mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

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"What an excellently stocked kitchen you have, my lady," Gale excitedly proclaimed as he seared a steak in a cast iron skillet.
"Not bad for someone who's been out for several weeks, huh?" Aethelle grinned.
"I imagine your staff has been keeping up quite well in your absence," commented Gale. "Dutiful indeed."
"Yes, of course," said the sorceress uncertainly. Ryn coughed into his shoulder, as his hands were busy chopping potatoes.
"Actually, I dismissed them for the time being, Aethelle," stammered the paladin. "I told them they would be notified upon your return."
"Oh! Most excellent of you, Ryndel. I'll leave you two be. Please don't fight over the dinner preparations, alright? But I suppose if you must, come get the rest of us, first." The sorceress smiled before walking through the doors to the dining room.
Shadowheart sat at the end of one side of a long rectangular table, garnished with silverware atop a red tablecloth. Candelabras were placed strategically on the table and between the windows on the wall of the room. On the other side of the table from the cleric, a magnificent fireplace stood. The wall nearest to her held the doorway that led back into the ballroom. Above her was an intricate glass chandelier, and the sunset outside sent glittering pinks and purples through the room.
Shadowheart squirmed in the red velvet chair. She felt distinctly out of place in the chiffon purple gown she had found in the closet of her room. Though a little less grand than her friend's silvery gown, she picked this one in particular for the fact that it actually looked like she could move in it. There was no corset, just a high empire waist and trailing lavender fabric. The sleeves were short and shaped like bells, and the neck scooped down and sat just above her breast. The dress was indeed comfortable, but she felt like a rothé in a tea shop, as her friend Karlach would put it.
"Shadowheart, you look lovely," said the sorceress warmly. Aethelle chanted an incantation and held out her hands, bolts of flames soon leaving her palms. Each candle in the room was now lit and the fireplace crackled with the smell of burning oak.
Aethelle sat in a chair next to her companion, noticing the cleric's discomfort. "I know, it's a bit unsettling for me too, and I live here," the elf laughed.
"Do you live here all alone?" Shadowheart asked, seemingly more at ease with the presence of her friend.
"I do," Aethelle said softly. "Ryn comes over quite frequently, but for the most part, it's just me."
Shadowheart noticed her friend hastily look away, as if suddenly taken by the fireplace. Aethelle was unsettlingly quiet; it was unlike her not to tell a grandiose tale, even about the mundane. Shadowheart had seen it firsthand many a time; poking fun at Jaheira's wards was only the tip of the iceberg. At one point in their travels, the sorceress somehow managed to tell tale after tale to Thisobald Thorm, a monstrous amalgamation of a person wrought by the Shadow-Cursed Lands. As Aethelle distracted him with stories, she faked drinking the mysterious booze Thisobald served her, whilst he drank along merrily. To everyone's disgust, Thisobald drank so much that he proceeded to implode, something the adventurers were thankfully able to dodge at the last second lest they have pieces of corpse in their hair.
"You trusted me, despite the secrets I kept from you," murmured Shadowheart. "I will do the same for you."
Aethelle's eyes met Shadowheart's once again. The sorceress, for the first time along in their journey, looked truly saddened. Throughout their adventure she took everything with stride and optimism, but now, the half-elf saw her in a different light. Her hazel eyes seemed like she wished to tell more, to open the floodgates and lay whatever was bothering her all on the table. But in her eyes there was also fear, as if she had seen, or rather, experienced something horrendous.
The double doors behind the two women burst open suddenly, causing them both to jump in their chairs. Astarion stood, clad in black, golden specks decorating his blouse. He theatrically put one hand behind his head, the other on his hip.
"How do I look?" asked the vampire.
"Like a vampire," replied Shadowheart dryly.
Astarion sat across from the two women. He immediately noticed the discomfort on Aethelle's face, that only seemed to intensify when she glanced at his newfound shirt.
"Excuse me," muttered the sorceress, her eyes glued to the table. She briskly disappeared into the kitchen.
Shadowheart and Astarion looked at each other inquisitively.
"Has she been acting strange around you?" asked Shadowheart.
"No, but I've noticed some strange things," said Astarion. "You first."
"She seemed out of sorts just now. I think she wanted to tell me something, but couldn't bring herself to. Or rather, she wouldn't have been able to, since we were so rudely interrupted."
"So fashionably interrupted, you mean."
"What did you notice that was strange?"
"The entire mansion seems very... bare. You've seen Cazador's palace. Nobles love nothing more than to put out fancy trinkets and portraits of themselves." Astarion gestured to the clean walls. "I'm not saying our sorceress is that same type, but I expected a little more pizazz. Here there seems to be barely anything. Her bedroom is quite the mess, though. But it at least felt actually lived in."
Astarion knew better than to mention the journal entry he'd helped himself to. It wasn't his place to have read it, though he mostly expected it to be something boring, like a ledger of charitable donations. But he couldn't tear his eyes off the page once he'd read it. Who was this Viscount threatening his lover? Astarion felt his throat tighten. There was so much he didn't know about Aethelle. It had only been a couple months at most, but in that time, they had been able to slay his former vampire master and truly free himself. He had overcome the fear of hiding his past, opened up to Aethelle, and allowed himself to finally love. Did she not trust him completely? Even worse, did she not love him completely? Perhaps she shouldn’t, considering he just read her private journal. He felt more and more unworthy of her. After all, he didn't even know her full name up until today.
Astarion felt the anxiety move from his throat to his stomach. What if she didn't trust him completely because of the way their relationship started out? Did she still harbor resentment for him after he tried to manipulate her? He struggled to exhale without arousing Shadowheart's suspicion. If Aethelle was resentful, if she did not love him, then he would deserve it.
The doors to the kitchen opened, and Gale walked to the table before sitting where Aethelle had sat previously. He had decided not to change out of his regular wizard robes, but he didn't have much reason to, considering robes were much more comfortable than armor. Instead, he took his time further perusing the Veluthezara personal library, and exploring the kitchen's stock.
"You two look dreadful," said the wizard dryly. "It is a shame, considering you both look quite well in the clothing you borrowed, but your faces are reminiscent of when we watched the Hag throw up an entire child."
Shadowheart turned to Gale. "Have you noticed anything strange about the lady of the house?" Her head wriggled as she asked the question.
"Well, she walked into the kitchen just now, and Ryn took one look at her and asked me to come set the table, which I perceptively interpreted as "please give us a moment'," replied Gale, with corresponding air quotations. "There also seems to be an extensive book of familial records in the library."
The cleric and the rogue narrowed their eyes at him.
"Now, now, I was not trying to pry," defended the wizard. "I just wanted to see if there was perhaps some kind of magical lineage that would have caused Aethelle's sorcery, or if it was a random anomaly that would have activated them."
Gale continued explaining, as he was so keen to do so. "As you most likely already know, sorcerers have a natural affinity for magic, either through an atypical event or a magical bloodline. She is not of a Draconic lineage, which we knew, but would make the explanation a lot more simple."
"Well, go on then. What did you discover?" asked Astarion impatiently.
"My Elvish is a little rusty, but every time our dear sorceress was mentioned, it was usually synonymous with being the tenth generation. Even more peculiarly, she is the only one of the tenth generation. Her bloodline is all but naught."
"I feel like a family of nobility would have been encouraged to sire many heirs," mulled Shadowheart.
"My thoughts exactly," agreed Gale. "It seems House Veluthezara, for whatever reason, did not find the value in expanding-"
Astarion swiftly kicked Gale from under the table as Ryn and Aethelle exited the kitchen with plates of food and wine. She was smiling once again, the already opened bottle of cabernet sauvignon in her hands most likely the culprit.
"Ah, my newfound friends, you all look wonderful indeed!" boasted Ryn as he placed a plate of food in front of each companion. Deep rothé steak was seared to perfection alongside roasted potatoes and slices of bread. A tall goblet of the rothé’s blood unsurprisingly found its way in front of the vampire spawn.
Aethelle filled the remaining chalices with wine before taking her place besides Astarion. Ryn sat at the head of the table, between them all, still clad in metal armor.
"No time to change?" asked Shadowheart as the paladin sat next to her.
"Ha! I much prefer armor. Plus, you can never be too careful." Ryn unceremoniously began carving into the meat with his knife. "You've already seen our dearest Aethelflaed when she's in a brutalizing mood."
"Aethelflaed, is it?" asked Gale, sipping the wine vicariously.
"Indeed. I've never been entirely fond of the full name, but my parents insisted upon it when I reached adulthood." Aethelle carefully sliced into the meat, her hands tightly gripping the silverware.
"You were so mad," grinned Ryn. "I snuck over and you spent an hour pacing back and forth, using all sorts of words I dare not repeat at the table."
"May they rest in the pits of Avernus," snorted Aethelle.
"Here, here!" Ryn and Aethelle clanked their goblets and took a long drink of the dry red.
Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart exchanged quick glances as the two noble elves downed the wine. Though the trio were not main brawn of the group, aside from perhaps Shadowheart, they worked well together when it came to more investigative matters. All three were the type to talk their way out of a situation, rather than fight their way out of one. They could also certainly talk their way into a situation, if need be. Especially if there was alcohol involved.
Astarion decided he would make the first move. He turned cheerily to the paladin. "Ryn, please do tell us more about being a part of high society." His voice oozed a sickly sweet tone.
"Gods, it depends on what it is. Some of these events are terribly boring. I usually stand around with Aethelle and gossip, instead."
"We do gossip quite exceptionally," Aethelle chimed in.
"Part of the reason we make such great friends is that we hate most of the socialites. Half the time they're only looking to find a dowry to secure, or a title. Not me, of course." Ryn sipped from the goblet again. "I could care less about marriage, especially not to anyone in the Upper. Snobs, the lot of them."
"Ugh, don't get me started," snarled Aethelle. "Do you remember the time that guy from House... oh, what House was it? The elf with the very blonde hair."
Ryn laughed heartily. "House Gwyneir! Gods, I had forgotten about that sorry lad. He was a bit handsome, sure, but I'll never forget the way he tripped over his own two feet and spilled wine on your gown." Ryn exploded with laughter and put a hand on Astarion's shoulder, as if they were old friends. "Now, you have never seen a sorceress so angry than when she has a ruined dress. It was an especially lovely satin red dress as well. Perhaps even the first time you had worn it," paused Ryn, waiting for Aethelle to interject.
"It indeed was. One of the first pieces I ever commissioned from Figaro."
"Ha! I forgot about that," reflected Ryn. His hand was still on Astarion's shoulder, who now looked quite bewildered at the paladin's overfamiliarity. Ryn's other hand pointed rather close to Aethelle's face. "You'll never guess what she did. The witch pulled the sword from my sheath and just about slayed him in the ballroom!" The paladin roared with laughter. "I was so damn shocked she got the thing off me to begin with, all I could do was stand there!"
"Oh, come now, Ryn," Aethelle smiled, her face faintly pink. "I wasn't that angry."
"No, you weren't. If you were angrier, you would have actually killed him."
"You make it sound as if we're just petty nobility. At least tell it from my side, too!" exclaimed Aethelle.
"Alright, alright, my lady." Ryn threw his hands up into the air. "Aethelle had previously rejected him, let's see, how many times was it?"
"Oh, at least seven."
"Seven? When was the seventh time?"
"At the races, remember? You went up to buy a couple more drinks and he took that chance to slip in the seat next to me." The sorceress grimaced.
"Oh gods, yes, the slime ball he was."
"He just couldn't take no for an answer! I still think he spilled the wine on purpose," pouted Aethelle.
"Well, either way, he certainly didn't help his cause. After Aethelle held the longsword to his throat, she had suitors follow her around tenfold!" Ryn wiped a tear from his eye through his laughter. "Even I couldn't scare them off after that!"
"Yes, and the rest of the patriars at the ball spoke of me quite harshly," muttered the sorceress. "I'm sure I would have been sent to the gallows if it hadn't have been for the-"
"The Marquess herself!" Ryn excitedly interrupted. "She said that House Gwyneir must have terrible swordsmen, and since her word is law, the entire party gossiped them into ruin." The paladin and the sorceress laughed together as they reminisced.
Shadowheart smiled sadly. Though her introduction to the paladin got off on the wrong foot, she admired the relationship Ryn and Aethelle had. What would it be like, to have a brother, she wondered? Her heart panged with grief for a moment, thinking of her parents. What would it have been like, if she could have brought Aethelle to her home, to tell stories of their adventures to her family?
Gale interrupted her thoughts with his next question. "Has our dearest sorceress ever looked upon any of the noble suitors favorably?" inquired the wizard slyly. Astarion took a large sip from his goblet. Shadowheart was thankful for his prying question, and composed herself once more.
"Oh, Gale, come on." Aethelle rolled her eyes. "You could just ask me!"
"But would you give us the wholly unbiased answer, hmm?" Gale smiled and turned back to Ryn. "Do tell."
"Oh, there was one fellow, but he turned out to be the most unsavory one of them all." Ryn averted Aethelle's gaze, not wanting the face the daggers she was glaring at him.
"More unsavory than the vampire?" retorted Shadowheart.
"Oh, my lady, do not give me more reasons to like you," Ryn replied smoothly.
"Ryndel, perhaps we should not air out my dirty laundry over dinner," Aethelle said sharply.
"Oh, Aethelflaed, come now. The past is in the past, and he was definitely served his dues." It didn't take Astarion's heightened senses to be able to tell that the paladin was intoxicated.
"Fine, fine. At least leave out the embarrassing parts," she huffed.
"Alright. Well, a bit of history for you all, one of House Veluthezara's longstanding alliances is to House Zantharen, a rather haughty family of nobility. They're quite high up on the ladder, led by Viscount Zantharen." Astarion's pointed ears twitched. Ryn paused to refill his goblet.
"I best not get ahead of myself. When this story took place, the house was still headed by Viscount Caenred Zantharen. Aethelle's suitor was his son, Torriel Zantharen."
"Much to our dismay," Aethelle added, "Torriel did not kick the bucket along with daddy dearest."
"Much to our dismay indeed."
"So, how did the insufferable Torriel find himself the unfortunate target of your ire?" asked Astarion, deftly cloaking the real concern in his tone.
"Well, at the time, I had just turned 110," Aethelle stated. "Once a noble has reached adulthood, they're expected to enter the marriage market, whether they want to or not."
"Trust me, she definitely did not!" Ryn's hearty laugh echoed in the dining room. "When she was summoned to debut, she hid a damned dagger in her clutch."
Astarion laughed in earnest. "So she's always been a little bloodthirsty, then?"
"Indeed. When she found out her parents had already promised her to Torriel, she was livid."
"As she should be, I imagine," Shadowheart added defensively.
"Oh, of course. Love matches are rare, but matching her with someone she had never even met? That was cruel," Ryn said empathetically.
"They had never met, despite the longstanding alliance?" asked Shadowheart.
"No, Aethelle's parents were..." Aethelle shot Ryn a glare, and he cleared his throat. "They were quite the homebodies, let's put it at that. Anyways, when they finally did meet, they actually got along quite well. I was surprised, I always pictured Aethelle as a fickle spinster."
"Gee, thanks," muttered Aethelle.
"I was never quite fond of Torriel myself, but this story's not about me. The thing is about our dearest sorceress, though, is that her powers didn't materialize until around that same time."
"Really?" Gale perked up. "How curious. In most accounts of sorcery that I'm familiar with, and believe me, I'm familiar with many, sorcery normally manifests in adolescence."
"She was a late bloomer indeed." Aethelle's head was now in her hands, her companions realizing that this was a common reaction to Ryn's antics.
"But once her powers materialized, it was all over. Torriel couldn't stand being with someone more powerful than him. A real rat of a guy, he is," scowled Ryn. The paladin loathed many nobles, but he reserved the most vile hatred for Torriel. Given the chance, Ryn would slice the Viscount's tendons from his bones. Ryn deeply resented the way Torriel treated his dearest friend, and the paladin craved vengeance on him. It was second nature, after all, per his Oath.
"I’m surprised you haven't heard of him, Gale," said Aethelle, taking another sip of wine. "He's gained quite the reputation in his prowess for necromancy."

"What an excellently stocked kitchen you have, my lady," Gale excitedly proclaimed as he seared a steak in a cast iron skillet.

"Not bad for someone who's been out for several weeks, huh?" Aethelle grinned.

"I imagine your staff has been keeping up quite well in your absence," commented Gale. "Dutiful indeed."

"Yes, of course," said the sorceress uncertainly. Ryn coughed into his shoulder, as his hands were busy chopping potatoes.

"Actually, I dismissed them for the time being, Aethelle," stammered the paladin. "I told them they would be notified upon your return."

"Oh! Most excellent of you, Ryndel. I'll leave you two be. Please don't fight over the dinner preparations, alright? But I suppose if you must, come get the rest of us, first." The sorceress smiled before walking through the doors to the dining room.

Shadowheart sat at the end of one side of a long rectangular table, garnished with silverware atop a red tablecloth. Candelabras were placed strategically on the table and between the windows on the wall of the room. On the other side of the table from the cleric, a magnificent fireplace stood. The wall nearest to her held the doorway that led back into the ballroom. Above her was an intricate glass chandelier, and the sunset outside sent glittering pinks and purples through the room.

Shadowheart squirmed in the red velvet chair. She felt distinctly out of place in the chiffon purple gown she had found in the closet of her room. Though a little less grand than her friend's silvery gown, she picked this one in particular for the fact that it actually looked like she could move in it. There was no corset, just a high empire waist and trailing lavender fabric. The sleeves were short and shaped like bells, and the neck scooped down and sat just above her breast. The dress was indeed comfortable, but she felt like a rothé in a tea shop, as her friend Karlach would put it.

"Shadowheart, you look lovely," said the sorceress warmly. Aethelle chanted an incantation and held out her hands, bolts of flames soon leaving her palms. Each candle in the room was now lit and the fireplace crackled with the smell of burning oak.

Aethelle sat in a chair next to her companion, noticing the cleric's discomfort. "I know, it's a bit unsettling for me too, and I live here," the elf laughed.

"Do you live here all alone?" Shadowheart asked, seemingly more at ease with the presence of her friend.

"I do," Aethelle said softly. "Ryn comes over quite frequently, but for the most part, it's just me."

Shadowheart noticed her friend hastily look away, as if suddenly taken by the fireplace. Aethelle was unsettlingly quiet; it was unlike her not to tell a grandiose tale, even about the mundane. Shadowheart had seen it firsthand many a time; poking fun at Jaheira's wards was only the tip of the iceberg. At one point in their travels, the sorceress somehow managed to tell tale after tale to Thisobald Thorm, a monstrous amalgamation of a person wrought by the Shadow-Cursed Lands. As Aethelle distracted him with stories, she faked drinking the mysterious booze Thisobald served her, whilst he drank along merrily. To everyone's disgust, Thisobald drank so much that he proceeded to implode, something the adventurers were thankfully able to dodge at the last second lest they have pieces of corpse in their hair.

"You trusted me, despite the secrets I kept from you," murmured Shadowheart. "I will do the same for you."

Aethelle's eyes met Shadowheart's once again. The sorceress, for the first time along in their journey, looked truly saddened. Throughout their adventure she took everything with stride and optimism, but now, the half-elf saw her in a different light. Her hazel eyes seemed like she wished to tell more, to open the floodgates and lay whatever was bothering her all on the table. But in her eyes there was also fear, as if she had seen, or rather, experienced something horrendous.

The double doors behind the two women burst open suddenly, causing them both to jump in their chairs. Astarion stood, clad in black, golden specks decorating his blouse. He theatrically put one hand behind his head, the other on his hip.

"How do I look?" asked the vampire.

"Like a vampire," replied Shadowheart dryly.

Astarion sat across from the two women. He immediately noticed the discomfort on Aethelle's face, that only seemed to intensify when she glanced at his newfound shirt.

"Excuse me," muttered the sorceress, her eyes glued to the table. She briskly disappeared into the kitchen.

Shadowheart and Astarion looked at each other inquisitively.

"Has she been acting strange around you?" asked Shadowheart.

"No, but I've noticed some strange things," said Astarion. "You first."

"She seemed out of sorts just now. I think she wanted to tell me something, but couldn't bring herself to. Or rather, she wouldn't have been able to, since we were so rudely interrupted."

"So fashionably interrupted, you mean."

"What did you notice that was strange?"

"The entire mansion seems very... bare. You've seen Cazador's palace. Nobles love nothing more than to put out fancy trinkets and portraits of themselves." Astarion gestured to the clean walls. "I'm not saying our sorceress is that same type, but I expected a little more pizazz. Here there seems to be barely anything. Her bedroom is quite the mess, though. But it at least felt actually lived in."

Astarion knew better than to mention the journal entry he'd helped himself to. It wasn't his place to have read it, though he mostly expected it to be something boring, like a ledger of charitable donations. But he couldn't tear his eyes off the page once he'd read it. Who was this Viscount threatening his lover? Astarion felt his throat tighten. There was so much he didn't know about Aethelle. It had only been a couple months at most, but in that time, they had been able to slay his former vampire master and truly free himself. He had overcome the fear of hiding his past, opened up to Aethelle, and allowed himself to finally love. Did she not trust him completely? Even worse, did she not love him completely? Perhaps she shouldn’t, considering he just read her private journal. He felt more and more unworthy of her. After all, he didn't even know her full name up until today.

Astarion felt the anxiety move from his throat to his stomach. What if she didn't trust him completely because of the way their relationship started out? Did she still harbor resentment for him after he tried to manipulate her? He struggled to exhale without arousing Shadowheart's suspicion. If Aethelle was resentful, if she did not love him, then he would deserve it.

The doors to the kitchen opened, and Gale walked to the table before sitting where Aethelle had sat previously. He had decided not to change out of his regular wizard robes, but he didn't have much reason to, considering robes were much more comfortable than armor. Instead, he took his time further perusing the Veluthezara personal library, and exploring the kitchen's stock.

"You two look dreadful," said the wizard dryly. "It is a shame, considering you both look quite well in the clothing you borrowed, but your faces are reminiscent of when we watched the Hag throw up an entire child."

Shadowheart turned to Gale. "Have you noticed anything strange about the lady of the house?" Her head wriggled as she asked the question.

"Well, she walked into the kitchen just now, and Ryn took one look at her and asked me to come set the table, which I perceptively interpreted as "please give us a moment'," replied Gale, with corresponding air quotations. "There also seems to be an extensive book of familial records in the library."

The cleric and the rogue narrowed their eyes at him.

"Now, now, I was not trying to pry," defended the wizard. "I just wanted to see if there was perhaps some kind of magical lineage that would have caused Aethelle's sorcery, or if it was a random anomaly that would have activated them."

Gale continued explaining, as he was so keen to do so. "As you most likely already know, sorcerers have a natural affinity for magic, either through an atypical event or a magical bloodline. She is not of a Draconic lineage, which we knew, but would make the explanation a lot more simple."

"Well, go on then. What did you discover?" asked Astarion impatiently.

"My Elvish is a little rusty, but every time our dear sorceress was mentioned, it was usually synonymous with being the tenth generation. Even more peculiarly, she is the only one of the tenth generation. Her bloodline is all but naught."

"I feel like a family of nobility would have been encouraged to sire many heirs," mulled Shadowheart.

"My thoughts exactly," agreed Gale. "It seems House Veluthezara, for whatever reason, did not find the value in expanding-"

Astarion swiftly kicked Gale from under the table as Ryn and Aethelle exited the kitchen with plates of food and wine. She was smiling once again, the already opened bottle of cabernet sauvignon in her hands most likely the culprit.

"Ah, my newfound friends, you all look wonderful indeed!" boasted Ryn as he placed a plate of food in front of each companion. Deep rothé steak was seared to perfection alongside roasted potatoes and slices of bread. A tall goblet of the rothé’s blood unsurprisingly found its way in front of the vampire spawn.

Aethelle filled the remaining chalices with wine before taking her place besides Astarion. Ryn sat at the head of the table, between them all, still clad in metal armor.

"No time to change?" asked Shadowheart as the paladin sat next to her.

"Ha! I much prefer armor. Plus, you can never be too careful." Ryn unceremoniously began carving into the meat with his knife. "You've already seen our dearest Aethelflaed when she's in a brutalizing mood."

"Aethelflaed, is it?" asked Gale, sipping the wine vicariously.

"Indeed. I've never been entirely fond of the full name, but my parents insisted upon it when I reached adulthood." Aethelle carefully sliced into the meat, her hands tightly gripping the silverware.

"You were so mad," grinned Ryn. "I snuck over and you spent an hour pacing back and forth, using all sorts of words I dare not repeat at the table."

"May they rest in the pits of Avernus," snorted Aethelle.

"Here, here!" Ryn and Aethelle clanked their goblets and took a long drink of the dry red.

Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart exchanged quick glances as the two noble elves downed the wine. Though the trio were not main brawn of the group, aside from perhaps Shadowheart, they worked well together when it came to more investigative matters. All three were the type to talk their way out of a situation, rather than fight their way out of one. They could also certainly talk their way into a situation, if need be. Especially if there was alcohol involved.

Astarion decided he would make the first move. He turned cheerily to the paladin. "Ryn, please do tell us more about being a part of high society." His voice oozed a sickly sweet tone.

"Gods, it depends on what it is. Some of these events are terribly boring. I usually stand around with Aethelle and gossip, instead."

"We do gossip quite exceptionally," Aethelle chimed in.

"Part of the reason we make such great friends is that we hate most of the socialites. Half the time they're only looking to find a dowry to secure, or a title. Not me, of course." Ryn sipped from the goblet again. "I could care less about marriage, especially not to anyone in the Upper. Snobs, the lot of them."

"Ugh, don't get me started," snarled Aethelle. "Do you remember the time that guy from House... oh, what House was it? The elf with the very blonde hair."

Ryn laughed heartily. "House Gwyneir! Gods, I had forgotten about that sorry lad. He was a bit handsome, sure, but I'll never forget the way he tripped over his own two feet and spilled wine on your gown." Ryn exploded with laughter and put a hand on Astarion's shoulder, as if they were old friends. "Now, you have never seen a sorceress so angry than when she has a ruined dress. It was an especially lovely satin red dress as well. Perhaps even the first time you had worn it," paused Ryn, waiting for Aethelle to interject.

"It indeed was. One of the first pieces I ever commissioned from Figaro."

"Ha! I forgot about that," reflected Ryn. His hand was still on Astarion's shoulder, who now looked quite bewildered at the paladin's overfamiliarity. Ryn's other hand pointed rather close to Aethelle's face. "You'll never guess what she did. The witch pulled the sword from my sheath and just about slayed him in the ballroom!" The paladin roared with laughter. "I was so damn shocked she got the thing off me to begin with, all I could do was stand there!"

"Oh, come now, Ryn," Aethelle smiled, her face faintly pink. "I wasn't that angry."

"No, you weren't. If you were angrier, you would have actually killed him."

"You make it sound as if we're just petty nobility. At least tell it from my side, too!" exclaimed Aethelle.

"Alright, alright, my lady." Ryn threw his hands up into the air. "Aethelle had previously rejected him, let's see, how many times was it?"

"Oh, at least seven."

"Seven? When was the seventh time?"

"At the races, remember? You went up to buy a couple more drinks and he took that chance to slip in the seat next to me." The sorceress grimaced.

"Oh gods, yes, the slime ball he was."

"He just couldn't take no for an answer! I still think he spilled the wine on purpose," pouted Aethelle.

"Well, either way, he certainly didn't help his cause. After Aethelle held the longsword to his throat, she had suitors follow her around tenfold!" Ryn wiped a tear from his eye through his laughter. "Even I couldn't scare them off after that!"

"Yes, and the rest of the patriars at the ball spoke of me quite harshly," muttered the sorceress. "I'm sure I would have been sent to the gallows if it hadn't have been for the-"

"The Marquess herself!" Ryn excitedly interrupted. "She said that House Gwyneir must have terrible swordsmen, and since her word is law, the entire party gossiped them into ruin." The paladin and the sorceress laughed together as they reminisced.

Shadowheart smiled sadly. Though her introduction to the paladin got off on the wrong foot, she admired the relationship Ryn and Aethelle had. What would it be like, to have a brother, she wondered? Her heart panged with grief for a moment, thinking of her parents. What would it have been like, if she could have brought Aethelle to her home, to tell stories of their adventures to her family?

Gale interrupted her thoughts with his next question. "Has our dearest sorceress ever looked upon any of the noble suitors favorably?" inquired the wizard slyly. Astarion took a large sip from his goblet. Shadowheart was thankful for his prying question, and composed herself once more.

"Oh, Gale, come on." Aethelle rolled her eyes. "You could just ask me!"

"But would you give us the wholly unbiased answer, hmm?" Gale smiled and turned back to Ryn. "Do tell."

"Oh, there was one fellow, but he turned out to be the most unsavory one of them all." Ryn averted Aethelle's gaze, not wanting the face the daggers she was glaring at him.

"More unsavory than the vampire?" retorted Shadowheart.

"Oh, my lady, do not give me more reasons to like you," Ryn replied smoothly.

"Ryndel, perhaps we should not air out my dirty laundry over dinner," Aethelle said sharply.

"Oh, Aethelflaed, come now. The past is in the past, and he was definitely served his dues." It didn't take Astarion's heightened senses to be able to tell that the paladin was intoxicated.

"Fine, fine. At least leave out the embarrassing parts," she huffed.

"Alright. Well, a bit of history for you all, one of House Veluthezara's longstanding alliances is to House Zantharen, a rather haughty family of nobility. They're quite high up on the ladder, led by Viscount Zantharen." Astarion's pointed ears twitched. Ryn paused to refill his goblet.

"I best not get ahead of myself. When this story took place, the house was still headed by Viscount Caenred Zantharen. Aethelle's suitor was his son, Torriel Zantharen."

"Much to our dismay," Aethelle added, "Torriel did not kick the bucket along with daddy dearest."

"Much to our dismay indeed."

"So, how did the insufferable Torriel find himself the unfortunate target of your ire?" asked Astarion, deftly cloaking the real concern in his tone.

"Well, at the time, I had just turned 110," Aethelle stated. "Once a noble has reached adulthood, they're expected to enter the marriage market, whether they want to or not."

"Trust me, she definitely did not!" Ryn's hearty laugh echoed in the dining room. "When she was summoned to debut, she hid a damned dagger in her clutch."

Astarion laughed in earnest. "So she's always been a little bloodthirsty, then?"

"Indeed. When she found out her parents had already promised her to Torriel, she was livid."

"As she should be, I imagine," Shadowheart added defensively.

"Oh, of course. Love matches are rare, but matching her with someone she had never even met? That was cruel," Ryn said empathetically.

"They had never met, despite the longstanding alliance?" asked Shadowheart.

"No, Aethelle's parents were..." Aethelle shot Ryn a glare, and he cleared his throat. "They were quite the homebodies, let's put it at that. Anyways, when they finally did meet, they actually got along quite well. I was surprised, I always pictured Aethelle as a fickle spinster."

"Gee, thanks," muttered Aethelle.

"I was never quite fond of Torriel myself, but this story's not about me. The thing is about our dearest sorceress, though, is that her powers didn't materialize until around that same time."

"Really?" Gale perked up. "How curious. In most accounts of sorcery that I'm familiar with, and believe me, I'm familiar with many, sorcery normally manifests in adolescence."

"She was a late bloomer indeed." Aethelle's head was now in her hands, her companions realizing that this was a common reaction to Ryn's antics.

"But once her powers materialized, it was all over. Torriel couldn't stand being with someone more powerful than him. A real rat of a guy, he is," scowled Ryn. The paladin loathed many nobles, but he reserved the most vile hatred for Torriel. Given the chance, Ryn would slice the Viscount's tendons from his bones. Ryn deeply resented the way Torriel treated his dearest friend, and the paladin craved vengeance on him. It was second nature, after all, per his Oath.

"I’m surprised you haven't heard of him, Gale," said Aethelle, taking another sip of wine. "He's gained quite the reputation in his prowess for necromancy."