Bard Beginnings
Mighty Nien Meet Child!Reader, Who is a Bard.
a/n: Hey all! So I got super inspired to write some child!reader fanfic after reading @peach-the-owl and @cornbake stuff. (Seriously go check them out, I love their works!) This is my first attempt at a reader insert fic, but I hope you enjoy none the less. Trigger warnings: This fic contains child neglect and child abuse (hitting no blood).
With a deep breath and a strum of your lute you start to feel the magic within you stir. Pin pricks turn into tingling as you belt out the final chorus. Your magic swelling as faster notes are strummed. The crowd cheers you on as your magic forms into prestidigitation, sending colored sparks just behind your back. Cheering continues as you take a dramatic bow and let the last of the patrons toss in their coin. Zadash was decently kind to your coin purse each time you came. You had learned the tricks to getting the most coin quickly. Simply start with an upbeat tune, then move onto a classic Dwendalian song (one where the crowd could sing along), then somber, then upbeat, and keep that going until the guards start to linger for just a little too long. Though thanks to the harvest close festival, the guards seemed to tolerate you for much longer than normal.
Another bow and a wave as the crowd disperses, you pick up the small hat now filled with coin. Part of your attention is brought to the odd group standing just to the side who had yet to leave. Two Tieflings, a half orc, two humans, a large woman, and a small creature are chatting amicably. An odd group no doubt but you think you saw the blue one put something in your hat, so they can’t be all that bad. You tilt your head towards the smaller creature. Their porcelain mask somewhat unnerving and the high-pitched voice does not match a child’s, odd indeed. When your eyes flick back up, both humans are staring at you intently. Smiling you give them both a small wave.
“Oi Runt!” A slurred voice calls from the alleyway behind you, “where da hells the money?” Your body tenses as you hear your caretaker drunkenly yelling for you. Practiced hand allows you to stuff a quick handful of coins into your pocket before walking towards the alley. As you step into the shadow, you miss the way the group continues to watch you as you retreat.
“Bah! Took ya long enough!” Your caretaker sways and snatches the coin filled hat, “Hpmhf, barely enough in here to get drunk. Yer lucky I’m in a good mood.” The threat at the end of that sentence is not lost on you as you watch the man stumble back into the street. “Find yerself somewhere to sleep tonight, we leave in da mornin.” Biting back a sarcastic comment about his so-called good mood, you go deeper into the alley. Between the smell of candied apples and the silk banners floating above the rooftops you can’t help the smile. It won’t be so bad sleeping in the street tonight, maybe there will even be discarded festival food around. Food brings awareness to the uncomfortable emptiness in your stomach. Two days without anything to eat brings a sigh from you as you jingle the handful of coins you managed to get. Clutched in your hand you find some copper and even a silver piece! Though what catches your eye the most is a crumbled piece of parchment.
Stepping to the side of an oncoming group of festival goers as you enter a new street, you pull apart the paper. Written in very neat calligraphy reads, “The Traveler”. It’s some sort of religion? The few pages talk about pranks and are filled with little drawings that make you giggle. You especially like the mage hand giving a wedgie to someone. You read through the pamphlet a few more times before safely tucking it away in your pocket. Mixing into a crowd this large is easy and before you know it you are munching on some festival food. A large part of you wants to inhale the skewered meat you bought but that small rational part of your brain keeps you from doing so. You eat one stick with much gusto but save the second stick in your pouch. It would be a good breakfast, after all. Between the rousing games and chatter and songs and peddlers, you loose track of the dusk until it is late into the night. Loud drinking and even more singing keeps you on your toes and helps to keep you out of sight. Nights like these are your favorites. Nights where you don’t have to worry about where to stay, or how to eat or what your caretaker will do to you. For a few blessed hours, you get to just enjoy being alive.
Yet before you know it the crowds begin to disperse. Drunks are wobbling their way home, the bards are packing up, and the vendors are cleaning out the last of their stalls. With a stealthy foot and a cautious eye, you manage to find an alleyway tucked away in just the right spot. The Guards pass by without giving it a second look but there is enough room to spread your legs out and lean against the grimy stone wall. A shiver runs up your spine as you huddle into yourself. Harvest close meant it was turning to late fall now. Snow would be in the winds soon and having this pleasant of a night will be a distant dream. Star dotted skies and food in your belly help lull you into a stiff sleep. A smile on your face as you think of the wonderful festival day.
You startle awake, immediately with your hand clutched on the small dagger in your shoe. Though blinking the sleep from your eye leaves you staring down at your legs. A striped cat looks up at you from its perch on your knees. After you blink at the cat for a moment or two, it sticks it tongue out and you can’t but giggle. With more caution than strictly necessary, you present your hand to the creature. Nuzzling and purring makes your smile widen as the cat happily accepts scritches from you. For a few moments the cat simply enjoys your attention before it scampers off towards the opening of the alleyway. With a sigh you snuggle back into yourself. It’s still dark out, and now its cold enough to see your breath. Before you can close your eyes again, a meow sounds off at the end of the alleyway. The cat is sitting, staring at you. Slowly you untangle yourself and step towards the cat. They bound up and begin to walk in front of you, only a few paces ahead, constantly checking to make sure you are still following.
Shivering but with a small grin you follow the cat to a small inn close to the pentamarket. The door is slightly cracked open and the cat slips in. In for a copper, you think as you press yourself into the warm building. The smell of ale and chicken hit your nose as you let out a relieved sigh. You had not realized how cold you were until you can feel the heat slowly melting the freezing temperature from your bones. There are seven patrons left in otherwise empty bar. Looking over the faces you recognize them as the odd group from your performance. They all pause in their conversation and turn to look at you. Except for the human women in blue, who is currently face down on the table with a bleeding head wound.
“Frumpkin, I asked you to find a healer.” A man with copper colored hair and a dirt covered face addresses the cat before bringing his eyes back to you. For a moment, you are lost in the sensation of familiarity in those blue eyes. Haunted. Much like your own eyes.
“UUUhhhhnnnnnn” the sitting woman moans against the table. The head wound still gently oozing blood.
“Hair of the dog that bit her?” You ask to the group with a knowing smile, your caretaker is much the same after a night of drinking. Barfights typically the only thing ending his nights in the tavern. You pull out your lute and begin a soft soothing tune. Almost like a lullaby, its tones melt into a soothing melody. Once the last cord is struck, you gently touch her shoulder and can feel the tension leave her body. The wound on her forehead sealing shut and some of the swelling going down. The woman pushes herself up off the table and blinks for a moment.
“Holy fuck that’s better.” She grunts and you can’t help the smile.
“You may feel better, but no more drinking tonight, okay? You need to rest.” You keep smiling at her even as she leans away from you with a confused look.
“Who the shit brought the gnome?” You snort at her abrasive tone.
“Not a gnome ma’am, just a kid following a cat.” You look down and wiggle your fingers at Frumpkin, and the cat happily attacks your fingers and purrs when you scratch their head. “Though next time you need a healer just go to the hospital, silly little friend.” With a final giggle you look back up to the adults now all staring at you. Thankfully the tiny creature in the porcelain mask breaks the silence when they look up to the blue Tiefling.
“I thought you were a cleric, why couldn’t you do that?” Based on how the half orc leans away the loud response was expected.
“Well it’s not my fault I’m traveling with a bunch of people that keep getting hurt and stuff! The Traveler can only do so much in a day!”
“The Traveler?” You pull out the pamphlet from your pocket, “You mean like this one?” Immediately the blue Tieflings eyes light up brilliantly as she hops up and down.
“You read my pamphlet for the Traveler? Isn’t he the coolest, and he can do so many things! He’s honestly like the best God ever.” The blue Tiefling is speaking so fast you can barely keep up but the excited tone has you smiling up at her, “Did you like it? The pamphlet I mean, because obviously you like the Traveler now.” Another giggle escapes your chest, you’ve been doing that a lot more today than any other time the past year.
“I really liked the pamphlet,” you say and somehow the blue Tiefling smile brightens, “but this drawing of mage hand giving this person a wedgie is my favorite.” Both of you break out into small laughter.
“Oh! We haven’t introduced ourselves! We are the Mighty Nien! I’m Jester! That’s Fjord, Nott, Molly, Yasha, Caleb, Frumpkin, and the one at the table is Beau.”
“It’s a pleasure to make you acquaintance.” You give an exaggerated bow towards the group. When you return to standing, Jester is smiling at you, while Molly and Yasha exchange a look. Fjord, Nott, Caleb, and Beau have a similar expression of confusion and something else you can’t place.
“What’s your name squirt?” Beau asks as she folds her arms over her chest. There is a rise of panic in your chest. When was the last time anyone asked your name? When was the last time you ever used your name? What the hell was your name?
“Er…um..w-well,” your stammering buys you a little time to catch a breath and calm a bit before plastering on a smile, “I c-can’t give away all my secrets now can I? A kids gotta stay on their toes, ya know?” Even your well-trained smile doesn’t crack the expression on Beau’s face, her eyes piercing into you.
“Where are your mama and dad? Won’t they be worried if you’re out this late at night? Should we go look for them? Are you lost?” Jester’s face gets closer and closer to yours with each question you ask and you can’t help the stiff panic that overtakes you. Adults that get that close to you can mean a lot of pain.
“Jester,” the dirty man, Caleb gently says, “maybe ve ought to not badger them, ja?” Relief washes over you as Jester backs up a bit, still giddy but now not next to your face. The way your shoulders sag when you have space again does not go unnoticed by most of the group.
“Whoever the fuck you are,” Bea grunts as she stands, “thanks kid. I owe ya.”
“Just promise you won’t get into another bar fight for at least…three more hours and we’ll call it even.” Beau’s lip twitches ever so slightly at your sly smirk.
“Well, were not a group to leave our debts unpaid.” The purple Tiefling, Molly says, though that statement is met with many scoffs, “How about we treat you to a meal kid, to say thanks for healing our trash person.” Just as you are about to deny, to excuse yourself back to your alleyway, your stomach gives a loud rumble. Molly and Jester laugh, and you smile sheepishly. When a hand grasps your shoulder, you can’t help but jump and spin on your heel. Your hand positioned to start casting a spell. Fjord is standing behind you, hand still raised but his face now fully that emotion you can’t place.
“Didn’t mean ta startle ya, just thought maybe we could all find a place to sit.” There is a gentle nature to the half-orcs tone that eases your nerves. But not so much that you stow away your lute fully. The group shuffles over to a bigger table and sits while Molly and Yasha go to the bar ordering food and one last round of drinks.
“That was a complicated spell for one so young, vere did you learn?” Caleb chose a seat a few away from yours, making it easy to look at the man as he speaks. Though Frumpkin jumping into your lap pulls your attention away from his gaze.
“Magic is a new thing for me Mr. Caleb.” Petting Frumpkin as they purr in your lap, “I’ve been playing music for a while and one day I was watching a performer. They made all these crazy images and sparks and even made this fake dragon, and it was so cool! I decided I wanted to try so I started watching magic more carefully, ya know? Like how plucking a string or the rise of your voice can change how you make the magic flow!” When you look up Mr. Caleb has a ghost of a smile on his lips and the others are staring at you fully. “’M sorry for talking so much.” You hunch your shoulders and bring Frumpkin closer to cover your face.
“None of that darling,” Molly places a bowl with hunk of bread and some soup in front of you, “we asked a question, you answered. No shame in that.” He gives you a wink and starts handing out the drinks to everyone. Except for Beau who grumbles something about a meddling brat under her breath. When side conversations and drinking start, you feel safe enough to inhale the food. Forgetting how wonderful it was to have more than scraps or finger foods. You don’t slurp your soup, but you do eat it with the ravenous hunger that has been gnawing at you. Little strips of meat don’t compare to homemade soup and bread. After you finish, the group is engaged with different conversations, and you happily sit and listen.
“So anyway, Caleb asked about your magic. Did you really teach yourself? How did you learn? Is it different than other magic?” Jester is looking at you, leaning in on her hands as she smiles. There is something so disarming about her smile that you can’t help but answer.
“I’m self-taught, mostly from watching other bards use magic.” You say, absently rubbing Frumpkin who has nestled into your lap. “As for it being more different than other magic, um, well it depends on the type of magic I guess.”
“What about Caleb’s magic,” Nott perks up, “he’s so skilled and powerful, how is yours different than his?”
“What kind of magic do you do Mr. Caleb?” Caleb is decidedly not looking up from his cup.
“I-ah do transmutation.” Caleb eyes dart around the wood of the table. You know that school of arcane! You’ve seen students from Rexentrum cast all the time when you are in the city.
“Oh okay, I think I can show you then.” Digging through your pack, you pull out your notebook. It’s a frail thing, barely having any seem left but the pages are still mostly attached to the binding.
“Here, so one of the cantrips in transmutation is prestidigitation. When Mr. Caleb casts it, he uses this spell structure.” With a practiced hand you draw out the cantrip. Making sure the semi circle and runes are placed just so. “Then he would have to use hand motions to copy the marks to make the magic happen.” You happily turn your journal out towards the group so they can see and wiggle your fingers in a similar pattern to show them what you mean.
“For bards though the spell is cast through our music but it’s not a one for one thing, ya know? This semi-circle doesn’t equal a c sharp, though it would be much easier if it did work like that.” You chuckle to yourself and pull out your hand drum and give it a tap with the drumstick.
“Depending on the instrument the spell can change. Drum, for instance, follows a similar pattern as the spell. So I drag my stick across the surface than hit the places where the runes are.” You follow the pattern and cast the spell, create a small blue spark that dances on the center of the table. “But other instruments can get more trickier, see with the lute, its not notes for runes. It’s more about the…ummm…how do I say this…I guess it’s more about letting the magic feel it’s way out than based on structure? When I see a new spell, I try to feel for the energy. Then I focus on the patterns while I play. It takes some time to learn magic that way but it’s the easiest for me.” As you stash your drum back in its place, you can feel the nien staring at you. Even as you pack your journal away and look from side to side.
Caleb has his eyebrows raised and his hand on his chin, deep in thought as he stares at you. Nott is pushing a piece of paper in front of him but not looking away from where you put your journal. Molly, Beau, and Yasha are just sort of starting with their mouths open. Fjord’s gaze is on you but not focused, as he taps the handle of his sword. Jester has a look of wonderment on her face. The amount of attention is odd, though you are used to preforming, so it doesn’t cause you much stress.
“Um…did I talk to much?” You ask, trying to break some of the awkward quiet.
“Damn that’s impressive for kid so small as you. How old are ya?” Molly has a half cocked grin as the rest of the nien shake themselves out of staring.
“Oh, I’m seven sir. Well, seven and three quarters. My birthday is on the day of the new year.” You reply with a smile. Much of who you are and where you came from is gone. All you can really remember is your time with your caretaker. He told you your birthday was on the new year, and you didn’t have any way to question it, so you agreed. There had never been a celebration of course, but it was still nice to keep track.
“You, ah, must be very smart then.” The tall women, Yashsha, manages out. Much like Caleb she doesn’t like keeping eye contact. So you don’t try to force her.
“Not really,” You say as you boop Frumpkin on the nose, “I just like learning songs and magic.” There are a few hums and then smaller conversations break out once more. You laugh when Molly starts telling a story from his days in the circus. And every now and again you try to peek at what Caleb is writing but Nott starts showing you her small collection of buttons and rocks to distract you. Time passes in the warmth and comfort of company and soon your day starts catching up to you. Between the soup in your belly and the warmth of the tavern you can feel your eyes beginning to droop. It’s bad to be so vulnerable around so many strangers but with these folks, it just feels nice.
“I think I’ve had enough ass kicking for one night, let’s call it.” Beau stands up and stretches out her back. The rest of the group begins to follow her lead and start collecting themselves. You bundle your thin clothes as much as you can and take a deep breath. Preparing yourself for the cold.
“Vere is your coat?” You turn and blink at the question from Caleb, the rest of the nien are looking at you, varying degrees of that emotion again you are not really sure what it is yet.
“Oh-erm,” pulling your shirt closer together, “I wasn’t wearing one when Frumpkin found me.” Sheepishly you play with a button on your shirt before you can force a smile, “I was just out for some stargazing, but my caretaker isn’t far from here, I’ll be fine until I can get to him.” Some looks are exchanged between the adults, and you take that as your cue.
“Thanks for the soup! And remember Ms. Beau, not fighting for at least another…twenty-three minutes.” Beau groans loudly as you give her a smile then wave to the rest of the group, making your way from the inn. There are not so hushed voices as you leave, but you ignore what is being said and start back towards your alleyway. Cold was much more shocking now, your breath clinging to the air. Morning was still a few hours away, so a quick nap before searching for your caretaker is the best bet. He probably won’t rouse until early afternoon anyways. Shivering you stretch back out into your spot once again.
It feels like you just took a blink when you wake again. Your nose is runny and body stiff with freezing cold as you listen to the growing chatter of the town. Daylight brings some comfort of warmth as you manage to stretch your limbs back into place. Strolling into the day, you pull out the skewer of meat and much on it. There’s no way for you to find your caretaker so you mill about for a few hours. Morning turns into afternoon as you traverse Zadash and all its’ backstreets. Between inns and taverns, you don’t make much progress until you see a snoring crumpled form propped up against some crates. The stench of ale and piss hit you. Yup, that’s your caretaker alright. Heaving a sigh you pull your flute from your ragged pack. A quick upbeat tune begins as you let your magic ease and flow with the short notes. With a final little hop you let your magic wash over your caretaker.
You had picked a non-touch spell, hoping that would be enough, that the distance would be too much of an effort, but this was not the case. A large meaty hand smacks you hard in the face and you tumble to the ground into the street. The throbbing in your face means you will be sporting a bruise come night fall. Your caretaker staggers out of the alley way and looms over you. Instinctually you curl into a tight ball with your arms over your head waiting for the worst of it. Yet it never comes, instead you hear a strangled choking noise. Summoning all your courage you peak up from your covered form and look up. Your caretaker stands pale and wide eyed at something behind you. Turning you see the might nien with weapons and spells drawn.
“Guten Tag.” Caleb says with a fierce look in his eyes, a fire spell held in his palm.
“I think it’s in your best interest to walk away, friend.” Fjord has his weapon out, the heavy accent thicker than last night. Your caretaker looks at each one of the faces then his beety eyes look down at you.
“Get up runt, we’re leaving.” He grumbles. You untangle your limbs and hurriedly stand but are stopped by a gentle hand taking some of your fingers. The flinch that goes through you does not deter the hand. Nott is standing at your side, gripping on to you tightly. A crossbow pointed at your now stammering caretaker.
“Back the fuck up before I shoot your eye out.” The high snarl and seeing the skin clearly, Nott is a goblin. Part of you should be concerned about that but at least the mask makes a bit more sense now. Your caretaker huffs.
“Take the runt, they’re not worth the space they take up.” grumbling your caretaker spins on their heel and bolts down the alleyway. Just like that, you no longer have a caretaker. He just left you. A deep sense of shock overtakes you, he just left you here with a group of people he has never met. Your caretaker never cared about you. There was a part of you that always knew but now it was slapping you in the face. Absently you squeeze the hand that is still wrapped around yours.
“Hey,” Jesters’ voice is soft and sweet, “would you like me to heal that for you?” Her hands are outstretched so you can see them, she is still a safe distance away, waiting for you to consent. With a small nod you keep your body stiff as she gets closer. With a gentle touch and a soft hum of green light that smells like cinnamon, the hurt in your cheek fades. The hands don’t leave your cheeks.
“It’s okay, you don’t need that prick. You have us now.” Her voice is so sweet, her touch is so gentle as she holds your face. You look into her soft and wet eyes and realize you are crying. Seven is too old to cry, your caretaker had told you that. But the soft quiet tears keep coming as you stare at this Tiefling. It has been years since you have been held so gently. Without a second thought you throw your free arm around Jesters’ neck. Soon there are two arms wrapped around you and lifting you up. Cradling you against her neck. Jester holds you close, letting the pain and loneliness of your life ease out through your tears. You have never felt so safe before, you have never felt this kind of comfort before.