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Ah, how time changed all. Cobbled streets, once familiar underfoot, now gently eroded and reduced themselves to gravel. Bustling street corners still maintained the buzz of city life, though the stores themselves bore new signs, and the people new faces. Umneserin proved ever-shifting, a fitting place of origin for one silver-tongued scholar. Zel’s old skins - an elven girl by the name of Solaera - had not grown an inch, offering a brief solace in the form of mediocrity. Nobody would pay any mind to a teenager out shopping on a weekend.
Zel’s sharp eyes continued to scan the crowd at every opportunity, hunting for a trace of familiarity. Recognition, hopefully, but anything worth investigating would be a start. A recent failed attempt at True Resurrection, a rather kind gesture from Porcelain the pure-hearted harengon, had upended much of her worldview. The parents she long believed to be lost - their last meeting sixteen years prior, though that time felt like aeons - had survived the fires that ravaged their childhood home. The ashes that they mourned, the wreckage that consumed those occasional nightmares... None of it had mattered. Oog and Vars persisted, and all tracking spells pointed her back to that very city where it all began.
The easy part had been arriving back in town, hurdling over those mental blockades that made these streets so difficult. The hard part, naturally, was picking out the changeling couple amidst such a large populace. They could, by the very nature of their physiology, be anywhere and anyone. And unrestricted by a child to monitor, they gained nearly triple the freedom that Zel knew from them in the decades prior. Not to mention, plenty of time to build credibility behind an alias. Word of mouth, talk of strangers new in town, would not suffice for this hunt. Zel needed, and could purely rely on, a shifter’s intuition.
Placing themselves in line for a dessert vendor, they sought out any particular humanoids seeking to bring attention their way. Any temporary guises - personas worn for a day and nothing more, purely a tool of the trade - would often seek to draw all eyes their way. There was no scrutiny to which their act would be held; the light-fingered stranger disappeared not long after running a crowd’s pockets dry. And though a performer did sit at the edge of the fountain, peddling coins in their overturned hat, an aura of humility left Zel to ponder otherwise. That certainly couldn’t be their father, and if the two had any schemes to run, they’d likely conduct that show in tandem.
As if on cue, their attention was directed downwards - a gentle tug on their dress, coming from the opposite side. Oh, now this was interesting. Two human children - brother and sister, looking to be about five and eight respectively. The sister spoke up first, holding her brother’s hand while he stood back with timid yet curious eyes. “Hi miss! ‘Scuse me, but we wanted to get some ice cream. But my mommy only gave us enough for just one, and we– We each wanna get different flavors. I don’t like chocolate, but it’s all he eats. Can you buy us another scoop?”
Well now. A kid who didn’t like chocolate? Zel could hardly believe their ears. They immediately launched into a rambling response, using that excess conversation as an excuse to examine these kids further. “Ohhhhmygod, for sure! Y’know, when I was your age, I didn’t like chocolate either? Well, not that I didn’t LIKE it, but I just thought, wow, there’s so many more interesting flavors, why am I gonna have some boring old chocolate over and over again? But I get it if you just actually don’t like it, that’s cool too!”
As she ran on, sentence after sentence, Zel honed their eyes on each aspect of these children’s appearances. The little girl, first and foremost, did at least carry the confidence to ask a stranger for money. Her eyes filled with optimism, but there was a hint of... something else underneath it all. Maybe not anything malicious, but Zel definitely saw an element beyond that first front. The boy, as it appeared, was far more interesting. His body language appeared quite rife with subtleties, from the way his feet pointed inward, the one raised shoulder towards his sister - a clear sign of comfort in her presence, and a gaze that persisted up until it was met. The moment eye contact was established, he would turn away, eyes drifting toward the cobblestones underfoot.
Five year olds didn’t often carry themselves with that level of subtlety. Nor did they hold their hands so conspicuously at their waist, right arms folded in to conceal the money in his pocket. A silver piece from every unsuspecting patron, they reckoned. Just enough to start jangling if they were to bounce with each step. Still, the gesture was an impressive display of technique - one might refer to it as “elite ball knowledge” in a distant future age, even if Zel knew no such term. Solaera’s ramble soon came to an end, and she dug into her pockets, knowing all too well who she had crossed paths with.
“Yeah, I’m just kinda wondering one thing, though! See, like...” They began, crouching down to their level and leaning in to whisper softly. “Whenever I went to get anything at your age, my mom always came with me. There’s lots of people around here, and it’s really easy to get lost, or even to get hurt if a stranger decides to trick you. So do you just rely on nobody questioning that, or had you already thought out that part of your little scheme?”
The children blinked in unison, the girl’s eyes going wide for a split second before returning to a look of innocent confusion. “What’s a scheme? Is that like some new kind of ice cream? Our mommy lives up in one of those houses,” she answered, pointing up towards the row of second-story houses that hung over the market. “So she can just watch us out the window if she thinks we’re gonna get hurt.” A plausible enough answer, but one that any changeling worth their salt could create if given a moment to think. The little boy gave his sister a gentle tug on her arm, and they exchanged a glance for a mere moment. That was enough.
Turning to face him, “Solaera” let the smile grow wider across her face, eyelids narrowing to pierce the so-called child’s ruse. “No, no, don’t go running off now, Oog. Sure, I saw through your disguises, but I won’t let word of that slip. Nor will I make a big deal of how you faked your deaths in this very same city, some fourteen years ago... Just so long as you agree to talk. Five minutes. The alley behind Greenhorn Tavern. Okay?” She gently braced herself to stand up, but hesitated for a moment, leaning in to issue one last warning. “Oh, and... I’d advise against running. I’ve tracked you this far from Phlan - one last leg of the journey would be child’s play.”
From there, the changelings split off, traveling their separate ways for now. The dwarf in line behind Solaera wouldn’t complain - he had less time to wait now. Whatever sort of weird arrangement happened between that elf and those kids, he wouldn’t let it ruin his day.
A brief sending exchange with Mozzalene the Angel Blood followed that interaction, Zel not wanting any moments to be wasted. They had waited half their life for this chance, and spent most of that time believing it to be impossible. They would not let this slip away. “The alley behind Greenhorn Tavern. Keep to the rooftops - they’ll be on edge. Block off any entrances if you deem it absolutely necessary. Thank you.” A response did not come immediately, but a minute’s wait proved sufficient, with a single word echoing in her head. “Done.”
Thankfully, the crowds dissipated slightly before they reached the tavern, this part of town holding less business than others... for this time of day. Come evening, the tavern would be bustling with families, adventurers, and laughter abound. But for the time being, it offered one simple solace: subtlety. Zel finally dropped that adolescent disguise, resting a hand against the wooden walls of the tavern and waiting for their parents to funnel in. Knowing their old man, it wouldn’t be long. He was never the sort to cut it close.
Sure enough, two sets of footsteps caught their attention after another minute or so. They started small, but effortlessly grew, two children replaced by full adults between steps. White hair, pale skin, piercing white eyes with no pupils to be seen. Just as Zel had known them. Vars had grown her hair out over the years, and both changelings bore a few more wrinkles than they recalled... But, at large, they appeared the same. Whether they’d recognize their child after all these years was another question... But Vars softened her gaze after a moment, fraught with disbelief. “... Zel?”
“The one and only,” they answered with a lilting rhythm, as if rehearsed a dozen times over. And, truth be told, it had been. Their legend - legends, really, if all those past disguises are to be counted - had spread far enough, and she reveled in that moment of recognition. Yet today, it brought them no joy, his mouth still contorted in a disappointed frown. All business, it seemed. “I’m shocked you didn’t remember Solaera, for that matter. You forced me to maintain that face more often than my own.”
Oog stepped forward, much to Zel’s chagrin. “Of course we did - you know what kind of looks a changeling would get in this city. We needed you to practice, refine your craft, learn how to survive in this world. And... Good gods above, you did. We thought you a goner after you ran off to that tyrant king’s army.”
“You did, hm? Is that why you staged your deaths, gallivanted off to start a new life without me? Never once tried to come to my rescue?” The silence in the alley was deafening. Zel prodded for an answer, but none came. “The blood I was forced to spill, the time I spent as a weapon of the crown... It’s a scar that might never heal, but it taught me more than you ever did. I’ve learned to live with that past. And you never tried to make peace with yours.”
Placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder, Vars brought herself forward, once more claiming ownership over the talking stick. “Zel... It’s not easy tracking down a lost changeling. Especially not one you believe to be dead. Once we regained our footing, we tried scouting around the city, but you didn’t turn up.”
“And why do you think that may be? After faking my death - running off from that blasted army, far too late to make a difference - I came home to nothing. Nothing but ash, rubble, and the banner I had been forced to serve under. And you think I’d stay close after seeing that? I was convinced you were dead! Bones in the wreckage! What else is a sixteen year old to do besides run off to the safest city she could ever imagine?”
“... Baldur’s Gate.”
“Of course. Do you know how easy it is there, to pick up a new life and start from scratch? A lot easier than it is here, I’d wager. Fifteen weeks as fifteen people, and then onto a new one the moment it lost its luster. Putting your lessons to use, but gods above, it was misery . The moment I pushed those boundaries, took unseen risks, that was when I freed myself of your shackles. When I started to become someone. I learned magic, I made a home with my music - hell, I even served as a priest of Bahamut just for the knowledge it could bring me. And then, after far too long in the shadow... I broke away from your ultimate teaching. I started to live as myself. I became a legend. The silver-tongued scholar. I’ve saved lives, more than I can count. And now, all I can ask is... why? Why do you belittle yourselves, carry this view that changelings are best kept hidden?”
Oog’s face contorted about halfway through Zel’s speech, brows furrowing as they waxed poetic about their time in the sun. Even the comforting touch of Vars’s hand on his shoulder couldn’t keep him from this coming outburst. “Because that old king took one look at you, and he saw a spy. An assassin . Not a person, a tool. That’s what EVERYONE sees, damn it! You don’t earn trust by showing that you can change your face with no more effort than a human changes clothes. You earn fear. I didn’t want my daughter to be feared, I wanted her to be an adult.”
“... And here I am. But that isn’t enough for you, father.” Zel took a confident step forward, slowly closing the gap between them and their parents. “I forged my own path, extended the olive branch to others. I found trust where you assumed there would be none, and that infuriates you. Standing before me at... what, 63? And you’re forced to live with the truth that you’ve never once been yourself. You’ve let society dictate your future, and it’s molded you into a bitter old man. To think what you could have done, had you even tried to break from your role...”
Vars attempted to keep Oog back, extending an arm in front of her husband’s stomach. But he pushed forward all the same, casting his wife aside. “No, no. You know what infuriates me? My rebel of a daughter, who I last saw sixteen years ago, tracking me down just to wax poetic about all the wrong I’ve done. You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Zel - I’m happy doing what I do. It just kills you that you weren’t a part of it.”
“Honey! That’s our daughter you’re speaking to!”
Zel held up a hand, gesturing for Vars to stop. The silence hung like daggers over their heads, and Zel lifted their chin to meet their father’s gaze. Their eyes met, pools of white attempting to cause a ripple from the other. Yet the younger changeling remained steadfast, the only discernible movement being a soft furrowing of their eyebrows. “No, no. That’s not right. I have a feeling that’s... not what I am to you anymore. Even with all I’ve done, I’m nothing more than a failure... Because I didn’t create the family you dreamed you could be.”
“That’s the thing about children, you see. There’s only so much you can do as a parent - you can offer a guiding hand, point them in what you believe is the right direction, but there’s little to be done about what they think. How they behave. What may exist in their dreams.” The corners of Zel’s lips turned upwards, though they held no joy in their expression. Just profound sadness. “I’m sorry. Not for what I’ve done, but for what you’ve sacrificed... all to gain some sort of control you could never achieve.”
Their boots brushed against the dirt as they turned around, fully prepared to leave this alleyway behind. They had shared their piece... and besides, this mission was two-fold. That old king, bastard that he was, still sat on his throne. And seeing as Tism Team already had their reputation as king-slayers (where that came from, they still didn’t quite recall), it would really do no further harm to depose him. It would certainly make things feel a hell of a lot better. “Goodbye, Oog. Goodbye, Vars. Enjoy whatever life you’ve made for yourselves.”
Before they could take too many steps, however, a hand clasped down on her shoulder. It didn’t take any detective work to deduce that it was their father - Vars would have at least been a bit softer. He squeezed down, attempting to show some semblance of domination, before speaking up with that gruff voice one more time. “We’re not finished, Zel. You don’t get to just show up out of the blue, drop all this guilt tripping on us, and just walk off. You’re gonna–”
Oog didn’t utter another word beyond that. He had much more to say, that was for certain. But Zel’s hand around his throat, far tighter than his grip on their shoulder, brought about a few complications. All he could manage was a desperate wheeze, calloused hands prying away at Zel’s grasp. A silent beg for her to let go. But those eyes held mercy no longer. “We’re done when I say we’re done, old man. I’ve forged my own path longer than you’ve known me, and that does not stop today.”
They heard their mother speak up, though her words fell on deaf ears by this point. Zel’s mind had already been made up. “Let go of your father this instant, Zel! We’ll go. Just put him down.”
Before any effort was made to release their grip, tendrils of dark purple energy swirled their way down Zel’s arm, slinking out from her robe and making contact with Oog. The energy seemed to crawl under his skin, illuminating his entire figure with a ghastly flash of purple light... and his arms went limp. Legs, too, dangling down toward the dirt instead of aggressively kicking back and forth. Zel’s grip on his neck finally loosened, and his body tumbled to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Vars fell silent at that sight, eyes widening as they darted between her husband’s corpse and her daughter. She took an apprehensive step back, holding up both hands to deter any further action. But Zel had no greater quarrel with her, and simply offered their mother a nod. “He can’t control me anymore. Let the same be true for you too.”
Before they returned to their team, however, Zel had one last priority. Glancing down at her father’s corpse, she saw the first signs of movement: hands slowly forcing themselves open, legs straightening out once more. Finger Of Death rose all its victims as servants to the caster; of course he would be back. And though Zel had no moral qualms with that added effect, having her father act in her aid... It felt almost too cruel. The whole point of killing him was to relinquish any sense of control. Flipping the script wouldn’t bring her any satisfaction.
Placing a boot on their father’s head, they let out a prolonged sigh, allowing the tension he caused to finally... release. One last glance up proved that Vars hadn’t left just yet... So Zel at least thought it right to issue a warning. “You may want to look away.”
They savored every last sound that followed. The stiff crack of a broken skull plate, the squelch of muscle and brain tissue splattering across the dirt, and the limp thud of rising limbs falling flat once more. Oog existed now only in memory.
Zel was free.