mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

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"We have money, Aethelle!" groaned Ryn. "Did you forget that we are patriars?!"
Shadowheart smiled at the sorceress devilishly. "You simply must tell me about this later."
The sorceress winked at her friend and downed another shot. Ryn eagerly downed another as well, wanting to forget the scandalous conversation she had with the barkeep. Astarion was already following his up with a chaser of blood, still stupefied at the possible implications of their conversation.
"How are you holding up, Gale?" chortled Halsin, as he easily downed his next shot. Of all the companions, the druid was the most sober.
"You know what?" beamed the wizard, his speech still slurred. "I’ll have you know I am better than ever."
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" said a waitress, who was now picking up their empty shot glasses. "Do my eyes deceive me? That must be the Baron and the Lady in our midst. It’s been awhile, though."
Aethelle coughed. "I see our reputation precedes us, Ryndel." Ryn’s eyes widened as he tried to stifle his inner panic.
"Hello!" laughed the paladin nervously. "Do we know you?"
"Oh, for fuck’s sake," the waitress rolled her eyes. "It’s no surprise you don’t remember bedding me, considering how drunk you two usually get here." The waitress loosely gestured to the two nobles.
"Tell me, Baron, do you remember her? Or him?" The waitress began pointing to others in the tavern. "Or are you just going to pretend like they didn’t happen, either? You know, poor Claire is still waiting on that date."
Aethelle gasped through her wicked smile and lightly slapped Ryn’s arm. "Ryndel! You rake!"
Ryn’s face was bright red as he tried to muster a response to the waitress admonishing him. Shadowheart stared into her goblet. Gale was making no attempt to hide his laughter, and in response, Halsin was laughing at the wizard. Astarion clamped a hand over his mouth and did his best to control his snickering.
"And you, my Lady," sneered the waitress, pointing at Aethelle. "You’ve got all the bartenders under your finger, yet you don’t sleep with any of them! You just have your fun, get your free booze, and leave. Do you know Kirta? I was going on a date with him "til he turned me down for you!"
"I can assure you, I never—" stammered the sorceress. Gale and Astarion were now completely losing it. Shadowheart looked at Aethelle in approval. Halsin looked away from them all, trying to compose himself.
"Yeah, yeah, you never did anything with him. You fucking prude," spat the waitress.
Astarion laughed harder and turned to the waitress. "Oh no darling, this one is actually quite the freak." The vampire patted the sorceress on the shoulder lovingly. Shadowheart and Gale were now losing it. Halsin blushed. Ryn held his head in his hands.
"Astarion!" chided Aethelle.
"Wait a second, I know your face, too," sneered the waitress as her eyes narrowed at the rogue.
"I don’t know if—"
"Yeah, I know you," the waitress said, interrupting the pale elf. "You leave here with people all the time, too. Then I never see them again." Her voice dripped with her arousing suspicion.
"You’ve got it all wrong," slurred Gale. "He’s a vampire."
The companions looked silently to the wizard, who was smiling stupidly at the tiefling holding their empty shot glasses.
"Gods, do I look like an idiot?" hissed the waitress. "You expect me to believe your fairytale nonsense? You’re all a bunch of arseholes." She walked away in a huff, before disappearing into the crowd.
The companions were still staring blankly at Gale.
"You know, that tracks," nodded Shadowheart. Aethelle and Ryn both sputtered.
"What tracks?" the patriars asked in unison.
Shadowheart gestured to Aethelle with the wine glass in her hand. "At the Goblin Camp, when you stripped down and let that priest of Loviatar—"
"Shadowheart, perhaps—"
"Oh, when he whipped her in front of us?" laughed Astarion, cutting his lover off.
"Aethelflaed. What the fuck is wrong with you?" groaned Ryn from his hands.
"Was that before you rescued me?" asked Halsin.
"Indeed," affirmed Shadowheart. Halsin did his best not to appear disappointed.
"I never heard about this!" pouted Gale.
"Now hang on. I—"
"Was it like the time we thought she was going to sleep with the incubus?" asked Gale, interrupting Aethelle.
"Yes, but she didn’t hesitate with the Loviatar fellow," laughed Astarion. "I still remember how sweet your blood smelled." The vampire looked dreamily at the sorceress.
"Now, now, we have to give her some credit. She turned down Mizora outright," added Shadowheart.
Gale spat his wine from his chalice. Halsin looked at the sorceress with wide eyes.
"What?!" exclaimed Astarion.
"Oh shit," muttered Shadowheart.
"Who the fuck is Mizora?" asked Ryn.
Aethelle suddenly stood up from the table, her face as red as the vampire’s eyes.
"I think I heard Alfira calling me over, I better go make sure she’s okay!" laughed the sorceress nervously before quickly disappearing into the crowd.
"Mizora was the devil who was Wyll’s patron," explained Gale.
"Wait a fucking minute," said an exasperated Ryn. "How many people in your camp tried to fuck my friend?"
Shadowheart and Gale pointed to Astarion, who was raising his hand. However, the companions were mostly shocked by Halsin, who also raised his hand.
"By the Nine Hells," groaned Ryn.
"Halsin," hissed Astarion through bared fangs, "Care to explain?"
"Oh, you have no need to concern yourself," laughed Halsin. "She very kindly turned me down. She said she didn’t want to mess anything up between you both. I imagine she didn’t mention it out of respect for my privacy."
"Oh." Astarion tilted his head, his eyes wide at Halsin’s retelling.
"Now hang on, what happened with this Mizora?" asked Ryn.
Shadowheart shrugged. "Aethelle told me that Mizora had asked to sleep with her, and she immediately said no. But we did have a good laugh about it," smiled the cleric.
"I suppose we probably ought to go bring Aethelle back, and apologize for torturing her," added Halsin.
"Seems like she’s busy," said Ryn as he took a drink from his glass, pointing at the sorceress in the side room of the Elfsong Tavern. The companions peered through the doorway, trying to sneak a look through the crowded room.
Alfira was standing on the the stage laughing, gesturing to Aethelle, who had taken a seat at the upright piano just offstage. The bard nodded at the sorceress, who familiarly traced her fingers over the ivory keys, and nodded back to the bard to begin.
"She can play lanceboard and piano?" asked a shocked Gale.
"Well, of course!" replied Ryn. "She’s a patriar. Of course she’d be classically trained."
Alfira tapped an upbeat tempo with her heel, counting in the two women, and began singing and strumming the tune. Soon after, Aethelle joined in with the bard at the chorus, harmonizing her mezzo with Alfira's soprano.
"Well I’ll be damned," whispered Shadowheart, her eyes wide. Ryn, Gale, and Halsin smiled as they looked on. Astarion felt a pang in his heart as he watched.
After a short instrumental, Alfira nodded at Aethelle to take the melody in next verse. Her mezzo voice rang out freely to the notes easily in her register.
Shadowheart looked back to Astarion, and smiled warmly at him. His eyes were wide as he listened. The two women joined their voices again for the chorus. This time, Alfira nodded encouragingly at Aethelle, and the sorceress's eyes widened as she nodded in return. At the end of the chorus, Aethelle sang out the next lyrics herself, her hands still dancing along the keys of the piano. Alfira smiled at Aethelle, and nodded excitedly. The two of them finished out the chorus to end the song.
The tavern, now wholly entranced with the duo, clapped as they drank. Alfira, thrilled with Aethelle's performance, sat next to her on the bench for a moment in-between songs.
"I should have known you were talented!" exclaimed the bard. "I can't believe I never wondered, since the day you helped me finish the song in the grove!"
Aethelle laughed and waved her off. "It's been awhile."
"Do you know this one?" Alfira began strumming her lute, before sitting back at her stool on the stage. "You sing! I'll do the strings."
"This one?" asked Aethelle, her eyes wide. "I know it, but-"
"You'll do fine, you'll do fine! It's perfect for your voice," laughed Alfira. "Go ahead!"
The companions watched the two women on the stage discuss something quickly, before Alfira gestured to the shocked sorceress. The sorceress blushed and almost seemed a tad nervous, but her mezzo voice sang softly along to the moderate tempo.
Astarion blinked. He suddenly remembered a memory from long ago, in the very same tavern. The memory was so brief, it was no wonder he had forgotten it after all this time. Yet, he silently cursed himself for forgetting it nonetheless.
Aethelle sang from her heart, as if she had written the words herself. Some of the people in the tavern looked on, derailed from their conversations, to listen to the sorceress's voice. When the final notes rang out from her voice and the piano, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause.
Alfira clapped and hugged Aethelle tightly. The two women exchanged some words, while the sorceress quickly left the stage and walked hurriedly up the stairs of the Elfsong.
"Ha! It's been awhile since I heard her sing," said Ryn.
Suddenly, two more companions appeared from behind the paladin.
"Ah, wonderful," said the elder druid, taking a shot from the table and eagerly downing it. "Where's the woman of the hour?" asked Jaheira.
"Jaheira! Do not tell me I am going to have to lug you home yet again," commented Minsc.
"Oh hush. Why not today, of all days?" laughed Jaheira, taking the seat at the end of the table between Astarion and Gale. Minsc sat between the vampire and the paladin, where the sorceress once sat. Shadowheart shot Astarion a look, and nodded to the stairs.
"She went up for some air, I'll go get her," said Astarion. He got up and walked through the crowded tavern. As he drifted to the stairs, he became lost in the memory he had once forgotten.
The woman sat alone at the bar, covered in a dark cloak. Her raven hair fell loose in waves across her face, drinking the dark red wine from the glass.
The pale elf sat across the bar, eyeing her up and down. She had rebuked the advances of several men so far, insulting them to the point where they usually stood up quickly, called her a name, and hastily walked away. Usually he didn't bother with the obstinate ones, as they required more work than he was willing to put in. The faster he could bring his prey home for Cazador, the better. This time, though, he felt rather curious with the woman at the bar.
As he approached, the smell of vanilla overwhelmed him. It was a gentle scent, but to his heightened senses, it rolled over him like a tide. Not only that, he could faintly smell the blood beneath her skin, and it aroused his senses like no one else in the tavern.
"A patriar? What are you doing in the bar, darling?" drawled the vampire, sitting in the empty seat next to her.
The woman never made eye contact with the man, but instead stared into her drink. She let out a sigh before drinking from her glass.
"You're clearly more perceptive than the others. But not perceptive enough to know I'm not looking for company," said the woman dryly.
"Oh, perhaps not theirs," smiled the pale elf sickeningly. "Tell me, what would the Lady prefer? The morsels of idiots here? Or someone of a similar station?"
The woman did not bother to speak or look at him. She simply drank from her glass again.
"You're a tough one. Lucky for you, I enjoy a challenge."
"Lucky for you, that I haven't decided to throw my drink in your face."
The vampire laughed. "Indeed, but I seem to have lasted longer than the others so far."
"Perhaps I also enjoy a challenge," smiled the woman from beneath her raven waves. "Perhaps I just want to see how terribly I can tear you down."
"And how do you plan to do that, without even looking at me?" asked the pale elf.
"You'll show your hand. They all do, eventually." The woman casually sipped her wine.
"Ah, so you're getting over an ex-lover, aren't you?" oozed the vampire. The woman's façade broke for a moment as he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
"And here I thought you the mysterious type," said the man. "Lovers are a dime a dozen, darling. I could show you, if you'd like." He leaned in closer to her, hoping to get more of a peek at her face obscured by the dark waves. She looked away as he neared her.
"And why would I want anything from you, if you're just like everyone else?" she snarled.
He leaned in even closer, to whisper softly into the woman's ear. "I can assure you, I'd be unlike anyone you've ever met."
"You already are," whispered the woman into her glass. "I've never met anyone that used citrus to mask the smell of death."
The vampire leaned back quickly, his eyes wide. The woman placed a few coins on the counter and stood away from the man, pulling the hood of her cloak over her raven waves. She walked calmly out of the front doors of the tavern.
The vampire sat there in shock for a moment, before leaving quickly after her. If she knew he was a vampire, he'd be in monstrous trouble with Cazador. The spawn had to be discreet, lest anything come back on their master. There was no toying around now. He either needed to catch her, or kill her, whichever was more convenient.
As the night breeze caressed his cold skin, he looked around the cobblestone street frantically. Suddenly, he saw the woman in the cloak turn the corner into a nearby alley.
The vampire sighed and ran after her. A pity that she would make it so easy, by offering herself up in a dark alley like this. A shame indeed, as the man would have liked to know a little more about her.

"We have money, Aethelle!" groaned Ryn. "Did you forget that we are patriars?!"

Shadowheart smiled at the sorceress devilishly. "You simply must tell me about this later."

The sorceress winked at her friend and downed another shot. Ryn eagerly downed another as well, wanting to forget the scandalous conversation she had with the barkeep. Astarion was already following his up with a chaser of blood, still stupefied at the possible implications of their conversation.

"How are you holding up, Gale?" chortled Halsin, as he easily downed his next shot. Of all the companions, the druid was the most sober.

"You know what?" beamed the wizard, his speech still slurred. "I’ll have you know I am better than ever."

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" said a waitress, who was now picking up their empty shot glasses. "Do my eyes deceive me? That must be the Baron and the Lady in our midst. It’s been awhile, though."

Aethelle coughed. "I see our reputation precedes us, Ryndel." Ryn’s eyes widened as he tried to stifle his inner panic.

"Hello!" laughed the paladin nervously. "Do we know you?"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," the waitress rolled her eyes. "It’s no surprise you don’t remember bedding me, considering how drunk you two usually get here." The waitress loosely gestured to the two nobles.

"Tell me, Baron, do you remember her? Or him?" The waitress began pointing to others in the tavern. "Or are you just going to pretend like they didn’t happen, either? You know, poor Claire is still waiting on that date."

Aethelle gasped through her wicked smile and lightly slapped Ryn’s arm. "Ryndel! You rake!"

Ryn’s face was bright red as he tried to muster a response to the waitress admonishing him. Shadowheart stared into her goblet. Gale was making no attempt to hide his laughter, and in response, Halsin was laughing at the wizard. Astarion clamped a hand over his mouth and did his best to control his snickering.

"And you, my Lady," sneered the waitress, pointing at Aethelle. "You’ve got all the bartenders under your finger, yet you don’t sleep with any of them! You just have your fun, get your free booze, and leave. Do you know Kirta? I was going on a date with him "til he turned me down for you!"

"I can assure you, I never—" stammered the sorceress. Gale and Astarion were now completely losing it. Shadowheart looked at Aethelle in approval. Halsin looked away from them all, trying to compose himself.

"Yeah, yeah, you never did anything with him. You fucking prude," spat the waitress.

Astarion laughed harder and turned to the waitress. "Oh no darling, this one is actually quite the freak." The vampire patted the sorceress on the shoulder lovingly. Shadowheart and Gale were now losing it. Halsin blushed. Ryn held his head in his hands.

"Astarion!" chided Aethelle.

"Wait a second, I know your face, too," sneered the waitress as her eyes narrowed at the rogue.

"I don’t know if—"

"Yeah, I know you," the waitress said, interrupting the pale elf. "You leave here with people all the time, too. Then I never see them again." Her voice dripped with her arousing suspicion.

"You’ve got it all wrong," slurred Gale. "He’s a vampire."

The companions looked silently to the wizard, who was smiling stupidly at the tiefling holding their empty shot glasses.

"Gods, do I look like an idiot?" hissed the waitress. "You expect me to believe your fairytale nonsense? You’re all a bunch of arseholes." She walked away in a huff, before disappearing into the crowd.

The companions were still staring blankly at Gale.

"You know, that tracks," nodded Shadowheart. Aethelle and Ryn both sputtered.

"What tracks?" the patriars asked in unison.

Shadowheart gestured to Aethelle with the wine glass in her hand. "At the Goblin Camp, when you stripped down and let that priest of Loviatar—"

"Shadowheart, perhaps—"

"Oh, when he whipped her in front of us?" laughed Astarion, cutting his lover off.

"Aethelflaed. What the fuck is wrong with you?" groaned Ryn from his hands.

"Was that before you rescued me?" asked Halsin.

"Indeed," affirmed Shadowheart. Halsin did his best not to appear disappointed.

"I never heard about this!" pouted Gale.

"Now hang on. I—"

"Was it like the time we thought she was going to sleep with the incubus?" asked Gale, interrupting Aethelle.

"Yes, but she didn’t hesitate with the Loviatar fellow," laughed Astarion. "I still remember how sweet your blood smelled." The vampire looked dreamily at the sorceress.

"Now, now, we have to give her some credit. She turned down Mizora outright," added Shadowheart.

Gale spat his wine from his chalice. Halsin looked at the sorceress with wide eyes.

"What?!" exclaimed Astarion.

"Oh shit," muttered Shadowheart.

"Who the fuck is Mizora?" asked Ryn.

Aethelle suddenly stood up from the table, her face as red as the vampire’s eyes.

"I think I heard Alfira calling me over, I better go make sure she’s okay!" laughed the sorceress nervously before quickly disappearing into the crowd.

"Mizora was the devil who was Wyll’s patron," explained Gale.

"Wait a fucking minute," said an exasperated Ryn. "How many people in your camp tried to fuck my friend?"

Shadowheart and Gale pointed to Astarion, who was raising his hand. However, the companions were mostly shocked by Halsin, who also raised his hand.

"By the Nine Hells," groaned Ryn.

"Halsin," hissed Astarion through bared fangs, "Care to explain?"

"Oh, you have no need to concern yourself," laughed Halsin. "She very kindly turned me down. She said she didn’t want to mess anything up between you both. I imagine she didn’t mention it out of respect for my privacy."

"Oh." Astarion tilted his head, his eyes wide at Halsin’s retelling.

"Now hang on, what happened with this Mizora?" asked Ryn.

Shadowheart shrugged. "Aethelle told me that Mizora had asked to sleep with her, and she immediately said no. But we did have a good laugh about it," smiled the cleric.

"I suppose we probably ought to go bring Aethelle back, and apologize for torturing her," added Halsin.

"Seems like she’s busy," said Ryn as he took a drink from his glass, pointing at the sorceress in the side room of the Elfsong Tavern. The companions peered through the doorway, trying to sneak a look through the crowded room.

Alfira was standing on the the stage laughing, gesturing to Aethelle, who had taken a seat at the upright piano just offstage. The bard nodded at the sorceress, who familiarly traced her fingers over the ivory keys, and nodded back to the bard to begin.

"She can play lanceboard and piano?" asked a shocked Gale.

"Well, of course!" replied Ryn. "She’s a patriar. Of course she’d be classically trained."

Alfira tapped an upbeat tempo with her heel, counting in the two women, and began singing and strumming the tune. Soon after, Aethelle joined in with the bard at the chorus, harmonizing her mezzo with Alfira's soprano.

"Well I’ll be damned," whispered Shadowheart, her eyes wide. Ryn, Gale, and Halsin smiled as they looked on. Astarion felt a pang in his heart as he watched.

After a short instrumental, Alfira nodded at Aethelle to take the melody in next verse. Her mezzo voice rang out freely to the notes easily in her register.

Shadowheart looked back to Astarion, and smiled warmly at him. His eyes were wide as he listened. The two women joined their voices again for the chorus. This time, Alfira nodded encouragingly at Aethelle, and the sorceress's eyes widened as she nodded in return. At the end of the chorus, Aethelle sang out the next lyrics herself, her hands still dancing along the keys of the piano. Alfira smiled at Aethelle, and nodded excitedly. The two of them finished out the chorus to end the song.

The tavern, now wholly entranced with the duo, clapped as they drank. Alfira, thrilled with Aethelle's performance, sat next to her on the bench for a moment in-between songs.

"I should have known you were talented!" exclaimed the bard. "I can't believe I never wondered, since the day you helped me finish the song in the grove!"

Aethelle laughed and waved her off. "It's been awhile."

"Do you know this one?" Alfira began strumming her lute, before sitting back at her stool on the stage. "You sing! I'll do the strings."

"This one?" asked Aethelle, her eyes wide. "I know it, but-"

"You'll do fine, you'll do fine! It's perfect for your voice," laughed Alfira. "Go ahead!"

The companions watched the two women on the stage discuss something quickly, before Alfira gestured to the shocked sorceress. The sorceress blushed and almost seemed a tad nervous, but her mezzo voice sang softly along to the moderate tempo.

Astarion blinked. He suddenly remembered a memory from long ago, in the very same tavern. The memory was so brief, it was no wonder he had forgotten it after all this time. Yet, he silently cursed himself for forgetting it nonetheless.

Aethelle sang from her heart, as if she had written the words herself. Some of the people in the tavern looked on, derailed from their conversations, to listen to the sorceress's voice. When the final notes rang out from her voice and the piano, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

Alfira clapped and hugged Aethelle tightly. The two women exchanged some words, while the sorceress quickly left the stage and walked hurriedly up the stairs of the Elfsong.

"Ha! It's been awhile since I heard her sing," said Ryn.

Suddenly, two more companions appeared from behind the paladin.

"Ah, wonderful," said the elder druid, taking a shot from the table and eagerly downing it. "Where's the woman of the hour?" asked Jaheira.

"Jaheira! Do not tell me I am going to have to lug you home yet again," commented Minsc.

"Oh hush. Why not today, of all days?" laughed Jaheira, taking the seat at the end of the table between Astarion and Gale. Minsc sat between the vampire and the paladin, where the sorceress once sat. Shadowheart shot Astarion a look, and nodded to the stairs.

"She went up for some air, I'll go get her," said Astarion. He got up and walked through the crowded tavern. As he drifted to the stairs, he became lost in the memory he had once forgotten.

The woman sat alone at the bar, covered in a dark cloak. Her raven hair fell loose in waves across her face, drinking the dark red wine from the glass.

The pale elf sat across the bar, eyeing her up and down. She had rebuked the advances of several men so far, insulting them to the point where they usually stood up quickly, called her a name, and hastily walked away. Usually he didn't bother with the obstinate ones, as they required more work than he was willing to put in. The faster he could bring his prey home for Cazador, the better. This time, though, he felt rather curious with the woman at the bar.

As he approached, the smell of vanilla overwhelmed him. It was a gentle scent, but to his heightened senses, it rolled over him like a tide. Not only that, he could faintly smell the blood beneath her skin, and it aroused his senses like no one else in the tavern.

"A patriar? What are you doing in the bar, darling?" drawled the vampire, sitting in the empty seat next to her.

The woman never made eye contact with the man, but instead stared into her drink. She let out a sigh before drinking from her glass.

"You're clearly more perceptive than the others. But not perceptive enough to know I'm not looking for company," said the woman dryly.

"Oh, perhaps not theirs," smiled the pale elf sickeningly. "Tell me, what would the Lady prefer? The morsels of idiots here? Or someone of a similar station?"

The woman did not bother to speak or look at him. She simply drank from her glass again.

"You're a tough one. Lucky for you, I enjoy a challenge."

"Lucky for you, that I haven't decided to throw my drink in your face."

The vampire laughed. "Indeed, but I seem to have lasted longer than the others so far."

"Perhaps I also enjoy a challenge," smiled the woman from beneath her raven waves. "Perhaps I just want to see how terribly I can tear you down."

"And how do you plan to do that, without even looking at me?" asked the pale elf.

"You'll show your hand. They all do, eventually." The woman casually sipped her wine.

"Ah, so you're getting over an ex-lover, aren't you?" oozed the vampire. The woman's façade broke for a moment as he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

"And here I thought you the mysterious type," said the man. "Lovers are a dime a dozen, darling. I could show you, if you'd like." He leaned in closer to her, hoping to get more of a peek at her face obscured by the dark waves. She looked away as he neared her.

"And why would I want anything from you, if you're just like everyone else?" she snarled.

He leaned in even closer, to whisper softly into the woman's ear. "I can assure you, I'd be unlike anyone you've ever met."

"You already are," whispered the woman into her glass. "I've never met anyone that used citrus to mask the smell of death."

The vampire leaned back quickly, his eyes wide. The woman placed a few coins on the counter and stood away from the man, pulling the hood of her cloak over her raven waves. She walked calmly out of the front doors of the tavern.

The vampire sat there in shock for a moment, before leaving quickly after her. If she knew he was a vampire, he'd be in monstrous trouble with Cazador. The spawn had to be discreet, lest anything come back on their master. There was no toying around now. He either needed to catch her, or kill her, whichever was more convenient.

As the night breeze caressed his cold skin, he looked around the cobblestone street frantically. Suddenly, he saw the woman in the cloak turn the corner into a nearby alley.

The vampire sighed and ran after her. A pity that she would make it so easy, by offering herself up in a dark alley like this. A shame indeed, as the man would have liked to know a little more about her.