned around, not even bothering to cover herself. She smiled at the orc. “I didn’t think you would be a runner, darling.”

“You should cover yourself before the other guests call you a whore.” Glasha closed the door.

“They can suck my teet.”

“Fair enough,” the half-orc said with a smile. “My apologies, I thought it better to leave so that you could recover without my meddling.”

The woman laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “So formal! You’re a much different person when you’re sober.” She leaned forward, grinning. “You don’t have to leave so soon, do you?” She followed Glasha’s wandering eyes and leaned forward just a bit more. “I want to hear more of your songs, my love.”

Glasha swallowed hard. “I don’t even know your name, love.”

“Does it really matter?” Glasha raised an eyebrow, the woman sighed. “Zalere.”

“Marlek.” Her eyes wandered lower and she sighed, dropping her things and jumping back into bed.

They laid in bed a few hours later, Zalere nesting on Glasha’s chest with a smile, and Glasha’s arm around Zalere’s shoulders. The bard stared out the window, listening to the world outside go about its morning and singing softly to herself.

“All you have to do is stay a minute, Just take your time. The clock is ticking, so stay. All you have to do is wait a second, Your hands on mine, The clock is ticking, so stay…”

“Your voice is beautiful,” Zalere murmured. She lifted her head to look at her companion and smiled warmly. “Are you trying to tell me or yourself something?”

Glasha smiled back, her tusks suddenly feeling bigger and heavier than normal. “Maybe both. Who knows, I’m an enigma, typical mysterious bard, et cetera et cetera.”

Zalere giggled, burrowing her face against Glasha’s skin. They held each other in the quiet of the room for a moment longer until Zalere broke the silence. “You really do have to go, don’t you.” She reached towards the orc’s face, running a thumb across her cheek. “Will you come back?”

Glasha held her hand for a moment. “I don’t know, honestly. I only know where I’m going.”

“Can you tell me where?”

“No. Confidential bardic business and all that.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Why would you want to do something ridiculous like that?”

“You intrigue me, Marlek. You’re the first half-orc I’ve seen who is unashamed of who they are and embraces it.” She traced circles on Glasha’s swamp green skin. “I like you, even if I’m sure that most of the words that fall from your mouth are coated in lies.”

Glasha laughed, giving her one last kiss against the woman’s mouth. She cupped Zalere’s face. “I’m leaving for a small fishing village you’ve never heard of and I have to be there by nightfall today. You’ve kept me here long enough.”

Zalere held the bard’s hand in place with a gentle touch. “You could stay. A bard doesn’t have to go anywhere, you could stay here with me.” Her voice was flat and unconvincing.

The bard sighed. Her biggest temptation was a pretty face and being on her own with no one to yell at her for wandering eyes made it almost impossible to tear herself away. Every bone in her body wanted to stay in bed with this woman, doing nothing and everything all at the same time. She had yearned for a woman’s touch for years, and Waterdeep was full of them.

The only thing stronger than her desires was her duty.

She pulled Zalere’s hands down. “I can’t, no matter how much I’d like to.” She forced herself out of bed and started getting dressed again. Zalere pouted as she watched Glasha pull her pants on. “You’re a grown woman, don’t pout.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with.”

“I’m half-orc, that’s quite literally impossible.”

“You sell yourself short.”

“I’m honest,” Glasha said as she finished putting her shirt on. She grabbed her pack and her lute, stringing both against her back. She made sure her coin purse, crossbow, and drums were attached securely to her belt. Satisfied, she walked over to the bed and leaned down. Zalere leaned up in an instant and kissed her on the cheek. Glasha smiled as she straightened herself up. “Maybe one day we’ll see each other again.” She turned and made her way towards the door.

“Maybe one day. Goodbye and good luck, my love.”

Glasha turned, gave the woman a small wave, then left the room, then the inn, and soon Waterdeep was a silhouette in the distance as she made her way towards Ahknee.

It wasn’t until she was hours away from the bustling city that she noticed her coin purse was gone from her belt. In its place was a small scroll of parchment with a note written in beautiful lettering.

Good luck, my little Harper.

“Oh, son of the gods’ thrice-damned bitch.”

[refulgentice]

Light it Up

“Pa, I have to show you something!”

Glasha all but bounded up to the older elf, excitement burning in her eyes. She grabbed his hand with an eager urgency.

Iolrath looked at her hand, then at her, an eyebrow raised. It was like she didn’t see the dead, half-skinned deer at his feet, nor the knife in the hand she grabbed. The half-orc was bouncing in place incessantly, so he sighed, his body relaxing. “Can it wait five minutes, little leaf? I was in the middle of something.”

Glasha looked down, then let go of his hands, stepping back. “Oh, shi—” Iolrath gave her a pointed stare. She shrugged. “I can wait. But hurry, it’s important.”

Iolrath held up a hand. “What have I told you about patience, Glasha?”

She deflated a bit. “Patience leads to greater rewards than recklessness,” she responded with an eyeroll, waving him off. Iolrath smiled, shaking his head and kneeling back down to finish his deer. He worked methodically, slowly, something that had always bothered Glasha. She always needed to move, to do, and standing in the middle of a dead quiet forest waiting for her father was not something she excelled in.

Thirty minutes later, the elf gave a small prayer to the deer as he finished his butchering, wrapped up the individual pieces and left the carcass so it could return to the earth. He stood up, holding his hands out at his daughter who was half-asleep against a nearby tree. “Well?” he asked loudly. Glasha woke with a start, smoothing her hair to hide her slight blush. “What is so important that you would attempt to stab yourself on my knife?”

Glasha beamed and rushed forward, grabbing his hand and leading them through the forest. “This way, we’re going to town.”

“Town?” Iolrath stopped, ripping his hand away from her. He scowled. “Glasha, you cannot go into town. It is small, the people there, they will not understand you. They do not understand you.” The flash of steel, a terrified scream, the pull of a drawstring, and a yelled threat ran through his head. He pursed his lips. Hands gently and tentatively folding over his snapped him back to the present. He looked at the half-orc with a knotted brow. “Nothing is more important than your life. You mustn’t take these risks.”

She smiled sadly. “Pa, I’m getting older. You can’t protect me forever. I need to show you I can take care of myself.” She put a hand to his scarred face. He held it here. He stared at the small scar that traveled down her brow bone, the one reminder of his only failure. “I’ve already been back there. The man from before—he was a travelling merchant. The people there are kinder. They were wary at first, but...well, it’s better if I show you myself.”

Iolrath sighed, but gave in and allowed her to lead him into the small town of Julkoun. She immediately took him to The Jester’s Pride, a well-to-do inn that benefited from being one of the few stops between Daggerford and Secomber. When they entered, the tavern was almost full with human and halfling patrons, boisterous and at least partially drunk. The room turned when they entered, some giving skeptical looks, others a little more fearful. It was uncomfortably quiet when the barkeep, an imposing man with an eyepatch and a missing tooth and no hair save for the giant beard, came around the bar and straight towards the half-orc. Glasha stood her ground, staring the man down. They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity for Iolrath, then the man broke into a big grin.

“Glasha!” he cried, clapping her on the back. “Good t’see you again, lass. Come to regale us with another tale?”

The half-orc laughed, waving him off. “No, Rudy, I’m here to put on a show tonight. Oh, and to introduce you to my father.” She gestured to the elf.

Rudy stared for a good moment, then stuck out his hand. “And good t’meet you, sir. Got to admit, I was expectin’ someone a little more—”

“Green?” Iolrath was rubbing his fingers together, picking at the skin slightly. He hadn’t been around people in a while. Glasha smirked and his discomfort. “I have been told that a lot.”

Rudy laughed, getting between the pair and putting his arms around their shoulders. “I’d imagine. Still, thought you’d be an orc, y’don’t see the non-orc parent too often.”

“You misunderstand, I found Glasha in the forest when she was a babe. I raised her, I am her father.”

The man pushed them forward, nodding his head. “Kind soul.” He leaned in close to the elf, mumbling. “Most folks would’ve just killed the thing the moment they saw tusks. Glad t’see you’re different.” He moved the two through the tavern as the people whispered excitedly to each other. He heard “show” and “amazing” pass between a few lips, though what they meant was lost on him.

Glasha, on the other hand, was electric. She was grinning from ear to ear, practically skipping to the front of the tavern, pausing here and there to say a word or two to the patrons. Rudy shooed them away quickly. “You don’t have to do that, big guy. They’re just excited.”

“They can swarm you after the show,” the man said. He got them to the front, then went back behind the bar. “Now, after last night, people’ll’ve been talking. Hope you have something good planned.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve been practicing,” Glasha said, pulling out a small drum from her knapsack and hooked it to her belt. Iolrath looked at her curiously, sitting down on a nearby stool and crossing his arms over his chest. She grinned at him. “I hope you’re ready for this, Pa.”

She moved to what could essentially be center stage in front of the bar, took a deep breath to calm her shaking hands as the crowd fell silent, then began playing. Slowly, her hands beat softly against the leather, then started to pick up speed. She began dancing, fluidly moving her hips in a slightly seductive motion, humming a tune to the beat of the drums. And then, she sang.

Stand up like a solider, darling. I know you're built like that. Fight them like a solider, darling. Show them, say you're wicked like that. We live where the war is raging; Chasing our crazy dreams Hoping that the bridge won't cave in. Tonight we let it all go free.

Almost immediately, the telltale signs of arcane energy crackled from her fingertips. Iolrath stood up in a bolt, almost knocking over the bar stool. Glasha began casting small, harmless explosions from her hands, exciting the crowd as she moved gracefully through them. They cheered her on as she played a complicated set of beats and hummed melodically along; as her father stood by, dumbfounded. She caught his eye from the other side of the room and winked.

Show them you're flame to the fire. It's written like your name on a flyer. They want to tame your desire, But you light it up, now your aims are getting higher. And they wait for a messiah But until that day, I will rise up high. I put my light in the air; I want to see everywhere.

Glasha threw a hand  up, sending out a star-like light from her hand, illuminating the entire tavern in a dramatic flair with the final beat of the song. The audience cheered, and Rudy clapped her on the back in congratulations. She just sat in the middle of it all, beaming and soaking up all of the attention. Iolrath stood stiff, pale as the moon.  Glasha looked over, and her smiling face crumpled. She rushed over to the elf, pushing through the admiring crowd. “Pa?” She stopped right before him. “Pa, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“We will talk later. Stay with your admirers.” He bowed his head and ducked out of The Jester’s Pride, leaving the half-orc reaching her hand out, wet-eyed and confused, surrounded by people who didn’t understand.

It took Glasha a good amount of time to escape the inn; after a while, the praise felt like it was personally mocking her. She made her way out of town, cloak covering her face as she disappeared into the surrounding forest. Luckily, Iolrath hadn’t covered his tracks very well, so it was fairly easy for her to track him through dense trees. Whether it was because he didn’t want her to get lost or because he was too upset to care, she didn’t know. She followed the tracks to a small clearing, where they suddenly stopped. She sighed. “I know you’re up there. Please come talk to me.”

“If you wish to speak, you can climb the tree,” Iolrath called down. Glasha sighed louder, grumbling as she walked to the tree where the voice came from. She climbed up, putting herself on a branch with a huff. “Good to see magic has not muddled my survival lessons.”

She looked up to see him lounging against the trunk and playing with a knife. She huffed again. “This is very childish, I hope you know.”

“I am aware.” He stabbed the knife into the branch he was sitting on and looked down. “Glasha, the arcane is dangerous. You are adding another target to your back.”

“It’s the bardic arts, Pa. Everyone loves a good bard! Everyone!”

“Not everyone knows the difference between sorcery and bardic arts.”

“I know they don’t! But I don’t have the patience to be a druid or a ranger or whatever else everyone wanted me to be!” Glasha didn’t notice that she had been leaning into each word, the rage welling up inside of her.  She sat back down, breathing slowly. Iolrath stared, quiet. After a minute of tense silence, Glasha sighed. “I know you’re worried about me. I know that every time you look at me, all you see is that five-year-old scar and how people look at me. I thought that maybe you’d be proud of me.”

Iolrath closed his eyes, focusing to keep his breathing steady. “I have spent my entire life attempting to keep you alive.” His mind unconsciously traveled to that fateful day in the forest near a small farming village on the outskirts of Neverwinter. How he followed the loud crying to a carefully concealed bundle in the underbrush. How his partners told him to just kill the thing before it grew into a monster and the flash of anger that shone behind his eyes. The arguing, threats, and the escape into the forest. He remembered looking down at the orcish babe and seeing everything she could be, if only she was given a real chance.

He let out a deep breath. “When I found you, I promised you that I would protect you, raise you, and ensure you grow to your full potential. In all honesty, you have grown into something so marvelous and talented that I find myself questioning whether or not you are truly mine.” He got up, moving down to her branch lightly. He smiled and cupped her face in his hands, pressing his forehead against hers. “I am proud of you, little leaf, and I promise you this: you are going to a legend.”

Glasha wrapped him in a massive hug. She felt him hug her back. She pulled away wiping away her sudden tears with a smile. “Thank you, Pa.”

They began climbing back down, and Iolrath looked up, a sudden thought running through his head. “Where did you learn the bardic arts?” Glasha stopped her decent, letting the question hang in the air. “Glasha, how long have you been going into towns without my permission?”

“I had to learn different skills!”

“Glasha.”

They argued into the night, Glasha yelling about the stop near Waterdeep, and Iolrath quietly scolding her for her recklessness as they made their way into the cover of the trees.