Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-7262318-20170128213721/@comment-24696651-20170204123755

''Gwyneth walked through the bustling streets of Anvil, the cold autumn wind sending a chill through her bones. Not that she minded - harvest had just finished, meaning her parents could spend more time with her, and today was her third birthday - as a treat, her father had taken her to the Anvil harvest market and bought a few presents for her.''

''"What'th that, Papa?" Gwyneth asked, pointing at a large column of fire erupting from across the market. She had not yet mastered Cyrodiilic pronunciation, so spoke with a noticeable lisp.''

''"That's magic," Papa explained slowly. "People can make fire come out of their hands."''

Gwyneth pondered that thought for a second.

''"Wouldn't they hurt their handth?" she frowned.''

''"No," Papa laughed. "It's not normal fire, so they don't burn their hands."''

After a few more seconds of walking, Gwyneth had another idea.

"Can I look at them, Papa?"

''"Come on, love," Papa responded, firmly. "You already have a lute and a new dress. We have to go home soon."''

''"Pleathe?" Gwyneth pleaded, looking up at Papa with big, imploring eyes.''

''"Alright," Papa sighed, smiling. "One more stall."''

''He led Gwyneth through the throngs of the market, taking her hand in his own. His hands were the stroung, calloused hands of someone who had worked on a farm for all his life; his hands were the hands that would pick her up when she fell, and carry her when she was tired. They were the hands she felt safe holding.''

''He fought his way through the crowd, always making sure that Gwyneth had a clear path through the crowd to follow. Soon, they could see the origin of the fire more clearly - a kindly old Breton mage, who was putting on a performance.''

''"... and with that final fireball, the apprentice became a wizard," he finished, with an exaggerated flick of the wrist. The mage had been controlling several ghostly familiars, in some kind of elaborate, magical puppet show. A spectacular flash of lightning arced into the sky, and the familiars took a bow before the assorted onlookers. An applause went up from the spectators, and when the familiars dissipated, they followed suit quickly. Gwyneth seized the opportunity to rush up to the mage's stand, dragging Papa with her.''

''"Greetings, madam," the mage said, bowing ostentatiously. "I am Kvothe the Bloodless, sorcerer and illusionist extraordinaire."''

''"I'm Gwyneth," she giggled. "What wath that fire?"''

"This fire," the mage explained, conjuring several fireballs of varying colours, "is my trade. It is a difficult and dangerous skill, and yet, I sense a deep power within you. Perhaps you too can cast this spell."

He pulled out a book of some kind, and showed the middle page to Gwyneth.

"I can't read," Gwyneth said sadly.

''"You don't need to read," the mage responded. "Just look, and the power shall be yours."''

Gwyneth stared at the page, frowning and concentrating, desperately trying to decipher some meaning from the tome.

"Now snap your fingers like this."

Gwyneth did as the mage said, and suddenly, an orange lick of flame emerged from her hands, quickly growing into a full fireball.

''"What ith thith?" Gwyneth asked, giggling.''

The mage grinned at her with sparkling eyes, all previous pretences of mystery suddenly gone.

"Magic."

Gwyneth woke up with a splitting headache, unable to see properly for some reason.

"Papa?" she asked, looking around. This wasn't her room; the bed she was lying on was much too big and tall, and she could not see Mama and Papa's bed anywhere. She stood up, a task which was surprisingly difficult, and stood at the window, looking out. This looked nothing like Gweden Farm. The buildings were tall and made of whitewashed stone, and she could see no signs of wood, or grass, or nature, anywhere.

Then it came back to her - the year of captivity, the mercenaries rescuing her, the fight at the inn. She couldn't see Papa, because Papa was dead.

"Papa?" Gwyneth whispered, sobbing silently. "Papa?"