#irabeth tirabade

[lexsnotdead]

tirabade wives for pride month

+ flags, i wasn't sure which one i should use for them, so here are both. both is good

[sansevierias]

She never told Anevia that she'd sold her father's sword to pay for the elixir, for doing so brought Irabeth the final bit of closure she needed. Her father's legacy allowed her to bring joy to the one she loved more than anything, and that was precisely what she needed to get on with her new life. X Art sources: 1 2 3 4

[lukedanger]

Replaying WotR with all the DLC, I forgot how full of shit Regill is about the rest of the Crusades.

What prompted this is his nonsense about Irabeth. He acts as if she had no achievements to her name so he can pretend that she's unqualified when she has a PTSD breakdown before Drezen - as if she had not gone through Kenabres, or hadn't rebuilt the Eagle Watch from scratch to the point where it's one of the most competent forces (more competent than the Hellknights, TBH: at least the Eagle Watch doesn't have to threaten every soldier with execution for the slightest infraction)

I mean look at it - 'her first serious challenge'? Is Hellknight intelligence so incompetent that you don't even know her career before returning to Mendev? Did you forget that she and Anevia rebuilt the Eagle Watch from scratch after uncovering Baphomet's infiltration? Or do you not know that Kenabres survived because Irabeth managed to weld together a cohesive fighting force at the Defender's Heart and that the plan to take back the Grey Garrison was entirely hers?

Irabeth is no wet-behind-the-ears recruit thrown into high command without being tested: she's a veteran commander who's been fighting the Worldwound longer than anyone in the tent besides Anevia and Queen Galfrey (whom the narrative also maligns, I'll get to that in a minute). Irabeth has been fighting for high stakes: Mendev dies if they fail. If the Hellknights' token expeditions die? They lose some lances, but none of their core territories are threatened and they can easily shrug it off because the Crusades are basically Avistan's dumping ground for undesirables anyways.

This is a perfect example of the sheer arrogance of the Hellknights. Especially since Regill admits that just a glimpse of what happens in the Lost Chapel is almost enough to make him puke. Irabeth lived it and watched good people die in a horrible manner and be transformed into monsters against their will.

Irabeth isn't a coward. She's dealing with unrecognzied PTSD given how fast the march on Drezen usually occurs after Lost Chapel, and it picked the absolute worst moment to manifest... especially if the KC is an incompetent leader who constantly berates her and makes her a scapegoat for other people's failures.

It's not like Irabeth is asking to be dismissed - if you warn her that you'll bench her, she's terrified of being left behind to be the one who gets to mourn everyone that dies. She's still in the fight, she's just conscious that the odds are against them after how badly the gargoyle ambush went.

Galfrey, as an aside, acts as a leader should: she works to reassure Irabeth and console her. Galfrey has suffered immensely under the pressure of defending Golarion from the Worldwound with basically no support (Avistan's nations more or less uses the Crusades as a way to dispose of undesirables) - she knows what Irabeth is feeling. And the narrative did Galfrey so dirty by not giving her more moments like this - Galfrey's presence should have been an auto-success for reassuring Irabeth even if the KC still got to do a reassurance option even if only to give Irabeth an extra and much-needed verbal hug.

It's telling how much the narrative had to bend over backwards to make the Hellknights seem competent rather than a bunch of arrogant pricks who are trying to take credit for holding back the Worldwound while offering little actually useful. I think the most useful thing they do in Act II is give you another option to get at the giants at Drezen, everything else is them either being counterproductive, needing the crusaders they sneer at to save their asses, or volunteering to be vescavor fodder because their egos wouldn't let them stay behind while those best equipped to tackle the threat deal with it... and get the credit.

[grimvestige]

So I got the roses scene in the Daeran romance. :)

[dragonologist-phd]

14 Days of Femslash February

fics based on this kiss prompt list:

peck: a quick, light kiss on the partner’s lips or cheek (Naia/Shadowheart (T))

surprise: a sudden kiss to catch the partner off guard (Arueshalae/Piper (G))

underwater: a kiss shared while submerged in water (Rudi/Maia (T))

hickey: a kiss that's supposed to leave a mark on the partner's skin (Lilith/Wenduag (E))

comfort: a tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance (Cleo/Galfrey (G))

blowing: a kiss in the air and send of the gesture towards the partner (Marja/Sigrun (G))

hummingbird: a series of light, rapid, and fluttery kisses on a small area (Arueshalae/Piper (E))

tango dip: a kiss shared while one partner is dipped backward (Kanerah/Mercury (T))

wrist: a tender kiss on the inside of the partner's wrist (Araj/Naia (M))

lingering: a long, slow kiss filled with emotion and desire (Leliana/Marja, Marja/Sigrun (T))

seductive: a deep, slow, and deliberately intense kiss filled with passion and desire (Kagha/Lilith (M))

rain: a romantic kiss in the rain (Marja/Sigrun, (G))

hand: a chivalrous kiss on the back of the partner's hand (Lilith/Wenduag (G))

teasing: a light brushing of lips against a partner's skin without fully kissing (Anevia/Irabeth (E))

now fully updated! thank you everyone for reading and for your encouragement this month, this little project was a blast!

[iwoszareba]

trying to do crusade PR must be a nightmare when it's this guy as the commander @silversiren1101 thank you for sending me this post. i couldn't stop thinking about it asdfgh

[rpgchoices]

A BATTLE OF THE WLW ORCS!!

On one side we have Irabeth Tirabade is a half-orc paladin of Iomedae, beloved wife of Anevia, and an advisor of the protagonist in Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous. On the other side we have mysterious commander orc Nim'gann from Salting the Earth.

Tournament tag (all polls) here

[godofdystopia]

I like how my Azata playthrough of Wrath Of The Righteous basically ends with everyone fighting over who gets to adopt Ember.

Like my Azata halfling Helena is standing on her wife Arue's shoulders arguing about why Ember deserves to live with them and her new sister Aivu, while Irabeth and Anevia argue that *they* should be Embers parents. They manage to work out a compromise where they trade off every other week

Then Embers new wine mom Nocticula pops up with a hellhound puppy and the war begins anew

[greaterstolenlandspolycule]

The whole "Areelu's spawn" thing is so ironic for Lily, considering, well...you know.

Not a fan of "the call of one's blood" thing. I'm not sure if there's some (possibly outdated) Pathfinder lore about planetouched being drawn to the alignment of the plane their ancestors are from (which, I would hate that) or if Irabeth is just doing a fantasy microaggression.

[lexsnotdead]

irabeth and anevia not appearing in a dance of masks is such a waste of opportunity because 1) they both desperately need a break 2) about time the roles switched from tirabades always being damsels in distress to them rescuing the commander instead (not that i mind saving lesbians. stand behind me i will protect you <3)

[dujour13]

WIP Wednesday

I don't know what I'm doing. Just Woljif angst to get back to my roots

A quarter of an hour later as the chill of dusk settled over Drezen Woljif found himself on the Citadel stairs, tail twitching furiously. Flowers were strewn all about the stone steps and in the middle of them Irabeth Tirabade stood frowning down at him, a daisy stuck behind her ear.

“I’ve stopped filing Aivu incidents,” she said. “Just as long as somebody cleans up the mess. Ember said these were yours.”

“Who, me? These aren’t mine! Why would I—?”

She drew out the daisy and pushed it into his hands. “Get started.”

He opened his mouth to argue but that was when Anevia appeared and tossed him a stalk of bluebells and it was two against one and he knew when he was beaten.

Eventually he was free from their mirthful gaze and striding down the corridor toward the Knight-Commander’s chamber, what was left of the frazzled bouquet pressed to his chest, dropping petals in his wake. Guards clicked their heels and stood at attention as he passed. He was pretty sure he heard one of the dwarves let out a cough of laughter but when he whipped around they were all stony-faced and silent.

That’s it, I’m goin’ invisible next time.

At Siavash’s door he stood for a long moment, his heart pounding.

Was he really housebroken, like Viv said? Was he even doing this right? What if the chief changed his mind since last night? What if he had to walk back down that corridor in front of all those guards?

The turmoil made his chest ache and his tail tie itself in knots.

What if Siavash realized his mistake?

I’m nothin’.

He looked down at the stolen flowers. I got nothin’ to offer you. I’m nobody.

The old familiar empty feeling was back, gouging out his middle. What had he even been thinking? Bringing somebody flowers like a pathetic, lovestruck fool when it was obvious to everyone, himself first and foremost, how ridiculous that was. Some mangy street tiefling not even his own mother could love standing here thinking the Knight-Commander might kiss him if he just played his cards right, dressed up nice and swiped a bunch of wilted flowers for him. No wonder the guards were laughing. A droplet landed on the petal of an iris and he had to squeeze his eyes shut really hard to stop another from escaping.

[gefdreamsofthesea]

I thought I would highlight some of my favourite queer characters in Pathfinder.

Shelyn, Desna, and Sarenrae are in a polyamorous relationship. Your PCs can even worship all three as the Prismatic Ray pantheon!

Arshea is the Empyreal Lord of freedom, physical beauty, and sexuality. Their worshipers eschew gender roles and many enjoy crossdressing.

ETA: I had added a couple iconics and NPCs I liked but tumblr ate them so here's a brief list: Anevia and Irabeth Tirabade, Mios, and Kyra and Merisiel

[dragonologist-phd]

All These Games We Play

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anevia/Irabeth Tirabade Characters: Anevia (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Irabeth Tirabade Additional Tags: Roleplay, Teasing, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Romance, Femslash February 2024

"I steal somethin', she catches me- it just adds spice to our relationship."

My last piece for Femslash Feb! Ngl, this one was almost wholly inspired by this line in the Inevitable Ezcess DLC:

Anevia couldn’t say for sure where the idea first came from. Maybe it had always been there in the back of her mind; maybe watching Irabeth climb up through the ranks of her order had stirred it up anew. All she knew for sure was that it’d been rattling around in her head for a good while, and it was just a matter of time before she finally brought it up.

She did so on one of their rare lazy evenings, when she and her wife were comfortable in bed. Irabeth was sitting against the headboard, reading through a few reports (honestly, the woman never stopped), and Anevia was watching her as the daydreams quietly played out in her head.

“You ever think about where we’d be in another life?” she asked at last, and Irabeth looked up in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Anevia chewed at her lip, trying to think of how best to start this off. “It’s kind of a wonder I ended up a soldier, isn’t it? I could’ve easily landed on the other side of the law.”

Irabeth tilted her head, still looking confused. “You think there’s a world out there where we’re outlaws?”

“I’m the outlaw,” Anevia clarified with a laugh. She reached over and plucked the reports from Irabeth’s hands, waving them tauntingly before setting them to the side. “I’ve got the sticky fingers, the roguish charm. But you’re a paladin in every life, Beth, there’s no denying that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that somewhere out in the universe, there may be a world where you’re still Captain Irabeth Tirabade of the Eagle Watch…and I’m one of the Captain’s most wanted.” Anevia moved as she spoke, pushing the bedsheets aside so she could straddle her wife’s lap.

Understanding was starting to dawn on Irabeth’s face now. “I see…you think in this version of the world, I chase you down and bring you in. Is that it?”

Anevia grinned and leaned in closer. “I think you try.”

Interest sparked in Irabeth’s eyes at that, and Anevia’s hopes leapt at that response. She edged closer, her lips teasing at Irabeth’s with the faint promise of a kiss- and then she pulled back. The conversation was going just as she hoped; she wanted now to see how far she could take it.

“Beth…do you wanna try something with me tonight?”

continue on ao3

[thesolemnhour]

things don’t make bad scenes (people do)

For the “Why does your knight commander love their LI?” prompt that has been circulating, which I took too seriously. Title from the We Shall All Be Healed album website.

Length: 2700 words (😬)

It has been a month since she closed the Worldwound, and Agria Lebeda sleeps better than she has in years. Perhaps it’s the relief of finally accomplishing what she had set out to do, but more likely, she owes the improvement to the tiefling sleeping blissfully beside her. It is an incredible thing, being in love. And it’s true that she still can’t compete with Woljif when it comes to sleeping in, but that just means she gets to spend a few minutes tracing his features, relaxed in sleep.

There’s very little to warrant such an early start now, but change is hard; she had been going non-stop since Iz, and the transition into peacetime is taking longer than she hoped. With a small measure of defeat, she reluctantly pulls herself loose from the warmth of her bed and consigns herself to starting the day.

Luckily, Woljif can sleep through almost anything. She presses a kiss lightly to his brow before pulling a robe over her nightclothes. She thinks about picking up her staff from where it sits propped up near the door but—no, she thinks she can go without it. Her leg has been better lately, and she resolves that she can manage.

Wandering downstairs, she notes absently that someone—a courier, perhaps?—is standing near the doorway, but she ignores them in favor of starting a pot of coffee, the only addiction of hers that she will still allow quarter.

The courier clears his throat, and Agria concedes that it is possible that he may indeed have something important to say.

“Be with you in just a moment!” She calls over her shoulder, cringing slightly at the scratchiness of her voice. Armed with caffeine, she takes a few steps back into the entryway before she stops dead in her tracks.

Before her, looking no different than the last time she saw him some five years ago, stands Viktor Lebeda. Her father, although it feels odd to think of him like that now.

She freezes. Blinks in astonishment. She takes a breath, readying herself to say—something, but she stops, still holding her breath. Finally, her expression sides away into boredom: “I didn’t invite you here.”

“No,” says Viktor pointedly, “you didn’t.”

As ever, what her father doesn’t say is more important than what he does. Most children, she imagines, would have invited their last living parent to visit the place of their great triumph, but they are not most families.

“Well,” she begins, turning her back to him again as she stirs sugar into her coffee, “I’m very busy, and you’ll have take whatever it is that you’re here for up with Irabeth.”

“I’m afraid that I have questions that Commander Tirabade won’t have answers to.”

“Then perhaps you should have written ahead.”

“I did.” Had he? Maybe it would’ve been wise to have read those letters marked with the swan-shaped seal of House Lebeda before tossing them into the fireplace after all. Then again… “Agria. I am here for you.”

“Here for me?” Agria scoffs. “Now? You didn’t come after we first took Drezen. You didn’t come after we returned from Alushinyrra. You certainly didn’t come after—“ After I broke my leg all those years ago. But Agria will be damned if she says those words aloud. She won’t ask that question, no matter how obliquely. “But you’re needed to see me now? Honesty would carry you farther.”

His face remains placid, giving no emotion away. It’s her least favorite expression of his. “I did not think that you would have me.”

“I’m not having you now.”

“Commander,” he tries again. The appeal to authority is interesting at least. “I would like very much to speak with you. It is important, and time is short.”

“Hm. A terrible shame. I am afraid, however, that I have an engagement with the chieftain of Neathholm this morning. He is a very punctual person and would take my absence personally. Perhaps I shall see you in the afternoon then.”

…

After ascending the stairs at a near-jog, Agria closes her bedroom door behind her as gently as she can, conscious not to wake her lover. She rests her head against the sturdy wood for a moment, steadying herself.

“Coming back to bed?” Woljif asks hopefully, his words slurring slightly as he rubs his eyes.

“I am afraid not,” she says, brows drawn together as she begins to fix her hair.

“What’s going on?”

She feels the old pull to lie, to talk about anything else. But it’s Woljif. “I have… an uninvited guest.”

In the mirror, she spies him leaning up on his elbows to get a better look at her face, which remains expressionless.

“Who’s the guy?”

Taking a deep breath, Agria answers, “My father.”

Now, Woljif sits up, wide awake. “Really? He just showed up? Do nobles even do that?”

“Not often,” she says faintly.

Woljif pauses for a moment, frowning. “You know where this wouldn’t happen?”

Agria smiles: he is determined to travel now that the Worldwound is behind them. And not somewhere for work, he insisted. Somewhere actually nice. With warm weather! She suspects he is naming increasingly exotic locales just to drive up the bargain.

“Absalom? Or maybe Oppara?”

“Solku!”

Agria giggles, turning to look at him directly while she finishes the buttons on her vest. “In Garund? You don’t want to go all the way to Garund! You can’t operate an orphanage from the next continent over.”

“No,” he concedes, “but it made you laugh.”

Oh, she loves him.

“I’ll make you a deal,” says Agria, pressing her forehead to his. “Wait long enough to meet my aunt, and I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go. So long as we keep it to the inner sea region.”

He steals a kiss, soft and quick. “You drive a hard bargain, chief, but I’m ready to quit while I’m ahead.”

…

When the afternoon rolls around, Agria realizes that she felt less anxious before storming the Threshold. But like any battle, it’s about managing one’s advantages. She chooses to pitch the encounter in Drezen’s gardens—Arueshalae’s brilliant idea to celebrate the victory and a place where Agria feels most invincible.

She leaves her staff, though her leg complains.

She wasn’t sure he would wait: he was considered an important man in Brevoy now, indispensable to Lebedas and Surtovas alike. It feels odd, being here with him like this. Like she has slipped into the skin of an Agria of years past.

“Well, then. If you’re not going to tell me what you’re really here for, I suppose I shall have to guess.” Agria declares, as the two of them walk. “Whatever it is, no one is talking about it yet. Someone would have told me, so you must be hoping I can head whatever it is off before it goes public.”

“Is that so?” Asks Viktor, again impassive. Quietly, it makes her furious.

“So I should think. It can’t be within the family; you would never have come to me if it were. You must be hoping that I—in my renewed popularity—can dig House Lebeda out from whatever hole it has found itself in. So! That only leaves a few options: I can’t imagine you would come all the way here to appease the Medvyeds of all people. Nor the Garesses. That only leaves Houses Orlovsky… or Surtova.”

What a catastrophe that would be if they had truly lost the confidence of the Surtovas. It would be the death of Viktor’s life’s work. All those years the two of them spent in New Stetven—her studying and him maneuvering—it would all have been for nothing.

At last, he stops walking. He shakes his head as though it could expel the thoughts there. Looking down at her, he looks older than she has ever seen him. It’s almost startling. “It’s about your cousin’s engagement.”

It can only be Elanna, who has been circling an engagement with King Noleski Surtova for Pharasma knows how long. But Agria has no obligation to be a good sport about this. Folding her hands behind her back and tilting her head innocently, she asks, “Which cousin? I have twelve.”

How Viktor Lebeda scowls. It’s an expression she recognizes in the mirror. Agria tastes satisfaction. Pushing her advantage, she decides to set a trap. “I have a boyfriend. You may have heard.”

Let him brush her off with a dismissive comment about her tiefling lover. Let him tell her how little he cares about her personal life when the family reputation is in danger. Let him give her a reason to finally be rid of him for good.

Instead, the corners of Viktor’s lips quirk upwards. “I have. He’s the boy from Kenabres, isn’t he?”

“He’s been with me from the beginning.”

“I suppose he has,” he says. His phantom smile drifts into something stronger as he looks over at her. “I have to admit: it’s—odd, to think of you and… boys.”

“I’m not sure how. I haven’t been a child in a long time.” And who is to thank for that?

“No, of course, you’re right. But you’ve always been so... focused. It’s funny to think that you made room for anything else.”

It strikes a sour chord with her. Whose fault was it, after all, that there had been so space to spare? “I owe that to you.”

“I suppose you do,” he says thoughtfully. “Do you remember the first thing I ever taught you?”

She does.

“You taught me how to control flame,” she recalls. “It was after I set one of the tapestries on fire—the one with the little blue bird in the corner. He always looked so—cheerful, I suppose. So pleased that you looked long enough to find him. That one was my favorite.”

Mother had made the tapestry, of course, and all the others in the little house outside of Restov--but it feels wrong to mention her now. Here. Things had been different then: they hadn’t had the kind of capital needed to keep a real staff, certainly not like the one their cousins had in Silverhall. It had just been the three of them.

Viktor senses the mood that has fallen across the two of them like a shroud, and he too knows better than to say her mother’s name. “It was my favorite, too.”

He had been a busy man then as he was now, ever setting off for the family seat or the capitol. Getting his attention had been no small feat, but Mother’s needlework had been like her second child. All agreed that works of such beauty were worthy of protection.

Her father had sat across from her on the floor of the living room holding her hands between her. His face had been soft, then, his eyes crinkling with his smile. You have to picture the flame in your mind, imagine it doing as you ask it to, he explained. Ask it nicely enough, and the magic will do as you say. He was right—she never set anything on fire without meaning it again. They had been young, then, and the future had looked bright.

What happened to us?

“What is he like?”

She can’t smother the smile. “Funny. Smart. Stars, he’s smart. You should see him balance a checkbook—that’s a magic of its own.”

Instinct tells her to stop talking, to give him no more than she must, but what does she have to be afraid of anymore?

“I thought it had to be hard. Miserable, even. I thought if I didn’t have to suffer for it… then it wasn’t love, not really.  There’s nothing to be gained in life without pain, as they say. I was so afraid that it would all evaporate as soon as things started to go wrong.”

It had been the only way the story ever ended. Her father certainly hadn’t been the only one to stop speaking to her after her great unraveling. She had always been excellent at driving people away.

“But…?”

“But it didn’t. He doesn’t ask for things it would hurt me to give. It feels… safe. Like it’s just us, and there’s no reason to be afraid. When we got back from the Abyss… We learned that someone would have to die if we wanted to close the Wound. We thought that it would have to be me.

“He had nothing when we met, just his smarts and the clothes on his back. The crusade was his way out, maybe his one chance. And he offered to leave it! For me. He wanted to set out for the River Kingdoms, and just… be the two of us. No money, no titles. I didn’t… I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Because I’m me.” She laughs. “I always want just a little more. I wanted them both, him and Sarkoris.” And her gardens in Drezen and his orphanage in Kenabres. She wants them all.

When she glances at her father, his eyes are sad. She is sad for him.

“I missed you,” he says. She thinks he means it.

She only nods in the face of his sincerity; Agria, Lushbringer and hero of the Fifth Crusade, is much easier to miss than the Agria of New Stetven. It changes so very little, and Agria knows how this works. “About Elanna… I promise nothing. You haven’t yet made any specific requests. But if I do—then I would expect the same for the Sarkorians in Lebeda territory, should they decide to return here.”

Once more, the corners of his mouth turn up into a faint smile, saying all he refuses to say out loud.

…

Woljif stand waiting for her where she hoped she could find him at the foot of the citadel. What’s more, he’s idly spinning her beloved Staff of Flowers as he waits. Tapping it lightly on the ground, a delicate little purple-blue wildflower sprouts from the staff’s tip. Cornflower, she thinks with her first true smile of the day.

“Forget something?” He asks when he catches sight of her, plucking the flower and hold her staff out to her.

“No,” she says ruefully, taking it back. She already feels better with its weight in her hand. Or maybe that’s just Woljif’s presence. “I was doing something foolish.”

“You? Never!”

“Yeah, yeah. I thought it would make a point.” She reaches forward to pull him closer, playing absentmindedly with the buttons of his shirt.

“Did it?” He asks, tucking the cornflower behind her ear.

“Eh,” says Agria. She’s not sure, but it did feel good in the moment. Continuing to fuss with the front of shirt, she finds a silver chain holding an empty delicate setting. “Have you thought about what you might put in here?”

“Dunno yet. Maybe something red,” he says as he twirls an auburn curl around his index finger. She can’t hold back her laugh. Looking over her shoulder at the back of the man who was her father, he asks, “Was that—?”

“Yes,” she answers abruptly, “but I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

Woljif’s brows draw together in concern, but he hums in acceptance. “You know he kinda looks like you?”

“No, he does not!” It can be hard to tell with aasimars, but Agria far more closely resembles her mother. She has her eye shape and upturned nose. No one has ever accused her of looking like her father’s daughter.

“He does! Not in the face really—well, he does when you look like that—but he walks like you do, like you’ve got somewhere important to be. I’d’ve never tried for one of your wallets.”

“You would have missed out, then. He doesn’t really look where he’s walking either.”

“Maybe not, but can you imagine the chewing out I would’ve been in for if one of you had caught me? Believe me, it’s better this way.”

“I would like you to know that I am more upset with you right now than I was after Drezen.” Agria says, removing her hands from him to cross her arms archly.

“Nah,” says Woljif, poking her lightly in a spot where he knows she’s ticklish. “You love me.”

She really does.

[cassynite]

Sparrow and Gregoriath

Some different conversations today had me inspired to finally finish this little scene where Sparrow's past finally catches up to her.

For context: Gregoriath Arvanxi is Evaethi Arvanxi's father and Sparrow's master, who had Sparrow trained specifically as a body double. When Evaethi ran away on the way to Mendev, Sparrow took her place and kept it a secret from Gregoriath to keep him from killing her. The only reason Sparrow didn't just run away herself is that she was branded with a tracking rune which allows Gregoriath to find her anywhere in the world when it's activated. Sparrow was working to find a way to remove it when Deskari attacked Kenabres. Up until this point, Gregoriath had been under every impression that Evaethi was still with Sparrow.

To avoid accidental name slips when in public, Sparrow is referred to as "Eva" by the Arvanxi family as a whole.

Cw: references to physical abuse, slavery, emetophobia at the end

Hope you enjoy!

----

"Commander." Anevia's mouth was not in its typical curl, and Sparrow's spine straightened to attention in response. After a pause, she continued, "Got a visitor from Cheliax. A Lord Gregoriath Arvanxi."

Sparrow went still, an animal sensing a predator nearby, then forced herself to relax. She had expected this to happen eventually. Irabeth was right next the council table, Regill outside in the hall conferring with the Hellknight contingent in Drezen. There were guards in this room, and throughout the citadel, all ready to draw their swords at a moment's notice. Even if she sent everyone out of the war room--and she would have to, to have an honest talk with Gregoriath--he wouldn't dare do anything to her here.

"Thank you," she said. The words came out too low, and hoarse. She cleared her throat, focused on the paperwork in front of her, letting the steady lines of supply lists ground her. "Please bring him in."

"You sure?"

Sparrow glanced up at Anevia, surprised at the wary tone in her voice. What had Gregoriath done already since entering the boundaries of Drezen? What had Sparrow already given away under Anevia's keen gaze? Maybe it would be best to not confront Gregoriath at all. To hide, as she did best, and try to disappear until the threat passed.

But this threat wasn't going to go away--the sword had hung over her head for two years and was finally coming down. She had to face it. I am the Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade. Sparrow relaxed her tight fists and straightened her shoulders. I am the Knight Commander. Even if the title was just for show, even if it was just for now, she led the armies of Mendev and she was beyond Gregoriath's reach. "I'm sure. Thank you."

Anevia nodded and gestured to the guards; one of them opened the door to notify the hall guard to retrieve the visitor. Sparrow counted fifty-seven seconds before Lord Gregoriath Arvanxi walked into the war room. He did not look at Captain Tirabade at Sparrow's right hand, or at Anevia leaning against the wall. His attention was completely on Sparrow.

Lord Gregoriath looked much the same as when Sparrow last saw him--broad shouldered and bull-chested, with a scowl mostly hidden by his short, meticulously oiled beard. There was more gray, perhaps, Sparrow noted with the distant craze of someone preoccupied with the view as they plummeted off a cliff.

She kept her legs rigid against the old instinctive move to rise in his presence. She would stay seated behind the table the entire time, she promised herself. She would not move, no matter what he did, and when this was done she would have the guards escort him out. They could do that. He couldn't fight it, or reach over the table, or get any closer to her--

"Eva." His voice was level, and at a normal volume. He was not surprised to see her. His hands remained clasped behind his back; he remained standing. Sparrow waited for him to make some kind of action. When he didn't, she finally nodded.

"Father. Welcome to Drezen."

That caused a reaction--she'd seen his jaw harden under his beard enough times to recognize the movement.

Sparrow tilted her head to the side without breaking eye contact. "Captain. Anevia. If you would please, take the guards with you when you go. We will need privacy."

Sparrow saw bare movement in her periphery; Anevia holding back an argument, a refusal, and a shared glance between the two Tirabades. Sparrow had started making choices they disagreed with often enough to know what their silent disapproval looked like. But all the captain said was, "Of course, Commander."

Only when they were gone did Gregoriath speak again. "You do not truly believe this room is secure, do you?"

"It is secure," Sparrow said. He will not act here. He cannot. She had to keep reminding herself of the fact. "You may trust me on this and speak, or do not, and leave without imparting your message. That is your choice to make."

A tic appeared in Gregoriath's jaw, jumping the hairs of his beard. Sparrow folded her hands, swallowed back instinctive apologies, and waited.

Finally, he let out a long, slow breath through his nose. "Where is she?"

"Gone. Disappeared en route to Mendev."

"En route--" The words echoed with sudden volume and Gregoriath bit off the rest of his sentence. Sparrow did not flinch. She waited, frozen, for six seconds while he visibly gathered himself. When he next spoke, it was barely audible. "Two years."

"Two years," Sparrow agreed. She took a steadying breath, willing her heart to slow. She needed to be ice; Gregoriath always reacted to fear, and while sometimes cowering would satisfy him, often as not it made him worse, more contemptuous, more furious. She could not afford for him to lose his temper. "If there was a trail, it has long grown cold."

"You..." Gregoriath lifted his chin, the tic in his jaw so prominent it made his face shake.

Sparrow could not see his hands. They were still behind his back. She wondered if they have curled into fists yet, if he was fighting the urge to pick up something and throw it at Sparrow the same way Sparrow was resisting the urge lower her gaze.

It was rare for Gregoriath to have to hold back his anger when he dealt with a disappointing slave, but he still had other tactics. His voice softened into cutting disappointment. "Of all the betrayals, I will admit I did not expect this from you, Eva. I thought you had understood the importance of her safety, if nothing else. And yet you allowed this to happen."

Sparrow let the words roll over her and didn't move.

Gregoriath continued, taking a single step forward, attention fixed solely on Sparrow's response. "All the things we gave you. An education, safety, food, a home. And you thought you could just let her be kidnapped by brigands, or murdered on the road--"

"She ran away." Sparrow closed her eyes. Her throat was tight, almost as tight as the grip she had on her hands. Holding on to something, even if it was just herself. "As far as I am aware, she is safe."

"But the trail is cold. You don't know."

The trail is cold. She didn't know.

"And what, I wonder, will your compatriots say should I bring my disappointments with you to their attention? They believe a noblewoman is leading their holy war. Do you think they will defend you when I exercise my rights? They will not."

Sparrow breathed through the words, focusing on the pieces of Gregoriath in front of her--the gray hairs of his beard, his dark, furious eyes, the way his jacket still stretched across his shoulders as he kept his fists locked behind him. She wants, badly, to lick her dry lips. She knows it will be a tell that Gregoriath will latch on to.

"I hardly think it's necessary to consider that route. I am here," she finally says. "I may be a disappointment to you, but Lady Evaethi Arvanxi is the leader of the Fifth Crusade. News of this has spread to Cheliax?"

Gregoriath's eyes narrowed. He knew what she was saying. "The queen is not displeased," he finally said. He lived in eternal fear of House Thrune and the mercurial nature of Queen Abrogail--though his cousin and family head had ensured House Arvanxi was no more and no less than a laughingstock among Egorian's elite, he was convinced that one day the tides would turn against them and they would be branded enemies of the crown. Even after twelve years serving the house, Sparrow had no idea how much of Gregoriath's concerns were paranoia and how much came from the shaky ground that Cheliax had built castles on.

"I am sure the knowledge of my new position has been helpful to you. The status of your daughter now may be useful as long as you allow it. Of course, the disappointments I have laid at the family's feet would be less pleasant news for the queen to hear, I'm sure. Perhaps it would be more advantageous to just...let things lie. Let Evaethi Arvanxi continue her role as Knight Commander."

Sparrow tensed at the mounting pressure in the room at her words, Gregoriath's volcanic temper building. He had never been much for manipulation and hated when it was enacted against him; he hated even more when the person offering the ultimatums was inherently beneath him. Sparrow had never spoken to him so before in her life. Her hands hurt, her fingers white in her grip.

Gregoriath had two options: expose Sparrow as a fraud and drag her back to Cheliax, to the possible objections of the Queen of Mendev and the derision of the Chelish Court, as well as the profound displeasure of its queen and house. Or, let the falsehood continue, acknowledge Sparrow as his daughter, and use the prestige of her new position to his advantage. One would be the clear choice, infinitely preferable to him if it did not also secure Sparrow's safety as long as the Crusade existed.

But, in the end, it won out regardless. Gregoriath's paranoia and need for security had always superseded his pride. They were alike in that way. Still, Sparrow fought to keep her shoulders stiff, to not relax or slump, as Gregoriath finally pinned her with a glare of true contempt and stated, "That does seem to be the only reasonable option at this time."

Sparrow had three goals, in this room with the table and her title between them. With that sentence, two were achieved: Gregoriath would not kill her yet for her ruse, nor would he drag her back to Cheliax in chains and expose her to the armies of the Crusade. Now, she only had to gain the third goal--and there was a slight, possible glimmer of something in the future that wasn't terror and entrapment. There was a chance of freedom.

"It would be beneficial if other...indicators...of my past were not present." Sparrow could not gesture to the back of her neck--if she let go of herself she would probably fly apart--but her meaning was clear. Gregoriath's lip curled.

"So you can disappear the moment someone's back is turned? I think not."

"I can hardly go anywhere with my current responsibilities," Sparrow said, fighting to keep her voice even. She only barely succeeded.

"If you cared for responsibility, you would not be leading this Crusade to begin with. You have already failed in your duties once--and I remember the last time I let you off a leash."

The spike of white-hot anger that coursed through Sparrow's body loosened her tongue to a dangerous degree. "And what would my advisors, my soldiers think of you once they realize you've branded your 'daughter' like cattle?" Her voice was too hard, too angry, but for an instant after she said it, she didn't care. Then, of course, she did, because she gave away important ground with that flash of emotion, and they both knew it.

Gregoriath could rant and rave and explode as much as he wanted to, at any time, but Sparrow knew from bitter experience that the moment she let any emotion slip, she lost.

Gregoriath's gaze was cool, the most composed he'd been since he entered the room now that he finally had the upper hand. "Then I would expose you as what you are, and when these people reject you I would return to Cheliax with you as I had originally planned. Of course, I would hope you would take care to avoid revealing such things to begin with."

He would not remove the brand. And Sparrow could not use it to shame him now that he had agreed to play along with the ruse of Sparrow being Evaethi, because if she did he would just tell the truth, even though that would make things infinitely worse for him.

Sparrow's knuckles bled white down the backs of her hands. "Then we are at an impasse."

Gregoriath nodded. "I will be remaining, of course. I would hate for you to continue to endure the burdens of leadership on your own."

The effect Gregoriath's words had on Sparrow was immediate and visceral. There was no thought, not even feeling, there was only the response, bursting out of her. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"Your presence is not needed," Sparrow got out through stiff lips. The thought of Gregoriath here, watching her every move, the presence of her tracking brand a physical weight--making comments at council meetings, using her to further his own political ends as he no doubt planned to do--the way he would speak to her, like this, in private, never letting her forget for one instant that she was not free, would never be free-- "No. You will return to Cheliax. Or wherever else you choose. But you will not stay in Drezen."

"You dare--"

"If you are unwilling to remove the tracking rune you have placed on me, then there is hardly a need for you to observe my movements." The fear of him being here forever outweighed the fear of his presence at that moment, and the fact that Sparrow's words actually cut through and silenced Gregoriath left her lightheaded. She couldn't remember the last time her words had actually managed to silence someone. "Your presence would be a hindrance and could lead to discovery. I have done my duty to the Crusade before now and will continue to do so. Unless you did wish to remove my rune? Then perhaps your continued observations would be necessary, but I cannot fathom another reason why you would want to interfere further otherwise. Certainly, Mendev's council might not appreciate excessive oversight from Cheliax, regardless of Knight Commander Evaethi's background."

For sixty-three long, frozen seconds, Gregoriath stared at Sparrow in silence. Then, finally, in a quiet voice on the cusp of violence, he said, "You will report to me regularly on your status. I will be watching you, make no mistake. And when this country has no more need of you, you will return to Cheliax and we will discuss your failures, and your insolence, at that time."

Sparrow said nothing. After another moment, Gregoriath turned and left the war room. She did not even need to get soldiers to escort him out.

Sparrow counted sixty seconds, then another, enough time for Gregoriath to leave the hall. Then, she rose, nearly running into Anevia coming back into the war room.

"You okay there, Commander?"

Sparrow did not know what Anevia's expression was, what was behind the question, because Sparrow could not see. "I am fine. Please excuse me." She nearly knocked into another person, she didn't know who, on her way down the hall to her room.

She made sure the door was closed behind her before she grabbed a pot, gave in to the roiling of her stomach, and vomited until there was nothing left but acid burning her throat and her too-tight skin.

[rpgchoices]

We are almost at the end!! Welcome to round four!

Here we see Z'rell, the villain character from act 2 of Baldur's Gate 3, working with the Absolute and loyal ally of Ketheric vs Irabeth, proud wife of Anevia (the two are my favorite established couple in all videogames!), paladin of righteousness, and advisor of your character in Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous!

(this is the other poll, Dorn vs Dirrong)