Elara found herself in a small office, or perhaps it was simply too cramped with items. After a moment of thought. It was undoubtedly the latter since the place was quite spacious from the outside.
The walls were lined with torches that produced a soft bluish light but emitted no heat. A necessary thing due to the quite flammable and possibly explosive nature of some of the curiosities that Doniel liked to keep around him. His tastes ranged from mundane, if strange, items, like the collection of strangely shaped skulls that lined one of the shelves, to peculiar magic items.
It was on his eclectic tastes that Elara's hopes were pinned.
Elara's feet tapped impatiently on the ground while she fought the urge to bite her nails. Maintaining composure was becoming increasingly difficult given Doniel's meticulous method of inspecting her items.
Please… Just a little faster. Elara urged Doniel internally. Her mind goes back to Mara sleeping at the tavern.
At first glance, Doniel didn't embody the word 'imposing.' Kobolds tended to be unassuming, and Doniel, standing at just ninety centimeters, was considered short even for his species. However, his deep blue scales shimmered like steel under the dim light, and his eyes radiated intense concentration. As he scrutinized Elara's goods, this focus lent him an aura of authority.
"I've got to be honest with you, Elara," Doniel began, his voice carrying Kobolds' characteristic low and nasal tone. "When my sending stone glowed, and I heard that Zugra and Urul's daughter had things to sell, my expectations were high." His eyes shifted from the dolls to Elara, sending a shiver down her spine despite the casualness of his voice.
"But then… Dolls. Of all the things to sell, to offer to someone who collects the rare and the extraordinary, who has traversed nearly every corner of Luton, they wanted to sell dolls." His gaze briefly took on a distant look before snapping back to focus intently on Elara. "Not 'They,' but 'Her'... It didn't take much digging to find out that your family got here. Then, no news of them."
Elara felt a chill at the mention of her family, sensing a gravity in Doniel's tone she had never witnessed before. The kobold, who was small compared to her grown stature, somehow appeared larger and more imposing than ever. He lacked the somewhat clumsy demeanor Elara remembered from her childhood.
Where was this Doniel when I was growing up? She had always questioned how he was the leader of a thriving merchant group, but now it all made sense.
His gaze remained unwaveringly fixed on her. "I don't know if your parents ever told you the story of how we met." He paused, recollecting the past, "They had their moments of luck, but most of what I bought was sold at a loss."
Elara vaguely remembered asking her parents why they always went to Doniel, but their answers were always vague, merely mentioning a chance meeting on the road.
"You knew my mother —she probably wouldn't have remembered how she met you unless it involved combat or food. And my father... getting him to share anything beyond advice on meditation was like trying to get blood from a stone." Her voice wavered, each memory accompanied by the sharp sting of grief.
An old memory resurfaced from the recesses of Elara's mind. She went to ask her father where Dragonborn came from. He looked at her for a few moments with a blank stare, and then his body went limp. He played dead for four weeks and only stopped when she told him she didn't care anymore.
"They were an unusual pair, but they had a knack for surviving where others perished." A smile flickered across his scaled lips. "We met when they saved me from a Cave Dragon's den. Sure, I've been rescued by adventurers before, made deals, and formed friendships. But your parents were different. They fought ferociously to get me out, though I'm not sure they knew I was in there when they took that suicidal mission."
That fight was a story Elara knew. Her parents had been in the deserts of Eerbay, investigating reports of a massive creature attacking caravans. They speculated it might have been the work of a Young Purple Worm, in which case it would be an epic battle or a Desert Drake they could rob. Instead, they encountered a Cave Dragon. The battle cost her father an arm and her mother her original sword, the predecessor Aka'Magosh. They never once mentioned Doniel.
"I was collateral in their fight," Doniel continued. "The dragon's poison was lethal, literally melting me away. No cleric could have saved me in that state; I was far beyond the help of simple resurrection spells.
They used a Reincarnate scroll on me.
A rare spell, much more complex than Revivify, and seldom used outside of druidic circles. Yet, there in the endless desert, they chose to use it on me, a complete stranger. I was given a second chance at life, albeit in a new shape. For me, it was a small price to pay for life itself."
Elara's breath hitched, she never knew any of these details. "I remember the story about that fight, but they never mentioned you or anything else in that cave." Elara paused, processing that neglected piece of the story. "My mother mourned her lost sword more than anything else, often lamenting that it was her grandfather's."
Doniel gave a small, wry smile. "I can't say I'm surprised. That sounds like her."
Doniel's hands resumed their exploration of the dolls Elara had brought. Eventually settling on a particularly well-crafted Bullete doll. It had an elongated, somewhat rotund body, expertly mimicking the creature's distinct form. The doll's hide was a mix of gray and grayish-blue, resembling the Bullete's natural coloring.
What truly set the doll apart was its head, adorned with a thin metal sheet intricately layered to resemble the head plating of the creature. The craftsmanship was impressive, rendering the doll almost life-like in its appearance. Doniel examined it closely, his fingers tracing the details, a look of mild intrigue crossing his features.
"What first piqued my interest was the odd offer of dolls, which, I must admit, are exquisitely crafted. I would never have guessed that those two would have a child so skilled in crafting." Doniel said with his eyes still on the Bullete doll. "But when I learned of their disappearance, my curiosity turned to concern. How could I not seek out who might be their only living relative?"
Elara felt a lump form in her throat. Discussing her parents' fate twice in one day was more than she had bargained for. "They died," she said softly, the words difficult to utter. "They accepted a mission they couldn't handle."
Doniel's expression shifted to one of confusion. "Then why are you here?" he asked, scrutinizing Elara as if questioning her existence. "Alive."
His words threw Elara for a loop. "What do you mean?" His words made her brain freeze, and her nervous behavior stopped, her hands and legs going to a standstill.
"Your parents always took you with them on their adventures. I remember when you were just three, they brought you to my traveling caravan, covered in lichen from an encounter with Mychonids. They never went anywhere without you."
Elara hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. "I had reasons that made it impossible for me to continue risking my life as I used to."
Doniel tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing. "It couldn't have been an injury. Your parents were risk-takers, but they were always prepared for grave injuries. I'm certain they had a stash of Revivify scrolls somewhere." His eyes seemed to bore a hole in Elara. As if he already knew the reason.
Apprehension weighed heavily on her, the words leaving her mouth with the weight of the world, "I was… a fool. I got pregnant, and thought he was 'The One.' I was young and naive."
Stupid would be a better word. If only I knew better then. Elara seethed internally at remembering that man and how he left his right side open when they spared, how he almost seemed scared of the blade when he held a weapon.
There were so many wasted opportunities to end his miserable existence.
Doniel stood up, his clawed feet tapping softly on the wood floor as he walked to stand beside Elara, standing on the tip of his clawed feet, he touched the broad of her back. "A few gold coins can open many doors. I gathered you've been quite busy with the weekly markets."
Elara's seething anger at that beast that fashions itself a man soon bubbled into anger at herself as tears welled in her eyes, on the brink of spilling over as her voice quivered with each word. "I-I've been trying... But…” She paused, struggling to compose herself. "Mara got hurt. We were at Podkus, and I... I made a mistake. I got drunk, and she was injured."
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The hatred shifted again, taking in sorrow as she poked the still-bleeding memory. "When Jr. came back, soaked, shaking," She stopped, the words refusing to form as she struggled to breathe. "And alone. I thought I had lost her forever." Tears streamed down her cheeks as her body trembled.
Doniel's hand rested gently on Elara's back, offering a semblance of comfort. "For you to be here with me instead of with her, I assume that your pouch is quite light?" he asked, his concern evident in his tone.
Elara nodded, struggling to clean the tears off of her face. "It's been... manageable. We've never suffered from hunger or need. But I had to sell most of my weapons. Eventually, I found safe ways to earn money that didn't put me or Mara at risk," she said, her voice steadying as she wiped her tears away.
Elara's voice still quivered slightly. "I-I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want to finish this and go back to Mara. I paid for her to be looked after, but I don't know the tavern owner well. For all I know, she could be out on the streets by now."
Doniel's eyes briefly swept over the box of dolls on his table, almost as if he had forgotten about them, then returned to Elara. "I can offer 150 gold for the Bullete doll. The others will take time to sell; I can give you 100 gold for the rest of the dolls."
Elara composed herself, her eyes still red but her body steadying. "Sounds good, just—"
Doniel interrupted her gently. "If you want, consider joining my caravan when it reforms in half a year. It might be good for Mara to see the wonders of Luton like your parents showed you."
"I'll think about it, but I can't make any promises. There's still much for me to do here." The offer was tempting, but she still had many things that couldn't be left behind, not yet.
Doniel nodded. "I expected as much. But remember, if you ever change your mind, or if—gods forbid—Mara chooses to tread your family's path, know that I'll always keep your sending stone close."
Walking back to his table, Doniel removed five leather pouches, which he carefully placed before Elara. She hastily gathered them, lacking the satisfaction she expected as her mind focused on returning to Mara.
As she turned to leave, Doniel's voice halted her.
"Were there... bodies?" Doniel asked, his voice faltering for the first time.
Elara paused, "Not that I know of." The words leaving her mouth were barely louder than a whisper.
There was a brief moment of silence before Doniel walked over to one of the shelves. He picked out a ring that appeared to be made of rusted iron and casually tossed it to her. "A Lesser Ring of Regeneration, albeit cursed," he explained. "But don't worry, the curse is benign —your nails will just grow about twice as fast as normal."
With a final nod from Doniel, Elara headed towards the door; as she stepped out she barely heard his last words. "It would've been good to say a last goodbye."
It would've been good. Elara thought as she quickly exited Doniel's rented property, a modest place considering his wealth but well-secured by twenty-four-hour guard patrols and adventurers. Stepping past the guards, she quickened her pace, darting through the nearly deserted streets of the market district.
Taking every shortcut she could find, except for rooftops, since the time saved was not worth the potential interception by the city guards. The streets and alleys blurred as she beelined for The Golden Leaf, set on getting back to Mara's side.
Elara walked out of one of the hundreds of alleyways she took and was met with the tavern. A two-story structure built from a blend of cobblestone and wood. A small sign near its entrance featured an image of a leaf resting on a small pile of coins.
Without slowing her steps she barreled past the doors, throwing them open and getting several heads turned. Elara heard someone calling to her and some patrons throwing insults at her, but she ignored them and instead she ascended the stairs three steps at a time.
Elara's hurried steps slowed and faltered after leaving the stairs and noticing her room door slightly ajar. Her hands clenched into fists, feeling strangely clammy and a wave of worry flooded her. Her breathing grew rapid, and the world seemed to spin as she reached for the doorknob.
Her eyes scanned the door, searching for any signs of damage that might say someone had broken in, but everything seemed alright besides the scratches that existed when she rented the room. Gripping the knob tightly, she was momentarily paralyzed by fear before mustering the courage to push it open.
"Mar—" She started saying softly, only to notice the lack of a body in the bed.
Her heart stopped at the sight of the empty room. Hastily flinging the door wide open, her eyes scanned the room. Mara's boots were missing, the flask from Ruck lying on its side, and the bed covers half were on the floor. It was clear there was nowhere to hide and no signs of a struggle.
No wood splinters, no smell of blood. Elara quickly assessed.
Leaving the door open Elara bolted down the stairs, each step echoing loudly. She zeroed in on Thorgat, who was serving a sober dwarf. Catching her intense gaze, Thorgat gestured towards one of the noisiest tables in the tavern.
There, amidst a pair of raucously drunk twins, was a red-faced Mara, engaged in loud conversation with a crimson-skinned tiefling who was absentmindedly fingering his lyre. As Elara approached, the tiefling's ears twitched, and he spun around, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Why did I even bother paying them if this is what they call looking over someone?
"Mama bear is here!" The tiefling announced gleefully, strumming his lyre. A soft light emanated from the instrument, washing over Mara and the twins, visibly sobering them up.
Mara, who had been laughing heartily moments before, visibly shrank under her mother's stern gaze. Her previous joy was replaced by a sudden urge to appear small and inconspicuous; she avoided eye contact and covered her face with her hands.
Why now?! Mara screamed internally. Besides the dread of being reprimanded, there was the mortifying embarrassment of it happening in public, close to her new friends.
Abruptly sobered and now keenly aware of their surroundings, the twins noticed the imposing figure of the orc woman stomping in their direction. Coupled with their companion's loud shout and Mara's rapid change in demeanor, they quickly stood up, their hands raised in peace.
Towering over the table, Elara fixed her stern gaze on Mara. The twins, not more than one meter seventy-five, and the tiefling, about the same height as Mara, were dwarfed by her size.
Elara's mouth was already open, ready to unleash a wave of reprimands, but the sight of Mara. Almost cowering in her seat, her hair having been trimmed to a bowl cut, and the scars running along her neck made the words die before they even finished forming. Vivid images flooded her mind; running through the forest, Jr.'s sobbing, Mara's body floating in the water, her empty eyes gazing skyward, and the overwhelming relief when life returned to Mara's eyes as she coughed out of water and lost consciousness.
The anger that had initially fueled Elara's stomping melted into a deep, pervasive worry. When it finally emerged, her voice was not as stern as both expected but soft and almost trembling. "Mara, go back to our room."
"But Mom—" Mara began, uncovering her face to meet her mother's eyes. Instead of the sternness or disappointment she braced for, she saw a storm of bone-deep worry swirling in Elara's amber eyes.
"Please… Just go. We need to talk," Elara said, her voice regaining its expected firmness.
Casting a final glance at the table, Mara murmured her goodbyes before reluctantly heading towards the stairs. Elara spared one last critical look at the group before turning to leave, only to be halted by one of the twins.
"No need to be so harsh; she was just having some fun," he said, hoisting his mug in anticipation of another round.
Elara exhaled slowly, her patience thinning. "She's a child, and you lot don't exactly seem like the best influences," she replied sharply. As the other twin opened his mouth to retort, the tiefling interjected.
"That may be true, but she seemed alone at the bar. She's quite the spirited young soul," he remarked, the trinkets on his horns softly tinkling with his movements.
"And that's why she should stay away from your kind," Elara retorted sharply, her voice laced with venom.
"Easy, Mama Bear," the tiefling replied in a light, jesting tone, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "Did you know she's quite the troublemaker? Sneaking some ale behind your back?" His smirk only added to Elara's irritation.
Elara was well aware of Mara's propensity for troublemaking and misbehaving. She didn't have the best influences as friends back home, yet hearing it from a stranger ignited an unknown irritation within her. She stepped closer to the tiefling, leaning down to confront him face-to-face, her stature towering over his.
One of the twins intervened, pulling the tiefling back. "Apologies for our friend. Bards, you know—it takes a few knocks to the head to become one," The twin said.
"He's just very eccentric. I'm Jareth, my twin is Jarin, and the one with the big mouth is Elysian," Jareth added, attempting a more formal introduction.
Elysian suddenly transformed into mist, escaping Jarin's grip. The mist coalesced near Elara, who instinctively swung at it. Elysian dodged with a theatrical bow. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance," His voice was formal yet irritatingly smug.
Elara felt a visceral urge to stab Elysian, irked by his smug smile and insufferable demeanor.
An intrusive thought suddenly invaded her mind: Remember, if a bard ever approaches you, no matter the reason, kick him between the legs and run. Her anger toward Elysian waned as the memory surfaced—one of the rare times her father told tales of his life, a fleeting smile formed on her face.
"Look who's being dreamy. What is it? Thinking about all the adventures we could have together? This trio could always become a quartet," Elysian teased, a smirk stretching across his face.
Elara's knee rocketed upward, propelled by her entire body weight. Elysian crumpled like a treant struck by a lightning bolt, clutching his groin and groaning in agony.
She then looked at the twins, who seemed in no hurry to help their friend squirming on the ground. As Elysian groaned in pain, his ornaments chimed harmoniously, making a satisfied smile creep onto Elara's face.
Turning to the stairs, Elara's eyes caught Mara. Her face was contorted in horror as she stared at Elysian. Realizing she had been spotted, Mara turned and bolted to their room, disappearing from Elara's view.
Elara sighed as she climbed the stairs. She found the door to their room shut, a sliver of light escaping beneath it. Pressing against the door, she felt resistance and heard something scrape against the floor.
Leaning her forehead against the door, she spoke softly. "Please… Open the door."
"No! Why did you kick him?"
Was I ever like this with my parent? Elara couldn't help but think as she tapped against the door. "I was just following your grandfather's advice."
"And what was it? Punch a fun guy?" Mara shot back; even sounding angry, she couldn't hide her curiosity. She rarely heard from her grandparents.
Elara's voice deepened, mimicking the gruff tone of her father. "'If a bard approaches you, kick him and run.'" She let the words linger in the air, a smile playing on her lips despite the situation.
Mara's response came softer, her anger ebbing away, replaced by intrigue. "Was he a killjoy? Was he grumpy like you?"
"No, he just... had his reasons," Elara sighed, her voice softening. "Mara, please. Let me in. We need to talk, and I don't want to have to break the door."
There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, before the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor echoed. Elara waited a few heartbeats before pushing the door open.
Inside, Mara sat on the edge of their bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. Elara stood in the doorway, unsure what to do. Any plans or ideas she had slipped like mist between her hands.
Unsure of what to say or do, Elara sat by her daughter, her weight barely making an impression on the aged mattress. She hesitated for a moment before gently placing a hand on Mara's shoulder.
The room was silent except for the distant murmur of tavern patrons and the soft creak of the bed as they both shifted.
Hesitantly, Elara wrapped her arms around Mara. Both bathed in the silence as they felt each other's body heat, their heartbeats clear to each other.
Slowly, at first, Elara's hand wandered Mara's head. She felt Mara's hair, its length now barely going past her head, before moving down to her face, where the fat of the youth still perched in her cheeks and where the barest hints of her tusks could be seen in her closed mouth. Elara's hand froze after lowering to her daughter's neck, scared of touching the fresh set of scars that adorned its length, long, jagged gashes that spoke of visceral, blind cuts.
The tension in Mara's body was palpable, but her voice was soft with curiosity. "Why was Gramps so grumpy?"
A small chuckle escaped Elara; Mara's whole body felt its vibration. "Did I ever tell you about when your grandmother hired a bard to serenade your grandpa?"
Mara's head lifted slightly, her interest clearly piqued. "No… Did it work?"
The corners of Elara's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Not at all. He hated that song."
Mara furrowed her brows in confusion as she met her mother's gaze. "Was that why he hated bards?"
Elara's smile grew, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes as she caressed her daughter's face. "Well, there's a bit more to the story. That very same bard ended up stealing his beloved lute. He never trusted a bard again after that."
Mara's face twisted in confusion, "But why tell me about the song then?" Mara loosened her grip on her knees and shifted her body, now sitting comfortably in her mother's lap, her head resting on Elara's shoulder.
"Just a distraction." Elara gently enveloped her daughter in a warm, loving embrace.
Mara's voice was muffled against Elara's shoulder. "Not fair. I'm still angry."
It's not fair that it worked, Mara thought, trying to be angry at her mother but unable to hold on to the feeling as she leaned in the comforting warmth of their embrace.