D&D

[Jarka]

Aramorel Fiedlerson

It had been a grueling journey, but it was almost over. Jacobi gritted his teeth while the merchant cart bounced and rattled over the uneven cobblestones of Warden Path. His mule snorted at the ruckus with a sidelong glance. The steed had little to complain about; its load was much lighter than when they had left. Nydea would be pleased. His lips curled into a smile at the thought of his new wife. He had been reluctant to leave, moreso than usual, but by sundown he would be back to their inn and in her arms once more.

An abrupt wail pulled him from pleasant thoughts of home. Jacobi leapt from his cart, pushing aside the brush on the side of the road to find the source of the anguished noise. There, in the filthy water, a tiny baby wriggled.

The man made quick work of swaddling the infant with a spare bolt of cloth. He clutched her to his chest for the remainder of the ride home, humming whatever lullabies he could scarcely remember. Nydea would understand. His hand rested on the door latch. She had to. He opened the door.

His wife’s eyes darted from him to the baby and back to him. “A baby?”

“I’m sorry. Let me expl-”

“No need.” She pecked his cheek and peered at the infant. “You have a wonderful heart.”

Jacobi adjusted the makeshift blanket. “Are we ready for this? I have my routes - I won’t always be here. Even when I am, a tavern isn’t the best place to raise a child. And she looks- she looks a bit... different. What if-”

“We’ll make it work.” Nydea snuggled against her husband. “We always do.”

And so they did.

Even without the occasional teasing from close-minded youths, Aramorel knew she was different than her parents. That didn’t matter to her. She may have been a half-orc, but she had the heart of a human. Her monstrous heritage was just an interesting tidbit, something to explore on rainy days when business was slow. Her appearance was just another way to nab an audience, no different than juggling or knife-throwing.

Soon after she could talk, little Aramorel began charming anybody and everybody with her grandiose tales. As she grew older, evenings meant heartfelt performances and nonchalant schmoozing with clientele in the public lounge of their tavern. Joining her father on his trade route gave her a taste of the world beyond the confines of their tiny inn in their tiny village on the crossroads. She yearned for more.