#but with half-elves and their human and elven relatives it feels even stronger to me

[armenelols]

Actually. Star crown Elrond is important to me because it keeps the theme of his family carrying stars with them, their connection to the stars and skies far beyond what even all other elves have. Thingol, who fell in love with a Maia from beyond Arda and Aman and from before time itself existed, and who, of all the elves, was alone named Elwë, after stars; Lúthien and the nightingales, birds, free with their wings, soaring the skies; Dior who carried the silmaril with the light of the Trees inside it; and Elwing who inherited it, and turned into a bird, flying as Lúthien's nightingales once did; Eärendil, a literal star; and Elros, who followed his father's star to Númenor, a star-shaped island where eagles dwelt. Star crown Elrond is important to me okay

[kaiju-z]

Seon Adventures Episode 16: On The Road To Crystalgate

So, this one took a bit to get to, due to my want to finish part of a personal project. But here we are!

It is the morning after the Flurry x 2 battle.

The party are awake, fully rested, healed and feeling stronger than before!

After breakfast is eaten and everyone is ready, the lot of the Cultbusters + Ficus load up on the carriage and take to the road once more. The ROAD TO CRYSTALGATE CITY! (play that funky tune!)

After what feels like an eternity of baby related humor, with the party basically agreeing that Luctan is Dadtan, they reach a fortified settlement, along the river’s path. Thick 30 to 40ft tall walls protect it from incursions and tents surround a proper building resembling an inn.  On the outside of the walled part, there’s only one entrance, a big wooden gate. This is the town of Cidinium.

Asking around, part out of curiosity for local lore and part to get information on the baby, Luctan learns that the tents belong to the relatives of the soldiers.  Quite common for families to stop here, see their loved ones, check on them, see their kids. Asking one of the soldiers in particular, regarding the elven family,  the battlescarred, green haired Half-Orc remembers seeing a few coming and going. They think they remember someone vaglue matching the description leaving a few days ago.

During the queary, we learn that Peppery Pete had magically appeared in the man’s room, which is a welcome reprieve from the grim topic of the child’s family. Luctan learns that up, along the way there is an orphanage that they could leave the little one, if they don’t find relatives of his. Though it is possible that the elves they saw were sent down to Sa Doma, from this outpost.

Luctan gives instructions to retrieve and burry the bodies, maybe ask around, otherwise for his own people, in case they too fell victims to Ogres.

During the conversation Ficus holds a firm, encouraging hand on Belli’s shoulder, as she is not on good terms with authorities.

And the party moves along.

On the way to Lebovia, the formentioned place with the orphanage, Mournimar admits that he feels sick of nature, given the most recent experience. Burk, on the other hand, feels alright in it,fine with it even. It’s just that he doesn’t like anything in it. With the exception of Rimefang.

Rimefang is special

Belli offers to cut Mournimar’s hair, after he talks of wanting it shortened, some...

But. Ah.

Some failed instructions on Ficus and Luctan’s part later cause the poor Bard to cut a bit too much, giving Mournimar that short hair.

(He basically becomes Steve Harrington from Stranger Things. Mournimar is Tiefling Steve).

Key phrases used later and Ficus gets dissed by Belli for his hair choice and Luctan suffers a bad case of the war-flashbags at the mention of “cut tail”, having to then be moved, off the reigns of the horses and in the passanger cart for some R & R with Archie and Orion, the orange cats. One familiar, one normal kitty.

Urged by Mournimar, Belli sits with Luck and apologizes for what happened. Luck, in cat heaven, tells her no hard feelings were had over the phrasing.  Luctan DJ scratch-pats the cats and just nods to Belli. (and that’s where we get that photo, y’all).

The path to Lebovia is very uneventful for the next few days, 3 to be exact, it’s very chill, even. But they get there and Luctan does some more queary-snooping.

But sadly, it’s hard to tell. He gets left with the impression that maybe they were from either Sa Doma or Gorrum.

The party agree to take a rest in Lebovia, with Luctan opting to hold onto the baby, until he is sure he has run out of leads.

The party split to three rooms, with Ficus and Amelia having a conversation in the one they end up in (super secret chat convo!), Ficus very much offering his “services” to Luctan, but the disguised tiefling isn’t in the mood (given the fatherly duties over young Chucklefuck, how could he?!).

Luctan and Burk share a conversation, where Luctan learns a bit about Burk’s enemies, the two remaining. The Golliath appeared quite generic, for his folk. Big, gray and swole. The Half-Elf appears to be with red war paint to make the eyes look shallow/bloody, very shortly cropped black hair, near bald and 5’9” in height. No names given. "I didn’t exactly ask them, while they were slaughtering my people.” answered Burk.

Understanding, Luctan offers to teach Burk to read, something Burk will keep in mind.

On the next day, on the path along Lebovia, Belli and Ficus would know of a cut-off path that goes to the rich people area. Belli promises “no robberies”. Using the air quotes as she speaks.

As they go around Gorrum, they see a silhouette of a military complex, where weapons for the army get forged. Barracks that go several stories high and they can hear military drills being enhanced with thaumaturgy. Shit’s whack, yo.

No one really wants to talk with Luctan about the baby. They all kinda look weirdly at the party, except for Luctan.

Whack.

As vengeance for the way the guy treats the party, Belli has Orion, in seagull form, shit on the guy’s head. Then in the eye. And then, through Thaumaturgy, thanks to Mournimar, ruin the man’s reputation by having Orion say, in the guy’s voice “Oh, shit! I have chlamydia!”

The chaos trio have a good laugh on the way back to the cart, before they continue on their way with the rest of the party. “Don’t Frick with the Clique”, as Belli puts it.

As the party travel up the road, Burk, Amelia and Mournimar notice a kind of, unmoving large shape tucked into a corner. Mournimar gets a bit closer and sees a human woman, lying against a tree with an arrow straight through her chest, pinning her to the tree.

Mournimar checks the woman to see if she’s alive. She doesn’t seem to be breathing. Way less blood comes out of the wound, once Mournimar removes it. Cure Wounds don’t work.

In her hand is a small folded envelope. Belli takes the envelope, there’s a wax seal and only Belli can make a check on  it (Ficus would have recognized is as well, but he rolled a Nat 1, so it didn’t matter).

Her parents mentioned The Triad, back in the day, a group of really high class exclusive bards, but they were never allowed in, which was strange, since they were always allowed places. Hoity-Toity elven bards.

The name and address on the paper is N. Braville, Shadowspire Manor, Platinum District, Crystalgate.

This is a letter for Nelatha! The words “Quick and Urgent” quite evident on the paper!    (congrats, guys! We got a dellivery quest!)

With her base perception,  Amelia finds a coinpurse with 15 gold and 2 platinum, while Luctan’s eyes fall on a dagger (that boy loves him some pointy weapons). 

It, the coin purse, has the emblem of the Messenger’s guild, but it’s embroidered in golden silk and based on the badges she has, she’s a high ranking messenger of the guild.

The dagger itself is fairly normal, but it does hold the name  “ leliana “ in Elven, which Mournimar translates for him.

Seeng as the kill is quite fresh and a pursuer is surely nearby, the party decide to burry the body and make their way to Crystalgate, warn the Messenger guild of their fallen comrade and also deliver the letter to Nel. 

On the way, Belli sends a message to Nel, regarding what happened.

With the knowledge that the Narah girl can cast Message, Nel “can’t wait” to get more messages from Belli. She will wait for their arrival. She’s with her mom for the next few days. She’ll see them then.

Belli mimics Nel’s voice to the party. Amelia’s eye twitches during this bit.

The party head north a bit, up the stream, after this. The sun is setting earlier than expected, so we camp, before reaching the Narah mansion.

Deciding on Turns, Mournimar takes the first, with nothing eventful occuring. Luctan follows, with Ficus and Belli to be after him.

...

DURING LUCTAN’S TURN!

During Luctan’s watch, he notices that there’s a slight shake, from the brush nearby. There seems to be disturbed earth.  From walking around the rocky alcove, what seems to initially be a weirdly shaped dog, with a weird, bulbous head, turns out to be a canine with 2 heads. (Yeah, given Luctan’s Human/Tiefling personas, that is oddly apt for him to find).

One head growls at Luctan, the other carries a piece of parchment, staring at him.  It walks towards him as he wonders, to no aveil, what this being is, exactly. 

It comes towards him, slowly. It drops the scroll 10ft from where they’ré camped and then backs up.

Luctan approaches, takes the scroll and-

On the inside, in very neat letters, it says (DEEZ NUTS!!! Nah, nah, just kidding. It says:) “Give me the letter and have it be over with.”

Luctan writes a message back, drops the scroll at the dog, the dog clearly isn’t happy. It waits a few seconds, expecting something. Luctan just smiles. The dog eventually rises to it’s feet and howls from both heads.

Dex saves time-

Out of nowhere, a powerful fireball strikes upon the sleeping party.  Amelia, Mournimar and Belli each take 30 points of fire damage. A small spark flies from behind a rock from the south and encompasses the whole camp.

Pained, from the blast, which equally hurts him and Burk, for 15 damage, Luctan delivers his Hellish Rebuke in the direction of the caster. “CASTIGARE DI INFERNALIS!”. And causes some damage to the wily green dressed mage.

Enraged, Burk charges the wizard and swings with his axe. Recklessly, he slashes and strikes, adding on his pint sized fury onto the blow. The initial attack succeeds, but as a reaction, Burk’s second attack is blocked by the guy.

Panicking over the damage Belli,  Amelia and Mournimar took, Luctan’s body begins to glow. He reaches a hand out towards his friends as strange patterns of golden light appear over him, his disguised eyes flashing purple as he casts, for the first time ever, “Healing Word” with a powerful “No”, directed at Belli.

Confused over what had just happened, he quickly re-focuses on the sudden combat that’s begun and, with Burk handling the wizard, he charges the dog, putting it in a grapple, catching each of it’s heads. He brings the two headed dog down and commands it to “Sit”.

Rimefang, not liking the fire, makes distance between himself and the party, taking Archie the Cat along with him to safety. 

The mage, on his turn, terrified by the raging barbarian, slams his hand against the ground and brings up huge chunks of hale and Burk takes half the damage of the blast. 4 bludgeoning damage and 22 cold damage.

(Yeah, ok, so this is my bad, but I misremembered the events and initially thought the Cone of Cold was what came first?!) 

He winks at Burk and disappears into mist. And reappears on top of the rock, 20ft high.

(After out of character we agree that The Monk Dunk is the in-universe version of the fastball special), a wounded Amelia approaches Burk and offers to throw him at the wizard. Burk agrees, but the throw isn’t very productive. Burk is too beefy, ok?!

Instead, Amelia takes to her darts and strikes the man.

He looks signifigantly hurt, while Amelia wades through the difficult terrain of the Cone of Cold’s radius.

- Belli, on her turn, casts her Trademark "Sleep” on the man. This attempts reveals to the party that the man bust be elven or half-elf in race, as he shrugs it off with ease. Elves really only needing meditation to pass their time.

On her turn, Belli gives Burk one of her inspirational kazoo songs, while Ficus rises to his feet and charges the hound that Luctan grapples. With a miss, however, he takes the expedius action to make distance between himself and a very disappointed Luctan, who appears to have some pity for the two headed animal.

Mournimar’s turn. He fires his bow, shooting a sneaky arrow at the mage, piercing his body. With a second arrow, he strikes again, arrowing the magic man in the chest.

In the meanwhile of all this, a winded, wounded Morgan takes to stand before Belli. The dire wolf seems to barely keep himself vertical as he growls at the elven magic user.

(And for those wondering, according to the DM, the baby is tite, nestled between Luctan’s back and his shield. I guess you could say Luctan has a constant backpack for the little one.

On Burk’s turn, the little green man climbs like a beast up the rocks that the wizard had climbed up to and shoves said wizard off the 20ft rock. With a thud, he drops. 

Feeling inspired by Belli’s music, and using his spiked elbows, Burk takes a dive.

SMASHING on top of the winded and prone mage, thus giving us the debut of The Cragreaver People’s Elbow!

Due to the imact, the man’s head bounces sideways and he avoids what could very well have been a mortal strike by the goblin.

Asking if Morgan’s ok, Luctan heals him with another Healing Word. Then glares at the dog, trying to wrestle free from his grip and, glaring, he shouts, using thaumaturgy. “HEEL!”

The Dog of Janus promptly whimpers at the command of the tiefling as Rimefang joins at Luctan’s side, hissing and  threatening with his wings.

Panicking, the mage brings a crystal out of his pocket, holds it to his mouth, wreathes through it and fires a 60ft cone of yet again!

The cone strikes Burk and Amelia, with the latter taking 32 damage, while the former reduces said damage to 16. The blow was too strong for the monk, however and she drops, her body amidst the ice.

Amelia’s will keeps her in just enough to succeed on a death saving throw...

She’s down, but not out completely and as we get to this part.

We end on this cliffhanger.

Previous Episode / Next Episode

[mornington-the-crescent]

D&D Stuff

I have some friend who have expressed an interest in playing D&D, but none of them have ever played before. Having played off and on for 20+ years, it therefore fell to me to be the DM for their first experience. But, none of them really know what they’re doing, so I took the liberty of rolling up and writing up some characters for them. I tried to keep things simple, but novel, with potential for interesting interactions. So, with no further ado...

(All art by @birdy-the-artist, whom you should follow and commission)

Darguz Blackfist

Half-Orc Monk (LN)

Life for a young half-orc can be difficult, even somewhere like Morgyr. It's not uncommon for lower-class children to turn to crime and gangs, and Darguz Blackfist was no exception to that rule. He fell in with a rough crowd at the tender young age of eight, running errands, acting as lookout, working to prove himself to the gang. As he got older, bigger, stronger, he rose through the ranks quickly; by the time he was 14, he had gained enough renown in the gang to be allowed on a highway mission, ambushing travelers headed through the Morgyr Pass. His first such mission had him once again more in a lookout role, but this was big-time stuff. So when he saw the lone human woman traveling on the road, with no arms or armor in sight, this was sure to be easy pickings. It proved to be anything but. This lone human easily dispatched of the other members of the gang in a flurry of fists and feet and elbows, knocking out four full-grown half-orcs, and one pureblood, without even breaking a sweat. As someone who had grown up thinking that strength was the only path to success and power and prestige, Darguz was mystified by this. What did this human know that the orcs did not? If he had that power, he would be in charge; nobody would ever question him again. He had to learn...

He followed her for two days, before finally approaching her in the market square. The human was wryly amused by him- she had taken care of his companions with little difficulty; what hope did he, a half-blood runt on his own have? Best to run along before he got hurt. But Darguz instead asked her to teach him. He had seen what she could do, and he wanted to learn to do what she did. She considered, then refused. Darguz was undeterred, asking again and again and again over several days, following where she went, finding her whenever he could. Finally, she confronted him. She would not teach him, she said; it was clear that he only wanted strength to control others, to have mastery over others, and that that would be an abuse of that strength. True strength, she said, is only used for self-control, and to achieve mastery over oneself. Darguz did not understand what this meant, but agreed to submit to her training, her definition of strength, regardless. He would learn her strength, and then use it however he wanted.

They say that when a man long wears a mask, his face will grow to fit it. And the more time Darguz spent among the monks of The Forward Path, the more he found himself understanding and internalizing their teachings. He used the strength he found to quiet the rage inside of him, to still the fire that burned hot in his Orcish blood, to find peace in a mind at war with itself. And he would have stayed in the monestary his whole life, had not a letter come for him, from his first master, the woman who saw the spark in him twelve long years ago. She wished to speak with him on a matter of great importance, and needed him to make a pilgrimage to the Forward Path monastery far in the south. Fortunately for him, there was a caravan passing nearby on its way to Kingsforge; he would have to travel on foot the rest of the way, but it would get him close to his destination...

Rosleigh Winterthistle

Halfling Ranger (NG)

Rosleigh Winterthistle is the fifth daughter, and ninth child, of the Barrich branch of the Winterthistle Clan. The Barriches, and therefore the Winterthistles, were nomads, always traveling from place to place, never setting down roots for too long; if opportunity called on the other side of the continent, then they needed to be ready to move as soon as possible. Rosleigh grew up with her brothers and sisters in the backs of ramshackle wagons and carts, living on the road for months at a time, never staying in one place for too long. Her Clan would arrive at their destination, work, take advantage of opportunity, and then move on when something new presented itself.

A life of travel like that means that one needs to have a certain set of skills, one which Rosleigh, as the smallest of the family, was expected to obtain. And this, she did. The Clan would need food; Rosleigh learned to track and hunt, and to identify every edible root, leaf, and berry in the forests and fields of the world. The Clan would need to keep safe; Rosleigh learned to watch for danger, to read people's faces and intentions, to read trail and spoor for any information it could give. The Clan needed safe passage from place to place; Rosleigh learned to read the roads and the forests, to find paths that the carts and wagons could traverse with only a minimum of difficulty. She was a valuable member of the Clan, helping with her various cousins and uncles and aunts and in-laws and who-knows-what-elses to keep everyone safe, fed, and happy.

But, being the youngest of your clan, not to mention small and quiet, tends to leave one feeling neglected. Rosleigh curious about the world, with no way to satisfy that hunger she felt. Sure, she traveled the world, but she never really saw anything in the places she went; her Clan was never in one place for long enough. So, one night, as the Clan rested outside of a small village, Rosleigh made her move. She snuck away under the cover of darkness, and found something better: It was another caravan, sure, but a different one than she had spent her whole life in, and she could pay her way as a guard and guide. She had seen plenty of small towns and villages and hamlets in her travels; she was eager to see what a proper city like Kingsforge would have to offer...

Monmouth Doyle

Human Wizard (CN)

Oracles and seers are often madmen. Is it the fact that those who are mad are more easily able to peer through the veil, unbound by the usual laws of reason, and see what is, was, and could be? Or is it that seeing so much at once puts undue strain on the mind, causing it to crack and come unraveled on the edges? Either way, seeing the wheel of time turning, visions of things yet to come, is not exactly good for ones mental health. And in no person is such a thing more obvious than one Monmouth Doyle of Daletown.

His family was unremarkable: his father was a tailor, his mother grew flowers in their back garden to sell at market. Monmouth himself was a relatively simple, happy child, with no truly great dreams and ambitions in the world, content to live his life in peace and quiet. That all changed shortly after his eleventh birthday, when he first Saw. He did not have the words to say what it was that he had glimpsed; it was as though he was now, and before, and later, all at once, and when he came back to now, he could not truly say that he had done so. He found himself haunted by visions of things that might yet come to pass, prophecies which unfolded in front of his eyes, jumbled words bubbling, falling, from his mouth and maddening scribbles written on scraps of paper that he could not remember writing, though the hand was his own and the ink still wet when he read them. And all the books on portents and signs and prophecy could not help him explain what was happening to him.

It was too loud in Daletown. Too many people, too much to see, too much to See, too much information pouring into his brain at all hours, causing his Sight to tell him things that he did not want to know, and which those he told did not want to know, though knowing would often save their lives, if only they would listen, and try to decipher the riddles which crowded his brain and threatened to burst it like an overfilled sack. They spoke about him in whispers, glancing at him askance when they thought he did not see, but he always Saw. He had to get away from here, to somewhere quiet, somewhere far away from Daletown and the world he knew. So, just shy of his twentieth birthday, he paid all he had to a caravan master, to head south, away from Daletown forever. The people of the caravan seemed decent enough, content to leave him to his books and his notes, to leave him be, to not talk to him and trigger another Vision. And though he liked them well enough, he knew he would leave eventually, when he found the right spot to hide away from the world; after all, if Daletown was too much for him, then surely a great city like Kingsforge would be far more than his Sight could bear...

Ireni Elohana

Elf Cleric (LN)

Even prior to coming to live among the Order of St. Eno, Ireni Elohana was a serious and stoic child. Elves are normally famous for being flighty, capricious beings, but Ireni was quiet, studious, and all around No Fun by Elven standards. She took interest in the martial disciplines that Elves often dabbled in over their long lives, but beyond her affinity for a bow and a sword, she barely seemed to act like an Elf at all.

The Orcs came when she was still young; over a hundred by human reckoning, but barely an adult to the Elves. She was hidden away as her village was laid to waste, the Orcs burning and razing almost everything. Had not several members of the Order of St. Eno come by when they had, the Orcs might have found and killed Ireni. But the Order intervened, smiting down the greenskins with savage, righteous fury. When they found Ireni, her family was dead or gone, her fellow Elves fled, scattered to the winds... What were they to do with such a child? They would take her to the Temple, until they decided what to do with her. And Ireni, stoic and serious Ireni, soon found life at the Temple to be quite comforting, and well-suited to her temperament. Awake in the morning, prayers and meditation. Breakfast, followed by study. Lunch, followed by training of the body. Dinner, and quiet contemplation, before nightly prayers and devotionals. Every day, a simple routine, training the body and mind, honing it into something in service of something greater than herself. Its intangibility did not make it any less real, and it seemed a far better thing to devote ones life to than the flights of fancy the Elves of her homeland were prone to.

With the long life of an Elf, Ireni was just into maturity when she achieved the honor of being named a Warpriest of St. Eno, something most human devotees of the Order trained for their whole lives. And as a test of her skills, and of her faith, she was given an important mission: A holy artifact had been on loan to a Temple in the great city of Kingsforge, and it was time for it to be returned to the Temple where she had trained. So, she would travel with this caravan, to recover the relic and bring it home, where it, and she, belonged...

Yonde Wolfe

Half-Elf Rogue (CG)

Yonde Wolfe was born into a life of ease and luxury. The son of an Elven courtier and a human diplomat, he was raised in the High Elven court in Hal Hassano. And being the child of a courtier and a diplomat, and watching court every day growing up, watching the subtle dance and interplay of this faction and that, this person and that cause, Yonde soon learned the value of words. The right words, spoken to the right person at the right time, could move mountains, and change the fate of whole nations. Words were power. Words could be used to get what you wanted, if you just knew what to say, and where to press...

When the Wasting Fire came to Hal Hassano, Yonde was only five. The disease confined him to bed for two years, and left him somewhat frail, but his mind was just as keen as ever. And when you're an intelligent child confined to bed, books become your best friends. And he read. And he read. He read everything he could get his hands on. He taught himself other languages by piecing together bits of what he could read in texts written in more than one tongue, to increase the range of books available to him. And the more he read, the more he grew in his confidence that words were the key to everything. It started small. A few white lies here and there, a little flattery and praise there, and before long, Yonde was learning just how to apply the right words to any situation, like a healer applying a salve to a wound, or the subtle and cunning acts of a poisoner. Watch your mark, turn on the charm, flash a brilliant smile, and you can turn anyone into putty in your hands.

He likely would have stayed at court and found a position there to ply his trade, if not for an attempted coup, in which his father was implicated as a conspirator. Though he was sure of his father’s innocence in the matter, Yonde decided that it would perhaps be best to disappear for a while, lest suspicion and guilt fall on his father's family, and he be branded a traitor by association. And on his own, his quick wit and silver tongue got him far, the young man quite adept at the art of the con, parting people from their money and property with ease, usually leaving them smiling and thanking him as he absconded with their belongings. Usually. Even the best thief can get caught, after all, and shipped back in irons to the city where he bilked a corrupt mayor out of his ill-gotten gains to stand trial. But Yonde wasn't too worried. He knew he could talk himself out of this mess, like he had so many messes in the past. After all, his tongue was still as silver as ever, and there were many, many miles to go before the caravan got to Kingsforge...

[feynites]

@lycheemilkart have some Banana Bachelor Auction shenanigans! 

Also featuring @selenelavellan‘s Selene! Because Ana needed a friend to put her up to this lol.

Bachelor auctions are weird.

 Vena had never heard of them before the firm’s latest charity event, to be honest. He gathers they’re pretty common in the Free Marches, and Orlais and Ferelden, too. Among the humans there, anyway. A good percentage of him is intensely suspicious of any kind of ‘charity event’ that involves buying people for fun, but, Serahlin assures him that it’s just symbolic. A date, not a sex thing. Although it is also kind of a sex thing, judging by all the flirting and joking going around.

 Ostensibly, that’s why they usually just sell men for these sorts of events. Because humans are weird about gender, too. The firm is Arlathan based, though, so they decide their ‘bachelor’ auction is just going to be in name only.

 Well, Vena doesn’t really get the appeal. But he gets the rules. All willing and eligible singles in the firm are expected to show up and let people bid on a date with them. Vena’s done worse things for less noble causes, and everyone seems flatteringly certain that he’ll net a small fortune. Plus, Tasallir really does not want to do it. He makes his ‘oh gods no shoot me now’ face whenever the subject comes up, which is a little deer-in-headlights-ish, to be honest. Vena loudly declaring that he’s going to not only participate but bring in the biggest bids usually deflects things back into the realms of comfortable eye-rolling.

 And he’s not alone on the bidding block, either. Serahlin has signed herself up, along with Thenvunin from reception, and the new temp, and like half the janitorial staff. Plus the boss’ own brother. Mostly, Vena thinks, they all just want to have the fancy evening out. Everyone dresses up nice and practices their struts and poses beforehand. Vena decides to wear suspenders. Not the trendiest, but they look good on him and he can use them like a prop to make provocative gestures. Gestures that also look funny, of course, because he’s not actually for sale.

 Sylaise woldn’t actually pimp them all out.

 …Probably.

 “Are you going to bid on me?” he asks Taz when they’re heading over. Waggling his eyebrows, while Tasallir keeps his gaze firmly on the road, and obeys all the traffic laws, and doesn’t even go through the red light when there is literally NO ONE coming for miles come on Tasallir FOR MILES. But ‘traffic laws are not suggestions’, and something something breaking laws utter chaos something, so Vena settles for teasing him instead.

 Taz sighs.

 “I already promised Serahlin I would buy her date,” he says. “We are going to my favourite restaurant up on Fifth. And then on to the theatre. If I have enough leftover after that, I will buy you, and you can come along too. If you behave.”

 Vena lets out a low whistle.

 “I don’t know, I’ve been led to believe I’m going to be expensive. Not really third wheel material,” he quips.

 “I thought that was office sarcasm,” Taz replies, dry as the desert.

Vena smacks a hand to his chest.

 “You wound me, sir. You wound me.”

 They trade a few barbs for the rest of the way. Vena trying to cover up some of his nerves as they look for parking, because there isn’t a parking attendant at this thing and also because Tasallir probably wouldn’t trust them with his car even if there was. They’re perfectly on time, though. Vena even has a few minutes to dash into the bathroom and double check his hair. He braided it in a more traditional style for the event, something from the Dalish side of his family. A look mostly cobbled together from old family photos that he got from an ancestry website, and then several tutorials that looked like they fit the bill. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Vena’s a little nervous that it’s not ‘fashionable’ enough for Sylaise’s standards.

 She’s a pretty demanding boss.

 But she pays very, very well, so he usually just tries to go with it. It beats following the family plans, anyway.

 The auction is at a night club owned by Sylaise’s family. A classy night club, too, one that was established in her grandparents’ days, when ‘club’ meant champagne and crooners and softly glittering magelights, more talking than dancing and more live shows than DJ’s. Vena’s got nothing against the more modern style of clubbing, but there’s something to be said for the highbrow kind, too. For one thing, the decor is gorgeous. If a bit weird. There is a lot of velvet and clam shells, and there are some truly glorious jokes waiting in that, but the music is soft enough to talk over and the lighting is good enough to see everyone’s outfits.

 The ‘bachelors’ are expected to mill around with the guests for the first half of the evening. Try and build up interest and sell themselves and all that. Vena mostly sticks with Tasallir as the event gets underway, though.

 He tells himself that he’s trying to play up the ‘dark and mysterious’ angle. But truth be told, Sylaise’s brother is probably cornering that market, and his reluctance probably has more to do with the unexpectedly high number of magisters who’ve turned out for the auction. ‘For charity’, everyone agrees, but Vena can’t help feeling like there’s something gauche about their obvious delight in the prospect of bidding on Arlathan elves.

 There are other people at the club too, though.

 Serahlin spends a good chunk of time chatting with a handsome blond elf, who Vena recognizes from some celebrity gossip magazines. Ada-something, he thinks. The jewellery designer, the one who did that infamous ‘moving snake’ necklace that Melarue wore to the Elven Prominence Awards last fall.

 Several of the firm’s more high-profile clientele are present too, of course, including Rala Inirel, the owner of Arlathan’s largest adult toy company. Vena has handled several of Ms Inirel’s accounts, and drags Tasallir over for some polite small talk. The face of Wonder, Sylaise’s sister-in-law’s little inventor’s guild, is also around.

 Among the less familiar faces, Vena spots a striking, pale-haired woman dressed in a silver gown. Her date is a petite redhead, who he thinks might be throwing him some glances. He can’t put names to their faces, so he doesn’t venture over. But he does offer up a wink when he catches her eye at one point. She’s pretty. More subtly dressed than most of the club’s occupants, and with a Dalish-style clip in her hair. Or what he thinks is one, anyway.

 There’s also a man who Vena thinks might actually be a member of House Pavus, in among the magisters. But he’s still largely skirting around that contingent when there is a slight commotion at the entrance. It draws a few eyes. Vena and Taz are still at Rala Inirel’s table when they turn, and see their boss’ other brother make his way in.

 Falon’Din Evanuris bears a stronger resemblance to his younger sister than he does to his twin brother, but you’d have to look closely to see it. Especially when Sylaise isn’t dying her hair blonde. The Evanuris heir is notorious for his disruptive behaviour. Vena still remembers getting stabbed by him, on one particular occasion. It doesn’t do a lot to help his nerves.

 But tonight he’s wearing a suit. His hair is combed back, and apart from throwing a glare around the room, his only real action is to find an unoccupied table and sit it in. One of the club servers brings him a menu and a bidding paddle, and just gets waved off rather than snarled at.

 A few murmurs spread through the assembled attendees anyway.

 Vena looks towards his boss, and it turns out to be good timing. She catches his eye and motions with her head, before moving towards the stage.

 Ah.

 The auction’s not supposed to start for another half hour, but apparently invading relatives have bumped up the time frame. He nods at Tasallir and Ms Inirel before excusing himself from the table, and taps the shoulder of every other ‘bachelor’ he passes on the way to the front stage. Serahlin is already headed there, towing along Thenvunin from reception and most of the rest of the volunteers. The others seem to pick up on the trend and make their own way over, as Sylaise gracefully calls for attention to the stage by ringing her empty champagne flute with a spoon.

 “Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary guests, if I could have your attention for a moment please,” she requests. “It seems dinner was too delicious by far, and flew by all the more quickly for it. In light of the lull, I see no reason why we cannot get the charity highlight of the evening underway.”

 Vena’s sure that more than a few people in the crowd aren’t buying the excuse. But the cue is accepted anyway, and the guests settle down at their tables as Vena and the other volunteers queue up along the back of the stage. Falon’Din Evanuris glares at his sister, but doesn’t otherwise move. Tasallir keeps his seat at Rala Inirel’s table, and the mysterious redhead and her date settle into the empty one behind Falon’Din. Along with a few other notorious gossip-mongers, and the famous jeweler. The guests from Tevinter largely fill up the other half of the club. A few more drinks are refilled, as the lighting is changed to highlight the stage.

 “Our first bidding option is Sten,” Sylaise begins, as she summons her script with a flourish of magic. Sten, from the janitorial group, moves forward at the cue. “From our building maintenance crew. A humble but vital position to any operation, Sten is the only Vashoth bachelor on our list. So I would keep those paddles at the ready if your tastes run to the exotic and statuesque. Sten is a sword enthusiast who enjoys exercise, and is offering a date to Arlathan’s premiere Ancient Reenactment Fair…”

 Sten obligingly rotates himself at the front of the stage, and gets a fair few bidders once Sylaise has finished his introduction. Their boss has ordered things to try and maximize the build-up, so a few more of the less ‘known’ volunteers carry on with kicking things off. The magister crowd take over the early bidding, as the audience throws in the occasional clap or wolf whistle. Vena takes some deep breaths and focuses on his routine. Be charming, he reminds himself. It’s all for fun.

 For charity, even.

 Thenvunin from reception gets to the front of the stage and looks like a deer caught in headlights, despite his best efforts not to. One of Sylaise’s in-laws, a striking figure in all red, puts in the winning bid for his ‘scenic bird watching’ date. Then it’s Serahlin’s turn.

 “One of the most successful family law experts in our employ, and a stunning beauty besides, Serahlin enjoys theatre, fine dining, and grinding her enemies beneath the points of her impeccable heels. Our office ice queen has promised a rejuvenating spa date to her winning bidder - and perhaps an opportunity to help her defrost,” Sylaise announces.

 Serahlin’s smile looks a bit pinned on, at that, but she still gracefully turns and offers an elegant bow towards the club floor.

 Tasallir puts in the first bid on her. He’s immediately countered by the prestigious jeweler, in what sets off the first heated, one-on-one bidding war of the night. It puts a crackle of excitement in the air, even if Vena knows that Taz is bidding as a friend. Once or twice someone else throws in a bid, seemingly drawn in by the air of competition itself. But the jeweler himself just seems pleasantly determined to win, and eventually Taz caps out at five hundred dollars, and the cheery blond elf wins his date for a solid six.

 Vena wonders if anyone’s going to top that tonight.

 And then Sylaise calls her brother up onto the stage.

 Dirthamen seems set to play up the ‘mysterious’ angle again, as he stands stock still and doesn’t turn. In fact he barely even moves his arms as Sylaise reads out a spiel about him liking books and masquerades and offering, as his date, an evening tour through the Labyrinthine Gardens and an exclusive chance to dine in the maze’s fashionable center restaurant, which Vena knows requires reservations a full year in advance.

 The date alone is probably going to merit high bidding, so no one is surprised when there’s an initial flurry of interest. Dirthamen surpasses Serahlin’s record before the bids finally start to taper off near the eight hundred dollar mark. Three bidders keep things going past a thousand, though - the white-haired elf in the silver dress, Magister Danarius from Tevinter, and Falon’Din Evanuris.

 See, Vena thinks, as the guy aggressive bids against everyone trying to buy his twin’s date. This is why the tabloids always write those stories about you two.

 Magister Danarius caps out at the two thousand dollar mark. Falon’Din turns to glare at the white-haired elf who outbids him again, and looks near to throwing one of his iconic tantrums. Sylaise stares directly at her older brother with a look that could peel paint, though, and after a moment, he subsides with nothing worse than a curse word. Apparently at his max, as his rival wins the date with his brother for a hefty two-thousand and four hundred dollars.

 If Dirthamen’s surprised, it doesn’t really show on his blank expression. Though as he passes by Vena to go and sit with the winner, there does some to be a slight furrow to his brow.

 “Well,” Sylaise says. “I’m so pleased at the wealth of charity we’ve been seeing! Let’s keep the ball rolling, shall we?”

 There are a few chuckles. Falon’Din gets up and exits dramatically from the club, as Sylaise pointedly clears her throat.

 “Venavismi,” she calls.

 Tough act to follow, Vena thinks. But he can see some of the cracks in his employer’s smile. So he strides confidently up to the front of the stage, and does his best twirl. He focuses on his showboating as Sylaise reads his introduction; snapping his suspenders and rolling up his jacket sleeves. And effect which he knows does his silhouette a lot of favours.

 “Venavismi has promised his winning bidder a day trip out of the city, for a relaxing beach trip featuring lunch at the Stormward Open Air Grill. Shall we start the bidding at eighty?”

 Magister Danarius is the first to lift his paddle.

 Vena wonders if there are laws against reneging on charity dates.

 There are some whispers over from Dirthamen’s table, though, and after a minute, the same woman who won the date with Sylaise’s brother puts her paddle up.

 “Ninety,” she offers.

 There are some titters over that. Dirthamen doesn’t seem perturbed, but the woman’s current date - the cute redhead - blushes right to the roots of her hair.

 “I have ninety. Do I have a hundred?” Sylaise asks.

 Tasallir bids.

 Thank you, buddy, Vena thinks.

 “A hundred twenty?” Sylaise ventures.

 “One-thirty,” Danarius offers.

 “One-fifty,” the white-haired woman counters, with a broad grin. Her date glances up towards Vena, still blushing. But after a second, she ventures a wink towards him, too.

 Ooh.

 Vena thinks he might be charmed. She doesn’t have a paddle, though, he realizes. Is her friend bidding on her behalf…?

 That might not be so bad.

 “One-sixty,” Danarius bids.

 “One-seventy,” Taz counters, like a hero.

 “Two hundred,” declares the white-haired woman.

 Vena thinks that might be it. But the magister seems set on redeeming his losses over Dirthamen, so he bids again. Taz counters him. The white-haired woman out-bids Taz. Vena tries to keep from fidgeting on stage as the numbers get higher, and some dark corner of his brain wonders if there isn’t something innate that really hates this, like some genetic corner that remembers when his paternal ancestors were standing on serious auction blocks in Tevinter. Because gods above he cannot remember being this uncomfortable before in his life.

 He loses focus for a minute and by the time he tunes back in, his bids have somehow reached the five hundreds.

 “Five-hundred and eighty,” the white-haired woman says, as Danarius virtually grinds his bidding sign into dust in his hand, and Taz gives Vena an apologetic look. He’s tapped out, but that’s okay. Vena’s dates are pretty good, but not really that good.

 “Any more takers?” Sylaise asks, looking thoroughly pleased with the bidding war.

 Danarius’ paddle stays down.

 “Sold!” his boss happily decrees, and gestures towards the white-haired woman. “To one of our most charitable contributors of the evening!”

 Her tone dips in admiration.

 Vena’s not sure how he’s supposed to respond to his boss kind of blatantly flirting with the unknown business associate who just bought him. He makes his way down from the stage, for starters, as she moves on to the next sap for the chopping block. Serahlin pats his hand as he passes her to go over to his winning bidder’s table.

 It helps, actually. Vena’s found his smile and a bit of his equilibrium again by the time he gets there.

 “Well, I must admit - I thought you’d won your date for the evening,” he says, as the redhead scoots a chair one open between herself and her date. Dirthamen sits at the white-haired woman’s opposite side. She smiles, and gestures for Vena to sit.

 “And I must admit that I did,” she tells him. “But my friend thought you were too cute to pass up, so I got your date as a gift. I’m Selene.”

 Reaching over, she shakes his hand, and then gestures towards the redhead.

 “This is Ana.”

 Vena offers his hand to Ana. She might still be blushing, but she also turns it like a proper, polite admirer, and bows over it rather than shaking it.

 “I like your braids,” she blurts.

 He grins, unabashed.

 More and more charming, this Ana.

 “Thank you. I like your freckles,” he commends, with another wink. It seems effective, as she lets of his hand with a nervous flutter, and turns to stare at the crumpled napkin on the table in front of her.

 “I must apologize,” Vena realizes, as he scoots his own chair more comfortably close to the table. Keeping his voice low, beneath the sound of Sylaise’s auctioning. “I don’t really know either of your names. Have you hired the firm before?”

 “Oh, no,” Selene admits. “But Mythal Evanuris sometimes hires myself and Ana to do contract work.”

 “Ah,” he says. “Well that would explain it. What sort of work do you do?”

 “Human resources,” Selene says.

 Vena blinks.

 His first thought is that Human Resources isn’t usually contract work. But then, maybe they’re head-hunters? The business equivalent of talent scouts for the various branches of the Evanuris corporate empire? That would make sense. It probably takes a lot of work to find the right people for various positions throughout those businesses, definitely enough to make for full-time work. He lets the questions subside as the bidding starts up, and takes several minutes to appreciate that he didn’t end up over at the magisters’ tables.

 By the end of the evening, all the dates have been bought for at least respectable amounts, and the charity pot looks quite healthy. The public relations pot is probably even healthier. The lighting shifts and the last round of refreshments are brought out, as Sylaise encourages everyone to mingle and flirt and get to know their wonderful dates and charitable bidders.

 “We should exchange contact information,” Dirthamen suggests, tentatively.

 “Well you and I just need a meeting place, really,” Selene says. “But I won’t say no to your number. Why don’t you escort me to the washroom, and we’ll discuss it?”

 She takes Dirthamen by the arm, and leads him off with a nod to Ana, and then one to Vena, too.

 Leaving them alone to get acquainted.

 “I made some tentative reservations for the weekend after next, at the beach bar and grill, but we can move it around to whatever time you like,” he offers. “Or do something else. We don’t actually have to go on a beach date. It’s just a strong suggestion.”

 “I like beaches,” Ana tells him.

 She looks like she might just be laughing at him a little. But Vena can roll with that. He grins back.

 “Good excuse to wear bathing suits,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t mind seeing yours, I bet it’s cute.”

 She hums at him.

 “Well, I’m Dalish, so. Our bathing suits tend to be the invisible kind.”

 Vena’s grin widens in delight. He suspected, from her tattoos, but the confirmation is nice.

 “I could get on board with that,” he says, flirting back. “But I don’t think it’s a nude beach. Maybe I should buy you a suit, to cover the unexpected expense. We could make it two dates. One to go shopping and the other to show off the goods.”

 Ana’s blush comes back. He’s happy to see it.

 “Maybe three - you might not have picked a nude beach, but I know of a few.”

 She gives him a once-over, but it’s entirely playful. Vena doesn’t mind in the least. Now that the bidding part is done, he basically just has a nice date planned with a pretty stranger - not a bad situation at all.

 They chat a bit more. Working out dates and times; Ana admits she does have a swimsuit, and when he tries to talk her into a shopping trip anyway, she demures a little. Which is fine; they can have their beach date and go from there, in the end. One of his clients is an Anna, so he puts her into his contacts as Dalish Ana. Which seems a little dry. Vena supposes he’ll have to come up with something more fun, when the inspiration strikes.

 “Do you like to dance?” he asks, for the meanwhile. The music’s not loud, but it’s still pretty good; and a few couples have tentatively made their way onto the dance floor.

 Ana looks at him.

 There’s a pleasantly flirtatious glint in her eye.

 “Why not?” she agrees.