XVII: Wingseed

The Star



Wingseed was orphaned at a very young age. Less than a month after her birth, her parents, both Riftwardens, went missing on a secret mission into the Worldwound. Blissfully unaware of their fate, she was delivered into the care of her grandfather, a grizzled old scholar living in Taldor.
Fearing that she would be drawn to the Worldwound and meet the same fate as her parents, Wingseed’s grandfather renamed her without a surname, and told her from an early age that she had, one day, simply sprouted out of the ground in his garden, and he cared for her ever since. Just as he had feared, Wingseed displayed prodigious magical talent, but he was not a man to let such ability go to waste. Under his tutelage, she proved an apt student, and eventually enrolled in the Institute of Magical Studies, at which he worked as a professor of botany and natural magic.
Destiny was not to be so easily thwarted, however, and it was not long before Wingseed found a journal belonging to her mother – one of the only possessions recovered from their ill-fated foray into the Worldwound. Reading it, she grasped upon the idea that her parents may still be alive, and, without her grandfather’s knowledge, left only a few nights afterward. Abandoning her studies at the Institute, she packed only the essentials and began a long journey Northward to Kenabres.

Physical Description and Demeanor

Wingseed is a slender young woman of average height and willowy build. Her most prominent feature is her hair, a lustrous natural green inherited from a Green Draconal Agathion somewhere in her ancestry and hanging down to just below her shoulders. Wingseed is not overly concerned with her lack of a feminine figure, but combined with her preference for slacks over a dress or skirt, it sometimes causes people to mistake her for a younger, albeit feminine boy, which causes her great annoyance.
Cheerful and friendly, most people meeting Wingseed for the first time instantly like her. Her demeanor is kind and accepting, if a bit strange, and her abstract way of viewing the world more often comes across as charming rather than odd. Wingseed dislikes fighting in general, but is more than willing to use her magical abilities to purge what she views as pests in the garden of the world.

Portrait credit:



Before I begin this experiment, I should lay down a foundation of events leading up to this point. I have lived with Grandfather in Taldor for as long as I can remember. He is a kind man, though with a quick temper, and has always told me that one day I “sprouted from the ground” in his garden. I accepted this as the simple truth for many years, but have recently become more suspicious. It seems like he’s hiding something. Furthermore, other students at the Institute have parents and grandparents, but I only have a grandfather. If this is the natural way of things, and I sprouted out of Grandfather’s garden, should he not be my father? What of the birthmark? Does it, as the term implies, have anything to do with the circumstances of my birth?
I have decided to keep this journal to log my efforts in answering these questions, as both an intellectual exercise and to help me keep my evidence organized. I’ll visit the Institute’s library later today to conduct some research, writing any further discoveries in here as I find them.
My investigations in the library were fruitless. There are a huge number of books on plants and the growing thereof, but none have any reference to the processes involved in growing children. After exhausting the botany section, I asked the librarian for books on human reproduction, which agitated her to an irrational degree. Perhaps one could assume that the red bloom which overtook her skin is a biological reaction to my auditory cues, and indicates a preparation to pollinate. That would certainly explain her odd reaction.
As I have been completely unsuccessful in obtaining any reasonable source material regarding the growth of Human saplings, I must assume that the topic is some sort of cultural taboo. Grandfather’s personal library might have more information on the topic. His position as the Institute’s head of botany gives him access to some advanced information not available to lowly students like me. It does seem odd, though, that the details of all this are so esoteric, as more and more children appear every year with seemingly little effort.
I must be cautious when entering the private library. Grandfather has expressly forbidden me from going inside, and he seems to get angry whenever I ask him about my parents or my birthmark. My intuition tells me that doing this is unwise, but my curiosity won’t be so easily sated.
Exploring Grandfather’s library presented me with a valuable piece of evidence. The slim, leather-bound volume that now sits on my desk appears to be the journal of my mother herself. I can barely contain my excitement, but must force myself to examine it with a calm, measured, and logical approach. Lessons at the Institute begin early tomorrow, but the answers to all my questions very well might be inside this book’s covers. I’ll record anything I find in here for easy reference.
I fell asleep last night reading my mother’s journal, and barely managed to arrive at the Institute in time for my first lecture. Now, safely in my room, I can finally record the findings of the previous night.
The journal is marred by time and the elements, but what remains begins some time after my mother met my father, and I was presumably planted. Her writings suggest that she was nearly immobile before my birth, and constantly seeking water and well-lit areas. This amply supports the hypothesis that suggest I, as my parents before me, was raised from a sapling and later delivered into Grandfather’s care.
I will continue to read the journal this evening, after completing my coursework, and see if I can find any other relevant evidence. The hypothesis is all but proven at this point, but I have learned in the course of studying magical theory that it pays to be thorough.
Though my time between studying for exams and helping Grandfather in his laboratory is scarce, I’ve managed to finish reading the journal. There are no other items of scientific interest, but much more importantly I’ve found some information suggesting my parents may still be alive. A place called “Kenabres” is mentioned many times in the narrative, and it seems they were living there together shortly before the journal’s end. It was not difficult to locate this town on the maps in the library, but it is fairly distant from Taldor. I would love to visit and try to meet my parents, but I can’t afford the several weeks or even months that it would take away from my studies.
I’ve decided to go to Kenabres. It seems like fate itself is positively screaming at me to go there. I know that basing a decision so important on something as unscientific as fate is silly and frivolous, but somehow the spirit of adventure simply cannot be denied.
I’ve packed some clothing, my spellbook, some supplies, and my mother’s amulet. It shouldn’t be difficult to slip out tomorrow night and arrange for a carriage heading North in the morning. The most important thing is to make sure Grandfather doesn’t find out. I fear his wrath only slightly less than I fear never learning the truth.

XVII: Wingseed

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