WNADC Chap 2 - The Prodigy

My parents wanted a son.

A son would have been a blessing for them. My mother had difficulty in each of the three pregnancies she had endured. The first child died quickly, too soon to even be stillborn. The second was a son, yet he had strangled on his own umbilical cord. If he had known anything about why he was wanted, it might have been his own doing.

But their third child was a weak daughter, confirmation of their curse in their eyes. That was why they hated me. A strong son could share the farm’s labor. A strong son ensured their well-being and ensured times of more leisure.

A willful, curious daughter was simply a nuisance. I was one more mouth to feed, and I couldn’t even pull my own weight so that they could “break even.” It didn’t matter that I tried my best. It didn’t matter that I tried to show them the ways I saw to make their work more efficient and effective. I could not perform manual labor, so I was useless.

Don’t think I didn’t know this at the time. They made their stance quite clear from the start. They never acted as parents should, as I knew from my books. Don’t think I didn’t know that the fault lay with them and not me. I had taught myself to read by the age of four. The mere fact that I had survived so long under their care was already unusual, especially considering my weakness. I would have done so to spite them, even barring any benefit to myself.

But don’t think I inherited their heartlessness. On the contrary, they beat me when I was found to be too soft. Their life, they said, was cursed. If I was to be compassionate to any in need, I would ruin them in their own. I knew the joy of beauty and I knew solace in my dreams. I loved creatures and people. I loved to grow plants and cook, despite being forced to do so by people I abhorred.

Each day was harder than the last. I was forced into hard labor that I was incapable of and beaten when I failed. Yet I improvised well enough that I still survived. Though I was still made stronger, my body was still prone to the usual weakness of my age and gender. I was injured many times, and only the help of a kind man saved me then.

He was a prophet, his mind warped by his waking dreams. My parents had allowed him refuge from the weather at our house only due to his wide fame. Valos the Dreamer began his prophecies at the same age I was when I taught myself to read. It was he who made this possible. He gave me the books he had carried in gratitude, for few but I ever took the time to learn how to understand him. These I hid from my parents to save them from being sold to fund their alcoholism.

Yet he helped me most in a simple way. I asked him if he could help me escape my life, yet he only smiled and shook his head. He gave me a small, wooden ring embossed with the symbol of Delachimarron for protection. It was a simple violet and blue swirl and it held no power, yet I found it beautiful and the sentiment touching, despite that he wouldn’t help. He continued and cryptically told me that I didn’t need his help, and that this was all I would need.

It didn’t take long for me to discover the knowledge I needed. I found that one of the books I was given was a treatise on enchantment of magical items and that one was a real mage’s book. I still remember that moment exactly to this day. The formulae and incantations seemed to come easily and the components were simple and easy to find or grow. When I had finished, I simply had to put on that ring to become hardier, stronger, and more agile. It was then that I began to dream of being a real wizard, molding magic to my will to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

The ring secretly aided me in my tasks immensely, yet it was still not enough for my parents. They planned to send me to my grandfather, a cruel old man who used his wife as a house-slave. They knew that his needs were more those of the home since his wife had passed away and hoped to trade me for a hardier male slave. I had no wish to live with such a horrible man, but I knew I was far more capable of housework than farming.

As we traveled, I was forced to carry anything that would not fit on top of our one donkey. I hid my books in my bag to ensure their safety. It was worth the effort to save something so valuable to me. Yet as our journey progressed, I became more and more certain of the fact that I would not be able to make it without resting more than I was allowed. I dropped a wrapped package and heard a soft crack. My parents began screaming at me. My mother took me by the hair while my father beat me, for they saw the books I had been keeping from them.

I began to scream as they took the books from me and beat me harder. I would give anything to keep just those books, yet they would not consent. My ring was the only thing that had saved me from death in that time.

But a group of orcs was passing near. They crept up to see what was happening, and they attacked when they saw. Their numbers were far superior, and in a fit of rage, they killed both of my parents before I had a chance to do more than blink. They turned towards me and as I did not know their intentions, I took a gamble. I tried to summon a magical shield and was surprised when it succeeded.

Really, they were far more surprised than I was, and I can’t blame them. Five year old girls aren’t supposed to be able to cast magical spells. The lead orc cautiously stepped forwards towards me. “I am Acejuk, nu worries, lil girl. We save ju. We take ju home!”

It seems that I had luckily been found by the Moonshield tribe, a group of good orcs. And it seems they thought I was being attacked and kidnapped. “I… Don’t take me home. Dey was my pawents… Dey was taking me to a bad pwace.”

That stalled them a bit. They seemed so horrified at what they had done… though I quickly reassured them that they were indeed saving me. They’re good people, some of the few that I’ve ever met. They protected me and took me to Oture.

I had only read of Oture before. It was the land of diversity, the land of freedom, and the city dedicated to Delachimarron who had saved it so many years before. Anyone from any other city could be seen there at any given time, no matter how depraved or how good. The place was neutral, unless a warrant had been put out specifically in-town. The place I was taken to was an inn, a tavern, the central meeting-place of Oture. The tavern was The Sword of the Moon, and it was even frequented by guests such as the Paladin-King Veren of Vastania, the Vampire Prince Shagrath, the enigmatic and tri-racial Midnight Voyager, and the Mercenary Pirate Arlin the Half-Ogre. Even the Dwarven proprietor, Tolin Forgeheart, was a colorful, prominent figure in the city.

I think I’ll do just fine here…

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         Veren gazed for a while at the small, helpless child as a cleric of Ellande tended to her wounds. What horrible people her parents must have been to harm such a sweet little girl. She seemed to love everyone around her, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. She had given him a great big hug on sight, even knowing he was a king. Her innocence and lack of stuffy etiquette made her all the more endearing, though she was by no means impolite when it came down to it.

         He would not press any accusations against the orcs. They freely admitted that they had killed the girl’s parents in a confused attempt to rescue the girl from an assumed attack and kidnapping. They had not even tried to lie when speaking to him, for he was a friend of their tribe, and they knew he would give them a fair hearing.

         The child’s talk of a grandfather was disturbing. If he found out about the child’s situation, he could easily stake a claim on her. However, if the child was adopted in the meantime, the situation would easily leave her with her new father instead of the grandfather. His treatment of his late wife and his children’s treatment of the girl ensured that... mostly.

         He thought of his wife back home. She would love a child, but she wished to bear her own young. And she was pregnant… No, he could not adopt the girl, as tempting as it was to offer. Yet he had to find someone who could and would adopt her. He would not let her go back to such a terrible situation.

         “Midnight?” his deep voice resounded as he glanced around the room.

         “Hm?”

         He jolted as her voice drifted from the table right next to him. That trick of hers… her ability to blend into shadows and crowds without even trying… it was uncanny. He had yet to get used to it despite how long she had been around.

         How long HAD she been around anyway?

         The small woman’s brilliant blue eyes settled on him as she ran her fingers over that strange, ragged black scar. It contrasted horribly with her dead white skin, yet she never would explain its origin. People in Oture could certainly be strange… She was one of the stranger people around. Yet she was a good ally in any situation, for her skills as a rogue and a ranger complimented each other just as well as the mix of elf, dwarf, and human in her blood, which was surprising at best.

         “Middy, that child… Have you heard of her story?”

         The dark woman frowned softly. “Aye, I heard. People like her parents deserve ta be shot.”

         Veren nodded slowly. “If she were to be adopted… She would be free of this mess. Could you please look into it?”

         “I’d be glad to.” Middy winked conspiratorially. “And I’m certain Tolin would be glad to let her stay here for the night.”

         “Damn straight!” the Dwarf boomed from across the bar.

         “Good… good.” Veren sighed. Certainly, there must be someone…