Awnara Puddyfoot's page

"Not well, Filo," said the priest. "It is good you came when you did, though. She has lost a lot of blood to that...that creature." The Desniyan grimaced at the thought of the undead creature that attacked this poor halfling's wife. "I've used what herbs and simples I have, and called upon the Great Dreamer's power with little avail." The man pursed his lips, and tried to find the right words to say what must be said.

"I am sorry, Filo. She is dying."

Filo's heart caught in his throat. He clenched the hat in his hands, and his voice quavered. "What...what of the child?"

"I'm doing everything I can to save it. She was already near to term, it may be possible to save your unborn child."

"Then do it!", the halfling cried. "If there is nothing to be done for my Awnara, then save the child!"

"I will try, but my magics are limited, Filo. I will do what I can, and the rest is in Lady Luck's hands."

The Desniyan left the halfling in the rectory while he went to tend to Awnara. Filo spent the next hour in the silent church, worrying and praying to Desniy. Finally, he heard the cry of a babe approaching, and he stood to see the Desniyan approach with an infant wrapped in cloth. "It was not an easy birth, Filo, but through the Starsong's grace and all the healing magic I could muster, I was able to bring your daughter into this world." He passed the babe on to her father. "She awoke into this world as her mother began her final sleep."

Filo held his daughter close, studying her small face. Tears were in his eyes - joy and sorrow fought for dominance. "My Awnara has died," he said between sobs. "But you will live on through her, Awnara Puddyfoot."

* * *

Years passed, and the girlchild named Awnara grew. Life was hard in Ustalav, but she and her father were able to eke out a living in Vieland. As she was coming of age, she spied her father speaking with a human dressed in scholarly robes. She heard her name, and as Filo got up, she dashed back to her room, grabbing a hairbrush and feigned at brushing out her honeyed locks.

"Awnara, dearest," her father said, knocking on the doorframe as he entered. "There is a man who wishes to speak with you." He regarded his daughter for a moment. "Judging by the flush on your cheeks, you've already seen him."

She sheepishly put the brush down on her nightstand. "I could never fool you, father. Who is this man?"

"A scholar by the name of Lamarimar. He was very insistent upon speaking with you."

She hopped off of her bed, and followed her father. The scholar had placed a leather-bound tome on the table; the size of it engulfed most of the table's real estate. He towered over both father and daughter, but there was a kindness in his eyes. "Awnara? I am Professor Tetris Lamarimar, and I would like to ask you a few questions. Please, have a seat.[/b]"

Awnara looked to her father, who nodded in assurance. She seated herself before the human, who brought a vial of ink from his pouch and a quill. "Let's start with the basics. Your father told me you were born seventeen years ago?"

"Yes, Professor," she replied.

"And your mother, she was attacked by a nosferatu?"

"A...a what, Professor?", she asked, puzzled at the word.

"Nosferatu," he said, waving his free hand while his other jotted down notes. "One of the hungry dead. Colloquially, a vampire."

Her eyes widened, and both she and her father made a protective sign to ward off the attentions of the monsters from beyond the grave. "I have been told as much, Professor."

The scholar nodded. "Have they also told you of the manner of your birth?", he asked.

"My mother died giving birth to me. The old priest of Desna was able to keep both of us alive long enough for my mother to birth me. She passed on soon after that." She said this with slight remorse, but her father shifted uneasily. She knew he had never fully recovered from her mother's death.

"And did they tell you what was done during that difficult birth?"

"Only bits and pieces, Professor. The priest used magic, that's all I really know."

Here the scholar looked up at the girl. "That's a very unique case, you do realize. Not many people experience the touch of the heavens in utero. I'm currently investigating the effects of such early exposure to miracles and their effect upon the people that receive them. Tell me, Awnara, have you had any unusual experiences within the last two to five years? Experiences that you would be classified as un-, sub-, or super-natural?"

Awnara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Not that I can think of, Professor."

"I see," the Professor nodded. "I can understand your reluctance to talk about these things, Awnara. Most subjects are reticent to discuss the details of their abilities for fear of scorn or rejection. Or, as one comes to expect in Ustalav, worse." He removed the spectacles he wore, and glanced down at the halfling girl benevolently. "But I have no interest in placing judgment upon you, only to find if there is a connection between early exposure to divine power and retaining that power later in life. Most abilities begin to appear at adolesence, and it is entirely possible you could be manifesting this sort of thing soon. Are you certain you have not experienced anything unusual?"

She looked away from the Professor's intense gaze. "No, Professor. I have not."

Lamarimar opened his mouth to protest again, but Filo spoke first. "See here, Professor, she has said twice now that she does not have any strange powers - can you not leave it at this? Can you not pry into this family's darkest day?"

The scholar regarded Filo for a moment, then nodded his head. "Very well. Mister Puddyfoot, I thank you for your time. Miss Awnara, it was a pleasure to meet you, even so briefly." He collected his notes, and stood up from the table, crouching in the small space. He made his way to the door, but turned as he got there. "Perhaps nothing may now be occurring, but should it do so, please write me. I will leave my forwarding address here, should you wish to talk about this more privately."

He slipped a piece of paper on the table next to the door, then left. Filo went over to the table and snatched up the paper immediately. "There will be no more talk of unnatural powers in this house," he said as he tore up the paper into tiny pieces. "No talk of witchcraft. Am I understood?"

Awnara looked down at the ground again, and nodded silently.

"[b]Good.[b]" Filo tossed the paper into the dustbin, and left to work his fields again. Awnara returned to baking bread and the chores her mother would normally be doing. All the while, the dustbin called to her. Eventually, she could no longer stand the torture, and rushed to it. She reached into it, and picked out a fragment of the page. She closed her eyes and said a word in a tongue she had heard long ago, a memory that seemed older than herself. The parchment glowed, as did many other scraps of the paper within the dustbin. They floated together, and rebound themselves once again. Looking around to see if she had been noticed, she folded the page and ran to hide it in her room.

That night, she began writing Professor Lamarimar, and telling him all about the dreams she had - of choirs singing tunes more beautiful than any mortal bard, of cities of pure silver and gold built upon the clouds themselves, and her mother, always smiling down upon her with pure love. Lorrimor urged her to explore her abilities thoroughly, as she was clearly heaven-blessed. This continued for a dozen years, until the correspondence stopped suddenly. She was deeply saddened when she received a letter stating the man had passed, and decided to finally make good on her promise to visit.