There are rumours and whispers that the mighty barbarian, Ven, the Axe of Beluvial, has living parents, south east of South Vorus.

If this is true, where were they when she was literally fighting for her life in the pits?

Do they care to seek her out?

More importantly... the rumour-mill wonders... does Ven even care about her parents now that she has an adopted family?

Ven paused when the whispers reached her ears, a subtle tension creeping into her stance. She rubbed the back of her neck, looking down at her calloused hands. “Parents...” she murmured softly, something uncertain in her voice. She remembered the pits, the harsh bark of the crowd, her own clenched fists, and the hunger that gnawed at her belly.

They hadn’t been there. They hadn’t pulled her from the dirt or shielded her from the lash. But they still existed—family by blood. The thought tugged at something inside her, a quiet ache she’d never admitted to before. Ven had Beluvial, her cousin, her clan—people who chose her, protected her. Still, the idea of parents out there stirred questions she’d never had the luxury to ask.

“Ven have family now,” she said, voice quieter, more reflective, “but... if parents live... maybe Ven want know why.” She let the silence settle, as if weighing the worth of that knowledge. “Ven not forget who raise her,” she added, glancing toward the distant memories of Beluvial and her new kin. “But blood is blood. If parents still breathe, Ven at least want answers.”

People visit Ven's house for the house warming, including one old sailor who leaves a chit on Ven's table... "In case you are needing passage for you and others..."

It seems that the tales of Ven's parentage have reached more than a few ears.

Melody was a bit mystified.

"Didn't we rescue Ven's mother quite a few years back?"

She goes all the way back through her notes.

"Yeah .... Vatra Island - just over three and a half years ago"

(( Checked the archives ))

The mother identified as being rescued... but why do the rumors persist if all was done and dusted and Ven's parents found?

What is it, or rather, who is it... that has set this particular fox in the henhouse?

Perhaps it might be nothing more than a rumour... or perhaps a trap... or perhaps something darker.

Ven eyed the chit on the table, her brow furrowing as she turned it over in her hand. The weight of the old sailor's words lingered in the air. She set it down carefully, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as she stared at it in thought.

“Tales... always tales,” she muttered to herself, her voice low and uncertain. She glanced around the room at her guests, their chatter and laughter feeling oddly distant. With a grunt, she picked up her cup of mead and took a long drink, her eyes drifting back to the chit.

“Maybe... maybe Ven take passage,” she murmured, as if testing the idea aloud. Her jaw tightened, and she slammed the cup down. “But first, Ven finish party.”

AN old woman is seen passing through Ven's house, she's in her late forties, yet moves with the slow gait of one much much older or has been through a lifetime of toil. She blends into the background easily, as if keeping out of the way was something she was excellent at doing. Few notice her, except for those observant... and she presses a scroll into Ven's hands before leaving without a word.

Ven frowned as the scroll was pressed into her hand, the old woman vanishing into the crowd before she could say a word. Her massive fingers turned the delicate parchment over carefully, her brow furrowing in suspicion and curiosity.

“Who...?” she muttered, glancing around the room to see if anyone else had noticed. Few seemed to have paid any attention to the woman, their focus on the warmth of the party.

Ven’s grip tightened slightly as she stared at the scroll. “Ven not like surprises,” she growled under her breath and opened it.

Ven stared at the scroll, her hands trembling as she read the words again and again, the lines blurring in her vision. Her jaw clenched tightly, her teeth grinding together as a mix of anger and sorrow swirled inside her like a storm.

“Not mother...” she muttered, her voice cracking, barely above a whisper. Her fist tightened around the parchment, crumpling it slightly before she forced herself to relax, smoothing it out with trembling hands. “Rose lie to Ven... not tell truth all this time.”

Her breath came in sharp bursts, her chest heaving as rage bubbled to the surface. “Father alive? Chieftain?” she growled, her voice rising, full of anger and frustration. “Why not tell Ven sooner? Why keep secret?!” She slammed a fist against the wall, the wood groaning under the force. “Ven live all life thinking no family!”

She turned away, pacing the room as her emotions warred within her. “Not mother... but still care for Ven...” The words were heavy on her tongue, her anger slowly giving way to the ache of betrayal and longing. She stopped, staring at the scroll again. “If father live, Ven need answers.”

Her voice was softer now, though still thick with emotion. “Rose... why leave now? Why not stay? Why not face Ven?” Her hand gripped the parchment tightly once more before she tucked it away, her gaze hardening with resolve. “Ven find answers. Even if they hurt.”