[ CONTEXT : The party stopped in Waterdeep on their way to the Ardeep Forest to stock up on supplies before continuing their search for the Aerwood Glade. Trinity was recognized by a Harper agent who had once worked with her mother, Buchra, a former Master Harper. The agent took Trinity to Buchra’s former lodging. Loa, Trinity, and Thallia decided to investigate the room to see if they could find any valuable gear, but instead uncovered a dark secret that led to Buchra coming out of retirement and ultimately led to her demise. A prequel to this piece. ]

ㅤㅤㅤ Shafts of sunlight filter in through tall windows, with heavy curtains billowing gently in the breeze. The windows needed dusting, with motes of dust dancing lazily in the air, captured in the streams of light as they floated on invisible currents. Two figures entered through an aged door, its hinges protesting being opened after years untouched, the aged floorboards groaning beneath the weight of their footsteps — Loa's hurried and excited, Trinity's slow and uncertain.

ㅤㅤㅤIn one corner of the room loomed a towering bookcase, its shelves packed with a collection of well-loved leather-bound tomes, their spines worn from consistent use. Against the opposite wall stood a sturdy oak desk, its surface cluttered with faded parchment. A jar of dried ink sat at the far edge, with an upright quill poised within, undisturbed still even years later. Along another wall stood a grand four-poster bed, draped in faded linens, their colors dulled by years of exposure to the elements. Loa gravitated towards a sizable wardrobe nestled against the westernmost wall, while Trinity remained in the room's center, her eyes captivated by the intricate embroidery of the threadbare rug beneath her boots.

ㅤㅤㅤThe salty tang of the sea hung in the air, mingling with the faint whisper of brine carried on the breeze that tousled Trinity's cowl, teasing her hair. She tucks an errant curl back into place, and her attention briefly flickers to Loa, who is engrossed in searching through the wardrobe. Unearthing a trove of worldly trinkets and small treasures, the aasimar's turquoise gaze is bright with fascination as she pulls an old instrument from a hidden corner of the armoire. It bears a resemblance to a lute, with a long body and strings stretched taut across its frame, but there is something distinctly different about it, something that sets it apart.

ㅤㅤㅤ"Trinity, come, you must see this," Loa beckons the other woman toward her with a quick nod of her head. She presents the unique instrument to Trinity as she approaches, giving its strings a tentative pluck. A warm note plays and the blonde wonders aloud, "I wonder what manner of imaginative luthier crafted such an oddly... shaped lute."

ㅤㅤㅤBefore Trinity can voice her thoughts, a tiny figure flits into the room, hovering near her shoulder. "That's not a lute, dear," Thallia chimed in, her wings fluttering iridescently in the sunlight. "That is a kora. Commonly played by bards from the Vilhon Reach – a way ways from here."

ㅤㅤㅤ"Oh," a small, surprised noise escapes the aasimar, who gives the kora a second look over. "Do you s'pose that means your mother may be Vilhonese, Trin?"

ㅤㅤㅤ"A native of Turmish or Chondath, maybe," Trinity muses. The indifference in her tone suggests her thoughts were elsewhere as she had drifted from the small gathering of girls in favour of purusing the papers left behind on the desk. Her mother's desk. Late mother's desk.

ㅤㅤㅤTrinity had never given much thought to her mother; the thought of her never stirred much emotion within her. She had grown accustomed to her absence, familiar with the void that maternal love should occupy; however, speaking of her in the past tense caused a pang, a fleeting stab of ache to her heart, leaving a tender hollow in its wake.

ㅤㅤㅤIn another life, perhaps, she would have had the chance to know her — the Buchra beyond who chroniclers wrote of. To know her not as a figure of myth and legend, a conqueror of both land and sea, but as her mother, her flesh and blood. Not a single word had she shared with the woman, but Trinity mourned the loss of her. It was a loss not just of the woman her mother was, but of the future they could have shared together, had Draven not stolen it from her.

ㅤㅤㅤHer fingers glided over the scratched surface of the abandoned desk, sifting through the scattered parchment left behind by Buchra, until they brushed against the rough texture of tanned hide beneath the pads of her gloved digits. Eyeing the journal, the warlock lifted it with care, sliding her hand beneath the cover and gently nudging it open. The yellowed pages carried the faint perfume of ink, and she absentmindedly thumbed their moth-eaten edges as she turned through entries scrawled in heavy-handed strokes.

ㅤㅤㅤBuchra was no poet – her writing was absent of any embellishments or flowery prose – but she was thorough. Though Loa said something, her teasing voice became a static buzz in Trinity's ears as she was completely absorbed in her mother's world. She found herself swept up in tales of adventure and daring escapades, broken up by the occasional draft of a song or rushed sketch, poorly rendered with charcoal. As the remaining pages dwindled, Trinity's pace slowed, her gaze lingered on a particular passage containing the beginnings of a song. Incomplete, like many others in the book, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this one was not meant to be left unfinished.

ㅤㅤㅤ "Through tempests fierce and tranquil morn,
in mirth and woe – my love for thou, my precious, shall everlast. . .
Stride forth, dear one, with head held high,
know in thy soul, I'm by thy side. . ."

ㅤㅤㅤThe gentle caress of Loa's taloned thumb left a tingling sensation on Trinity's skin, drawing her out of her reverie. She's met with Loa's round eyes, her own gaze unfocused from tears she hadn't realized had fallen. Trinity pivots on her heel, her back now turned to the paladin and Loa casts Trinity an apologetic glance, taking several steps back, observing silently as the half-elf clenches the journal tightly.

ㅤㅤㅤA soft sniffle escapes her, prompting Loa to gently inquire, "Are you alright?"

ㅤㅤㅤCollecting herself, Trinity steadied her breath and blinked away any lingering moisture that gathered in her waterline, nodding curtly in response. Thallia and Loa exchange an uncertain glance, with the former offering a shrug while the latter's lips wilt into a frown. Trinity's tumult is forgotten with the turn of a page, dog-eared and left for later review. The next few entries unfold abruptly, with mentions of a man named 'Kiirion' littered throughout. Ample context clues provided Trinity clarity regarding Buchra's relationship to this Kiirion. Short descriptions evoke imagery of a dark-skinned man with pointed ears, chiseled cheeks, and a forked tongue. He is depicted as a liar, a serpent who cruelly tore her daughter away, pretending she would have a better life among the more civilised folk of Everska - the 'folk' being elves like himself. But he and Trinity never reached Everska. There was no sanctuary as promised, only the grim reality of a man who had dallied with forbidden magic — a practice his own kind had warned him against for years. A man who was acting on the whims of a lich, a man who traded their child for his own freedom; a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade. Sketches accompanied the terse entries, depicting a gemstone with dark, angry lines of ink carved through it, severing it into three distinct fragments. The earlier reference to a lich was no coincidence; this drawing is of Draven's phylactery.

ㅤㅤㅤHer stomach plummets, twisting in knots, as she fights back the bile rising in her throat. Images of her hand stained crimson with the warmth of blood and the heady, metallic scent of it permeating the air thrust themselves to the forefront of Trinity's mind. Trembling arms encircled her waist, drawing her close in a feeble embrace. The insertion of her dagger into the woman's back was quick and merciful. A sputtering breath escaped her victim, her eyes fluttered shut, and her figure slackened against hers. In the haze of that moment, the inexplicable emptiness that filled Trinity as she cradled Buchra's lifeless form made no sense, as if she was trying to decode a cipher written in a foreign tongue. But now, with the cruel clarity of hindsight, the truth revealed itself – that embrace was the first and final time she held her mother close.