The Past…
“So, let’s talk about your journey, then.” I stated, picking up my pen and paper. “Where are you from, exactly?”
Trench thought for a moment, placing his webbed hands up near his chin. Behind dark eyes I could see a storm raging. In those pools of black I saw deep pain. Silently, I waited.
“I was born in the massive city of Baldur’s Gate, however, that is not where I am from. Not truly, mon ami.” His tone was low. Every word he spoke was drenched in sorrow. “I was born to human parents, believe it or not. Somewhere, deep in my family lineage, one of my family ancestors had…how do you say it…? A ‘dalliance’ with a Djinn…? Oui, I think it is so.
“When I was born, looking as I do, my parents were less than thrilled. Non, this is not completely correct. Mon père, he was not thrilled. Ma mère—my mother, she was a poor scullery maid. The youngest of ten children, she still lived with my…how do you say, Grandparents…when I was born. Mon père would have you believe, if you were unfortunate enough to speak with him, that he is a nobleman. Non, non, non. This is not true though.
“Mon père was a junior politician. He was a young man, with a good upbringing, oui, but far from being noble, who just happened to get into a tryst with ma mère one night after a rather rambunctious soiree.”
Of Loss and Pain
I couldn’t help but feel pity for Trench. I could see it was not easy for him to recount his parentage. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to open up a wound.”
Graciously, he leaned forward, placing one damp, cold hand on my knee. “Non, my friend. Do not apologize. I am not sorry for how my life turned out, as painful as it might have started.” He paused before retracting the hand. “Mother told father of my…creation. At first, his family were thrilled. They had hoped I would be the anchor he needed to ground his life. They welcomed my mother with open arms, gave her a room of her own, supported her up until…”
My heart broke, dear readers, listening to his story. He didn’t have to continue for me to know where the tale was going, but he did anyway.
“Mother died the day of my birth. To this day, I do not know if my father sent me away because he was hurt by her death, or disgusted by my appearance. Regardless, in the days and weeks after my birth, it was decided I would be sent away. Mon grandpère used his not insignificant connections to find me a home with a family in Akanûl, where I lived for many years, before setting out to find a tribe of my own.”
Leaning forward I pressed stop on my voice recorder. “Would you like a break?” I asked. Trench had nodded, excusing himself to the washroom. He had been gone for several minutes before I went to check on him. A cold breeze came through the cracked open door. Opening it, I saw the window to the bathroom open, and the Genasi nowhere to be found.
To be continued in “Interview with a Genasi: Part Four”.