#paladin dance

[mentatss]

paladin danse from... behind? theres no way to make that sound good

[bleh1bleh2]

Her <3

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith walks into the briefing room expecting very little. They still have a couple days until their nearest big mission, and they’ve already planned it ad nauseam, so he isn’t sure what Allura needs to discuss.

But, black paladin or not, Keith knows damn well that Allura’s the boss, so. To the briefing room he goes.

He’s greeted with a beaming smile from Lance the second he walks through the door, which is surprising for a few reasons, but largely because last time he checked, he was firmly on Lance’s shit list. (They’d had an argument last night while Lance was on kitchen clean-up duty that had ended with Lance scooping a pot of dirty dishwater and dumping it over Keith’s head before storming out. So. How Lance went from absolutely furious to smiling at Keith like Keith was the sun after a storm was a mystery, but Keith has always thrived when Lance gave him any attention, so he decides not to question it.)

“Come sit next to me,” Lance offers, and obviously Keith does not hesitate to do so. The second he sits down, Lance reaches over and wraps his arm tightly around Keith’s, then hooks his ankle around the leg of Keith’s chair, yanking him closer.

Damn, someone’s in a magically wonderful mood, Keith thinks, pleased.

Before he can ask Lance what has him to happy, Allura strides into the room, straight to her place at the head of the table, and starts the briefing immediately.

“Alright, everyone. This briefing is going to be about a new mission we’ve just received. We’re expected to make an extended appearance at the Ghuwa System’s ball.”

Lance’s hold tightens as soon as Allura finishes her sentence, and suddenly his ‘magically wonderful mood’ makes perfect sense.

Oh, that motherfucker.

“You are a snake,” he hisses to Lance, who smirks and does not look at him.

“Shut up and pay attention,” he whispers back.

Keith does, but barely, busy fuming at Lance for setting him up.

What a butthead.

Usually, when anything even remotely suggesting a ball or dance or gala or whatever the fuck leaves Allura’s mouth, Keith finds a way to get the hell out of the room. Whether it be subtly inducing an argument between Pidge and Hunk so he can slip away unnoticed, or straight-up just leaving, he finds a way to not be involved.

And, yeah. He knows it’s a little immature. But he fucking hates stupid dances, and he’s fucking right to hate them. For starters, they are a massive waste of time. They had a war to win. Why the fuck are they spending literally any time at all twirling around a dance floor, or whatever? Secondly, and admittedly more selfishly, is that Keith just didn’t… do dances. He doesn’t know how, and standing awkwardly on the sidelines makes him uncomfortable. It’s not like he’s serving any great purpose, either. In the early days of Voltron, he’d make his presence for twenty or so minutes, then informed Shiro he was going to the washroom and just never come back. And it wasn’t an issue! Treaties were always signed, alliances always went through, with or without his presence. It was literally, in every sense of the word, a massive waste of his time.

“Some of us,” Allura says, pointedly looking at the space just above Keith’s head, “have been… flaky, in the past, in regards to these missions. And because I am endlessly benevolent —”

Lance snorts, making Allura whip a pen at his head without looking, nailing him square in the forehead. A dark satisfaction rises up in Keith’s chest.

That’s what you get, you backstabber.

“Endlessly benevolent,” Allura repeats, “so I have let it slide. But that won’t work anymore. Some of you are the leader of Voltron, now, it would be in the best interest of this mysterious person or persons to show up to these missions without complaining.”

“How come I can’t complain?” Keith protests. “I should be allowed to complain a little!”

“Who says I’m talking about you?”

“How many other leaders of Voltron are you referencing?!”

Allura shrugs, heavy amusement in her eyes giving her away. “Who knows. Anyways. The ball is tomorrow night, you’re expected to dress formally and each of you will be expected to dance at least once.” This time, she looks pointedly in Pidge’s direction. “That also means that certain tiny geniuses cannot hide behind their tall engineer friend.”

Pidge huffs. “I do not hide behind Hunk.”

“You really do,” Hunk says apologetically. “Sorry, man.”

“If that’s all, Princess,” Lance says before Pidge can argue, “Keith and I have somewhere to be?”

Oh, shit.

“That’s right,” Allura says, smirking a little. “You’re free to go.”

Double oh, shit.

“Or you could just execute me,” Keith offers.

Allura, Pidge, and Hunk all snigger, while Lance rolls his eyes and yanks Keith to his feet.

“You are the most dramatic person on this ship,” he says, which coming from him is the equivalent of a whale telling a dolphin it should lose a few pounds.

“That’s a dollar in the ridiculously strange cowboy idiom jar,” Lance says, dragging him down a mess of hallways, and Keith scowls.

“My idioms are normal.”

“They’re really not, dude. The six hundred twenty-two dollars you currently to the jar prove otherwise.

“I do not owe six hundred fucking dollars to the jar!” Keith protests, and he knows he’s right when Lance smirks.

“Right. You owe six hundred twenty-two.”

“I’ll give you an idiom. How about you shove your lying tongue right up my —”

“We’re here,” Lance interrupts, visibly holding back laughter.

Jerk.

Huffing and generously deciding to drop it, Keith looks around. ‘Here’ seems to be — an atrium, of some sort?

“I know part of the reason these diplomatic missions freak you out is because they make you uncomfortable,” Lance says matter-of-factly. “I can’t fix that, but I might be able to help.”

“I hate the diplomatic missions because they’re a waste of time,” Keith argues.

Lance sighs, shoulders slumping, and suddenly all the stress is visible on his face, tense lines furrowing his brow and deepening his frown.

“Look, man. I know — I know it feels like we’ve gotta be fighting 24/7. But that’s not what war is. Not all of it, anyway.” Dark brown eyes lock onto Keith’s, tired and anxious. “Do you have any idea how fucking scary we are?”

Keith blinks. That’s… not at all what he was expecting.

“What?”

“Dude, imagine something for a second. Imagine there was this group of aliens on Earth. They each piloted their own insanely intricate and supernatural mecha-vehicle — sentient mecha-vehicle — and can combine to make a weapon of war equivalent to what is essentially and armoured tank that can shoot nuclear bombs. And each of these mechas is piloted by an alien with different, intense levels of strengths. One of them is a genius engineer, who can build anything out of scraps. One’s basically a walking supercomputer and can hack into anything with a code. One’s a shapeshifting, superstrength-having, royally-raised warrior. Another team member isn’t a pilot, but has the cultural information of basically every planet to ever trade in the universe. And one of their pilots is this unbelievably skilled prodigy who can out-manoeuvre any opponent to ever sit in an aircraft. Keith,” Lance holds his hands up, exhausted and exasperated. “Keith, can’t you see the fucking power we hold? I think we take it for granted. We are the only thing that can stand against Zarkon’s Empire. Just Voltron. That’s it. Dude, people are terrified of us. Don’t you see?”

“You missed one,” Keith says quietly, which is really kind of off-topic but the only thing he can think to say.

“What?”

“A pilot. Hunk, Pidge, Allura, me. You even got Coran. You missed one.”

Lance’s face turns pained. “I didn’t mean — I didn’t mean to exclude Shiro. Fuck. I just meant currently. But you’re right — once we find him again, our other pilot is going to be the Champion. Who the fuck could stand a chance against the Champion?”

“No, Lance,” Keith says, voice a little urgent. “I mean, yeah, sure, of course Shiro’s powerful, but. I meant you. In your original lineup, you forgot to mention yourself.”

“Oh, sure.” Lance flaps a dismissive hand. “I can shoot, I can pilot, I’m a fucking paladin. Of course I’m up there.”

Keith shifts uncomfortably. There’s something…off, there, but Keith can’t pinpoint it. He’s not sure he’d be able to bring it up, even if he could.

(But there’s something there in the way Lance doesn’t count himself among the rest of them.)

“But you get what I’m saying, right?” Lance continues. “We’re scary as shit. Sure, we say we’re fighting Zarkon, but how the hell are civilians supposed to trust us?”

“I mean, we very much do fight Zarkon. We’re not just saying that. They should be able to trust our actions, if not our words — we do fight him.”

“For what purpose?” Lance counters. “Most of these people have either been brutally colonized and been victims of genocide, or have been under that threat. They’ve spent the last ten thousand years — think about that for a goddamn second, some of these planets have been enslaved by Zarkon for longer that humans have had widespread civilizations — with the only truth that powerful people use power to hurt people. Why the hell would they assume that we want to do anything but take Zarkon’s place? Why would they assume that we want to stop him for any reason other than to make our own empire? I mean, look at any human war! Do you know who it was to overthrow Stalin?”

“Hitler,” Keith says quietly.

“Exactly. And millions of people rejoiced when he did, only to be blindsided by his real reason for overthrowing Stalin’s empire. You can’t blame people for wanting to — for lack of a better word — humanize us, Keith. They’re terrified, and they desperately want to trust us, but they have no reason to.”

Keith lets that sit in the air between them for a moment, because holy shit.

“I never thought of it that way,” he admits.

Lance smiles, but there’s no joy behind it. “I know. That’s why I explained it. I’m not mad at you, man. None of us are. Hell, I had to explain this exact thing to Pidge a couple months ago. It’s hard to conceptualize how anyone else might be thinking of us.”

“Not for you, though. You had no issue figuring this out on your own.”

“Eh. My mother is a history professor. I’m familiar with the facets of war. I had a leg up on you.”

“Still.”

“Seriously, Keith, it’s fine. I didn’t come here to make you all guilty, or whatever. I know you’re going to take this seriously. I trust you. I came here to teach you how to dance.”

It’s such an abrupt subject change that it take Keith a second and a half to process it.

“Wait — really?”

Lance hums in affirmation, stepping over to the side to fiddle with some sort of device. “Yep. I figured half the reason you hate these things so much is because you don’t know how to have fun at them.”

“That’s because there’s no way to have fun at them,” Keith says stubbornly. “I’ll take them seriously —” because there’s no way he can not, now, not with that startling perspective Lance put in his head — “but that’s it. I’ll show up and not glare at people. Boom! Now I’m not scary.”

“Not gonna cut it, batboy,” Lance says, amused. “You’re the leader of Voltron, now. People are expecting you to lead us. Part of that is leading by example. Ergo — you’re expected to dance.”

“Well, then, the only thing this mission is going to accomplish is to make this planet lose all faith in us, because I will not be the shining example of elegance!”

“That’s why I’m teaching you,” Lance says easily, apparently very used to Keith’s freak-outs.

Which. Is kind of a nice feeling, if Keith’s being honest.

“How the hell are you going to teach me how to dance enough for me to not look like a fool?”

Lance pauses his fiddling to look at Keith firmly. “Keith. Chill out a goddamn second. Take a deep breath.”

Keith does.

“Good. Now, listen to me. I am not going to attempt to teach you every dance known to man and beyond in the next couple of hours, okay? I’m just going to teach you to waltz. It’s easy, it’s a staple at every ball we’ve been to, and it’s genuinely kind of hard to fuck up. Plus, if I can just get this damn thing working —“ Lance glares at the device, hands on his hips and eyes crossed in frustration — “this song in particular actually has the dance instructions in the lyrics.”

Keith blinks. There’s only one song Keith can think of with waltzing instructions in the lyrics. But that would be ridiculous.

Is he —?

No.

No way.

Right?

“Aha!”

Lance grins as steady hi-hats begin to sound out of hidden speakers, along with a simple guitar melody.

Holy shit. He is.

“Are you seriously going to teach me to waltz using a song from High School Musical 3?”

“Are you seriously able to recognize this song after three notes?” Lance shoots back immediately.

And, well.

Keith — 1124. Lance — 1345.

(Keith’s been having something of a rough couple weeks. He’ll catch up. Probably.)

“Touché,” he says eventually, and Lance laughs as he walks over to Keith, humming along to the music.

“Take my hand,” he sings, along with Vanessa Hudgens.

“Are we seriously doing this.”

“Take a breath,” Lance sings louder, and Keith huffs before conceding. His dance lessons will be accompanied by one exclusive serenade by Lance McClain, apparently.

That’s…fine. His heart can definitely handle that.

“Pull me close, and take one step.”

Keith bites his lip and does as Lance instructs, and — oh, God. He lied to himself. His heart can most definitely not handle that.

He hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels, even though he knows it is.

“Wait, am I leading?” Keith asks, because that seems… odd, even though he definitely is.

Lance doesn’t answer, but does carefully untangle one of his hands, and then raises it to Keith’s face, gently tilting it up to face his.

“Keep your eyes locked on mine,” he sings, quieter than before, “and let the music be your guide.”

Keith goes mute, any and all questions dying in his throat, as he looks into Lance’s face and feels his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest.

As the song crests into a duet, less of a dancing instruction and more clearly a love song, Lance fades into humming, keeping his hold onto Keith and occasionally correcting his stance as Keith twirls then around in wide circles.

“You’re doing great,” Lance says softly. “See? Not so hard.”

Not physically, sure.

But emotionally?

“Surprised I haven’t lead you straight into a wall,” Keith manages to choke out, and Lance smiles.

“Leading’s actually easier than following, when you waltz,” he whispers, like it’s a secret, something only Keith can hear. “See, cause I’m doing everything you’re doing, but backwards.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Here, let’s step it up.”

Keith’s not sure if he’ll be able to handle that, honestly, but he can barely even keep his breath even, so he can’t bring himself to focus hard enough to protest.

“Okay, so you’ve got on hand in my waist and one hand in mine, right?”

Oh, believe me, Lance, Keith thinks hysterically, I know.

“On the next downbeat, you’re going to lift the hand in mine above our heads and let go of my waist, okay?”

Lance barely gives him time to nod before the downbeat hits and Lance twirls neatly under their raised arms.

“Okay, now you can put your hand back on my waist. Easy, see? But it looks real fancy for everyone else.”

Keith’s skin burns through his shirt when Lance’s hand comes back to rest on his shoulder. He wonders if his hand burns Lance’s waist just as fiercely.

“God, Keith, you’re killing it! You’re a natural. Makes sense, seeing how easily you fight. Fighting and dancing are cousins.”

Lance smiles so brightly, looking at Keith with so much pride and — and affection, in his eyes, and Keith can barely understand what compels him to do it but he can no more stop it than he can stop his heart from beating, his lungs from filling; when the song swells, Troy and Gabriella’s voices twirling together in passionate harmony, Keith dips Lance.

Just. Leans forward and drapes Lance over his arm.

Lance’s lips part in shock, and he stares up at Keith, stunned but — trusting.

Keith swallows roughly. He should — he should pull Lance back up. Keep dancing. A dip would make sense, would be explainable. They’re waltzing, after all. But the longer Keith holds the position, the less he can explain himself.

He can’t bring himself to pull away.

“Keith?” Lance asks, but he doesn’t sound confused. He doesn’t sound like he’s asking Keith what he’s doing. More like — more like asking permission.

“Yeah, Lance,” Keith whispers.

Granting it.

Lance sighs, and his eyes close, and — “Don’t drop me, Red,” —then he’s tilting his head up and pressing his lips to Keith’s.

Keith tightens his hold around Lance’s waist, pressing back just as gently.

“Never.”

[nataliens]

Translate:

Question: Do you like to listen to the radio? if so, do you have a favorite song?

Oh, yes, I like listening to Diamond City Radio. I even envy Nate that he always has a radio with him, in a pip-boy...

During leisure time, I love these 2 songs

Ring Being You Baby/Anything Goes

[dreadninjart]

WIP. A moment from the last session.

[criticalrolo]

for someone who looooooves religion in dnd, I really don't play very many characters who are particularly religious? I've found that my niche is always characters who are extremely religion adjacent. Like Thalia is an angel with divine smiting powers, but she's a sorcerer/warlock, not a paladin. Odysseus is a priest, but he's a fighter, not a cleric. Sigrun follows the old gods and her mother calls herself Godsborn, but Sigrun is a rogue/warlock/paladin who swore an oath to her dead father, and the connection to the gods is much more Incidental. Just something interesting to think about

[0xy--m0r0n]

half elf prince matthew holt and his human paladin, sir takashi shirogane ⭐

as a bonus: the background bc im really proud of it :)))

i love these two so much and i reall wish they'd get more attention agdhjg

anyway enjoy some royal dnd shatt!!!!

[judithchopsley]

made an Eilistraean drow ancients paladin/swords bard and i think she is the nicest possible character ive ever played. i have the option to be achingly sweet in almost every dialogue this RULES

ive never been a dick in this game, but the Ultimate Goody Two-Shoes arc is in full swing

[vixlenxe]

It's just funny that my biggest whore muse across both of my blogs is also a paladin. She's just the biggest sinner, while also being the holiest knight.

[forcedhesitation]

playing normal difficulty is so much more fun. I am glad I did explorer my first time, because I needed to learn! but it's nice to be able to mess around with the classes now that I understand the game mechanics better.

[faerie-fang]

this character of mine has kind of become the culmination of all my gender envy, euphoria, and aspirations ✨ my gender avatar??

anyways -- zephyr, god of revelry with a minor in mischief ✨🥳😈

[warlordfelwinter]

Tales from the Dancing Sea Dragon

Part One: Dragon Heist

Chapter Five: Pastries and Premonitions

--

and thus begins celeste hyperfocusing on tiamat to everyone else's annoyance

~3k words

--

Celeste wasn’t lucky. 

When he woke up, he laid in bed for a while, staring at the star chart patterns on his ceiling. He hadn’t slept well, woken by every little noise in the house, half expecting to find a knife at his throat or a tiny dragon lighting things on fire. As a result, he was still tired. He could only hope that their business in the Dock Ward would be quick and easy.

He stretched, arms over his head, arching his back up, and then sat up, folding over into another stretch. He got out of bed and opened the curtains, finding the bright sunlight of mid-morning. As he got dressed and braided his hair, he listened for any noise from downstairs but heard nothing. The other two must still be asleep. 

Celeste trotted quietly down the stairs, or as quietly as he could with the bangles on his ankles jangling against each other, and peered into the studio, holding his breath and praying the dragon was a dream. 

She wasn’t. As soon as he stepped into the doorframe, Zem, curled up in Corivier’s lap as he meditated, lifted her head. She squeaked in surprise as she saw him and vanished. Celeste blinked, startled. He waited several moments and eventually the little dragon faded back into view. 

“How did you do that?” Celeste whispered, not wanting to disturb Corivier or Nyalori. He knew elves didn’t sleep, exactly, but he assumed this meditation was a close enough analogue. Zem stared at him, and then blinked and relaxed. She seemed already bigger than she had been last night. 

“Can you understand me?” he asked softly. 

He felt her presence in his mind again, and again her thoughts and feelings translated into words he could understand. 

Yes, I can understand you. I don’t know how I did that.

“Oh, well, that’s okay,” Celeste said. “Listen, I’m going to go get you some breakfast.” 

Zem perked up, tail wiggling excitedly. 

“You stay here,” he said, and she dropped back down in mild dejection. “I’ll be quick, I promise. But if they wake up while I’m gone I’ll need you to tell them that I’m coming back, ok?” 

He felt assent from her and then she withdrew from his mind. Celeste headed down to the main floor and went straight outside. He wasn’t entirely lying, he did need to find the dragon something to eat since she had cleaned out his meager pantry the night before, but it wasn’t all he was thinking about. 

He was worried about the wards. He was becoming more and more convinced that Hanala’s vision of Waterdeep in flames would be caused by a dragon. Waterdeep should be safe from dragons, but if Zem was able to get in, perhaps there was something wrong with the magic. Celeste knew little to nothing about it, but he knew someone who might be able to help him with both problems. 

He trotted down his front steps and went to the next house over, rapping his knuckles lightly on Efni’s front door. It opened after only a moment to an old woman with weathered brown skin and grey hair. She was dressed for the day, a simple embroidered dress and apron over a frame that had only just begun to bend with age, but that she still carried with a bearing that spoke to her past adventures. 

“Oh, Celeste!” she said, surprised. “Good morning, dear! Always good to see you.” 

“Kaliméra, giagiá,” Celeste said. “Listen, I have sort of a strange question for you. Actually, a few.” 

Efni chuckled. “Almost everything you ask me is strange, dear.” 

Celeste smiled, unable to argue with that. “First off, do you have any food I could have? Meat, specifically, I think. A lot of it. I need…” he faltered, not sure how to admit he had a dragon in his house. “I mean, you know me, I don’t keep any food around and…” 

“Oh, I know, I know,” Efni said, shaking her head. “I’m always telling you you need to keep something stocked, I mean what are you going to do if you have guests over—” she stopped and gasped and then looked at Celeste with a slowly growing smile on her face. “Does this mean you have guests ?” she asked, sounding almost proud.

Celeste smiled faintly, well aware that Efni had been concerned about how he’d been isolating himself after coming back from Baldur’s Gate. “Yes… and a dragon.” 

“You—” she stopped. “Did you say a dragon ?” 

“A little one,” he said, nodding and holding his hands up to demonstrate Zem’s size. 

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “The situations you get yourself into… Come inside, dear, I think I have something for you.” 

Celeste followed Efni inside and she led him back through to the kitchen. He sat on the counter, helping himself to a scone, while she disappeared into the pantry. 

“All right, well, for now, you can have this,” Efni said, coming back out holding an entire goat’s leg, wrapped in paper and twine. “I was planning on roasting the whole thing, but this seems a little more urgent. And I’ll head to the market today and get some things for your icebox. And some ice, because I highly doubt you’ve any left.” 

“Thank you, giagiá,” Celeste said, somewhat sheepishly. “Do you know anything about the dragon wards?” he asked. “I was wondering how she was able to get in, since dragons aren’t supposed to be able to come into Waterdeep. Her… hm. I don’t want to say owner. The person who had her egg, Corivier, he said he didn’t even know it was an egg and got into the city just fine. Do you think eggs can get through?” 

“Hmm…” Efni hummed. She sat the goat’s leg on the counter next to him, looking thoughtful. “That could be, that could be. What color is she?” 

“Silver.” 

“Ahh… I wonder… It could also be that the dragon wards only keep out certain colors,” she suggested. “Maybe the city is only warded against chromatic dragons.” 

“Maybe… I only ask because…” he faltered. 

“What is it?” 

“Is there… do you know of a dragon that is, hmm… associated with the Nine Hells?” he asked. 

She frowned. “Well… there’s Tiamat. She’s imprisoned down there.” 

“Tiamat?” 

“Mm. Bahamut’s sister.”

The name was vaguely familiar to Celeste and he thought he must have heard it in school when he was young. Or maybe one of Efni’s stories. 

“Bahamut is… good?” he said, slowly. 

“Oh, yes, he’s a good one. The Platinum Dragon. Sort of… god of the metallic dragons.” 

“Oh, so, Tiamat is good too then?” Celeste asked. “If she’s his sister?” 

“No, no, no, she’s quite terrible. Truly evil. Queen of the chromatic dragons, with a head for each color.” 

Celeste’s stomach twisted slightly, remembering his dream. Something bursts from the Nine Hells. “But… if she’s imprisoned in the Hells, she can’t get out, right? That must be the most secure prison in all the planes.” 

“She has before, I think…” Efni murmured. She shook her head slightly and squinted at him in concern. “Why are you asking about Tiamat?” 

“I… a tenday ago, before Greengrass, I had a dream. Or, a nightmare. I saw Waterdeep in flames, everyone burning and dying, the entire Sword Coast reduced to ash and rubble. There was… something flying over me but I was too afraid to look up. My guardian, she… she warned me of a coming darkness. That something would escape from the Nine Hells.” 

Efni exhaled. “Oh… if your guardian was there then I doubt that was simply a nightmare, dear,” she said, worried. She nodded to herself and grabbed a scarf off the counter, wrapping it over her hair. 

“Right, I think I need to go to the library. I’ll see what I can find about Tiamat and about the dragon wards, and then I’ll go to the market and get some things for your little guest.” 

Celeste slid off the counter and picked up the goat’s leg, following her back outside. 

“Can I meet her?” Efni asked. “The hatchling. What did you say her name was? Zem?” 

“Zemrissispalara,” Celeste said. “I can ask Corivier, but I’m sure it will be fine. She’s very friendly.” 

Efni smiled. “You can ask her, as well, you know. They are sentient.” 

“Oh, yes, I know, she’s been in my head a few times,” Celeste said, stepping down the stairs as she locked her door. 

“All right, I’ll be at the library if you need me.” 

“Thank you, again,” Celeste said, trotting back to his own house. 

When he got inside, he found that Corivier and Nyalori were awake and downstairs. Corivier was trying to convince Zem to practice riding in his satchel, and she was batting at a spot of light reflecting onto the floor. All three of them looked up when he entered. 

“I was getting breakfast for Zem,” Celeste said, gesturing slightly with the goat leg. He walked past them and sat the leg on the counter. 

“Oh, thank you,” Corivier said. “Again, I’ll pay you back for all this, I promise.” 

“It was free, so you don’t owe me anything,” Celeste said, shrugging, watching as Corivier unsheathed that blade of his and divvied the leg up into sixths. He cut one of those in half and took Zem out back so she could eat on the pavement instead of on the kitchen floor. 

“I learned a few things this morning,” Celeste said, leaning against the counter. “Firstly, Zem can turn invisible.” 

“Can you?” Corivier asked, surprised, looking at the hatchling. She looked up from her meal, sharing something telepathically with him. “That’s okay. We’ll work on it.” 

“Also, my neighbor, Efni, said she would get us some more food for her, and that she was going to do some research for us on the dragon wards. That’s mostly for me, I guess. I don’t know how long either of you intend on staying in Waterdeep, but I’m a little concerned about a dragon egg being able to get in. She suggested maybe the wards only work against chromatic dragons.” He paused. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind me telling her about Zem. You can trust Efni.” 

“Sure,” Corivier said, slightly disconcerted. “I mean, if you trust her, that’s something.” 

“She wants to meet her, too, but that can wait until we’re back from the Dock Ward. Speaking of which, we should probably get going once Zem’s done with breakfast. Let me get my things.” 

Celeste went upstairs, to his room, and grabbed his bag. Into it he put his journal and a pencil, some pocket money, and, after a pause, the obsidian dagger on his windowsill. A gift, of sorts, given in some of the strangest circumstances he’d ever been in. He carefully wrapped the black blade in cloth first so it wouldn’t damage anything. He wasn’t sure why he grabbed it, but it seemed prudent to have a knife in the Dock Ward. He wouldn’t use it, if he had any other choice, but it added a reassuring weight to the bag as it hung on his hip. 

He slipped on a pair of shoes—he hated shoes, but he knew the Dock Ward wasn’t nearly as clean as the streets he was used to—and grabbed a wooden staff that leaned against the wall, wrapped in colorful strips of cloth, capped in bronze. It had been a gift from his father, more of a quarterstaff than a walking stick. Simple enough that it wouldn’t strike anyone as a weapon, but something that might give him a few more options if they got into danger. 

When he got back downstairs, Zem had finished eating and climbed back into Corivier’s satchel to sleep. Celeste put the rest of the pieces of goat into the icebox, which as Efni had guessed currently had no ice in it. Or anything. Efni had a key to the house, so whenever she got back from the market she would be able to let herself in and refill whatever she wanted. He’d have to come up with some way to thank her for the favor. 

“Okay, so, I’ve only been to the Dock Ward a few times,” Celeste said. “Um. Last time I went I got mugged. Just keep your coin close.” 

He led the way outside, locking the door behind them. He turned, pausing for a second to look at Nyalori and Corivier. Both of them seemed stunned, gazing around at the bustling neighborhood in something like awe. The sidewalks were busy with pedestrians, on their way to work or errands, and the streets rattled with coaches and carriages, drawn by horses. A shadow passed over them as a griffon flew overhead, part of the Watch keeping an aerial eye on everything. 

An unremarkable morning for Celeste, but he looked at it with new eyes, considering how overwhelming all of this must be for two people who had never been to a city before now. 

“Why don’t we get breakfast, first?” Celeste suggested. His own stomach was grumbling despite the scone he’d eaten at Efni’s, but he also thought walking through the neighborhood might serve to acclimate his companions before he got them into a coach. 

Both Nyalori and Corivier nodded, so Celeste trotted down the stairs, leading them down a few blocks to Tokens of My Confections. Even before they got within sight, he noticed Nyalori sniffing the air, catching wind of the delicious aromas wafting from the bakery. 

As usual, there was a line stretching out the door. Celeste breezed past them all, taking his companions inside and up to the counter. Rehma had his breakfast waiting. 

“Celeste! Was starting to wonder if I’d see you today, darling!” 

“It seemed a good day for sleeping in,” Celeste said. “Listen, Rehma, I have some friends with me, do you happen to have any extras?” 

“Anything for you, my dear,” she said. She scooped several of the citrusy rolls into a couple to-go bags for him and Celeste traded her a few coins for them. The person at the head of the line looked affronted. 

“Hey!” they protested, as Celeste went back to the other two. 

“Yeah, yeah, what do you want?” Rehma snapped, her tone much less friendly than it had been when she’d been talking to Celeste. 

Celeste divvied up the rolls, eating his share while they walked, getting away from the crowd outside the bakery before trying to hail a coach. 

“I was thinking,” Nyalori said. “Do you know where the place is, in the Dock Ward?” 

Celeste shook his head. “I was trying to remember if I had seen it before, but I’ve only been there a few times and it’s a very confusing place. I was sort of planning on just asking anyone we find. People usually like talking to me.” 

“We could ask Captain Zelyana as well,” Nyalori said. “She’s been here a lot, I bet she knows where it is.” 

“Oh, good thinking,” Celeste said. “Do you know where she is?” 

Nyalori frowned and shook her head. “No… But her ship should still be at the docks, we could check there? Or maybe back at the tavern?” 

“Mm… It’ll be faster just to go straight to the docks, I think,” Celeste said. He waved down a coach. 

“Where to?” the driver asked. 

“The Dock Ward, please,” Celeste said, gesturing for Nyalori and Corivier to climb up and sit. 

The driver immediately frowned. “Are you sure?” he asked. 

Celeste nodded. 

He sighed, heavily. “Fine, but it’ll cost you and I’m not taking you very far in.” 

Celeste fished five gold out of his bag and held it up. The driver took it and jerked his head back toward the seats. Celeste climbed into the coach and sat next to Corivier, across from Nyalori. As the coach started moving, wheels rattling across the cobbles, Corivier and Nyalori were staring around, trying to take in as much of the city as they could as it rushed past them. 

Celeste fidgeted with his necklace, his mind still mulling over his conversation with Efni. He gripped the stone pendant in his hand and held it up near his mouth, trying to look casual. He murmured quietly, speaking celestial. 

“Dea, if you’re listening, I’ve learned and heard some alarming things lately. Could you check on Tiamat? Please.” 

Corivier looked at him somewhat sharply before trying to mask that expression. Celeste let the pendant drop back to his chest, wondering if the elf spoke celestial. He had only encountered a few during his life who could understand it. 

“That’s… a, uh, a beautiful necklace,” Corivier said. 

“Thank you,” Celeste said, smiling. “It was a gift.” 

Corivier hesitated, trying to decide on something, and then leaned over closer, glancing at the driver. “Did you say ‘Tiamat’?” he asked. 

“Oh, um… yes, I did,” Celeste said, softly. “Sorry, I was just thinking aloud. Efni told me about Tiamat this morning. I was asking her…” he faltered, hesitant to share his visions. But Hanala had told him he’d need help and maybe they would stick around to help if they knew the stakes. 

“This might sound silly, but I had a dream. A vision, really. I was shown Waterdeep in flames, a shadow bringing death and destruction not only to the city but to all of the Sword Coast, all of Faerun. I was told something would escape the Nine Hells. When I mentioned it to Efni, she told me about Tiamat. She’s imprisoned there, but apparently she’s escaped before. So… you see why I’m very concerned about the dragon wards.” 

Corivier looked concerned as well. “It’s not… I mean, I understand. About visions and voices. When I was in Daggerford, just before coming here, it was attacked by dragons. Maybe razed is a better word, I’m not sure how much of the town is left. But when they were there, I heard a voice in my mind, telling me this was just a taste of what was to come once she was free. So, I think you’re probably right.” 

Daggerford… Celeste knew that town. It was just south of Waterdeep, but he hadn’t heard anything about it being attacked by dragons. 

“Well, that’s… concerning,” Celeste sighed. 

Nyalori, who had been gazing around at the passing buildings, looked at them and leaned over. “I don’t know that name, but… we aren’t going to have to fight a dragon, are we?” she asked quietly. 

“I hope not,” Celeste said. “I don’t think we would survive that…” 

Corivier shook his head. “Anyway, it’s probably something better talked about somewhere else,” he murmured, glancing at the driver. “For now, let’s just focus on finding Floon.” 

Celeste and Nyalori nodded. She sat back and Corivier looked at Celeste again, gaze focused on his necklace, a hint of concern or curiosity in his eyes. 

“It is beautiful,” he said, again. “Your necklace, I mean.”

Celeste wrapped his fingers around the warm stone, forcing a smile, wondering if Corivier suspected he’d been lying about just thinking aloud. Then again, he had no real proof anyone was listening through the stone. He might have been just thinking aloud, for all he knew. Still, he’d have to be more careful about it in the future. No reason to make the others suspicious of him. 

“Thank you,” he said, not offering any elaboration and returning his attention out to the passing streets. 

The coach reached the Dock Ward shortly, only taking them a few streets in before the driver pulled his horse to a halt. Almost immediately upon transitioning into the ward, it became apparent that the sanitation crews that kept the parts of Waterdeep Celeste was used to clean and beautiful didn’t come this far. The streets were filthy and the air smelt of sewage and dead fish. Celeste’s nose wrinkled slightly as he restrained a gag. The buildings around them were ramshackle at best, most with cracked or shattered windows, mirroring the broken remnants of everburning lanterns that stood at intervals on the streets and would offer no light come evening. From where he was, Celeste couldn’t see a single sign to denote a business or a street. The Dock Ward, just as he remembered.

[b-13814]

Dance.

[kotaerukoto]

i saw this tier list appear on my dash so I thought that I'd do it for Makoto n his ffxiv verse. It was very fun!

[smallsmellynerd]

Another scene from my latest paladins fic! Check out the new chapter here.

[spooky-owl-necromancer]

God my Poor little Paladin doesn’t Know it yet, but IIIII got enough clues and SHES STRAHD’S SUCCESSOR HE WANTS HER TO TAKE HIS PLACE IM SCREAMING