Reflections on your father
Reflections On My Father:
I know not much about my father other than that he was an elf and died when I was barely old enough to walk. Growing up with a single parent-watching mother struggle with raising me and making enough coin to keep our bellies fed-I wished more than once that he had returned from the war that took his life. I cannot remember his face. To me he is nothing more than a stranger that I know only from portraits, and the fantasy father figure that I wove between longing and the rare story from mother.
Mysterious Person at the Tavern
The suspicious stranger looked no different than the common man at first glance. He had a neat and clean beard on his pale face, brown disheveled hair spilling past his shoulders and eyes that didn't shift or betray any malicious intentions. It was upon looking carefully that I noticed his beard too clean to belong to a laborer, his skin too thin and soft, hair almost deliberately mussed, eyes clear, not sunken from the weight of poverty and restless nights sleeping on an empty stomach. No noble would ever risk going to such a seedy part of The Town with no protection, but a servant, perhaps, one paid well enough and trusted to carry such a delicate task.
"Thee mother had many friends, and even more allies." he said mysteriously. "She convinced them that there are grand things awaiting in thy future. Some so thoroughly that they see this as a worthwhile investment." It was easy to infer one of them was his master. The question was, were there really more? Carmela was different, to my understanding; she took care of me as a charitable act, because she liked me. This person or people were different-powerful, and confident that I was destined for greatness. Assuming that none of this was a lie. What was my mother involved with?
"I thank thee, and my benefactor, whoever they may be. I hope I can fulfill thy expectations." I wasn't going to voice my doubts, of course. If they wanted to part with their gold so enthusiastically, who was I to stop them? It would be very helpful indeed. The strings attached to it seemed to be intrinsically woven into my life already, and I could always run to someplace faraway with it.
"We are watching." And with that foreboding line, the stranger left the table and walked swiftly out of the tavern. A warning and a promise. Perhaps if I gave a good performance more "gifts" would be coming my way…