A Story (In Faerun)

A starving young girl trades a story for some food.

“Can I get something to eat?”

The portly bartender turned, then looked down at her.

She knew what he'd see despite her efforts...  A street urchin or a beggar.  She had tried hard to scrub her clothes and herself off this morning, but the last hour before the city had been long and dusty.  She shuffled a little, hoping he'd see her shoes...  they had set her apart in the last town.

Her stomach grumbled feebly in complaint, having given up on getting real food long ago.  She needed to eat.  It had been two days...  This was her fifth tavern try since entering Silverymoon and she was losing hope.

  “Money up front.”  he said.

“Your sign...” she said already turning towards the door.

“Yeah?  What about my sign?”

She turned, looking at him hopefully.  “It says, 'Stews and Stories'...  I could...”

“Are you a bard?”

“No.” she admitted in a hoarse whisper.

He scowled as his eyes climbed down her.  Pausing a moment with her shoes, he grunted.

“Good.  A bowl of stew and a mug of...” he paused to eye his bar and then eyeing her, “my worst beer.  Half up front and half if it's any good.”

“Agreed.”

“If a story is what you want, a story is what I can give you. Maybe it will interest you, maybe not. But please, allow me to tell the story without interruption..."

  “Hrmph! Sound like a blasted bard to me. Best not break out into song, girl.” growled the portly bartender menacingly.

"No, no....  twas told to me by a fellow traveler, I will try to tell it as she had told it to me though I beg your forgiveness if some details are overlooked or forgotten. I think it is horribly sad story but it is the best story I know.”

“Get on with it girl!"

“Okay, okay. My story begins, as all things must. I was born. About midwinter in the Year of Shadows or as some would call it the Time of Troubles: Gods walked among us. Gods died among us. The Prince of Lies and the Lady of Mysteries were given life among the gods. Places appeared where magic failed or even worse. It was a very chaotic time. It was during this time that my life began.

“I think I must have been born in Waterdeep to two wonderful and loving parents. Alas, the truth is I never knew my parents. My first memories are instead, of an orphanage. It was a poor, run down place ran by a kind and quiet cleric of the Crying God. I remember his face well because never since my days there have I seen a man so old, his face wreathed in white hair and covered in wrinkles, as Willis the quiet and kind cleric of the Crying God. He, the weeping willow, Willis of Waterdeep cared for us all.

“There was both happiness and sadness at the orphanage. It was always a happy time when new children came to join our family. Most came to us with such heavy hearts… Such sadness and sorrow in some while others felt afraid. I don’t know why, perhaps because I had never known my parents but I would always try to forge friendships and make each of them a member of my own ‘adopted’ family. A new child would mean a new brother or a new sister. Alas, there was another side to the coin. When a single one of us left, just one of my ‘adopted’ brothers or sisters, they were not just leaving. Too often, contact with us was completely severed. It was like loosing each one of them forever. Yes, the orphanage was both a place of brief joys and long lasting sorrows.

“From Willis’ orphanage, I became apprenticed. The man I was apprenticed to, despite his age, looked and acted young for his years. His name was Dorn. He went out of his way to make me feel comfortable. It was my first time…”

With a deeply furrowed brow and clenched fists the bartender growled “Eh girl! He didn’t try anything, did he? You know, try to take advantage of you?”

“No, that’s not what I meant! He’d never…" her words stumbling to a halt.  Taking a deep breath and looking the bartender in the eye, she began again.  "He brought me to a small well kept building and asked me to go pick out a room to be mine. We went shopping together to fill the entire building, especially my room. That meant a lot to me because I had never had anything that was just mine. He only allowed me to buy what was necessary… Clothes, bedding, and a table and chair. But just that felt the world to me.

“After a few days of settling, he began teaching me. Mostly he taught me things about his profession. He was both a scribe and a translator. It was from him that I learned how to read and write not just common, but also chondathan, dwarven, elven, and orcish. Later he taught me other languages, but those first ones I picked up the easiest. During the time he was teaching me all of this, he was also taking me with him on business. I met many of his customers, colleagues, and even his business rivals. We translated old manuals and aided in many negotiations. I had a sort of knack for languages. It was not too long before I could speak as many languages as he could.

“At first, when I did well in my studies he would buy a basket of food and take me back to the orphanage to hand out. Sometimes we’d even get to stay a short time and I’d get to play with my friends while he spoke with Willis. This too meant a lot to me. As his business picked up, the visits became less and less frequent until eventually they stopped. Though I called him father and he had called me his daughter, I was still his apprentice and had learned enough to understand.

“We were really close and so this next part is hard to speak about. He became ill. Similar to Mindfire, the disease steadily ate away at his ability to think, his ability to remember. I had learned enough from him that I could easily maintain most of his business and his income. I took to tutoring students of the bardic college, New Olamn, for what little extra money they could afford. Over the next year, I had sold and saved what I could. I lot of the time, I went without. If he would stay a little warmer with new clothes or blankets, I would buy them for him. If he could eat and maybe gain the strength to become well again, I went without.

“Finally, as my father’s health took a turn for the worse, I had finally saved enough money to go to a priest and see about his healing. The first one I took my father to tried several things, even magic, but after all his efforts he told me the disease was beyond his abilities. He even went so far as to apologize to me and refund most of the money. We went from priest to apothecary, but no one had seen this disease before. After searching for weeks, I found word of a great man, a healer and miracle worker. By this time though, all the money I had saved up, it had been spent on my father? He had only become more ill, even bed ridden. I dared not move him. My hope was dying.

“This one last miracle worker had to come and see my father. Where to get the money?

“My father had once shown me his most prized possession ever. Although it seemed a strange bauble or curiosity he said it had magic in it. Well… I had learned in the few years I had stayed with him, that the item was kept in the post of his bed. In fact he had secretly carved the post out just for this reason. Knowing it was the last thing of any real value in the house, in my desperation I took it. When I took it though, it was with him in the bed. He woke, and seeing the item, attacked me. He called me, the person he called daughter, a thief. It was as if he didn’t know me anymore.

“I managed to get the bauble, still wrapped in rags, and I ran from the house. With my clothes dirtied and ripped from the brief struggle, I ran crying from my own house. The only place I had ever called home. I must have cried all the way to the miracle worker’s door for when I arrived, it opened immediately.

“There, in that doorway stood a young man, his hair yellow like the sun, in garments that could pay my wages for years. He smiled through his frown, and though it was a kind smiled, he began questioning me in a most business like manner about what was wrong. I told him that my father had grown ill and needed healing. I told him where our house was and that I feared moving him.

“’How serious is it? I just returned from a small disaster where I spent myself. I have patients that are quite serious and need constant watching for the rest of the night. I am finished and I have nothing left. I am almost too tired to walk. Can he survive until tomorrow afternoon?’”

“Not wanting to impose upon one so great more than I already had, however much it hurt me to, I told him that my father could wait. I told him that my father had survived many months but the disease was slowly… I lost my nerve then. I pushed the bundle of rags containing the bauble into his hands and ran from his house too, crying.”

“I did not want to go home, my tears and my hurt too fresh in my heart so I began walking the city, which I knew was a dangerous thing to do. I felt so alone yet I wanted to be alone. I also wanted to not be alone. To have someone tell me things would get better. Seeking the company of crowded streets seemed to help. From the depths of my own despair, I heard a yell…

“’HALT!’ was the scream of the city guard as they pounced upon me, knocking me into unconsciousness.

“As Tymora would have it, a nosy neighbor had heard my father yelling ‘Thief!’ and summoned the guard. The neighbor had described me perfectly. That is why I had been attacked and assaulted by the city guard. I, who he had called ‘daughter’, he had also called ‘thief’. And a thief I am, for I did steal from my own father while he slept on his death bed.

“With my own tear filled testimony fresh in my ears… The magistrate had no mercy for such as me. He sentenced me without sympathy to work outside the city walls repairing the roads to Waterdeep.

“I was taken to a cell to wait for maybe an hour before the jailers came, chaining me to many others. It was a long walk from deep within the city to the first of many roads. We were given tools and mine had been a pick. We were forced to dig drainage ditches and fill potholes. We were fed and given water from the back of the very wagon that we had been chained to while marching to each site. My clothes became worse for the wear and my appearance grew rather grim. No one would have recognized me.

“When our captors were attacked for our wagon full of food and water, tools and equipment, our captors retreated. At first the retreat was in an organized fashion, but when half their group fell in a pit trap, our guards fully fled leaving us behind.

“In the brief confusion, many of us took our tools and struck at the chains that held us together but to no avail. Afterwards, one of the bandits brought us keys to the chains. While we freed ourselves the bandit leader spoke. He spoke of vengeance. He spoke of redemption. He spoke of joining his men.

“Some did join his group and left on the wagon while the rest of us began walking. Walking to where, I don’t know. It didn’t matter. We could not or at least I could not return. As a ‘thief’ I had been shamed. As an escaped criminal I could be killed. It just didn’t matter. Some wanted to head to Silverymoon while others wanted to head south. Our group broke up and I was glad for it. I just wanted to be alone.

“Eventually, I, er… She ended up in Silverymoon... Where I met her and she told me her story... yeah.”

“And now here I am, in this very tavern, telling her story of sadness and sorrow for a hot meal, and perhaps a chance for a safe place to sleep.”

“Aye, girl. The only thing worse than telling the story, might have been living it. You’ll have all that. I’ll see to it personally.”

“And just so you know, there’s a caravan leaving tomorrow. Its master told me that it’ll be headed through Evereska to Cormyr to trade some pretty standard stock for some armor to bring back. Part of the caravan is headed farther east to a place called the Dalelands. I think scribes could make good money up that way.

“Anyways, girl, the caravan master’s name is Malart and he’ll be headed out tomorrow. He’s always looking for a few good hands to help out… Well, if you’re interested in a good job that is…” And with his final words, the big burly innkeeper went about his business, preparing food, drink, and rooms…