#oc: Krelyss | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soartfullydone · 11 months

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Jumbo OC Asks! Riven - 🍊⭐🍐💧; Celeste - 🍒🔥💙🌸

[touches your face] thank you

Riven

🍊 What is your OC’s favourite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?

I couldn't name her favorite meal to save my life, probably because Riven prefers variety. So she's become very enamored of the dinner-breakfast hodgepodge she and her da make for the pair of them and Krelyss. She's been trying many new dishes to accommodate Krelyss' tastes (who knew mushrooms could be used in so many ways?) and getting to know some of her lost culture in the process. Even when the cooking attempt doesn't pan out, she enjoys the company above everything. Her home life has never been better. For snacks, she prefers most fruits. Citrus and apples and drupes. Dessert is where she likes to get fancy. Tarts, eclairs, anything with a meringue or mousse. Right now, she's in love with a blackberry mousse, served with gold flakes and mint. As for drink, well, it matters more who she's drinking with than what she drinks. Ale, rum, water, doesn't really matter, but whenever she does order some type of ale, it's because of all the warm memories and conversations she's shared with Delethil—and now also with Eravin and the party during their drinking games. There's nostalgia and comfort in the drink rather than a deep love for the taste.

⭐ What is your OC afraid of? Any crippling phobias or some such? How do they act when scared and what helps them calm down? Does anyone ever find your OC scary? Why?

For a long time, Riven was deeply wary of all the things her da impressed upon her to be wary of: orcs, necromancers, duergar, the undead, and drow. But those fears were so distant and well outside the border. She was more afraid of Lunhaven becoming a cage for her, of being trapped into responsibilities she didn't want by people who neither liked nor respected her. She was afraid that her loneliness would kill her (thanks Britney). Ironically, the way she often dealt with this was to pick fights with her da before running off to be alone somewhere. As Del entered the picture, she gained someone to vent back and forth with and who made her feel valued, but she never left behind her tendencies to run and self-isolate. Now, she's afraid of new things. Of the wrong people discovering she's a glamoured half-drow. Of something terrible happening to Krelyss. Of ruining the relationships she's gained. Of the divide between Del and her friends growing so much that she can no longer bridge it, no longer allow the two halves of herself to intersect. Of one day becoming a mother and being, not only terrible at it, but also unable to protect and connect with her bairn when the glamour prevents her from looking like them. Would they think she was ashamed of them? Would glamouring them to protect them prove that thought right? She's getting better, though, about not running away and isolating herself. She's learning to trust the friends she has and that they won't eventually betray her or throw her away. She's not doing great at it. She's still taking on too much to prove her worth when she doesn't need to. But she's working through unlearning a lot of past behaviors and beliefs. There's still a long way to go, though. As much as people, in Aeranth especially, would find her drow form intimidating, Riven as she is isn't intimidating at all, even when she tries to be lol. But that's okay for a rogue. As frustrating as it is to be constantly underestimated, it's deeply satisfying when she sneaks someone to death with her 10,000 knives attack.

🍐 What is your OC’s mentality? Are they overall positive? Negative? A bit of both? Describe their thought patterns and reasoning behind their choice making!

Riven performs positivity a lot, both to make herself feel better but also because she's desperate for people to like her. But inwardly, she has a bit of a dark humor to her, a bit of a resigned mindset about the way things are—and also a renewed sense of idealism for the way things could be. Her thoughts have recently taken a turn toward being more genuinely positive, but her adolescence and early adulthood was, well. Let's just say she had dreams but she didn't have a lot of hope. There's a vein of sadness that runs deep within her. Because of that, Riven's never had much of a plan. She believed her life would be decided for her regardless of what she attempted. But never being anchored to any one goal made her quick and adaptable, which led to her picking up the rogue arts so easily. It was in her wheelhouse and it was a small way to rebel. Del shared many of these qualities with her, part of why they took to each other so quickly, but Riven is the more openly impulsive of the two. She doesn't think things through sometimes, saying the first thing that comes to mind, and she puts her foot in her mouth often. It's only recently that she's learned to act strategically, and only because she earnestly cares. Ricocheting constantly between doing the honorable thing and doing the cutthroat thing, this one. Whatever feels right.

💧 What is the earliest memory your OC can recall? Do they know what their first words were or remember where they took their first steps? Do they have any mementos of their childhood they’ve kept such as a stuffed toy or tiny baby clothes?

She has no recollection of her first year in the Underdark, of Avenzi, Krelyss, her da's mad flight to freedom, almost dying to fucking pollen, none of that. I think the earliest memories she can manage are cloudy ones a few years after. Erosen carrying her while she was small enough and he strong enough to do so. So many of the estate staff having accents like her and talking to her in their dialect. Playing with dirt in the courtyard because she was "gardening." Her da reading to her. Part of why her relationship with her da growing colder and more distant hurt so much was because she could remember when it wasn't like that between them. She likely has some of her childhood dresses shoved in the dark recesses of her closet, the tulle awfully stiff, the velvet faded. All that costume jewelry either got broken, lost, or tarnished. I know for a fact Erosen still has her favorite children's book he read to her in his personal study.

Celeste

🍒 What kind of things do they expect from their relationships? Does this differ between platonic relationships and romantic ones? Is your OC “demanding” or a door mat? What kinds of things do people expect from them in a relationship?

The primary word that comes to mind is meaning. If a relationship doesn't hold meaning for her, Celeste is quick to dismiss it. She also expects relationships to inevitably end one way or another. There's no great mourning for her about this. It's just a fact of life and doesn't prevent her from pursuing new relationships. You can get plenty of use out of people between now and whenever that end is. That being said, Celeste vastly, shall we say, trusts and prefers platonic relationships over romantic ones. A lover might die for you, but a true ally would defend and kill for you. She had her fun and frivolity when she was younger, but longevity isn't built on fun and frivolity. You have to be able to make hard choices and sacrifice to get what you want. Can you pick up that she is incredibly demanding? And why shouldn't she be? Much is demanded of her, after all. What people expect from her depends. Enemies would declare her a snake and expect her to act accordingly. Those under the protection of her House know that protection isn't offered freely, but nor is it offered duplicitously. Her family knows she is exacting and cold, but she acknowledges talent and rewards good work done in service of the family accordingly. (Oh, but, a certain member doesn't agree and believes she's the root of every unhappiness in his life.) It's not all backstabbing and assassinations in Twalan. Loyalty can and does exist. In fact, Celeste has been in a Very Dedicated Relationship since she was nineteen years old :3 Of course, now Celeste is not in Twalan. She's in limbo with a bunch of capable yet sentimental eccentrics she's not expecting much out of outside their shared desire for resolution. She does not expect them to take on her problems and currently believes whatever issues the rest of the party has is their private affair. She doesn't much care anymore what others expect of her here. If people want to see her as just a frail old woman, it's their funeral—or it would be, if death mattered here.

🔥 Give us a list of general likes and dislikes, such as colours, textures, music, weather and other stuff!

Celeste likes order and tidiness. Distractions and amusements. Power and safety. Loyalty and comfort. She dislikes ambiguity and not knowing where the threat lies. She hates anything that changes masters like one changes their small-clothes. She's also not loving the way magic seems to be shifting away from the arcane toward the technological. Makes her feel obsolete and other things we won't self-analyze right now <3 As for colors, well, black, wine red, gold, royal blue, plum purple. She'd look great in white, too, but those days are behind her, I fear. She enjoys velvets, suedes, silks, and leathers. Feathers, too, but practicality must come first for now. As for music, she has a classical ear and vastly prefers beautiful, sweeping, even tragic stringed compositions over whatever noise the kids are listening to these days. She misses operas in her reserved box. What she never thought she'd miss was the sea breeze misting the air and the salt in her nose. So easy to take for granted! She'd settle for freshwater rain at this point.

💙 What did your OC want to be when they grew up and why? Did they have any lifelong dreams or ambitions they never got to work on or are they currently working to achieve this dream? Has their life taken a very unexpected turn and put all these plans on hold for a while or have they given up on any dreams?

She wanted to not be murdered before she turned twenty. She wanted to matter. She wanted to be able to hurt others before they hurt her instead of the other way around. She wanted power, and security and safety in that power. She wanted to build something that would be sustainable without her. She did just that and was satisfied—until very recently. I think we can call the Worst Vacation Ever one hell of an unexpected turn, but it wasn't Celeste's first. There's a reason the party met her outside of Twalan, her birthplace and stomping ground, and there's a reason she hasn't flaunted her warlock status nor openly stated her family name. Leaving limbo completely out of it, Celeste feels more in the dark and unfulfilled than she's ever been. If it weren't for the sheer anger and indignity of it all, she would wonder why she should even care, about anything.

🌸 What does your OC’s voice sound like? Their laugh? Are they good at singing? Do they have an accent?

Celeste's voice has changed over the years. Now, it sounds lower, more throaty. She speaks with a bored drawl because she either IS bored or amused (it's also the upper-class snootiness coming out). Her laughter is restrained, haughty, condescending, pitying, or concealing. She might occasionally hum but doesn't sing. I don't think she experiences enough joy to either laugh genuinely or sing from the heart. Her accent is Twalanian nobility through and through, but there's something practiced about it, almost textbook.

#thank yoooouuuuu #god i wanna get back to playing celeste #we have so much to cover and so much friction to create #oc: riven arnor #oc: celeste [redacted]#campaign: last resort movers inc #campaign: the worst vacation ever #sycamorre

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editoress · 3 years

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The True Use of Diplomacy

Set in an unspecified D&D universe, starring the two hottest Mandalorians at this ball, who are both about to discover a weakness for drow. Yes, all right, I’m in love with @zacksfairest‘s OC Krelyss.

The trouble with Lady Ingris, delegate of the Star’s Peak elves, was that she was really too much. In a room full of ambassadors, dignitaries, and other people of note, all of whom were dressed in the finest their nations could afford, her dress was a piece of art. Dusky blue draped over her shoulders and blended slowly to an expensive true black as the dress descended. It even had gemstones sewn into the fabric where it met the floor, so that she trailed constellations carelessly behind her. More gemstones sparkled in a net over her platinum hair, and they always caught the light perfectly because she moved as though underwater, even slower than the unhurried grace of every other elf in the room. That, and her head was tilted up slightly so that she could look down at her interlocutor as if she were still atop her mountainous home.

It was all sort of elven behavior amplified a few notches, in Beth’s opinion. Living that long made one dramatic. In any case, her half-blooded friend had inherited none of these traits, and was in fact victim to Lady Ingris alongside Beth. The lady took in both Beth and Cassie in one piercing look and, in her most unbearable move yet, said, “Oh, Warsmiths! What a pleasant surprise to see you at a gathering like this.”

A minor problem was that she had called them Warsmiths instead of Mandane. Most all outsiders called their people Warsmiths. Beth had never quite figured out if there was any reason for that beyond a mass disinterest in remembering their actual name. She was accustomed to it, whatever the cause. The larger problem was that though Lady Ingris’s words said all that, her expression and tone said: I didn’t know anyone let you people come to nice events, but good on you for having something to wear besides greasy old armor, I suppose.

Accordingly, Cassie replied with brittle neutrality, “Thanks.”

“How could we miss it?” Beth piped up. And because it was something she could say and mean at the same time, she added, “Your dress looks lovely, Lady Ingris.”

“You honor me, but moreso our celestial tailors,” intoned the lady, who couldn’t just say thanks, it’s got pockets like a normal person. “Every century, they hone their craft with even more finesse.”

“I sure hope so,” said Beth. “Otherwise, what would they be doing up there?”

Cassie’s efforts not to snort in laughter were a tangible force beside her. Lady Ingris pursed her lips in a carefully timed silence, then offered, “As you say. I hope you enjoy the festivities.”

Beth was wordless with chagrin, so it was Cassie who said, “And you as well!” The genuine delight in her voice was from the muffled laughter. Lady Ingris perhaps sensed that she would not find a better note to end on than that, and so departed, floating ethereally through the crowds.

Cassie leaned into Beth as though imparting a secret so that she could laugh inconspicuously. “Do you know,” Beth said glumly to her quietly shaking friend, “that they sent me to help represent the Mandane because I can talk to anybody?”

Cassie patted her shoulder consolingly. “It’s not your fault no one has a sense of humor,” she said, rather than rightly pointing out that the clan leaders had been talking about Beth’s ability with languages rather than with people. “Anyway, they sent me, too.”

“Because,” Beth explained sagely, “you’re well-traveled and gorgeous.”

“Whatever,” Cassie huffed. But she looked just a tad bit pleased nonetheless. Her dark hair set off the green of her eyes, and its slight curl framed her features, which sat beautifully between elven delicateness and human definition. Beneath her golden ceremonial armor pieces, she wore a shade of red that had caused a servant to drop an entire tray of champagne glasses. “But I’m not a diplomat.”

“We don’t have any diplomats,” Beth pointed out.

“I know.” Cassie gestured to the hordes of experienced politicians and ambassadors all around them. “Lucky us.”

Beth found it easy to think of them as hordes. No more than twenty nations and thirty or so groups—tribes, city-states, and guilds—had sent representatives to the gathering. But each person sent had brought with them family, proteges, and attendants. An outright caravan had arrived from Gulthasa on the coast the night before. Meanwhile, the Mandan clan leaders had decided, after a lengthy argument, that the situation was important enough to warrant some presence. Some days later, Cassie and Beth had arrived at the dwarven capital, just the two of them, with all their belongings packed on their worgs.

Beth couldn’t complain about the destination. Konivald was truly the marvel its reputation promised. Only the very heights of the city broke ground level, most notably the top floor of the embassy hall in which they were gathered. The rest of Konivald had been lovingly and precisely carved out of the earth below. The walls were paneled with murals and the occasional thin sheet of rare stone. Gold and other precious metals gilded key points and sparkled in the alchemical lamplight. The cavernous ceilings, which dwarves preferred when they were showing off, reflected every sound with soft artistry, as though it were sung by a distant choir. Best of all, every inch of the building was perfectly symmetrical to the nearest anyone could calculate. Beth had crafted enough—and struggled enough with measurements—to appreciate that.

The ceremonial armor plates she wore now were not her own work. Each piece had been cut, shaped, and gilded by a specialist. Artistic armor was the finest clothing a Mandan could have, and there was nothing more diplomatic than wearing only a few statement pieces here and there, rather than full protection.

Cassie placed her empty glass into a small, inset dumbwaiter, which descended to the kitchens every fifteen minutes on the dot. “That’s enough mingling with Star’s Peak elves,” she decided. “Who’s next?”

It was a fair question. Thus far, they had spent their evening with the most obvious choices. The Sylvan elves had peppered Cassie with friendly questions about which side of her family was elven and whether she still knew anyone in the Feld. The orcs had warmed immediately when Beth spoke their language, though, according to them, she sounded like an old plains matron. And the dwarven hosts had been only too glad to ramble on about the luxuries Konivald had to offer.

Cassie called Beth’s attention in Mandan, and then, remembering herself, swapped to Dwarvish. “That looks fun.” Beth followed Cassie’s gaze. A few Gulthasans had drawn a crowd, and by the sound of it, everyone was entertained. The two Mandane joined the fringes of the group.

“Trying to unhitch the horses!” a man was exclaiming. He was older, with an easy manner and booming voice. His layered robes were brighter and more colorful than those of his younger colleagues. Everyone was paying him rapt attention. “Here we are, expecting to be robbed of our treasures or taken hostage—but they had no idea whom they had stopped! It was only fine horses they wanted. Well! I might have paid them pretty gold and jewels to leave the horses be. Diplomats and gifts are no good if they never reach the summit. But no one had any idea what to do. Half of us had never seen a gnoll before.”

A dwarf snickered under her breath, and that was all the prompting the Gulthasan needed to say, “It’s true! We are used to the dangers along the coast, and of course we have our river pirates.” Here he winked broadly, and based on the low laughter, Beth could guess he’d had an interesting youth. “But while we all sat on our hands, stunned by the appearance of gnolls, young Nefrid didn’t lose his head.” He beamed at the younger Gulthasan beside him.

Nefrid offered a somewhat embarrassed smile. “It wasn’t a very good idea,” he said. His accent was not as thick as the head ambassador’s.

His colleague clapped him on the back and addressed the crowd. “He walked right up to the biggest gnoll there was—I believe the fellow had a necklace of teeth—and asked, as if they were doing business, ‘How many horses do you intend to take?’

“The gnoll was confused, yes? One doesn’t often get customer complaints during a highway robbery. He said angrily, ‘All of them.’

“To which Nefrid replied, ‘Don’t you think that’s a little steep?’ and began to haggle with him!”

Everyone expressed appropriate surprise and amusement, except for a halfling, who called, “Lord Madumo, you told this story an hour ago, and it’s terrible!”

Madumo was not one to be put off by heckling, however. He only grew more jovial and replied, “Let our esteemed peers decide for themselves, my lady! I’ve almost finished. As I said, Nefrid was bargaining with the gnolls, who became altogether insulted and confused. Finally, they asked him what he thought was happening here. And he said—”

“He said he thought it was a road tax,” the halfling put in, beseeching.

“He did not,” Madumo retorted, eyes glittering with good humor. “He said he thought it was a gnoll toll.”

If there was more to the story, it was lost in the ensuing uproar. The halfling groaned loudly, along with Cassie. Beth doubled over with laughter. As soon as there was any hope of being heard, Madumo said, “Ah, but here are two of the famed Warsmiths to shame our caravan guard. I hope you won’t think less of us for our misfortune.”

“Not at all,” Beth assured him sincerely.

As though she were teasing one of their clan members, Cassie said, “Maybe for that joke.”

Madumo grinned at her. “What a way to make connections, eh? I have never had the good fortune to tell a Warsmith a joke. Let us go around at introductions again.”

Beth appreciated his graceful way of including them. It saved her and Cassie a good deal of meandering around the hall to be introduced to nearly a quarter of the guests at one time. And since Madumo had already put everyone in such a fine mood, they were amenable to using the Mandan title of verd for formal address—though Beth and Cassie insisted they be called by their given names rather than their clan. “Since we are both Verd Theron,” Beth explained.

“I like your style of diplomacy, Lord Madumo,” Cassie said. “Is this how you’ve been spending the evening?”

Madumo waved a hand. “This? Oh, yes. We’re all just killing time, aren’t we? Waiting for the main event.”

The impact of that statement proved its truth. It left a tangible charge of anticipation in the air. More than one aide turned unconsciously to look at the main entrance, and Beth had to restrain herself from doing the same. The Epardan aide, a very prim gnome who had bowed nearly to the ground when he introduced himself as Ricardi Valanse, admitted, “It’s so difficult to believe. I still expect the Konivash to announce it’s all a joke to get us together.”

Maris, a member of the Sylvan party, let out a breathy laugh. “Expensive joke!”

“Lord Valanse,” Madumo said lowly, as though scandalized, “you don’t trust our dwarven hosts?”

“It’s not that at all!” Valanse insisted. “But this has never been done! All those centuries of secrecy and warfare, with no official contact, and now they send word they want to emerge into society like a—like a youth coming into season? To—” He cut himself off, but they could all hear the plaintive ‘to the dwarves?’ regardless.

Nefrid certainly caught it, and gave the gnome a keen look. “To their nearest neighbors,” he continued smoothly, “presumably since they have had no ties or favor with anyone.”

“How else should they do it?” Beth asked without rancor.

Valanse was clearly feeling beset on all sides; he whirled around like a top to face Beth. “What?”

“I mean if they want to emerge into society,” she explained. “Begin diplomatic relationships and join the embassies we have. How else should they do it, besides sending a letter that says, ‘Hello, we’d like to come up’?”

“It’s a bit of a simple approach,” Valanse muttered in a tone that implied he thought the Mandane would be suited to it.

“That’s sometimes best,” Madumo said wisely. “And regardless, here we are!”

“It begins tonight, doesn’t it?” Maris asked.

Madumo’s halfling heckler, Nicolette of House Barr, clicked her tongue. “If they’ve arrived.”

“They arrived,” Cassie replied casually.

All heads turned in her direction. “Have you heard something, Verd Cassandra?” Madumo asked. “From whom?”

“I have my sources,” she said, almost smug. Beth smiled proudly. Cassie’s sources were that she talked to servants instead of ignoring them. Cassie continued, “They arrived a few hours ago. They’ve been settling in and preparing for the event.”

An excited murmur ran through the group, gaining momentum as it went. Even Valanse glanced at the main door again. The excitement emerged into scattered questions. “Does anyone know what they look like?” “I was told they’ll speak Dwarvish; is that right?” “How many are they sending?” “There won’t be any soldiers, will there?”

Beth couldn’t pretend to be above it all. She was as curious as the rest of them. Besides that, she and Cassie had a duty to observe whatever she could and make a thorough report back to the clans. Granted, the clans would be most interested in whether there was a threat to worry about, but it was best to be nosy about everything else, too. She just barely remembered not to shoulder Cassie in time—thus saving their exquisite ceremonial pauldrons from being clanged together like ordinary iron. Instead, she nudged her friend’s arm to give her an eager look, one very similar to their wordless exchange before a battle. Cassie’s expression was bright and intent.

“Esteemed guests!” called a tremendous, ringing voice throughout the hall.

Everyone fell silent and turned. A Konivash dwarf stood by the entrance with an elaborately braided red beard and a shirt of silver chain so fine it could have been knitted cloth. Like all dwarves, he had the trick of throwing his voice long distances through the acoustics of a place, so everyone could hear him with perfect clarity. He bowed. “Thank you for attending this historic event. We hope you have enjoyed our hospitality so far. But I won’t delay any further with pleasantries. The time has come to announce the guests of honor.”

The silence was impenetrable. The dwarf nodded, and the double doors opened. Every minute catch of the hinges seemed thunderous. No one so much as moved.

“Please welcome the representatives of Imperial Natan of the Underdark.”

A strange retinue stepped forward into the lamplight. They were elves—or at least, they were tall and graceful, and their ears tapered to points. But they were unlike any elves Beth had ever seen. Each of them had dark skin in varying hues and stark white hair. There were perhaps a dozen, and among them only three men that Beth could see. A woman stood at the forefront, where she gave a very slight, shallow bow to the room at large. She wore draping black clothing held together with gold clasps. It was striking against the dark blue of her skin.

“Lady Reza Talassan, ambassador of Natan,” the dwarf announced. “Lady Desan Vatell, her aide.” Another woman, decorated with less gold, bowed. And so it went—aide, interpreter, husband, child. One by one, the dwarf called out names and titles, and the corresponding drow stepped forward to bow in greeting. Mother Lorent was a high priestess, clad in long robes that shadowed her face. The black of her attire was interrupted only by the occasional dark shine of rubies. “And her acolytes,” the dwarf added, “who, for religious reasons, will go unnamed.” Three faceless forms bowed in unison.

“General Krelyss Malaedair,” said the dwarf.

Beth could have guessed who it was as soon as she heard the title. It seemed all cultures had similar ideas of military dress uniform, and the man who responded to the name wore practical, clean, close-fitted clothes lined at the collar and sleeves with silver. He bowed shortly but without reserve, as if beginning a duel.

“Lord Zaresh Malaedair, his son,” the dwarf continued. And indeed, when the final figure came to stand beside the general, the resemblance was uncanny even from a distance. Father and son were of a height and had the same purple-toned dark skin, though the son was more slender. The younger Malaedair was also certainly not in dress uniform, nor in the strict black that most of the other drow wore. His fine coat was a dark blue, embroidered with silver. The collar and sleeves of a pale blue shirt showed through. The effect was dashing, and the angle of his chin showed that he knew it.

“Please welcome all of these guests to our embassy,” the dwarf continued. There was a certain firm note in his voice. “I have assured them that everyone here speaks Dwarvish and will do so exclusively. The ballroom will open shortly. In the meantime,” he concluded, addressing the drow party but loud enough for all, “please partake in the refreshments and enjoy the company. We thank you.”

Lady Talassan let barely a moment pass before she moved forward, her head held high enough to rival Lady Ingris. Beth had to respect it as a first impression. The ambassadors of the surface had been strategizing how to get to the Natan party without mobbing them, but now they stood frozen while Lady Talassan surveyed them. The light reflected oddly in her eyes, and as she came closer, Beth realized that her irises were a bright, unearthly red.

Those eyes fixed on a Mondian diplomat, a middle-aged human woman who moved to meet her as if called. “Lady Talassan,” the human said in musical Dwarvish, “allow me to welcome you and your compatriots to this summit in your honor.”

Talassan nodded. “Thank you,” she replied. She spoke precisely in an even-toned contralto voice. “We accept your hospitality.”

The Mondian gave off an air of quiet victory. She turned to gesture graciously to one of the tables and said mildly, “I hope our hosts have provided refreshments according to your tastes as well as ours.”

Beth tuned out the Natan ambassador’s equally mild reply to search out the rest of the drow. They were drifting into the gathering, quiet and alien. She could see the moment when those nearby caught sight of their eye color. Like their lead ambassador, none of them bent to examination or reaction. Wariness and quick calculation rippled through the room, and it was followed by renewed determination. No one would give up the chance to establish real contact with the drow—that, and extract vital answers from behind friendly smiles. Beth leaned toward Cassie and murmured, “I think we’re about to get our money’s worth.”

“This was free,” Cassie pointed out.

Beth couldn’t help but notice that the Natan general was being crowded. The same was true of almost all of the Natan party, of course, the exception being the religious acolytes. The faceless trio was equally off-putting to everyone, it seemed. But diplomatic adaptability, or perhaps sheer curiosity, had quickly cured the masses of any aversion to the drows’ unfamiliar appearance at large. The ambassador and her aide were each surrounded, patiently sipping wine and answering questions. The general’s son entertained a group of women with a sharp kind of smugness. The high priestess’s interpreter was already working up a sweat trying to field both sides of several conversations.

Yet it was the general who caught Beth’s attention. She had to admit to herself that it was in part a shallow concern; he was exceedingly handsome, and had an attractively Mandan air about him besides. Too, he was visibly more hesitant to reply to his interlocutors. This could have been because he was struggling with Dwarvish. Beth suspected that the true reason was that he was being asked rather pointed questions. After all, it wasn’t Imperial Natan’s culture and religion that had brought everyone here. After centuries of mistrust and skirmishes, they wanted to know what kind of threat the drow might still pose. Beth and Cassie had been sent for the very purpose of finding out.

But even Beth, forthright as she was, wouldn’t have mobbed the general with obvious suspicion over it. For one, it made a poor welcome. For another, it put conflict in the drows’ minds where there may not necessarily have been any. Most importantly, Beth’s sympathy was quickly overriding what little political sense she had.

The Mandane had a brutish reputation, so a little shouldering to get to the forefront of the crowd shocked no one. What she heard along the way confirmed her suspicions. Innocuous words sought military numbers.

“I assume diplomatic duties are new to you? Very different from what you’re used to, I’m sure! What would you do ordinarily?”

“I’m curious, is ‘general’ a very high rank in Natan? My old uncle was a general in his day, but it was only for show. He was in charge of a mere four hundred. No doubt you have more.”

“I hope Natan didn’t send their only general away to a party, aha!”

“General Malaedair, wasn’t it?” Beth boomed with her tried and true brand of bullish cheer. It cut through everyone else’s chatter. She sidled up to stand before him. “Glad to see everyone’s getting along. Standing shoulder to shoulder on the matter, actually. I could hardly get over here. Would you like to dance?”

The general studied her silently, and Beth was privately glad to have bulldozed through all that while she still had the momentum. The red of his irises against his dark skin made his gaze seem sharper than it might have otherwise. The weight of it, on the other hand, was no illusion. Beth endured being gravely examined. She gave him no prompting but to indicate the main floor of the ballroom, where people necessarily had the breathing room to perform the dances. He took that in, too, and comprehension crossed his expression. “Yes,” he rumbled, “thank you.”

Beth took his hand. The other diplomats reluctantly parted for them. Beth cocked her head, listening for the strings and horns at the other end of the ballroom. The dancers already present were swaying gracefully. “This is the Epardan two-step.”

The general hummed in acknowledgement, which didn’t help her any. She informed him, “I know the basics. Are we going to be any good, or shall we pretend at it?”

The general’s eyes angled slightly in amusement. “I know it.”

“Oh, good.” She tried a smile on him. He did not return it, but she didn’t get the sense it was wasted, either.

General Malaedair took her hand, she took his opposite shoulder, and they joined the passing couples on the ballroom floor. Beth was not by any means an extraordinary dancer, but she had enough practice memorizing footwork for fighting forms that she was passable. It was enough skill to let her follow the general’s lead.

“I’m Beth Theron,” she said belatedly, “of the Mandane. Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I hope you don’t mind my pulling you away like that, General.”

“I don’t mind.” His voice was not supremely deep, but its timbre was. “I appreciate it, in fact.” He was a better dancer than her, though his skill spoke of the same militant origins. The general moved with a grace born of precision, immovable yet never exerting more pressure on her hand and waist than was needed to lead. “They are right. I have no experience with diplomacy.”

“Nor do I!” Beth said in great relief. Before she could think any better of it, she said, “So you won’t mind if we discard politics for the moment?”

He did not appear convinced, and rightfully so. Political pursuits so rarely came handily labeled, after all. His tone remained formal and polite. “Of course, my lady.”

“Thank you,” she replied, feeling she had to nip that in the bud before she became accustomed to those words in his voice, “but I’m not a lady. My only title is verd, which means ‘warrior.’”

His eyes brightened with interest. “Are you?”

“First and foremost,” she confirmed. “Most of us are—or are trained, at least. It makes us a little unpopular, but I enjoy it. I’ve even been an instructor.”

“What have you studied?”

“Hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, some mounted fighting here and there. Archery, too, though to this day I need my opponent to be obligingly close and still. That’s more my sister’s forte.”

“Your sister?”

“Cassie Theron.” Beth craned her neck around as they slowly spun. A flash of daring red revealed Cassie as she walked, probably getting closer to the ensemble so she could listen to the music properly. The young lord Malaedair was following her with his eyes, too. “There she is. Gorgeous swordmaster and archer extraordinaire; you can’t miss her.”

Fondness wrought an incredible change on the general. His regard warmed her suddenly, more than it should have. “You are close?”

“Awfully. We hardly ever have a bad idea without each other.”

General Malaedair came closer than ever to a smile. Beth wondered what it would take to draw it to the surface. The gathering would last three more days, so she had that long to find out. She tried, “Your son’s very popular.”

Another glance showed Lord Malaedair scanning the ballroom over the heads of half a dozen eager ladies. Beth returned her attention to the general just in time to witness his own glance. Both the brief look and the slight, concerned line in his brow seemed involuntary—ingrained paternal habit. Beth strove not to be entirely charmed by it. “It appears so,” the general said. “That’s… not unusual.”

His neutral way of acknowledging that his son was astonishingly handsome. The apple didn’t fall very far from the tree, Beth thought, but thankfully she had the sense not to say it. “Good for him,” she said instead. “I’m glad you’re both here. If you’ve got to come to a party full of strangers, it’s best to bring a bit of family with you.”

General Malaedair was silent for so long that Beth feared she had finally talked too much; but then the corners of his eyes creased. Was that—? “I agree,” he intoned.

Beth beamed. She luxuriated in the lingering final note of the song for a moment before realizing that it meant the dance was over. Accordingly, she dropped her hand from the general’s broad shoulder. “It’d be rude to monopolize your time,” she admitted, “but find me if you want to avoid interrogation again, General. I’ll tell you all about worgs, or my unfortunate attempts with a scythe.”

He took a step back without releasing her hand. He examined her with the same weighty, patient consideration that he had first leveled her with. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world despite her strangled noise of surprise, he bowed over her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles. “I will,” he said solemnly, “Verd.”

“Just—Beth,” she managed, “is fine. Really.”

He released her hand and did not seem to see how she nervously tucked it against her stomach. At last he decided, “Please call me Krelyss.” He bowed slightly.

On instinct, she put her fist over her heart in a salute. The sound of her faint echo of “Krelyss” followed him back into the masses. Beth stood there in a thoughtful daze until an impatient dragonborn cleared his throat loudly, which was an alarming sound at the best of times. She scampered off the main dance floor and, without making any conscious decision to do so, began looking for Cassie.

Beth had walked nearly around the ballroom, getting plenty of practice in polite Dwarvish phrases all the way, before she saw her sister. Cassie was marching right at her, cheeks flushed and mouth in a taut line. They met in the middle. Before Beth could utter a single word, Cassie announced, “I’m in trouble.”

If she had meant danger, she would have handled it and made a fuss besides. Instead, she took a deep breath and covered her face with both hands, which didn’t hide how pink her pointed ears were getting.

“Oh, no,” groaned Beth. “Not you, too.”

#self insert weekend #dnd adventures #finest crafts #the intro is too long but I became enamored of my own side character #otp: take care of my heart in the meantime

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